Life Within the Gilded Cage

Falling in love, erections, and other things

I've always preferred men as partners. On the rare occasion that a woman or even another TG or TS has shown interest in me, I could never take them seriously. Like most women, I want a man.

In fact, I've always found most transgendered lesbians rather ridiculous. Particularly the married crossdressers that parade into New Hope on occasion with their wives. How pitiful. I give the wives credit for sticking by their 'man,' but I always get the feeling that undoubtedly the poor wife would much rather her husband behave like a man. The vast majority of married crossdressers that I've met have ended in divorce. The wife might go along with it for a while for the sake of the children or the marriage, but ultimately they married a man, and they want a real man, not a flake in a dress.

A while back I lived with a lesbian for a year, a close friend of mine, named Terri. Not that it was a sexual relationship - we were just roommates. Terri had substance abuse problems, and she knew that I did not do drugs, so she asked if she could move in with me for a while till she got her act together. Terri is a beautiful woman, and a great cook (she works as a chef), so I easily agreed. We had a lot in common, and got along great, but even with Terri, I NEVER would have considered anything more than a friendship. In fact, on one occasion, Terri must have been a bit lonely, because she suggested we sleep together one night. I looked at her, rather shocked, and said, "You are kidding, right?" At which point she backed off, and the issue never came up again.

So, I never really thought it possible for someone like me to fall in love with a woman. Well... they say love strikes when you least expect it.

To explain further...

I work as a writer for an advertising agency. About two years ago the company hired a new graphic artist, a married woman named Janet. We were teamed together, which meant I'd write the copy, and Janet would translate my words into graphics, so we spent a great deal of the day together.

Right from the very first day, I sensed something about Janet. Something that just clicked. I knew right away that there was something about this woman that almost reminded me of myself. She was attractive, 5'7", 120 pounds, with long brunette hair, and a very soft-spoken, almost shy manner. She was extremely creative, loved to read, enjoyed the same music, and although she had that very "goody-goody" look about her, I sensed that like a lot of Catholic girls beneath the surface smoldered a yearning sexuality aching for release.

The more I got to know Janet, the more I liked her. We became close friends, and then best friends. We went to lunch every day, and gabbed and gabbed till we both knew each other life's story. Whereas at first I thought she was happily married, I soon learned otherwise. It seemed Janet, good girl that she was, had married her college sweetheart, a man named Stan, and that they'd both been virgins on their wedding night. They've been married for 15 years, and in all that time she'd never so much as looked at another man. They have two beautiful young girls, one 10 and one 7, both of whom were in the gifted program at school. Perfect marital bliss, right? Wrong.

The more I learned of Janet's intimate relationship with Stan, I discovered that he was one of those Quick Draw McGraw types. Stick it in once, swirl it around, pop off a shot, and then roll over and begin snoring. The poor woman was frustrated beyond belief. And, if she tried to say anything to Stan about it, he didn't want to hear it. Stan is your classic, king of the castle, "I wear the pants and make all the decisions," kind of guy. Any time Janet doesn't like something or tries to change something, he flys into a rage. He just doesn't want to hear about. The man is about as sensitive as a pet rock. So nothing ever changed. On the surface they may look like the perfect family unit, but underneath, Janet is like a lot of housewives, unhappy and unsatisfied.

Which is a shame, because Janet is talented beyond belief. A phenomenal cook. Extremely health conscious, and an expert at nutrition. She plants her own garden in the backyard, and dotes over her daughters. She is extremely athletic. She belongs to the YMCA, where she's been a member of the Master's Swimming program for 5 years. She swims 3 miles three times a week, giving her a sleek, muscular body. Although she's turning 40 years old, she looks 25.

Sadly, her husband is more interested in wating his lawn than in his darling wife. Where Janet is social and fun, Stan is introverted and morose. Where Janet loves to go out and take in the arts and engage in physical events, Stan is a couch potato. Where Janet is an artist, he's an engineer that works for the government. Nor is Stan happy about his job. He complains daily about how he is unappreciated, and constantly threatens to move to find work elsewhere. So far they've moved from PA to NY to VA and back to PA because of Stan's constant dissatisfaction with his employment. It seems to me, Stan is the kind of person that would never be happy no matter where he lives or where he works. He just isn't a happy camper.

The closer I became to Janet, the more I told her about myself and my past. At first she was a bit shocked. Good Catholic girls don't come into contact with transsexuals, so I am a bit of an alien to her. It bothers her that I am still technically "male" and that I have lived with and dated men. No matter how close we've become, she's never accepted my lifestyle. I can tell that in the back of her mind, she has this notion that I should go back to being a man. No matter how much I tell her I am quite happy the way I am, she tells me that beneath the long hair and the makeup she will always see me as a man.

After about 6 months, we knew each other to the point that Janet confided in me more than she did Stan, and felt guilty about it. She was "supposed" to tell her husband everything, not me, but the man just doesn't listen. Stan is so self-absorbed, he really has no clue what is going on with Janet.

Even though we worked together all day, Janet would call me at night to talk - till Stan went through the phone bill and noticed all these nightly calls to my number. He had a fit, and the calls stopped. Sort of. We developed a signal. Janet would call me collect - I would not accept the charges - and call her right back. We still do that to this day.

That's another thing about Stan. The man is a penny pincher. He makes Janet account for every dollar she spends. He even makes her take their own brown grocery bags to the grocery store - because you save .05 cents a bag, if you bring your own. Are you getting the picture of this guy? Tall, 6'5", skinny, geeky, with a weak chin, worry lines around his eyes, short greying hair, and a slideruler in his shirt pocket. Not exactly Mr. Excitement.

Then one day, after we'd gone out to lunch, Janet surprised the life out of me, by leaning over the front seat of my car and kissing me on the mouth.

I responded by drawing back and pushing her away. She responded to my rejection by crying.

"Why did you do that?!?" I asked.

"I just wanted to see what it would be like," she sniffled.

Two days later, it happened again - but this time I did not draw away. This time, I was curious to see what it would be like. And it was good. Janet's lips were soft, pliant, and sensitive. Once again, I was reminded of myself, my own lips, and the way I kissed. Although the kiss only lasted a minute, by the time we were done my heart was racing. I was used to kissing rough men, men who forced their tongues into your mouth, men with cracked, chapped lips, forceful men, with cigarette and garlic breath. Janet was unlike anyone I'd ever kissed in my life, and I admit, right from the first I was hooked. Janet's lips bespoke romance, passion, compassion, and a love that had been pent up and been denied for 15 years.

Over the next few weeks, we began going out to lunch more and more, particularly to a little park a short distance from our office. There among the park benches or shady tree lined paths, we would stand like two teenage lovers and kiss... and kiss. It was as if we were both hungry for each other, as if we'd both discovered something neither of us had ever experienced before. Her, a virginal, married woman, and me a transsexual ex-prostitute -- who could imagine an odder couple, and yet we connect in a deeply soulful, romantic way that neither of us could have ever imagined. We ate our lunches as fast as we could, so that we could retreat into some quiet nook of the park, snuggle our bodies together, and just smooch. Janet made me feel like a teenager again, like I'd rediscovered a love that I'd somehow been denied as a youth and missed. She, too, was just as smitten. She described her husband as the type who thrust his tongue into her mouth, something she'd never liked - so she clung to my lips like a woman possessed, starved for love.

It wasn't all just her kisses that I loved. I loved the way her body seemed to melt into mine, the way she snuggled in tight against me. It was as if our bodies became one. Here, I'd been on hormones, estrogens, and anti-testosterones for over 7 years, my manhood had all but shriveled and fallen from my body, and yet Janet's kisses and shapely body clinging to mine, suddenly awoke urges inside me that I hadn't felt for 20 years. It didn't happen overnight. But slowly, over the weeks and months, my body began responding to Janet in a way I never thought possible. I had my first erections in years. Years. I'd lived with a black man for 5 years, who couldn't coax a rise out of me, and yet Janet did it with a simple, overpowering, compassionate kiss.