Disclosure in Mississippi usually involves counseling a dude through the five stages of grief.
Last night a Marc Jacobs look-alike with a caesar haircut messaged me on OKCupid to tell me that he wanted to fuck. I was flattered but occupied, probably getting ready for bed by brushing my hair 100 times and reciting scripture. Ignoring handsome men is a really valuable technique because they’re usually not prepared for it and it doesn’t take very long for them to get desperate and up the stakes to get your attention. About an hour after his first message–right on schedule–”Marc” messaged again, this time sweetening the deal a little: “I really want my head between your legs. I have a really big hoop in my schlong.” I responded approvingly and–because he hadn’t actually read my profile–he asked if I wanted to meet him at his apartment in Brooklyn.
In about two weeks I’m flying to New York for my first experience inside the liberal bubble, and in an effort to streamline the process of meeting either one or many perfect NY dates, I set my location to NYC on OKCupid and let the guys come to me. I’ve been on OKCupid for years, but all that means for a trans woman in Mississippi is having to field a lot of vulgar questions about my gender and my body from countless inarticulate townies. All of my hard feelings about it melted away once I started getting cruised by NYC’s queer conscious liberal men folk.
I’ve found a number of different ways to prepare for my trip emotionally, including overeating, buying clothes on credit, and scrutinizing my naked body for new flaws to fixate on, but none of those methods are quite as helpful as setting up dispassionate liaisons with strangers I meet on the internet. Oh, dear reader, how I am excited to meet the rakish liberal arts majors ensconced in New York’s crummy apartment buildings, waiting for the perfect response to their Casual Encounters ads.
We exchanged some pictures my mama would be embarrassed to see.
When I told Marc that I wasn’t in the city yet, I decided it was also a good time to tell him that I’m trans, because I like to get it out of the way as early as possible in any communiqué wherein the goal is organizing a tryst. Marc was surprised and a little doubtful but completely amiable about it. We then exchanged some pictures my mama would be embarrassed to see.
Disclosure in Mississippi usually involves counseling a dude through the five stages of grief–often spending the greatest amount of time on anger and the least on acceptance. So far, disclosing to my NYC suitors has been either a complete non-issue or has bummed them out, which is an entirely new experience. One incredibly cute tall-haired DJ complained that fat women were never interested in him because he’s so thin, citing “gender roles or something” as the likely excuse. This was somewhat poetic when he (very, very sweetly) told me that he wasn’t interested in trans women and thanked me for my honesty. Not to be all The Hussy about it, but I kinda felt bad for him that he wasn’t going to get to fuck me! I was really rooting for him.
The slim, swarthy activist who wanted to spank me just stopped talking altogether when I told him, which I guess is a relatively elegant way to let someone know you no longer want to hit them for your own gratification. One kind of scruffy greaser type, who’d introduced himself to me by asking if I would indulge some complicated fantasy involving forceful cunnilingus, was unmoved by the revelation. If it changed the nature of his fantasy, he didn’t tell me, but I eventually got bored by his youthful enthusiasm.
One dude, whose proudly highlighted mop embarrassed me so much I could scarcely appreciate his thick and stubbled jaw, did tell me that I was “gross,” but he was also polite enough to say “bye” before he blocked me. I respected him in kind by not saying anything about the hair. The 20 year old college student has gone dark since I told him, and even though I was kind of looking forward to working my witchy magick on his dopey ass, I don’t miss him. He was exhaustively persistent and trying to match his fun-20-year-old vibe was really making me feel my age. I think it might have hurt my feelings to put on as much under eye concealer as I’d need for that particular hook-up.
A tall thick necked actor has emerged on whom I’ve decided to pin most of my aspirations. How he’ll respond to the news remains to be seen, but I need you all to cross your fingers that we will be wed by the time I’m meant to board my return flight to Mississippi. If he’s not interested in my company once he finds out I guess I’ll just call the “Volvo-driving Bernie Sanders socialist” that didn’t give a shit, or drunkenly sit too close to one of the girls I want to kiss.
I don’t think I’ll be hooking up with Marc, though his dick piercing actually was huge and he proved it by sending me a very pleasing .mov. His interest in me waned when I wouldn’t Skype with him and he was reduced to jerking off alone to a selection of my lousy Photo Booth nudes. Considering the fact that his was among my more promising OKCupid exchanges, you should probably just cross your fingers for me either way.
You can check Alice out for yourself by visiting her OKCupid Profile.