Sea Goblins

'Can I buy you a drink?'

It took me a second to realise I was being asked a question. It took another two to comprehend what was being asked. It then took me countless more seconds to try and decide whether I should say 'yes' or 'no'. It might sound silly, but at twenty-four years of age, I'd never had a man ask to buy me a drink in a straight bar before. What was the protocol? Should I say yes? Was saying 'yes' saying 'yes' to something else?

A faint flush crept up the man's face as he waited for my answer. He was about my age, white, with curly brown hair and dark brown eyes, and he was wearing a button down shirt and jeans. Not skinny, but slim and with every second that passed, his blush deepened. He was adorable.

'That would be lovely, thanks,' I said, diving into my purse. 'I'll give you the money.'

'You don't need to,' he said hurriedly. 'What are you drinking?'

'Um, the cocktail special. It's only seven dollars.'

'It's okay,' he said. 'Whatever you want.'

I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself while I waited for him to return. My sort-of friend Gina, who I'd come to the bar with, was off flirting with someone I deeply suspected was married. She'd left me sitting at a table all by myself, looking like a complete loser and idiot. I'd been trying to entertain myself by reading the upcoming events promotional flyer when I'd been approached.

Oh shit, I thought, staring at the man. He was waiting in line at the bar. What had prompted him to approach me? Did he find me attractive? Did he hope that if everything went well, we'd end up in bed? I might sound clueless, but by nature I'm an introvert. I don't go out much, unless 'out' is a library or park or scenic drive. I was only here tonight because Gina had begged and pleaded, and I have a hard time saying 'no'.

It wasn't that I didn't want a man to talk to me. I did, desperately. I longed for male attention. I craved the feel of rough fingers caressing my cheek, of being nestled up against a hairy chest, and kissing a man and feeling his erection against my thigh. I wanted all of those things and more, and if I was truthful with myself, I'd dressed to attract attention. My dress was a little too tight for my chest, so there was a lot of heaving, pushed-up cleavage on display, and my heels basically screamed 'my owner is horny, come and talk to her'. But a guy in a straight bar? Was there some protocol for telling them I used to have a penis?

It was a mish mash of emotions, a familiar combination I always felt when I was on the cusp of making a change and wanted the change, desired the change, craved the change, and yet was scared of the journey between the start and the finish line. I'd felt the same way before learning to drive, transitioning from man to woman, and starting university.

My drinks benefactor was now placing our order. He glanced over his shoulder at me and I smiled at him. He wasn't scary, was he? Not the sort of man who was forceful or demanding. The way he'd blushed while he waited for me to respond to his offer had put my mind at ease. I've always liked men who don't have egos, but have enough guts to try and get what they want.

The bartender made up my cocktail, and poured him a beer. I tried not to be nervous. Just talk to him, Katie, I told myself. Talk to him. He might just want conversation. There is actually a possibility that he's bored because his friends are off with their girlfriends and he's actually gay and he's picked you as transgender and he thinks you're an ally, and it's possible that he might...

...No, no, he was interested in me. He made a conscious and admirable effort to keep his eyes fixed on mine as he took a seat at my table and pushed my drink over to me, but there was no hiding the hope in his eyes.

'Thanks,' I said. 'I'm Katie. You are?'

'Michael. It's nice to meet you.'

We sipped our drinks nervously. You could have cut the tension with a knife. I checked his hands for wedding rings, but I somehow already knew he wasn't married. I once accidentally dated a married man, and in hindsight, there were definite signs I should have paid attention to. Michael was very different to Jaxon both in confidence levels and his manner of approaching me.

'Are you out with friends tonight?' I asked.

'Um, kind of, they're really just some work clients,' he replied. He gestured to a bunch of men sitting at a nearby table who were staring at us, watching our every move. 'You?'

I tried not to look at his colleagues. How had I not noticed them before now? There were three of them, all a good ten or twenty years older than my companion, and they were extremely interested in our interactions. I shivered a bit. They didn't really seem like very nice people. Just call it a gut feeling.

'I'm here with an old high school friend,' I said, focussing my attention on the man in front of me. What did it matter if his friends were a bit creepy? Gina was a bit slutty and a bit inappropriate, and I was still willing to go out with her. 'She's off flirting up a storm. I was trying to decide if I should stay or go. I should probably have been paying attention to what she was doing. I'm hopeless at flirting.'

Michael smiled. He had a great smile, and it changed his whole face. 'Me too. I normally need to get drunk to talk to a woman.'

'I'm the same,' I agreed, excited to have found a dating-disaster ally. 'I get drunk, then try and get men into bed.'

'That's how I find girlfriends,' he laughed guiltily. 'I figure if they've seen me naked once and they're prepared to see me naked again, then I shouldn't let them get away.'

'Have you ended up with some complete doozies of partners?' I asked, ignoring his comment insinuating he was unattractive naked. I sincerely doubted he was anything less than spectacular in the buff. He had strong, tanned arms and there was hair poking up out the top of his shirt. Did I want to see him naked? My God, yes.

Michael laughed again. 'Yeah, absolutely terrible. I make some shit decisions when I'm drunk.'

'But you're not drunk now?' I teased.

'No, definitely not,' he agreed. 'This is only second beer.'

I started to relax. Okay, I could do this. I could relax and talk to a normal man in a normal bar. I didn't need to tell him anything about my gender, not at this point. If things were getting heated I'd drop a hint, but until then, I'd just enjoy some male-female flirting.

'What do you do for a job?' I asked.

'I work for a property development company, in the office,' he said. 'You?'

'Public servant, but I work for the Department of Education, so you don't need to offer me a bribe to get your latest project approved.'

'Oh, ouch,' he said, pretending to be wounded. He tried to hide a smile. 'I'll have you know we do several important projects that are of the benefit to the community and... nah. Won't lie. It's just about making money for the boss.'

He and I both laughed.

I tried to adjust my dress so that I didn't accidentally over expose myself as I leant forward. I wished I could double check my make-up and hair. I was once told by a very blunt, camp man that I was 'slightly pretty' but that 'make-up helps and you're a blonde, which also works in your favour'. I wanted to impress this guy, not make him think I was just here seeking to pick up. I liked him, and I was really glad he'd approached me and offered to buy me a drink.

'Are you single?' he asked.

'Yes. You?'

'Definitely. There are no girlfriends hiding in the closet.'

'Any boyfriends in there?' I asked. I didn't really care if he was bisexual, but I wanted to see how he responded to a question about his sexuality. The moment a man starts dating a trans girl, people start asking questions about a whether or not he might be secretly gay. I had to make sure he wasn't homophobic or easily offended.

'No, no boyfriends,' he replied. 'I have no use for a man, unless he looks like me, and is willing to dress up like me and pretend that he's actually me whenever I have to do something I don't want to do.'

'That's a clone, not a boyfriend.'

'A clone,' he agreed. 'I could do with one of those.'

'Me too, but knowing my luck, mine would probably be evil.'

'Yeah, I'd probably end up in jail because mine murdered someone. Then I'd be single and I wouldn't have a clone.'

With every passing minute he opened up, becoming easier and easier to chat to. We both smiled and laughed a lot, and although he didn't physically touch me, I got the impression that was more because of good manners than desire.

A woman approached our table and told us she was selling raffle tickets. It was in aid of the charity the bar supported, and tickets were two dollars each or three for five dollars. Michael and I each bought three tickets. They were the kind that you have to write your name and phone number down on the left part, and are given the right half as a receipt. After I'd filled in my three, Michael took the pen and asked me my phone number.

'I never win anything,' he said. 'I may as well write your number down.'

Was he asking for my number in a roundabout way? I didn't know, but I didn't care. I was happy for him to have it. I read out the number, and Michael filled it in.

The lady selling the raffle tickets left.

'Here,' Michael said, handing me his tickets. 'Good luck.'

I laughed. 'Thanks.'

As I opened my purse and tucked the tickets inside, I saw Michael had written an unfamiliar phone number on one of them.

'I'm going to have to go back to those guys soon,' he said, nodding his head in the direction of his clients. 'I thought it might be nice to go out sometime, if you're interested?'

I nodded and tried not to smile like an idiot. 'Yes, definitely. Thanks.'

I was really enjoying chatting to him. Having a cute, friendly man approach you and show interest is what every trans girl wants, isn't it? It's proof that you pass. It's proof that you're attractive to a man. And him giving me his number was perfect, wasn't it? I could explain to him over the phone that I was born in a male body, and if he reacted badly, he would be too far away to yell at me, hit me, or do anything threatening.

That was when disaster struck.

One of Michael's colleagues approached.

'Mate, no, no, no,' he told Michael. He cocked his head in my direction but didn't meet my eye. 'Don't go giving it your number. It's not a girl, it's a dude. We were only messing with you when we said it was looking at you. It's a joke. C'mon mate, go home with that and you'll find a surprise you weren't counting on.'

I wanted to die. I'd been picked. I was the object of a joke. Well, that explained why his workmates had been so interested in our interactions, didn't it? They were waiting to see if Michael would realise.

I clambered off my chair, changing a quick glance at Michael as I did. He was shocked. His colleagues may have picked me, but he certainly hadn't. He'd genuinely thought I was a genetic woman.

'Sorry,' I apologised to him. 'I was going to tell you.'

Michael didn't respond. I could hear his workmates laughing, and I felt bad for him. I felt guilty for not telling him I was trans. If I had, he would have avoided being humiliated.

I hurried out of the bar, not bothering to tell Gina I was leaving. I'd send her a text when I was safely in a taxi.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three weeks after that fateful night, I received a phone call from the charity Michael and I had bought raffle tickets from. I'd won second prize, which was a five thousand dollar holiday voucher with Flight Centre.

They told me what I'd need to do to claim it. I rummaged around in my purse as they spoke, finding the winning raffle ticket and pulling it out. On the back of the ticket was Michael's name and number. The winning entry had been one he'd bought for me.

'I'll see you tomorrow lunchtime at our offices, with your winning ticket and driver's license,' the woman finished. 'Congratulations.'

'Thanks,' I said.

After the phone call ended, I turned the ticket over and over in my hands. I had the winning ticket and photo ID. There was nothing to stop me from going to the charity's office tomorrow, as I'd vowed to do, and claiming the prize.

But claiming it for myself was kind of icky, wasn't it? It was Michael's ticket, and he probably wouldn't have given it to me if he'd known I was trans, would he?

My stomach lurched. I still couldn't bear to think back to that moment when Michael's client called me 'it'. I dislike being referred to with male pronouns, but at least if someone's calling me 'he', they're acknowledging that I'm human. When you call someone 'it', you strip them of that humanity.

It was three pm in the afternoon. I had an hour and a half left of my shift, but it was impossible to concentrate. All I could think of was the prize, and whether it was ethical to claim it for myself, or if I should call Michael and let him know what had happened.

It didn't take me long to make my decision. As much as I wanted a five thousand dollar Flight Centre voucher, it didn't really feel as if it were my prize to claim. On the train ride home, I sent Michael a text.

Hi Michael

Sorry to bother you. This is Katie, the trans girl you met at the bar a few weeks ago. You bought me a raffle ticket, and guess what? You won second prize. I am going in to claim the voucher tomorrow lunchtime, as the charity's office is just down the road from my work. Would you like me to post it to you, or would you rather come with me and pick it up?

After I sent the message, I immediately drafted and sent another.

I'm sorry about not telling you I'm trans. I would have told you before anything happened. I didn't mean to embarrass you.

Michael texted back almost immediately.

Don't be sorry, I was just surprised! You look really good, like any other woman. As for the prize, you keep it. I can't even believe you texted me to tell me!! Anyone else would have just claimed it for themselves.

The train was reaching my station. I shoved my phone in my bag and made my way to the door. I heard my phone vibrate again, and as I walked towards my car, I checked to see who had texted.

It was Michael.

I'm really sorry about those arseholes I was with. They're just people our company does business with, and I had to take to a bar because they made us a lot of $$$. Yuck. Would rather have spent that evening with you.

I thought it was sweet of him to say that. I sent him a reply.

It's okay, the world takes all sorts. Though for what it's worth, I don't have a penis anymore ;)

Michael must've been waiting for my text.

I was curious about that, but didn't know how to ask!! Do you want to go out some time? Or were you just texting me to tell me about the prize?'

I must've looked like an idiot, walking to my car and unlocking it with a goofy smile on my face and my phone clutched in my sweaty hand. He knew and he wanted to date me. He knew and he didn't care, oh my God, holy fuck, Katie, stop being an idiot and tell him 'yes'!

Sounds great. Any ideas on where and when?

A few minutes later we agreed that he'd pick me up on Friday night at six-thirty and would take me 'somewhere nice'. I told him I'd pay, and he told me not to. I let him think he'd won that argument, but I knew I'd take care of the bill on the night. So far I'd clearly been the financial winner out of our interactions and damned if I was going to let it tilt any more in my favour.

I collected my prize the following day. It was a relatively quick an easy process. I could book flights and accommodation for myself or any other person or people. There were no restrictions other than the voucher had to be used within twelve months.

I was still living at home with Mum and Dad, and when I arrived home, I told them an abbreviated version of the story. I left out the awful parts, the parts about Michael's workmates setting him up, and him not realising I was trans, because I didn't want them to worry.

My father is worse than my mother in that regard. He's a welder, a real working class man, and when he found out I wanted to be a woman, he just didn't understand why. He was barely able to look at me the first time I walked out the door in a dress. I was seventeen and had just finished high school. I'd started hormones a few months back. I'd woken up feeling confident and happy with my budding breasts and softer skin, and had enjoyed slipping into a dress, but Dad had yelled and ranted that I was lining myself up to be bashed or raped and it was time 'this nonsense' ended. The second time I went out in women's clothing he muttered a gruff 'be careful' but there was no yelling or screaming.

Having finished high school, I soon found myself I working full time and studying part time. I wanted a degree, but I also wanted to transition, and I knew that earning money was key to making the second part happen.

With each surgery I had, any hope Dad held that I might change my mind slowly slipped away. The funny thing is that he and Mum actually helped me pay for a lot of my operations. Dad would take me to hospital, interrogate the surgeons, and bring me flowers, but he didn't understand why I was doing this, and I don't think time has changed that.

Bringing my first boyfriend home was an experience. Dad didn't even acknowledge him when I introduced him. I asked if he could stay over, my father flipped his shit, and my mother said 'sure' and the next thing I knew, Dad was storming out of the house. Tears - mine - ensued but by the next morning, Dad grudgingly spoke to my lover, and over the next couple of months they even held actual conversations.

Dad still panics. He worries. He'll still occasionally tell me to 'be careful' or remind me that he'll always come and collect me if I'm out and about and find myself in trouble. That's why I intentionally don't tell him anything that might feed his belief that I'm destined to end up bashed, raped and dead in a gutter.

'He must be keen to get down your pants if he's willing to let you keep a five grand voucher,' Dad remarked.

As well as being a world class worrier, my father is also convinced that every man who is interested in me is primarily motivated by his dick.

'Maybe he likes her,' my mother countered.

Dad grunted dismissively and went downstairs to get a beer from the beer fridge.

Mum leant over and touched my hair. 'I'm going to the hairdresser on Thursday night. Do you want to come with me and get your roots touched up? My treat.'

'Are they bad?' I asked. I'm not a natural blonde, and no, I don't normally tell anyone that. A girl is entitled to some secrets, isn't she?

'No, they're passable, but it sounds like this man is interested in you, so if you like him, you should put your best foot forward.'

Mum works in a scrap metal yard as their office lady. She wears high vis and workboots all day, and she hates it. When she's not at work, she's always dressed up, and when I started transitioning she was the one who took me shopping and helped me dress appropriately.

'Okay,' I agreed. 'Thanks.'

It wasn't my hair that I had started worrying about, it was my virgin vagina. I'd had it for fourteen months but it was yet to be used to accommodate a man. My surgeon hadn't been thrilled with the results. From the outside, my vulva was flawless, but my actual vagina was less than perfect. I had a huge array of dilators and went through coconut oil - I'm allergic to most lubricants - like crazy trying to coax it into shape, but it still wasn't what it should have been.

That put me in a difficult situation. I generally preferred to get naked in front of a man as soon as possible, so he can decide whether or not he finds me sufficiently attractive for a relationship. It might sound slutty, but my 'man game plan' was literally;