I was on my way to work. I was walking as I always do, with my headphones on, oblivious to the world, like I'm in my own music video.

Eventually, I got close to my job. They were almost opening, but I bumped into a man in a black suit, and he dropped some papers out of his briefcase.

At this point, I was extremely embarrassed because I wasn't paying attention, so it was definitely my fault. I tried to pick up the papers and help him, continuously apologizing for my carelessness.

He smiled and said, "Don't worry about it. It's okay."

But then he stared.

He took a moment and looked at me as if he had never seen someone who looked quite like me. And I guess that's true. It's not often that you see a biological female with a shaved head, so most of the time I get questions like, "Oh, do you have cancer?" or, "Oh, are you gay?"

You know, all the stereotypes.

Of course, the way he looked at me didn't seem like he was thinking any of that at all.

He smiled again after staring at me for quite an unusual amount of time and handed me a business card.

I smiled, accepted it, and said, "Thank you," even though I had no idea what I was thanking him for.

Then he walked away.

I don't know where he went. I don't know where he was going. But he left, and I went on to work.

Later that afternoon, when I got home from work, I looked at the business card.

The name on it was Andrew Ward. Apparently, he was a lawyer at a pretty prestigious firm. I don't really know anything about those things, but I called the number and asked for him.

There was a pause after the secretary said, "One moment, please."

Then he answered the phone.

I introduced myself and reminded him that I was the person who had bumped into him embarrassingly that morning.

"Yes," he said. "I remember."

At some point, I asked why he had given me the business card.

He said, "Well, if you don't mind, I would like to take you out for dinner—and then whatever you'd like after that."

I paused for quite a moment.

Because it wasn't just the dinner. It was the way he said whatever you'd like after that.

What did that mean?

It was such an unusual proposal, and I had never been asked out to dinner before, so I thought, Why not?

So we went out to this restaurant I'd never been to before—a really nice Japanese restaurant—and we had some amazing sushi.

I was surprised because, unbeknownst to him, I absolutely love sushi.

We got to talking about that and several other things. He asked me if I was single and whether I had any kids—all the usual things people ask.

Eventually, the question about my hair came up.

He said he didn't want to pry, but he was curious.

I told him it was just a personal choice. I felt more comfortable that way. And even though my body is biologically female, I identify as non-binary.

He took a moment to take that in and then nodded his head as if he understood completely.

After our meal, he took me back to his car, which was a pretty fancy car, by the way. I think it was a black Mercedes, if I'm not mistaken. The seats were quite comfortable.

Then he said, "Chris, I want to be frank with you about this. I want to know what you would like to do next—and by that, I mean anything."

I looked at him and paused, trying to grasp exactly what he was getting at.

Then it clicked.

Wait a minute. Is he asking what I think he's asking?

Well, me being the frank person that I am, I had to come right out and say it.

"Are you asking if I want to have sex with you?"

And he answered far too quickly.

"Yes."

I felt like I had a frog in my throat. I almost couldn't speak or swallow, but my mind and body were desperately saying, Please say yes.

Eventually, the word came out.

"Yes."

I don't know how it sounded, but I know that he heard it.

And that was it.

We were on the road again.

He took us to a Hilton hotel and got a room for the night. Then we went up to the room.

He suggested that I take a shower or do anything else I wanted to do.

So I did.

Afterward, I got into a big, comfortable robe.

From there, he ordered room service. There was wine and some sort of fruit plate with grapes and cheese.

I told him that I was an alcoholic and couldn't have the wine, so he sent it back quickly.

He told me to enjoy the rest of the food while he went to take a shower himself.

Then he came out of the bathroom wearing a big, comfortable robe too.

The room was gorgeous, and the view was great. The bed was incredibly comfortable, although I was starting to feel more nervous about lying on it.

I felt like he was about to remove that robe at any moment, and I tried to stop him.

I needed to tell him something, and I didn't know how he was going to take it.

So I asked him to sit down.

He sat beside me and listened attentively to what I had to say.

"When we do this, I want you to know something. I've never had sex with a man consensually. I was physically, emotionally, and sexually abused as a child, and later in life I was assaulted.

"Most of the men in my life that I've known have always looked at me in the wrong way and had cruel, awful intentions.

"I've never had anyone touch me in a way that felt appropriate or safe."

He looked at me for what seemed like forever.

His almost bluish-gray eyes looked as though they were filled with tears.

I had never seen a man look as though he was on the verge of crying like that. It shocked me.

Between that and his beautiful gray-white hair—yeah, he was quite a bit older than me—but there was something about him that stood out.

I don't know.

I guess that's why I had said yes to all of this to begin with.

Eventually, he spoke.

"I would never hurt you. And I want you to know that. If I do anything that you don't want, or you want me to stop, then I'll stop."

So I told him okay.

I moved the tray to a table along with the water and the other things I had.

He dimmed the lights.

I was still sitting on the bed.

He stood in front of me and began to undress.

For his age, he was quite fit. And as far as his size was concerned, I was quite impressed.

Seeing him immediately turned me on, but I was so shocked that I could barely move.

I don't think it was nervousness.

I think it was the realization.

Finally, I was going to be with someone who really wanted me in a good way—not selfishly, not just for his own needs and pleasure, but because he also wanted to give me pleasure.

He took my hands and placed them on his waist.

Then he grabbed the robe, untied it, and slowly slid it down.

He laid me down on the bed and gently lay on top of me.

Then he started kissing me everywhere.

He started at my head, as far as I could remember, and then moved down my neck and everywhere else.

I couldn't remember a place he hadn't kissed.

Everywhere his lips touched, my skin became hot.

I was overwhelmed.

Eventually, he returned to my face, kissing me on my lips again. He kissed me deeply, and his hands began exploring my body, touching me until I was so aroused I thought I might climax right there.

I watched him put on a condom.

Then he wrapped his arms around me as tightly as he could beneath my shoulder blades while holding my head and kissing me again.

He entered me slowly.

Very slowly.

He moved carefully, and I could feel how hard he was already.

But it felt good.

It didn't hurt.

It wasn't sharp or painful.

It felt like I was alive again somehow.

I didn't know how to describe it.

I had never been with a man like this.

He was so gentle, and everything felt amazing.

Eventually, he started moving faster as we both became more aroused.

He could hear me moaning louder, almost with an aching sound, as though I were in pain—even though it was only because I had so much desire inside me.

Everything had been so pent up.

I guess I'm not sure how to explain it.

I just know that I had wanted someone to touch me like this for a very long time.

And here he was.

He moved faster.

I placed my hands on him, holding him as I felt him move inside me.

I could feel the tension building throughout my body.

And then I remember saying over and over:

"Yes. Please. Oh God, yes."

And then I came.

I felt an orgasm unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

I could feel him inside me, the pressure, the movement, and I could hear his deep groan as he came at the same time.

I felt so good that I became overwhelmed with emotion and started crying.

He just held me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I told him that it was just so beautiful.

He held me tighter and said that everything was going to be okay.

That I was okay.

Later, we had sex again after resting.

Apparently, I had become even more aroused after the first time.

During the second time, I asked him to put his hands around my neck and squeeze—not enough to hurt me, but enough to give me the feeling of being dominated.

I trusted him enough.

I wanted to feel the pressure and the sense of control while he was having sex with me more intensely.

He asked me, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, please."

He put his hands around my neck, carefully enough for me to feel the pressure of his control without hurting me.

Then he shifted his position, and I moved beneath him.

He started moving harder.

I began screaming in ecstasy.

It was as though my mind was on some kind of drug.

I was completely gone.

Completely lost.

I could barely even hear myself.

I could only feel the pleasure.

There was nothing else.

After the second time, we both had to take a break.

I was trying to catch my breath, and I'm quite sure he was too.

Eventually, I asked him, "Why did you give me that card that day? And why me?"

He looked at me.

"Why not you?"

And that was the first time I thought:

I deserve this.

I deserve to have pleasure.

I deserve to be wanted.

I deserve to feel wanted.

I deserve to be touched.

I deserve to experience intimacy.

I deserve to be desired just like anyone else.

And he was right.

Why not me?

So, one last time before we went to sleep, I lay on my stomach and let him take me from behind.

By that point, I was completely aroused and ready for him.

My body was relaxed, and I was completely receptive to him.

Whatever intensity we chose, I was ready for it.

Afterward, we stayed in each other's arms for a while, and eventually we fell asleep.

By morning, I had a small breakfast, and then we got dressed and prepared to leave the room.

He took me back to my house.

Before I left, he kissed me in the car and smiled.

Then he motioned for my arm, as if he wanted to hold my hand or pull me back toward him.

I'm not sure.

Instead, he placed a card in my hand.

This time, it was similar to the business card from before, but heavier and more metallic.

It had his name on it.

And his personal cell phone number.

He smiled, then drove away.

I stood there holding the card and kept thinking:

Should I call him again?

I feel like I'm descending into madness.

Like I've entered some deep circle of hell, some pit so astronomically deep that I'll never be able to crawl out of it again.

My body craves touch.

I can feel my skin aching for it.

I ache to be held. To be kissed. To be fucked.

I want to feel another person against me. I want the warmth of someone's body, the closeness, the intimacy. I want to feel wanted. I want to feel someone holding me because they actually want to hold me, not because they feel obligated to or because they're doing me a favor.

And I hate how much I crave it.

I hate how much my body can want something that my life seems determined to keep away from me.

My whole life has been suffering.

From the day I was born, I've been struggling.

I came into this world struggling to breathe, weighing ounces instead of pounds. From there, I went into a childhood where I was sick all the time, dealing with asthma on top of everything else.

Then I became a preteen struggling with gender dysphoria, hating my body in practically every respect, trying to understand myself while feeling like I didn't belong inside my own skin.

Then I became a teenager who had to endure immense sexual abuse and neglect while everyone else looked around and said:

"Well, you have a roof over your head. You have food in your stomach. You have toys and video games. So what could possibly be the problem with this household?"

That's the kind of shit I've had to deal with.

People look at the basic things you have and assume you must be okay.

You have a roof over your head, so you must be fine.

You have food, so you must be fine.

You have possessions, so you must be fine.

But what about the abuse?

What about the neglect?

What about the fear?

What about what happens inside a person when the people who are supposed to protect them are the ones who make them feel unsafe?

Nobody seemed to want to look at that.

And for a good majority of my life, I was uneducated. I had to learn everything later on by myself, much of it through technology. Technology has helped me learn things I never had the opportunity to learn before.

But even now, there are words I don't know.

There are things I still have to teach myself.

There are gaps in my education that I have had to struggle to fill on my own.

And that's just another part of the life I've had to live.

I've always suffered.

I can't remember a time when I didn't.

I can't remember a time when I wasn't disappointed with life in some way.

Because somehow, the things I really wanted—the things everyone else seemed to have—I never got.

Whether it was school.

Whether it was a relationship.

Whether it was acceptance.

Whether it was the opportunity to simply be a normal person and experience the things other people seemed to experience without having to fight so fucking hard for them.

I never had those things.

What I had was trauma.

Abuse.

Neglect.

Loneliness.

And now, when I look at my life, I realize that pretty much nothing has changed.

I'm still trying to survive.

I'm still trying to keep myself from falling into that black place.

I live in the gray because I'm trying to keep myself out of the black.

Because I don't want to be pushed back into that place where my life is at risk again.

So I live in the gray.

And the gray is neutral.

The gray is nothing.

The gray is numb.

But it's the only way I know how to survive sometimes.

Feel nothing.

Crave nothing.

Want nothing.

Don't expect anything.

Just live off the basics.

Whatever gets me through the next day.

And then do it all over again.

That's it.

That's what my life feels like.

Suffering and loneliness.

Suffering and loneliness.

And more fucking suffering and loneliness.

And if anybody wants to tell me otherwise, if anybody wants to fill my head with some bullshit about faith, God, or hope, they can kiss my ass.

You have no idea what kind of pain I've suffered.

You have no idea what I'm suffering through right now.

You don't know what it's like to live inside this body.

You don't know what it's like to carry all of this history around with you.

You don't know what it's like to want something so badly and then have to convince yourself that you don't need it because wanting it hurts too much.

So you don't get to tell me that everything is going to be okay.

You don't get to throw some magic word at me.

You don't get to tell me that some magic God, some magical force, or some other fucking thing is going to come along and fix everything.

Because there isn't a magic word.

There isn't some simple answer that makes all of this disappear.

There isn't some magical solution that erases the abuse, the trauma, the loneliness, the pain, or everything I've had to carry throughout my life.

And I'm fucking tired of people acting like there is.

I'm tired of being told to have faith when what I need is something real.

I'm tired of being told to have hope when hope doesn't change what is happening to me in that moment.

I'm tired of people acting like I haven't already tried to survive.

Because I have.

I've been trying my entire fucking life.

And I'm still here.

But sometimes being alive doesn't feel like living.

Sometimes it feels like existing in the gray, trying not to fall into the black, trying not to want too much, trying not to feel too much, and trying not to let the loneliness consume me.

And that's where I am right now.

Somewhere between wanting everything I've never had and trying to convince myself that I don't need any of it.

Somewhere between craving love, touch, intimacy, and connection, and telling myself that I need to stop wanting those things because wanting them hurts too much.

I don't know how much longer I can keep living this way.

But I know that this is what my life has felt like for far too long.

And I'm tired.

I'm so fucking tired.

I've been going against myself for a while now, hoping for things. And I never do that.

Because if I were the same fucking person I was last year, I would tell you that I don't fucking believe in hope.

Hope doesn't create action. Hope doesn't give you real possibilities in real time, right then and there. It doesn't guarantee anything.

But just like faith, you fucking believe in it. And then you sit there, waiting, and nothing fucking happens.

I'm not going to keep hoping for the things I need and want when, at the end of the day, what I need and what I want doesn't seem to matter.

It doesn't matter.

And I have to let these things go. I have to start focusing on the real things that fucking matter so I can survive in this stupid, miserable fucking life.

And I don't care what anybody else thinks.

To the few people I've talked to, the few people I've told, and the few people who know what I'm asking for and what I'm looking for: I don't care anymore.

I'm not going to keep going through this cycle.

I'm not going to keep getting disappointed, realizing that something isn't going to happen, that someone isn't going to show up, or that someone can't be there anymore.

And then I'm left sitting here, realizing that what I want doesn't matter.

Fuck hope.

I won't do it anymore.

I'm not going to keep going against myself.

This is who I am.

And why the fuck did I try to be anyone else, even for a moment?

Why did I try to believe in some other fantasy, some other possibility, some other piece of bullshit?

Because that's all it really is to me right now.

Bullshit.

It's nothing more than a child waiting for a specific Christmas present that will never fucking come.

And I'm tired of waiting for something that may never happen.

So no, I don't care anymore.

I need to get off my ass, and I need to take care of what really fucking matters.

I need to put everything else on the back burner, no matter how much pain there is, no matter how lonely I am, and no matter how much I want something different.

Because I have other things to take care of.

God damn it.

I've got other things that need my attention.

I've got a life I still have to fucking live.

And I'm not going to let myself be dragged down by this anymore.

I'm not going to keep putting myself through the same disappointment, the same waiting, and the same fucking cycle of hoping for something that might never happen.

I need to focus on what is real.

What is in front of me.

What I can actually do.

What I can actually change.

And even if that means putting my wants aside, even if that means accepting the loneliness and dealing with the pain, then that's what I have to do.

Because right now, I need to survive.

And I've got other things to take care of.

God damn it.