Interesting, But Not For Me

I don't think I've made it a secret that I've been putting myself out there on the dating scene for the last couple of months. Nor should it be a surprise that I've met the same level of success that I have every time I've dipped my toes into the dating pool.

Everyone loves being an ally to a transgender person. Dating one? Well, that's evidently a different conversation.

Now, I don't actually know if that's what's happening here. I strongly suspect it's part of it, but I can't prove it. What I do know is that there seems to be an unspoken expectation that if you're going to participate in queer dating, at least in New Mexico, you should probably subscribe to a fairly standard set of left-leaning political beliefs. And so, I keep finding myself in the friend zone.

The process is almost formulaic at this point. We'll match on a dating app and exchange messages. Then we'll move from the app to actual texting. I know, how fucking bold.

Brief intermission.

I'm Gen X. I grew up talking on the goddamned phone. I'm one of those rare creatures that still uses the phone app as it was originally intended: as a fucking phone. I fucking hate texting.

Does texting have a purpose? Sure. "Can you grab milk while you're at the store?" Excellent use of texting. "What time are we meeting?" Also acceptable. But what are you passionate about? What kind of relationship are you looking for? What made you smile today? What keeps you awake at night? Those conversations belong on the phone or across a table with a cup of coffee between two human beings.

But apparently that's not how we do things anymore.

Instead, we text endlessly. Weeks. Sometimes months. Everyone is terrified of everyone else. Nobody wants to risk forty-five minutes and a cup of coffee finding out whether there's chemistry, so we spend fourteen weeks conducting a background investigation instead.

Eventually, after what feels like a lifetime of texting, we agree to meet. We grab coffee. We talk. We laugh. I walk away thinking it went great.

Then somewhere along the way my politics leak out.

Not because I'm trying to talk politics. Because my views on freedom, personal responsibility, accountability, and individual liberty inevitably show themselves in conversation. And those views get translated into "Republican."

When I try to explain that I'm actually a libertarian, both philosophically and through party affiliation, it rarely helps. If anything, it seems to make things worse. At that point, my fate is usually sealed.

Interesting, but not for me.

Friend.

Every single fucking time.

I've been out for twenty years. Twenty. And this pattern has repeated itself so consistently that it's hard not to notice. Dating app. Texting. More texting. Coffee. Friendship. Going home alone.

Rinse and repeat.

I spent years as the other woman in someone else's affair. That ended exactly how anyone with half a brain would expect it to end. Once she finally found the courage to claim her freedom, I became expendable.

You're fucking welcome.

So here I sit, a little annoyed at queer dating while possessing the audacity to have my own thoughts and beliefs. Here I sit wondering.

A friend recently admitted she'd been trying to get my attention for years. Years. We've lived together on a couple of occasions. We'd crossed the line romantically a few times, though alcohol was usually involved and there always seemed to be a little regret floating around the next day. She always had boyfriends, so I never took it seriously.

Then recently, during a phone call, she told me she'd always loved me.

And honestly? That one hit me hard.

Because looking back, there was clearly something there. There was enough connection for us to live together. Enough connection to keep finding our way back to each other. Enough connection that neither of us completely disappeared from the other's life.

And she still has a boyfriend.

And strangely, I don't really care.

I've never been particularly attached to monogamy. Whoever I eventually walk through this life with, I want them to have autonomy. I want them to choose me, not because they're obligated to, but because they genuinely want to.

I don't care if they have other relationships. I don't care if they play around. I care whether they put me first. I care whether they walk beside me as an equal. I care whether they genuinely want to share this life with me.

And honestly, I'm not even talking about sex. I don't care much about sex anymore.

I care about presence. I care about emotional connection.

And I care about touch.

It's been over a year since another person has touched my skin in a way that wasn't clinical or transactional. And I fucking miss it.

I miss fingers drifting across my back. I miss a hand finding mine. I miss someone touching my face. I miss those little electrical currents that run beneath your skin when you finally let your guard down and allow yourself to be vulnerable with another person.

I miss feeling wanted.

She was drunk when she told me all of this, so I don't know how real it is. Maybe it was liquid courage. Maybe it was alcohol talking. Maybe it was the truth finally slipping out.

I honestly don't know. But I'm about to find out.

And for my heart's sake, I hope she's not fucking with me. Because I don't know how many more betrayals I have left in me.