Well, That Sure Ain’t How These Stories Usually Go

This is still the most baffling interaction I’ve had in the last year, mostly because of how unprepared I was. I’m nonbinary transmasculine (I use he/him pronouns but I’m not quite a man), which isn’t hugely relevant to the story except to explain why I’d been taking testosterone for about eighteen months at the point this story happened.

I’m heavy-set and hairy, but my face is still quite feminine despite the neck beard I’ve been cultivating. It was also nearly 30°C (86°F) outside, so I was exhausted and sweating like a pig wearing a T-shirt and shorts with my arm and leg hair on full show. Basically, I didn’t look anything like a conventionally attractive woman and certainly wasn’t expecting to be hit on.

I got off the train and was hauling myself up the steps to leave the station when a guy ran past the opposite way shouting for someone to hold the doors. I didn’t react in time and the doors closed before he got on, so I threw out a “Sorry, dude” and thought that was the end of it until he decided to catch up to me at the exit.

Guy: “Excuse me. You’re beautiful. Can I get your number?”

I was fumbling with my pass card and didn’t fully hear him.

Me: “Huh? What?”

Guy: “I said you’re gorgeous, and I want to get your number.”

I was still confused and brain-fogged from the heat.

Me: “My number? Why?”

Guy: “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Can I take you out on a date?”

Me: “Uh, no, sorry. I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Guy: “That’s okay. He’ll understand.”

I finally got my brain into gear.

Me: “What? No. I don’t want your number, thank you. Also, I’m not a woman, so unless you’re bisexual, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree here.”

Guy: “You’re not a woman? So, you’re a man?”

Me: “Close enough, yeah. I’m a man.”

Guy: “Well, I’m very sorry to have disturbed you, then. Have a good day, brother! Stay safe out there!”

Then, he gave me a high-five and wandered off to the platform opposite where he’d been trying to go earlier. I was so bewildered yet pleased it had turned out so amicably that I stood there for a few more seconds just processing until I had to move to let someone else use the card reader.

It’s been months since, and I go to that train station one to three times a week depending on work. I’ve never seen that guy since, but every time I’m there, I wonder what he’s up to and hope he found the hairy, sweaty girl of his dreams that I couldn’t be for him.