[- Misreading -]

Nothing was different about my routine this morning until I got to Café Duro. I’d beat Sara in and got a little extra in my exchange with Megan while picking up my Americano because I gave her a questioning look she read correctly.

“I don’t know... She texted last night after I’d gone to bed and said dinner was delicious, you have a nice place, and would talk to me when she got here. That’s all I know.”

“Do you think I should text her?” I asked.

“Maybe give her some time; she’s probably just running late this morning,” Megan offered.

My morning routine was beckoning me, and the hot cup of coffee in my hand was telling me I needed to set it down, so I grabbed my usual table—after a momentary conversation with the retired regulars. No stock tips were requested, thankfully, but there was some joking about Sara possibly showing up and forcing me out of her table when she got here. I got a chuckle out of that and proceeded to my table, got my laptop fired up, connected, and I was scanning my usual financial internet research haunts before I knew it—though arguably halfheartedly because my mind was on Sara.

When I went to check on the crude oil futures, my phone buzzed twice. I could see the texting parties name and got a momentary flash of hope.

Sara: Good morning. I got called in early to actually assist in the OR this morning! Just wanted to say thank you again for dinner last night. I had a really good time. I’ll call you later. Hugz!

I read the message twice, tried to imagine her tone, her facial expression as she typed it, and if there was anything that would suggest in these few words that we’d parted ways last night on bad terms.

She’d left a little after 8:30, and at the door there was a quick hug—with an exchange of platonic cheek kisses that fell well short of what I’d like to have done. I wanted to kiss her, and I’d considered it a number of times after she had kissed my cheek on the sofa unexpectedly. But I felt like she might have been waving me off concerning getting involved with her or, at a minimum, she’d sent me a pretty mixed up signal. Why didn’t I have the confidence to just go for it, to act on my wanting to kiss her, and let the chips fall where they might?!

Me: Wow! That’s awesome; good luck in there. Talk to you later.

That’s short, encouraging, and says I’m expecting a call later. I didn’t want to overplay it or sound pushy, needy, or anxious. Would she reply? Two minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Sara: Thanks. Are you sitting at my table?

I chuckled and wanted to reply, ‘Yup, all that’s missing is you’, but sent the more practical reply, ‘Yes, Americano in hand and surfing the financials’. Her reply was a single ‘thumps-up’ emoji.

What was my damn problem?! Had I just blown it? Would she have said more if I’d been more playful? Damn it!

I was back on course shortly after getting her ‘thumps-up’ text. Well, basically, after beating myself up for not being more engaging with her for a couple minutes, before I finished my prep work for the day. Battling to not overthink anything Sara related was difficult, but somehow I did and eventually made it into the office at my usual start time. The universe’s routine had righted itself somewhat, though my orbit was undeniably tilted in Sara’s direction.

At a mid-morning break, I ran into Ken, one of my two partners, in the kitchen area, and he’d said I looked much better today and wanted to know if everything was alright.

“Yeah, I met someone, and she’s kind of done a number on me like no one has in a while. A good number, but a number none the less,” I told him.

He thought it was great I’d put myself out there again to date, and I could tell he was genuinely happy for me. Of course he wanted to know all the details of this mystery woman, who’d tipped me over pretty good yesterday, and I told him everything—except the one thing I wasn’t ready for him or my other partner to know—that Sara was Trans. In the moment I had been nervous about sharing that one aspect of Sara’s existence and chose not to mention it because I didn’t want to deal with any questioning of my choice to see her or have to explain my attraction to her or whatever complaint he wanted to conjure up.

It shouldn’t have mattered that I didn’t say anything about the ‘Trans’ aspect, but as the afternoon progressed, I spent much of it feeling guilty and like I’d invalidated Sara somehow. Being Trans didn’t define her, I reasoned, so I didn’t need to let people know that about her up front, right? She hadn’t approached me and told me straight up she was Trans, so it’s not a required disclosure.

That would have been weird, right? Like, ‘Hi, I’m Sara and I’m a Trans woman…’ wouldn’t have been how she started every conversation with someone she didn’t know.

No matter the arguments or excuses I had rolling around in my head or how I tried to justify them being innocent or not being relevant, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth. Before Sara, the idea of someone being Trans meant different things to me—like maybe they were a drag queen, some pornographic fetish-driven person, or maybe even a crossdresser could be Trans in a way. I didn’t care and it certainly didn’t bother me if someone needed to do that for their own sanity – which I found out Saturday night on the internet was a big driver for someone who was Trans. It was considered ‘mental health affirming care’ so the person wouldn’t commit suicide by doctors, not just the Trans community.

I got the sense Sara had come out as Trans to right a wrong in her mind and after meeting her and seeing her every day last week at the café, I hadn’t even known she was Trans! She didn’t advertise that; was I supposed to? No, right?

I was deep into one of those rewinding arguments that were playing in my head when my cellphone rang, and it made me physically jump because I was so focused on Sara that I hadn’t expected to be jolted out of my own headspace.

"Hey… I was just thinking about you,” I said, answering my phone on the third ring because I was trying to compose myself after the first ring and realizing who it was.

“Oh really? Were you thinking you should invite me out for a drink tonight to celebrate getting to not only scrub in for a colonoscopy polyp removal this morning but actually getting to assist the surgeon?” Sara asked excitedly.

“No way! Wow, congratulations! I’ll bet that was really interesting.”

“It was, and I couldn’t believe how precise the robotics equipment he used could be. Are you free tonight?”

I didn’t hesitate, "Absolutely... Did you have some place in mind?”

She floated me a text message with the name of a bar/restaurant that was located between where we both lived that I wasn’t familiar with, though I might have heard someone mentioning the food was good if it was the same place Sara was talking about. I’d told her I typically got off work around 5 PM, so we set a 6 PM meet-up time, which would give us both plenty of time to get there—though she said she was about to head home to get cleaned up and changed. I had another hour to kill, and she might have rubbed that in a little with her ‘Neener neener...’ comment and about me having to come straight from work wearing my suit and tie.

On my way to the bar, Sara texted that the place was pretty busy and she was in the bar waiting. I made it with a couple minutes to spare and found her at a stand-up table near the back of the bar. She smiled at me from across the crowded bar, and my expectations were I’d see that cute woman again from the café, but it wasn’t to be. Tonight she was even more stunning than she was last night. She’d put some curl in her hair, the black leather-like pants she wore accentuated sensual curves, her heels made me appreciate how long her legs truly were, the white silky top she had on was flirty, and... I was speechless!

Wow! Just fucking wow!

I wasn’t two feet from her table when she stepped out from behind it to take those few steps to give me a quick hug. She had said something as she hugged me, but I couldn’t hear her over the noise surrounding us in the crowded bar. I was about to ask her to repeat what she’d said when she pulled back a little to look up at me.

I couldn’t help myself and leaned in and kissed her.

There was no hesitation on her part in participating, and for a few seconds I was pretty sure we were telling each other we liked what was happening. I also felt like we were both relieved the other had thankfully seemed to enjoy that quick connection, expression of our mutual attractions. When I slowly pulled away, I got a shy little smile from her and a quick leaning in by her to say something I could actually hear this time.

“I’m going to have to pay for more OR time if that’s the kind of greeting I’ll get when we meet.”

“I wanted to do that last night,” I admitted in her ear.

“I might not have wanted to go home,” she said, smiling at me after having admitted that.

Oh! But, what was with that warning me off vibe I got from you last night?!

She picked up something in my face and leaned in to say, “Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too forward of me.”

I chuckled, “I thought... Never mind. Is it loud in here or what?!”

"Loud… Yes, but I want to know what you were just thinking.”

“Can we do this in the restaurant?” I asked, leaning in again to speak into her ear.

“I couldn’t get a reservation...” she shouted back at me.

“I did,” I said, smiling and adding a quick, “Neener, neener...”

That got me a playful shoulder slap and a quick hug.

We left the noise of the bar for the hostess stand and were immediately seated since I’d gotten us a 6 PM reservation. Sara had brought her Corona with her, and when our waitress swung by, she’d asked what I wanted, and I ordered the same.

Alone at our table, she asked, “So, what were you thinking back there?”

“About the spending the night thing you mentioned?” I asked, trying to keep any nervous shrill out of my question but likely failing.

“No, but if you’d like to share that too, go ahead,” she said, taking a quick pull from her beer and smiling mischievously at me.

“All our cards on the table?”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” she replied more seriously, the smile fading for a moment.

“I thought you were waving me off last night. All that talk about my own masculinity and landing on my feet, people questioning me, and my ex being concerned about Jenny being around you. It just, I don’t know, it struck me like we’d hit a point in getting to know each other and it wasn’t going to work for you, and that was just an easy way out, like you were letting me down easy.”

I’d said a lot; I actually referenced a lot of the feelings I had about last night, but I figured she was smart and knew what I was saying.

“I’m sorry I rambled on like that... It’s just been my experience that that stuff happens when I’m trying to just be with someone and make a connection, and it ends up going to hell because society is rough on those that don’t conform to the norms or maintain the status quo. I really didn’t mean to come off that way, and I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.

“I end up being part therapist and part teacher with men I want to get to know, when all I really want to do is be me with someone who wants to be with me for me. Look, I get I’m a little different, but I do grow and learn and bend and compromise—those things aren’t outside my realm,” she said with a little chuckle.

“I didn’t think they weren’t, but there’s likely a lot of unwritten do’s and don’ts to being with you. For example, today my partner asked about you, and I had all these things I was excited to tell him and..." I shrugged.

"And you didn’t mention I was Trans?”

“I didn't, and I’ve been beating myself up about it since. I mean, I could have told him and dealt with it head-on if it was going to be an issue for him, but being Trans doesn’t define who I think you are, at least in my eyes.”

“Who is it you think I am?”

“A woman, a nurse...” I began feeling the nerves showing through a little. “I, like… I just kissed you in a crowded bar, and I didn’t have any reservations about that. I wanted to do that last night, but was afraid you were maybe not interested." I said softly.

I watched her reach for her napkin, turn away, and dab at her eyes. Oh fuck!

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said, placing a hand across the table in front of her.

“No, I appreciate what you just said; I’m just being emotional; it’s not you,” she replied, putting her napkin in her lap and then taking my hand in hers to give it a squeeze.

“Did I say something that...”

I didn’t get to finish my thought.

“No, not anything like that; I’m just happy, that’s all. You see me, what else could I want?” she asked and then added, “Oh, and by the way, I wouldn’t ever lead a conversation with someone that I was Trans, and I wouldn’t expect you to either. But if it came up or someone was bashing Trans folk or saying off-colored shit—well, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t step up to squash that crap."

I was mulling over what she’d said, and she could tell what I was thinking. “Don’t beat yourself up for past transgressions that might have offended me—laughing at some Trans-slanted joke or crass ‘dude looks like a lady’ crap. Just be a decent human being and demand that from those around you—that’s not asking too much, is it?”

“Of course not,” I replied quickly. Her smile told me we’d level set an understanding of expectations going forward, and I couldn’t help but feel good about that.

I remembered she’d said something to me when I’d met her in the bar but hadn’t heard her, so I asked.

“I said I was really happy to see you... The kiss a few moments later was very nice too, by the way.”

[- Reversals -]

Dinner was good, but not as good as the conversations we were having since being seated. We’d both shared our experiences with online dating during our meal, and she insisted we share each other’s dishes because mine looked better than hers. I was happy to do that because hers looked better than mine and ended up tasting better than mine.

The recanting of my online dating experiences weren’t anything to brag about—all two of them. Hers, though, were difficult to listen to too. I didn’t get the sense she was trying to outdo me or anything, but I got that those experiences for her were exhausting to deal with. What was wrong with these guys who reached out to her?!

“A lot of curious guys, like they want to experience dating someone in transition for whatever reason, but aren’t ready to be emotionally available or deal with any stigma given to men interested in dating a Trans woman or whether we’re even compatible outside of some sexual expectation they’ve built up in their heads.

“I put the guys who’ve reached out to me in categories—those curious to get to know me for me—and I’ll tell you now those aren’t the norm and don’t happen very often. Then there are the strictly fetish-oriented guys—I think you can figure out what a pain that is. And finally, guys wanting to allow themselves some gay-leaning encounter that might not appear as gay as it would be in their or others minds since I look more like a woman than a man.

“It’s funny they never seem to understand that I’m not gay; I don’t present as gay or even advertise online as being gay, but because I’m Trans, I have to be gay for even considering being with them. No knock on someone being gay or lesbian or whatever LGBTQ+ category you call your own, but I’m not anything other than a woman interested in men.”

“How do you weed through all of that?”

"Experience, unfortunately. A lot of it painful and a time-consuming waste of my time for the most part, experience. I do a lot of pre-date chatting for obvious reasons; I don’t have a death wish. Violence against Trans women is way up these days. While chatting does tend to help spot the flakes, it takes time, and my emotional sanity does take a hit when I start liking a guy and he turns out to be after something I’m not going to be for him—a fantasy or whatever.

“The majority of men who’ve reached out think we’re going to be compatible because I’m either desperate or lonely or whatever delusion they’ve conjured up in their own minds—which is almost always rooted in sex or sex acts. I get a lot of hate thrown at me when I tell some guy they’re not what I’m looking for. It’s definitely a mountain I have to climb before seeing if there’s a chance for a real connection.”

“Not that I’m fishing here, but what about me makes you think I’m different?” I asked earnestly.

“I tend to like men a little older than me, less stupidity in age—generally, but not a steadfast rule. You’re certainly handsome; it looks like you take care of yourself, and you did get a glowing recommendation,” she said before finishing off the last few sips of her Corona.

“Megan?” I asked, and she nodded I was correct. "Older? How old do you think I am?”

“If I’m being polite, I’d say thirty-eight. Realistically, I’d bet no older than forty-one,” she said with a critical eye that said she was maybe messing with me or maybe not – it was hard to tell.

“I’m forty-three actually, and I’d be happy with your 'realistically’ guess. How old are you?”

“Age is just a number,” she said and stopped speaking when I made a face. “What?” she asked, smiling, because I certainly was smiling at her after hearing that.

“I’d said you were too young for an old guy like me, and Jenny said the same thing about it being a number,” I replied, still smiling.

“So, how old do you think I am?”

“Alright, if I’m being polite like you just were, I’m guessing twenty-six, max twenty-eight. If you’re over thirty, I’m buying dinner.”

I watched her look around and then wave to the waitress. For a moment I thought I’d insulted her, but when the waitress came to the table, she said, “Can we get a couple pieces of cheesecake? The Oreo one for me,” she looked over at me and asked, “Same for you?”

“Sure,” I said, questioning what was going on.

“Figured I might as well have desert since you’re paying for dinner,” she quipped with a shit eating grin.

“Get out of here! You are not older than thirty... I call BS, and I’m going to need to see some proof of that before I’m paying.”

“Thirty-two, pushing thirty-three in a couple months.”

We continued to talk nonstop through the desert, and neither of us had realized the restaurant was empty around us until our server came around to ask if there was something else she could do for us. Sara apologized for us not being more in tune and keeping her from closing out her till. When the bill came, Sara had reached for her purse, but I told her I was getting it as I’d lost the age-guessing game.

“No, you wanted proof of my age,” she said smiling, sliding her license over for me.

I picked it up to inspect it with a critical eye, turning it over and back and flexing it as if maybe it wasn’t genuine or plastic enough. It had her address, a nicer part of North Waltham, her DOB showing her birthday was indeed a couple months away, and by the year calculation she was indeed on the back side of being thirty-two years old. I was surprised to say the least and slid her license back to her, not before seeing it had a capital ‘F’ for the ‘SEX’ designation, which totally made sense to me.

“You know I would have paid without needing proof?”

“I know, but I wanted you to see when my birthday was so you’d maybe take me out to celebrate.”

“Consider it a date,” I replied quickly, and her smile at that spoke volumes.

We walked from our table to her car as if we were an item. No one gave us a second glance or questioned what we appeared to be—a hetero couple enjoying a night out.

“Well, this is me,” she said, touching the handle of her late model year Chevy Cruz to bring it alive.

“Very practical car; how do you like it?”

What am I even saying?! That’s not what I want to say to you! I’m fucking blowing it!

“I’d like it better if it were parked at your condo,” she said, getting her arms around me before saying, “Though I know it’s late. I don’t have to work tomorrow and... I thought maybe you’d be up for a little more talking.”

She was warm in my arms, smelled amazing, was beautiful, and I really didn’t want this night to end yet. I couldn’t picture my schedule for tomorrow and began to panic about whether not having made my bed would make me look like a slob. Not that she would be in my bedroom, but what if she stayed the night? Did I go to work in the morning? What if…

“Hey, it was just a thought; don’t stress or overthink it, okay? We could meet up later this week? Maybe I could cook for you or, more likely, DoorDash something for us,” she chuckled.

Her eyes, those lips... Say something!

“I’d like that, your car parked at my condo,” I croaked and leaned in to kiss her lightly.

At the door to my condo, the tension between us was undeniable, and once inside, we were in each other’s arms before the door clicked shut. Our kissing was urgent, the holding of one another was desperate, and the noises we were both making confirmed our desires for the other. I couldn’t help but reach between us after I’d backed her into the front door and caressed one of her breasts through her blouse. That got me a satisfying moan from her that sparked a little confidence, but her whispering something to the effect I needed to slow down had that idea crashing hard. Had I overstepped?

“I’m sorry,” was all I could manage to say.

I’m sure I looked pathetic and like I was about to say something else, but my brain had stalled.

She placed a finger on my lips to keep me from rambling, before saying, “No, we’re not sorry tonight... We can be more comfortable though, right?”

“Of course, yes... Okay,” I replied nervously, thinking we were going to move, but she held me still.

“I don’t sleep around, Brad. I’m not saying that’s what’s happening here, but I want you to know that,” she said softly.

“Neither do I... I'm… I’m like, I haven’t done this in a while, and, yeah... I understand, and I’m not, or I wouldn’t expect anything,” I stumbled pathetically to get all that out before my nerves got the better of me.

“I’ve got all those desires you’d expect I’d have, but things need to be, well, everyone needs to be patient. Does that make sense?”

“Of course… I’m, I’ll follow your lead,” I replied quickly, maybe anxiously.

I could feel her studying me before she got her hands up around my neck to pull me into a quick kiss.

When she pulled away, she smiled, saying seductively, “Let’s go get comfortable.”

I was shocked that she led us to my room rather than the living room, but I wasn’t going to complain. Once there, she playfully gave me a look about my bed being unmade, my towel from showering this morning being draped over the corner of it, and my workout clothes in a pile about a foot from my laundry hamper.

“Really? You miss the hamper from inches?” she asked with raised brow and that shit-eating grin that made her look so fucking cute to me.

“I was anxious to get out of here this morning to see you,” I complained and shrugged my embarrassment while leaving her side to hurriedly pick up those items off the floor and doing a half-assed job of straightening out the comforter over the messed-up sheets beneath it.

Thankfully the master bath was still in pristine condition after her visit last night.

Her statement about patience hit me, and I assumed that meant if there was the possibility of sex, anal sex, I’d need to be smarter than the one time I’d tried that with my ex-wife. It wasn’t something to be rushed, I’d learned, and that stuff you saw in porn videos was bullshit. Slow, everything needed to move...

“Do you know what they call a partner that won’t perform oral sex?” she asked.

I looked at her questioningly and couldn’t believe she'd asked me that! I was partly shocked because I’d been so in my own headspace trying to understand being patient about engaging in anal sex – that I wasn’t even sure I understood the question. Was she really asking me about oral sex? What do you call someone who won’t do it? Wait, would she expect me to perform that on her?

Her giggle woke me from my panicked stupor. She’d been watching me closely, maybe amused at my discomfort, and looked to be enjoying my squirming a little.

I answered her tentatively, “Ah, I really have no clue.”

“An Uber…”

Huh? That doesn’t make any... Oh! Oh my God! I couldn’t help but laugh at her joke, maybe more so at myself for being so dense and nervous. Of course now I had a lot of 'sex’ questions on my mind, and they all dealt with her expectations of me doing things to and with her.

I hadn’t thought this far into my attraction for her, but if she was similarly equipped as I was, how did I feel about that? Could I really touch her? Would I be willing to do more than that? She didn’t expect to flip our roles, did she? What’s that called?! Topping? Wait, bottom? Augh!

Did she think I was interested in that or wanted that? I mean, that couldn’t happen without some discussion, and I am positive I have zero interest in a relationship like that. Do I say something?

Sara came over to me, took my hands, and said, “I’m just nervous; you’ll have to forgive me. I talk a lot when I’m nervous. It’s not often I meet someone who’s normal and I feel accepts me for who I am. I mean, if this is too much, happening too fast, or is even remotely uncomfortable for you, we can really just hang out, talk, and have a beer.”

"Do I make you nervous?”

“No, not like bad nervous, but I don’t want to disappoint you or have you think less of me.”

“I don’t think I could do that... You’re amazing and beautiful and funny and make me feel silly, and I just want you to be alright with being here. Alright?”

“I am alright and happy to be here,” she said, taking my hand and pulling me into an embrace.

At 4:30 AM, my alarm did its usual blaring, and I snapped upright to get my hand on it to shut it off so as to not wake Sara. When I looked over to the side of the bed she had slept on, I was surprised to see that she wasn’t there. I plopped back down and lay there a minute, remembering how much I’d enjoyed last night, but felt a pang of disappointment she wasn’t physically still here to bathe in that glow I felt.

I don’t remember her getting up or leaving and wondered why she hadn’t stayed. She said she had the day off—had I done or said something wrong? No, she’d lied in my arms afterwards, and that’s not something someone did when their experience was bad, wrong, or uncomfortable.

I smiled satisfyingly, thinking that nothing that happened between us last night was even remotely as I’d pictured, anticipated, or expected. There were definitely a few surprises I wasn’t prepared for, and I’d very much enjoyed all of it, all of being with her. Had I come off as too needy? God, I hoped not!

It began when she’d left me to get the bed turned down, lights shut off, and out of my clothes—while she got ready in my bathroom. I was lying in bed when she came out and got a quick glimpse of her in just her bra and panties before the bathroom light went out, and she got into bed with me to snuggle. She was so soft, warm, smelled amazing, and after a long kiss with moments of frantic touching of each other, dangerously loud moaning by both of us, and us grinding our bodies together, I was pretty happy about being able to get her bra off one handed.

After getting her bra off and my hands on her breasts, I began to stress about being as excited as I was and whether I’d be able to last more than a couple minutes before popping! She broke our kiss a second later, and we both got to take full breaths while reveling in just being able to hold one another.

I felt her hand reach between us to grab hold of my manhood, and her whispering to me, “Patience, alright.”

I’m sure I stuttered my answer, which was, “Yes, of course.”

A small kiss followed, and she was moving herself into a position she could get her lips around what her hand was holding. I literally melted in her hands and she took great pleasure in torturing me. I couldn’t help but whimper, suck in noisily, or hiss out strained exhaled breaths, and I lost count of the number of times I’d said, ‘Oh God...’ or called out her name softly.

I swear she knew how far to push me, like right up to the edge push me, and then preserve my finishing by being less intense or slowing everything way down. That happened multiple times, and when she finally snuggled her body back up to me, I couldn’t help but want to hug and kiss her greedily. I hoped I left no doubt that I was an appreciative lover.

We lay there holding one another silently for a good minute. I traced a hand lazily over her body, caressing her, feeling goose bumps on her arms, and even squeezed her soft, supple ass through her panties. It occurred to me that maybe this intermission of sorts might have expectations on the back side of it. Like to signal that it was my turn to return the favor, or as she joked, an Uber might be what she’d call me.

I still wasn’t sure I had it in me to touch her penis, let alone perform any kind of oral pleasure for her. Her moving gently in my arms and kissing my neck made the decision for me, and I decided right then I would do my best. She had to know this wasn’t my norm; I can do this! I’m not gay; she’s not gay either!

My hand at her hip slipped between our bodies, my fingers getting under the waistband of her panties, and I...

Her hand was on mine, gently, and everything stopped.

“Patience, I'm… This is still new for me,” she whispered while taking my hand to guide it lower.

::: --- :::

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Rachel M. Moore