Synopsis:

This is a story about life’s regrets and about the transition from a young boy to a grown woman.
This is a story about the price each of us has to pay, to be true to our inner selves, and become what we must be.

Story:

This story remains my property, and may not be posted on any other website or published without my written consent. -Nicole Braun

 Chapter
Nine: From The Frying Pan Into The Fire

 I never, ever, could have imagined, that men could be such huge problems.

 Before, I never gave them much thought.

 During my cross-dressing time, I went out with Jen and Sandy. Most often it was to lesbian localities. When we did go out elsewhere, I didn’t seem to notice that extreme amount more attention from men.

 Once I started going out alone, it was a completely different story.

 The thing is, even if you are a lesbian, and not interested sexually in men, they cannot be excluded from your life. Men themselves, from their nature, do not allow this to happen. It’s a part of their whole social/dating/sexual outlook on life. They, from nature, are the aggressors, the hunters.

 You can’t stay home all the time. You can’t avoid them. You have to deal with them, especially if you’re single.

 During my recovery time, I had to stay down. I didn’t feel like doing much, anyway. Once everything was healed. I had a severe case of cabin fever. I just needed to get out amongst people!

 How people reacted towards me, was also, for me at that time, a major ego boost… just what I needed.

 Maybe, that’s what got me in trouble.

 As a male, other than with Andrea, I had only dated a few times. My experiences were even in that aspect, limited at best, and all in the wrong direct.

 I was so naive. The learning curve, that natural born women have, concerning men, is… longer and more extensive, has more volume.

 Mine was like null and void. I did not have the depth of knowledge, to know truly, be aware of, the effect I had on men. What to do, or what not to do. How my body language would be evaluated.

 What made it worse, was that Jen and Sandy, who could have helped me along, were gone.

 I did have Dr. Johnston, and she had pointed out that this would be an issue. What I don’t know is if we, or just I, had underestimated how great of an issue it would be, or if she wasn’t completely upfront with me, about what life changes I was going to undergo. That in fact, I have to learn, one-step-at-a-time, as events unfolded.

  My healing process had pretty well been done and gone, when I started to seriously get into clothing fetishes. I seemed to weekly go from one fetish to another. One week it would be shoes. (Do you know how much a pair of Jimmy Choo or Prada’s cost?) Another week would be panties. (I just love string bikinis.) The week after that… skirts… than dresses… than bras… than…

 Now I have almost my whole guest bedroom closet stacked full of shoes and clothes, not to speak of my bedroom closet! I had to have custom made closets built, in both bedrooms. Janice would be totally jealous.

 Anyway…

 I was out shopping, and saw this absolutely fabulous, fiery red, salsa halter-dress, with deep cleavage, an extremely low back (and I mean extremely low), and a high-low skirt bottom. It was hot…hot…hot, and I love anything Latin!

 The saleswoman and I had been gabbing, while I had been shopping, for at least a good hour, when I saw that dress. It was a, “Oh my God, I’ve got to have,” moment. Wearing it was almost orgasmic.

 She said, “A dress like this demands to be worn dancing”, and she started to tell me about this place her husband and her go dancing. I was dying of jealousy. We ended up making a date that Saturday, for me to go with them.

 That night I felt so naughty. You can’t wear a bra with that dress, so everything else I had on, was a tiny black lace string-bikini panty, a pair of black leather three-inch heel Jimmy Choo’s (with corset like lacing), and a tight black satin half-inch wide band collar, that has a diamond brochette, in the middle.     

 No, nothing sexual happened that night, other than that it was my first straight night out, in I-don’t-know-how-long. Plus, I did get a few kisses on the cheek and two on the lips… and… while dancing, a lot of (well, you know whats) rubbed against my tummy.

 The kisses and boner rubs didn’t bother me like I thought they would. It all felt natural. I guess I was just so much into dancing, with so many good dancing partners, that I didn’t give it a thought.

 It was a good transitional experience. Even though I was aware that the men I danced with had other intentions than just dancing, I had not felt pressured in any way. I was asked on 3 dates, and asked if I wanted to get some fresh air at least a good dozen (or more) times.

 I declined all, but twice, of going out on a patio, for fresh air. Neither gentleman got touchy, even though both did use the moment, to try and get my telephone number.

 What did happen was that I became addicted to going out dancing. I wanted more… and more.

 Late that night, after returning home, while sitting on my terrace, I did have a long heart-to-heart talk with my soul, my emotions (guilt being one of them), a full moon and the ocean waves. We all came to the conclusion that there was nothing wrong in my behavior. Just so long as I didn’t step over any boundaries, everything was okay. If a man kisses me, than that doesn’t make me gay. Anyway, they kissed me, not me them.

 Dr. Johnston and I did have than a new topic of discussion. Her major remark was, “Enjoy, but you are still psychologically, at a too early of a development. So, just remember to keep your legs together. That’s all I ask.”

 Now that was shocking! “What is she thinking? What was she telling me? No way! I am not going to go there! I am totally, and unquestionably, heterosexual! That is not going to happen!”

 Friday and Saturday nights, I started going out dancing than. If I could find another girl to go with me, than that was good. If I didn’t, than I stayed closer to home, and out of clubs I didn’t know so well.

 Later on, I got in with a really nice group of people, so Wednesdays were added. Some of these people were even sport or competition dancers.

 I was though pushing my boundaries, which I had set, after that first night out. I can’t exactly say when it began. Only, when I noticed, that I had gone, over my said limits.

 I had, by that time, have quite a few numbers, belonging to men, on my cellphone.  

 It wasn’t unusual to kiss a good friend, a little more, or a little more often, than just good night.

 I guess I was becoming a bit of a tease, maybe a little more, than just a bit of a tease. For me, it was a power thing. It was a feel good thing, a popularity thing. Someone desired me. That was new to me, and it was like a drug addiction. I dressed to tease. I danced to tease, and I flirted to tease.

 I didn’t think much of it. I would kiss a single guy, just the same as I would a husband of one of my friends. They all knew it. They all did it. No one thought anything of it. No one hid it from anyone. I even kissed a few of the women, wives and singles. No biggie… no problem.

 The night I realized I had stepped over the line... actually started the night before.

 Scott and I had been dirty dancing since Friday night, and it was now late Saturday night. We weren’t doing any real necking, or petting. It was only getting a little bit out of hand, mostly just on the dance floor.

 We were also doing four out of five dances with each other. He was a single guy, and I was a single girl, so what? If anyone was taking notice, that things went a bit further than normal, that we were dancing more with each other than with the others, it was noticed more in a positive tense. More than one of the married women in our group, pulled me aside, to tell me how nice a guy, they thought he was.

 He had long wanted to test drive my Mustang. It’s a Shelby GT500. So a real... guy thing. So while we were out for fresh air, I handed him the keys. He drove, and I sat in the passenger seat.

 When we got back to the parking lot, he had to park the car a little ways away. We sat there talking for a while.

 One thing led to another, and I was wondering, how I was going to get out of, the mess I was in, and cursing that I had worn a dress, where I could not wear a bra. Things were getting out of hand quickly, and I had no idea, how I could politely put a stop to it. (How do you?)

 It came even worse when he tried to slide his fingers underneath the crotch of my panties. I grabbed his hand and whispered, “Wrong time.” (At least I was thinking that fast.) That did stop him in that direction. But, by that time, the top of my dress was pretty well off.

 I’m not going to say that I was not aroused. That would not be truthful. My mind was saying one thing, and my body another, and my body was talking louder, and faster than my mind.  

I had had my arms around his neck when he pulled away from me for a moment. He took my hands and kissed them. Than he seemed to just lay them in his lap and raised his hands back to my face, and returned kissing me. I felt something that wasn’t trouser cloth, and pulled back. “This is going way too far. What am I going to do now?” was all I could think. He took one of my hands and wrapped it around his cock, “Please” he implored, “Just this, nothing more, please.” 

 At that moment, it didn’t seem too wrong, or unusual. It was a good way to stop things from going further, and get us back into the club.

 Let’s just say, I had another deep heart-to-heart talk with the moon and the ocean waves when I got home that night.

 Dr. Johnston also had some crisis management to do. Her advice was, just to do, or not do, what I felt I liked doing, or not. “But, remember to keep you legs together girl, you’re not ready.”

 I just kept my thoughts to myself. “Like, no way doctor! That is not going to happen!” I wasn’t going to argue with her. I knew what I was doing, and what I wanted.

 It was though, another Pandorian box. Once opened, the results that it had, could not be revoked. The line that I had once drawn in the sand, I kept having to redraw, as I retreated, from my once so solid stance.

 It was a power emotion that kept me going.

 It was also a strong emotional desire to conform and belong. Even though, or maybe because, these people were all straights and considered me to be nothing other than a naturally born female, I, emotionally felt, I needed to continue. I was accepted, and that was just one of the costs, of being accepted. Had I not already worked hard to be finally accepted, for what I am? Why back out now?

 The two of us never went to a boyfriend and girlfriend stage. Maybe, he wanted to, but that was just too weird for me to accept. That was too gay. I would accept sexual involvement, but not emotional.  I let him know, that I did like him, but I was going to stay single, and open to the field.

 It did get to the point of where I could no longer continually use the, “Wrong time” excuse with men. I refused to go all-the-way, but did allow more to happen. I was dry down there though. That could make for problems. I, of course, didn’t want to have to explain anything, neither about any operations, or anything else. I started using just enough pheromones and lubricant to seem naturally wet. It also made it a lot easier on me, if it did go so far. There’s nothing worse than having someone try to push his or her fingers into you, when you’re dry. It hurts.

 Yes, that’s correct, his or her fingers. The she, was a part of a married couple. I was skeptical about what she intended, her being married, until she told me that her husband knew, or would be told, and not only didn’t mind, he approved.

 I had to put a stop to it, when she suggested a ménage de trio. That was a hard one to say no to. I told her, “Maybe, at some later date.”  She didn’t push it; we’re still friends, and still cuddle and kiss.

 Justin came into the group about that time.

 He stands 6’ 2”, and weights around 180lbs… of pure sensual brawny muscle. Staying in top form is one of his passions.

  He is divorced. His wife was too interested in her occupation. She left him for higher jobs, in bigger cities.

 He has a son, and a daughter. They live with his mother. Justin would like that they live with him. But, him being single, and they are three and five, they are too young to be alone. He does visit the children as much, as possible.

 Justin was special though… well for me. I don’t know exactly what his appeal was or is. We just seemed to understand each other so well. Often, we intuitively knew what the other was thinking, or feeling. Our talks were always very interesting, and he is a good dancer and conversationalist.

 He was the first man I ever went on a date with. The group seemed to recognize the two of us as a couple. Only our size differences got a few puns directed at us. He was the tallest, and I was the smallest of our group.

 He took me to meet his parents and his children. We took the children to Disneyland, to parks and had picnics at the beach. The children lived with me, while his parents once went on vacation. We all spent Christmas and Easter together. I was invited to the children’s birthday parties. The times with him and his children were beautiful, and…

 I use to tease him saying, “If I ever want to get serious with a man, you’ll be the first man I call.” I had told him that I was a lesbian, and could not seriously contemplate having a male life-partner.

 His answer was always the same, “You’ve got my home, business and cell numbers. If you still can’t reach me, just call mom or dad.”

 One very hot summers evening after dancing, we didn’t seem to want to have things end. He had picked me up. We had gone to dinner, and than to the club, to be with the rest of the group.

 Afterwards, the two of us got the idea of going down to the beach, and wading in the cooler waters. It was well after midnight, and the beach was secluded, a little off of the beaten track.

 Justin had taken a blanket with him. So after wading in the water, we lay down to talk and cuddle. Things took their course. We had been there, before. We were not treading on new territory. I had even gone down on him, to completion, before. (Like I said, I had continually been redrawing new lines in the sand.)

 Things seemed to be taking a little different twist though. Usually after a longer period of petting and necking he needed release. He didn’t seem to want this, and he wouldn’t give me mine either. My panties had long since been discarded, and I had already attempted to go down on him once. He had pulled me back up.

 He was on top of me. We looked into each other’s eyes. He’s eyes were questioning. I smiled. I held his face in my hands and pulled him back down to kiss me. Than I felt him enter, penetrate me.

 As excited as I was, I was still amazed. I couldn’t remember ever having felt that way before. It was so encompassing, so demanding, knowing, feeling, him inside of me. Sex had never been that way, so strong, so over powering. It took my breath away, that first moment of penetration, I was open-mouthed gasping, and I didn’t seem to be able to get my breath back until it was over. I wrapped my legs around him, wanting to pull him into me as far, and as much, as I could. I don’t know if I came once, continually, or multiple times. I have no idea how long he lasted.

 What happened happened afterwards.

 It took me a long time to come down from my high. We lay quietly for a while, not saying much. He tried to talk, but I was starting to have guilt feelings about what had happened. What was happening between us. This was something I had never intended to happen.

 More so, I realized how deeply and emotionally Justin was getting involved in me. Justin wanted a loving wife for himself, and mother for his children. A woman that would be with him, and stand by him. I was to Justin no different, than Andrea had been to Conner. Now I was Andrea. I was the one playing games with people’s lives.

 This was getting far too serious. I wanted to just go home. The night was over. It had ended. I needed time to think.

 In the car, almost to my house, I had this flashback of being Conner, the Conner in college, before Andrea, before my sex change, and ages before Justin. Conner would have never had sex with a man. I had just done the unthinkable, the unacceptable, and the forgivable.

 I started crying. Not hysterical tears, but only slow sorrowful tears. They just rolled quietly down my cheeks. They were the tears of having gone somewhere, done something, and now could never return to what I had been before.

 When we got to my place, Justin saw them, and tenderly asked why, what was wrong. I could see the guilty emotions playing on his face. He felt he had done something wrong. “Justin, no, please, you did nothing wrong. It was beautiful. It’s me. I can’t.” 

 I couldn’t explain. I couldn’t say anything that would explain. Nothing in my mind was making sense. I jumped out of his car, and ran for the door of my condo.

 In my condo, I walked out on the terrace needing to think. The moon and the ocean waves would not listen, or talk to me. All that I could feel was, Justin’s semen dripping down my leg.  

 Sunday found me no better off. Justin called, but I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say.

 Later, one of the married women from the group called, and I answered. She tried to talk to me, but I ended up only crying more. She came over than. She is a medical doctor, and gave me a sleeping pill. I told her, I would be seeing my therapist in the morning. 

  I think Dr. Johnston knew something was wrong, the first second, I stepped into her office.

 When I told her, she was harsh, but she explained some things to me.

 Initially, we are all bisexual at birth. It’s a part of our genetic social instincts. Without them we would be asocial animals, unable to live together in any form of a community.

 Yet, we have not only instinctual behavior, but also learned behavior. Therefore we differ. As we grow older, and sexual desire and expression develops within each of us, so does sexual orientation.

 She showed me Kinsey’s graph on bisexuality, with heterosexual on one end of the graph, and homosexual on the other end. Everything else is some form of bisexuality.

 Conner was heterosexual because he thought he needed to be. Between his size, and his conflict with his gender dysphoria, Conner suppressed any and all forms of non-heterosexual behavior… because it made him less manly, than he already was.

 Story though, no longer needs to suppress any such behavior. In fact, socially, Story lives in a heterosexual environment, where she needs to act contrary to her historical (Conner) behavior. Story is female.

 My learned behavior therefore did not fit with my reality. My reality was that I was female. That heterosexual behavior, which I was conditioned to accept as normal behavior, now had turned 180 degrees on me. Two parts of my assumed and learned behavior were in direct conflict with each other.

 She told me, that the best solution to the problem was a slow evolutionary change, within my mental image of my sexual self. Change and adaptation is a normal occurrence. We all do it, all the time.

 Yet, I had been too egocentrical and too involved in the simple self-gratification of my ego, to slow down, and let myself adapt. I had pushed the teasing, and than not kept my legs together.

 Now I had a conflict, but that in it self was not all bad. Conflict can cause a reevaluation, and therefore also change and adaptation. What mattered now, was how I was going to proceed, and adapted, or not. It was up to me. Somewhere in the mixed up emotions of mine, was my real sexuality.

 She said, “Obviously, you are bisexual. Otherwise, why were you involving yourself willingly with both males and females? Think on that.”      

 I stayed at home all that week thinking. I didn’t go out on Wednesday like I normally would. When Justin called I told him that I was thinking. I told him that I had issues and problems, which I had to work through. He was not at fault for any of them. He had done nothing wrong.

 Saturday I knew I had to do something. I went back to the club, hoping Justin would be there. I had not wanted to make a date with him. That was too formal. We would be together for too long of a time. That would allow for discussion and debate.

 He was there waiting, and saw me, the moment I walked in. I told him I wanted to talk with him. We went out and took a walk.

 I didn’t tell him everything. I didn’t want to hurt him, any more than I already had.

 I told him that I had had an abusive childhood. I did not tell him any details.

 I told him that I had loved someone deeply, too deeply, and had been hurt very badly. It was the reason I had moved to Florida. 

 I told him that I also had relationship issues with men. That I could have sex with men, only so long as I disassociated the sex, from emotional involvement.

 Looking up directly into his eyes, reaching up and holding his cheeks in my hands, I said, “I can’t do that with you Justin. I’m sorry. If I am near you, if we are together, it hurts me too much. I can’t, please believe me. I can’t be around you anymore. It hurts too much to see you, to know you’re near.”

 I hurriedly walked away and got into my car. I left him standing there, not giving him a chance to answer.

 It was better that way. I would hurt him a little, only so he wouldn’t be hurt, a lot.

 When he later called, I did not answer.

 His last voice mail was harsh, “You never gave me a chance to say anything. I wanted to understand. I wanted to try and understand. You just walked away. That hurt the worst. You didn’t want my understanding. You intentionally didn’t give me a chance at understanding. Why you did walked away? Damn it, why?”

 Avoiding the issues concerning my transexuality, and the conflict of truthfulness and prejudice, that Justin had unknowingly thrown me into; I went through a cycle of sordid short affairs, and one-night stands. Trying to find my own true sexuality, and someone who would love me, for myself. I stayed away from, I avoided, the club, Justin, and my friends.

 It was than that I had to return to Denver on business. Since I was going to be there for a while, I went and rented one of those short-term furnished apartments that companies have for their traveling management personal.

 It was at a club, than in Denver, that “he”, started coming on to me. Yes, that he, Robert, Andrea’s new husband.  Of course he had no idea who I was. He had only seen me once. I doubted very much, that he could have made a correlation, between Conner and Story.

 It started out as a perverse desire to know what Andrea saw in him. I did not know if they were still married. I just wanted to see what kind of a person he was, and if he was that good of a fuck.

 He wasn’t that good in either category. He wasn’t bad either, but in comparison, he didn’t stand a chance against a man like Justin. It made me angry that Andrea left me for him.

 On a lark, I hired a private investigator, to find out if they were still married, and as much details as he could get about them.

 Yes, they were still married, and no, they still had no children. Andrea had not been successful with me, nor with him. 

 It seriously got my goat that he was cheating on Andrea with me. He was even trying to pull the wool over my eyes, playing the lonely single guy spiel… that he was falling for me, that we were a-serious-thing.

 It was than that I decided to have my little game with him and my revenge on Andrea. He would have his big affair, than I would throw it in their faces. Let Andrea see him as the leach he was, and let her feel the pain of knowing her beloved spouse is a cheater. Just like she had done to me.

 A week later, I flew back to Miami, and was sitting at that Cuban Café having my brunch when Andrea found me.

 She didn’t have the slightest inkling that I was me... her ex-husband.

 She had been to a realtor’s convention in Miami. That’s why she was there. Having finished the convention, she was spending time, a few days, doing some shopping.

 After we had chatted for a while, I offered to drive her around, and even take her to a few nicer places for some excitement… dinner, dancing and such.

 We were getting along incredibly well. We talked, chatted, and gabbed, going from one shop to another. It was actually fun being with her and seeing her again. It was so strange, how easily we had slipped back into our college day’s mode.

 It was during our conversations those two days that I changed my plan of attack, and why.

 Andrea had not changed much at all. She still had her breeder mentality, and was showing her disappointment, in by now, not having children. She was beginning to blame it on Robert, “We have been trying ever since we got married, and he still hasn’t got me pregnant!”

 It was so obvious to me. No matter what the reasoning behind Robert’s cheating on her, it was only a matter of time, before she did to him, what she had done to me. Andrea had learned nothing.

 Her only chance in changing, in becoming a better person, was to have her whole attitude, rubbed soundly in her face. Only if she had to stare self-doubt directly in the face could she understand, and learn. She had to learn that she too, could be at fault.

 The day before Andrea found me at that café, I had a session with Dr. Johnston. She had been angry with me about my one-nighters, and was peeved about what I told her about Robert, Andrea and my doings.

 I was feeling guilty about the whole revenge idea, and was considering dropping it when Andrea came up to me.

 Her having said what she had, I changed my plan, and now had a real reason for continuing on.

 So I told Andrea that I too was from Denver. Than I told her in the most vivid terms I could, about this great, fantastic boyfriend I had there, and how serious we were. (Well, he did say something to that extent! I wasn’t completely lying.) 

 When I brought her to the airport, Andrea was exhilarated over how well we had gotten along, over such a short time, “You know, I haven’t been able to talk to anyone as well, and as closely, as I have with you, since my college days. I do hope that we stay in contact, and that you call me as soon you get back to Denver. I would really like to meet that incredible boyfriend of yours.”

 I promised her I would… and both promises I would keep.

 I had to say that though with melancholy. I knew who, that person she had communicated so fantastically with, had been. Sorry Andrea, but you never know what you’ve lost, till it’s gone.

 When I got back to Denver, Andrea and I met up. We started spending about every one of her lunch hours chattering away. It was fun, and I found that I missed this Andrea, the Andrea who had been such a close friend. It was sad. But, what had to be, had to be. Andrea had to learn.

 Robert I saw about 3 to 4 times a week than. I let the affair get hot and heavy. I also took a risk, and made sure that a few condoms broke. I made sure Robert was aware, that I was worried about the broken condoms, that I couldn’t go on the pill, and was mid-cycle.

 About three weeks after I got back, I let the first hammer fall. At a lunch date, I told Andrea that I was pregnant, and now very worried about how my boyfriend would take the news. I asked her, to ask Robert, how I should approach my boyfriend about the subject.

 The next lunch date Andrea said that her husband offered to talk with me. We made a dinner date. So we three could talk.

 Now was the time for me to win my Oscar. I just had to make this work, or all my effort would be for nothing. I decided on simplicity. It wasn’t about revenge anymore. Gloating over revenge wasn’t why I was doing it anyway. Revenge hurts the avenger just as much or more than the victim. I had to hit, than walk away, never looking back. Andrea had to work this out herself.

 I waited until I was sure they were seated, before I walked into the restaurant.

 It was working perfectly. Robert was sitting with his back to me. Neither of them had seen me yet. They were reading menus.

 Just before I got to their table, Andrea noticed me. She perked up and started to introduce me to Robert.

 I turned towards him and with a friendly smile on my face, held out my hand. As he looked up, I dropped the hand and the smile. Looking shocked, I whispered, but loud enough for Andrea to hear, “Nooo!”

 With as good of a stunned, shocked and shaken look as I could muster, raising one hand and trembling fingers to my lips, I turned to Andrea and again in a louder questioning voice, “Oh nooo!” (I was so scared and nervous, that I was shaking, almost crying, anyway.)

 I turned, and ran out the door of the restaurant.

 As I opened the door, I heard a loud slap, as Andrea screamed at Robert, “You Asshole!”

 I don’t think it took a full minute to be in and out of the restaurant, and my part of the affair was over.

 Then, I was on my way to the airport. My cellphone that Robert and Andrea knew, I had already cancelled. Andrea didn’t know where I lived in Florida. The car was a rental. The Denver apartment had an oil company name on the lease. That company would tell them nothing without my approval. It too was a dead end.

 In that moment, I had done everything I could do for Andrea.

 Robert was not my problem. He had made his bed, now let him sleep in it.

 I did it though, not only for Andrea, I did it for Conner. His life had been harsh and bitter. Now Conner could rest in peace. His life had died in those last moments at the restaurant. He was no more.

 Still, I would always hold a piece of him alive within me. But, I was the young woman in the mirror.

Notes: