Following the transformation, there was the usual fuss and chaos of helping others with their own transition, imparting whatever information and guidance we could, making connections -- you never know who it is going to help to know or what you can do for someone else.
We hadn't really left the Inn much in days except for practical purposes, when on one of our last evenings there, John asked if I would like to take a walk with him on the beach.
I was a little taken aback. I don't know why, other than I was in practical-problem-solving mode, talking to one of the new transformees about some difficulty he/she was having. I think John read my flustered response as rejection and seemed a little sullen, retreating to our room.
I hurriedly ended the conversation and followed after. He explained it felt like I was avoiding him, throwing myself into the role of "Inn spirit guide" and not really focusing on what was going on with us. I supposed that was true, but I felt like as the person who has been to the Inn the most times (and there were some returning people in the group as well) I felt a little bit called to a leadership position, I supposed, and I felt like he and I... we had stability, and lots of time to figure it out, compared to the ticking clock when all of these transformed people would go on their ways.
He stood and put his hands on my upper arms -- whether he's doing this consciously or not, it feels like it underscores the "He man, me woman" dynamic between us, when I have to look up to him and feel his comparatively hands on my comparatively small person -- and sighed, saying he supposed he was just a little eager to figure out where we stood. "You know, you say we're not married, but you did willingly become my wife..."
I agreed it's complicated, and then upon giving it more thought, a walk and some "us time" sounded nice. The only problem, I pointed out, was that my hair was a rat's nest and I'd been wearing grimy sweats for the past three days, as I hadn't quite let my sartorial style catch up to my physical transformation.
"I saw a lovely dress in your luggage," he said with a suggestive eyebrow.
Deep breath, in and out. I haven't lived as a woman for several years, but it's nothing new, and it's exactly what I knew was coming.
I found the dress, a colorful zigzag pattern ankle length summer dress. Spaghetti straps, low neckline, presenting my very moderate cleavage (this -- being relatively slim and modest-chested -- is different from my earlier, curvier experience of womanhood.) I was about to disrobe, when I instructed John to go wait in the hall.
"Excuse me? Do you think I haven't--"
"Not on my, you haven't. Just... humor me, okay?"
He took a beat, then snapped his fingers, "You got it," and complied.
I slipped my sweats off, took the opportunity to slip on a fresh set of underwear (Mary -- now Iris -- and I had bought some fresh ones that could just be mine, in advance of our trip) and stepped into the dress.
I went to the mirror to check myself out and... well. It's funny how, when you've been at this a while, your brain doesn't quite reject the idea of a new person in your reflection, because I liked the way I looked. In fact, I took the time to dab on a little bit of make-up (I'm pretty out-of-practice but can still do something with a brush) and put in a pair of earrings. God, I thought as I struggled with the backings, I must really be diving in with both feet. But hey, I've been a guy for a few years, and I made the choice to become a woman. Why shouldn't I let myself get pretty?
I came out to meet him at the front of the Inn, and he gave a low, approving whistle, which tickled me a bit. I was handsome as Dustin, and as Koti John never let me forget it, but this feels a little more intentional, if that makes sense. He placed his hands on my hips and embraced me, attempting to get a kiss -- I turned my cheek for him to kiss me there. I just wasn't ready to go full-couple.
With a purse dangling from my arm, we went toward the beach and walked just near the surf.
"Are you excited?" he asked, "to get to this next phase?'
"Excited isn't quite the word," I said bashfully, "It wasn't exactly Christmas morning, waking up like this. It's more like starting a new job. There's nerves, fears, hope, and yes, a little bit of excitement. Things feel fresh, and... possible."
"I like that," he said in his warm, manly voice.
We held hands.
"You're not wearing the ring," he noted, flatly. I'm sure he meant it to come off neutrally, but I could tell there was disappointment in his tone.
"It's... not really mine to wear," I said. "It would be part of a costume, and I respect Mary too much to take it from her."
He let out a deep, half-frustrated exhale. "You're really going to keep me in limbo, huh? I'll get you your own ring, if that's what you want."
"Life is complicated," I reasoned. "And so are we. I'm not looking for a ring just yet. I want proof that this is what we really want with the rest of our lives."
"Fine," he said gamely, "I like a challenge."
One of us suggested we find some place for dinner, and there was a little seafood place we managed to get a table. I will say, eating a good meal with someone else's tongue is a highly underrated part of this experience. Something about Mary's palate is a lot more sophisticated than Dustin's. It's interesting to inherit those sensory pathways, whether it's something natural or that comes with age.
After dinner, we went walking again, until my legs got tired and we got a ride home. The driver was playing music: Fleetwood Mac. I quietly sang along, "Thunder always happens when it's raining..."
"I didn't know you liked this song," John noted.
"Sure, who doesn't like this song?"
"I introduced Mary to Fleetwood Mac when we met. She was young, the only thing she liked was pop."
"Hm..." I simply said. Was this going to be the future, him looking at my new face and being reminded of his... ex?
We got back to the Inn. Some of the others had initiated a card game -- nice to see people coping -- and John was keen to join, since I had indicated that this night wasn't going to end with anything overly physical. I walked toward our room. On my way past, I heard a noise coming from Mary's room.
Sobbing.
I knocked and called in. She didn't answer so I entered. She was sitting on the bed, crumpled tissues around.
"Honey, are you okay?" I asked, feeling a pang in my heart for her.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she sniffled. I immediately felt self-conscious. Was I the last person she wanted to see right now? Was it my fault?
"If you want to talk, if you're having regrets..." I said, struck with guilt.
"No, no, nothing like that," she said, collecting herself. "Sometimes it just hits you, you know? I literally just gave up my life and everything I knew. And it's just crazy that I was willing to do that. I wonder if I didn't appreciate what I had... not with John, but with everything else in life. Or was my life just not fitting me anymore?"
She went on, "It's got me all messed up, but it has nothing to do with you, or John. I did what I did for you, happily. I want you to have this. Even if you end up killing each other, at least you'll know."
She laughed a bit, slightly bitterly, "Watching you guys try to dance around each other for a few more years just sounded like too much of a nightmare."
That made me laugh, and relieved me. We talked a little longer -- not about heavy issues, just about the past few days, and what I had to look forward to as her, and other stuff. Fleetwood Mac.
And that was that, I guess.
More to come...
-Marc "Should I just start signing these as Mary?" Green
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