My name is David, and I am a woman.

There are few things in this world, in my opinion, that make one feel more feminine than being offered a hand out of a car. I think that's why so many feminists dislike it. Feminism is a non sequitur, by which I refer to its roots in logical argument and not literary device.

It is assumed that what they do is for femininity, when actually it is a misguided attempt to take masculinity on themselves by another name.

I'm not at all saying that their actions are wrong, just their philosophy. Without them, I would never be able to be the woman that I am, but taken to the absolute extreme I wouldn't be able to be the woman that I am.

As stated, they are a non sequitur. And there is the literary device.

But at that moment, sitting in a decidedly feminine pant-suit, none of that came to mind. All that I saw was a man who had just called me attractive offering his assistance, should I deign to take it.

That's the thing about true chivalry, there's always a choice.

I took his offer, and felt the strength with which he helped me to rise. When I was out of his car he reached past me to grab the carrying tube. I grabbed the blueprints from the trunk and the two of us went into the building.

"I can see why they wanted a new building, although the atrium is nice."

"They love the atrium."

"I may have to take inspiration from it then," I said with a little grin."

We rode to the top floor of the building. The elevator let out onto a large open space with a conference table in the center of it. The rest of the floor was taken up with conversation nooks around coffee tables with leather furniture, or at least good imitation fake leather furniture.

I popped the top on the tube that Gary had carried for me. Carefully I lay the canvas onto the table and with a twitch unfurled it for the board members to see.

"It's simple. I apologize for being blunt, which I was, and you apologize for calling me a whore by hanging this painting in your new lobby."

One of the men on the other side of the table had the decency to blush, while another just blustered.

"We don't have to take this from a mere slip…"

"Careful what you say next, Reggie," My Bryant said.

"Hank, we're not going to sit here and…"

"Take abuse from little ole me? You already know that all lines into our office are recorded. We make all of our clients aware of that."

Reggie went pale.

"And before you think it, no, this isn't about blackmail. I wouldn't stoop to your level. I apologize for questioning your masculinity by being brash and brassy in the previous meeting."

"If you think we'll hang this rag…" Reggie began as he reached for my canvas. I reached out to stop him before he could damage it. My heart stopped and the bottom fell out of my stomach. I was in that moment right before the rollercoaster passes the point of no return: a breathless moment before catastrophe.

"If you destroy that painting, you'll buy it," Gary said quietly

"A no name artist like Ms. Lowell here? Her work isn't worth fifty dollars."

"Here 'art' is displayed all over town, you've just never seen her signature on it. I think you'll all recognize the buildings I'm about to show you."

He tossed a blueprint onto the table next to my painting, "Bartinelli," the attribution block was next to them.

Another blueprint joined the first, "Donovan/Solace"

And finally a third landed on the table, "The Edgar Hamilton Dolphin wing to the Oceanic Museum and Research Institute."

They looked at him expectantly for a moment before one of the men at the table said, "These are the buildings that convinced us that you were the firm we wanted to design our building. What does this have to do with her?"

"What is the architect's name on each of these?"

"David Lowell, and?" Reggie said with a sneer.

"Hi, I believe that we were never properly introduced," I said offering Reggie my hand, "David Louise Lowell, architect."

He just stared at my hand as if it were a viper ready to strike.

"While this painting has never sold, that doesn't mean that her art is worthless. That is her mural in the Edgar Hamilton wing, and her design in the wing itself. She designed those two buildings, and they follow a lot of her standard aesthetics."

By this point I was blushing at this unaccustomed praise.

"The Hamilton wing is worth close to three million dollars on open market. The other two are approximately ten million a piece. Now, as this is just a single painting, and not a free standing sculpture, we can't expect it to be worth that much, but if you mar it in any way, rest assured that it will cost you ten thousand times what you just offered for it."

Mr. Bryant slid a rectangle of paper across the table.

"You're going to have to find another piece to hang in our building. I want this one for my home."

I picked up the paper, and realized it was more than its constituent components. Like my works of art on the table, it wasn't just ink and wood pulp. I thought for a moment I was seeing things. I'd never held a check in my hands with that many zeroes on it.

"Mr. Bryant," I began.

"Hush, girl. I like it. I would pay twice that and feel like I was cheating you. But that was the price that Gary named, so that is the price I will pay, and gladly."

"But it's just…"

Gary closed my hand on the check, and whispered in my ear, "Say 'thank you' and let's get out of here."

"Thank you," I said with a goofy grin on my face, and Gary guided me back to the elevator.

<3  <3  <3
I sat there staring at the piece of paper in my hand. It wasn’t really a piece of paper. It was a promise like all checks. I’d held checks before, who hasn’t. Some of them were small and insignificant. Checks I’d written almost invariable fell into that category. Usually I used my debit card any more, but I still remembered writing checks.

This check was neither small nor insignificant. It was a big bad ball of serious.

“What are you going to do?”

“What should I do? I can’t cash it…”

“Of course you cash it. What I meant was, are you coming in to work on Monday?”

“Um…” I was shocked speechless. Sure, I got a fair wage for my time, but I hadn’t thought of my wage in comparison to this check sitting there in my hands.

Depending on how I spent it, especially if I didn’t change my standard of living, I would be able to get by on this single check for five to seven years, and that’s only if I assumed I was paying for my medications and such out of pocket.

I could disappear from the world, figuratively speaking, and then just reappear as David Louise, complete female. No mess with work. And I could paint.

A friend of mine from before I went to college told me that the hardest painting for an artist to sell was the first. After that, you are not just an artist, you are a commercial artist. If that was true, then I had finally leapt that first hurdle.

I could become a commercial success as an artist. I might never sell another painting for this much…but I would sell. I could get gallery space. I could…

I looked over at Gary. He was focusing on the road in front of us, giving me time to think. If I did that, it is likely that Gary and I would drift apart. Would I mind? Was it something I could live with? Did we have to drift apart if I let him know I wanted his attention?

Did I want his attention?

Was this any more than James on a different level? I knew Gary well, at least in the work environment. He was unmarried, handsome, and a great boss. But was he a great lover? Not really thinking along the lines of how he was in a physical sense, but all the rest. What was he like as a man? Would he be there when I was sick or run for the hills?

Would he hold my hair for me when I was vomiting at three in the morning?

I realized then that I had a lot more questions than answers. The real question, though, was one that I already had an answer for; I was willing to take all the time it took to find out for myself the answers to all of those questions about Gary.

That answered at least one of my other questions as well. This wasn’t like James. I was willing to fight for Gary, if that is what it took, because I really wanted to have Gary in my life.

“If I quit, would you still come around? Or will I need to stay working in order for you to recognize my existence.”

“David…”

“Gary…” I said with a little smirk.

“Is that an invitation?”

“I would like for you to date me.” I said with more than a smirk.

“What are you saying?”

“Society tells the male of the species that they are supposed to be the active ones in the whole courtship thing. I’m not trying to deny you that,” I was with a grin, “All I’m saying is that if you want to, and with no pressure from me, ask me out on a date, then I would give such a request all due consideration and would likely say yes.”

Gary got a thoughtful expression on his face, but was silent for the rest of the drive to my apartment. I sat for a minute or two waiting for Gary to once again offer that declaration of femininity that had been given so effortlessly before, but he made no move to either talk to me or move around the car to let me out.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” I said as I exited his vehicle, doing my best to hold it together until I got inside. I might have begun crying a bit, but the wracking sobs really didn’t hit me until I was safe in my home where none but me would see me.

I shut the door behind me and slid down it, leaning against it while holding my knees to my chest and just crying. I didn’t even really know why I was crying.

As I cried and thought of the anguish that his actions caused, it occurred to me why. I’d put myself out there, vulnerable, with the assumption that he would support me. I thought he actually liked me. The problem was that there wasn’t enough there for someone like him.

I might have been feminine enough for him to accept as a woman, but I wasn’t woman enough for him to date. Well, Mr. Gary Carson, I’m not going to put on some costume for you just so you can feel comfortable about me.

A small voice in my head spoke up at that moment, suggesting that it might not be enough for any man to accept…well, any heterosexual male. And that is what I wanted. I wanted a guy who would see me for the woman I was, not the man I seemed to be, and no man would ever see me as woman enough, because right in that moment I knew I’d never be enough.

I wept tears for all of the women in the world, of which I was one, who would never get the opportunity of child birth. No matter the rhetoric, it made us less. Yes, we are still women, but there is something to be said about the propagation of the species. There is a reason that our female hearts ache to hold, and nurture, a child. There is always adoption, I know that. Even if I someday get the opportunity to adopt, there will always be a hole beneath my breast where a child was supposed to grow.

In those moments, while still sobbing, I cursed whatever fate made me who I was. I cursed a god so cruel to give me this desire to be myself, these feminine traits, and yet denied me what every fruitful natural born woman takes for granted.

I am only responsible for the choices I make, not the person I am. There is too much that goes into making a person for any one individual to be entirely to blame. Is my soul female? Does it matter in the least when my heart aches to be?

<3  <3  <3
When I awoke in the morning, the sun was shining in my eyes adding to the headache I felt for lying on the hardwood floor in front of my entry door. My earring had somehow gouged a shallow, but bloody, path in my right shoulder. I felt my ear, glad that the pain was just from it being pulled strangely and not completely ripped out.

As I got up, slowly because of the pain in my side, a piece of paper fluttered down to the floor. Somewhere in my grief over the death of love, I’d forgotten all about the check. I seriously considered tearing in into little pieces for a moment or two, but a half million dollars is a lot of money to just toss aside.

Thinking more on Gary's words I decided it was time to take him up on the offer he did make, since there would not be an offer he didn't. I wouldn't be quitting, but I would be taking some time off. I needed to get away from the city, and I could now do it without any guilt.

I called Watson and talked to him for a few minutes, explaining my vision for the Bryant building. He'd do a mockup for me before I came back. I gave him a phone number where I could be reached, then I wished him well and said good bye.

<3  <3  <3
I walked into the bank and looked around. I was so nervous that I'm sure I was making the guards nervous as well. They knew me, though, so I think that even me acting nervous wasn't a big tell.

"Hey, David. New look."

I smiled at the bank manager as I walked up to a teller, "Hey, Steve, I may need your help over here."

"Really," he said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I finally sold a painting. "

"Well, I do have to sign for anything over ten thousand that we process, but you know that from last year's bonus, don't you."

"Yep, I know. Do you have any other policies for bigger sums?"

"Sure, but nothing the size of what I'm sure you brought in here."

I'd gotten to the teller at this point. I had the back of the check face up on the counter and signed it. Then I slid the check across the counter with a grin.

"Don't be too sure of that."

I watched with glee as both their eyes grew large and could barely suppress a giggle.

"Um…Steve…do we have a special policy for a check this big?"

"We cash it, Hannah. It's drawn at our bank."

I looked at the check, and for the first time I realized that I banked at the same institution as Mr. Bryant. With only a couple of keystrokes my account more than tripled in size. To be more accurate, since I was finally even thinking about how much I'd just added to my account, I had almost five times my previous savings. I usually tried to be frugal.

"This was for a painting?"

"Yep," I said with a grin.

"Then good luck selling more paintings."

I waved goodbye to the two of them and headed out to my car. I still had three hours to get to the airport, as I'd actually expected more of a hassle getting the check added to my account. I pulled into the long term lot near my home, picked up my ticket, and went out to the street. A limo was pulling over just as I arrived.

"David? David Lowell."

"David Louise Lowell," I said offering my hand, palm down. The chauffer took it lightly in his massive grip.

"I'm sorry. You must have been teased a lot as a kid."

I laughed by bell like laugh and shook my head, "I'm not. I actually picked it myself."

"You transgender people? You look entirely too feminine in my opinion."

"I was born David."

"Um…"

"Don't worry. I just started my transition this weekend. You don't have to…"

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said. It was none of my business, and I've royally stuck my foot in it now. If you want a new driver…"

"Why would I want that. You're cute, and to tell the truth, I like that you called me feminine."

He opened the door for me and helped me into the back. I slid my way in and he shut the door and we were on our way. Yeah, usually I was fairly frugal. Right now, with selling my first painting, I wanted to be a lot less frugal.

I relaxed in the back of that limo, wondering if I would ever get used to luxury like this. I also wondered if I really wanted to. Frugality becomes a habit given enough time.

We arrived at the airport too soon and I checked my bags. I didn't even have a carryon. I knew that when I started wearing makeup it would have to change, but until then…

I stood in line moving forward without a thought to what might happen.

"Step out of line, miss."

I still had a couple of hours before my flight, so I wasn't too worried about missing anything.

"No luggage?"

"I checked it all. Figured I didn't need the hassle of getting you to check it out."

"Your ID?"

I gave it to them.

"This isn't your ID, miss."

"Yes it is. I'm David Lowell."

"They do sorta look the same, but the hairstyle is different." Said a heavy set woman looking at my license.

"And you're telling me you never change your hairstyle?"

"It says here you're male."

"I can show you if you like."

The two women looking at me had the decency to blush.

"That won't be necessary." The both said, almost simultaneously.

I simply smiled and took back my wallet. There was no way that I was giving up a wallet until I had to. Even if it was a very tight fit getting it into the pocket of the shorts I was wearing.

I figured that I might as well show off my hairless legs for as long as that stayed true. Well, hairless isn't exactly true, but the fine blonde peach fuzz wasn't worth the trouble of shaving yet and it gave my legs a lustrous sheen I'd have been hard pressed to duplicate.

They waved me through after making a show of checking out my shoes, a nice pair of ballet flats in gold lame, before waving me through.

They made a couple of comments about me being gay, but I brushed them aside. I wasn't flamboyant in any way whatsoever. I was simply me.

<3  <3  <3
First class is sort of a letdown. You build it up in your mind from the movies and TV shows that define it as luxury incarnate. Not counting the legroom and really comphy chairs, there wasn't much difference from one class to another

My back hurt, my head ached, and I just needed some time to unwind.

I hired a cab out front of the airport and told him an address that I knew by heart. The cabby Just drove off after loading my bags into the back. The sights passed me by with hardly a notice. I was too focused on where I was going, and who I would meet there.

While the cabby unpacked the bags I walked up to the door and knocked. "David?"

"Hey, Mama."