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The secret to a happy life lies in learning to live your life awake to what you want and need ... It is easy to live your life for others; everybody does. You first have to live your life for yourself Personal Identity. Who Am I? An account of personal identity should allow for the possibility of anticiPamion and memory, i.e., of individual psychological connections between different person stages. It should also allow us to justify our practices of recognizing and identifying persons. Dear Michelle; There have been so many years of conflict and pain that even to begin a dialog with you is hard. Where do we start? Let's go to common ground, back at the beginning. I think back often to that first night when we were so young. That night when I first felt that you had left me. Mom had been so mad that morning for some stupid reason and I just knew that as a boy I could never live up to her expectations. But good lord, if I had been a girl, our life would really have been hell! But I'm getting ahead of myself. My brother was a baby, only a year or so. My bedroom was at the end of the hall, my bed against the far wall. I pulled my blankets tight around me, do you remember? I guess I was trying to make a cocoon, and at the heart of the cocoon beat a slow even cadence of a mantra, going continuously for as long as I could remember. It was a Hail Mary followed with a quick "Please Jesus let me wake up a girl...." It was our private world wrapped up so warm and cozy. Do you remember that golden glow we felt when we used to believe that Jesus would answer our prayer? We even had an affirmation from an authority figure regarding that point. Sister Zo? told me that if I were good, Jesus would answer my prayer. And so I prayed, and prayed...and then prayed some more. On one afternoon recess while in the second grade, I was wrapped up tightly against the cold, sometimes bitter wind that came down the canyon. Loath to join in the violent ball games going on around me, I went up to Sister Zo? and quizzed her about my dilemma. "Sister Zo?," I asked in what must have been a seven year old voice of innocence. "If there is something that I really want and I pray to Jesus real hard, will I get it?" Do you remember that beatific smile of hers when she beamed down at us, her face framed by the Dominican habit that she wore? "Of course child," she replied. "If you're really good and pray real hard, how could he say no to one as beautiful as you?" Of course after all these years it's clear to me that she was talking in the generalities of spirit where I was addressing the specifics of the flesh; who I was, how I got to be this way and how I could change. And now after recapitulation it has also become clear that it was these events that surrounded the fracture of my core identity into you, Michelle, and me, Mike. During the day, it felt like so much of what I had to deal with was avoiding my mother's wrath being visited upon me by my own unknown, (unwarranted?) transgressions. We kept returning to that safe cocoon for our nightly mantra and the golden glow beating at the heart of our innocent prayer, warm and cozy, still thinking that one day our petition would be answered and all my problems solved. And then that night...the night that we stood together as one under a deep azure sky. The planets were blazing against a star-field of diamonds with the new moon soon setting on the horizon. We were so young. I picked up a skull partially buried at my feet and then a thunderclap jolted my stomach along with a stupendous flash of light... and there, at the top of a nearby hill, stood an old church, a simple mission from the Spanish era, framed against this incredible display disguised as the night sky. That thunderclap brought me to my knees and I distinctly recall that for the first time I felt mortal fear. You stood directly across the gravesite from me, the same gravesite from which I had just liberated the skull. The dirt at our feet was freshly turned and had that sweet earthy smell. It was the first time I remember seeing you apart, standing barefoot in a simple white cotton peasant's dress, your blond tresses pushed back slightly by the mild breeze. And then you were gone. When I came back to the cocoon that night, something was different... I couldn't feel you anywhere. I redoubled my efforts on the prayer thing for months, even years. But something was different... something was definitely different. I can see through the lens of history that a deep depression had set in. The cycle of highs and lows lasted well into adulthood. Over the years my experiences with the church certainly soured me on the catholic approach to God. In fact, it may be the source of that kernel of meanness that occasionally comes to the surface, my 'bitchy' side. The side I have always felt like I had to control. Body criterion: x is the same person as y iff x and y have the same living human body. Dear Mike; I remember that night. It was soon after that I began wearing Mom's old nighties to bed. You were so afraid that someone would catch you. You were such a wimp. I'm sorry but it's true. I wish now we had just told Mom. Admittedly she had a hot temper, and she wasn't afraid to yell or raise a hand in anger. But I think now that her bark was worse than her bite. Maybe if you hadn't been so cowed by her, things may have been different. I was remembering Halloween when we were 15. I wanted to get dressed up but you were chicken. Now I see that Mom would have been ok with it but you were frozen in fear because you thought she would freak out, that you would be exposed. I should have asked her for help. Could you imagine how it might have been? "Mom?" I would've asked her alone in the kitchen when no one else was around. "Yes dear?" "I want like to get dressed up for Halloween and would like to ask for your help." "What do you want to be? You're a little old aren't you?" She was chopping carrots for dinner, making meatloaf ...again. "After all," she continued, "when 15, almost 16 rolls around candy doesn't seem so appealing." "That's true, but this year I want to dress up as a girl and I would like your help. Peggy suggested that it would be fun to get all glammed up as movie stars, trick or treat at different parties nearby and then finish the evening at the school dance. We were invited to several parties and instead of just picking one her Dad said he would rent a limo to take us to the different houses and then the dance." My stomach was in knots and I thought I was going to throw up right there. The next few seconds were critical. She stopped chopping and looked up at me. After a few moments stretched their way to eternity she smiled and agreed. "All right, I'll help." She resumed chopping, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. But let's keep this to our selves for now. Let me tell your father. Yes, let's keep it quiet until I see how things go. Here," she said passing me the celery. "Help me get dinner ready." That night Peggy and I began planning our gala evening. She lived across the street and we had become friends over the years on our daily walks to school. I was busy describing both Mom's reaction this afternoon and how I could see myself in a long dark gown, with curly blonde hair hanging over my shoulders. It was obvious that I could hardly contain myself. "Mike... you really are enjoying this, aren't you?" Peggy asked looking up at me with a slight grin. We were in her Mom's dressing room. Mrs. Bond, Rose, had also agreed to help us organize our outfits and was right now on the phone with my Mom. When she came in, she smiled and clasped her hands together. "All right ladies," she began, "I talked to Pauline and we are going to go ahead and help you co-ordinate your dresses. I will lend you some of my things, including a couple of my dressy wigs and gowns..." At this point Peggy got excited and broke in. "Oh Mom... Does this mean that we can...." Mrs. Bond held up her hand and Peggy quickly sat back down. "...For the evening." finished Peggy's mother. "But there are ground rules. You will both act like young ladies at all times. You will do exactly as you are instructed, and...." She broke into the great big smile that she was famous for, "You will have a wonderful evening." Peggy and I both gave her a hug. "Ok, now be careful with my things and I'll be back in a couple of hours." "Great Mom, thanks," said Peggy. "Yes, yes, thank you Mrs. Bond," I seconded. "I can't believe how lucky I am." "Listen Michelle, please call me Rose, Ok?" And with that Mrs. Rose Bond left us to our own devices there in her expansive dressing room. It felt weird but neat that people were calling me Michelle. I don't think I'll have any problem getting used to it. She had quite a collection of dress wigs, flips, columns, colonnades, long flowing tresses...and in a variety of colors. We were looking and comparing all of them and how they would look with different types of gowns. I had a good idea how I wanted my hair, but not my dress. Peggy had already found her dress so she settled in to help me to try on her Mom's wigs. I admit that it was hard to contain myself as Peggy carefully placed one after the other on my head. I was sitting in the center of mirrors that wrapped around us so we could see both of us from all perspectives. We were talking quietly about how the different hairpieces seemed to have such different impacts on how we looked. I have a long neck with this tall body and the effect was striking with some of Rose's wigs. I looked up at my friend with a pregnant pause and finished the discussion that she started when I first came over, about how I was enjoying this... "When you first suggested that we do this, I had a knot in my stomach that I didn't understand. Now I do. I have to face the fact that I think that I would be happier as a girl! I've known this for years but just kept it to myself, and there...now I've said it out loud, I told you, the only person in the world who knows. I thought that maybe it was a phase that I would grow out of... but there's a nagging feeling in the back of my head that that's not true." I looked at her closely. Peggy was a good friend and I was suddenly afraid that I might alienate her, and that was the last thing I wanted to happen. I suspected that she secretly had a crush on me, but it was something we never talked about, or even alluded to. We had been buddies for a few years and her friendship was important to me. She came to an occasional basketball game to yell when I scored and I always made a point to remember her birthday, March 14. Peggy was just finishing the placement of the wig that I liked, a long, wavy, shoulder length, strawberry blonde hairpiece that fit my natural skin tone perfectly. She stood quietly arranging it around my face while seemingly lost deep in thought. And then we both looked at my reflection in the mirror. My narrow face, long neck and high cheekbones were framed perfectly by the wisps of hair of that fell to either side of my face. I looked fabulous, even without makeup. "If you are happier as a girl, then I am happy for you." She smiled saying, "And you look great. Should we pierce your ears?" In that moment we became as close friends as two people could be. "In for a penny, in for a pound," I said with a big smile, uncertain where all this may be leading, but happy nonetheless. Mom had found a dress that fit me almost perfectly. It was strapless, with a tight bodice and a flowing, lightly pleated skirt. From nowhere she produced a girdle and handed it to me saying, "Here, put this on." It was tight, but I managed to squeeze into it. Then she handed me the dress and told me to put it on. I pulled the dress on easily. "You are skinnier than I was when I last wore this," she said shaking her head. She was rather well endowed and wanted to take it in a little. "You don't need this much on top," she said grinning. And if we gather it in a higher waist," she said holding it tight behind me, "it will help seem like your hips are wider, like a girls hips. See?" I looked in the mirror and had to agree with her. "It looks great Mom," I said turning back and forth capturing the complete effect in her full-length mirror. "Can I help with the alteration?" She looked up at me with a look of mild surprise. "Of course. Let me pin it and I'll show you how. My mother and I spent a wonderful afternoon fitting the gown and just chatting. She found a strapless bra and we made small silk sacks that, when we filled them with millet seed, were a perfect weight and shape to fill the 'c' cups. I put the bra on and Mom helped me step into the gown and pull it up. This time it was snug, and I could feel the weight of the 'breasts'. The way she arranged the 'falsies' with the girdle and bra even suggested a cleavage "There, how's that look?" she said stepping back. "Wow," she said quietly. "You look great." I had to agree with her. She was an excellent seamstress and the gown fit snuggly around my waist, falling down my legs perfectly. "An hourglass figure," muttered Mom to herself. "Maybe your aunt was right." "What are you talking about?" I asked, totally captivated by the illusion she had created. "Oh nothing," she replied. "Here, I found these for you yesterday," she said as she went to the corner of her closet and pulled out a shoebox. "They were in a costume shop downtown." When she opened the box I saw that my mother had bought me my first set of high-heels. "They only had three-inch heels in your size, so you'll need to practice." I held them up and looked at the shoes I could only have dreamed of owning a few short weeks ago. "Thanks Mom,' I said turning to her with tears in my eyes. "These are fabulous." I gave her a hug and she didn't want to let go. I put the shoes on, stood back and marveled at how convincing I thought I looked. I was standing with my feet straight and my center lowered, holding the skirt out at the sides. "I love you honey," she said turning and then holding me at arms length. She looked up into my face and led me over to the couch. She chuckled when I reached down and smoothed the skirt when I sat. "Where is this going? What are you thinking? Aunt Jessie told me out of the blue just yesterday that she thought that you would have been a beautiful girl. What's happening here?" We stood there quietly as I tried to frame my words carefully. I could see the love and concern in her eyes, and I felt something for her that I hadn't felt in a long time. I wanted to go slow. But once the train had left the station it seemed that there was no stopping... it all came out in what seemed such a rush. "Mom, I love you and Dad dearly. Over what, the last few weeks...while talking to Peggy about this little project... I have had to face... that...well... I would be happier as a girl. When I see myself as a girl, or young woman, it just feels right somehow. There, I said it. I never told you before, but I have felt like this for as long as I can remember. It's not anyone's fault so don't try to blame yourself or Dad. Since I started this process with you and Peggy, I have felt so, I don't know, real. This is something I need to do for myself. It's like I told Peggy yesterday, I am having trouble imagining myself as a boy anymore." "Mom," I said looking her right in the eye, "I have to face the fact that I would be happier as a girl! And now you know." "Well then," she replied pulling me in closer. "You're sure, right? This isn't a phase, or something like that?" "No...I am sure. It feels right somehow. And I'm always being told to 'get in touch with my feelings.' Well, here it is, I feel like a girl and that's what I want." "How do you know what a girl feels like?" That one caught me up short. "What I do know is that when I try to imagine myself as a man or a woman, a warm feeling of rightness surrounds me as a woman. But when I try to project myself as a man, I just don't feel good. In fact I feel a little sick to my stomach." She took my hand, and leading me to the fitting station, twirled me around in front of her mirrors. "Well, we want you to look your best for your coming out party next week, don't we?" Originally, the plan was that Peggy's Mom and my Mom were going to help us assemble and put on our costumes, that of two gorgeous Hollywood starlets, and then we were going to visit my grandmother (for some reason at Mom's insistence), put in a short appearance at a couple of costume parties being held by mutual friends and then go to the school dance, at which our mothers had agreed to chaperone. But this is what really happened... It turns out that Peggy's dad, Mr. Bond, was an expert in gaming machines. He had a special license from the state to run an antique gaming shop in Los Angeles as a kind of show room for the beautiful period gaming machines he collected and rebuilt. He had a little machine and wood shop where he could build what he could not buy to fix his machines, what he affectionately called his beautiful 'Old Ladies'. From antique roulette to slots and old pachinko machines, Mr. Bond's showroom was unique and he worked throughout Nevada, especially in Las Vegas. Vegas was about five hours north on the interstate from where we lived in Pasadena and one of his best accounts was the Riviera, which has the best drag show in the west. And so what happened next went something like this... Peggy told her Mom who told her Dad who then mentioned our plan to some of the girls in the review at the Riviera who knew Peggy's Mom and also Peggy! Peggy and her Mom then talked to some of the girls and together they were ready for my Halloween evening, without me even knowing. I did not know that the Riviera was famous for hosting the best female impersonators in the world, and they didn't think to tell me. We had all agreed, that is Peggy, her Mom, my Mom and me, that we would get started around noon at the Bond's house. Mom and I were collecting the various pieces of my wardrobe that we had assembled over the past couple of weeks when she stopped and looked at me from across the room. "Mike," she began. "Are you sure about this? I know you have had...no, we have had a lot of fun together these past two weeks...but ..." "Mom," I said with a good deal more casual swagger than I felt, "let's just have fun tonight. You're right. We've had a wonderful time together. And I wouldn't change anything. I'm just looking forward to having fun with you, Peggy and her Mom at the dance." Mom smiled looking over at me. "You're right," she said. "This will be fun!" We finished collecting my dress and other accoutrements. As we walked out the door leaving the house, I looked over at Mom and said quietly, "No matter what happens tonight, I love you. And...thanks." She looked up at me and smiled as she closed the front door. "C'mon Michelle, we don't want to keep the Bonds waiting. That would be impolite!" When we walked into Peggy's house, her Mom was sitting on the couch talking with three of the most gorgeous women I had ever seen. The group stood up when we came in and these women were as tall or taller than me. Mom and I had discussed that at 6'2" I was quite tall for a woman, especially in 3" heels. This was the one thing that had worried me; that I would be so tall that I might stick out like a sore thumb and look silly. But these women made me feel, well, different. I was used to being taller than most people, especially any girls that I might be near, but Candy, Tiffany and Felicity were really tall, and did I say gorgeous? "You were right Rose," said the woman introduced to me as Tiffany. "He's perfect." She pulled me over to the window and turned me around. She was wearing a light blouse, tight jeans, and on three-inch heels, she was taller than me by at least a couple of inches. Her curly blonde hair was everywhere. "Listen honey, are you sure about this?" asked the woman with the long brunette hair. She had deep green eyes that gave her a very exotic look, and when she smiled, she lit up my life. This was Felicity. I looked at my mother, who seemed pensive. "Sure about what?" I asked the ladies gathered here in Mrs. Bond's living room. Mom stepped over and held my hand. "For your complete transformation dear. Rose invited these three friends of hers to help us. They work as female impersonators in Las Vegas and she asked if they could lend us a hand." Mrs. Bond came over to give me a hug saying, "I hope it's ok that I did this and invited them. Your Mom and I talked about it and thought we would surprise you. We also thought you might feel more comfortable with them." "As role models?" I asked as Candy pulled up my shirt to take a look. As tall as me, she had red hair and blue eyes, a long black dress and was... barefoot? "That's right," said Felicity with a twirl and a flash in front of the bay window. Candy said in a deep, but feminine voice. "Lucky for him girls, what body hair he has is very light and shouldn't pose any problem. His beard is also very light and his pores are still small. He has a great complexion. This should be fun." "I bought her heels a couple of weeks ago," said Mom. "And she hasn't worn anything since. I can't get her out of them." "Ok then girls," said Rose, clapping her hands to grab everyone's attention "Let's get busy. We have our work cut out for us." She grabbed my hand and led my mother and me to her suite in the back of the house. Felicity began drawing a bath and the smell of lavender filled the room. "Take your clothes off, said Mom, "Let's get on with it." After I removed my boy's clothes, Tiffany began to spread a nasty smelling cream over my legs. "Don't worry hon," she said. "This might sting a little. It's called a depilatory and will make it easy to remove most of your body hair." Candy and Felicity came giggling into the bathroom in blue smocks, their hair piled over their head. These girls enjoyed themselves. "Listen Michelle," said Mom. "Since you are in such good hands, I'm going to help Rose with Peggy. Is that ok with you?" "That's fine. It might be easier for both of us." I had a strange feeling wash over me when she said 'Michelle' like that. It was more like a goodbye, not a 'see you soon'. "Look Tiff," said Candy raising my arm high over my head. "She shaves under her arms. That's a statement." "Of what?" I asked. Tiffany was still spreading the foul smelling cream over me and was now approaching my tummy, working her way up to my chest. "You can wash this off in the shower before you jump in the tub. What about the hair on her arms?" "Her arms are beautiful," said Candy, holding them out so they could all look at the surface of my skin. "Her hair is fine and light. Her fingers are long and slender and there's no hint of an Adam's apple. I'm jealous. This girl is almost home." When Tiffany was done, a foul smelling gunk covered my body to my neck and she was right, it did sting a bit. "Sit here on the edge of the tub for 20 minutes, until this bell rings," Felicity said setting the timer on the edge of the sink. "Then take a shower and wash off the cream. When that's done, jump in the tub and relax. We'll give you about an hour." They started to file out of the room. "Oh," Felicity said stepping back in. "You might want to take care of that," and threw a small towel on my engorged penis. "Not our job Dearie," she quipped closing the door. By the time I was ready to jump in the tub, I had had at least four serious orgasms in the shower. At one point I thought I was going to pass out. And oh, by the way, don't get any of that cream anywhere near sensitive tissue. It burns... I looked at myself in the mirror after my shower and the fact that my legs were long, slender and hairless got me off again. Now I really needed to sit in the tub. After that session, I was sleepy...and finally flaccid, unlikely to repeat the performance; at least until tomorrow! I was dozing lightly in the lavender perfumed bubbles when the full entourage followed their brisk knock on the door. "Ready? Get out girl, time is flying." Candy handed me the towel and told me to dry off real well between my legs and under my now flaccid penis. When I was dry she handed me a puff with what she said was cornstarch and a little fragrance. "Pam yourself off down under," she said. "You need to be real dry down there." Felicity came around in front of me with what looked like a strange looking silk sock and a long silk tie. "This is called a gaffe," she said. "You place your penis and testicles in like this, see?" She held the garment up for me to see. "And then we fold them up between your legs and tie it off, got it?" I nodded and put the garment on. Felicity made sure it was snug and then handed the silk ties back to Tiff who then wrapped them around my waist. When she pulled me up, my curves became feminine and I knew instantly this would change how my clothes fit. My mind was racing: jeans, shorts, mini-dresses and all those things that I thought I would never wear were now within my imagination. While Tiffany finished tying off the gaffe, Candy handed me a pair of new silk panties. "These are for you from us. We hope you enjoy yourself. If anything becomes uncomfortable, just let us know and we'll stop. Now that you're one of us," she said looking to the other two, "you need to talk about everything, especially how you're feeling. That's the one thing we don't hide from each other, right girls?" "That's right Michelle. Now's the time when you open up to the world and offer yourself as the woman you say you want to be." The panties were beautiful, with a light lace frill around the waist. I pulled them up over the gaffe and began to feel transformed. "I feel like I've died and gone to heaven. And there, to meet me, were the three most beautiful angels I could imagine. I am so glad that Rose invited you. Thank you, all of you...." That was exactly what they were waiting to hear. Like a whirlwind the next three hours flew by. They waxed my eyebrows and bikini line, (I cried like a little girl); they trimmed the hair on my neck and bunched my own hair tightly into a net. Candy was working on my fingernails and Tiffany was on my toenails. Felicity began to set a foundation on my face when Candy commented, "Her complexion is so nice, and there is no beard to speak of. Can she use the regular foundation and not the heavy stuff you brought?" Felicity looked closely and then moved away. "Maybe you're right. It sure would be easier if we didn't have to use it." "Use what?" I asked innocently. "Well," started Tiffany, "If those testicles of yours kick into high gear, you will see your pores enlarge, your Adam's apple emerge and your voice drop. To deal with a man's large pores, we use a heavy foundation for the makeup. This hides them, but is very obvious up close. To deal with the apple, we use scarf's, makeup or high collars, depending on how prominent it is." "There is an operation that can reduce its size," chimed in Felicity. "And have you heard about how they can scrape down the brow ridge over your eyes?" piped in Tiffany. I put my hands up over my eyes but could feel no ridge. "Can I stop that from happening?" I asked looking in the mirror. Felicity looked over at Tiffany. Eventually Candy broke the silence. "Yes, well, yes. There is something you can do, but it's not reversible." "What?" I wanted to know. "Female hormones." "What?" "Look, if you are serious, and see yourself truly as Michelle, then eventually you will have to deal with all the issues surrounding that. And obviously one of those issues is your changing body. Female hormones soften your body, and give you the curves of a genetic female. Male hormones make the body hard, angular. High doses of estrogen will swamp out the testosterone that is constantly being produced in your testicles." "And released in massive amounts every time you have an orgasm," remarked Candy looking pointedly at me. We were all quiet as I considered the implications. "If I understand you right, you guys are saying that if I feel that I really am Michelle, and not Mike, that I might want to think about taking female hormones. And the sooner the better, right?" "That's true," said Candy. "I'm surprised that you haven't already filled out. Starting female hormones would stop or slow your development into, Mike, is it? And they would start your Path towards Michelle." Tiffany looked at Candy. "But this is a life course change. A serious one at that I might add." And at that moment I had a glimpse of the pain that each of these gorgeous women had endured on their Paths. "Mom would never agree to that," I said realistically. "Well, how do you feel right now?" asked Tiff. I looked at my long fingernails, hovering over the silk lingerie housecoat I was wearing. When I moved, the silk slid over my smooth legs, with the accompanying feeling of pure pleasure. My feet were in some fuzzy slippers with three-inch heels that had appeared from somewhere. I hadn't even noticed that I had been walking on them. The girls waited quietly while I considered how far and fast Mike was receding. What was emerging was something totally different, but wonderful. Could I not remember ever feeling as happy? Content? Correct? Complete? It was hard to describe, but when I went looking for you, Mike, all I felt was peace and contentment. Not that hard kernel of meanness you describe that occasionally comes to the surface, your 'bitchy' side you called it. The side you have always felt like you had to fight to control. This transformation stuff was coming at me fast and hard. In the terminology of stages: Person-stage x is part of the same person as person-stage y iff x and y are person-stages linked by bodily continuity (where bodily continuity is understood in terms of the continuity of a living human body). Dear Michelle; You are way ahead of me girl. So at 15, I was old enough to stay home while the family went on vacation. For two weeks I got to be a girl. I was going to live as Michelle for the entire time. It had been really hard for me that past year. Remember when Jimmy almost found your panties because you kept pulling up your pants to hide them? And Bob found your stash of lingerie? "I find it hard to concentrate or get anything done... because all I want to do... is be close to you." But I am so afraid. You may be right about Peggy and her Mom, but I really don't think Mother would understand. And anyway, I don't think I am gorgeous. I'm tall, thin and gawky. But, Aunt Jessie did say I should have been a girl. I was walking by her and she looked right up at me. I was 14 and she must have been 40 or so. "Oh Mikey," she had said that evening after the family had dinner. "You have such a beautiful face. What a shame you weren't born a girl." And then she walked off. I don't think we talked again until grandma's funeral, when Jessie must have been 95. Dear Jess. Of all the people you knew, she saw you more clearly than anyone else. I know now that I shouldn't have been ruled by fear, but do you remember the same mother that we shared? Even Dad called her the little general. She wouldn't let up on any of us, remember? I do recall trying to stay away from her as much as possible. But you may be right. There may just have been too much testosterone in her house. Diachronic unity: Person-stages x and y are parts of the same person iff x and y are together part of an extended consciousness; we might think of this as a kind of extended psychological continuity. Dear Mike, We are tall, thin and gorgeous, not tall, thin and gawky. Believe me. And listen, it's not your fault that you were suppressed. And I can't blame you for being afraid. I just wish you could hear me say now, over all the years, that there really is nothing to fear. Candy wanted the paint on my nails to harden, so she put my hands under the lamp for twenty minutes while we continued talking. "The three of you seem so happy," I said. "I am hard put to find a happy day as Mike." "Well from where we sit girlfriend," said Felicity, "there's not much Mike left in there!" When I looked in the mirror to see the arched eyebrows and the smile that grew over my face, I had to agree. "I told both Peggy and Mom that it is becoming harder and harder to remember Mike. It is becoming difficult to imagine my life as a man." I stared out the window for a while before adding, "Or maybe I just don't want to." Tiffany went to her things and Felicity began organizing lashes, liner, mascara and blush. When she came back, Candy looked up and said, "Are you sure?" to Tiffany who nodded and produced a 1cc hypodermic. "What is that?" "Estrogen," replied Felicity. This is for you, a cubic centimeter of chance." "What do you mean?" I asked looking at the syringe with the fine dermal needle attached. "We talked about this before we left. Rose told us about you and said that she had suspected about your proclivities for a while and She thought you would appreciate our lifestyle, even consider following. And then when we three talked about what we wish could've happened to us when we were 15, this is what we came up with. Think of us as your big sisters." The girls looked at each other and then at me. "We are kind of like... your future self," started Candy, "trying to tell you that if you are like us, then the most important issue you are now facing is that you are still to a certain extent androgynous. We only wish someone had offered us this choice when we were young." Both Felicity and Tiffany nodded in silent agreement. Time stood still. I made a decision based on intuition, not fear. "Where do you inject it?" I asked Tiff with more than a bit of trepidation. "We can put it right in your tush," said Felicity. "Here, stand up and bend over." Someone pulled the hem of the wrap up and I felt a mild prick. A couple of seconds later the girls smiled and said welcome. "Rose said your Mom would be resistant and told us not to even bring it up. But we agreed that how you feel is more important. If that is true, we will figure out how to get the injection to you every Friday for 13 weeks. This will help block the testosterone from your testes. After three months we will get you your own birth control pills, which will allow your body to mimic a genetic female as it continues to develop." "Here, sit down. We still have to finish your makeup." I sat back down with a mild tingle on my butt where the injections had started. I felt like I was on a roller coaster. Someone pulled the seat back. "Relax dear," someone said. "Let us perform our magic for you." I felt lashes being set and liner applied. "Shadow in three shades to bring out your eyes," said Felicity. "And your lips are already full and lush. They are to die for." As they talked over me, I could hardly wait to see what was going on. Talk became quiet, and the ministrations fewer and farther apart until Candy spoke up. "Ok girls. We are now seeing the fruit of our labor, so to speak." "Michelle, keep your eyes closed until we say so. We're not done, but I want you to stand up and let us move you into the center of the room so you can't see the mirrors, just to keep the sense of anticipation high on what we want show you. All right?" As I stood up, I felt a little dizzy, but managed to stay upright, even in the heels. They moved me out away from the dressing table and someone said, "Open your eyes." Tiffany stood in front of me with what looked like a woman's chest. "That's exactly what it is. Here, take this wrap off and hold your arms out." Felicity proceeded to slip the strapless satin bra around my chest while holding the high tech falsies in place. The cups held a gel that seemed real. And when fixed in place with theatrical glue, were convincing breasts. Tiffany appeared with black stockings and a garter belt. "I have always preferred stockings, though pantyhose are so much easier. They are so erotic and really enhance the feeling. Don't you think so?" "I don't know, but they sure look sexy." I took the hose and sat back to put them on. As I gathered them back to pull over my foot I watched transfixed as hands with perfectly shaped nails that I didn't recognize pulled stockings over my beautifully painted toenails and up my smooth legs. When I stretched my foot out slowly to get the stocking to climb up my leg, there was a chuckle from behind me. "I told you girls. I knew she was ready." Rose stood behind me with her arms crossed. "Michelle, you are stunning." "But Rose, we're not done yet," cooed Candy. I smiled, looking up at her and wondering what was next. "I can tell honey," Rose smiled. "You are a woman. Look at how she knows how to roll her stockings," she pointed out to Tiffany. "And her movements are intuitive." To me she said, "I have noticed that you have feminine mannerisms, hasn't anyone ever told you? Your femininity was bleeding out of your personality. Your mother just hasn't wanted to see it. Peggy and I have been talking about this for over a year." I pulled the other stocking over my leg and stood up. Tiffany showed me how the clips worked. "I guess I have been studying my Mom since I was little. I didn't realize that I was so obvious." "Only to those of us who can see the telltales. But the cat's out of the bag now, wouldn't you say?" Candy came around and showed me a black satin corset. "Take a deep breadth, and then blow it out and raise your arms a bit...here we go," and Felicity grabbed it from behind and pulled it tight. And then came the cinch. "Suck it up girl," laughed Rose. "That's not the last time you'll hear that joke. Believe me." And so they pulled me tight. Felicity showed me how the hose hooked to the corset and then the gown was produced. "Kick off those slippers...now step into the gown...that's right...and we pull it up like so...and then Tiffany zips up the back...and voila. You're into it now girl" I was thinking about how so many of our comments had multiple meanings. "Indeed I am," I replied. Bending over, I traded the slippers for a pair of beautiful sandals that Tiffany offered me. "We wear the same size," she said with a shrug. I didn't have time to revel in the process, there was a storm raging around me and I felt like it was about to break. Someone rolled the chair over to me, and as I sat, I brushed the gown flat under me. This brought that same chuckle from the peanut gallery that my mom had when we were in her fitting room. What was so funny? Rose came around in front of me with the strawberry-blonde hairpiece I liked and looked at me. "This is it Michelle. The crowning glory of any woman is her hair. This is almost the last step. Are you ready?" "I don't think she's going to back out now," laughed Candy. Rose put the hairpiece on my head and pressed it into place on tape that was strategically placed around the wig line to hold it tight on my head. When she brushed the blonde tresses back over my shoulders, the room grew quiet. "What's wrong?" I looked over to my three new friends. I thought that maybe I was too far out, that I was just kidding myself. "No, no, nothing," remarked Tiffany. "That's not it. It's that, well...you are stunning." I looked down thinking that everything looked good from here. I stood up and moved over to the mirrors. At first I was confused, disoriented, searching for my familiar face in the mirror. And then I realized that the tall blonde staring back at me ...was me. Tiffany came up quietly as I stood transfixed and held out a beautiful 18 inch gold chain-mail necklace and 3 inch gold hoop earrings. She put the necklace around my neck and the hoops in my ears. I was thinking that I was glad that Peggy and I had gone to the mall two weeks ago and had my ears pierced...and then I remembered, Peggy! "How is Peggy doing?" I looked around, grabbing the skirt before I turned to the door to see my Mother staring at me with eyes wide. "Oh my god!" she said with a gasp. "I had no idea." "Ladies," said Rose, "you have done a stunning job. Michelle, you are gorgeous. Pauline," Rose turned to my Mother and said, "Meet your daughter, Michelle." She brought us together and put my hand in hers. She then turned to the others and said, "let's give them some space," and ushered everyone out, closing the door. Memory Criterion (basic form): x and y are stages of the same person iff y remembers x's experiences, thoughts, feelings, etc. (either directly or indirectly), or vv. (Call this "memory linked".) Dear Michelle; They just drove away.... for two whole weeks! I could barely walk I was shaking so hard. I went upstairs and in 15 minutes turned my bedroom into my boudoir. I stripped my boy clothes and went into the bathroom. There in the shower I shaved everything, up my neck and my face, even though I was hard put to find anything but light peach fuzz. I got out of the shower, toweled off and put on the robe I had salvaged from the Goodwill pile, along with a lot of other things Mom had discarded. I had assembled quite a wardrobe over the last few months. I began collecting things from the goodwill store soon after Mom had agreed to let me stay home for a couple of weeks while they headed up the coast. I had even found a wig that looked similar to what I imagined, a blonde flip that hung to my shoulders. There were a few pieces of costume jewelry, several bras, a half-slip, two gowns, a sundress, three blouses and a girdle. Several pairs of panties, shoes, pantyhose and cosmetics rounded out my collection. I also had collected several nighties and fuzzy slippers. But besides the wig, I had found heels that fit my size 13 feet. Those two items were, I felt, key to you coming out for a couple of weeks. I was in heaven as I slowly donned my outfit. I had been able to practice applying my cosmetics late at night and for the next two weeks; I was looking forward to practice my walking, moving and dressing. For two weeks I could become Michelle. And then, I was done. I stood there, and in the mirror, a smile crept across the girl's face, my true face, looking back. It must have been crude, those first attempts at transition. I was in heaven and had lost all sense of discretion and perspective. I probably looked horrible. But it didn't matter. I was free to move around for the first time ever. But now what? I grabbed my Levi jacket and walked out the front door. So don't tell me I was a coward, Michelle. That was pretty gutsy! Circularity Problem: this criterion will work only if we insist that the memories be "genuine", not just "seeming memories". But the best account of genuine memories seems to rely on the very notion we're trying to define. Roughly: x and y are stages of the same person iff y really remembers x's experiences, etc. But to cash out "really remembering" we need: y really remembers x's experiences, etc., iff y seems to remember them, and x and y are stages of the same person. Dear Mike; But then what? What happened next? I do remember breathing a sigh of relief as we walked up the street towards town. In my world, I confronted Mom at that early age. There in Mrs. Bond's dressing room, Mom looked up at me with more than a little trepidation. "What am I going to tell your Father?" She was wringing my hands in hers. I looked at my mother with my true face, smiling at her with a mixture of love and compassion for her position and trepidation for my own. We sat there for more than a few moments before I broke the silence. "I'll tell him." "No, not yet. Let me tell him. You are stunning, Rose was right. You could be a model with those legs, and that neck." Can you imagine? I began to blush from my Mom's compliment. "Oh? All of this and modest? Get a load of you!" she said getting directly up in my face. Our scents mingled as she said carefully. "If this is what you want," and she turned us to look at each other in the mirror, then go for it. I'll support you in any way that I can. After all, I still gave you birth." And for a moment there, I saw me through her eyes. "But you are going to have to really go for it. If you ask the girls out there they'll tell you, it's all about attitude. If this is who you are, then this is how it's going to be." She was smiling at me in the mirror. "Hi Mom," I was thinking. "But listen Michelle, you need to know that right now everything seems honey and roses. But there are a lot of things you don't know." We sat in silence for a while before she continued. "Michelle is a powerful name. I would have named you after my grandmother." I smiled looking at our hands entwined. "I know. But my sister has it now. And any way, I wanted to break with tradition." At this point, I think that this was the most intimate moment I had shared with my mom since I was little. She stood back and looked at me. "Turn and show me how the gown fits" I spun slowly with my arms out and my back straight, my chin held high and a broad smile at the woman I was emulating. She caught the implication and said, "Wait until your grandmother sees you. Then the games shall begin." "Should we tell her before we go over?" I asked. "No, let's see if she recognizes you. Meet me at her house at 7:00." We still had a few hours before confronting the matriarch of my family. I was not sure of the implications of this meeting, but I had other things to think about. Meanwhile, I wanted to see Peggy. Our outfits were color coordinated, though her complexion was darker than mine. Her brunette hair was set in a colonnade with thin wisps hanging down on her exposed shoulder. She looked beautiful. And I told her so. "Peggy, you look beautiful," I gushed when I met her in the living room. "Thanks Michelle, but look at you. How can any of us compete with this?" she said standing back trying to take me in. "Oh Peggy, started Felicity. "Let's not compete. Michelle needs to find her legs, so to speak, so tonight let's all be friends." "Yeah girl, look at us!" exclaimed Candy. All five of us looked like, well, trouble. Just then Peggy's Dad came in, looked around and smiled. "Great, you're ready. I can't believe it." "For what?" Asked Candy. "Pictures," he said. "The lighting out back is perfect. Mr. Bond shot several rolls of us individually and together. At some point Rose and Mom showed up and we took photos of my mother and me. Problem of diachronic identity for persons: under what conditions are two person-stages, stages in the life of a single Person. In particular, what makes a particular person-stage a continuation of me as I am right now? Dear Michelle; I was driving in the lane next to the fast lane at a reasonable speed when a large truck came up on my left side, five to ten miles an hour faster than me. And then, all of the sudden, it started to drift into me, and then the impact. My car turned hard to the right and then rolled when the door on the drivers' side broke off and I was suddenly flying through the air traveling parallel to the road at 50 to 60 miles an hour. In slow motion I saw the pavement approaching and I remember thinking, "That's it then. Finally..." But just before I hit the pavement, I woke up! Not again! Memory Criterion (causal continuity version or "MCccv"): x and y are stages of the same person iff y really remembers x's experiences, etc. (the memories are caused "in the right way") either directly or indirectly. (Call this "real-memory linked".) Dear Mike; In 1972 you fell for the love of your life, Pamela. Your thinking was that getting married would suppress me and I would go away forever... But your thoughts on seeing Pam's sister Stacey in the Maiden's dress, a knockout in her own right, and Pam, with such beauty to emulate, in her wedding gown and her long blonde hair, were of how jealous of how beautiful they were in their gowns and how unfair it was that you were in that stupid monkey suit. I was there, remember? When Pam was in the shower you tried on her dress! She thought your randy behavior was from long suppressed urges. They were! It was months after you were married when you gave in and opened up this secret to Pam. You were afraid that she would freak out, but you had to tell her. One day you asked her to put her makeup on you during foreplay. She obliged and found our passion. That afternoon somehow scared her. On some level she perceived her true competition in life, and was ill equipped to deal with it. Over the many years it was our main source of conflict. I don't relish those years of denial. I would rather have gone with Peggy and her friends in that alternate universe than endure that pain again. Soul criterion: x is the same person as y iff x and y have the same soul. Dear Michelle; We can certainly agree that the internal conflict kept leading to recurring moments of crisis. There were those moments that I almost took the road leading to you. You also can certainly recall that one of those moments happened when we started taking hormones. I found that bottle of pure estrogen after taking a class in endocrinology, twenty- five grams of it. There was enough female hormone in that jar to last 10 years. For three months, every morning, I placed about 2.5mg of estrogen in the delicate capillary bed just inside my nostril. After about a month, I could feel a definite increase in sensitivity around my nipples. I thought too that my breasts started to develop larger areoles and put on some mass. The hair on my head was certainly coming in thicker and it also seemed to regain some of the early red tint of my youth. My wife didn't notice any of these changes and they may have been imaginary. After two months, my hair was noticeably thicker and longer and having it brush my shoulders was exquisite. My breasts seemed like they were growing and Pam noticed one night at the movies that I was wearing a bra. That upset her enough as it was, but she thought I was just screwing around and didn't suspect the whole picture...at least I don't think she did. My sex drive was depressed, but that wasn't an issue for either of us, with her busy working and taking care of Derrick and me in school full time and taking care of Derrick. I had joined a cross- dressing group in Berkeley as a compromise with Pam to keep it out of sight. She got a horse. That was fabulous for a few months and I wish now that I had continued on with them. They were a fun group, but there was too much angst about the accumulating wardrobe, residual makeup, nail polish remnants, and all those things that were a tip-off in Pam's eyes... She still has a horse. When the third month was half past, I knew it was time for a decision. Pam remarked one morning in the shower that I just may need to wear that bra. She was joking...I think. With the exercise we both got riding bicycles, we were slim and trim, but something was clearly happening up top. My hair had become remarkable and my beard growth, always light, had stopped. My face had cleared up and my skin was now smooth and supple. One thing that had become an issue was that my emotions were all over the map. I was crying over things that didn't matter one minute and laughing about things that did the next. More than once I got funny looks from my wife and boy, did we have some fights. Somehow I held it together for another couple of weeks to finish out the three months. Changes in my body, poise, demeanor and emotional state could no longer be disguised. Pam and I cuddled and hugged but it rarely turned sexual, conventionally sexual anyway. I made sure that she enjoyed herself, and I think now that she must have been in denial. She was satisfied. But the decision had to be made, you or me...any longer and I don't think I would, or could, turn back. A crisis point had been reached. So one night as I stared at the moon above and my wife and son playing through the big window in the backyard, I decided to let you go. I felt that my commitment and love for them was greater than my need to become you. In the end what does it matter? Should my continued existence depend on whether there is someone else who happens to have the same memories? Whether I continue to exist should depend only on facts about me and my candidate future self, not on facts about who else happens to exist. Dear Mike; The life I never had, that's what matters. You wouldn't be paralyzed in this wheelchair either. Working in your flower garden in Mendocino, I should think...overlooking the ocean and the beauty of that coast. But don't think my Path would have been wine and roses. Pam would eventually notice that something was up. I had been shaving my legs and other body hair in the fall and winter for a while, so she was reluctantly familiar with my smooth body, and truth be told, I think she really enjoyed the feel of our legs gliding over each other in the night. She would never admit it though. After six months on estrogen, I was definitely seeing changes. My nipples had enlarged and I believe there was significant breast growth. My strawberry blond hair had filled in and fell down my back, but I kept it in a ponytail so no one ever commented on it. My emotions were still an issue but I was learning to deal with them. I changed my schedule a bit so that we showered at different times. We had both started wearing pajamas, so it wasn't until around nine months that she finally noticed something was up. I was taking a shower after a full day in the lab, followed by a long ride up to the lake and back. The hot water felt great and I was bent over, rinsing my hair in the shower when I heard Pam exclaim, "My god you have breasts!" It was hard to miss the stream of water pouring over my back, running around my side to wrap finally around my body and flow off the tips of my nipples. Pam had shed her clothes and was ready to jump in the shower with me when she had opened the door in shock. I thought briefly that if I didn't move, she couldn't see me; but that only works for some animals, not people. So there I stood, transfixed like the deer in the headlights, unable to dodge the impending collision. Well, what could I say? It's hard to imagine that I could have taken a more passive-aggressive approach to the situation. There I stood with breasts, no longer a man but certainly not a woman. Pam reached in and grabbed my nipples and squeezed them hard, eliciting a quick yelp from me. "Payback's a bitch, huh? What about these?" she said grabbing me between the legs. "Does this thing still work?" When she stepped into the shower I was left with no choice but to respond in the affirmative. She pushed me back into the shower wall and searched my face for a moment. We just looked at each other for a while with the water streaming over us when we slowly met to kiss. That long, slow kiss in the shower, with our bodies gliding across each other, brought my attention to a rare, full erection. I was so engorged it almost hurt. Using my tantric pressure point to control my response, she gently guided me in...and with a slow, languid rhythm, brought herself to a series of climaxes. I held her in my arms, as I had so many times before, enjoying the full glow of her womanhood. I drank her in and began to pull out when she clamped down and brought the soap on a rope up behind me. She probed gently at first and then all of the sudden I felt her hit my prostate and I exploded in the most intense orgasm I had ever had. I came to on the bed with a sheet over me. My hair was damp but not wet and I felt that warm glow...but missed the hugs and cuddles of post-coital intimacy. I yearned that she come back to bed with me, but that wasn't happening. Instead I heard the hair- dryer and her humming happily in the next room. "Are you awake yet?" she asked above the whine of the motor. "Mmmph," was my answer. "Did you use cr?me rinse on your hair?" "Mmmph," I had. After a while the motor stopped. I rolled out of bed and grabbed my big robe to wrap up in. Shaking my hair I walked into the bathroom just behind her and looked in the mirror. "How long?" she asked looking at my reflection. "What?" I asked, still afraid of the impending collision. "How long have you been taking hormones?"...Crash... I blushed and replied "Nine months and two weeks." "What's your intention?" she asked pointedly. "Were you going to cut your balls off without letting me know? Turn that penis into a faux vagina? Didn't you think I would notice?" I was stunned. We were ten years into our marriage and I had (unwittingly?!) compromised one of the most important pillars of marital success, trust. This is where the emotions kicked in and the tears started flowing. "I'm sorry," I sobbed. I should have talked to you." "Yeah, you should have. Now what do I have? A husband? Hardly. Look at you! What is it they call people like you...Shemale! That's it. You've become a Shemale. I can't believe I hadn't noticed already." She grabbed my robe and pulled it down to expose me. Turning me around she continued her righteous tirade. "And your hips, your butt, they're growing too!" She grabbed a handful to underscore her point. "What are you?" she asked. "Who are you? What did you expect me to do?" I collected my thoughts through my tears and pulled the robe back up just looking at myself in the mirror. "I'm still me," I started weakly and began brushing out my hair. I "I suppose the changes were so gradual that neither of us noticed what was happening..." "Oh bullshit," she shot back. "You have a goddamn PhD in biochemistry. You took classes in endocrinology. I know because you went on for weeks about how hormones define sexual characteristics, sexual development...I listened to you for a long time go on about just this! You knew exactly what was happening, and what you were doing. The question is why? Why did you do this? What about your son?" She looked at me pleading for some word to make this right. Pam and I had grown up together. I had tried, unsuccessfully, to lose my virginity with her older sister Stacey years before you got married, (but that's another story). Pam knew of my proclivities, but we had maintained an uneasy truce and when I did bleed through, one way or another, she looked the other way and shook her head at what she considered one of my eccentricities. She told me years ago that she would endure my flare for the feminine as long as I kept it under wraps. And here I was, way over the line... I guess I was the one living in denial. I started to tell her as dispassionately as I could. "I started early this year on a whim. I thought, hey, I'd go for three months just to see what happens. Then after three months, I couldn't stop. And when things really started changing, I was afraid to tell you." When my hair was dry, I looked in the mirror and saw me, Michelle, not Mike. "I was afraid of this," Pam continued from the other room. "I was always worried but didn't know what to say. I know how to compete with another woman, but how do I compete with you? And I don't want to be married to a woman! I love Mike! Not Michelle!" The bedroom door slammed, but not before she shot out pointedly, "And stay out of my things." Roger that. That was the last time we made love, and the best ever if I do say so. Soon after that she met someone. We separated our stuff and she left with our son on a Monday morning. Nine months later I found out that I had fathered another child...I hate Mondays. Locke: There is continuity of consciousness that defines personal identity Synchronic unity: Person-events e and e' occurring simultaneously are parts of the same person-stage iff e and e' are together part of a unified consciousness at that time. Dear Michelle, After I stopped taking the estrogen, I fell into a pretty severe depression. I had gone to the edge, looked over the cliff, and knew I was playing with fire. I loved Pam dearly and I knew that protecting my family was a noble venture. But that didn't stop my emotional turmoil. Your pull was strong and any stress would make me want to run and hide, leaving you free to wreck terror across my life. I gave up on trying to make a living on my own and helped start a company as director of research. Things began looking up and we were soon expecting our second child. Outwardly we seemed the happy family, but your siren call was constantly beckoning me to follow. The company flourished, as did our little family. Another son was born and our band was now five strong. It seemed as if my decision to stop taking the hormones opened a whole new book in my life. We moved out of the area to a small town several hours from work. I got an apartment and commuted home on the weekends. This is when you made your last effort to take over. After all, I lived alone all week in a private apartment. Pam hated coming to visit me and that emboldened me to let you breathe. My wardrobe expanded dramatically. I gave over my closet and settled into a routine. During the day, I was scientist at large building great things, and at night, like a snake shedding its skin, I would slip out of Mike and become the woman I wanted to be. On the weekends, I maintained the front and all seemed well...if not a little strange. I joined a group of like-minded individuals in the city and began to perfect ...well...you! I so looked forward to coming home to my apartment after work that sometimes I would stay in the bay for a weekend and join the girls in an outing. At one point, I led Pam to believe that I was having an affair to hide your comings and goings. At the peak of all this, I was spending more time as Michelle than as Mike. On Halloween one year, I bought a suit at the local second hand store with a beautiful white satin blouse. It fit nicely and no alterations were needed! It should have with the exercise I was putting in. I was a tall size six and my suit looked very stylish with the low heels I found. I showered, shaved, put on my makeup and new suit...and went to work! It was a hoot. The girls asked me to lunch, and I of course went. The men I dealt with gave me a lot of room but the women I dealt with seemed very intrigued by the whole notion of breaking the glass ceiling by changing my gender. After all, that day I was the first woman to attend a Senior Staff meeting. The one thing I did have difficulty with was interacting with men. One woman that I talked to said that it seemed like I was trying to hard to flirt. This was a concept I was desperately trying to get my head around. In the groups I attended and parties I crashed, all social interaction seemed excessive. We flirted with each other, hugged, laughed and in general just carried on; but it all had to be taken in the context of the group. I knew that this behavior was obviously excessive at work so I had to tone it way down. And it was hard to find the right balance at first. I think a couple of men I barely knew tried to hit on me, but we laughed and treated it as the fun for a day. Later in the afternoon my friend Marlene came by and asked me to join her for a drink after work. She was a tall oriental woman that managed the purchasing department. I thought she was one of the most strikingly beautiful women on site. We had a casual relationship as managers of different sectors of the company, but nothing more than a quick, "Hi, how's it going?" in the hallways or at staff meetings. I had to accept her offer, after all... The local watering hole was at the Tex-Mex bar down the street from work. I freshened my makeup, brushed my hair and proceeded to find...the entire company waiting for me. The girls monopolized my attention, thank god. Marlene had me sit in the center of her group. They all wanted to talk about my status. "Was I ch