When I started college I had already had my first girlfriend and been in love twice. I thought college would be a blast, a time of sexual discovery. My first day on campus I signed into the local LGBTQ group and I got ready for a wild ride… and an uncomfortable learning curve.
The three girls that I were into at the time were a lipstick lesbian (in a relationship), an older tomboy (also in a relationship), and a FTM transgender person (it turned out I have a thing for trans people, probably because I am trans).
I’m five feet tall. Yes, that’s it. Frankly, I’m a little adorable. But I wasn’t attracting any lipstick lesbians. I was attracting 200 lb rugby players and other butchy women. I wasn’t sure if I was into that, but I thought I’d give it a try. Hey they smelled like Cool Water, my favorite cologne!
Just to give you an idea of what these women looked like, I was at a party with one of them. She picked up me and we were about to kiss when a guy at the party hollered at me, “Don’t go home with him! I’m way better!”
I laughed. “He’s a girl.”
The guy’s face was priceless.
So those were the girls that were into me, but there was one problem with those types of girls. I couldn’t just treat them as if they were lesbians, because they weren’t exactly. And neither was I, exactly. And some of them were uncomfortable with their girly parts. I’ve had my struggles with gender dysphoria and being gender queer, but I’ve never put the nix on any of my girls parts during sex, once I got to know someone. I mean bewbs, right? Fucking awesome.
Dakota was the kind of nerd who wore thick glasses and Vans, a button down shirt and sagging jeans, and I was pretty sure that she had a higher IQ than I did. I was also pretty sure that she had some of those gender issues that would present possible certain roadblocks in the bedroom. I was just starting to realize this roadblock may be a deal breaker for me, but I went out with Dakota anyway. Yeah, let’s call her Dakota.
We went on a few dates.
I may come across as a horny teenager online or what have you, but I’m kind of a hopeless romantic about sex (that’s probably why I write Romance). The only one night stand I’ve had was with my best friend of four years and she initiated it. It didn’t work out (another story).
So, Dakota and I hadn’t had sex yet but we’d been on some dates, and we were cruising around with some other members of our LGBTQ group and doing our version of “gay bashing”, which went something like this:
1. We’d see someone that we knew and pull the car over.
2. We’d yell at them and call them a fag or a dyke.
3. One of us (of the same gender) would hop out and make out with them in public.
Yes, we were stupid, but at the time we thought we were fucking social revolutionists. I was feeling pretty keyed up. The combination of being among friends and harassing other friends put me into an odd pack mentality. I felt high. Later I would recognize this as manic behavior, but then I thought I was simply excited, just having a good time. But I wasn’t thinking. I still can’t tell you what I was thinking. I was just wanting.
I told Dakota I was going to grab her boob. Told her. And then I did, hard. She had great tits and I couldn’t even get one of her boobs in my hand.
Then I bit it–not so hard.
I’m not dumb. And I’ve taken loads of gender studies classes. I knew what I was doing was highly inappropriate on too many levels to count. But caught up in the moment like that, I didn’t think too much about it and at the time she laughed and we moved on to the next friend we were going to gay bash.
The next day I went to see Dakota at the LGBTQ club headquarters. I was talking with her but I could tell that something was off. And I knew why. We were both uneasy, and the more uneasy I got the harder it was for me to apologize for my actions.
Two guys from our group walked in and that’s when she said, “I’m going by ‘he’ now.”
Shit. I quickly thought back–I hadn’t been watching my pronouns our entire conversation! And then I realized that the two guys hovering around us knew about this. All three were looking at me, staring me down. Challenging my acceptance. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Dakota turned to talk to them. I was dismissed.
I put my foot in my mouth constantly–that’s just me–but this was one of the first times when I regretted an action I had done to another human being. I knew I had lost the opportunity to say I was sorry and I had failed. I had failed big time. And Dakota and I were through.
I deserved that.
Sure, it was probably for the best. I realized that I shouldn’t be dating people who don’t let me play with their chests, and I get a little hyped up around breasts. But I hated the way things went down with us. I hated being that asshole that objectified–and frankly assaulted–people I cared about. It may have been different if I had grabbed his crotch instead, y’know, like I was squeezing his package in a sexy way. But no, I grabbed his tits.
This happened over fifteen years ago–I’m one of those people who will hang onto stuff, and I will probably regret this still for years to come.
And I deserve that.
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