There is a woman in school who fascinates me. I "met" her, if one can qualify our level of acquaintanceship as such, in one of my many countercultural imposteries I attend now that I have an abundance of time.
Unlike me, she doesn't speak a lot in discussion groups she knows little about. Even truths she must keep to herself, she just listens. Still, I couldn't stop staring at her. I wasn't sure why.
At first I thought it was because she resembled someone I knew. And she kind of does, but that happens reasonably often. I also don't find my friend subjectively attractive; physically and mentally, she's just a friend. So it wouldn't have been that.
But no, it was a bunch of things. It was the way she wore her glasses, her pose, the darkness of her eyes, the broadness of her face, strong facial features I tend to not notice in other similarly-faced people, the definite contours of her neck, a voice I would definitely term deep and brown even though the latter doesn't mean anything in actuality.
After one of the meetings, one of my friends came up to me. "Hey," he whispered. "You know that girl? I can't tell for sure, but given the following reasons ... I think she's m2f." It kind of made sense to me, and in many ways I trust his judgement. He is heavily involved in gender-queer issues and knows much about these things, while I merely dabble in things due to a Schopenhauerian hatred for the world and status quos in particular.
It hasn't changed the aesthetic pleasure I feel in her presence.
For the last forty-eight hours I have been hanging around campus, fixing a really old Sun Microsystems server. I will not go into the details, but imagine the stupid joy of a man finding an incomplete hotrod. Around eleven pm yesterday I was finishing up, waiting for a kernel to compile and dozing off every ten minutes.
She walks by. She notices me in my zombified state, and says hello. She asks how I'm doing; I tell her about my hobbyist adventures, and she enjoys my Don Quixote adventures in system administration. She talks about her schoolwork and some other social groups I've thinking of joining but haven't yet. As small-talk goes, it lasts minutes longer than the vast majority. I wouldn't date her or anything, I don't think she has the personality or maniac bent I currently desire. She doesn't know the danger she has escaped through disqualification.
For all I know, I'm making all of this up. What the hell do I know about women, I can't even guess age correctly. Accusing someone of having to correct their physical identity is no small action, errorprone and ultimately leaves a caustic taste upon the ears and eyes. But in the end, who do I care about her? This is my story, not hers. Let us assume that this is the case for academic and smugness reasons.
As such, I have found an m2f attractive based on nothing more than her aesthetic attractiveness to me. I make no claims beyond this and I don't pretend they are the less important ones.
Unlike me, she doesn't speak a lot in discussion groups she knows little about. Even truths she must keep to herself, she just listens. Still, I couldn't stop staring at her. I wasn't sure why.
At first I thought it was because she resembled someone I knew. And she kind of does, but that happens reasonably often. I also don't find my friend subjectively attractive; physically and mentally, she's just a friend. So it wouldn't have been that.
But no, it was a bunch of things. It was the way she wore her glasses, her pose, the darkness of her eyes, the broadness of her face, strong facial features I tend to not notice in other similarly-faced people, the definite contours of her neck, a voice I would definitely term deep and brown even though the latter doesn't mean anything in actuality.
After one of the meetings, one of my friends came up to me. "Hey," he whispered. "You know that girl? I can't tell for sure, but given the following reasons ... I think she's m2f." It kind of made sense to me, and in many ways I trust his judgement. He is heavily involved in gender-queer issues and knows much about these things, while I merely dabble in things due to a Schopenhauerian hatred for the world and status quos in particular.
It hasn't changed the aesthetic pleasure I feel in her presence.
For the last forty-eight hours I have been hanging around campus, fixing a really old Sun Microsystems server. I will not go into the details, but imagine the stupid joy of a man finding an incomplete hotrod. Around eleven pm yesterday I was finishing up, waiting for a kernel to compile and dozing off every ten minutes.
She walks by. She notices me in my zombified state, and says hello. She asks how I'm doing; I tell her about my hobbyist adventures, and she enjoys my Don Quixote adventures in system administration. She talks about her schoolwork and some other social groups I've thinking of joining but haven't yet. As small-talk goes, it lasts minutes longer than the vast majority. I wouldn't date her or anything, I don't think she has the personality or maniac bent I currently desire. She doesn't know the danger she has escaped through disqualification.
For all I know, I'm making all of this up. What the hell do I know about women, I can't even guess age correctly. Accusing someone of having to correct their physical identity is no small action, errorprone and ultimately leaves a caustic taste upon the ears and eyes. But in the end, who do I care about her? This is my story, not hers. Let us assume that this is the case for academic and smugness reasons.
As such, I have found an m2f attractive based on nothing more than her aesthetic attractiveness to me. I make no claims beyond this and I don't pretend they are the less important ones.