For most people, sexuality is a pretty basic thing. You’re attracted to men, you’re attracted to women or you’re attracted to men and women. However, gender doesn’t matter to me. I’m all right with blurring or even completely ignoring gender lines, as long as I find the person attractive.

The most common term for this is pansexuality – the tendency to be attracted to people regardless of their gender. I identify this way because I believe the term bisexuality implies that there are only two genders, and I believe that there are more.

Throughout my life, I have met and dated people who identify as in-between genders or as having no gender at all. As a result, I identify as part of the transgender community, even though I am not a transgender person.

A couple weeks ago author and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel interviewed me for her book about sexualities like mine. An increasing number of people are beginning to believe that the term bisexuality doesn’t apply to them and that they have sexual preferences that lie outside the typical male and/or female combinations. I believe that I lie in this gray area, possessing a very fluid sexuality.

Bussel brought up something interesting. “Do you feel like you are a part of the LGBT community?” she asked. I do not. Although I have an “alternative sexuality” and fall under the “T” in this acronym, I don’t participate in Allied in Pride events and I believe that transgender and transsexual (known collectively as “trans”) people are lagging in the fight for acceptance.

It was hard for me to get excited about writing about this, because there is such a misunderstanding about the trans community. Trying to explain who I am and who I love is usually met with confusion, much more than I believe I would be faced with coming out as gay. It’s easy, but fair, to blame this on our culture.

Shaun is an ex-girlfriend of mine who is at the beginning of the transitioning process and facing problems with acceptance. He is struggling with how to approach becoming who he really is.

“People stereotype me and there’s a lot of pressure,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t want to transition earlier, because I didn’t fit the stereotype for being a girl my age. I was uncomfortable, so I thought that maybe if I looked the part of a stereotypical college girl I would feel better about myself because I would feel like I was supposed to. I got a dress and big sunglasses, but it didn’t make me feel better. I just felt more awkward.”

Shaun’s friends were not accepting of who he was. Refusal to call him by his new name and rejection of his masculine traits sent him into a spiral of depression. Almost a year and an eating disorder later, he is finally learning how to be himself.

He says this about the process: “I thought I might just be going through a phase, but I’ve been happier since I acknowledged who I am.” Shaun is open on his campus now, and people are becoming increasingly accepting, especially when he is up front.

His case is not uncommon. One of his friends, transitioning in the opposite direction, has faced similar societal barriers. As accepting as people are of lesbians, gays and bisexuals, the “T” is getting left out. For those of us who are part of the trans community, cultural acknowledgement is still far out of reach, mainly because people don’t understand how someone can be born into a body that doesn’t fit them.

But there’s no reason that trans people can’t be accepted along with the rest of the gay community. We’re all fighting the same battle.