My Lying Wife
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I have always been fascinated by transwomen and for years I had thought about marrying my very own post-op trans female. I have wondered what it was that I found so alluring in all the images that I viewed on my computer screen, and even now I am uncertain as to why I am attracted to women who once used to be men. I do enjoy the exuberant femininity that they display – the sheer joy of being female. I have also wondered if the whole idea of having sex with somebody who might once have been bigger and stronger than me was somehow subconsciously empowering. Certainly that was what attracted me to my lying wife, Delia. She said that she had once been a college athlete and I believed her. She was a large lady, but no larger than me. Still, there was a hint of her past power now rendered to softness by her change of sex. There is something very alluring about that … for me, anyway.

I had reached a time in my life when I knew that I was not going to have a family but that I needed a companion for the rest of my life. I had found sexual pleasure online and occasionally by hiring trans sex workers, although I disliked anything with a penis. But when it came to seeking a partner I went on dating sites and I was most particular about the kind of woman I wanted. I was looking for a transwoman. She needed to have a vagina and preferably breasts that were large and as natural as they could be. She had to love being a woman and relish in it in a way that (it seemed to me) only women born as men, could. I was interested in sex, but I was ready to commit to a single sexual partner, for the rest of my life. I think that very notion is romantic.

Delia replied. She said that she was a transwoman but only truly understood this past her youth. She had lived a life before then that she wished to “confine to the past”. She said that like many transwomen, she simply craved a partner who could accept her for what she was and commit to a permanent physical and emotional partnership. She sounded nice and her photos seemed too good to be true.

When we had our first date I thought that Delia was gorgeous. She had a great figure and a full head of long, well-styled hair. Her features were strong but not heavily masculine, and her voice was husky but high. She moved with grace and her hand movements were just like a woman. These are all things that I knew to look out for. Those that did not know her would assume that she was female. Those of my friends who knew my preferences would see that she had once been male but was now perfectly transitioned.

She told me that she had her birth certificate changed to show that she was a woman. We could marry in my state if that was what I wanted. After just a few dates I knew that it was. I proposed and she accepted. She looked beautiful as a bride. She had her brother give her away and he seemed fully accepting of who she was. I was a little surprised that she did not have more than just a couple of transwoman friends, but she had accepted and been accepted by every one of my friends. It was a great wedding. I was so proud to have her as my wife.

My father had died a few years before, but my mother was there. Her only comment was that she would not give me children, but it did not concern me. I had a brother and sister who had already provided Ma with grandchildren.

As far as I was concerned, I had a wife whose sole concern was my happiness. That was the way I wanted it. Sex was great and she wanted plenty. She was only requiring a week off every month which made me laugh. I called it her “mock period”. She just grinned. To me it made her all the more genuine. She was serious about being female. I appreciated that and I gave her space in her week off. She always made up for it afterwards.

It seemed that we would be the happiest couple in the world, but then her deceit came crashing down on both of us. Delia got pregnant.

Of course, there was no explanation except that my wife was not a transwoman at all, and never had been. She had lied to me all along. She had deceived me and tricked me into marrying her. I was horrified. The confrontation was unimaginably awkward and it could not be brief

“But I am a transwoman because I identify as being trans,” she said. “Sexual identity is a spectrum, and I have a position on that spectrum. I am an AFAB Transwomen - Assigned Female At Birth but identifying as transgender. I did not lie to you. I just didn’t go into detail.”

But how can a woman who was born a woman be a transwoman? Surely, by definition a transwoman needs to have transitioned to become female. Delia had never done that.

“Your anatomy is not what defines you,” she insisted. “That is what the whole issue of gender is about. We have our physical sex and our sexual identity. My identity is that I feel like a transwoman. I feel like I am a woman in a body that was substantially masculine. I was big and powerful and I tried to live a life to suit the shape I was. I was a college athlete, just like I said. I got hit on by lesbians. But I wanted to be a girl – a girly girl. I wanted men to treat me like a woman. I wanted somebody like you.”

She started to cry. The truth is that I loved her ever more when she cried. It was just such a feminine thing to do. To see somebody like her cry always seemed to prove the power of hormones to reduce a man to the weaker sex. But I had to remind myself – she had never been a man.

After all, it was not that I did not have the strongest feelings for her. It was just the lies. Everybody knew that I had married a woman who was once a man and that I loved her. But it was not true and it never had been. She knew that she had promoted a belief that was not true, and now how were we supposed to deal with that?

“I am still the woman you fell in love with and who you married,” she said. “I should have been more careful with birth control, but I needed to hide it from you. I’m sorry, but we have a baby coming – a little piece of you and me. I love you, so if you say you don’t want the baby I will arrange to terminate the pregnancy.”

I told her that was not what I wanted, only because even a man could see that she wanted this child, and even I was questioning why I should put a stop to this change in my life.

“I could tell people that we are adopting and that I am wearing a fake baby bump so that I can go through a sympathetic pregnancy,” she said. “I have given this a lot of thought. We can have the baby, if you want us to be a family. Other transwomen can only dream of this, but we can realize a dream.”

She was right. She had friends who were more conventional transwomen – or at least I assumed they were, and I was right to assume that. They were both married to guys like me, although both of them had prior families. Plenty of transgirls dream of motherhood, but it seemed as if it could only come true for Delia.

And she was going through all that pregnancy hormone stuff. It makes a woman crave support, and I was denying it by my attitude. I loved her and she was in distress – caused by me. I held her big body against me and kissed her. I was her husband and the father of our child. She needed to hear that, and once it was said it sounded pretty good to me too.

We went through the fake pregnancy thing, although for her it was real. I remember my cousin’s wife (who was also pregnant) saying to Delia in her last trimester – “It must be great to take that thing off before you go to bed at night?” Delia could not say anything. She was really pregnant but had to pretend it was nothing. Only I could share it with her. It brought us closer.

We went out of town for our son to be born. It seemed crazy to do it. He was a perfect blend of Delia and me, as if designed to have people scratch their heads and wonder how it could be, even if I was the genetic father.

In the end we decided to come clean with family and friends for the second pregnancy, and our daughter is clearly ours as well.

Of course I have forgiven her for lying to me, if that is what she did. Is an AFAB transwoman a real thing? She says that is what she is. I don’t care, just so long as she is my wife and the mother of our wonderful children.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2024

Author’s Note: I suppose that this not really a transgender story at all, except in his thinking, but it actually arises from a factual situation I have heard about. Perhaps you have heard of them to? “AFAB Transfemme” or “AFAB Transwomen” as in assigned female a birth (including cis women) who identify as trans. One woman described herself as “feeling like a girl in a trans way”! Is this really trans? We are told that all genders and sexualities should be tolerated, so why not this one.
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