Dance with a Demisexual

++To all the middle aged Bi-Moms. You make the world a better place.++

##Katherine

I didn't come here for sex. Lady Gaga sung her lungs out in the small space of the crowded bar. The music thumped through my moving body. The bass beat with my heart, urging me to move with it's steady rhythm. There was freedom here, in the words from her mouth and the beat in my veins. Freedom I sought, away from the hard work week I just had, freedom from the stressors of my family life. I just moved, sweating and breathing as I ignored the world around me. I focused on the lyrics, the sound and the bass.

I didn't dress up. I didn't even drink. I just rose my arms to the ceiling and moved my body. It didn't matter that I was 10 years older than most of the queers here. It didn't matter that I had an adult child, that I had arthritis in most of my joints or that I worked for the government. It was just me and Gaga singing and dancing together. The dancing crowd moved around me, all in their own little worlds just like me. Occasionally I would fall into movement with another, their hands reaching for mine. Then we would part just as we came together. Nobody touched me without offering, queers being better about body boundaries. This place made me feel safe and relaxed, able to just let go and move. Dancing was hard on my knees just like hiking but that didn't stop me. I only wore a dress to keep cool in the muggy air of the bar and the rigorous activity. It had an open back and flowy design. I put up my purple hair, the gray peeking through, now sprinkled with sweat. I wore flat boots, something comfortable so I could dance all night if I felt like it.

I came alone, not wanting additional social pressure from bringing a partner or friend. Kiddo was over at their partner's house having a chill night in. They texted me to let me know before I came out. My one partner was at work while the other was in bed already. I didn't really feel like talking, just wanting to dance. Luckily nobody seemed particularly interested in starting a conversation.

The song stopped and I took a deep breath. The dance floor churned as the next song started soft, some leaving while others joined in. I stayed in the center, taking a small break to stretch my knees as the crowd moved around me. I spotted a hand- some person staring at me. I admired their cute button up spattered in kitty faces and suspenders holding up their chinos. They looked younger than me but not as young as most of the people in here. Our eyes met and they took a breath before coming over to me. They asked nervously, "May I join you?" I found them endearing and was happy to dance with them if it got them to try it. The song was picking up and I put out my hands. They took my hands and we moved together. Our bodies moved and they started to relax, moving their hips in time with the music. They spun me around with the music and I smiled. I backed up into them as the beat took me again, giving me goosebumps and turning my mind blank. I heard their voice in my ear, "May I touch you?"

The question made me warm and fuzzy. I shook my head in permission and they put their hands on a polite place on my waist. We moved our hips in time, swaying with the thump thump thump from the speakers. It felt right like this, our bodies pressed together casually as we danced. We were just having fun together. In a quiet moment, I asked them back, "Can I touch you back?"

They nodded. I started with my hands on their shoulders, reaching behind me to feel the cotton of their short sleeved button up shirt. I then moved my hands to the thick fabric of their chinos on the meat of their thighs. I thought they hiked just like me, the muscle dense under their pants. We danced like this for a while, bodies to- gether. We held hands and spun around, smiling and laughing.

I felt my mouth get dry and my stomach growl. I decided to take a break. My handsome dance partner followed me off the dance floor to the bar. They looked a tad nervous as they asked, "Can I get you a drink?"

I knew I should put down boundaries about now. They were just so darn cute and polite. I supposed I could humor them a little. "Just a water. I'm Katherine by the way. My pronouns are she/her."

They leaned against the bar, waving down the bartender. The bartender took their order of two waters and a wheat IPA. They handed over their card. I realized they had eyes like amber crystals under heavy brown lashes. "I'm Tristan. Pronouns are he/him."

He anxiously thought of another question as the bartender returned with our wa- ters. I chugged mine, needing the liquid to replace what I had sweated out. He finally asked, "Come here often?"

I shook my head no. "You?"

He smiled nervously. "No. I don't usually do this kind of stuff."

I explained why I was here. "Every once in a while, I get this urge to just come and

dance. Usually in the winter when I can't hike as much. Thank the goddess they put a gay bar here."

"You hike? So do I. My favorite local trail is Green mountain but I love the Olympic trails up north. I wish I live closer so I could do those more often."

"Oh my goddess, right? I do Green mountain and Ueland tree farm a lot. Have you done the Illahee trails?"

"Yes, I like those too. Especially in the spring when the trees are blooming. Do you backpack too?"

"Oh no I don't. Don't really have the time to do whole weekends in the bush and the cost is significantly higher than hiking."

"That true. My backpack alone was a couple hundred dollars. I do have to take time off work when I go. I just enjoy the quiet space alone in nature."

"I can definitely see that. That's why I love hiking. The quiet gives me peace while the foliage and trees inspire me."

He finished his water and starting nursing his beer. I noticed he wasn't wearing any rings on his fingers. He ordered some more waters. He asked something else, "You from the area?"

"You mean born here?"

"I guess." He seemed to get anxious for a moment.

"I'm from Sacramento. I moved here like 10 years ago now."

"Cali really? That's exciting."

"It's not LA or Hollywood. Not that I like those areas so much. It's so crowded and

there's so much traffic. Hope about you?"

"I'm from Shelton. Far less glamorous. Managed to escape by going to college in

Seattle."

I didn't drink the second glass of water. I would have to pee in like 10 minutes.

Damn old bladder I swear. My stomach felt like an empty pit. "What did you go for?" He seemed to relax a little, "I'm a graphic designer by trade. That's what my degree is in and that's what I do for a living."

My eyes sparkled, "Oh my goddess, that's so cool! If I could go back in time when I was a young person, I would totally get a graphic arts degree."

His brows rose. "Really? I don't make shit for money. I make more on private licensed work and teaching."

"You teach too?"

"I make videos for learning websites that show how to use different graphics pro- grams and the fundamentals of graphic design."

"That sounds really cool too!" I couldn't contain my excitement.

He finished his beer, "What is your degree in?"

"Molecular Biology."

His eyes widened, showing the whites of his eyes. I interceded the comment I

knew was coming, "It makes me sound smarter than I am. I work in a lab at the shipyard so I promise it's nothing glamorous."

"Don't want to work in Seattle?"

"I did it for a little bit but the commute killed me."

"Oh I get it. I take the fast ferry every day. Thank god I can walk to work from the

ferry dock in Seattle."

"That definitely makes it less soul draining when you do it every day." My stomach

growled noisily. Damn metabolism. It didn't help that I skipped a meal today.

He got nervous again, biting his lip. "God I never do this. It's like I forgot how. I'm pretty sure the eatery down the street is still open. Wanna go get a sandwich or something?"

The sandwich sounded lovely. Tristan was also very easy to talk to. He didn't make

me feel like he just wanted sex. I wondered if that what his goal was. Maybe I should be direct. He was adorable and very much a real person. I can't remember the last time I had been able to meet someone new like this and just feel good about the whole interaction. A sandwich wouldn't hurt, right?

We walked to the eatery and sat down. We ordered food. We ate and talked. And talked and talked. We discussed our jobs, REI sales, the impact of social media on artists, the most practical car for the area (a Subaru clearly) and how conservative this area was. He started to relax and so did I, just talking about things I cared about with someone who shared my ethics. Eventually we breached the queer topic. He asked, "So are you queer?"

I mean he found me in a gay bar with rainbow glasses on. But I appeared as cis as I was. Most people just assumed I was a lesbian, which was kinda right but not entirely. I learned a long time ago just to be direct and obvious about these things with others. "Yes. I'm pansexual, demisexual, demiromantic and polyamorous.

He seemed a bit taken back by my directness. "Wow. You just laid it out there." His words seemed to be borne of his own anxiety instead of some other problematic reason.

"I'm older and have had some time to learn about myself and be comfortable just telling people who I am. I'm also operating on the assumption that you are queer or an ally and know what that all means. I'd be happy to explain of course."

He stuttered a bit, fidgeting with his glass of water. The ice clinked in the glass. "I'm queer. And I know what those all are in at least a general sense." He paused and gazed at me.

I put him at ease, "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

He took a deep breath. "Thanks." He paused again. "I'm bisexual. I'm polyamo- rous." He seemed to want to say something else. I stayed quiet, wanting to give him space to say more if he wanted to. "I'm also trans."

It seemed to be difficult for him to tell me that. "Thank you for telling me. I'm glad you felt safe enough to."

His eyes shone as his cheeks turned red. "Sorry. It's just new. I just came out at work like a couple months ago."

"That can be hard. I'm not trans myself but both my partners and my kid are so I have a little exposure through them about those situations."

His eyes tried to process my words. "You have partners?"

"Do you? Surely someone as handsome as you does?"

I hit a nerve unintentionally. His eyes averted and his lips pressed into a line.

I scrambled to make up for my thoughtless statement, "Sorry, I just..."

He interceded my apology, "It's okay. You were being nice. I've just had a lot of

drama in my life lately. It's ridiculous. I'm in my 30s."

He's older than he looks. Well so am I.

"I had one partner break up with me because they were moving to Germany.

Which I conceded on because LDRs are hard as fuck. The other partner... is a douche. He left me because I transitioned. So I'm single."

My mouth parted reflexively in shock. I couldn't imagine leaving one of my part- ners because they transitioned. "Douche is an understatement." I paused. "You're right, LDRs are hard."

He looked up at me. "Sorry I didn't mean to dump that on you."

I waved my hands, "It's okay. I asked." While my spoons were starting to run low, I still had some. Which was the important part. I thought to steer the conversation to something less touchy. "How long ago did you transition?"

"Really only a few months ago. I waffled for a long time. I should have done it a lot sooner. Honestly the transition has made my life kind of a mess. Maybe it's just the T."

"Oh did you know there are trans support groups on Facebook? And maybe even Discord now?" I offered one of the resources my partners told me.

"I'll look into that. Thanks. You seem really good at all this." He gestured between us.

"I'm just an old lady with a queer child. It's just stuff I've had to learn. The hard way sometimes."

He fidgeted again. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you? It's just that you look younger than me."

I smiled and chuckled, "Its the purple, I'm sure. And the moisturizer. I'm 38."

He looked at me in disbelief. "What? Are you serious? You look like 28. Do you use Botox or something?"

I chuckled, "No. I like embracing my wrinkles. Though I have gotten microder- mabrasion. I despise getting carded, only for the bartender to look at me like my ID is fake. I'm considering let my gray show. I know I shouldn't complain. It just gets old."

"I'm excited for a beard for a number of reasons. Looking my age is one of them."

"Ohhhh. You'd be cute with a beard. I'm excited for you. You said you were in your 30s?"

He looked a bit bashful, perhaps about being younger than me, "I'm 32."

"You don't look 32, Tristan. You look like 24...maybe 26?"

He blushed. "Thanks."

We chatted a bit more about being queer, mostly letting him talk about being

trans. It was clear to me he didn't have many people to talk about that topic with. It got to the time to leave. He insisted on paying which I fought him on. We agreed to cut in half.

We stood outside the eatery both a little awkward about the next part. I didn't want to leave without getting his number, just to give him another ally in his transition

if nothing else. I just didn't know how to ask for it. He beat me to it, stuffing his hands in his nice rain coat. "I... would you..." He sighed. "You've been amazing, Katherine. I'm gonna just ask and I'm sorry if it's too much."

My eyebrows rose.

He continued, the red creeping into his ears, "Would you like to come back to my place and make out?"