CHAPTER SIX
Moments of Music

As I walked into the music room, I could feel a rush of excitement with the thought of playing a real piano again. It must have been three years since the last time my fingers had stretched out to caress the cool keys of a piano.

I saw the upright piano sitting in the back of the room. It seemed to call out to me, wanting me to touch it, make music with it. I walked over towards it, hoping and praying that it would be in tune. I pulled out the piano stool and sat down in front of the lovely polished wooden piano.

My fingers softly ran over the keys, touching each one without pushing them down to make a noise. Then spreading out my fingers, I played the C major chord. Next came a quick scale up and down several octaves, confirming that the piano was tuned to perfection.

Here I was, sitting in front of the first tuned piano in four years. And, all I needed to do to get in front of it was have a massive mental breakdown... if it hadn't felt so pathetic, I would have laughed.

But it wasn't just the piano that felt suddenly too good to be true. I had had an excellent talk with a woman who seemed to understand me. I had even had one of the best cups of coffee I had ever tasted, yet, I was in a hospital, hell a mental ward at that! This wasn't how I visioned any possible stay in such a place.

Finally, I pushed the uneasiness back. I could feel the creative energy inside me, wanting to escape. The power took over, and my fingers started playing across the piano keys like I used to when I was a child.

It didn't take very long until my song, my piece, had started taking shape and controlling where it was to head.

While I played, I failed to notice that someone walked into the music room, listening to my music. She'd been so quiet, and I so absorbed that, until I had finally heard soft crying behind me, I hadn't realised she was there. I craned my neck around, my hands still occupied by the creative music.

A woman, probably in her later thirties, stood there while I played my piece. She was dressed like most inmates, a software pair of tracksuit pants and a t-shirt which was tight enough to show her more ample bosom. She was short, probably around between 140 and 150 centimetres, and a little stocky but seeming so fragile and lithe at the same time. Her face looked torn, sad, her green eyes glimmering from the tears that were flowing down her rosy cheeks, while strands of her long red hair also seemed to cake to her face when hitting the wet tears.

I stopped, but she shook her head.

"Please, finish it." Her voice was needful, wanting.

I had sat there for a second, looking at her, not knowing what to do. I had never had this happen to me before. It felt like a scene out of a movie. I felt overly self-conscious like I was causing this woman's pain. Still, from the tone of her voice, I knew that the request had come from the heart. I turned back to the piano, my hands and soul finishing off the piece I had started to create.

Bringing the piece to a close, my hands held the final chord, allowing it to fade naturally. The stranger was still behind me, weeping softly. As I swung about on the bench, she came into my arms, hugging me tightly. As she cried in my arms, I whispered that it was all right. I felt strangely awkward as if another circle was being closed. Only yesterday, someone was holding me while I cried, and feeling this woman's cry for help made me feel like maybe there was some reason all this chaos had happened to me over the weekend.

"I'm sorry." She had said as she moved out of my arms, her fingers wiping away tears from her eyes.

"Don't be sorry. I should be sorry. I didn't think my piano playing was that bad." I said, smiling at her. She smiled and sat on one of the plastic chairs littered the room. Her eyes looked up at mine, their soft blueness like pools of water. "May I ask why you were crying?" I asked, hoping that Callahan's Law (Shared pain is lessened; shared joy is increased.) would hold. Don't they have staff for situations like this, I wondered?

"You play like my boyfriend used to."

"Used to?" She nodded gravely. "How long ago did he pass away?" I was playing on thin ice here, and I knew it. I didn't want to sound like a counsellor, but I somehow felt I had to help her out. I don't know why I linked her comment as he had died, but it just seemed to fit.

"A year ago." She started crying again, and this time she flung herself into my arms for support. I should have felt uncomfortable, but I didn't. Holding her, I felt calm. Here was a human being who needed my help, if only for the moment.

Finally, she settled back down again but never left my arms, as if wanting me to cradle her as we continued to talk.

She explained how lost she'd felt after her boyfriend's death. How she'd tried many times to deal with it, but she couldn't seem to let it go. Just when she thought she had got control of the feelings, she would lose control again, falling into deep despair.

"I just wish that there was some way I could get rid of these feelings of loss. They are just always there, and I don't want to feel them any more. She had told me, again her eyes filling with tears.

"You will; I can feel it." As she cried again, I tried to comfort her as best I could.

She looked up at me and kissed me on the lips. I felt a rush of panic overcome me. Could this, should this, be happening? I pulled away from her quickly as if getting an electric shock. She just looked up at me from my arms and smiled at me. Pulling away, she got up walked away, not saying a word.

I sat there, stunned at what had just happened. It was beyond belief. I am Bisexual, so nothing was confusing me with my transsexual problem. Not what was bothering me was that this woman I had only just met had suddenly, without provocation, kissed me! Hell, I didn't even know her name yet! I knew that this was probably because of her emotional state, but didn't this type of thing only happen in stories or movies?

I looked back at the piano, not really knowing what else I could do. Where was all this confusion and strangeness leading to, and why?

"Mattie?" I had heard Sue's voice calling out behind me. I turned and saw her standing at the music room door. "Lunch is up, and I was thinking you could keep me company while we eat."

I nodded, knowing that she had managed to tell me what I was doing while making me feel if I didn't go with her, I would be hurting her feelings. Shit, this woman was good.

I got up from the piano stool and walked over to her. As I passed, she smiled at me, winking and following up beside me.

"You know, you certainly have a way of asking someone to do something without giving them a choice," I stated as we passed the lounge.

"That is why I have this job." She had laughed.

The lunchtime conversation went mainly along with our talk over morning coffee. Sue's intuitive questions continued to make me think about what I really wanted in life and where I wanted to go. However, the crying woman from the piano room had been on my mind throughout the whole lunch conversation.

I didn't know how I should have felt about it. I didn't know whether to say anything to Sue about it or not. If I said anything, would the woman get in trouble? Would I? Had I allowed it to happen and thus taken advantage of her distress? Did I even know it would have happened? Was there any indication I missed or purposely ignored?

So, I didn't say anything, and a part of me was glad about that. But another part realised I hadn't given Sue the chance to help me, meaning I had allowed myself to think of others (the distressed woman) before I had looked out for my own problems.

While noshing a nice ham and cheese sandwich, another ward's nurses came into the lounge and called out my name. I raised my hand, and she told me there was a phone call from Christopher for me.

I knew he had called to check up on me. It suddenly reminded me that even though this place had some remarkable thing in it, it was still a hospital! I needed to tell him that I wanted out of there as soon as possible.

Excusing myself from the table, I made a beeline for the phone. When I got there, the office transferred the call through to me.

"Hi, Mattie." Christopher's voice came out like an anchor to the outside world. It was a nice feeling, knowing that people were still interested in me. Even though I felt like a mental case.

"Christopher, thank god," I replied.

"How are you doing?" He had asked, sounding a little worried.

"I'm okay, but hospitals drive me batty, Christopher." I wasn't really feeling that bad about this ward, but I knew I would if I had to stay in here. "When can I get out?"

"Okay, Mattie. We will see how you feel tomorrow, and we'll go from there. Understand that you were admitted last night under doctor's orders. You will have to be checked out by a doctor before letting you leave the hospital. So, let's work on getting you better, okay? Do you still feel like killing yourself?"

I had known Christopher would ask that question, but I knew I needed out of this hospital. I lied again. "No, I'm fine now," I said, knowing full well that I would do it if pressed too hard again. Even if it meant my life, I couldn't take the chance of losing my liberty, even in pleasant surroundings.

"Fine, though after what happened yesterday, I am not fully convinced. If you still feel that way tomorrow, I'll talk to the doctor for you. You have a great night, okay?"

"Okay," I said, then placed the receiver down. I walked back to the lounge, a little dejected. I had hoped that talking to Christopher would have got me released, and I could escape this gelded cage. But he had just reinforced what I already knew. I had been so deep in my anxiety yesterday that I needed to be here; I needed to take time away from the hustle and bustle of real life.

After getting a coffee and not finding Sue in the lounge, I asked the office for some pen and paper. I wanted to start writing down what was happening. I had created something on the piano, but now my first love, writing, wanted to be employed.

For the next three hours, I rested in my bedroom and wrote. My feelings, emotions, thoughts all flowed from my mind to the paper. Again, writing was a release that helped me explore my feelings and ideas.

I didn't have a tangible goal; I was still very lost, directionless inside. My gender, life, everything seemed to be ganging up on me. Things I had ignored and pushed aside, even though they are still here inside me now, even as I wrote, were more potent than ever.

At the mental ward, I was too weak to control the feelings and the pain. I understood that being here would get me help that allowed me to recover from my present situation and that my pain would slowly go away, yet those thoughts didn't seem to comfort me.

After about three hours of writing on the paper they had given me, I heard someone shout out the dinner was up. I didn't feel that hungry. Yet, while writing, I had been thinking about the girl who had cried in the piano room. So, I figured I could meet up with her again at dinner.

Well, I didn't have to wait till I got to the lounge. I bumped into the mystery woman in the hallway, walking out of my room.

I said, "Hey," trying to seem like I hadn't been hoping to see her again.

"Hi." She smiled back at me. "You're going for dinner?"

I nodded, and before I could say another word, she spoke again. "Well, you can keep me company then, can't you?"

What was it in that ward? People just seemed to naturally tell me what to do, casually glazed like some type of question.

"Okay," I said as I followed her to the lounge. "Oh, by the way, my name is Mattie."

She turned and smiled at me, "I'm Sara." Well, that was the start of a... let's say, "interesting friendship" that I had in the ward. But I'm jumping the gun.

Sara and I had spoken about a lot during our dinner together. Mainly all about me. Even though I tried to turn the conversation back to her, she was more interested in my problems this time.

She had asked why I was in, and even though I liked her, I didn't know if telling her about my gender problem was such a great idea. Not just yet anyway.

"Um, does the food get better in here?" I asked, changing the subject. It was my worse subject change yet, and she picked up on it like a hawk spotting a mouse in a field.

"You need a lot of work on changing the subject, Mattie. You're supposed to make it look like you hadn't changed the subject." I laughed and nodded, knowing she was right.

"Depression. I had a bad...," How could I say anything without making her wonder what the matter was? She had looked at me with her lovely blue eyes, waiting for the rest to come out. There I was, unable to really finish what I was about to say. Damn this fog. I couldn't seem to think straight past this bloody fog in my mind. "I had given up on life on Sunday. For some reason, I got enough to hold of my emotions and feelings to call my counsellor, who in turn called the crisis team."

Whew, I had got it out and none too soon. I felt like I was about to break down and cry. This was stupid. No, not stupid, frustrating. It was like the pain that was inside me had dulled my mind.

"I see. So, you tried to kill yourself too?" She asked. I had nodded and then shrugged while taking another bite of the meal. God, I wish I hadn't. It was the worst and stringiest beef I had ever eaten. How could a place with the best coffee in the world have meat that tasted like it was ten years old?

"This is terrible, you know." Indicating the food. I looked up at Sara and smiled. Sara tried very hard to keep her smile down but failed and finally laughed. There we were, in the lounge, surrounded by people with various problems, laughing. Some looked at us confused, and then they followed and laughed along even though they had no idea of the joke.

Finally putting down the fork, with the bad evil beef on it, I looked at her, "I didn't attempt, I suppose. I had a plan, I was going to do it, but something stopped me. I just couldn't seem to go through with it. In a way, it gave me time to call someone for help."

Sara nodded, chewing on a piece of carrot. I expected her to talk about herself or how she had come to be in the ward, but she just moved on to other topics. And we indeed spoke on so many issues; life, to the colour of her nail polish, which had been a lovely reddish-pink, the way TV was so dull, our favourite types of music.

Finally, after about two hours of conversing, she had to leave to get her medicine. The nurses and doctors had placed her on two Prozac a day, while I only needed the one.

I left the lounge with another cup of coffee and headed back to my room. The time had flown by, and I really couldn't believe that it was ten in the evening. Where had the day gone to? I wasn't that tired, even though there had been a lot to tire me out that day. From Sue to Sara, and the way Sara made me feel. It was strange, but I had felt a building affection for Sara and sympathy for her plight. She was a wonderful person, and if there was a way to help her get over the pain of her loss, I would try to help her with it.

I lay down on my bed and started writing again. I hadn't even gotten past the first part of Sunday's breakdown; it was so hard to let the emotions come to the surface again, so soon. Yet, it was helping to write. It made the problem look smaller (and "it", the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak, was indeed minor), but the emotions it struck into were the real problem. It wasn't the stupid note from some love-struck boy or his tugging at the part of me that wanted more than anything to be the woman he described. But, instead, it was all the feelings of inadequacy that came flooding over me; inadequacies caused through an accident during my creation; inadequacies that were driving this pain.

While writing, someone had knocked on my door, and looking at the time, I was shocked to see it was midnight. Shit, I had been writing for two hours. Who could be knocking on my door at twelve in the morning? I got up and opened the bedroom door to see Sara standing there in her dressing gown.

"Sara?" I was stunned.

I had never been in this situation before. It was like another scene out of a movie. I had this girl standing before me, at the entrance of my door. My mind raced with thoughts and situations that could be coming from this. Did she need support? Was this some attempt to sleep with me... what the hell was I thinking?! Would I say yes if she asked me?

No! I calmed myself and tried to clear my head of all the thoughts and instead asked, "Are you okay?"

"Hi. I wanted to shower, but I couldn't get a nurse to look over me. Rules state that I need someone to be in the shower room while I shower. I would wait until later, but I feel... I feel I need to relax. I was wondering if you could help me and be in there for me if I need help."

I was stunned, shocked. My mouth dropped like a brick, and I was lost for words. "Um... Do you think that's a good idea? Me being... um, male and all?" I stated, hating myself for pointing out my flaws. I felt very much that being male was a flaw, preventing me from living the life I wanted, that I dreamed about.

"No, it is okay." She had answered, maybe a little too fast. "Please." Oh, there was that needful voice, the one that could almost melt the coldest of hearts. The one that would win over any common sense I might have every time.

"All right." I had surrendered to her, but really while thinking about it now. I really didn't put up much of a fight.

Sara took me by the hand and walked me to the Women's showers. As she opened the door, I had one of those panicked feelings again.

Was this right? I wouldn't have even wondered if I was able to concentrate. The fog that STILL had a hold of my mind was trying to block out the inconsistencies in Sara's story. This wasn't just an ordinary hospital ward, where you'd expect to find several nurses on duty at all times; it was a psychiatric ward. You shouldn't be able to walk three paces without running into someone, especially at night when many people have at least some problems and nightmares, and the crying or painful emotions have time to cry into your brain.

There was a stool in the shower room, presumably for people keeping an eye on patients needing supervision. I quickly walked across towards it and sat resolutely facing the wall. I sat there, instantly taking my mind off Sara, using the tiles as a study focus. This was so damn confusing.

Strangely, I felt like a lesbian sitting there. I am a woman (Screw that last gene!) and getting confused and somewhat sexually aroused by another woman.

This whole situation screamed setup to me, but at the same time, I didn't sense that Sara was the one to do that. Was she attracted to me? And if she was, was she attracted to me as a bloody male, or to the woman that was trapped inside this shell of an existence!

Everything was perplexing! And it continued to heavily remind me that I was different from regular women. I couldn't have a normal lesbian relationship, the difference that women loving women could have. Both parties' sensations are as givers, the coupling and touching that comes with both being of the same body, the same sex, compared to the idea that I would be seen as the one who was to take and invade their body during the intercourse.

And at the same time, as though thoughts came, I chastised myself for even having them. This was not the time and place for these thoughts! I was in a bloody mental ward, in the woman's bathroom, looking out for someone, so they didn't do something to hurt themselves! Great fucking nurse I would be!

"You don't have to look away from me." She said while I heard her turn on the shower behind where I sat, facing a bare grey and pink tile wall.

"It's okay, I'm shy," I replied, trying to keep my attention on the small gaps in the caking between tiles.

I heard her step into the shower as the sound of the watering hitting the tiled floor shifted and altered, splashing around the open shower cubical.

"You know," she stated as I could hear moving under the jet streams of water, "you're interesting. You're a man, yet I feel you are different from other men. Very different. I wonder, why is that?"

Sara's question caught me by surprise. How could I answer that question without lying? This probably wasn't the right time to get into my whole gender identity issue; I mean, I was supposed to be here to help protect her, not share my own tragic story. After all, I felt like I had repeated it so much in the last couple of days that I was uncertain if I could stomach saying any more.

"I'm Just special, I guess," I answered, making it sound like I didn't know what she was on about.

"Oh." I heard her say as she moved around in the shower.

I started to ignore the cracks in the wall as I listened to her. She asked me questions about where I was born, what I did. She'd evidently decided to find out what it was that made me different again, repeating the question as to why I didn't feel like other men she knew.

I felt like telling her, but I couldn't. There was some feeling inside that told me, don't. I couldn't complicate this, not right now, not in this situation. I just wanted to help to get out of this circumstance as soon as possible. Even my arousal had disappeared as I realised how surreal this situation came to me. Was I dreaming?

"Can you wash my back, please?"

I didn't know what to say. That question had come totally out of the blue, like a bolt of lightning. I stuttered, trying to reply.

Then I felt wet hands touching my shoulders. I knew that turning around would have placed me face to face with Sara's... well, you know. But that thought didn't stop me. I instantly turned and quickly looked straight up at her face, trying hard to ignore the naked female breasts whose nipples stood erect towards me. Okay, sue me, I glanced a look.

"I like you, and I know you like me. I can feel it. However, there is something different. It doesn't feel like any attraction to a man I have had before. Somehow I know being with you will be different, new. Something I really want to explore with you."

While she told me this, I had just stared at her. God, I was so confused. Yep, there was no denying it; I was attracted to her but was it male or female attraction. I wanted her, but I felt torn that in trying to go beyond that want, into having, I would be just... another guy!

She took hold of my hands, then pulled me up from the stool. As I rose, I felt her breasts push against my clothed chest. I didn't have time to undress as she dragged me willingly into the shower along with her. The water was warm and instantly saturated my clothes. She had helped me quickly take my clothes off, and naked, together, we started to kiss.

There we stood for what seemed like hours kissing deeply under the warm water. I felt my body shiver with excitement and sexual, passionate energy. My eyes were closed, and I felt Sara's arms pull me closer to her. It surprised me that she had so much strength. I outweighed her by a good number of kilos, and I certainly stood taller than her, and yet, this small stature of a woman pulled me close to her as if I was as light as a feather.

As Sara pulled me further into her embrace, I felt my chest crushed against hers, pushing my flesh firmly back against my chest. A small sharp pain travelled through my nipples as they rubbed against her, and I felt a pressure that I hadn't felt before. I felt her hand gently run down my spine, gently caressing the top of my bottom. This sent shivers through my body, which I couldn't remember feeling so strongly before.

She brushed my hair back as she caressed my face while her tongue danced against my moist lips and then back deep inside as passionately kissed.

I felt something pushing against my crotch. It was stiff, firm, and warm to the touch. Its tip pushed forward and up and touched something in my groin that opened slightly, sending more powerful shivers through me as it rubbed against the opening's lining. I wanted that firm thing inside me; I wished there was a way for it to push its way inside me. I needed to feel it in me!

I opened my legs slightly, and Sara, still holding me by my sides, lifted me up slightly. Then slowly, with such ease, she lowered me down so that her firm member pushed into the opening in my groin. I didn't know what to feel then, but somehow, I knew what had happened. Somehow, we had switched bodies.

It was my wish, come true; I was physically female, and it felt so right!

I felt at home.

Sara, who was now in my old male body, kissed my nipples, making me moan softly. I hoped no one heard us, as I had not wanted the feeling of being a woman, being me, to disappear.

Slowly we made love, moving from the wall to the shower floor. All the time, my eyes were closed, not wanting to see if it was just my imagination. I wanted it to be honest, to be authentic.

I was in heaven, and I didn't want anything to pull me back down into reality!

The force of Sara's thrusts increased, and with each thrust, a slight tingle shot through my body. I felt myself getting closer and closer to something that felt like an explosion inside me. We hadn't spoken throughout the whole experience of lovemaking. There hadn't been a need for words.

Suddenly Sara, in a male's voice (Do I really sound like that?), let out a soft moan, and I felt her final pushes become more profound, more powerful. I felt another thrust, this one ramming far into my vagina, pushing against my inner walls. I felt a sudden build-up of tension as Sara released her semen into my body.

My own body shook, and I started to scream with pleasure as my own orgasm came over me in waves of pleasure. My lover's hand gently came over my mouth, cutting off my screams. I felt out of control as my body spasmed around Sara's Penis.

After that powerful moment, Sara had lowered me off her and placed me on the wet floor, where we kissed, touched, and caressed each other. Finally, knowing it would mean the doom of this imagination-filled fantasy, I opened my eyes. I felt so happy to see a man lying down next to me, the water of the shower falling over his body, as his hands played softly over my exposed breasts.

"Welcome to wonderland." Sara, in that male body, said. "I was wondering when you would open your eyes."

"I didn't want this body, this feeling, to go away," I said to her. My body felt right; it felt correct. Before, my male body and internal self didn't feel connected; I felt whole with this body. I felt womanhood. I knew I would be accepted, seen as a woman. I knew I would feel like I fit in because I could now see myself as a true woman. Not some male outer shell that was hiding the woman inside it. That moment, in Sara's body, I felt complete.

I was Whole.

We spoke after, and I told her all about how I had wanted to be a woman since I was about seven or eight. I explained what had happened to me, how all of my issues had built up and finally brought me into this mental ward.

Then the wonder of the whole situation finally made me ask how had this all happened, was this forever? How would we change back? Did I have to switch back?

The out pour of questions was silenced as Sara chuckled and put her new, male fingers to my mouth. She followed the finger with a soft kiss and then answered, "The most you need to know is that this is magic, this is a wonderland, and at this moment, you got your dream. You got to feel that balance when your inner and outer match. Maybe this is your mind wanting you to know that who you are on the inside isn't fake, and it needs and wants to feel connected."

I felt a strange, sudden lethargy come over me as we spoke. It was like the Sandman had thrown not just dust in my eyes but the whole flaming bag. I noticed that Sara had the same tired look.

Slowly Sara rose from the floor and helped me up. Again, I couldn't believe how light I felt as he pulled me up with ease, even though I was sure my body was nearly close to collapsing from the sudden tiredness that came over me.

I looked down at my body. It was perfect to me; it had been everything I had ever dreamed, and more. But my tiredness robbed me from really having the energy to explore what this new body meant to me or how I really felt being encased in this female flesh.

"I think I need to go to bed," I said, picking up my/Sara's female clothes.

"I think I will as well. It would be better if you went to my room and me to yours. Since it looks like we now have each other's lives." It would have been about then that I realised that Sara would now have to be a man. I asked her how she had felt about that.

She smiled, her male lips raising slightly. "My dear. This feels wonderful. I have all the power that I want in my life. I can now be free of something that I couldn't be in that body. I can be free of my boyfriend's death. I don't know why, but the pain is gone, and if I need to be a man to live without it. So be it."

I rushed into his arms then, kissing him on the lips. This was so wonderful. I would be a female, and he would stay the male. I had never felt so happy in my whole life. I knew then that he and I would become very close.

I didn't even question her logic; how could being in my old male body fix her feelings of losing her boyfriend? Emotions of loss weren't gender-specific, but my haze, euphoria, and tiredness took a toll on my thoughts and logical mind.

I dressed in the nightie Sara had brought to the showers with her, feeling the cool fabric collapse down my body and setting on my breasts. Then I helped Sara dress in a couple of dry towels and wrapped his wet clothes into another towel. When had I started calling him... he? Was I so accepting of this strange, wonderful reality? This all made no sense, but I couldn't... no, I wouldn't question it; questioning it could quickly bring this whole wonderful new life crumbling down around me.

Then with our last kiss for the night, I walked to my new room. It was a wonderful feeling, lying down on the bed, the soft nightie flowing over my smooth body. I caressed my body through the soft satin, feeling its smooth surface against my skin. Then my exhaustion won, and I slept the best sleep I had ever had.

And I dreamed beautiful dreams of my new life as a woman.