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
Seven: Two Endings And One Beginning

 Those first few
weeks after these events Andrea and I avoided each other as much as possible.
Each of us lived only for ourselves. Each did what we had to do. Each cooked our
own meals, washed our own clothes, and lived our own lives. We only spoke to
each other when absolutely needed.

 Weekdays Andrea
continued on as she had, coming home no earlier than eleven o’clock at night.
Fridays, she would pack a bag and leave until late Sunday afternoon.

 So did her weeks go
until three or four weeks later, on a Saturday evening, she returned
unexpectedly at nine o’clock. She seemed rattled, as if something had happened
and shook her up. She went into her room and stayed there almost all through
Sunday. Sunday, I could hear her making and getting numerous calls on her
cellphone.

 Monday, Tuesday,
and Wednesday, she was at home when I came home. She cooked dinner for the both
of us. Monday, and Tuesday, she tried to make conversation with me, as we ate.
On Wednesday, I took my plate to my room, eating at the desk in there.

 Thursday, she did
not get home until 3am, but on Friday, she had cooked dinner again. Instead of
risking conversation, I again left for my room.

 That night, when I
was watching television, she came in, and sat down next to me. Saturday, I went
out and bought a small TV for my room.

 Saturday, evening
she went out, but had returned by eleven.

 Another two or
three weeks went by much the same. Andrea was home and cooking dinner when I got
home. Only on Thursdays, did she not come home, until early in the mornings, or
not at all.

 It had been almost
eight weeks since I found out about Andrea’s infidelity, when one night I woke
up because I could not move. I awoke finding Andrea’s arms and legs wrapped
around me. My stomach retched and I jumped out of bed waking Andrea in the
process. I didn’t have to be sick, but I was shaking and in a sweat.

 Without saying a
word Andrea returned to her own bed, but I could not bring myself to go back to
my bed, knowing that Andrea had been there. The next day, I changed the sheets
on the bed.

 Three days later, I
awoke again in the middle of the night, to find Andrea spooned next to me. This
time I slipped quietly out of the bed, and slept on the couch.

 The next three
nights were the same, and I stopped changing the linen every time. 

 The
next night, when waking again to find Andrea in bed with me, I started to get
up, but Andrea grabbed my arm. “Please stay,”
she begged. I lay stiffly back down, and with time fell back to sleep, until…
I woke with a start, having dreamt about jumping from the bridge again.

 The next week
continued on much the same. Each night, I would go to bed alone, only to find
Andrea having slipped in at some time during the night. I gave up trying to
leave and sleep on the couch.

 That week, Andrea
began to make an even greater effort, to come into closer contact with me. She
even went so far as to call me at work, telling me she was going shopping and
wanting to know if I wanted anything, or wanted her to cook anything special for
dinner. That call was the first time Andrea had called me at work, in over six
months. With all that she was doing, it was obvious that Andrea was making a
serious attempt at making amends.

 Yet, Thursday, she
stilled went out, and did not come home until some time Friday.   

 The
next week, she was still as attentive as possible.

 Tuesday and
Wednesday, a few minutes after I went to bed, she climbed into bed with me. She
said she needed some cuddling.

 On Thursday, she
didn’t go out, and it was cuddling again at bedtime.

 Friday evening,
while I was lying on my bed watching TV, she came in and lay next to me and
watched.

 Saturday, she left
during the morning to do shopping, and again in the afternoon to show someone a
house. She was back though within about an hour.

 Saturday evening,
she wanted us to go out for dinner. I declined and told her, that if she wanted
to go out, she could go out by herself. She stayed home, and showed no anger or
disappointment over what I had said.

 That night and
every night the next week, she either came to my bed a few minutes after me, or
was in bed when I came to bed. There were no sexual overtures made, she only
cuddled. I always stayed as inoffensive, but passive as I could.

 That Thursday, she
did not go out again.  

 Friday,
when we went to bed she started to do more than just cuddle. She started to kiss
me on the neck, than on the cheek, than on the lips. I stayed passive, not
saying a word, or doing anything. With one hand she caressed my chest and
stomach before slipping under the top of my t-shirt, to continue caressing me.

 As she continued to
give me small kisses and nibbles on my neck, her hand slid down into the front
of my pajama bottoms. “I want to do this, please,”
she whispered as I attempted to rise.

 I lay back than
passively, letting her for the moment. Wary of where she wanted this to go. I
didn’t want this, but I wasn’t going to stop her. I wasn’t going to help
her, or enjoy it either. I decide to just lie there, and do nothing.

 I didn’t know I
had it in me anymore. I hadn’t felt any sexual desire, since that night of
seeing her with her playmates.

 After stroking me
for a longer time, she slipped the covers down, my pajama bottoms down. Sitting
on my legs, she lowered her head towards my now hard penis. Just before she took
me in her mouth, she looked up at me, “This is just for you.”  

 Even
though she gave her best, it took her a long time. When I finally did come, I
came but was crying. I had felt passion, but I had also felt pain in my heart,
and sorrow. I had not enjoyed it. I felt as if I had again been used.

 She crawled back up
to lay next to me, pulling the covers over us. She turned and snuggled herself
into me, whispering, “I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I always
will love you.”

 That night, I had
the most vivid of dreams about jumping off of the bridge into an oncoming truck,
that I had ever had. This time I had not awakened just before the semi hit. I
awoke feeling the truck smashing into my body, tearing me into pieces. I awoke
screaming out my pain.

 Shaking and crying,
I couldn’t coherently explain to Andrea my nightmare. Andrea than held me, “Shhh,
it was only a bad dream. I’m here now. I’ll always be here for you. It’s
over now. It’s all over. We’ll get back together. I know it hurts still, but
it’s over now. I know it will take time, but I’m back to stay.” She
stayed holding me tightly, crooning soft comforting words, until I slept a
fitful sleep.

 The next day,
Saturday, I was up early, and went hiking in the woods. I had to think, and
think alone, where no one, or nothing would bother me. Did she really mean what
she had said last night? Was she serious? What did I feel? Could I forgive her?
What would our marriage be like, with all those memories haunting us? I didn’t
know, I seriously didn’t know.

 Even after my legs
were weary, I had come to no better conclusion, than just to wait, and see how
things worked out. So I returned home, to find Andrea humming a tune, the
apartment spotlessly clean, and dinner cooking on the stove.

 The weeks went by,
and even though I remained skeptical, we were making slow progress.

 One night, after
Andrea had stroked me hard, she got on top of me, and she made love to a still
passive me.

 It didn’t stay
that way. She slowly wore me down to the point of finally returning her kisses
and caresses. Our lovemaking was than, lying side-by-side, facing each other,
and at all times gentle and tender. We didn’t have sex any more; we made slow
gentle love, which sometimes took hours.

 I was slowly
beginning to come out of my shell, when Andrea asked me one Friday, if we
couldn’t go out to eat. I gave in.

 The dinner was
nice, but I did feel uncomfortable when people would greet Andrea. Even though
all were couples, and some of them older couples, I kept wondering if she had
had sex with them too. I couldn’t keep those questions out of my mind. The
image of Andrea on the bed with those others, had not been directly in my
thoughts for a while, but now it was again. The people were all friendly towards
me, and not overtly friendly towards Andrea, so I decided that it was just my
over jealous mind, playing tricks on me.

 I was cautious over
the outcome of the evening, but Andrea was in good spirits as we drove home.

 Saturday, Andrea
again begged that we go out to dinner, “Please, it’s my treat
tonight. Didn’t you enjoy it last night? Oh come on, you need to get out
more.” So we went.  

 This
dinner club had a bar with a room for dancing next to the dining area. After we
had eaten, Andrea dragged me into that room, and we sat at the bar, because all
the tables were full.

 After we had our
drinks, we danced some. This was a dance place for dances like fox trot, samba,
tango or slow fox. For the next hour, we danced some, than rested and had a
drink, than danced some more.

 At one time, Andrea
went off to the ladies room. After about 20 minutes, she wasn’t back, so I
began to wonder and worry. I got up and started to go in the direction of the
restrooms.

 Before I got there,
I saw her off in a dark corner, talking to a man. He was a tall, well-built,
dark haired man… just Andrea’s type. Andrea was leaning against the wall,
and he was directly in front of her, with his hands on her hips, their crotches
pressed together. His face was only inches away from her. Her hands were both on
his shoulders, and she was smiling up at him. It was obvious, that they had been
lovers… and most likely still were.

  From the attention she was giving him, I would have had to
walk directly up to her, before she would even notice me. So that’s what I
did. I walked up to them, and asked Andrea, if she would introduce us.

 He only turned, and
looked down at me, as if I were a disturbance. It was obvious, that he had no
idea who I was.

 Andrea first had a
wide-eyed stunned look on her face, than turned crimson red, while trying to
push him back from her.

 I just turned and
walked out of the place, and to the car. Andrea was right behind me.

 In the car, Andrea
tired to explain, that he was just someone she knew, and that he had been away
on vacation, and just come back. He had been telling her about his vacation,
that was all.

 I stopped the car
along side the road, so I could see her reaction, “You’ve fucked him
haven’t you?”

 Again, she turned a
vivid red, as her eyes dropped down to her hands.

 Still staring at
her, watching her reactions intently, “And you’re going to fuck him
again, aren’t you?” 

 With
tears in her eyes, but her voice too loud to be honest, “Conner,
don’t think that! I love you and only you. Yes, I did, and only once have sex
with him, but that’s over now. That time is over. Please believe me. Don’t
pull away from me again. I can’t take that, please, oh please Conner. I need
you.”

 That night, I
turned my back on Andrea, when she came to my bed. She did not climb in, but
went to hers.

 Sunday was quiet
around the house. We avoided speaking much.

 Monday, Andrea told
me she had a meeting Tuesday evening. It would keep her late. She might not be
in before nine o’clock.

 Tuesday, Andrea
didn’t get home until after midnight. She went directly to her own room.

 Wednesday evening,
Andrea was home, but she was acting nervous, as if she was contemplating
something. That night she did come to my bed, and we cuddled and kissed before
sleeping.

 Thursday, when I
got home, Andrea was sitting at the kitchen table, with a very sad and pensive
look, “Conner, I’ve got to do this. I can’t just let this go. I
know I said it was all over. I thought it was over, I honestly did. I’m going
to go out with him Saturday night. I have to talk with him.”

 I couldn’t
believe this, “Andrea if you go out with him on Saturday, I won’t be
here when you come back. I won’t come back, no matter what you say, or do.
It’ll be over between us. I can’t take this again. It’ll kill me.”

 Andrea’s face had an utter look of disbelief on it, as if
this, she had in no way, anticipated, “Conner, it’s not that way.
We’re only going to talk. That’s all. Even if there is something between us,
I won’t do anything. I’ll come back here so we can first talk. Don’t leave
me yet, please.”

 “No
Andrea, you either love me, or you love him. I’m not going to accept, that you
stay with me, only because he doesn’t want you enough,”
with that I walked back out the door, and went to a restaurant, to eat and
think.

 Coming back to the
apartment, Andrea was sitting in the darkened living room. Her eyes were red, as
if she had been crying. She looked up at me as if she wanted to say something.
As if she hoped that we would talk.

 I walked past her
and went to my room. I closed the door, and locked it, before climbing into bed.

 A half an hour
later, the doorknob jiggled. Andrea wanted to come to me, but I wasn’t going
to allow that to happen. Now was the time for her to think, and decide. After
that, and by her actions, I would do what I must do.

 I didn’t know
what I could possible have for a life without her. But, with her, my only
option, in the long run, would be the bridge. That was no option.

 It took me a long
time to fall asleep, and when I did, I had a different dream about the bridge
and the semi truck.

  I dreamt, I was standing again at the top of the bridge, a
semi truck was coming in the distance, and I knew that just before it passed
under me, I would jump.

 As the truck was
getting closer, I saw out of the corner of my eye, a movement. I turned to look,
and there stood a girl. It was the young woman, I had seem so many years ago,
staring back at me, out of Janice’s bedroom mirror.

 This time, there
was no scorn, or mockery, in her eyes. They were eyes, which showed kindness,
caring and concern. They showed love. She was holding out one hand to me.
Beckoning me to come to her. Extending that hand for me to take.

 Some time during
that dream, I awoke. It was as if I was awake, but still in the dream until it
was completed.

 The dream had been
so real. It was as if it had actually happened.

 It stopped though,
before I could react. I knew I had two options. I could jump off the bridge and
to my death, or I could take her hand and go with her.

 But, where would I
go with her? What did she want with me? I had no idea what she wanted from me,
or where she wanted to take me. What I did know… no, felt from the deepest
corner of my soul, was, that she had my best interests at heart. That she cared
for me, more than any other person in the world could. I needed only to take
those steps, from where I was, to her. 

  Friday after work, I first stopped at a restaurant to eat.
Than I went to my room to sort out things, and begin packing. Andrea had cooked
a meal, but I wanted to give her as much distance and quiet time as possible. I
also wanted her to see, that I meant business. She was not going to be able to
talk me out of leaving, if she went to him.

 Saturday morning, I
finished my packing and left the house. I went walking in a park. Than ate at a
restaurant. Leaving at eight o’clock.

 Andrea wasn’t
there when I returned home. I waited another hour, than packed everything into
my car. It was ten o’clock when I pulled out of the subdivision.

 I drove to a Motel
8, and spend that Sunday there.

 Both Saturday and
Sunday nights, I again had the dream of standing on the bridge. Again the young
woman from the mirror was also there, holding her hand out to me. Those dreams
helped to calm me considerably. Yet confused me, because I didn’t know how to
get to her. I knew I had to do something, before I could hold her hand, and be
with her. I didn’t know what.

 Monday, I was at work, but made an appointment, to see a
divorce lawyer on Wednesday. After work I found a motel that was cheaper, and
rented by the week, or month. It wasn’t much, but it was clean and had a clean
bed, shower and toilet. That was all I needed.

 I also had her name
taken off of my bank account and my one credit card. Andrea had her own banking
account anyway. My paycheck went to my account, hers went to her account, and we
only had each other’s names on the accounts, in case something happened.

 Andrea was served
the divorce papers one week later. Since we had little, and I had already taken
what I needed, it was a no-fault divorce petition. I didn’t care to prove to
anyone that Andrea had committed adultery. I already knew that. That was
sufficient.

 About two week
after Andrea had been served the divorce papers, was than the first I heard from
her. My lawyer had received a call from her. She had received a call from Aunt
Madge’s lawyer. He was looking for me. It was serious.

 I called Aunt
Madge’s lawyer and he told me to come as quickly as I could. Aunt Madge was in
the hospital, and it did not look as if she would make it. She was dieing.

 I told my boss what
was happening. On the way, I picked up some clothes from my room and drove,
stopping only three times for gas.

 It was sometime
late at night, early morning, when I finally got to the hospital. One look at
the sleeping Aunt Madge was enough for me to see, that she was leaving me
forever.

 She lived for
another two days. All of that time she was in and out of awareness, but never
had a completely clear mind. At times she spoke to me as if I were still very
young. Than she spoke to me as if speaking to another man, a man she loved and
lost. In the end she died in her sleep.

 It was during those
next few days, before her burial and after, that I finally found out all about
who actually Aunt Madge was, and that she had not only cared for my future, but
for a lot of other people’s.

 Aunt Madge had been
born in 1922. She was my mother’s great aunt.

 She had married the
neighbor farm boy. They had grown up together and promised to marry each other
when she was 12. At the age of 18 she had married him.

 Since both had been
only children, and their parents were aging, they combined the two ranches
together.

 Dec. 8,1941 found
her husband joining the Army. June 6,1944 found Aunt Madge a widow, her
husband’s body, one of those many floating in the waters off of the Normandy
beaches.

 Aunt Madge, and her
aging parents, and in-laws, fought a losing battle, to maintain the ranch,
without her husband, until in 1952, oil was found on the property.

 Aunt Madge kept the
farm operating, until only she was left, than she leased out almost all of the
land, to neighbors. Most all the land, for miles around, that I had always
thought as belonging to neighbors, had belonged to Aunt Madge.

 Financially, Aunt
Madge was worth millions. Each month brought in a five-digit check, from the oil
companies.  

 Though
Aunt Madge had over twenty million dollars in bank assets at the time of her
death, that was only part of the revenue, she had taken in during that time.
Most all of what she took in, in oil revenue, went directly out to charities.

 In Aunt Madge’s
will, the charities got most all of the money that was in the bank. I got
$600,000 in cash (after taxes), plus, I inherited the land, and therefore also
the revenue from the oil wells.

 Even though Aunt
Madge’s financial advisors controlled most all the operations dealing with the
money, the first thing I did in returning to Denver, was quit my job. It made no
sense to keep on working there. The only reason I had worked there was for
money, and now I had enough.

 Since I had
received the money after the legal separation with Andrea, Andrea had no rights
to any other settlement, from the divorce. Even though she was informed of Aunt
Madge’s death, she had not been at the funeral, nor sent a card, or flowers.
We saw no reason to even inform her, of the will. It was none of her business.

 I don’t know who
I missed more, Aunt Madge or Andrea. What I did know, is, that now, I was alone
in the world. Other than for my money, no one cared the slightest about me. Aunt
Madge’s death, and the divorce pending with Andrea, put me into a deep
depression.

 I was at a complete
loss, as to what I should be doing with my life. I was entirely disappointed,
with everything around me.

 Having money is not
everything. If you don’t have goals, and reasons, money is pretty much
worthless. Money is there to buy things, and create lifestyles to enjoy. But, I
had nothing to enjoy. Here I was with over half a million sitting in the bank,
and I was still living in my dingy, pay-by-the-week motel room.

 I had no idea, how
I could change, or what I could change, so as to at least, find some
satisfaction within my life. I needed help and someone else’s opinions. I
could not see a solution to my problems. That’s when I first started seeing a
therapist.

 He was only a few
inches taller than me, but a lot older. All the times I saw him, he always had
on some sort of brown suit, and a white shirt. I never saw him in anything but
brown. Being older, and sitting as much as he did, he was over weight and
carried his excess baggage around the middle. What I saw of his arms and legs
seemed to be too thin for his body. The top of his head was bald, and the sides
always seemed a little bit shaggy and disheveled. He made a good attempt at
being very academic, and succeeded most of the time. He reminded me of many of
my teachers in college.

 Since I had nothing
better to do with my time, we started out with three sessions a week. It took
also quite a few session of him only listening, until we were at a level, where
we could begin discussions. Early on I had refused his offer of
anti-depressants. I’ve never been one to use medications, unless it was
absolutely required.

 Working out the
problems of my childhood seemed too great of a problem, and anyway, the most
important aspect of my visits was to stabilize my life, sufficiently enough, to
begin having desires and goals. We could than at a later date, work through
these problems.

 One of the major
issues, that we always seem to touch on, but skirt around, was my problem with
how I saw myself and how others saw me. Why their views of me was such a cause
of disturbance to me.

 I could never seem
to give him a satisfactory explanation, of what my self-image was, nor could I
explain, how I wanted people to see me. No matter what I said, it was, even for
me, too vague.

 All I could
explain, was that it was other people’s view of me, and that created attitude
in them towards me, which always seemed to be, the cause of much of my problems.
It was that, my thinking about myself, and their views of me, were out of sync
with each other. Yet I couldn’t explain how, or why.

 Also, no matter how
we talked about issues, the issue of contentment, with myself, was getting
nowhere.

 It was than at the
end of one session, that he asked me to do something. He asked me to think about
those times in my life, where I had been content and happy, and to examine them.

 He asked me to pick
out that single moment in my life, where I felt I was the most content and
happy… that I had ever been. Than to think and examine, why this event had
made me feel that way.

 He told me that we
often suppress emotions, desires and feelings, because we feel they do not
conform, to our image of our planned lives and goals. He said that in attempting
to succeed in our goals, we suppress and deny, that what would have given us,
happy and contented lives. That it is often, not other people who hurt us so
much, as that we ourselves are responsible, for our own unhappiness and
discontentment.

 That had been on a
Thursday session, I spent all of Friday and Saturday, thinking again about my
college days, with Andrea. I couldn’t seem to pick out one single moment that
I thought stood out above the others. They were all as good a time as the other,
and in hindsight of my upcoming divorce, my memories of them seemed tainted.

 Lying in bed
Saturday evening was depressing. I was terribly disappointed in this venture of
his. It was going nowhere. Yes, I had had good times with Andrea, but she was a
part of the problem. She was no longer with me. Nothing that centered on her was
going to be a solution. She was out of the picture.

 Early Sunday
morning, I had again one of those dreams about the bridge. Like the other
dreams, where the young woman in the mirror was present, they were dreams, but
not dreams. I seemed awake during them. I was wide-awake, when they were over.

  In this dream I was again standing on top of the bridge,
watching the truck racing towards me. This time though, the young woman from the
mirror was standing now only a few feet from me. She had a soft gentle smile on
her face. Her eyes spoke only of love. There was no more worry, or concern, in
them.

 Emotionally, the
thundering semi held no fear for me anymore. It was as if I had reached a
turning point. Looking at her, I felt contentment in my heart, a complete
satisfaction with the moment.

 She somehow seemed
to embody perfection and more. From her seemed to radiate an aura of
naturalness, a fact of being that could not be questioned. A feeling that
encompassed the sun rising in the morning, the blooming of flowers in the
springtime, the naturalness of life itself.  

 I
wanted to explain my feelings to her, but I could not find the words. So, the
dream ended there. Leaving me wondering why, the reasoning for the dream.

 That Monday’s
session with my therapist was a worthless session. It seemed, more and more,
that we were only going around and around in circles. 

 Driving
back to my motel room, it hit me. I knew now exactly that one moment in my life,
where I had felt far beyond any other moment, contentment and happiness with
myself. It was that one moment where I felt my body, my soul, and my mind, for
once, completely in tune. 

 It
didn’t make sense though. That moment wasn’t going to help me either. That
moment was about as far away from reality, as any further moments with Andrea.

 Thinking about that
moment, as a goal for my life, was ridiculous and impossible. That moment, in
itself, was a falsification… a lie.  

 That
moment had been one of those times, while I was babysitting for Janice. It was
in the final time, when I had, each time after they left, rushed into dressing
fully enfemme.

 Not having any
plan, I had just taken almost the first things I grasped, to wear. I wasn’t
dressed in any sexy, sensual lingerie or dress. I had put on a simple bra, full
brief panties, a slip, and a flowery summer dress.  

 I
had spent the rest of the evening dressed that way, doing nothing special, but
spending time feeding one of the babies a bottle, watching television… nothing
out of the ordinary. What had made that moment so special was the feeling of the
complete naturalness of my actions, within myself. I was being and doing,
exactly that what deep inside me, I was intended to do and be.

 It made absolutely
no sense! It was all wrong, and the reason why, the image of the young woman in
the mirror had mocked me so cruelly, so often. Even though I maybe should have
been, I wasn’t, and never could be her.

 “I am a
man. Albeit, a weak, wimpy, pretty much a worthless example of a man, who
can’t even have children, but a man, nether less.”

 “All this monkey business about “should have
been a female” was only because of my mother’s psychotic fantasy, and the
fact of my size and shape.”

 “God Damn
It! I am a man! Why is it that every time people do accept me, every time I feel
comfortable with myself, I’m considered to be acting like a female? Why
can’t I just be me?”

 The whole thought
process was depressing me, “I don’t want to be a woman. I’m not
gay. I’ve never even looked at a man. I like women and being around women. I
like sex with women. I just want to be myself, and have people accept me for me.
What so wrong with that?”

 It seemed though,
once the thought became fact; it was like a Pandorian box. “But who am
I? What do I feel deep inside me? Is it that some people, see something in me,
that I don’t see?”

Notes:

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