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My Vagina By Cassandra Morgan I awoke the sounds of my mother crying. It's never a good thing. In the semi-dark of the hospital room, I could hear her jagged sobs. It was the sound of a woman who has cried too long and too hard, and yet, the tears keep coming. It was raw and jagged and relentless. It sounded like pain. I lay there for a long moment, before anyone realized I was awake. I glanced around. My father was there, with tight lips, staring into space My sister Rose was staring out of the window. My brother J.C. had his head down as he slumped in a chair. "Water," I rasped. Everyone moved, but no one as fast as my mother. She offered me a plastic cup with a straw. I sipped. "What's wrong?" I asked. And four pairs of eyes looked at me. It was supposed to be a simple operation. An appendectomy over the UC spring break. No muss, no fuss, no reason to cuss. But if you could read faces, you knew that nothing had turned out simple. "Mom...am I ...okay?" I asked. "You're going to be great," she said. "You're going to be fine. The doctor will be here in a minute, okay. Just hang on until he gets here." I closed my eyes. I tried to feel my body. Something was wrong. But I couldn't sense anything simply by feeling; that was absurd. Still, the looks on the faces of my family suggested that no one was telling me everything. "This is absurd," my father said, obviously in anger. "The damn doctor fucks up like this, and he isn't even here to explain himself." "Tom," my mother said. "Please calm down.' "Would someone tell me what's wrong?" I said, shifting in my bed. "Please." My mother looked at my father. She started to say something, but then Dr. Les Koetter entered the room. He picked up my medical chart -- a diversion, it turns out -- and glanced at it as if he hadn't seen it before. "Alex?" he said. "Are you Alex Turner?" I nodded. "Well, I guess you need to hear it from me," he said. "There's been an accident, I'm afraid." "An accident?" I asked. "Alex, you've had serious surgery," he said. "And there is an inherent risk with all surgeries. What I'm trying to tell you..." "Oh, stop it," J.C. yelled. "They cut your dick off, okay? Would someone just say it so we can move on." Suddenly, all of the oxygen was sucked out of the room. The world was spinning around me as I tried to focus on J.C.'s words. "Cut ... off." I felt light-headed, as if I were going to faint. "My ...dick?" Tears filled my eyes. I couldn't speak. It's amazing how much of a young man's life is centered around his genitalia. It shapes his self-identity, his goals, his plans for the future. Guys joke about it. Girls whisper. All of that had been cut and reshaped in a gender reassignment surgery.. "Well," Dr. Koetter said. "We didn't exactly cut it off. We ... we reshaped it. We performed a vaginoplasty on you, Alex. Someone got the charts mixed up." "You made him a girl," my father interrupted. "He came in for an operation that a first-year med student could perform, and you made him a girl. Forever." "I'm sorry," Dr. Koetter said. "There are a lot of ways to explain a mix-up like this. It happens..." "Can you reverse it?" Rose wanted to know. "Well, no," Koetter said. "Medical science hasn't progressed that far. But you have to look at the bright side Alex has a fully functional vagina now. He will ... she will be able to live a long, normal life.' I was crying now openly. I had ... a pussy. Forever. Nothing else mattered, not why and not how. I was a girl. "Normal?" My mother seethed. "Is fathering children normal? Is getting married normal? Tell you what. Let's cut your dick off and see how normal you feel. Nothing against girls, but Alex has been raised as a boy. You can't just wake up ... altered." Koetter held his hands up in surrender. "I assume the hospital's attorney will hear from yours," he said. "I truly am sorry." He spun and walked out of the room, away from the wreckage and the tears. My mother squeezed my hand. "Poor girl," she said. "My little girl." * That night, I dreamed of the Washington Monument. And the space needle. And Sears Tower. Anything phallic, long and hard, I dreamed of. I dreamed of jackhammers on the street. I dreamed of telephone poles. I dreamed of the cries of unborn babies. I dreamed of putting on a wedding dress. I dreamed of boa constrictors. I dreamed of my mother helping me with my lipstick. I dreamed of the Lincoln Tunnel. I was a girl, I kept repeating to myself. All those days flirting with girls, making an idiot of myself to get a smile, was over now. I was one of them. I woke up, sweating and screaming in the dark. * * The hospital doctors and nurses paid us scant attention the next day. A nurse changed my bandages, but she didn't have much to say. "Can I see it?" I asked. "Not yet," she said. "It's heavily bandaged, I'm afraid. But we have to dilate it again later. You can look then." "What does it look like?" "It's standard-issue," she said. "It's going to be very cute. Your boyfriends will enjoy it very much.' "I don't have boyfriends," I said. "Well, you will have. Dozens of them. It's a cute vajayjay." "Vajayjay?" I asked. "You know. Your kitty. Your taco. Your coochie." I looked at her. "Oh, come on," she said. "Your snatch. Your cha-cha. Your poontang." She started to giggle. "God, there are so many names for it, sweetie. Your box. Your clam. Your cunt." I shook my head. "Please stop." The nurse fell silent. She obviously didn't know that this wasn't something I wanted. I wasn't ready to hear cute nicknames for it. To me, it was mutilation. It was scar tissue. "Alex," my mother broke in. "The attorney is here. Are you ready to talk to him?" I nodded. "Might as well," I said. Daniel Travis, malpractice attorney, walked into the room. He was a balding man, probably in his early 40s. He introduced himself to my mother. "Mrs. Turner," he said. "Alex. Can we talk about your case for a moment? And Koetter the cutter? He's got quite a reputation for being sloppy. That will help our cause." My mother pulled a chair around for Travis. She sat on the edge of my bed. "Let's talk," she said. "Well," he began. "I don't know how much you know about these kinds of things, but they happen. Charts get moved, and wristbands don't get read, and mistakes happen. A few. years ago, in Tampa, the surgeons removed the wrong leg from a patient. There was a case in Europe where they removed the wrong kidney. Doctors drilled in the wrong side of a man's head before surgery. And there have been scattered incidents of doctors leaving operating tools inside of patients. As far as I know, there has never been a documented case of a wrongful sex change surgery from top to bottom before. But not all SRS surgeries turn out wonderfully. There have been patients who have complained. The appalling nature of it has to help us in front of a jury." My mother looked at him. "What do you mean 'as far as you know?'" Travis shrugged. "It's hard to document botched surgeries," he said. "Hospitals get their checkbooks out in a hurry. I mean, first thing this morning, I had a feeler on my desk that said this hospital would negotiate, but they wanted it to be stated that you pursued your SRS. That it was your idea." My eyes grew wide. "I never said anything like it," I said. "I was here to get my appendix out." "You don't have to convince me," Travis said, holding his hands up defensively. "A jury doesn't care, if you had a successful gender reassignment surgery. But if you didn't want it, well, there will be a lot of zeroes in our settlement." "When do we go to trial?" my mother asked. "Not for a few months," Travis said. "Quickness is in our favor. They want you to be used to your body when you go court. Relaxed. Resigned to being female. It could take months to get a trial date. Unless we settle. Of course, that's up to you once we get some numbers from them." "So what do we do now?" "Relax. Heal. If you want, you can buy some clothes. A dress. Skirts. You'll need them for court." "Mr. Travis," I said. "I won't need dresses and skirts. I'm going to wear the same clothes. I'm still a boy." My mother started to interrupted ,but Travis held up a hand. "I understand," he said. "You wear what you want." My mom nodded. She didn't mention that my aunts and cousins had already flooded our home with packages containing dresses and lingerie and heels. From the looks of it, they all agreed I should like pink. * My friends started to visit the next day. Some of them had heard the gory details. Some of them hadn't. Geno Mullins, my best friend, showed up with his Play Station. He didn't mention that I was a girl now. I don't know if he knew. If he did, he was being cool. We talked a lot about the Reds. We talked about the new Star Wars movie. We rated the three new zombie movies. It felt ... comfortable. Like old times. We talked about school, and how much work I would have to make up. We talked about the school's basketball team, which didn't win a game all year. We talked about pizza, and how good it would taste to get back to it. Finally, he looked at me. "Did it hurt?" "What?" "You know. When they operated." "It hurts now," I said. "But I was numbed when they did it. The problem wasn't the physical pain. It was the mental pain, you know?" He shook his head. "How many times have you ever had sex, Alex?" "Once," I said. "Once? Hell, I hope it was worth it." "It was pretty lousy, if you want to know the truth." "Well, then. You aren't giving much up." "It feels like it." Geno nodded. "You being a girl is going to take some getting used to." I shrugged. "You never saw me down there before, did you?" "Well, maybe in gym." "Geno, you'll never see me down there. I'm still a boy. I'm still going to play baseball and wrestle." "In a dress?" I laughed. "I'm not going to wear dresses," I said. "I'll wear jeans. No one is going to know." Geno shook his head. "Alex, everyone knows. We don't have a lot of news in Lima. A boy getting a sex change operation gets your notice." "I didn't want this, Geno," I said. "If you say so, Alex. Some people say you did." "They're wrong," I said Geno grinned. "Figures." "What?" "The first one of us ever gets close to a vagina, and. you have to wear it home." "Fuck you," I said "You want to fuck me?" Geno said. "No, dumb ass," I said and threw a pillow at him. I laughed. He laughed. "If I wanted a guy, you'd be number 4 million, 892 thousand in line." "So there is hope?" he said, giggling. "Not for you, ass-face," I said. It felt good to laugh, good to joke about it. My mother looked at the two of us, mystified, but for the first time since the operation, I felt good. * * The next day, nurse Vera Fleming was cleaning my wounds. She was a friendly sort, 20 pounds overweight but cheerful. "How's my girlfriend today?" she said. "I'm not a girl," I said. "La-di-dah," she said. "A rabbit can say he doesn't have big ears, but that doesn't change the size. Now, let's take a look, shall we?" She peered beneath my robe. She smiled. "It really is a miracle," she said. "What?" "A vagina," she said. "All life comes from a vagina, Alex. Be glad you have one." "I hate it," I said. "Oh, you just don't know what it can do yet, girlie," she said. "I'm not a girlie," I said. "Here, grab that mirror. Look." And I did. I saw a puffy pink slit, still purple from the surgery. "That's your clitoris," she said. "God loved women the day he gave us those. There's your entrance. There's your labium. Back there somewhere is your g-spot. Tell me, Alex. Could anything but God create such a series of folds and tucks?" "Yeah," I said. "Koetter the cutter." "Pshaw. He's just following the model," Nurse Fleming said. "But think about it. Being a girl isn't such a death sentence. Your life hasn't ended. It's just taken a detour. Let me ask you, Alex. When you were a boy, did you play with it?" "Excuse me?" She laughed. "It's okay. Boys do. Girls, too. But when you've healed up enough to masturbate, you're going to love sex as a girl. I do." "Um, I'll pass," I said. "Whatever you say, girlie," she said. "I'm not a girlie," I said as she left my room. * * * It was the middle of the night probably 4-5 days into my stay. I woke, and I glanced toward the light in the hall. There was the silhouette of a young girl in a wheelchair watching me sleep. "Hello?" I said. The was silence for a minute. "Hello," she said in a whisper. "Do you need something?" I asked. "I'm...I'm Alex Turner. I I thought we should meet." "Alex...my name is Alex Turner." She nodded. "It's both our names," she said. "Maybe it's why they gave you my sex change," I laughed. "You can have it back," I said. "I'll take it," she said, chuckling. "I waited long enough." And so Alex -- she went by A.J. -- told me her story. After months of waiting, she was going to have SRS. She had dreamed of this, prayed for this, planned for this. But two Alex Johnsons were enough to confuse the hospital staff. Someone else was supposed to compare the charts, but that was too much trouble, too, I guessed. So I underwent SRS. And A.J. didn't. By the time someone caught the mistake, it was too late for me. A.J.'s operation was put on hold -- all SRS surgeries were -- until the dust settled. "I wish I was you," A.J. said. "I wish you were, too," I said. "Did they do your boobs?" she said. "No," I said. "Just the vagina." "God, I'd love to have a vagina," A.J. said. "It's...it's not comfortable," I said. "There is something in there." "A dilator," she said. "Until the walls heal." "I see." "You gonna be a girl, Alex? I mean, I would be." "No," I said. "I'd feel...well, like I was giving in." "I'd love to give in," A.J. said. "Alex, I know this is awful for you, okay? But it's awful for me, too. I was on the brink of being who I'm supposed to be, and now, I can't get my surgery. You don't have your dick anymore, but I've still got mine. We're both screwed." I nodded. "You can still wear dresses," I said. "But I've never worn them. I don't want to start now." "You'll change your mind when boys start to come by." "Eww," I said. "I definitely don't want a guy in my vag. A.J. chuckled. "We're very different, you and I." "A.J., nothing against anyone, but I was always straight as a boy. I liked girls. I think I still do." "Then be a lesbian," she said. "A lot of kids in the Rainbow Club at UC are lesbians." "Yeah?" I said. "Any cute ones?" "Yeah," she said, wistfully. "You may be a girl yourself, but you could still have a relationship with a girl. You could kiss. You could have sex." I nodded It made sense. "That might work," I said. "Want to come to the Rainbow Club with me sometime?" I smiled. "That would be nice," I said. I sat back on the bed. I felt as if someone had thrown me a lifeline. * * On the day I got out of the hospital, my mother brought me a yellow sundress and a gray skirt with a white top. I just shook my head. "No, mom," I said. "I keep telling you. I'm not a girl. I'm not going to wear girls' clothes." "But Alex," she said. "Honey you are a girl. I mean, down there." I shook my head. "No. I have a girl's genitalia. But I'm the same boy as ever. If Rose grows a penis, it doesn't make her a boy. She's a girl with a penis. Same with me." And so I pulled on my jeans and a button-down shirt. "Maybe I need a sign," I said. "Dickless." Mom punched me on the shoulder. She rolled me down the hall in a hospital wheelchair. People looked at me as we left. I wondered if they all knew. I wondered if they could tell that I was a eunuch, a gelding. And those sad creatures just lost their testicles. I lost it all. I was a Ken Doll. When we arrived at home, I went to my room ... and saw it had been transformed. There was a stuffed bear on the bed. There was an "It's a Girl" sign, as if someone had a baby. The room had been done in pink and white. "Mom," I whined. "I know, I know," she said. "It's your father. He wants you to know that he accepts you as a girl. He doesn't know that you've been fighting it. " I opened my closet. There, hanging neatly, were all the dresses that my aunts had sent. At the bottom of the closet were shoes. heels and flats and sneakers. I checked the dresser, it was filled with lingerie. "Mom, I'm not wearing any of this stuff," I said. "But your aunts are coming over tonight to welcome you home. Won't you wear the clothes they've given you?" "Mom, it's better that you explain. I have an amputated dick. I didn't become a girl." "Wouldn't it be better to wear the clothes?" mom asked. "Until when? Until I graduated from college? Until I married some guy? Come on, mom." She nodded her head. She seemed sad. Tough, I thought. I'm not wearing a dress. * * I don't know what you think of when you think of a lesbian mixer. The truth of it is that there were a hundred different types of women. Cute girls. Athletic girls. Girls with short hair. Girls with long hair. Girls wearing makeup. Girls who looked like they could fix your transmission. Soft girls. Hard girls. Girls who liked girls, and girls who liked them right back. A.J. and I moved across the room. We got a punch, and we sat down. "See anyone you like?" A.J. said to me. I nodded. "I see a lot of Mrs. Alex Turners." "Yeah," A.J. said. "We don't have enough of those." I laughed. "There. She's cute," I said. "Yeah," A.J. said. "If you like that." "You don't?" "Alex, don't think bad of me, but I like guys," A.J. said. "I always have." I looked at her and shrugged. "If this silly operation has taught me anything, A.J., it's that it doesn't matter. You want a man? Go for it. I'm still your friend." "You know, they've done research," A.J. said. "One hundred percent of all the dicks in the world are worn by guys." I giggled. "Except for yours." She smiled. "Yeah. There's that." We sat at a table. Eventually, a cute girl with sandy brown hair sat beside me. She looked at A.J. and grinned. "Hey, girl," she said. "Hi Colleen," A.J. said. "Alex, this is Colleen. Colleen, Alex." "It's nice to meet you, Colleen," I said. Colleen smiled. Then she looked at A.J. "She's kind of butch, isn't she?" she asked. A.J. grinned. "A little. But she has an excuse. She used to be a boy until they cut off her banana." "Ouch," Colleen said. "Ouch indeed," I said, lifting my punch-filled glass. We chatted for a while. About Melissa Etheridge. About Ellen Page. About Brandi Carlisle. It turns out I knew a lot more about gay Hollywood than I thought I did. Colleen was a smart woman with a biting sense of humor. I liked her. In particular, I liked her bottom lip. "I think you're cute, Alex," Colleen said. "But here's my problem, okay. I like girls. I don't want a girlfriend who could play for the Bengals. I like dresses and makeup and smelling nice. Now, I admit it. Some girls don't care. Some girls like a masculine looking woman. But if you could meet me halfway, we could have a good time. OK?" My mouth felt dry. I sipped my drink. "I, um, I have some dresses at home," I said. "So will you wear them for me?" she asked. "Or do you want to keep looking? It's okay either way. I understand that all of us aren't for all of us. But I'd like to get to know you.'' I punched her number into my cell phone and dialed. That way she trapped the number. "Call me," I said. But did I really want her to call? I had pretty much promised to break my rule and wear a dress. And makeup. Did I want this girl so much I would become a girl for her? Still, what was the other choice? Prospective dates weren't breaking down my door, and I liked Colleen. Hell, what was a dress? Just cloth, right? Mom would help me. Rose would help me. A.J. would help me. Eek. * * My mother thought my request was quite amusing, if you want to know the truth. Here was her son, newly formed into her daughter, and she was asking for help picking out panties. I felt like the worst sort of hypocrite. But Rose liked having a big sister. She got into it. At the mall, she picked out a bra and a pair of modest breast forms. She picked out panties. My mother handled the makeup. I had never worn it before, so it was strange to me. I kept licking off my lipstick. I shaved down at my mom's request, and the pantyhose felt nice. But the heels kicked my ass. I was like a kid on stilts, and I swore I was going to fall over sideways. Finally, I changed into flats. My mother picked at my hair. She decided against a wig, but instead pierced my ears and applied chandelier earrings. It all felt strange. I had never had a garment with an open hem like my dress. I had never felt something quite as erotic as the panties. I loved the pantyhose. The bra shaped and embraced me. For a guy who had sworn never to wear women's clothing, frankly, I loved it. It was so soft, so sensual. I never wanted to wear pants again. And, from the glint in Colleen's eyes, I never would have to. She loved the feminized me. She kept stroking my arm, my leg (when I sat). She looked at my breasts and smiled. "We got to make those permanent," she said. I was a little embarrassed by the attention, to tell you the truth. And by the fact I was dating a woman. My mom kept shifting her eyes from me to Colleen, and from Colleen to me. Was this her child's future, to be in a rainbow relationship with a woman? Hey, it was fine with me. In life, you grab love where you can find it. And I loved the way Colleen looked at me. We went to her place and ordered pizza. We sat on the couch and tried to watch TV, but Colleen's short fingernails kept dragging across my hand. She kissed me then, soft and sweet, the way the poets write it down. And then she was all over me. She touched my vagina, her fingers sweetly teasing me. She mashed her breasts against mine. She kissed down my stomach, then licked upward at the edge of my slit. She licked me hard, and long, and tenderly, and fireworks went off. I licked her until she was damp. Then she pushed me off of her, and she reached into her night table. She pulled out a strap-on dildo. "Fuck me, Alex," she said. "Show me what you were like as a man." The truth of it is that I'd had sex exactly once as a man, and it was a fumbling, spastic mess. But I fastened her harness around me, and I gently entered her. She bit my shoulder. And then we were making love in a nice rhythm. It felt as if I was a man again, as if I was pleasing my woman, as if I was king of the world. Colleen cried out. She attacked my pussy again, with her mouth and her fingers, until it was my turn to come. It was my first vaginal orgasm, and it beat anything I had ever felt as a guy. Over the next few weeks, Colleen insisted that I become more and more feline. She had me go to a salon to style my hair. She had me go to the doctor to talk about breasts -- and the ramifications of the upcoming trial. She started calling me "Alexis." Every day, I felt more and more feminine. And it still wasn't enough for her. You have to understand. To me, I was being as girly as you can imagine. Dresses and heels and perfume and hose and panties and bras. But something was still off-putting to Colleen. She could never let herself go with me. The harder I tried to be her girl, the less of a girl I seemed to be to her. We dated for a month, but it was never as good as in those early days. I liked her, and sex with her was incredible. But we lacked a connection. "Alexis," she said one day. "Can we talk?" "Of course, sweetheart," I said. She flinched at the term of endearment. Then she proceeded. "Think about being younger," she said. "Did you have a favorite doll?" I told her I never had a doll. "How about a favorite dress? Did you have a great party dress you wore one year?" "You know I didn't," I said. "And how about your first crush? Was it a girl? A boy?" "What are you getting at, Colleen?" "It's just that we don't have any shared experiences," Colleen said. "You were never a little girl. You never struggled to accept that you were a lesbian when the world wanted you to be straight. You never came out. You never got up the courage to kiss another girl in the back room at Ruthie Bolton's house." "I don't know what you're saying to me," I said. "I'm saying you were never really a girl," Colleen said. "And I love girls. You're ... a guy in a dress. I thought I could make you pretty, and you'd be a girl for me. But you don't know how, do you?" "I'm trying, Colleen. I really am." "I know you are, baby. And I feel like crap dropping this on you. But you aren't enough of a woman to satisfy me, Alex. I don't want a dismembered man. I want a wife. I want someone who has put up with shitty jobs and lecherous men." I felt a tear roll down my cheek. Colleen was breaking up with me. "We'll always be friends," she said. Great. I had been rejected as a man and a woman. * * Still, the clothes felt good, and I felt good in them. So even unattached, I stayed in the femme role. A.J. helped. She had always been a girl, if you think about it. She helped with my hair, with my fashion sense, with the way I looked at myself. We were sitting in the Starlight, a small gay bar in Cincinnati, when a shadow fell over the table. "Hi," she said. "I'm Leah." I looked up, and a tall woman with short brown hair was standing at the table. She had a lopsided grin. She was wearing a blue blazer and brown slacks. "Hi?" I said. "You used to date Colleen, right?" she asked. "For a little while," I said. "We hung out." "Oh, I know what that means. That means she rocked your world." Leah laughed. "She was very sweet," I said. "Can I sit?" Leah asked. I motioned to the chair. A.J. excused herself to go to the ladies' room. "I hope I'm not being pushy," Leah said. "But you're attractive, and I'm interested, so why play games?" I grinned. "I think it's nice," I said. She looked at me. "Alex? Alex, have you ever been with a strong woman? I mean, really strong." "Well, Colleen..." She let go of a burst of laugher. "Colleen is a marshmallow," she said. "She's a girly girl. A lipstick lesbian, the phrase is. I'm the bad girl in the Disney movie. I'm the girl on the motorcycle. I'm the girl who kisses you in church." "Sounds fun," I said. But inside, I admit, I felt some nerves. This woman was so different from Colleen. "Oh, it is fun. I promise you fun. Now, dance with me." It wasn't a request. She stood, taller than me by a couple of inches, dark, menacing. As we danced, she led. There were eyes on us from around the bar, some curious, some envious. "Alexis, have you ever had a mistress?" she smiled. "Um, no," I said. "I've only had one lesbian lover, and that was Colleen." "Okay. I'm going to go to my car now. It's a blue Jeep. I'll wait two minutes for you. If you come and get in, we'll see how things turn out. If you're scared, I'd advise you to give me a pass. I'll understand. I'm a strong taste for a lot of girls. I'm not your everyday garden-variety lesbian." "Leah..." I started. "Mistress," she corrected me. "Mistress," I said. "You intimidate me. But you intrigue me, too. You know about me, right?" She smiled. "I know you're the accidental transgender woman," she said. "It fascinates me." I looked at her. "Kiss me," I said. "Excuse me?" "You're such a bad ass, Mistress. Then kiss me. Right here. Right now. Claim me in front of everyone." She leaned in without hesitation. She bent me over backward and kissed me. Her tongue traced my bottom lip. Damn. The woman could kiss. I waved at A.J., who looked worried. I followed Mistress out of the bar, holding her hand but walked a half-step behind. I felt the tiny thrill of a new relationship grow inside me. She dominated me. She told me what to wear, and how to act. She, too, had a strap on dildo, but Mistress was the one who did the penetrating. She took my ass. She took my vagina. She bought me a women's chastity belt, so she could better control me. She bought me a butt plug. She taught me to like light spankings. One strange kick of hers, and I had never heard of it, was these ... uniforms. One day, she would dress me like a nurse out of the 1960s. The next, I was her school girl. Then her Geisha. Then her maid. Then her cheerleader. It was another way for her to exercise her control of me, by dressing me in these various outfits. Why else go to an Art Gallery dressed as Supergirl? My mother didn't care for Leah, not that it bothered Leah. But her control was too great. Mom knew that one snap of Leah's fingers, and I was walking the streets as a hooker. Two snaps, and I was a Girl Scout selling cookies. Still, they were thrilling times. I was constantly off-balance with her uniform demands, with the lead role she took in sex, with her demands of keeping the house clean as a domestic (Leah really liked me as a maid). She became my world. She taught me about light bondage, about role playing, about submissiveness. But what is it they say, that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. If a woman has all the strength in the world, she'll use it. If she has the unquestioned ability to sleep around, she will. And so it was that I became a lesbian cuckold, a cuckqueen who watches as her lover has sex with other women. In this case, it was Colleen. She had seemed so sweet, so innocent to me. Now here she was, her face in Leah's pussy, moaning and writhing. If not for the emotional attachments, I would have thought it was hot. But I had been falling in love with both women, and here they were, having sex together. Leah had planned this. I knew that to my core. It was another way for her to humiliate me. The thing was, I wasn't a true submissive, and I wasn't a true woman, and I wasn't a true girlfriend. I gathered myself, the tears flowing, and I slipped out of the apartment and into the night. I was a weak person, but I was strong enough to leave. And return only when exhausted. * For days, I wallowed around the apartment. Leah tried to call me, but only once. I spotted her at a Pride parade, leading Colleen on a leash. I turned and walked the other way. Maybe I was just lousy at being a lesbian. Colleen didn't think I was a real girl. I could never curtsy the right way for Leah. Maybe I should just give up on sex. Geno convinced me otherwise. He had always been my best friend, and even after my operation, he never judged me. He'd ask what this felt like, or what impression that left. We talked. We went to tennis matches. We went to movies. We ate out. And one night, as things happen, he kissed when he dropped me off. "Um, Geno. What was that?" "That was a kiss, dum-dum," he said. "I thought it was high time." "Geno, I don't kiss boys." "And yet..." "Did...did you like it." He smiled. His face was too close to mine. "I liked it," he said. "Geno, I'm a lesbian," I said. "I don't think you are," he said. "I think you were just experimenting." "Geno, I've had three sex partners, and all of them were women. And at the time, I was a woman with two of them." "Details," he said, kissing my forehead. Our love-making was gentle and sweet. His was the first cock I ever had in my pussy (and in my mouth, it turns out). His was the first male face I ever saw on the other side of the bed. It was my second fav title penis ever. It was hard and long and my lips could feel it throb. It fit. It was wonderful and sweet, and I loved it. When ir spewed, it was wonderful and warm. He wasn't kinky like Leah. He wasn't into roles like Colleen. He was my man. I was his woman. * * The trial faded away, like most trials, into a settlement. I agreed that I had sought out the sex change. That way, my parents would be taken care of forever. I never gave up the dresses. My boobs came in. Geno and I got an apartment together on the West Side and started playing house. A.J., thank the stars, finally got her operation. Every now and then, I still see Leah and Colleen across a crowded bar. But we aren't exactly friends. They have their lives. I have mine. The pain. The mental anguish. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But now I stand in our bedroom, looking at the outfit I'll wear for my ultimate role-play, and I can't be sorry about the way things happened. My journey did arrive at the right place. My wedding dress. Who would have thought it? © 2019 by Cassandra Morgan