My Sugar Bean

I couldn't tell you if my favorite part of her is her deep, chocolate brown honey caramel eyes or if it's the way she talks to me like I'm the only person in the room or if it's the way her freckles dapple across her skin or the warmth in every fiber of her being. I couldn't say if I love more the way her hand totally envelops mine or that she's taller than me or that she screeches metal songs in the middle of the night or that she's a professional dominatrix.

What I can tell you is that I love one (1) trans woman. She is the light of my life, the air in my lungs, the sun and sky to my moon and stars, and all that other hokey romantic bullshit. I love her with every little aching piece of my heart. She's my end and my beginning and my home.

Every morning waking up next to her is what I'd like to think waking up to an angel is like. She'll kiss me awake with soft, precious little kisses, her breath smelling like a garbage troll because morning breath is a thing. I'll tell her to go get me coffee and she'll chuckle about me snoozing her but go get me coffee nonetheless. We sit in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company and coffee as we wake up before eventually getting out of bed to get breakfast and start the day.

I met her on Grindr, of all places, little over a year ago now. She asked me out for tacos after work. She called me 'Prince,' based off of my screen name. We wound up getting tapas instead of tacos because the place we agreed upon was closed. I fell in love with her immediately. She sat across from me and absolutely commanded the table. I spilled secrets to her as if I'd known her my whole life. We talked about everything from our current relationships, dungeons and dragons, poetry and education to our kink alignments, controversial topics like pineapple on pizza and whether or not children should be in cages (news flash, just in case you were wondering, they shouldn't). She had a wife. She didn't even know she was a girl yet. I had a girlfriend. I'd been a man for little over five years.

I was there for her when her wife decided to be a transphobic, financially abusive bitch. She was there for me when I was hospitalized multiple times for my Crohn's disease. I was there for her when her wife finally ended it and served her divorce papers. She was there for me when my transphobic, financially and mentally abusive mother threw me out. We moved in together six months ago. We moved in with her parents this last month, unemployed due to the pandemic. I support her dreams of being a professional dominatrix. She supports my dreams of being a vintage and antiques store owner.

When I was little, I never would've imagined my life turning out this way. I always thought that I was going to grow up into a fairly beautiful woman, get a husband, pop out some kids, work in customer service - all because it's what my mom did. Never did I think that I would queer, much less a whole ass transgender man. Never did I think I would be marrying a woman instead of a man, and never did I think I would be in a polyamrous marriage. Kids? Not even on my fucking radar. I'm starting my own business instead of being a face for someone else's business.

When I was a teenager, I didn't even think I would make it to 18 most days. I'm 24 now and I just keep getting older. I know how to take care of myself and my mental and physical health. My mom, for all the bitch that she is, did at least one thing right - she made sure I could stand on my own. She didn't want me to know that I could, she wanted me to rely on her so she could control me. She wanted to undermine me and make me feel worthless. But then she went and did me the biggest, kindest favor she could and threw me out in the middle of a global pandemic. I learned I could rely on myself and make it on my own. I learned that while my mother isn't kind, other people are. I learned that asking for help isn't the end of the world.

Even now, when my future, and the future of many is so unclear - even when everything should feel hopeless and terrible - I'm weirdly happy and content. Sure, things are hard. But for me, at least, they've been harder - and I made it through those times. So I know I can make it through this. And so can you. It gets better.