Lesbian dating for transgender
The second reason why the bar and club scene doesn’t work for me is that I fall outside of the butch/femme binary, which is a central part of the San Francisco Bay Area’s dyke dating scene.
I’ve spent much of the last decade writing about trans woman exclusion and trans woman irrelevancy in queer women’s communities.You would think that by now, I would have little left to say about the subject, but this is not the case.In deciding what I would write about this time around, I wrestled with so many possible themes: for instance, discussing how my views on this issue have evolved over the years; critiquing the masculine-centrism of modern-day dyke communities; highlighting the need for heterogeneous queer spaces that are accepting of difference; explaining how trans male/masculine folks who claim a place in dyke spaces by emphasizing their lack of male genitals or their assigned-female-at-birth status royally screw over their trans sisters; or the misogyny inherent in the fact that the queer community loves it when trans female/feminine spectrum folks get all dragged up and lip sync along to some record, but when we speak in our own voices about issues that are important to us, nobody wants to take us seriously. Unfortunately for me, this also happens to be the topic that I least want to publicly share my thoughts about, in part because I like to keep some parts of my life relatively private, and in part because I know some people will not like what I have to say. First, this would be the first time that I would be dating people as a woman.While these are all worthy topics, I couldn’t make up my mind about what I most wanted to write about. Instead of figuring out what I most wanted to say, I asked myself: What do I most want to hear? But I suppose that neither of these reasons has ever stopped me from speaking my mind before. Furthermore, while I had dated queer women before my transition, this would be my first time formally dating within the queer women’s community.About two years ago, my ex and I split up after being together for nearly a decade. On top of that, around this same time, after years of identifying as a lesbian, I came out as bisexual, so I also planned on dating men.She was a cis queer woman who was supportive when I transitioned a few years into our relationship, and we were monogamous during the lion’s share of our time together. With regards to meeting queer women, it seems that traditionally much of this takes place in dyke bars and clubs.
This meant that for the first time in a decade, I would be re-entering the dating scene. While I am sometimes in such spaces, I don’t feel that they are very conducive for me to meet potential romantic or sexual partners.
This could be somewhat disconcerting for any person, but there were a few compounding factors that made it especially . This is partly due to the fact that I am generally read as a cis woman.
While I recognize this is a privilege, as it makes my life significantly easier in many ways, it also means that any flirting, making out, or heavy petting I engage in will eventually lead to a coming-out-as-trans moment, which often leaves me with an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
While you would think that cis dykes (being more trans aware than the public at large) would take such coming outs in stride, this is not actually the case.
Trans female friends of mine have had to suffer through cis dyke “freak out” moments, or even accusations of deception, that rival stereotypical reactions of straight people.
For obvious reasons, I’d rather avoid this if I can.