One summer I went to visit a friend where she was working that season. She was at a university and although not on the academic staff she had an apartment on the college campus.
That year there was an Open University summer school running for a few weeks and each week this included a 'disco' each Thursday night, so her, another mutual friend who happened to be around, and myself all went along to see what we could find.
It was all quite enjoyable and each of us girls received quite a bit of male attention, indeed we were each smooching with someone before the party was over, and left the event with our beaus.
Mine, I recall, was a very nice and fanciable Yorkshireman and after a walk around the grounds in the moonlight he manoeuvred us back to his room. Which left me with a quandary: I really liked him but I was still new into transition and very much "pre-op", so there was no way that the PIV he clearly anticipated could happen.
Rather than make things really complicated I made excuses and left. I rushed back to my friend's room in another building and tried not to feel as sad as I was actually feeling. Eventually I fell asleep.
It was only the next day that I found out what had happened later in the night.
The other two had - not surprisingly - copped off with their guys and, for whatever reason, the mutual 'friend' post coitus thought it would be funny to tell her bloke about my history (some people know, most didn't, and I was never 'read'). Yes, she was stupid in the extreme, albeit drunk, and yes I haven't seen or talked to her since.
So after she told him, he thought he just *had* to tell the other blokes about what 'my man' had gone off with. Yes, it was clearly the free-running alcohol earlier in the evening shedding the sensitivities and sensibilities of all concerned, but hindsight does that to you.
So 'my' guy felt really hurt by this news. Where I'd tried to let him down ever so gently he now went off the deep end.
That next day I was told that all five of them had been on the roof, with the one I had tried to be kind to threatening to throw himself off. The blocks were five or six stories high, so it could have been fatal.
In the end - very thankfully - my friend talked him down. But didn't tell me about it all until the summer school people had all left.
I've often wondered about that guy since then and whether I did the right thing.
That year there was an Open University summer school running for a few weeks and each week this included a 'disco' each Thursday night, so her, another mutual friend who happened to be around, and myself all went along to see what we could find.
It was all quite enjoyable and each of us girls received quite a bit of male attention, indeed we were each smooching with someone before the party was over, and left the event with our beaus.
Mine, I recall, was a very nice and fanciable Yorkshireman and after a walk around the grounds in the moonlight he manoeuvred us back to his room. Which left me with a quandary: I really liked him but I was still new into transition and very much "pre-op", so there was no way that the PIV he clearly anticipated could happen.
Rather than make things really complicated I made excuses and left. I rushed back to my friend's room in another building and tried not to feel as sad as I was actually feeling. Eventually I fell asleep.
It was only the next day that I found out what had happened later in the night.
The other two had - not surprisingly - copped off with their guys and, for whatever reason, the mutual 'friend' post coitus thought it would be funny to tell her bloke about my history (some people know, most didn't, and I was never 'read'). Yes, she was stupid in the extreme, albeit drunk, and yes I haven't seen or talked to her since.
So after she told him, he thought he just *had* to tell the other blokes about what 'my man' had gone off with. Yes, it was clearly the free-running alcohol earlier in the evening shedding the sensitivities and sensibilities of all concerned, but hindsight does that to you.
So 'my' guy felt really hurt by this news. Where I'd tried to let him down ever so gently he now went off the deep end.
That next day I was told that all five of them had been on the roof, with the one I had tried to be kind to threatening to throw himself off. The blocks were five or six stories high, so it could have been fatal.
In the end - very thankfully - my friend talked him down. But didn't tell me about it all until the summer school people had all left.
I've often wondered about that guy since then and whether I did the right thing.
Libby
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