This is where the story has been heading for a while. I know it's been dragged out a bit, but I think it's important to build the character, to show that he is an emotional, living, breathing person. I have a few good ideas about where the story is heading, but it's probably going to take a little longer to get there than I originally anticipated.
So after this first few installments, I'd like some good, solid feedback. What do you like about the story thus far? What do you dislike? Is the experiment working? Where do you think it's heading? I really want some reader interaction, and I'd like to know all of your opinions. After all, this blog is for you, the readers and fans. I'm simply here at your whim.
The End of My Beginning
"I'm a lesbian."
Amy's words echoed in my mind like a gunshot.
"I--I don't understand," I said. "How can..." I trailed off.
I could see the pain in her eyes. Was it in mine as well? Or did mine reflect my relief? I hope not.
It came as such a surprise, but I guess it shouldn't have. I mean, why else would a girl like Amy be with someone like me? I was as close to a socially acceptable female facsimile as she could find. To her, I wasn't a man. But there again, apparently I wasn't woman enough for her either.
"It's not you. It's me," she said. I know it's a cliche, but I think she really meant it. Or I hope she did. I don't know. But wasn't it me? I wasn't what she wanted. She wanted a woman.
I wanted to tell her that I could change. I wanted to tell her that I could be a woman for her, but then it hit me. Wasn't I already the woman in the relationship? I mean, I had never been masculine. Not once during our relationship had I really been the man. Did what was between my legs really make a difference?
To Amy, it seems that it did. Or maybe it was all just an excuse. Maybe she was tired of me. I don't doubt that, in that moment, she did consider herself a lesbian, but with me being who I was, should it have mattered? Or did she just not want me, specifically? Was it conscious? Maybe she was trying to soften the blow.
A million little doubts gnawed at my thoughts. But I guess that's normal. I was being dumped, after all.
It's always awkward, the moment right after a breakup. You want to say something. You want to plead your case. But I saw that look in her eyes. I chose to believe what she said, that I just wasn't the right gender. Would my life have turned out differently, had I simply had the courage to challenge her claim? Maybe. Probably not, though.
So I cried. She held me, and I wept. In spite of everything, I still felt safe with her arms around me. Even now, I get a little choked up about it. I can't help it; that's how it works, I guess. Familiarity, comfort, and...love don't just fade overnight. Maybe they never go away. They just lie dormant, waiting to ambush you when you least expect it.
I don't really remember leaving her apartment. I don't know how long she held me. It was all such a blur. I wandered around, dazed, confused, and in pain. And that pain masked the fact that I had known for a while that we were never going to last, that neither of us had what the other wanted or needed. In that fog, I had lost my own doubts about my sexuality. Never had I been more certain that I wanted her, and her alone.
But it was an illusion.
We want what we can't have, I guess. It's human nature. But that desire doesn't last; it can't. It's fleeting. For me, though, that fog lasted for almost six months. Depression dominated my every waking moment, and dreams of Amy's embrace filled my nights.
I would still see her from time to time, and we'd share an awkward greeting. But it wasn't until I saw her with someone else that something in me snapped.
She was pretty, I guess, after a fashion. I don't know. I'm not exactly objective about it. But when I saw her on Amy's arm, I just...turned and ran. Not literally. I mean, I turned, and walked away. It hurt, seeing Amy with someone else, but I think I needed it. Closure, maybe. It was over. Time to move on.
But I didn't move on, not for a while at least. That's where it started, though.
I guess that's when I began to let go of the persona that had followed me for my entire life. That's when I stopped caring whether people thought I was man enough. It would take me years to become the person I am today, but that was the beginning. Just a simple acknowledgement...
It was over.
Amy's words echoed in my mind like a gunshot.
"I--I don't understand," I said. "How can..." I trailed off.
I could see the pain in her eyes. Was it in mine as well? Or did mine reflect my relief? I hope not.
It came as such a surprise, but I guess it shouldn't have. I mean, why else would a girl like Amy be with someone like me? I was as close to a socially acceptable female facsimile as she could find. To her, I wasn't a man. But there again, apparently I wasn't woman enough for her either.
"It's not you. It's me," she said. I know it's a cliche, but I think she really meant it. Or I hope she did. I don't know. But wasn't it me? I wasn't what she wanted. She wanted a woman.
I wanted to tell her that I could change. I wanted to tell her that I could be a woman for her, but then it hit me. Wasn't I already the woman in the relationship? I mean, I had never been masculine. Not once during our relationship had I really been the man. Did what was between my legs really make a difference?
To Amy, it seems that it did. Or maybe it was all just an excuse. Maybe she was tired of me. I don't doubt that, in that moment, she did consider herself a lesbian, but with me being who I was, should it have mattered? Or did she just not want me, specifically? Was it conscious? Maybe she was trying to soften the blow.
A million little doubts gnawed at my thoughts. But I guess that's normal. I was being dumped, after all.
It's always awkward, the moment right after a breakup. You want to say something. You want to plead your case. But I saw that look in her eyes. I chose to believe what she said, that I just wasn't the right gender. Would my life have turned out differently, had I simply had the courage to challenge her claim? Maybe. Probably not, though.
So I cried. She held me, and I wept. In spite of everything, I still felt safe with her arms around me. Even now, I get a little choked up about it. I can't help it; that's how it works, I guess. Familiarity, comfort, and...love don't just fade overnight. Maybe they never go away. They just lie dormant, waiting to ambush you when you least expect it.
I don't really remember leaving her apartment. I don't know how long she held me. It was all such a blur. I wandered around, dazed, confused, and in pain. And that pain masked the fact that I had known for a while that we were never going to last, that neither of us had what the other wanted or needed. In that fog, I had lost my own doubts about my sexuality. Never had I been more certain that I wanted her, and her alone.
But it was an illusion.
We want what we can't have, I guess. It's human nature. But that desire doesn't last; it can't. It's fleeting. For me, though, that fog lasted for almost six months. Depression dominated my every waking moment, and dreams of Amy's embrace filled my nights.
I would still see her from time to time, and we'd share an awkward greeting. But it wasn't until I saw her with someone else that something in me snapped.
She was pretty, I guess, after a fashion. I don't know. I'm not exactly objective about it. But when I saw her on Amy's arm, I just...turned and ran. Not literally. I mean, I turned, and walked away. It hurt, seeing Amy with someone else, but I think I needed it. Closure, maybe. It was over. Time to move on.
But I didn't move on, not for a while at least. That's where it started, though.
I guess that's when I began to let go of the persona that had followed me for my entire life. That's when I stopped caring whether people thought I was man enough. It would take me years to become the person I am today, but that was the beginning. Just a simple acknowledgement...
It was over.
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