[I hate writing notes at the beginning of stories, but this one is important. Before you write a transphobic comment questioning or joking about Ben’s gender – don’t. Just don’t. Trans men are men. Trans women are women. Transphobia and/or fetishization will not be tolerated in the comments. I’ll be monitoring them closely, and I will block and report you faster than you can say “[J.K. Rowling](https://www.thetrevorproject.org/2020/06/08/daniel-radcliffe-responds-to-j-k-rowlings-tweets-on-gender-identity/).” Happy to answer questions if they are politely phrased and coming from a place of genuine curiosity, but you have to remember that I am not trans, and I am not representing the trans community. [Here](https://www.thetrevorproject.org/resources/trevor-support-center/a-guide-to-being-an-ally-to-transgender-and-nonbinary-youth/) is a good introduction to being an ally to trans and nonbinary people. Enjoy the story!]
From the moment I met Ben, I thought he was hot as fuck. He wasn’t much taller than I was, but he oozed confidence with every smile. It helped that he always dressed like a French author on a jaunt on the Riviera and generally looked as if he belonged in a black and white film with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a typewriter in front of him. His short blond hair was always coifed, his scruff impeccably trimmed. I wanted to cut my lips on his jawline.