A month after moving in together, my boyfriend got his breasts removed.

Not exactly what I had envisioned for my life. If you told me two years ago I would be in love with a trans man (a female to male transgendered person) I would have laughed – not in the cruel, cackle sort of way – but the, I don’t really know what that means chuckle.

Before meeting Kevin, I didn’t even know what a transgendered person was. Tranny, Butch, Transvestite, Dyke, Transgender, Drag Queen – was there a difference?

We met in cyberspace. Although I’ve met a lot of interesting guys on Internet dating sites, I didn’t meet him there. As bloggers, we found each other commenting on pages we both followed. We shared the same witty humor and sarcasm, and I was excited by the fact he was a would-be writer like me. We both began searching for each other’s comments just to read what clever things we would say to one another. Commenting quickly morphed into personal emails, which became flirtatious almost immediately.

But Kevin wasn’t Kevin when we met. He portrayed himself as Josh, a handsome, well-respected divorced man from Tennessee with three kids and his own veterinarian practice. Josh and I emailed back and forth for weeks and I quickly fell in love. My friends were concerned because we hadn’t so much as talked on the phone yet. But the romantic in me was on auto-pilot and there was nothing anyone could say or do to stop my heart from soaring. I was mentally picking out china patterns, checking flights to Tennessee and putting myself in the passenger seat of his pick-up truck. I actually saw myself a wife of a veterinarian, rubbing elbows with southern belles at medical conferences, passing out Halloween candy on the front porch of our farmhouse.

Our flirting progressed and my hopes shot through the roof. Then Josh suddenly vanished. I was baffled and heartbroken. So many questions flooded my brain. Was he married? Did he get kicked in the head by one of his four-legged patients and have amnesia? What was going on?

My friends kept me grounded and reminded me that by being a person who’s always been in love with love, it was easy to fall victim to a fantasy, wrapping my heart around the world of a man I had never even met. I was mourning the loss of a daydream.

Little did I know, my perfect fantasy man was lost in a daydream of his own.

Kevin was born a biological female who, like thousands of transgendered people, grew up feeling trapped in their own body - a person whose physical body is not in alignment with their gender identity. In other words, Kevin’s body was female by societal (and medical) standards, but his mind (or gender identity), believed he was a man.

When Kevin was first coming to terms with his transition, he hid behind a persona on line. Enter Josh. He felt more comfortable getting to know people as a man through a fantasy life he created. I learned all of this through an apology email when Josh finally resurfaced (as Kevin) months after he fell off the face of the Internet.  

After I read Kevin’s letter for the hundredth time, I started to feel less pissed off and more compassionate. I felt his anguish when reading about his transition story. I forgave him for pretending to be Josh, just as I had forgiven myself for allowing the fantasy of an Internet crush to evolve. I put myself in his position and asked: what would you do if you were born in the wrong body? Could you have the courage to transition? Eventually compassion trumped contempt and I forgave him completely. Besides, I could relate – sort of.

As a recovering addict and former stripper, I am familiar with feelings of wanting to hide behind someone or something to mask my true self. On stage I was Stephanie, the stripper who loved you. I chatted it up with customers who were lonely and looking for a little company. I gave them a show and they gave me the validation I needed at the time to feel beautiful. Another personal fantasy contract written with our hearts; customers looking for attention, and me, for beauty.

Back when I was stripping, nights were spent snorting lines of coke and rolling on ecstasy. The first time I slept with a woman I was high. She made me feel beautiful and wanted - everything the men I danced for didn’t do. I felt safe and loved in the arms of a friend and was open to exploring the sexual possibilities. While I was venturing to new territory, the rest of my professional world was a catch 22: I stripped because I wanted to feel beautiful, but what I thought was the answer ended up peeling the layers of my beauty away. My fellow dancers were there for me when men were the enemy. Men were customers and assholes who tried to touch me. They were the dudes in high school who raped me. They were my father who left me. Women were my salvation and I welcomed their company.

After marinating in his apology for a bit, I decided to stay in touch with Kevin. We emailed good-mornings over coffee and checked in Sunday nights to see how our weekends fared. We were becoming friends. Still, in the back of my mind I missed Josh. I missed the connection I felt with that person and wondered if Kevin felt the same way. But what did that make me? Was I gay? I never considered myself a lesbian. A bi-sexual woman, sure, but wasn’t every girl in her 20s? I knew Kevin was a biological female transitioning to manhood, but could I be with him?

Having both moved on with our love lives we met other people. We confided in each other and even shelled out relationship advice. It’s ironic because we both chose people who were completely wrong for us. We attempted to put circles in to squares because we both fell in love with love – again. After we parted ways with our then-partners, we were heartbroken and deflated. We slumped away separately, falling in to a deep depression miles apart from one another.

After a long period with no contact, I found myself not only missing Josh but Kevin as well. On New Year’s Eve, I decided to get back in touch. I emailed my old pen pal to see how he was doing. The email turned in to a lengthy on line chat about our love lives and what we really wanted from a partner. I blurted out that I had a still had a crush on him, and to my surprise, he reciprocated.

“We have to meet in person soon.”

“I know.”

“If there is no chemistry then it’s better to know now.” I was determined not to follow my pattern of falling in love with a fantasy.

“I know.”

I boarded a plane to see Kevin the first chance I got.

Both shaking with nerves, we kissed hello and the chemistry just worked. When I finally laid eyes on this person I was falling in love with, I didn’t see gender so much as a beautiful human being who I connected with.

Fast forward two years and Kevin and I are living together.  

He’s completed his top surgery (removal of breasts) and had his gender changed on his driver’s license to Male. The testosterone is doing its job as he is gaining muscle, chest and back hair – although much to his chagrin, he’s losing some on his head.

Our parents are still coming to terms with the situation. My mother doesn’t talk about it with me; his simply chooses to ignore the fact that he’s sporting a goatee and being called sir.

My friends are happy I’ve finally met someone who treats me well. Gone are the days I would cry on their shoulders over another failed relationship brought on by my attempt to change a bad boy. They adore Kevin and can only see what I see: a beautiful man with a kind heart who takes care of me when I’m sick, makes me laugh and holds my hand when we walk.

Last night I walked through the front door after a long day at work, and I saw him. He greeted me with a smile and we embraced hello. I stood in the kitchen thumbing through the mail as he walked to the other room. I started to open the cabinets and he walked back in the living room carrying a vial of liquid and a hypodermic needle.

“Should I heat up the leftover chicken?”

Kevin takes a seat on the couch.

“That sounds good.”

I pull the refrigerator door open and look over to see Kevin injecting himself with testosterone in his thigh.

“Okay then. Chicken it is.”

As crazy as it all sounds, this is the most normal my life has ever been.