Whatever Your Heart Desires
By Cherysse St. Claire
Part 6
I was excited about the prospect of going out
with Lexi, more so than I had been about anything in the months since Danni
left. It wasn’t so much this one event was any different than the rest, when my
girlfriends had dragged me out of my self-imposed exile for a night of
frivolity. Perhaps it was just time. There was no question I was buoyed
by what Lexi had told me about Danni’s inclinations towards me. I had something
positive to be hopeful about. In the meantime, I felt it was OK to have fun
again.
My girlfriend had already finished with her final
customer by the time I arrived. She whisked me into her couch and did a quick
‘touch-up’ on my hair. With the help of two of her operators, I got my nails
and makeup done, too. The finished product went well beyond my
carefully-cultivated professional image, so necessary for my successful career.
I mean, I still looked like a ‘pro’ – but in a different genre.
After closing the salon, we adjourned to Lexi’s luxury
condo to dress. The ensemble I had brought to wear perfectly complimented this
new and very different “me”. I had purchased the royal blue latex sheath on a
shopping excursion with Danni, shortly before our break-up. It was a halter
style with a deeply-scooped back. The V’d neckline plunged almost to my navel,
revealing way more tantalizing boobflesh than I was used to. The hemline was
appropriately short, barely covering the tops of my sleek, sheer black stay-up
stockings.
Did it fit me like a second skin? Is the Pope Polish? I
had chosen stay-ups because I didn’t want the dress’s sensual lines spoiled by
the outline of a garter belt. At the last minute, I decided to forego panties
as well, just to be daring. Aside from my lush, feminine contours, the only
protrusions showing through the sensual rubber were my stiff, swollen nipples
and prominent pubic mound.
I accessorized the look with a pair of Royal Blue
patent platform sandals. The open- toed, ankle-strap design had a two-inch sole
and towering six-and-a-half-inch stiletto heel, both of clear Lucite. Huge
silver hoop earrings and a forearm full of jangly bangles finished the look.
Lexi had done a stunning scarlet two-piece bustier and
microskirt combination which looked absolutely breathtaking against her raven
hair and fair complexion. She laced herself into thigh-high red patent boots
with five-inch heels to add an even more exotic aura.
We ate at a cozy little trattoria, more for its
convenience to our evening’s destination than anything else. The food was
wonderful, although my mind really wasn’t on it. Good service? We were doted
on, slavishly, by our servers, plural. Lexi and I were never quite certain
which one was actually working our section. At least a half-dozen diners,
single and otherwise, made it clear with their eyes they would have given their
souls to be part of our personal wait staff that night. We tipped well for the
attention, but could have gotten away with no tip at all simply by telling them
where we would be later. Then, we were on our way.
The bouncer at the door whisked us beyond the velvet
rope instantly. Gotham’s atmospherealready seethed with
electricity. In a room full of pretty people, Lexi and I drew attention like
twin beacons. We were offered drinks all night, but I made certain we consumed
only what I observed to pass directly from the bartender’s hand to ours. We
danced, too; with each other, and a never-ending stream of male admirers.
We caught the eye of a trio of hunks I recognized as
professional athletes. Months after the fact, the entire town was still basking
in the afterglow of a championship season. These three were doted on for their
heroics, just as Lexi and I had been at dinner. Two of them made their way to
our side and requested a dance. The dance became two, then three, then I was no
longer counting. Their manners were gentlemanly while their sensual appeal was
anything but. If I was gonna have a man tonight , I reasoned, this
one was certainly a good choice. My girlfriend’s smile and silent nod
confirmed she seconded my decision.
If you have ever enjoyed the VIP room in such a club,
you know the rules are a little different there than for the general public.
Liberties are taken, and allowances made, by and for ‘players’ at that level –
particularly if the room is closed to all but a certain few VIP’s and
their special guests, as it was that night. Disrobing was unnecessary; Lexi and
I had both ‘dressed for action’. We got all we could handle.
Finally, it felt good to have sex again, even if
this gorgeous stud was a mere stand-in for the partner I longed for. I gave as good
as I got. His chiseled good looks, Greek God physique, satiny mahogany skin and
tall, turgid tool got me off again and again. Lexi gave no indication her
experience was any less powerful than mine. Two twosomes crossed over into
variations of a foursome, then back.
After a time, I became aware a third couple had
joined us. It was the third member of the trio, recently arrived with yet
another girl chosen from the throng on the dance floor. I saw him, on
top, in the subdued lighting. He was just as impressive as my date and Lexi’s,
if not more so. I happened to catch my girlfriend’s eye at that moment and glanced
in the direction of the new arrivals. She looked in that direction, winked, and
shrugged her shoulders a bit, as if to say: Why not? The more, the merrier.
At that moment, the third couple rolled over with her
on top. I saw her from the back, admiring her perfect hourglass physique,
shapely, stocking-clad legs and the black patent platform stilettos she wore.
Her top had been removed and the black patent skirt she wore was bunched up
around her full hips and lush, heart-shaped ass. He was doing her anally, and
she was taking every inch of his impressive dong. Her long, curly hair brushed
back and forth across her naked back. I could just make out the outline of her
overfull, giggling breasts. As she moved her head, a beam of overhead light
flicked across her silky mane, which flashed brilliantly copper in the
illumination.
I thought my heart would never start beating again. My
pussy seized the cock inside me, bringing my partner to a screeching halt in
mid-thrust. After I engineered a swift change of positions, my Adonis was
thrusting into my pussy from behind while I knelt upright, pressed into the
backside of the red-headed enchantress. Even the scent of her Obsession
remained the same after all these months!
There were some startling differences. Her
cheekbones were much fuller now; so were her lips. The bounce of her big
titties hadn’t been my imagination. She had gotten a boob job! I came
at the thought she had committed herself so fundamentally, so permanently,
to this new plane of existence.
Her eyes were closed in concentration. They sprang open
when she felt my body against hers and my fingernails tweaking those erect,
sensitive nipples I had loved so much. She visibly spasmed when she realized
who I was. She reached behind me to grab my asscheeks, pressing me tightly
against her. I had caught just a glimpse of her fingernails as her hands passed
my field of vision. They appeared to be just as long as Celine’s had been,
though deep red with gold nail art, as had been Danni’s preference. The feel of
those elegant talons digging into my tender assflesh sent chills up my spine.
We came in that position, together, for the first time in months, our
respective studs thrusting into us.
The candy store was once again open in my imagination.
At times, our foursome became a sextet – no pun intended. In even my wildest
flight of fancy, I had never envisioned sitting astride one stud, his
magnificent fuckshaft filling my pussy, while my own sweet Danni knelt upright
behind me, fucking my ass. She, in turn, was being fucked from behind by her
stallion. When my two lovers came, gushing their loads inside me, I went
over the edge and stayed there, not caring where, when, or who I
was, nor how far the fall might be.
The moment passed, as all moments do. Lexi convinced
me, with difficulty, to adjourn with her to her condo with our dates and leave
Danni to her own obvious pleasures. At that moment, the love of my life was
once again on top, riding her stalwart steed. I hugged her, kissed her cheek
tenderly, then breathed into her ear: I’ve missed you. As we left the
room, I glanced over my shoulder to catch a final glimpse of the one who had
always been The One. She was doing the same.
***
I first heard the buzz on one of the local
early-morning TV news/talk shows as I was getting ready for work. A new
non-fiction novel was about to hit bookstore shelves and everyone was
touting it as a ‘must-read’. They were calling it the next Black Like Me;
a scathing exposé on legal and social intolerance toward this country’s last
generally-acceptable target of discrimination, persecution and hate, narrated
by a person who had lived it first-hand. The title? Desires Deferred:
Being Transgendered In America. The author?
Danielle Devereaux.
It couldn’t be a coincidence….
I was first in line at the bookstore door the morning
it went on sale. I placed my hand on Danni’s picture on the back cover, trying
to recapture the warmth I had once felt when I held her. It felt so good to see
her face again, if only on the cover of a book. I read whenever I had a few
free minutes. It was told in the first person, as well as quotes and
third-person narrations gleaned from the experiences of other T-Girls Danni had
met while ‘researching’ her story.
I devoured every word, starting with Chapter One: When
You First Dream The Dream. She told of T’s who had known there was
something wrong with their gender identity as early as age two, as well as
those that “came late to the game”, finding their other self for the first time
in their adult years. She wrote of girls who lived their whole lives in the
closet, as well as those who were proudly, defiantly “out”. She chronicled
those who shared their special identity with a Significant Other, those who had
only each other, and those who had no one but themselves. She revealed those
who had come out and found at least some measure of happiness, as well as
others who had lost everything in the pursuit of their dream.
Some, mostly the cross-dressers (“weekend warriors” as
they were known in The Scene) were identified only by pseudonym - to protect
their ‘straight’ identities, jobs, families and friends. A cadre of the braver
“24/7” (full-time) girls were identified by their street or “Drag” names. They
provided the bulk of the quotes and third-person material. One in particular,
the author’s “Drag Mother”, had been shadowed through her world on a
day-to-day, sometimes hour-to-hour basis. Her life and world was described in
vivid, sometimes tawdry detail; the triumphs, tragedies, successes, failures,
joys, sorrows and almost casual horrors that made up her day. There was a
picture of her, which I recognized immediately. I was stunned. The caption
read: Celine D’Arcy. I hadn’t had a clue.
Our story was there, too; all of it, minus the names,
places and dates. It was spread out throughout the book, beginning in Chapter
Four: When The Fantasy Becomes Reality
“I was one of the lucky ones. I hadsomeone. She
was smart, funny, sexy, successful, daring, erotic – and stunningly beautiful,
inside and out. We were happy, too – at least, for a while. Unlike others, I
didn’t have to invent some rationale to explain my desires to her. She beganmy transformation herself, out of the blue. It was her way of thanking me for
giving her ‘whatever her heart desired.’ She adored‘Danielle’, too – at
least, for a while. I don’t know what she saw in me as a man, much less as a
woman, but she saw something and I loved her for it and vowed I would do
whatever it took to make her happy. She was my world and I was lucky to dwell
in it while I did. Happiness is relative, and all too transitory. I regret that
happiness ended, but I would more deeply regret it not existing in the first
place, as is true for so many others. I, at least, have memories, rather than
fantasies….”
She continued our story in Chapter Six: When The
Reality Becomes Fantasy
“She loved me without limits – or so it seemed at the
time. She called that wonderful beginning ‘Fantasyland’, but each day after was
a new fantasy fulfilled. If I was ‘out there’, it was because she extended my
reach. If I was a ‘bad girl’, she liked me that way. To her, Conformity was a
vehicle, not a destination - and a rental car at that. We loved often and well,
sharing our secret-that-wasn’t with strangers-that-weren’t and
friends-that-were. I could ask: ‘What did I do wrong to lose her?’ Instead, I
ask: ‘ What did I do right to deserve her?’”
My tears began to fall in Chapter Eight: When The
Fantasy Ends
“Everything that has a beginning, has an end.
Sometimes, it is our excesses that finally catch up with us. Sometimes, it is
boredom. Sometimes that which we are overcomes that which we strive to be. In
our case, we just made a stupid mistake. The mistake was not that we had loved,
trusted and had faith in each other in the first place. The mistake was, we
lost sight of those things and quit trying. Perhaps it really had been just an
illusion, a bit of parlor magic, as she had always claimed. In time, the smoke
dissipates and the mirrors crack. The house lights come up. Then, you are faced
with the real world; a bed you no longer share in a home no longer yours.
Therein dwells a heart that has moved on. ‘This way to the Egress. Watch your
step.’ It’s cold out there, once the warmth is gone. You may find warmth again,
sometime, somewhere. If not, the memory of it can warm you, too – just not as
well.”
There was more of course; the lives, the dreams of so
many. Their lives were about illusion, lived on the edge, one day at a time.
Illusion was their reality, and Reality an illusion. They avoided the
‘real world’ as vampires avoided the light; both burned body and soul. In the
end, dreams would be dashed, lives would be crushed and discarded by almighty
‘Family Values’. Society could be cruel if you were perceived to be
‘different’.
Danni described the club scene in detail. In their
illusory existence, it was the focal point and sometime defining factor in
their social order. As in any other society, there was a caste system which
defined the individual’s place in the hierarchy. From her rich depictions and
characterizations, I had no doubt she was describing Eve’s Rib. I don’t know
why I never pictured her going there. After our experiences, I just always
envisioned her going to ‘straight’ clubs. I realized that was my prejudice
talking. As she described in her book, the so-called ‘straight’ clubs could, in
fact, be a death trap for any T-girl who was ‘read’ – found out – even one as
beautiful as Danielle. Sometimes, it came down to a matter of hooking up with
the wrong guy, or how drunk he was at the time. Any girl could identify with
that.
The most touching – and disturbing – chapter dealt with
what girls in transition had to do to survive on a day-to-day basis. The truth
was, unless a girl was completely ‘unreadable’, had iron-clad documentation, or
was just plain lucky, she was likely to be locked out of the job market by
prejudicial hiring managers. Even menial, minimum-wage jobs would be difficult
to secure.
Sometimes the fields of Fashion and Cosmetology would
offer opportunities. The author herself had gone that route and become a
licensed Cosmetologist and Esthetician in the course of her ‘research’. Not all
the girls could get into those fields and not all had the talent for it. That
left more creative methods of support. Finding a ‘husband’ (male lover) was a
preferred path, though often perilous. A ‘Sugar Daddy’ was considered Heaven on
Earth, but real Sugar Daddies were few and far between, and not every girl
could attract one. Check fraud, supplanted by credit and ATM card fraud were
traditional favorites. Dealing drugs – almost always at the lower echelons –
was another, although the girls all too often got mixed up with the ‘product’
themselves. And then there was ‘dating’….
I almost died as Danni wove a graphic description of
‘dates’. There was no way she could have known those intimate details
without having been there. I had fantasized about Danni being with men and what
a turn-on it would be to watch. Now, the vision of her doing exactly that was
firmly fixed in my head – perhaps so she could eat that day or save up some
money for the rent on the little roach-motel studio apartment she described.
The thought chilled me to the bone.
Throughout the book, the level of hate, loathing,
suspicion, and casual, horrific violence directed against the girls on an
almost daily basis numbed the senses. There were beatings, stabbings,
shootings, mutilations, rape (until then, I had not considered a girl fortunate
to only be raped) heaped upon them, both from the outside and within
their own community. I felt like beating my own head against the wall to think
of my own Danni immersed in this cesspool. Then I thought of the others who
lived it every day with her.
She ended on a positive note with Chapter Eleven: When
The Reality Is Redeemed
“I hadn’t anticipated writing this chapter. Happy endings
so seldom happen in our world. In truth, this one hasn’t either, but I have
seen a glimmer of hope. It came at a most unlikely place and time, amid an
improbable tangle of bodies. Two among them had known each other’s touch
before. The touch became a caress, which begat a kiss, which rekindled a desire
that had never really died, despite the tears and trauma.
In that magical time, Desire was the child of Love,
Trust, and Faith, Fantasy and Reality were one and the same - and could be
again if you tried. How much of yourself are you willing to invest in the
attempt? How much are you willing to risk? How much is Happiness worth?
I finished those words on Thursday night. I felt so
uplifted by them, felt happy endings just might be possible after all.
Then, I read the epilog:
“Celine D’Arcy died on a warm afternoon in April from
complications of AIDS. She didn’t linger, which was a blessing – one of the few
in her twenty-six years. The sun streaming in through the hospital window
warmed her, where the embrace of her long-departed lovers could not. Some of
her friends attended; those that were strong enough to face the shadow of
mortality that might all too soon embrace them as well. Her family attended
her, too; that is, if you count me as ‘family’. She seemed to think so. We were
family at a time we had no other, whatever our respective reasons. That made me
feel special, loved. Isn’t that what Family is all about? I hope she felt the
same way. That, and this book are her only legacy.”
I cried myself to sleep around three AM, then called in sick
on Friday. I read it again over the weekend.
Danni’s book broke huge and stayed huge. She made the
rounds of the talk shows. Some interviewers were encouraging and sympathetic.
The rest were at least civilized, given her commercial success. Dear God, she
looked beautiful! Then again, she always had. Her body looked just as good as
it had, too. She wore the charcoal suit and crepe blouse that looked so good on
her. In that light, her new boobs were exquisite!
Danni revealed the book had originally been
commissioned as a free-lance feature story for a major men’s magazine (that
must have been the “big project” she had mentioned). She had felt a special
attraction to that world as long as she could remember and had felt lucky to
snag the assignment, but the T-girl community was notoriously closed to outsiders,
particularly men. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get close enough to the
people to do the story justice. Then, Kismet intervened, in the form of the
person she loved most in life. Through an unbelievable series of circumstances,
she was handed her ‘entré’ to that world on a silver platter – along with a
unique insight she could never have achieved as a man.
As she delved more deeply into the story, she realized
she could not possibly do it justice in twenty-five hundred words. She went
back to the magazine, notes in hand, and cut a deal with their publishing arm
for a book instead. She was then able to detail her own story, in depth, as
well as those of the other girls.
One of the humorous aspects of the story – one she told
on several talk shows – described her return to the magazine’s corporate
headquarters, this time as a woman. Upon her arrival, there had been a
misunderstanding by the receptionist. The woman had sent Danni to the wrong
room – the one where they were auditioning prospective centerfolds. She had
actually made the first cut when the ‘error’ was discovered. When the Publisher
heard about it, she sent Danni back downstairs for the photo shoot, to be used
as a publicity tie-in to the book.
One of the interviewers, a woman, pursued the angle of
Danni’s own transformation.
“Danielle, you have previously mentioned you would not have
been able to get close to the transgender community had you not been one
yourself. Does that mean you transitioned specifically to write this book?”
“No, of course not! To be honest, I wasn’t even thinking
about the story when my transformation began. I had always harbored a desire,
but had never acted upon it, for fear of turning my real-world existence and
relationship upside-down. It began as a sensual experiment between two
consenting adults and blossomed from there. She didn’t want it to end and
neither did I. The entré it gave me to the “T” community was a nice plus. I
have no regrets about either.”
“You said your transformation was brought about by ‘the
person you loved most in life’. That was your wife, wasn’t it?”
“Actually, she considered me to be her wife.”
“Is she, uh, more masculine than you were?”
“Not even close. I can only dream of being the
centerfold material she is. When we were together, I wanted the whole world to
see her and know how lucky I was. The only reason I don’t reveal her identity
now is my respect for her privacy.”
“Wow. Returning to the subject of your transformation. She
enjoyed it? She enjoyed you as a woman?”
Danni smiled.
“Several times a night.”
The interviewer grinned.
“How were the forces that drove the two of you apart
different from the forces that split up more conventional couples?”
“They weren’t different at all. In spite of people’s perceptions
of us, my spouse and I were subject to the same personal and social pressures
as every other couple. The cause of our split was distressingly – or
reassuringly – common to everyone. The people broke, not the gender
dynamic.”
“I couldn’t help but notice you still wear your wedding
ring. Aren’t you divorced?”
“No. Technically, we are only estranged, unless she has
taken some recent action that I am not aware of.”
“So there is still a chance for a reconciliation?”
“There is always a chance, just as there is a chance to win
the lottery. I did that once. I hit the jackpot the night she and I
met.”
“Have you spoken to her recently?”
“Not since I left home.”
“What would you say to her right now if she were here?”
“I would tell her she is still The One. She always has been
and always will be. That is why I still wear the ring.”
“What do you think she would say to you right now?”
“I really don’t know.”
I could answer that one – even through my tears.
“I WOULD TELL YOU TO COME HOME, DAMMIT!”, I screamed at the
television. “I LOVE YOU. I ALWAYS HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL!”
“Will you call her?”
“I think so, when I’m ready. That will probably have to wait
until after the book tour.”
“Thank you, Danielle Devereaux.”
Book tour?
I went to the publisher’s web site and looked it up. She
would be here in a week!
***
The autograph session began at three. I don’t know if
she saw me in line. I had gotten to the bookstore early – or so I thought.
There were already three-dozen or so people in line, waiting for Danni and her
entourage to show up. A hundred or so more came after me. All wanted to get
their copies signed by a genuine ‘home town celebrity’. A few of the men had
brought copies of the magazine to have her autograph the historic centerfold.
She didn’t make a huge scene as I handed her my copy.
The media was there and I don’t think she wanted them to know who I was. Even
then, she was protecting my privacy. Her eyes sparkled a bit more brightly than
before and her smile was a bit larger. She was very deft in her slight-of-hand.
I don’t think anyone other than me noticed she exchanged my copy for one that
had been in her lap.
I stifled my impulse to look until I was out the door.
The overleaf was completely filled on both sides. I froze in the middle of the
sidewalk, rooted to the spot, as I read her words.
Dearest Kristen,
You were, are, and will continue to be the love of
my life. Nothing, before or since, even comes close to the joy I shared with
you. The night I left was the most anguished and painful ever, more so than
anything I have endured since. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of
you, of us, with longing and regret. There hasn’t been a night I haven’t missed
your touch, your warmth, and the nearness of you.
Much has happened in my life, as this book details.
Some of it took place while we were still together. None of it could
have happened, but for your imagination, creativity, passion, and love for me.
I am a better person for it, inside and out. Not all the world may agree with
that assessment, but I cannot be all things to all people. I must content
myself with being the best I can be for me. I had hoped I became the best I
could be for you, as well, but I don’t count on that. Either way, thank you for
helping me achieve what I have.
I never stopped loving you. I did stop
believing in you. I was probably wrong in doing so. You had always been honest
with me about your casual infidelities, where others would not have been. I
accepted you on that basis, foolishly thinking, like so many others, I could
‘change’ you in time. Instead, you changed me – for the better, I think. The
exceptions to that were my heightened, feminine emotions – the negative ones. I
discovered them the night I caught you with Ron Randall.
I actually felt the first pangs of jealousy at
Friday’s when he first hit on you. Remember what happened when we got home? I
tried so hard to make you forget all about him. Of course, you didn’t, did you?
I came home to find you fucking him in our bed. I had never felt so betrayed in
my life. Oooh, how I wanted revenge! I got it, too. I slept with Lexi and Gwen
and rejoiced when you found out.
Later, as I got deeper into The Life, I ‘dated’ so
many men, and women, too, thinking I was, in some way, getting back at you.
They were easy conquests, but empty ones. My petty vengeance did nothing to
heal the rift between you and me; it merely widened it.
I never slept with Celine, but not for lack of
desire. She would not allow it. I did not find out why until later. Say what
you will about her. Once you got past the ‘attitude’, she was one of the most
decent, caring human beings I have ever met. In fact, she reminded me of you.
Losing her was like watching you die before my eyes. I suffered for that, and
still do.
Seeing you at Gotham that night, sharing that
special fantasy with you, made me realize just how empty my life has been
without you in it. I cannot forget what happened to make me leave you, just as
you cannot forget what I did later. The best we can do is to forget it matters.
You made me what I am today, in every sense. In so doing, you made us
stronger; perhaps strong enough to survive this little blip on the radar
screen. I still wear my ring, and proudly. As a very smart cookie once pointed
out to me, “this is forever.” My greatest mistake, and regret, is not taking
her at her word. If we give it some time, perhaps we can fix even that.
With all my love,
Danni
I had thought I was all cried out. I was wrong. How
long had it taken her to formulate those words? What am I talking about? Danni
is a professional writer, an author now, and a damn good one. She
probably knocked it off in one quick draft. Give it some time? Take all
the time you need, Sweetie; I’ll be waiting.
Through my tears, I almost missed the hastily-scribbled
Post-It note stuck on the title page.
I’ll be done here by five; O’Malley’s after. Would you
like to share a fantasy?
D.
I ran for the car as fast as my feet would carry me.
God help anyone who stood between me an O’Malley’s front door!
End of "Whatever Your Heart Desires"
since 12/01/04