Book Two:

dave_beard.jpg (51349 bytes)

Boiled in Oil
by Melanie Anne

Part One: The Promised Land

Chapter 26

Virginity Lost: Reprise

February 3, 1992

I had my second doctor check-up since surgery today. He was REALLY pleased with the healing! He hold me that in 3 1/2 weeks I had healed as much as he usually sees in 2 to 3 months. Depth is good, width is good, everything elastic, everything works, 2 orgasms since surgery, swelling down, and the cervix is pink (something he says is good but rare). Anyway, he says "sex in three more weeks". So I'll have to keep Bernard at bay on Friday!

We are just beginning to plateau on the post-surgical finances. We are still in hot water, but at least it is not boiling any faster! No doubt about it, though. I made the best decision of my life when I went under the knife! I seem to be able to handle ANYTHING now!

February 4, 1992

Just a quickie, since I am late for work already, but I like writing better than working.

Every day IS better and better. And not by leaps and bounds, but more of a slow build. I cannot believe that life can have a background noise level that is positive instead of negative. I'm really not prepared for this! It seems like no matter what comes up, I can handle it now. And not with martyrish sacrifice and determination, but just matter of course.

Tangent to this, I find that I can no longer share my feelings with men, as they haven't a clue to what in the world I'm talking about! I know its really my losing the vocabulary of male communication, compounded by the increasing effects of a single hormone system. But it sure is weird!

Men and I are truly different species now with few if any real touchpoints. My girlfriends and I, however, communicate so much more completely. We understand each other, not just in content, but connotation. Well, I'm really out of time (dad rat it!) But, in the words of Arnold, "I'll be back!"

February 8, 1992

At my support group meeting last Saturday, which was my "Prodigal Daughter" evening, as returnee from Trinidad, there was a nice looking guy about my age who cornered me for a conversation. He is not transgendered, but attracted to that ilk. No exclusively, however, just in addition to genetic females.

This was his first time attending the group. He asked my phone number, and I gave it, and on Tuesday, he called me at work and asked me out to dinner and dancing Friday night. I met him there at seven last night. He had a single red rose with baby's breath for me, with a card saying he was looking forward to the start of a new friendship.

He has a well-trimmed beard (I had never been attracted to beards, but changed my mind last night!) We had a wonderful dinner with a really funny (and handsome) waiter. Our conversation ranged from philosophies and attitudes to the software I'm creating at work, and a lot of joking.

After the long dinner, we adjourned to the adjoining disco and looked for a place to put his sweater and my purse. All the tables were taken, however, so he suggested we put them in our cars. When we went to the valet for the keys, I told him it would be easier just to get his key and put the things in his car, rather than have to locate two vehicles. (But you know why I REALLY said that.... Just thinking ahead!)

So we dropped our things in his car and went back to dance. We danced up a storm for about half an hour, most of which time was spent in CLOSE disco dancing, with a LOT of body contact and kissing.

Finally, we were exhausted, and he bought me a cold diet coke at the bar, and we leaned up against the wall to recover. I nestled up against him, and soon we were nuzzling together, face to face, alternately gazing in each other's eyes and closing them altogether. His hands gently moved over me, exploring, massaging, and I swear I nearly came just standing there with him!

After about 20 minutes of necking in the corner, he suggested we take a walk outside to cool off. We circumvented the parking lot and noticed that now there was a line of about 30 people waiting to get into the disco. He stopped at a shadowed spot to do some more necking, but I told him it was too cold for me, and maybe we should sit in his car. So, he got his car, and we drove up a few streets in the residential area and parked.

Well, let me tell you! Whoa!!! Bernard was the PERFECT gentleman, and yet he took the initiative, firmly but gently. I felt like a school girl needing to learn, because in truth, I had never done most of the things to any woman that I wanted done to me.

We played safe, kissing with no tongues, my hand making him happy, his on me: the first man to touch the new equipment - and GOD was it good!!! Some of this stuff I had done for Mary, but it was just a chore in my other life. On THIS side, it was heaven! And he was enjoying it too, a feeling I had never had as a man.

We put back the reclining seats and eventually ended up in the same one, taking turns on who was on top. As I said, he was the perfect gentleman. He would initiate, but would stop if I asked him, or do something I asked, but would also suggest. And his patience was incredible! I truly have a lot to learn, and a lot more to get good at.

I am incredibly sensitive EVERYWHERE. My ears, my nipples, under my arms... Somehow, with him in the driver's seat (not just literally!) my whole body was a live wire. I rolled over so he would move on top of me, and (with my panties and pantyhose on for protection) he thrust his naked self against me.

I NEVER KNEW!!! The urge to be penetrated - to have him enter me - was almost undeniable! There was such a weird mix of intense physical pleasure and indefinable psychological fulfillment as he moved against me, feeling the pressure of him relentless between my legs.

I'm getting turned on again just thinking about it. I told him, "So THIS is what it is to be a woman!" How could such ecstasy exist unknown to me for all these years?

Well, I'm still a couple weeks from being "penetration ready", but Bernard and I are working toward that, him the patient, experienced teacher, me the eager novice. Again, I marvel at the good fortune that seems to attach itself to my life. I cannot imagine a better partner to guide me to completion as a woman.

Well, enough erotica already! I'm going to take a cold shower!

February 9, 1992

As far back as I can remember, I've had this dream where I was standing at the bottom of a pit just deep enough to prevent me from grabbing onto the rim, just wide enough to keep me from climbing out, and just open enough at the top to tantalize me with sunny skies and starry nights. I always felt that the whole world lay just outside that pit: a world I had never seen.

I kept thinking that if I could just get out of that pit, I would never have anything to worry about again. All through transition, I could feel the time of release getting closer, but even after surgery it was not yet there.

Now it is here. The final experiences I needed in order to know life are safely tucked in my memory. Having lived is the key to knowing life.

Even with all my shenanigans, Mary continues to provide a stable and supportive home environment. For example, we went to the new Super Mall yesterday. I stopped at Victoria's Secret and was looking at some fancy panties. Mary said, "Ah, I see you are buying some things for your friend from Friday night!" She looked at the two pairs of panties I was considering and commented, "I'd pick these." Then she smile-smirked and we laughed together.

Mary and I are so close physically at the moment, twisting all up together as we sleep, that I almost suspect we will become intimate again in the next few months.

It's really quite odd, but I can enjoy playing "daddy" to the kids and "husband" to Mary, even while my outside affectation and demeanor never varies from Melanie. I have noticed that since surgery, I am not afraid of my more masculine frames of mind. At work I find I will shift without awareness into the range of masculine/feminine that best suits the situation and best fulfills my desires. And yet, from the outside, I am sure I am always Melanie, even though many times I feel just like Dave.

February 12, 1992

I was in the elevator going up to work yesterday, sharing it with an elderly man with whom I struck up a conversation. Suddenly I realized he looked familiar. I asked, "Are you George?", and indeed it was. George was one of the stars in a feature film I directed in 1982. I hadn't seen him since.

I introduced myself, "I USED to be Dave". He simply said, "I never would have known!" His beeper rang, so he came up to my office to use the phone. We exchanged career updates and current phone number, and he left. It was a kick to run into someone like that who had never heard about my transition.

I remember reading in "Conundrum" about a similar situation that happened to Jan Morris. At the time, I wondered what that would feel like. Now I know.

Switching topics, I felt my physical system to a major shift after about as month of no testosterone. I'm now in my first "off cycle" since surgery, and the feelings are quite different. I find myself "drifting" mentally, and finding fascination in the most mundane things, staring at spots on the wall or puddles for minutes at a time. My time sense is all shot to blazes. I put my coffee in the microwave, set it for 2 minutes, turn away and back and there are 13 seconds left! I push the button on the elevator, look up, and it has already arrived two floors up. I'm missing red lights when driving and can't even keep my balance, all because my sense of the passage of time is all screwed up.

Since we are working with space/time math models at work, I was unable to work all morning. Finally, I went out to lunch and ate three times as much as normal - mostly starch and carbohydrates. That did the trick! It countered the spaciness long enough for me to finish my work, but by 5:00 I was flying!!!

February 20, 1992

Today is my 39th birthday. I had promised myself at least one year in my thirties as a woman, and obviously I'm going to get it!

They had a quick party at work today, and a few people made special trips up to my office to bring me cards. One special friend slipped a present in my office while I was downstairs. There were, of course, some risqué sexist cards, but it was all in good fun, and the little notes inside were heartwarming and so very accepting.

At home, a family friend came over with presents and balloons. When Mary came home from the Girl Scout meeting she said, "Well, I have a date with David G.!", one of the married fathers in the troop). He has been interested in Mary before he knew who I was, and I had noted him getting real friendly with her at one of the Girl Scout meetings I had attended with her.

Well, I didn't particularly like her saying that in front of our friend, but I think she was just trying to stress her worth. I don't really expect she will ever go out with him, as the "date" was to catch a big sci-fi movie together next time one comes out. But then again, she might.

Strange, how I still feel such jealousy. Yet, things about me HAVE changed. Rather than being devastated, I am just hurt. But because I am less self-centered, I find myself more concerned with Mary's happiness than my hurt. And if it brings her pleasure, I will be glad for that.

What also bothers me is that I always told her from Day One where I was headed and what I would do. And I never varied, added to or deleted from that plan. It was like a promise. She had told me she would never date, and I, naively, believed she would not vary.

Well, this sounds all too serious, as we are chasing and tickling each other all around the house tonight. But it is indicative of a more basic post-surgical transition that is an unexpected process I am still working out.

Mary said she would go out with him because she just needed "some male companionship." You know, through all of this, I have never dealt with the issue of "loss". It has all been a positive process of gain. But now, as a result of the hormone shift, I guess, I can "feel" an aspect of my own previous mind that I cannot get back: parts of me that I am never again to possess. There is no depression here, but just a feeling of being out of control for the first time. In many senses, I LIKE that feeling: it is liberating. But it does take some getting used to.

February 23, 1992

I just got back from my first time skiing. Ten of our 16 employee company (minus bosses) spent the weekend at the local ski resort. I went up with a girl friend from work. I find that I love the standard subjects of girl talk: dealing with insensitive and insufferable men, what makes men attractive, who is attractive and who isn't and why, how we feel about ourselves and our lives, etc.

We shared a lot of favorite music on cassette. What a time the whole group had!!! There were four of us first-time skiers, so we all took a class together for two hours, then took the lift up and sailed down the beginner's slope. I went down seven times and only fell on 3 of the runs!!! And I love it!!!

Without the bosses there, we all had a WONDERFUL time, playing games until 2 in the morning, going out for breakfast, talking in corners, men and women intermixed in the various dens for sleeping.

A fun part was giggling with my female roommate over cutesy gross jokes while I dilated in the dark. I deepened MANY friendships and really let my hair down. What a trip!

February 29, 1992

Now, for the news flash all America is waiting for: "Melanie Loses Her Virginity!" In RED letters. 72 point type!!!

Yes, it's really happened. But it was a lot different than I expected. I had experienced such a deep physical and psychological moment on my date of three weeks ago, that I fully anticipated more of the same. And, although the evening WAS wonderful, it did not provide nearly the fulfillment of the first date.

I realized the nature of the difference in male/female sexual needs. For the woman, foreplay IS the important part. The actual act of sex is, you should pardon the expression, anti-climactic.

And mood and atmosphere have a lot to do with it. On the first date, we had a wonderful dinner at a nice restaurant, danced for half an hour, took a cooling walk and went up to the hills in his car to neck, much like the itinerary of an old 1950s movie.

This time, I went to his condo. It is a nice, neat place, but lacks any hint of a woman's touch. Everything is straight lines, solid colors, and functional.

He made dinner - pretty good cooking for a man, but it lacked flourish, and certainly lacked romance. After dinner, we cuddled on the couch for a while, then went upstairs to his room. A little necking, a little petting, the luxuriously slow process of undressing, and finally, the beginning of intimacy.

He explored my body, starting at the farthest borders and working his way to the point of major interest. He used his hands and his tongue to get me started. I warned him there was still the final labiaplasty to be done, but he said he couldn't see why. (Biber is truly a miracle worker.)

Finally, he rolled over on me and we enjoyed the traditional position, then switched to me on top, then from behind, and finally oral sex (both parties involved).

He had held out so long that he didn't reach completion at that moment. We snuggled for about 15 or 20 minutes, however, and then he came back and finished the job - in the standard position we had started in.

Now, the experience of being penetrated and being desirable was indeed wonderful. But since I am not in love with Bernard, and the evening was not as romantic as our first date, I didn't enjoy the same degree of fulfillment I had with him before. It wasn't bad, mind you, but not as meaningful as I had hoped.

Nevertheless, in losing my virginity, I have gained a much deeper understanding of what IS meaningful to me. And now I can clearly set my sights on achieving it.

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