“I have to tell you something,” I said. He looked at me, eyes narrowing. We’d just met, so I can only imagine the infinite possibilities swirling in his head. He had just moved to Atlanta from Chicago and had this whole stereotypical macho thing about him. He was an amateur MMA fighter, came from the hood — apparently a former gang member, as I learned later.

It wasn’t that he necessarily made me feel threatened, but I knew the statistics. I knew about girls like me. We’re the ones who guys love in the dark. We’re the dirty little secrets who get calls only after hours. No matter how beautiful, intelligent, or successful, we are the ones who have to settle for being nothing more than receptacles for men’s desires and insecurities.

I imagined the worst, but I said it anyway. “I’m a transgender woman.” I emphasized the woman part. That didn’t stop the intense expression of confusion that spread across his face.

“So you’re a man?” he asked. “Do you know how lucky you are that I’m not, like, crazy? Because I know plenty of guys who would really do some shit to you.”

“No, I’m a woman, a transgender woman,” I answered, trying to make him understand.

But I knew it didn’t matter what I said. His entire view of me had changed and there was no going back.

I vowed as I left his place in the middle of the night that I would never put myself in that dangerous of a situation again. And even though I now make sure people know my identity before I’m alone with a potential partner, there are still some aspects of this interaction that seem to show up in my dating life no matter how many precautions I take.