When I first met Marisol in class, I’d been impressed by her—and intimidated. There was something . . . I don’t know, intoxicating about her confidence. Marisol knows that she’s beautiful and talented and intelligent. She doesn’t question if she’s worthy of respect and love. When I asked her out last summer, just a couple of months after my top surgery, I was still getting used to my new body, feeling a little insecure with all the stares I would get, people clearly confused about my gender . . . and I guess I hoped some of Marisol’s confidence would rub off on me.
