march 2025

spending some time browsing grindr lately. i have been thinking of downloading it for a while now and since moving to a bigger city, it felt less scary to do. i am more anonymous here. i am one of three something million inhabitants and therefore i am invisible.

it is something, to say at least. a culture shock. i’m being fetishized by some, others tell me how they would like to present more feminine, take hrt and be seen as women (they say: — i have never told anyone this before). i’m having a weird role as both therapist, sex object, daddy, twink.

most of the guys who write to me are bisexual. my insecurities tell me that it is less scary for them to talk to me than a “real gay man”. i don’t think they know what they’re walking into when talking to me. i want to be transfag and butch at the same time. may i? it feels disrespectful against both butch- and transfag culture but at the same time i don’t know which category i want to put myself in. being just myself seems so boring and personal and intimate.

i’m writing with a younger trans girl. she told me that she feels lonely in her hometown, that she doesn’t know any other trans people. she told me when she had her first hook up experience, how it was weird and awkward but nice at the same time. i felt the need to tell her i like to write with her but that i’m not flirting. it feels like she needs a friend and i feel with her.

i wrote with a trans man that wanted to fuck me. we spoke about sex, grindr culture, being trans and the city i currently am residing in. i felt excited to meet him but then he wrote that he fell into a depressive episode and it wasn’t possible for us to meet. — no worries, take care, i said. i felt disappointed and my insecurities told me i stopped being interesting for him.

i met a guy out, a date and/or vibe check. he was boring as hell, i tried to make conversation, ask questions about him, flirt. he did not say much, looked tired and uninterested since the second the date started.  after about an hour he said, — it doesn’t feel like we vibe.

— that is on you, i thought, i am doing my very best to not make this a waste of time.

— you look so much like my cousin, sorry.

i mean, what the actual fuck, man. the train here took an eternity. maybe it is mean to say, but i can’t stand boring people.

(he did, however, give me a crash course in this city’s dating scene and how hard and ruthless it could be. it might turn out to be somewhat helpful later in life so the date might not have been a total waste of time.)

i wrote briefly with a guy that wanted me to get fucked by a dog while he watched. i thought i blocked him, but then he turned up again.

— hi, he wrote

— hey dude, i thought i blocked you, i wrote. then he blocked me. he was twenty something and quite attractive and that scared me.

i know i shouldn’t have expectations. a trans guy writing an article about being on grindr as a trans masculine person wrote that “grindr is where expectations come to die”. that i shouldn’t expect anything, no care, no interest in me other than an anonymous hookup, no condoms or lube. — you have to bring what you want yourself, he wrote. i couldn’t help but feel that he spoke about more than the materials.

as someone brought up and socialized as a women i can’t not be scared of the men that want me. they invite me to their homes (— my door is unlocked) and my first thought is that you don’t know me, i could be an axe murderer, i could steal your expensive stuff on my way out, i could stalk you. you invite me to your home, do you not know how dangerous inviting a stranger could be? i don’t understand it but i want to learn it. most of the guys on there are just horny and probably lonely.

i know there are people behind the faceless dicks and i want to know. what does it say about me to be curious about “the person behind the dick pic”?