I don't even like Facebook. I hardly ever check it. But I saw his message today. He's contacted every Georgia he could find. And now he's found the right one. Of course he doesn't know this yet. He says he's been feeling guilty these past seven years, about the way he behaved. He wants me to forgive him – so that he can feel better. It makes me sick. Why should he get to feel better?

It was a sweet seaside holiday romance. We were both young and naïve. Why did I think it would end any differently? He wasn't that good looking really; kind of tall and gawky. But you could see that he'd fill out and he had a wholesomeness about him; he was shy and self deprecating. He treated me like a lady and I lapped it up. He did all those stereotypical things which I now would find extremely patronising: holding doors open for me, always letting me go first, always paying for my hot chocolate; it was flattering then. I was just finding my feet as a girl.

His shyness worked to my advantage; he held my hand and put his arm around my waist, but didn't try anything more. He kissed me good night each evening and seemed to be content with that. Until our final evening when he asked if he could come back to my room. This was the question I was dreading. I'd rehearsed the various things I could say; most of them lies of some kind or another. But in the end I decided to tell him the truth. I thought he deserved that. He didn't take it well. He went very pale and ran off and that was that: I didn't see him again.

I still have the same choice to make; when to tell them? Or indeed how long can I go before I tell them. Try and build a secure enough relationship first or save myself the heartbreak and let it be one of the first things I tell them? They've all gone running: all the straight men. It's no consolation whatsoever to be told 'It's not you – it's me'. It still tears me apart. It still makes me feel like shit. The only men who are interested are gay men. It breaks my heart. I'm trying so hard to be a woman and only fags want to fuck me.

Perhaps it's my own fault; I haven't had the op. I don't really want it to be honest. So I'm a woman with a cock. Who other than weirdos would want me? I just want a nice understanding straight guy to want me and love me as a woman. But then again I've always wanted things I can't have.

I'm working behind the bar in a gay club at the moment – not the ideal place to meet the man of my dreams. But they do at least accept me there. They take me for what I am and give me love and support; the people there are like my family. I have had jobs in the 'straight' world, but they all ended badly. I had a lovely job in a Department store once but when they found out they gave me the key to the disabled toilet and told me I'd better use that from then on. I told them they could stick their job – I might be a lot of things but I'm not disabled! That really hurt.

So . . . what to do about Alec? There wouldn't be any harm in replying. It might be fun. At least he knows what I am. He was a sweet lad – and he was only young. He's got a lot of making up to do. I'm the one that needs to feel better about what happened – not him.