On The Road Again (excerpt)

...... By dint of habit she had outfitted herself, and the car, pretty much as she had so many times in the past.  "How many times is it now?  Five?  Yes.  Five."  Indeed, this was the fifth time she had packed everything she owned into an automobile; and it was less and less each successive time, as part of a long-distance re-location scheme.  The first time was with her beloved 01 Dodge Dakota Sport, with its short bed filled with stuff and then more stuff packed into the smallest available pull-behind U-Haul trailer.  The second time was with her equal beloved 08 Subaru Forester; but only grudgingly thought of as so because of its designation as a "Station Wagon" ("Imagine.  After riding a beef-cake like the Dodge, puttering around in a "Station Wagon.") neatly packed half-way up the windows with an additional tightly packed 8' roof-top carrier.  The third time was with the Subaru again, sans roof-top carrier.  And the fourth time was in the Subaru yet again; thus the "grudging respect" for its endurance and longevity, with half again as much stuff as the last time.  And now the fifth and final; she hoped, road-trip was in the old and ugly, but reliable, 96 Saab with even less stuff. Regards her person, she wore her favourite extremely short cut-off denim shorts, a short-waisted cami, a ball-cap, and a wide assortment of cheap, found or improvised jewelry consisting of necklaces, bracelets, rings, ankle-bracelets and toe rings.

Spitballing: again.

In an organic attempt to distract or console myself the idea of a chemically infused nocturnal ramble suggested itself to me. Something I've been doing for years, as an outlet for my proclivities.  When I walk at night, in secluded mostly deserted places, I always wear something overtly feminine under some loose fitting lightweight boy-drag and when I feel safe I doff the outer layer and revel in my freedom.  It's exhilarating and liberating and immediately I began to imagine myself out somewhere free and fine.  "What should I wear this time?"  I thought.  Then the absurdity of the situation struck me.  Mere seconds after swearing off this behaviour I was plotting an outing.  I did not go out that night.  I told myself the idea was vestigial.  The last desperate gasp of a bankrupt lifestyle.  But I was wrong about that.  Dead wrong.

Spitballing: continued.

......and then someone suggested we go out for drinks.  "Absolutely not" I thought.  I wanted to go to continue the fellowship but the idea that with one look, one glance, any one and everyone whose gaze might fall upon me would instantly know what I am was to much to bear.  My friends tried to talk me into going and for a moment I wavered, but then the question of which bathroom I would use flashed into my mind and I shrank before its spectre.  There were hugs and sad smiles of understanding and a few tears on my part and then I was alone in the silent gloaming.  And that's when I decided it was over.  Failed again.  I would retreat into the shadows of my former life.  Myself only at home.  I had not the courage of my convictions.

Spitballing

I have nothing else ready to post.  I've been writing, but without focus.  Ive lost confidence in the Serial Trans idea.  I have four potential posts in various stages of completion but just no real confidence they're worth following through on.  A short while ago I had the idea to break from the norm and make posts as if this was a diary.  Well, here goes.

When I moved here in June my plan was to 'come out'.  I was going to present consistent with my internal conception of myself.  And I did.  Briefly.  Everywhere I went I presented as I wished.  However, there was always this nagging doubt.  Doubt that I could pass.  From the very first time I prepared to leave the house I was troubled by indecision.  What to wear?  On my way to Bart that first day I turned around and went home to change my footwear.  Soon, I was almost paralysed by indecision.  Once, I canceled an appointment at the LGBT Center because I could not bring myself to pass through the door.  And when I did go out 'presenting' I became more and more obsessed with the idea that I looked like a fool.  Then, one day about two months ago, I decided to guit.  It was a terrible day.  Friends of my landlady were over for some reason and I dressed to present.  There was five of us.  We talked for hours....

To be continued.  Later today hopefully.

Davita Minton

Serial Trans

Golden Age

    Margaret's place came after nearly five months of homelessness.  It was a modest ranch-style home on the outskirts of Champaign.  Margaret was an empty-nester and a widower who worked nights; 7PM-3:30AM for a local charter bus company.  When not working or sleeping Margaret was often away from home visiting her daughters and grandchildren in nearby towns where she usually stayed over night.  Margaret was loathe to rent to her; by outward appearance a divorced forty something year old male construction laborer.  But by dint of persistence in the form of multiple e-mails and phone calls, and with cash in hand she finally won a month to month agreement.
    The room was a converted garage that had been fully remodeled.  Just outside her door she had access to laundry facilities and a very small yet complete bathroom.  She was also afforded full kitchen privileges.  The room itself was rather large, so far as rental rooms go, and fully furnished.  There was even a large walk-in closet, though fully three quarters of it was filled with Margaret's older and much less often worn clothes.  She distinctly remembered forcing herself to wait several days before beginning a careful and methodical inventory of her new landlady's wardrobe in search of potential 'loaner' items.  However, what began with great anticipation ended with bitter disappointment.
    ''It was incredible!  Just incredible!''  She thought now, with alcohol enhanced vehemence.  ''Of all those clothes; scores and scores of dresses and blouses and jackets, there was nothing I could wear.  Or rather, there was nothing I wanted to wear.  Margaret was so much shorter and stouter than I am.  And her tastes!  My god!  She was at least a decade behind the times.  But wait.....  Wasn't there something?  Something I altered?  And wore a belt with.  Oh hell!  I don't know.  Why in hell am I even thinking about Margaret's place anyway?''  And with this last, she was off.  Off on a quest of long inured psychological behavior in which she obsessively sought to trace her thoughts back to the incipient thought that inspired whatever current reverie she found herself lost in.  It was a mental pursuit she particularly enjoyed, or indulged in, most of the time, when in an altered state of mind, as she was currently.  The revelation of each link in the chain of thought was a small yet almost tangible victory.  And when finally the alpha link was discovered it was akin to finding something one had lost.  The more difficult the search and labyrinthine the trail back in time, the better.  On this occasion, however, the trail was disappointingly short, and in no way cold, and led to an origin she would rather not have found.
    ''Yep.  Homelessness is a very real possibility.''  She thought, glumly, in reference to one possible outcome of moving from one side of the continent to the other on a shoestring budget.   But she did not want to think about the omni-present and looming move to San Francisco and all the terrifying scenarios it spawned in her mind.  Thus, in an effort to free herself from this burden, at least for a short time anyway, she glommed on to the just revived memory of the period of time following her last, failed attempt, to move to California.
    ''It worked out alright....eventually.  It was difficult for a while....no doubt.  But Margaret's place was my.....my coming out.  Well....sexually that is.  It was where I blossomed.  How many had I had before Margaret's?  Three or four?  Four?  Yes.  Four.  Excluding the rape.  And how many at Margaret's?  Good god!  Didn't I stop counting at ninety?  I lost count.  I simply lost count.  But I moved here, to ''PensaTucky'' shortly after that.  There might have been another ten or so between the time I lost count and the move here.  So, I had nearly a hundred lovers in less than eighteen months.  I said GodDamn!  How did I do that?  It was my 'Golden Age'.''  She thought, rapturously, as she sank into her favorite chair with drinks very near to hand.  She had escaped from under the pawl of the imminent move and was once again reveling in reverie.
    ''I wonder.  Who was the first?  Who was the last?  The alpha and the omega?  Who were they?''  She pondered, for a moment, before finally concluding that only the very good, the very bad, and the very weird would be memorable.  '' 'NothingToLose' 'NothingToLose'  That has to be the only e-mail address I will ever remember.  And he was good too.  Nice dick.  Not much to look at otherwise, but he certainly had a big beautiful dick.  And a man of few words too.  Just how I like them.  And one of the few men I ever invited back.  Was it three times?  Or four?  And then I saw him at Lowe's that day.  How fucking weird was that?  Hey!  Wait a minute.  Isn't he the only man; that I've had, that I later categorically recognised, in public?  I do believe he is.''
    ''Talk about weird.  That dude.  Wow!  Do I have a child back in Champaign?  I mean, he got up so fast and ran out to his car.  And I did not hear him spit.  I suppose he could have.  But the windows were open.  You'd think I would have heard him spit it out, if he had.  And the way his face looked.  He didn't swallow it.  It looked like he was just holding it.''  She thought, in reference to a man that had performed oral sex on her, and whom she speculated had saved her sperm.
    ''That guy was weird too.  I mean, who says that?  Repeatedly.  And during the actual act.  I like sucking cock too, but to say; 'I love these things.' over and over again.  I..... don't know.  And no recip either.  And he had a great body.  Man!  Did I ever want him.  And who would have thought it?  The first two guys I think of are guys that serviced me.  Ninety nine percent of the time it was the other way around.  Hmph.''
    ''No no no.  Mr. President.  I'm calling that straight up bull shit.  Oral sex is sex.  Whomever is giving or receiving notwithstanding.  Is is.  And in the spirit of full disclosure they too must be counted.''  She thought, after it occurred to her that probably somewhere around half of the hundred or so paramours she had been with at Margaret's had engaged in oral sex only.  Then, as her thoughts meandered amongst the litany of memories of 'oral only' fellows she began to see the development of a pattern that very quickly inspired an epiphany.
    ''That's how it happened!  Of course!  It was all those times I had multiple lovers in the same day.  How many were there?  How many times?  At least ten.  And that was with two.  There were two other times I had three lovers in one day.  I distinctly remember those two days.  But that's more than twenty five men right there.  More than twenty five percent of the total.  Wow!  That's how it happened.''
    Soon, the thread of her thoughts led her to recall how, for a brief time, her behavior of having multiple lovers in one day had been a matter of some concern to her.  ''And just how did I reconcile myself with this behavior?''  She thought now.  She knew something had happened. It wasn't' a matter of concern any longer.  But it didn't happen as often either.  If she had a man over and was still unfulfilled when he left she simply invited someone else over.  She did not always succeed, however, at winning the affections of yet another man, given the vicissitudes of online dating.  But, if she were so inclined, she would attempt to, and without reservation.
    ''Oh yeah!  That's right.''  She thought, with a smile, upon recalling how at a certain point during her 'Golden Age' she had come to the realisation that her sexual proclivities were evolving beyond accepting very nearly every solicitation for sex; of which many were for oral sex only and the vast majority of which entailed her as the 'givER' of said act which she thoroughly enjoyed performing however, but to accepting only those solicitations that categorically included, but were not necessarily limited to, actual intercourse.
    ''Not all of them were at Margaret's place per se.  I traveled a few times.  Six or seven?  I think.  Christmas that year!  Yeah.  One of the few times EVER that I topped.  What a little cutie he was.  The first of only three Asian guys I've been with.  He had the smallest penis I've ever seen.  And I traveled for one of the other Asian guys too, didn't I?  Wow!  Was that ever a weird evening?  A Dom Asian top.  A white chub sub.  And me, a white TS bottom.  He was small too, but he certainly knew how to use it.  Making that dude crawl; blindfolded, and 'Clean-up' as it were, and drink from the dog's dish.....  Glad I got out of there when I did.   Then there was that flamboyant top who had the penis piercing.  He had a nice fat one.  Did me right there on his living room floor.  And he wanted me to clean up the little bit of 'Santorum' left behind.  Fuck him. Got out of there too.  Then there was that black guy; oral only, who kept his face hidden under a blanket.  Ummm.  He had a big one too.  I should have told him I jizzed on his blanket.  And who could forget the traveling sales guy with the beer can sized girth who bought me dinner.  Was that prostitution?  Who cares.  And the young guy with the basement apartment.  Yeah!  I haven't thought of him in a long time.  Now he was fucking good.  I had to tap out.  But I finished him with my mouth.  Thats right.  So it was all good.  And who else?  There's one more.....  Oh yeah!  The glory hole guy.  Nice big penis.  And we somehow managed to flip flop through a hole in a sheet.  Damn.  And then, after several attempts, I finally convinced him to visit me.  He was all top that night.  And no stupid glory hole either.  And he was damn good too, as I recall.  And now I've come full circle.  I'm back off the road.  Back to Margaret's place.''
    For a few more moments she continued to reminisce.  In the back of her mind, however, a new idea was germinating apace and she began to summarily dismiss the memories of a long succession of former lovers as being unworthy of even a moment's consideration.  Then, suddenly, with a mind to dispense with self-imposed formalities she sprang from her chair with the intent of retrieving her ipad and hopefully forming a new memory.

The End

Acquisitions

Davita Minton

Serial Trans

Acquisitions

''That was the beginning of it all.''  She thought, as she paused in reflection from her online shopping for breast forms.  This was her fourth attempt to find the right size and type of false breasts.  And as she clicked through page after page of sundry sizes and shapes and styles and brands she wondered how this all got started.  ''Its been a long strange trip.'' She thought.  ''Of finding and keeping and stealing and lying and rummaging and collecting and hiding and then discarding it all only to begin again finding, keeping, stealing, lying.....  Over and over again.  And now actually purchasing things myself.  But thats when it all began.  No doubt about it.''

She was working for her landlord at the time, on one of his other rental properties.  Several times throughout the week long project the recently vacated former tenants came to retrieve more of their possessions that were being temporarily stored in the garage.  They were a young attractive couple, especially the female.  ''Damn.  She's fucking hot.''  Was her refrain each time she saw her.  She even developed a mild obsession with the young woman.  Production came to a halt during their visits.  She either went outside for a smoke to facilitate viewing, or slinked from window to window peeking through the blinds, or both.  Soon, however, she was informed by her employer that the couple would return no more and she was directed to remove from the garage whatever they had left behind and dispose of it.

Over the years she had worked in several different capacities for multiple employers in hundreds of different apartments and rental properties.  That people left things behind when they moved was common.  That she would sift through the abandoned belongings of strangers in search of useful or valuable items was equally common.  And as she had done so many times in the past, she began the effort with no preconceived notions of what she might find, except hope; and based on experience precious little of that, to find something worthwhile.

As she recalled now, it was the very first box she ventured to open that contained what she would later come to value as treasure.  It was the top box of a disheveled stack of three boxes, of which the middle and bottom boxes were partially crushed under the weight of the box on top.  At the time she had not the well trained eye and all consuming sense of covetousness that she now possessed and therefore she did not immediately appreciate the value of what she had just discovered.  Very quickly, however, her initial feelings of indifference to the collection of womens clothes contained in the box changed suddenly as she recognized the unmistakable outline of a pair of panties.  Within seconds she was filled with a sense of desperate desire as memories of the former owner of the precious garment flashed through her mind.  Her desire was crushing and saddening and painful and debilitating for she unconsciously knew it was impotent.  She held the garment between her thumb and middle finger as if it were diseased somehow.  Then, suddenly, she dropped the panties as she instinctively recognized the movement in her peripheral vision as a pedestrian on the sidewalk.  She then whirled around  and quickly moved away from the stack of boxes.  Then she stopped suddenly.  And after a brief; ''and probably suspicious looking'' she thought, pause, she snatched an old broom from the corner and began feverishly sweeping the garage floor.  Soon, she ventured a peek in the direction of the sidewalk just as the passer-by passed out of site.  In a rush she deeply exhaled. After a moment of reflection a plan of action flashed through her mind and she immediately set about bringing it to fruition.

Upon closing the old-fashioned one-piece garage door that fortuitously contained two long, but narrow panes of glass, she quickly evaluated the situation and determined, beyond doubt, that she would see anyone approaching the garage long before they reached the door. She then retrieved the panties and retreated into the gloom and in a short time she orgasm'd into them.

As was her wont in those days, so many years ago, the succeeding next couple of hours found her mired in waves of shame and guilt and remorse that combined to inundate her being with despair.  But this, she could suffer only so long before it would transmogrify into bitterness and frustration and anger culminating in even more powerful unsatiated desire.  And when it occurred to her in a wholly organic epiphany that some or all of the clothes she just discovered might greatly enhance her ritualised, chemical infused, nocturnal female pantomime for self-gratification sessions she didn't give it a second thought.

Looking back, she would have thought that the first time wearing womens clothes would have been emotionally destabilizing.  But it wasn't.  Beyond the titillating nature of the initial excitement concerning the obvious change to her nocturnal ritual; which eventually regressed to the mean upon familiarization, there was virtually no change in her mental state of being.  And accepting for a mild preoccupation with securing a place of concealment for her new wardrobe that would be completely separate from her existing wardrobe and that would be as safe from compromise as humanly possible, the transition in her tangible life was all but seamless.

''Went from zero to sixty with nary a speed bump though.''  She now mused.  ''From never ever giving womens clothes a single thought to always being on the lookout for new acquisitions.''  Now her thoughts drifted back to that first night.  ''It was like they had been made for me.  Yes!  They were made for me.  Afterall, they were made for women.''  And she recalled how she most especially enjoyed the way she appeared in the leotard; which was so very provocatively form fitting.  ''And from such humble beginnings.  Just look how far i've come.''  She thought, with ambivalence.

As was her wont, currently, whenever she shopped online, with the myriad of choices, she often found herself paralyzed by indecision.   Finally, it occurred to her that a process of elimination might make her choice easier.

''And just where do you propose we begin that process?''  She thought, sarcastically.  And for a moment, she could not say.  Then, it dawned on her.

''How about we start with what we know we don't want?  What we've had before.''   She thought.  And which seemed like a good idea, at first.

''Oh yeah!  Great!  You've eliminated three whole choices.  Just fucking great.''

''No!  It's four choices, If we include the self-adhesive type.  Foam falsies.  D cup.  C cup.  And all self-adhesive'.''

''Yay!  It's a breakthrough!  Four choices!  Ya kiddin me?''

Next, in an effort to avoid a near complete waist of her time she sought to expand upon the modest progress she had made by attempting to list the characteristics of the products she previously possessed.  But not long into the process, however, she could not help but lose herself in reverie.

''Yes.  Indeed.  That certainly was a clever ruse.  They had no idea of your true intentions, I'm sure.''  She thought, ironically, in reference to the circumstances surrounding the purchase of her first ever set of fake breasts.  She had first seen the set of foam falsies several weeks prior to the actual purchase date of same, when she had taken her then teenage daughter to the novelty shop in question, in search of a Halloween costume.  As soon as her gaze fell upon them she felt she must soon possess them.  The erotic possibilities were intoxicating.  ''But how?''  She desperately thought.  The image of herself; by appearance a forty something year old man, at a cash register with a pair of life-like foam falsies complete with large darkly colored nipples packaged in clear cellophane plastic was absolutely mortifying.  But then; ''Eureka!  It is Halloween, after all.  I'll come back on Halloween.  I'll buy a few other odd things as well.  The place will be packed with last minute shoppers.  The cashiers will be harried and hurried.  No one will be the wiser.  At the very least I'll establish plausible deniability.''  And come Halloween that year, while maintaining the edifice of her ironic public persona she procured the sought after prosthetics.  ''How wonderful they were.''  She recalled.  When she got home with them that day she immediately tried on everything she owned over them.  She was so proud when she posted pictures of them in her 'CraigsList' ads.  ''Got a lot of action from those.''  Soon, however, her pleasant reveries were overshadowed when she recalled how, years later, she had thought her adult son had seen the falsies in a trash can where she had recently and fecklessly disposed of them during preparations for a move.  With a deep sigh she thought; ''You just cannot always be on your guard.''

When she recalled the specifics concerning her first set of silicone breast forms all she could do was smile and shake her head.  ''They did not look that big in the images.''  She thought, referring to the 'D' cup sized breast forms.  ''My god.  They were huge.  I looked ridiculous with them on.  And they required so much support I couldn't even feel them jiggling or bouncing.  And that was one of the things I most wanted.  Got some damn good pics with those though.  With that yellow spandex body suit type dress over them.  I'm sure those pics got me laid a few times. And didn't I have them on when I had that guy on the beach that night? In the dunes.  No more than a hundred yards from where people were crab hunting.  Yes.  That' right.  Did he fondle them at all?  I think he did.  Lost twenty fucking dollars sending them back too goddamnet.''  

No longer smiling now, she was again shaking her head as she began to consider the second set of silicone breast forms she had recieved in exchange for the first set.  ''And they were to fucking big too.  And self-adhesive my ass.  They always began peeling off after only a few minutes.''  She thought with disgust.  But then, to her great discomfiture, this last thought re-animated the neural pathway to a memory she had once hoped would never re-surface again, and she involuntarily gasped in response.  ''I still cannot believe that happened.''  She thought, as the shock of re-living the incident began to wane.  ''Thats worse than leaving a trail of 'Santorum' to the bathroom.  On the other hand.....  I think it's fair to say we both reacted with the utmost dignity.  After the first one popped out in his hand; I think it was that yellow dress too, he simply tossed it aside without a thought and kept right on hitting it hard.  Admirible.  Then I pulled the other one off and continued to enjoy myself notwithstanding.''  And here, in a flash of insight she transitioned back to the here and now.  ''This is truly a breakthrough.  Take that bitch!  This has not been a waist of time.  We're buying the kind that strap on over the shoulder and around the chest.  'B' cup.''

The End

Tomboy

Davita Minton

Serial Trans

Tomboy

    It was out of the ordinary for her to travel.  She preferred the relative safety of her own lodgings.  This, however, was a special occasion.  On a whim; most likely because there was a picture attached, she clicked on a 't4m pic' ad.  ''Or was it 't4t pic'?''  She mused at a later date.  She could not remember.  Notwithstanding, it was an exceedingly rare thing for her to do.  Upon reading the post and discovering it was actually a 'tt 4...' anyone and everyone she hopefully responded, complete with pictures and full stats, posthaste.  And when she read the timely e-mail response that not only extended a friendly invitation to attend the gathering but also the secretly hoped for information that a 'top' had already committed to attend, she thought; ''Oh yeah.  I'm going.''

    In her favorite short shorts and a tiny sleeveless pink 't' and her various and sundry rings and bracelets and anklets and necklaces and nothing else she tramped around the grounds of the labyrinthine apartment complex, in the dark, barefooted, for several minutes, barely avoiding detection twice, until she finally reached her destination.  And to her great disappointment she learned that the 'top' had opted to leave even before the beginning of the festivities.

    ''They're not model quality girls certainly, but they're not that bad.''  She thought, in an effort to understand why the fellow had left before consummation.  For a moment she was tempted to ask Lisa; the obvious Master of Ceremonies, if she had shared with the gentleman the pictures she had sent her in her initial response but then, upon sensing that the implications of such a question were indiscreet she thought better of it.

    Lisa was a tall, very thin, almost gaunt creature with intensely engaging and ceaselessly searching brown eyes and long, straight, bleach-blond hair that she assiduously kept the long bangs of which positioned as close to the margins of her eyes as possible by routinely and fastidiously gathering them between her elegantly long and thin fingers and then gently and repeatedly pulling them straight down over her high cheekbones and past her pronounced jaw line to very near her breasts.  Her nose was unremarkable possibly because of its proximity to her perfectly sized and beautifully shaped mouth.  She was dressed from head to toe and to the palms of her lovely and graceful hands all in black.  The only flesh beyond that of her face and hands that was visible was her long, slender and sinewy neck and a thin sliver of each upper thigh between the bottom of her impossibly tight corset and her opaque thigh high stockings.  And in stocking feet she soundlessly and gracefully flitted about the cramped and cluttered confines of the tiny place serving refreshments and retrieving necessities.

    The other attendee was almost wholly unremarkable accepting for her ridiculous bouffant hairdo and her extraordinarily strange behavior.  All she did was lay on the bed and comment on, or describe, or repeat things she or Lisa either did or said.  And she constantly addressed Lisa as 'Mastor'.  ''Mastor is getting drinks.  You look lovely Mastor.  Oh, Mastor is coming to bed.  Oh, Mastor.  He's got a big one.  Mastor going to suck that big one.  He's going to kiss you Mastor.  He's going to fuck you Mastor.  Mastor getting fucked.  I want to get fucked Mastor.''  And on, and on, and on.  ''It's no wonder that guy left.''  She thought.

    The first attempted session ended unsatisfactorily, all around.  ''This is not my thing.''  She thought.  She was considering whether or not to make her apologies and discretely but hurriedly leave when Lisa suggested another drink and some straight porn.  ''Mastor putting on porn.''  

    Soon she found herself sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed watching pornography on an old 19' television.  The content; while interesting, was working to little effect.  ''Hell.  I could have done this at home.  And with better results.''  She thought.  But then, Lisa glided over to her with a fresh drink and snuggled up behind her on the bed and began to gently yet maddeningly kiss her neck and ears while whispering stimulating words of encouragement.

    All around, the second session ended most satisfactorily.  She joyfully fulfilled the requirements of a role she had not played for a very long time.  On the way home, and in bed that night, and for days to come she was haunted by visions of Lisa.  Her hair, her eyes, her mouth.  Kissing that mouth, and her cheeks, and her ears, and her neck, and her eyelids and......  She had not kissed anyone like that, with that kind or passion for many years.  Soon, however, the visions and the memories and the desire to maintain them and even recreate them; albeit with someone other than Lisa, engendered first confusion and then fear.  And compounding the issue even further was the fact that she had only recently extricated herself from a wholly unfruitful 'traditional' male/female relationship with a female co-worker whom she had grown, with time, to love; grown to love for in the beginning the impetus had been a pure public relations ploy, yet that she had known from very early on would never consent to a truly honest and open relationship with her.

    Truly bereaved as she was, in the aftermath of these two episodes, especially concerning that of her co-worker she wondered; ''What am I doing?  Why am I doing this?  Why am I feeling this way?  What does it mean?  Am I really... who i think I am?''

    ''It's just a caprice.  Nothing more.  A phase I'm going through.  I keep getting the same guys after me all the damn time.  I'm bored with them.  New talent is so rare now.  I've tapped this market out.  This is nothing.  It will pass.''  She told herself, in self-defense.  And to a certain extent, she was correct.  As the days grew into weeks, and the weeks into months, and as she searched for and discovered new sources of potential companionship the feelings of loss and doubt ebbed away.  Moreover, she also surprised herself in that she accepted and even embraced what she now considered to be a long latent desire for female companionship.

    Over the next several months she tried, in vain, to find either a Trans woman or a cis gendered woman to develope an open and honest relationship with.  But then, on christmas eve, Lisa resurfaced.  And even though she knew that it would be the same as before, just another one time thing, as so many of her liaisons were, and that she would most likely, once again, have to endure the lingering effects of intense intamcy, which she never had to do before Lisa, she sent the invitation anyway.

    It was wonderful from the very first moment.  She was just the same as she was before.  Her lovely hair, perfectly bisected by her shoulders, hung close to her mesmerizing eyes.  And that mouth, and those lips, and the entirety of her small, soft, painted, and provocatively upturned face.  She was close, with her arms around her waist, never looking away.  They exchanged pleasantries and embraced.  They parted slightly and looked at each other.  Then they kissed and kissed and kissed.  On and on and wonderfully on.  And into the gloaming below, without ever looking away, Lisa glided down and down and down.

    This time it was just the two of them.  They could linger in each others arms as long as they liked.  They could commiserate in peace and privacy.  At one point Lisa produced a long blond hair wig from her overnite bag and offered it for a try on.  Lisa humbly insisted she be allowed to position the wig properly and brush it out before viewing in the mirror.  As if with a trained hand Lisa worked her magic.  When she saw herself for the first time as the possessor of long beautiful blond hair she gasped and brought both hands up to cover her mouth.  Even in the dim light of the kitchen area candles the experience was transformational.  She darted into the bathroom for a better look.  She gasped again.  For several minutes she went back and forth from one mirror to the other marveling at the complete change in her that this simple thing had wrought.  She told Lisa she had a strange and uplifting feeling of recognition, as if she had seen this person in the mirror before.  ''It's you my dear.  The 'You' you've denied for decades.''   Lisa said.  And when next Lisa produced a lovely backless and sleeveless knee length black dress and outfitted her with it and introduced her to herself in the mirror; ''Come meet the real you.'' she was speechless.  She blushed.  She cried.  The implications were staggering.  They embraced.  They kissed.  They fell together again.

    In the afterglow, for one shining moment, all was right in her world.  But then, reality, cloaked in the guies of a few simple words, interjected itself with humbling force.  ''Don't judge now.''  Lisa softly implored as she produced from her over-nite bag a 'bic' lighter and a small thoroughly blackened glass pipe.  And as Lisa studiously imbibed whatever poisonous concoction that lay within the hideous looking thing she watched her in wonder as she was reminded of her earlier centiments.  She thought; ''Maybe there is no 'right one' for me.''

    Soon they were commiserating again.  Swapping stories and tips and accessories.  She joyfully consented to keep both the wig and the dress but only when Lisa consented to accept a rarely used set of 'C' cup sized self-adhesive silicone breast forms in exchange.  The locale before the full-length mirror was a busey place that evening.

    Deep in the night, inhibitions drowned, with delayed regret but instant gratification for both of them she relented to partake of Lisa's chosen poison.  Lisa was right.  A body that was previously unresponsive to stimuli was suddenly enlivened and intamacy was reborn anew, and enhanced, even to the point of inspiring the utterance; yet all to often in vainglory as it was in this instance, of a certain liberating three word phrase.

    Mindfullness found her behind her time.  ''How long had they slept?  Had they slept at all?''  She wondered.  It was all a blurr.  Regardless, she would be late for work.  ''No matter.''  She told Lisa as she downed one last shot.  ''It's christmas.  There will be very few guests about. I'll get some sleep at work.''  But then, suddenly, she was mortified.  She had never before been in this situation.  No one she knew well had ever seen her dressed.  And conversely, no one that had seen her dressed had ever seen her otherwise.  The prospect of anyone at all ever seeing her in both iterations of herself had always been; since the moment several years ago when the possibility of such an event first occurred to her, an utter and incomprehensable anathema.   But there was Lisa, in the bathroom, with the door open, metamorphosizing before her very eyes.  She reluctantly began to don what she often considered; ''loathsome and burdensome garments of falsehood.''

    ''Hell.  She's not bad looking that way either.  Perhaps a little to short and thin for me, but I'd let her do me right now anyway."  She thought.  "Oh yeah!  She doesn't do that.  Mores the pity.''  Then, as she dressed, she shared her concerns on the subject of wardrobe choices.

    ''Whats the big whoop?  It doesn't bother me.  Now I'd prefer......  Well, you know.''  Lisa replied.  And as she replied she paused and looked her up and down as she finished dressing.  Then, with a warm and friendly smile she added; ''I like it.  Now you're a Tomboy.''   She immediately apreciated the centiment and they both had a good, if not ironic laugh at the situation.  Then they hugged and made their perfunctory promises to stay in touch and meet again, and then they parted company.

    Her first few hours of work were brutal.  This day, of all days, her supervisor said he was staying awhile; ''to catch up on some paperwork.''  But as she suspected, and hoped, however, he soon made his excuses and left mid-morning.  And on a sun-swathed wind-swept un-occupied penthouse balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico she took a much needed nap.

    Later, as she was making her duely appointed rounds, and as the fog of over-indulgence began to dissipate she remembered 'Tomboy' with a wan smile.  ''Yeah right.''  She thought, as she stopped and looked down at herself.  But then, not a minute later, when she caught herself standing in a forbidden posture; forbidden for she feared it belied her true self, she burst out in cathartic laughter as an ephiphany dawned.

The End

Moving Day

Davita Minton

Trans Tales

Moving Day

    This would be her third; ''And final.'' she thought, attempt to move to San Francisco.

    ''That's where my people are.''  She often thought, in reference to the question that no person had ever asked of her, yet that she often imagined would be asked of her if, that is, she had ever openly admitted that this was her true destination, which she had not done either of the previous two times, and which she fully intended not to do this time either.  Unlike before, however, when she told her family in Illinois; her two adult children and her two brothers, that she was moving to Los Angeles she had no family or friends here to tell anything to.  Here, she had only co-workers and they would be told nothing.

    It wasn't' so much the LGBT community that drew her to California.  Nor was it the climate so much either, although both were significant factors in her choice.  Overall it was the California mystique that drew her there.  The most liberal state in the country.  The 'Left' coast.  Hollywood. The Haight and Summer of Love.  The Castro.  Harvey Milk.  California here I come.  Go west young man.  And to top it off with an LGBT community and culture that seemed; at least from a distance, to be thriving and prescient, that she had heard about innumerable times over the years in every conceivable pop-culture genre, combined with a moderate climate and immediate proximity to an ocean, it was the stuff dreams were made of.  It just seemed like the safest place to live.  The safest place to live openly, that is.

          She lived in a coastal community now.  Just five minutes from the beach.  And she worked at a beachfront condominium complex.  She loved the beaches there.  In places there were miles of unbroken undeveloped and sparsely peopled stretches of coast.  During the off-season, on weekdays, there were beaches within a twenty minute drive where a shy girl could walk and swim and sunbath clad however she wished, unabashed.  And any time of year; except for the relatively few days a year it was to cold to do so, this place was perfect, she felt, to indulge her long innurred and secretive nocturnal erotic ramblings.

          "Woman cannot live by beach alone."  She told herself.  "I need to be free.  And I want to be with like minded people.  And more men.  And something else besides the beach that's pleasing to the eye.  And more men.  And cities.  And mountains.  And forests.  And more men.  And culture.  And no more predominantly ultra-conservative, creationistic, bigoted and culturally backward general population.  And more men.  And maybe even a few receptive women as well"

          As was originally conceived the plan called for her to get 'dressed' the morning of the move and never look back, either on NW Florida or her former life as a man.  However, with the passage of time; and a lot had passed for she had postponed the move three times already, many questions and previously unforeseen problems and doubts and fears had crept into her mind undermining the efficacy of the original plan.

          As the first of the three proposed dates for the move approached she began to both visualise and speculate on milestone type events.  And from the very beginning potential problems very quickly presented themselves.  When she began to think about what it was she was going to wear that first day, on the road, in the car, she encountered her first roadblock.  "Oh shit!"  She thought, stupefied by the simplicity of the thing.  "How could I have not foreseen this?"  She was referring to the first time she would have to face the general public.  At a gas station or rest-stop or Restaurant or convenience store.  "What the hell am I going to wear?"

          During the previous two abortive cross country moves from central Illinois to San Francisco she had worn her favorite cut-off short shorts and a halter top and pink flip flops; but only in the car.  Never outside of the car.  Always beside her on the passenger seat she kept her protective clothing.  A track suit.  Pants and jacket and slip-on shoes.  Given the nature of a 2100 mile, three day drive and all the requisite interruptions of progress she soon became well practised at both donning and doffing her protective clothing.  "If I had owned a smartphone back then who knows how long it would have taken me to get there."  She thought, in reference to her behind the wheel behavior during those two trips when she would often slow her speed when passing tractor-trailer trucks and linger a few seconds alongside the cabs of the trucks with the hope that operators with certain proclivities might appreciate and react to her shaved and naked thighs.  As she recalled there were a few reactions, but to her disappointment nothing ever came of them.

    "I cannot dress like that this time.  No fucking way.  Not if I'm all in on this.  I cannot be slutting it up at gas stations and rest..... stops.''  And here she froze as the spectre of one of the most basic human needs and animal functions concerning the primary function and very reason for the existence of rest-stops unleashed a cataract of perceived challenging and potentially catastrophic situations.

She visualised herself walking through the lobby of a typical government style, floor-to-ceiling tiled building with the unruly hair of her wig blurring her vision and stopping in front of the two competing open-entry style lavatories.  'Men' on the left.  'Women' on the right.  Her thoughts now spiraled out of control.

''What do I do?  Left is out of the question no matter what I'm wearing.''

''Unless I go 'track-suit' and pull off the wig every time.''

''But that's not the plan.''

''But right?''

''Not slutting it up you're not.''

''What about my capri pants?  With that little blouse and the open front sweater and wig and flip flops?''

''Make-up!  Without make-up they'll know.''

''I'll get make-up.  How much could it cost?  I can afford it.  It won't break the budget.  Then I can confidently........''

''But no boobs!  Flat chest will give me away for sure.  Must have boobs.''

''You were going to buy some later anyway.''

''But only after getting there, and getting a place and a job.''

''It has to be done.  The budget will be ok, I hope.''

''But what about day two?  And day three?  And day four or five in San Francisco?  The same cloths for four or five days?  And........ where the hell am I gonna shave?''

''Electric razor.  In the car.''

''But it doesn't shave as close.  Will make-up conceal what's left?  Damn!  Where am I going to put it on?  And take it off?  If I can't go in without make-up, where am I going to put it on?  And take it off?''

''In the car?''

''Really?  With no experience?  You really think you can apply make-up using a rearview mirror?''

''I'll get a hand held mirror.''

''But what about privacy?  There's no privacy in the front seat of a car.  And no lighting.  Make-up by dome light?  And space?  It will be too......''

''Cheap motels!  That will solve every problem.  Thorough shaves.  And not just my face.  Space and privacy and lighting for makeup.  And a good nights sleep.  You know you hate sleeping in......''

''Now!  There goes the budget.  Fuuuuuck!''  And here she hung her head in exasperation. Very quickly, however, she raised her head again and sat very still with a wry smile creeping into her features as a new and exhilarating idea swept away the ambivalence induced confusion pervading her mind.  ''Why not?''  She thought, in reference to the erotic possibilities inherent of cheap motels.  ''If it's the cost of doing business, I might as well get my moneys worth out of it.''

For a time, as the first, then the second and the third proposed move dates came and went she thought little of the challenges that lay ahead.  She felt she had survived the first assault of adversity and persevered quite nicely.  She had addapted her plan; for somewhat selfish reasons she understood, and accepted the reality of unforeseen expenses.  Occasionally other daunting possibilities relating to post-transit situations flitted through her mind, but usually only when a proposed move date loomed.  As each date fell victim to postponement, however, her anxieties waned accordingly.   But now a new date; or rather a new approximate date was set.  ''May.  Yeah.  Sometime in early May.  There are three paydays in April.  That should boost my savings to an acceptable level.  Or early June, at the latest.''  She thought.  As it was late January now, the 'new approximate date' was still comfortably three months away, at the earliest.  Unlike before though, when she had set a date and then all but forgot it until the date was a mere three or four weeks away, this time things were different.

She couldn't remember when, exactly, this new and deeply disturbing idea had occurred to her.  She supposed it might it might have appeared as early as just after the first postponement.  But back then it was easily shrugged off as little more than self-flagellation for a perceived failure.  But now with three postponements and no exact date set the idea that she was deceiving herself, that she never really intended to go, that she never really intended to come out.  And additionally that she was beginning to believe an ancillary idea just might be true.  That she had missed her window and she was too old and tired and fat and ugly and stupid and worthless to make such a journey and face such a litany of challenges.

Every time there was any reference to anything even remotely related to California; and there were many such reference it seemed for she was an avid and daily consumer of multiple different podcasts, she was reminded of the move and all of its implications and ramifications.

"I mean how long do I have really?  Before I'm so old I'll possess no resemblance whatsoever to a real woman.  Before I become a spectacle.  A ridiculous old man in a dress.  Ten years maybe?  Is it worth it?  Is it really worth all the pain and heartache and danger of living openly for such a short period of time?  And transition?  Really?  By the time I've completed that...... I'll be......"

"Oh stop it.  You're still doing well.  Hell!  You just had a twenty one year old give you a serious dicking down.  And he love it.  He said so.  And his passion and longevity proved it.  And he wants to come back for more.  You still got it."

"But for how long?  I do not want to be ridiculous."

"How long?  How long?  How long is right.  How long can you go on like this?  This thing is progressing rapidly.  You're doing more and more all the time.  And you want to do even more.  You want to go all the way.  You know that.  And the longer you stay here....... Doing more and more; sometimes despite yourself, you are going to be outed.  You want that here?  Really?  You know it would be ugly.  This is pro-active.  It's the right way to do it, and in the right place too.  The safest place.  The best place."

"Then why do I do this every damned day now?  Why?  Why do I keep putting it off?  And what about when you get there?  Are going full- time?  Or are you going to slink around in the shadows like you do here?  And she wants to visit again in May.  And he will want you to visit them in Atlanta in June.  How do I say no to either of them?  I love them."

"And here we are again.  It all comes down to having to choose between the pros and the cons.  And telling them 'no' is definitely a con."  And here she began once again to visualise and contemplate her written pros and cons list.  And yet again, upon summing it up, nothing had changed.  Including the three word final product of the summation process. 'You are going'.

And channeling her beloved Humphrey Bogart she thought;  "Yes you are."

The End

Surprise

Davita Minton

Trans Tales

Surprise

    She had shaved her legs before.  It had been years, however, since the last time that she had.  She often thought about it though, even to the point of yearning to do so.  There were times when she believed she could actually feel an annoying, irritating and low-grade collective and chronic pain emanating from each offending follicle.  There were also times, on rare occasions, when she feared that in an unguarded moment, in a state of pique or, when in her cups, she might make an impetuous decision and just do it.  Shave it all off.

    ''It would be glorious though.''  She thought.

           ''And disastrous too.  Well....  At least potentially, anyway.''   The reasoning behind the latter cautious position was, that if she shaved her legs she would be required to wear long pants for several weeks wherever she went in public; that is if she were to maintain 'Deep Stealth', and she fully intended to.  Furthermore, the very act of clothing herself in such a way, for weeks on end, at this latitude; where it is common even in the dead of winter to have sunny sixtyfive degree days when nearly everybody reverts to shorts and sandals, just might be the one additional and final suspicious behavior that could lead someone, anyone, to an unfavorable opinion.    

    ''And what if I slipped up somehow and someone saw a section of smooth skin.''  The cautious her thought.  ''It could happen.  Like when I pull my pant leg up to re-tie one of my boots, or to pull up my sock.''  The absurdity of the possibility of being exposed in such a way as this immediately occurred to her.  Simultaneously, the debilitating exasperation she felt over having to live as she was; ever increasing with time, suddenly and completely consumed her.  A confusion of thoughts raced through her mind and reverberated back on themselves.  Impossible, ridiculous, contradictory, old, new, and dangerous ideas.

    "Just do it.  Do what you want.  You always do, anyway.  Just be your selfish self."

          "But thats how I ended up this way.  Conform.  Assimilate. Be normal."

          "Normal!  Normal?  Oppressed.  Constipated.  Confined.  Life is short.  Then its over.  Nothingness.  Oblivion.  One life.  Just one life.  Remember?"   

          "But the risk.  Joblessness.  Homelessness.  Humiliation.  Fear.  Terror.  Violence.  The horror of what this life is really all about.  Nothingness to soon.''

''But you're smart though.  And lucky.  You've been lucky.  Otherwise you wouldn't be here now.  You have discretion.  You have good instincts.  You listen to your gut.  And there's risk now.  Just think of the things you're doing now.''  And here the phrase; 'The cost of doing bidness.' flashed through her mind.  Which was something she often told herself when she reflected upon the means by which she found sexual gratification.  "If putting it all out there for anyone in the world to see; FOREVER, isn't a risk...."

"But it's well managed risk."  She told herself.  Yet something felt wrong.  She was tempted to ignore it, but she didn't.  There was an undercurrent of doubt coming from somewhere.  And it was powerful.  She could not ignore it.

''Am I managing my risk well?''  And with this question a cataract of memories began to rush through her mind.  Here, she was outside; dressed, sunning her legs and feet; thus in broad daylight, after merely checking the driveway.  And there, she was walking to the laundry room; dressed, passing several windows of the main house; during the day, after merely checking the driveway.  And here again, she was taking the trash out; dressed, to the front of the house; albeit after dark, but then rolling the containers to the roadside exposing herself to the light of a nearby streetlight, and then continuing on, fully exposed, across the street to check the mail.  And there again, on several occasions she had 'visitors' in her room, knowing full well that at least one of, if not all of her housemates were in residence or soon would be.  And then there were her thoughts.  Dangerous thoughts that seemed to appear out of nowhere.  Such as; on multiple occasions while conversing with acquaintances at work she thought; ''What if I told her/him that I was Transexual?''  And on other occasions when co-workers asked the perfunctory question; ''What did you do last night?''  If something had happened she wanted to answer truthfully.  As in; ''I got lucky.  I had sex with a hot young black guy from Mobile that I met on Craigslist.''  And several times of late, following a particularly enjoyable evening the night before, she arrived at her place of employment overjoyed and filled with an instinctive desire to share her gospel with another human being only to become completely crestfallen by the time of mid-morning break when the spectre of the ineluctable reaction of her co-workers to such a revalatory recapitulation evinced itself in her mind.

''Why?  Why?  Why am I doing these things?''  She asked herself suddenly, in an unconcious effort to quickly truncate the ongoing inventory before the curtain could be pulled completely away.  The answers that soon followed were forcefully put forward yet, the undeniable creeping and insidious feeling of doubt remained.

''You're getting lazy and feckless Goddamnet!  And forgetful in your dottage as well.  And you're drinking to much, which only exacerbates the other problems.  But what about the episodes at work?  What in the hell is causing that lunacy?''  No immediate answer was forthcoming.  With extreme trepidation she thrust the curtain aside, and there in the wings lurked the truth.

She thought it may have had its roots in the seemingly innocuous; or so she thought at the time, and perfectly natural desire to share the truth with her daughter.  On several occasions she very nearly did so.

 ''She's young.  She's female.  We're close.  She already suspects something.  She will understand.''   All things she told herself when contemplating coming out.  But she never did.  On several occasions back then, before she moved away, she had imagined and practiced what she might say and how she would say it.  But now, as she looked back on those not to distant reveries she realised she never had intended on telling her daughter the whole truth.  Only that she was gay.

"Hell!  I didn't even know the whole truth at that time.  I was just fooling around with it back then.  I had a few things....  Maybe a drawer full....  Or so.  I didn't know.''

''But you do now.  And this..... this.... this elephant is a far cry from that.  Telling her that is nothing compared to this.  Like....  Confessional to judgement day.''    And with that thought the 'This' or 'Elephant' she had been desperately trying to avoid acknowledging the existance of finally overtook her.

It had begun simply enough.  One evening while sitting alone by the window contemplating her legs and feet and lamenting the irritating matt of hair that extended almost unbroken to very near the cuticles of her painted toe nails she had the thought; ''What would it look like really?''  And for a moment or two she imagined just what it might look like.  ''No!  No!  Don't be stupid.''  She said, with disgust.  ''The real truth would be patently obvious.  And you'd look absolutely rediculous.''  She continued in thought, in response to the images she had imagined depicting herself in her threadbare, faded and earth-stained work shorts and boots with shaved legs.  ''Perish the thought.''  She said dismissively.  But it did not perish.  Quite to the contrary actually.  Immediately, as the first anathematical images were summarily banished, much more pleasing images of herself appeared before her minds eye in what she perceived would be womens work attire.

In keeping with her present occupation the colors were dull and drab earth tones.  The work shorts were form-fitting and markedly short in length but; ''Still respectable though.''  She thought.  Her boots were over-the-ankle, thin soled, dark brown, soft leather with many closely spaced laces eyelets strung with thin honey colored leather laces and built upon a tapering three-quarter inch heel.  Accompanying the boots she wore thick, ribbed, tan socks folded down over the top of the boots leather upper about an inch.  For a top she imagined something form-fitting with very short and tight sleeves, just over the shoulder, and short length'd with a slightly looser shirt- waist that softly tapered down from each side, back and front, that at its lowest point only partially covered a medium-sized, flat-finish, dark leather belt.  And to complete the ensemble she imagined wearing a floppy large-brimmed straw hat under which she would wear a colorful bandana in such a way as to completely cover her shaved pate.

''Perfectly natural and reasonable.''  She thought, in summing up how she thought she would appear in the aforementioned attire with shaved legs.  Then, with a forceful and disapproving sniff she rolled her eyes and shook her head as a sardonic grin crossed her features.  Yet, from that point on, with ever increasing discomfort and alarm, each time she suffered an episode of obsessive pre-occupation with shaving her legs, this fantasy returned.  And with time the fantasy grew and sent its runners into every fertile region and monopolized resources and choked and stunted all else until finally when fully blossumed was truly a terrible thing for her to behold.  From a simple one-off reverie to recurring distraction to imaginings for every aspect of her occupation to on-line window shopping to wardrobe planning for all seasons to bursting forth into the light for all the world to see and all the reprecussions thereof.  Who would be the first person to see her?  What would there reaction be?  Who would be the first to hear the words of confirmation from her?  What would her co-workers or her supervisor or the general manager or the board members or the owners or the guests say?  And what would they do?

''Its all getting so overwhelming.''  She thought.  ''And confusing.  I can't keep track of it all.  The more you do, from the collecting of lost and discarded and pilfered things to actually purchasing specific items.  From cloths to nail polish to wigs to breast forms.  From dressing only occasionally or when aroused to every waking private moment.  From never leaving the house.......  From simple fleeting thoughts.......  The more you want to do.  But theres to much already.  I can't keep track of it all.''  Then, from a small desperate place deep within came the thought; ''Throw it all away.  Everything.  There will be no evidense then.  Nothing will be hidden.  There will be nothing to hide.  Then nothing can be discovered.  And there will be no deception to maintain.''  

For a moment everything was arrested, even her resperation.  In a matter of mere seconds it all played out in her mind.  She had done this before.  She knew what to do and how to do it.  Every drawer and every cabinet and every nook and cranny and box and bag would be searched, again and again.  And she would use opaque bags like she had before and.....

''Do they make a bag for ideas?  Or desires?  Or thoughts?  Or feelings?  Are they opaque too, my dear?''  She thought, in mockery of herself.

''Yes.  I've done it before.  AND IT DID NOT WORK!  Who are you kidding?  Don't deceive yourself.  You can deceive the world but not yourself.''

''Not for much longer though, the way you're going.  Theres just to much.....  to remember......''  Then, suddenly, it hit her.  The words 'deceive' and 'deception' came back to her.  She had just used them in her inner dialoque.  Coupled with the concepts of 'to much to remember' and 'can't keep track of it all' it struck her all in a rush.

''This is like a lie.  A giant elaborate lie.''  And then all the old adages and aphorisms and sayings about lies and liars flooded into her mind like a cleansing wave.

''Omission not commission.  You're not telling lies.  You're not a liar.  You are living a lie.  Living a lie.  Your life is a lie.  You..... are a lie.

THE END

Cosa Nostra

Davita Minton

Cosa Nostra

    There was this thing she did, or felt rather, for it wasn't by choice.  She was convinced beyond doubt that when it happened it was unconscious and spontaneous.  And without fail every time it happened she was left with the strangest sort of confusing and conflicting feelings of frustration.

    Conflicting feelings and proclivities were nothing new to her, however.  For instance, she yearned for intimacy with women yet there were few women she felt attracted to.  On the other hand, she loathed the idea of intimacy with men yet there were few men she would not have sex with.  She feared men greatly but often sought their company.  She wanted a women in her life yet she rarely sought their company.

    Why it is she only recently became aware of 'this thing' she did not know.  Yet she was sure she had been experiencing it for many years.  One day, not more than a year ago, when in the midst of an actual episode of 'this thing' an epiphanal revelation that perfectly explained her behavior at that moment simply appeared, as if of its own volition.  She also did not know the exact circumstances; date, time and place, of the initial epiphany, as it was her wont, generally, to need to experience something like this multiple times before it became common knowledge and immediately recognizable.  However, there was one thing she felt she could be all but certain of.  Considering her history, it was, most likely a woman; an attractive woman, that inspired the long innurred reaction which in turn generated the revelation.

    A more recent episode of only a few months ago, on a warm fall day at the beach, which was most memorable, consisting of all the classic signs and symptoms and occurring with such visceral power,  was one that she considered to be the single most important iteration of the epiphany in the evolution of its eventual canonization.

    She was wearing her favorite short shorts and an ephemeral form-fitting, sleeveless, vest-like blouse with a white floppy beach hat and sunglasses.  She had been there a while and had taken all the pictures she wanted when she spyed the silhoette of a person aproaching from way down the beach to the east.  ''Oh well.  Its time to go anyway.''  She thought.  And without haste she calmly prepared for the walk back.  Within a minute or so she had donned her protective clothing; mens swimwear and a ballcap, and doffed the blouse, beach hat and sunglasses concealing them neatly in her day-pack.  And with water bottle in hand and earbuds in place she non-chalantly set out down the beach towards the aproaching silhoette.

    ''Its a woman.  Alone.''  She concluded after a short while.  ''Shes in a bikini too.  OMG!''  And with each step thereafter she noticed more and more details.  ''Long free flowing blond hair.  Tall and thin.  Tanned.  And mature.''  And when the woman was within ten feet and she could fully apreciate her facial features and her fine smooth flesh and her classic proportions the reflexive desire to have her, to touch her, to hold her, to be one with her exploded through her mind.  But then, in a matter of mere seconds as she quickly turned to view the womans posterior and legs and feet and arch of her back and shoulders and arms and hair there came the familiar yearning that somehow was more acheingly powerful than the desire to have her.  And she thought; ''Thats exactly what it is.  I want to be her.  Oh god how it hurts.  How could I want both?  I could understand one or the other but both?  What am I?''  And as she walked on, alone, she looked down at herself and hated what she saw.  She wanted to be that person she was a few moments ago before she saw the silhoette.  Free and wonderful and liking what she saw.  Part by part she began to compare herself to the other her.  But then the dueling, conflicting desires flooded back in.  ''I WANT THAT PUSSY!  But I also want that pussy.  I WANT THAT ASS!  But I also want that ass.  I WANT THOSE LEGS AND BREASTS AND THAT BELLY AND NECK AND FACE AND HAIR AND ARMS AND HANDS AND FEET!  But I also want.....''  She sat and hung her head.

    ''What is 'this thing' I do?  Why do I do it?  And knowing only makes it worse.  Now every time I see someone like that I'm going to do this.  It's like there are two of me.  And I have to live with this thing.  This thing we have.''

THE END