Date with a Demisexual

##Katherine

When Tristen asked me out for dinner three weeks later, I instantly overflowed with excitement. Dio was over, telling me about college drama when I received the text. I flew into a excited rant, "Oh my goddess! Dio. Dioooo. He just asked me out to dinner."

Dio looked at me like I was crazy which I couldn't blame them for. Right now I probably looked the part, a 38 year old woman acting like a teenager. My lovely darling child puffed, "You already have two partners."

"It's just dinner. What am I going to wear? Oh goddess what am I going to wear?" I stood from my seat and tromped to the bedroom, determined to tear apart my closet to find something suitable for a dinner date.

Dio followed me, giving me shit still, "You said you kissed him already."

I flipped through my hangers, realizing I owned only middle-aged white lady attire, "Yeah. And?"

"You never do that. Why were you at the gay bar alone anyway?" Dio squatted on my oversized mattress, watching me rummage through the closet. I found one sparkly top and held it up to my chest. Dio shook their head, their dyed pink hair waving on their head. "Too flashy."

I put it back and explained, "I was just dancing. It was too cold to hike. I need the exercise, yknow."

"Get a gym membership, mom. Jeez. You can't go home with some random dude and make out with him." They pulled out their phone to respond to a message.

My own phone dinged. It was Tristan suggesting a day and time. Saturday at 6pm. I typed back a quick: Yes. That works fine for me.

Tristan's next text read: Any ideas for where you would like to go?

I thought about it. Tristan lived nearby in Manette. He probably knew all the restaurants around here better than me. I asked: Like Mexican?

I put the phone down and finally answered Dio's question, "Gym's are expensive and generally have shitty policies against queer folks. I've had these conversations with Marie and Cyprus. I had the consent and protection talk with Tristan before we did anything. Also I'm the mom. Shouldn't I be telling you this?"

Dio pursed their lips at me like they always did when I was right, "Is he queer?"

"Yes. I met him at a GAY bar." It comes out harsher than I intend.

"Okay. I was just asking. Jeez."

"What should I wear?" I asked, deflating a bit.

"Something gay." They chuckled as they say it.

I rolled my eyes. "Suuuuuper helpful. I don't own anything gay."

"Are you gonna yknow..." They clear their throat insinuating that we were going to have sex.

I roll my eyes. "No. Jeez. At least that's not my intention."

In the three weeks since Tristan and I met, we had been texting like mad. We texted every night almost, saying at least the how was work and what are doing to relax conversations. We talked about his plants and his job, my kiddo and my cat. It was a sudden outpouring of social activity, so much that it left me quiet at work and a shut-in on Saturday. I told him everything about Dio, how they are my queer adult child going to UW for psychology. I told him about Marie and Cyprus, my other two queer partners. I felt bad, having not seen either of them much lately. Marie has been busy with an app coding deadline and Cyprus has been overloaded with their nursing program, leaving both my relationships with them over text for the time being. Tristan even told me about his ex, the one that moved to Germany mostly. I could tell he still struggled to talk about the other one.

The ping of my phone interrupted my thoughts. Tristan said yes. I suggested a couple good places in Port Orchard before going back to Dio. They suggested, "Well then, wear a sweater and some slacks."

I grimaced, "Won't that make me look old?"

"You are old." They laughed.

I wasn't that old. Jeez.

---

I landed on a low cut black dress over leggings to make it look less slutty. I wore a cardigan over it to cut the cold and hide my shoulders. I stood before the nice Mexican place in Port Orchard with my phone in my hand. I was early. I was always early to everything, having a OCD thing with leaving the house early just in case. I held my small hand purse under my armpit as I checked my stats on twitter for the week. It was dark out already, in the midst of late fall right before 6pm. The night air was fresh and chilly, reddening my cheeks and making me shiver.

Tristan's text came through: Here in the parking lot.

I looked around and waved when I spotted him. I stopped cold when I realized how stunning he looked. His hair was slicked back, purposefully. He was wearing a thin blue sweater under a structured bomber jacket. His khakis were cream colored, complimenting his skin tone and hugging his legs. His glasses framed his square face well, emphasizing his heavy lashes. Jeezus. My brain immediately went into denial about this guy being here for me and my insides did a backflip. He smiled at me when he reached where I was standing, staring at him like the middle-aged simp I was. His eyes glittered when he said, "Hi."

I resumed breathing as I replied, "Hi back."

His hands were jammed in his jacket pockets. He was fidgeting a bit, clearly nervous, "You look amazing." His fingers lightly skimmed one of my purple curls. "I like you with your hair down."

I blushed, handling the compliment poorly per usual. I didn't do anything with my hair besides brush it and throw in a hair clip. I did do my eyeliner and some tinted gloss for my lips. I hated doing a whole face of makeup because it took forever. I deflected his words, "That outfit belongs in Vogue magazine, with you in it, by the way. You didn't go to Nordstrom did you? Everything's overpriced to hell there."

He chuckled, finding my flavor of humor funny at least, "No. I get everything at Ross or thrift stores."

"Woooow. Remind me to go with you next time. I have the worst luck at those places."

He touched my giant pearlescent pentacle earrings. I blushed again at his closeness. Someone is having a touchy day today. I hadn't minded so far, the gestures being so benign. "You didn't tell me you were pagan."

I shrugged, "It didn't really come up." I was a tad taken back. He called it right. It made me wonder about his beliefs. I wasn't wearing anything particularly religious last time either, the only signs of my beliefs were inked on my arms. My tattoos were pretty subtle too. I wondered if he was pagan too. But we could have this conversation in the restaurant. I was freezing my ass off in the parking lot.

I coerced him into the waiting room of the restaurant and we were seated. The waitress greeted Tristan with a ma'am. His eyes sharpened in a way I hadn't seen before. Tristan beat me to the correction, giving a firm sir. My eyes flicked to the waitress who apologized briskly before asking for our drink order. My stomach clenched. I hope she didn't misgender him again. I might actually go Karen on her. People assumed he was a femme because of his softer voice and pretty features. It bothered me.

I didn't remove my cardigan, feeling particularly self-conscious today. He took off his jacket. We ordered waters and mojitos. I admired his cute, hipster outfit and wondered what the hell possessed him to dance with me as we talked about his week at work. My self-image was that of one of those cool, tattooed gay moms that had all the gay teens over for self-care nights on fridays. Where Tristan was clearly a nerdy Seattle hipster type, seething progressive ethics and an obsession with digital media. He was venting about this gal he works with named Barb who is less progressive and keeps misgendering his coworker, Millie whose enby. My opinions on such things are pretty hard-nosed so I tell him, "Don't put up with it. Tell Barb she's wrong and needs to respect people's pronouns. She doesn't get to take people's agency from them like that." He's shocked by the assertiveness I give off. He already explained that they've tried educating Barb and she's just being stubborn at this point. That's when the gloves come off for me. "I understand that those battles can be exhausting, especially all the time. Maybe try having a group work meeting about it?"

His eyes were still wide when he says, "Wow, um. Yeah that's a good idea."

I backpedaled a bit, "Sorry. I just get sick of people being entitled to choose gender and sexuality for others. It drives me crazy. Everybody at work thinks I'm a lesbian even when I've explained I'm not. My one partner and kiddo are enby too, so I've spent some time defending them to douchebags who think they can just put people in boxes." I think the waitress set me off a bit.

"Don't apologize. Please. I wish I was more vocal about it. It's just hard doing double time on it all the time, for myself and others." He sounded sure when he said this, making me smile.

"I get it. You're just trying to live your life and be happy. A lot of people are just assholes and you don't have to put up with it if you don't want to." I asserted before I took a sip of Mojito. My stomach was empty so I needed to take it slow on the alcohol.

He smiled. "Yeah. You're right. I don't."

Dinner came and I ate my ration of meat and guacamole. He decimated his plate, eating quickly and efficiently. He commented afterward, "God that was good. Did you not like what you got?"

He was looking at my mostly uneaten plate. I replied politely, "It was wonderful. I'm just full. Would you like some of mine?"

He shook his head, "No. That was enough. Though I'll be hungry again in a few hours. The T has made my appetite crazy lately."

"It's probably due to the metabolism boost the T gives you. Faster metabolism means higher appetite generally." I offered.

He nods. "Yeah. Good point. I have lost some weight too. It's kinda nuts all the changes that happen from one hormone. You seem to know a lot about this stuff." He politely left out the *for a cis woman* part.

I smile. I've had this conversation before, a few times. "I have a lot of trans friends." It was true. I left out the part about kiddo and the partners being trans, not wanting to out them without permission.

He seemed to nervously struggle with his next words. He had a few tells when he was anxious, he would avert his gaze, run his hands through his hair and rub his fingers. "I noticed you didn't eat a lot. Did you have a late lunch?"

I explained briefly, not wanting to open a whole can of worms, "I had gastric bypass.... 4 years ago now. So my stomach is still small from that and I can't eat a whole lot at once. It makes me a sipper and a grazer."

The waitress offered dessert, which there was no way I could eat. We declined and split the check. I didn't want us to part ways yet, having so much I still wanted to talk about with him. Unthinkingly I suggested, "I'm not really ready to call it a night. We could go back to my place and continue our conversation."

His eyes widened and his face turned a bit red. That's when the thought of my insinuation must've suggested to him. I stammered to add, "I also have Netflix. Board games, video games and card games. There's also a bar not far from my place."

He nervously replied, "Sure. I'm down to do anything where we can still talk."

I told him he'd have to park on the street outside my condo, the garage only for tenants. He followed me to my place downtown and I met him outside my building. I mentioned, hands in my cardigan to keep them warm, "So the alcohol in my condo is free. We can still do the bar if you want though." Again my words were getting away from me. I let it go. I already said it.

He shuffled, "Your place sounds good then."

I took him upstairs and into my condo. I set my keys in their dish in the foyer and trotted to the kitchen. He stood in awe as he followed me, "Holy shit, this is nice." He was referring to the vaulted ceilings and hardwood floors, no doubt. "How much do you make to afford this? I didn't even realize these condos were that fancy."

I sifted through the fridge, poring over my alcohol collection. "I bought it in a market crash after the two carriers left the shipyard so I got it for pretty cheap. I had to replace the appliances and put in the hardwood myself. So it looks nicer than I paid for it. I also did a metric ass ton of overtime when I first got into the shipyard to save for a down payment."

He put his shoulder on the wall to the kitchen, still admiring the decorum of my condo, "You did the floors yourself?"

I pulled out a bottle of wine, "Yup. Took me months with my work schedule. I got that snap together flooring they make. Do you like sweet white wine?"

"Wow. Incredible. Sure." I offered the seat at my breakfast bar to him. He didn't take it, content with standing under the arch into my kitchen. I uncorked and poured the wine into glasses. "Do you live alone?"

I handed him a glass. "I do now. Dio's in the dorms at UW."

"You don't live with either of your partners?"

"No. I prefer it this way."

He seemed to mull that over as he took a sip of the wine. "Did you turn your second room into storage like I did?" He chuckled.

I shook my head. My stomach was still a bit full for the wine. "It's my studio."

His eyebrow went up. I told him I did some digital art and we gushed about programs after that but I didn't really elaborate on what I arted. He's a professional graphic artist that works for Infinity Art Studios in Seattle. I'm just a hobbyist. He wore a playful smile as he asked, "Can I see?"

I considered my studio somewhat personal. I only let family and partners see it normally. My studio used to be my bedroom until Dio moved out. I protested, "It's kind of a mess." I only really lived in my studio and bedroom.

"The rest of your house is impeccable, Katherine. It's like no one lives here. I'd like to see a place you actually thrive in."

The way he said it drove a quiver down my insides. I held his eyes, seeing the genuine curiosity there, threaded with an understanding of how private it was to see this creative space. I drifted to the door and he followed. I stopped and turned on him, "Only if I get to see your studio too." I knew he had one. He said he did private license work and recordings, which require a space to do so.

His face was a little flirtatious as he said, "It's a little messy."

How did this get so intensely personal so suddenly?

He caved, "But sure."