. . . I can trust you to behave, can’t I?”

*No!* my mind shouted, even as I calmly said, “Yes, of course.”

. . . I used to think you would be the father of my children, but now you look like you want to be the mother.”

Things got pretty normal over the next several months, at least as normal as they could be for someone who can’t figure out whether he’s a man or a woman. I focused on living as a woman, not considering the ‘man’ part of me at all. I looked good, and I felt comfortable in my skin. Nearly everyone I met treated me just like the woman I appeared to be, and the few you looked at me questioningly didn’t do much more than that.

Best of all, my relationship with Rebecca improved constantly. We were totally in synch at work and started to eat lunch together when we had time, chatting like girlfriends about all sorts of things. The office had become a great place to be. We all felt happy and it showed in our work. Frankly, we were making so much money we were a little embarrassed, and ended up giving everyone a mid-year bonus.

Towards the end of July, Rebecca asked me to stay over at our house one evening after we worked late. Needless to say, I was thrilled, even hoping that maybe we would finally sleep together again.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said comfortably. “I can trust you to behave, can’t I?”

*No!* my mind shouted, even as I calmly said, “Yes, of course.” As I settled into the guest bedroom that night, disappointed to be sleeping alone, I was still delighted with how the evening had gone. Really, it had been like old times. We went out shopping for dinner on the way home, pushing a shopping cart side by side and bumping our hips into each other’s as we playfully meandered down the aisles. We chatted like comfortable lovers, and I could feel myself becoming attuned to her rhythm. Not wanting to blow it, I kept my hands to myself. Our conversation on the other hand had been stressful, though they were eventually heartening.

I froze for a moment when Rebecca opened the door to our house. What a mess!. Strangely, I felt embarrassed, as if Rebecca’s disarray reflected poorly on me. After a moment’s thought, I just shrugged, realizing I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, I had been the one who did the housework. Rebecca didn’t give even a hint that the clutter bothered her, and saying something couldn’t possible do anything good, so I kept silent. After a moment’s hesitation, which I hoped Rebecca had missed, I just wandered in and deposited my grocery bags on the one clear space on the kitchen counter.

After dropping off her bags, Rebecca went right up to change, telling me to grab a drink if I wanted one. All of a sudden I started to feel somewhat anxious to be back in my home, alone with Rebecca. It reminded me of high school when my then girlfriend, Susan, invited me to her house while her parents were away. I just knew it couldn’t be as good as it seemed, and sure enough, the freedom to do whatever we wanted made both of us really apprehensive instead of liberated. Like I had done then, I made a gin and tonic. Back then it finally did lead me to the promised land, though I figured this time all it might do is make me a little less anxious. I found our liquor cabinet crammed with many different types of scotch, vodka, and gin, which was something new. I didn’t like what it might mean. Either Rebeceea had men hanging around, or she was drinking a lot, or both.

Unable to overcome my curiosity, I poked around a little in the living room, but all I could find was evidence that things ended up where Rebecca had used them last. I failed to turn up anything to indicate that men had been there, except for all the whiskey, and became overcome with guilt just for looking. That drove me into the kitchen, and I started getting things ready for dinner. It was obvious that Rebecca hadn’t been doing much cooking because even with all the mess on the counters, all the pot and pans were put away.

As I started to set up, Rebecca came back. “I’ve put some clothes on the bed in the guest room so you can change from your work clothes.” She had changed into loose shorts and a tank top. “That suit is far too nice to risk by cooking in it. DKNY?”

“No, Jones New York. Don’t you just love the color?” I wore a pale lavender, just right for summer. “You look relaxed.”

“If I can’t dress down in my own house when my dearest friend is here, then when can I? Go change. I promise not to ruin any food till you get back.” She gave me a sweet smile.

I headed upstairs to see what she’d left for me. On the bed, I discovered a pair of white capris, with big red roses printed all over them and a sleeveless, slightly cropped red tank top. The two had obviously been purchased to be worn together because the red of the top matched the red of the flowers; and they were my size. Looking at the tank, I knew I’d be showing the skin on my back when I bent over.

Realizing that my panties would also be showing at the same time, I wondered what Rebecca would think when she noticed the scalloped waist band of the light purple panties I had selected to match my suit. Would she find that hint of lace sexy? Or would she think that her husband was a total sissy? When she saw the shoulder straps of the matching bra peak out from the tank, how would she react? I so wanted her to find me attractive, but she liked men, and here I was turning myself into a woman.

Even my discovery of a pair of red espadrilles, with a two-inch wedge heel, that she had left on the floor couldn’t totally dispel my gloom. Rebecca had obviously planned my sleepover carefully, which I really wanted to take as a good sign. But still, I couldn’t help but wonder whether she was setting me up to get rid of me, rather than simply doing something nice for someone she loved. Why does life have to be so complicated?

Not so many minutes later, a mere moment by girl time, I reappeared in the kitchen. I had changed, freshened my makeup, raided Rebecca’s lipstick collection for something that matched the red of the top, and played with my hair. Frustrated yet again because I still couldn’t figure out how to make it look good after it had been through a long day, I had it at least looking neat.

Rebecca had started to make a salad to go with our dinner. Twirling for her, I said, “Thank you. You just happened to have these lying around, huh?”

She gave me a crooked smile and cocked her head. “I almost invited you over a few times, but I chickened out. Those have been upstairs for weeks now.”

I didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed, but decided that as long as I was finally here, I would simply be pleased. “I’ve missed you, you know, and I miss this place.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” she replied, although she didn’t move any closer to me. Instead, she turned the tables on me. “Tell me, what are you thinking?”

I sighed. “Oh Rebecca, what do you want to hear?”

At first, she simply looked at me without saying a word. Then she turned to pick up the glass of wine she had poured for herself, before straightening up, and turning to look me in the eye. “Who are you?”

“Who am I? Wasn’t that what this was all about? Who do you want me to be?”

“Oh no, you’re not getting off so easily. We’ve been separated for how long now? How many months? While you’ve been having a grand old time playing at being Sara, what do you think has happened to us?”

I closed my eyes in exasperation. “Rebecca, I’m not playing at being Sara. I am Sara.”

She looked at me like a lawyer who thinks she’s sprung a trap. “So, that means Michael’s gone for good?”

I almost shook with frustration. “Rebecca, I’m Michael. Sara and Michael are the same person. Surely you must know that by now.”

“I don’t know what I know,” she replied, a tear sliding from her right eye. Then she looked up at me fiercely. “I used to think you would be the father of my children, but now you look like you want to be the mother.”

“Rebecca, don’t. Please. I love you and I want to be with you and I want us to have children. Would it be so horrible if they ended up having two mommies?”

With that, Rebecca broke down entirely, crying in huge sobs, her shoulders heaving violently. My first instinct was to grab her up into a hug, but I hesitated. Would she accept that from Sara? A huge wave of guilt washed over me, rocking me back on my heels. What had I done? My selfish need to be something I could never really be — a woman — had destroyed my relationship with the person I loved most in the entire world. Is this what I really want? Or was I being punished for my unfortunate need - at least I thought it was a need - to be a woman.

Was it a need, a compulsion, something I just had to do because I had no other choice? Or was it something less, perhaps only something attractive that I liked to do, a compulsion perhaps, but not an obsession or a need. I looked down at myself, my colorful pants covered with delightfully silly flowers. My chest, inflated with fake tits, my hair — I loved my hair — straight, dark, and shiny, --falling next to my face and brushing past my shoulders. I had control over all of these things. I did them to myself every day. Did I have to do them, driven beyond my ability to resist?

I just couldn’t be sure. But I couldn’t lie to myself about it either; I simply loved being Sara. Now, having lived her life without interruption for so many months, I adored all the things being Sara entailed, and, I realized, with a clarity that made me shiver, there wasn’t much about being Michael that I missed, except. . . except for Rebecca.

And I missed Rebecca terribly.

I reached out and grabbed her into a warm hug, and then let her cry herself out against my breast while I stroked her hair.

When she had stopped and gained control of her emotions again, she gave me a sad little smile. “Sara, I never imagined my life this way. I’m a heterosexual woman who loves men. I love a man named Michael Cohen. I know, in my brain at least, that you’re him, but my heart, or perhaps my pussy’s not buying it. I don’t know if I could live in an intimate relationship with a woman.”

As negative as she sounded, I understood instantly that I still had a chance. “I know, and I know it’s a lot to ask, but I do love you and I believe, believe with all my heart, that you love me too. You do, don’t you?”

Again, she gave me a sad smile. Then she reached up and stroked my cheek, looking into my eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I do.”

“Well I’m not giving you up,” I said grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her slightly away from me. “What can I do to win you back? What can I do to prove to you that we should be living together from now on and for the rest of our lives? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“You mean as Sara, don’t you?” Her question came softly, but struck me with the force of a Hummer.

I dropped my hands and lowered first my eyes, and then my head. A moment later my shoulders slumped, and my hair spilled over my face at the same time that shame washed over my heart. I was letting my one true love, Rebecca, down. At that moment, it seemed to me that my cross-dressing had brought me nothing but shame. When I had first started, as a child, I felt ashamed every time I did it. Later shame washed over me every time I got outed. Then I felt ashamed when I finally had to tell everyone I was going to live as a woman fulltime, and I was ashamed when I told my parents.

Even now, having finally reached a point where I was comfortable as Sara, I was feeling like a horrible failure because my needs caused pain for my wife. Those wretched needs had forced us apart and now seemed ready to doom our marriage. If I got what I needed, Rebecca wouldn’t. I got lost in the emptiness of that thought, as if we had already split up.

I felt a touch on my arm, which forced me to look up, even though I now had tears in my eyes. Rebecca gazed at me, her brow knitted in concern. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”

Despite the lump in my throat, I managed to croak out, “Yes, yes, I do. Of course as Sara - That’s who I am. If nothing else, I now understand that.”

She nodded, as if finally accepting something that she had been aware of for a long time. She cocked her head and looked at me seriously for an uncomfortably long time. It seemed to me that the creases at the corners of her eyes had suddenly gotten much deeper. I got nervous and wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, grinning ruefully at the mascara streaking across it. Then I looked back up and threw my head from side to side to flip the hair off my face. Rebecca still studied me. I didn’t know if she was looking for something within me or trying to understand something within herself.

Finally, with a quick nod, she straightened her head, and with a tear at the corner of her eye, said, “You want to win my heart, Miss Sara Cohen? Then do it; court me. Prove to me that I should, that I can, live with you.”

My eyebrows shot up and I rocked slightly backward. Her offer was more than I could ever have hoped for! A smile quickly spread across my face as I thought of the things I could do, the places we could visit. Sara and Rebecca could create new memories together. I almost jumped on her I was so excited. “What a great idea! I’ll do it. But you might as well know, I have every intention winning you. We’ll be raising our children together, and they will have two mommies. Let’s start by me making you dinner. I’m pretty sure I can make something you’ll love.”

Rebecca’s, “Okay,” came out a little choked with tears, but I ignored them as I swept her up in my arms.

As we sat together after dinner and I gazed longingly at Rebecca, feeling really lucky for a change, I remembered a moment I just had to share. “Rebecca, you remember Tom Olden, don’t you?”

She nodded; he was an old friend.

“When we were at the party for his 35th wedding anniversary he said something that I never really understood until right now. We were at the back of the room, on that window seat, the one that overlooks their back yard, watching Beth chatting with friends. ‘She’s such a remarkable woman,’ I said, ‘radiant, absolutely beaming.”

“ ‘Yes, she is, isn’t she? I love her dearly,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know what she ever saw in me.’ We sat silently for a few moments, and then he turned to me. ‘You know, our marriage has worked out really well, and we have great kids, a wonderful home and terrific friends. There’s only one thing I sort of regret.’ He looked away for a moment, and I just sat there waiting for him to continue. When he did, he really did sound remorseful. ‘When you’ve been faithfully married all your life, you never get the opportunity to fall in love again. The best I could do was flirt a little, and wonder.’ ”

I turned towards her and grabbed her hands. “Rebecca, don’t you see? We’re going to get that chance. The one Tom longed for. We’re going to get to fall in love again.” She looked at me dubiously, but I felt like I was on to something. “Oh, I know we already know each other intimately, but now everything‘s different. We’re new to each other. We’ll get to discover our new selves.”

I could tell by the look on her face that I hadn’t convinced her, but I had convinced myself, and I thought that would be all that mattered. Eventually, I would convince her. I also realized that if I couldn’t get Rebecca to fall in love with Sara we would divorce. So my wonderful opportunity to experience new love was also a time of extraordinary risk. I’d need to be both enthusiastic and patient, and a shiver, which could have been either from excitement or fear shuddered through me as I thought about it.

After a brief pause, Rebecca said, “I’m not making any promises. I can’t even tell you that I’m totally hopeful. Knowing that you’re going to be Sara for the rest of your life, and knowing that I love men. . . .” She looked down, shook her head, and then looked back up into my face. The truth is, Sara, if a good man comes along, I’m not sure how I’ll react. What you want isn’t natural for me, and although I love you and only want the best for you, I don’t know if I can change.”

“But you’ll at least give it a try right?”

It took her an eternity to reply, but she finally nodded her head.

“Great! That’s all I ask.”

That night we slept alone, but we were at least in the same house and we both wanted to be there.