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Now I knew Jim was talking out of his ass.
“Shut up!” I roared. “What is this about a transgender individual? What the hell?”
Jim snorted.
“It’s all over the papers,” ground out Jim. “Look for yourself. Daily Mail, National Enquirer, all that shit. Some transgender woman says you met on Matchy, and she’s been your secret girlfriend for the last couple months. She’s saying that you fucked at a Ravens game or some shit like that. Really Mason? Did you really have to do it in a public bathroom? Man, fuck this shit!” he screamed, slamming down the phone.
I sat, stunned at the turn of events. The only thing that could cause Jim to act wacko was money, so he’d probably already gotten some calls from sponsors threatening to terminate my deals, if they weren’t already kaput.
But it was such a load of crap. Who was this transgender person claiming to be my “secret girlfriend”? As far as I knew, it was all bullshit. I flicked open my phone and surfed onto a local gossip site.
It was worse than I thought. The transwoman’s face was plastered across the virtual front page.
“Vanity Stakes Her Claim To Mason Phillips,” crowed one headline.
“Gold Medalist Secret Transgender Girlfriend Met On-Line!” screamed another.
“Sex, Lies And Genitalia,” proclaimed the Mail.
I felt my stomach heave because this was all lies. No offense to transgender individuals. I fully support LGBTQ+ rights and consider myself an ally. Yet I’ve never dated a transgender person, male or female, so where was this coming from?
With that, I forced myself to look closer at the photo. Who was that? My accuser was hot. She looked a little baked around the edges, but still attractive.
Then I started. Come to think of it, she looked kind of familiar. Her face was a little orange, and her long blonde hair stick straight and shiny. Did I know her?
Suddenly it hit me like a baseball bat to the head. It was that chick I’d chatted with on Matchy for a bit. She was a middle-aged woman who’d claimed to be my biggest fan. She’d said her name was Vanity, and she looked up to me because I was the “epitome of what it meant to be a man.” Over-the-top flattery like that.
Sure, I’d responded and we’d traded a few texts but nothing crazy. I’d remarked on her body, tossed off a couple compliments, and then ended the conversation. She seemed kind of lonely, to tell you the truth. Plus, what was the harm in chatting? I wasn’t ever going to meet her in person. She was just a face on my phone.
But now the situation had spun out of control and some trans-lady was saying that we’d had a full-blown affair. Where was this coming from? It was a lie, and so unbelievable that I almost laughed. After all, I was with Janie. I’ve been dating my stepsister for the last couple months, and not some crazed woman off of Matchy.
But before I could say a word, I heard a sharp intake of breath. It was my stepsister, and Janie’s face looked like stone as she stared at me.
“You know that woman, don’t you?” she asked tightly, barely getting the words out.
“No, I don’t know her,” I stated. “At least, not the way the papers are reporting.”
Janie inhaled sharply.
“Yes, you know her!” she whispered. “I saw your phone, Mason.”
Now I drew back.
“You looked at my phone?” I sputtered. “What the hell? You know you never look at someone else’s phone.”
“What is wrong with you?” said Janie tightly, her fists clenched in her lap as rage made her eyes spark. “You’re worried about me checking your phone when some other woman is claiming that you dated her? Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” she shouted.
“Listen, this is all a mistake,” I said, holding my hands up. “I don’t know this person.”
“Oh yeah?” remarked Janie. “Then tell me you didn’t meet on Matchy. Tell me you didn’t swipe right.”
“We didn’t meet per se,” I retorted. “I mean, you don’t really ‘meet’ in the traditional sense. It’s all on-line.”
“And you swiped right, right?” she spat again.
“Well yeah, I guess,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “But it’s not like we met in real life. That’s fucked up. And even if I did meet her, what’s the problem?” I asked. “She’s a woman just like everyone else.”
Janie stared at me.
“Are you trying to turn this on me?”
I wanted to stop the words before they came out, but they came out nonetheless.
“I’m totally pro-LGBTQ,” I said. “I’m sorry if you’re not. You may need to go back and examine your own prejudices, come to think of it. Times have changed.”
Janie stared at me in disbelief.
“You know that I’m an ally of the queer community,” she ground out between her teeth. “This isn’t about that at all. This is about whether or not you’ve been cheating on me, and not about your paramour’s gender!”
