He visited Diane one last time, and they traded stories about their lovers. Her photography was beginning to pay the bills. Afterward, they had quick straight sex, something they hadn’t done since the first time on the couch. It seemed almost healthy.

Finally, two days before the wedding, he went into the woods around Crystal Springs Reservoir above San Mateo to camp overnight. He had always wanted to, even though he knew the San Francisco Water Department patrolled the area. Pat dropped him off so there would be no parked car to raise suspicions. He hiked a mile into the preserve in the late afternoon with a sleeping bag and the bare essentials, figuring this would be the Indian way of doing things. At any rate, it made more sense than a bachelor party.

He lay out his gear not far from the edge of the reservoir, hidden by trees from any observer. Soon darkness settled lightly over the valley. He lay on his sleeping bag wondering if the water department had secret ways of locating intruders. Maybe they used heat-sensing scopes. Then he began to think about his marriage. Suddenly it occurred to him, in a quick sweat, that, yes, he was getting married. Before, it had been more of a conception, an abstract thought. Now its enormity, a proximity he could taste, was brought home.

Just what am I getting myself into? I never really thought this through. What if I need to escape? What if I don’t want to be a dutiful daddy all the time? Maybe Pat wants to erase all traces of Natalie. Maybe she’s artfully been playing along just to snare me.

Maybe she really does love me. Maybe I’m the damned luckiest guy in the world.

vvvvv

He woke up numerous times during the night on the hard, uneven ground. During one such interlude he was looking at stars when out of nowhere an object streaked across the sky in a dazzling blaze of fire. It had grown distinctly brighter toward the end of its path when it simply disappeared in the air — no sound, no puff of smoke, no nothing. Pfffffffffft. A delicate star-tapestry had suddenly transformed into something highly potent and magical. David wondered why it had happened just then, and to him alone.

When he woke again, it was with a start. His heart was pounding and he had an overwhelming sense of everything ponderously closing in. Even his lungs seemed caught in a vise. He sucked in air ravenously as though each breath might be his last and thrashed around trying to get out of the sleeping bag. Finally able to control himself enough to unzip the bag, he sat taking in huge breaths of air. Everything around him seemed tinged with menace. The dark leaves of trees looked like spears. The earth itself seemed to be the wicked, dirty hide of a monstrous animal.

With time, his breathing and heart settled down, but he still couldn’t spit out the pool of mad electricity inside him. There he was getting cold, sitting in his underwear — what if the Water Department found him this way! So he put on his trousers, sweater, and shoes without socks and began to walk in a big circle as though daring the menace to attack him.

When Pat picked him up hours later he decided not to tell her. It would only make her upset. David had decided the episode was similar to his fears about being drafted and going through Army boot camp. All that worry and sleeplessness about being ground into hamburger — and some of the fears had been justified.

That evening Pat and Danielle left for her bridal shower. David, unaccustomed to being along in the house after work, warmed up some leftovers and sat down to watch TV. He still felt a psychic hangover from the previous night at the reservoir.

After watching some sexy lipstick and perfume commercials, he played with the idea of dressing as a woman again, mustache or not. It would make him feel more together. The delicious application of lingerie and a clinging red dress took his mind off his worries. Finally he had to decide whether or not to put on makeup.

So silly to dress and try to look the part with a mustache. With misgivings, he painfully chopped away at his facial hair with a razor. There they went down the drain, those thick stubble hairs of manhood, and on went oily and fragrant substances from Pat’s little cosmetic bottles. He was Natalie again.

She poured herself a glass of Zinfandel and sat down to watch more TV. In the privacy of the softly-lit room she played with herself absentmindedly and wondered if she should have an orgasm or wait until Pat came home to do something. Her indecision gave her a sour feeling.

She deliberated on the edge of tiredness for a half hour. Then she mocked herself. She’d shaved off her goddamn mustache for Christ’s sake! She realized just how nice it was to have an appearance of guyhood. Still, she wondered if she could stand being David Nunley in thick Levi’s and heavy men’s shoes playing hubby for the rest of her life.

Why am I putting this trip on myself? Pat doesn’t mind if I dress up, even after we’re married. It’s all inside me.

She went into the bathroom where Pat’s makeup still sat on the shelf below the mirror and looked at herself. Natalie appeared genuine and ordinary.

God, it’s good being Natalie again. She fits like a fine old glove.

She impulsively reached out, took one of Pat’s lipsticks and dashed on the mirror –

Natalie and David

David and Natalie

You are such a pair!

vvvvv

In the reception line after the wedding ceremony, David stood next to Pat and his parents. They obviously loved his wife and thought he’d chosen well.

As the congenial line of guests gradually changed from close friends to distant relatives, David remembered briefly his parents’ house in Ohio and walking downstairs to meet them.

vvvvv

They had come in the back door as they always did, his mother before his father. She had seen him first.

“David! David! We wondered who was turning on the lights. What a surprise!”

“We came early,” he said, an unsure smile on his lips. “I wanted to show Pat the town but she conked out on me — she’s out at the motel.” He wanted to hug his mother as was their custom, but held back. She stood expectantly, holding her breath.

“Excuse me,” his father said in a strained voice, conveniently leaving to go outside to feed the dog. His mother cocked her head to one side and smiled a smile of unabashed happiness and then the two of them came together in a great hug. David patted her back. She was older now, her hair thinner, but that smile was still the same.

“It feels good to be here.”

She stepped back. “You’re so good-looking in all those nice clothes.”

“Pat helped me pick them out.”

“I’m sorry, we went to a movie. If we’d only known you were already in town … What can I get you? You must be hungry.”

“Well, I haven’t had a Coke float in years.”

His father came in finally as his mother was pouring Coke carefully over scoops of ice cream. Something about him seemed eager and playful, like the young man in David’s dreams. “You didn’t bring any of your dresses along, did you?”

“Now, Dad,” bristled David’s mother.

David instantly wanted to retaliate. His hope that they could talk about it in a sanitized way was quickly evaporating. “Why, do you want to see what I look like?”

“Not really. Do you still do it?”

David was off his strategy completely. “Ahhh, sure. It’ll always be part of me.”

“We think that probably your being married will have some effect,” his mother said. The three of them were sitting around the kitchen table.

“It’s true that since I met Pat my life has changed a bit. But she accepts that part of me.”

“You know, David,” his mother said, “I was remembering your teenage days, your high school days, and I was thinking –”

“I’d like to hear.” He trusted her more than Maria Osaka.

“Well, what I remember is how unhappy you were with yourself at times. I don’t know if it was us or what. I know I certainly felt inadequate in dealing with your moods. It seemed like you wanted to be someone else. Some days it was like dealing with a different person.”

David considered the thought. “I remember I had an idea that if I put my mind to it I could make myself into anything I wanted to be. I needed some sort of formula — that’s why I read all those psychology books.”

His mother continued while his father seemed defused and almost gentle. “Maybe this was what led you into being a transvest –”

“Transvestite.”

“Transvestite. That somehow you weren’t happy so you tried to become another person.”

David hadn’t seem himself from quite that angle before. Yeah, and I couldn’t be a man because Dad was always stepping on me. “It’s true, I was going through a lot.”

“Everyone, every guy, goes through a lot growing up,” said his father, “but you sure took an unusual route.”

David knew his father had said exactly the same thing to his mother a week or two before. Dad like to repeat his thoughts.

“Well, Dad, can you accept me as I am?”

“I guess we can live with it. We don’t want you to stay apart from us any more.” There was a tear in his eye as he attempted an honest smile.

David, for once without thinking, went over and hugged him. His father at first was stiff. It was the first time they’d ever hugged. I’m not afraid of him any more. He actually seems decent. What the hell will I do now?

vvvvv

Snapping out of his mental fog and returning to the guests at his wedding reception, David looked over at his father. Dad was so much older now and more human. Being married to David’s mother had changed him over the years. He was now a figurehead, and the torch was being passed to David, as reluctant as he was to carry it.

vvvvv

Pat lay against David’s shoulder as they drove with windows down through the long open spaces of the Sacramento Valley at night. Lonely lights in the distance slowly blinked on and off. He struggled to keep the speed of the Volvo down.

“Well, David, how does it feel?”

“Christ. More responsible. Like a fucking adult. No kidding, I kind of enjoyed playing the role.”

“You looked great in the tux.”

“I didn’t’ have time to really tell you this, but when you came down the aisle you lit up the church with your smile. I’m not exaggerating. You looked so beautiful. Everyone said the same thing.”

“I felt beautiful. It all just came together perfectly. Everyone got along so well.”

David remembered the eclectic mix — his parents and brothers and sisters, Doctor Karen Vitriano and male friend, Harvey and Margaret, Diane and Laura with their children, the somber Gene Gatzo and girlfriend (and no duffel bag), Mrs. Johnson and her Polaroid camera, Jeanette, some of Pat’s employees and distant Wyoming relatives, and several members of the Diana Society.

Pat reached down in the glow of the instrument panel, pulled his zipper open and reached inside. “I knew you’d be wearing these.”

At midnight they pulled into the parking lot of a Lake Tahoe condo complex. Compared to the cold mountain air outside, the cozy apartment was soon warm with a blaze in the fireplace. After some microwaved food and leftover champagne, they went directly and immediately to bed.

They were awakened late the next morning by shafts of sunlight illuminating high white walls. “Well, aren’t we supposed to be having a merry old orgy now?” he asked.

“Just supposed to be having fun,” she said lazily.

He slithered over next to her, buried his face in her fragrant hair and put his leg between hers.

“So soon? It’s too early.”

“I’m a morning person, you know.”

“Why don’t you dress up? Now that you dropped your mustache you could look pretty convincing. Then make some breakfast and bring it to me in bed.”

“You never did say anything much about the mustache thing.”

“I figured it was your trip. I like you with it, like you without it.”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe I was outgrowing dressing up for a while there. Then remember what I wrote on the mirror?”

“Yes.”

“I hadn’t dressed for awhile. Then it felt so good being Natalie again. Like she wasn’t a big production. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like she was really me.”

“I hope you’re not talking about having a sex change.”

“Don’t think so! But she was so down-to-earth. I mean, it was like I wasn’t creating another person, I was creating the female me, someone who’d be the same a month or a year from now.”

“I liked the way you looked that night. We had such a good romp. But I’ll tell you, I’m still worried about you wanting to become a woman full-time. I don’t think I’d want that.”

“So you wouldn’t want me dressing as a woman all the time in the house, even if I still had a cock?”

“Hmmm. No. Besides, you couldn’t be Natalie there all the time, anyway. You have to take showers, you have to shave, and we have guests over who don’t know about Natalie.”

“I was just testing you,” David admitted. “There’ll be a right time to do Natalie. Gee, maybe I should pick a new name. What fits this new image? Maybe more of a Swedish or Slavic name. I’ll have to cast around.” With that, he went whistling into the kitchenette to make some breakfast.

vvvvv

When he emerged a half-hour later, Pat had fallen back asleep, but the clatter of plates on a tray awakened her. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright light, then she saw … a flat-chested and unshaven David dressed in a slinky nightgown with hairy legs ending in sneakers — and a big smile. “The new me,” he announced. “Gender-fucker!”

“Oh, my, ” postured Pat, “you really do need a new name. How about Man of all Seasons, Man for all Reasons. From Winter to Summer, Love’s quite a number.”

“I like that. Didn’t know you were a poet.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Just don’t say you were ever a part-time hooker.”

“What?”

“I’ll have to tell your about Corky sometime. She was my winter.”

“Icicles?”

“Yeah. But now it’s summertime. We’re going to have a great, long summer, with fireflies and warm nights, lying naked in bed.”

“And tea and croissants every morning. I love you, David … Dave.” She broke up laughing.

“And I love you, Pattycakes.”

END

After David checked into the town’s only motel and left Pat sleeping on a bed, he walked the rest of the way into town with a great sense of importance. He saw the field where he’d flown kites and fought mock wars as a kid, and a vast lawn where he’d played touch football. He watched entranced as fireflies cruised the darkness, winking at each other with tiny lanterns. Inside homes, the flickering glow of television sets confirmed that there really were people living here, just like in California.

With trepidation, he turned and began to walk up the street he grew up on — the street where his parents still lived. It was like entering the Navajo reservation again. He finally caught sight of the house where he grew up, dark and lifeless, and much smaller than he remembered. He wondered where his parents were, and remembered his mother on the phone a week before, inviting them out — “We’d like to buy your plane tickets.” David remembered conspiring with Patricia to fly out unannounced a day early so they could check out the area before having to honor family obligations.

He slowly walked on the sidewalk in front of the house with all its gingerbread and history. The little trees planted when he was a boy were now as high as the second story. He didn’t pause long because the town police car drove by on an adjacent street. David instinctively checked himself to see if he was in drag.

He walked further up the street under darkened, spreading elms, passing houses whose lawns he’d mowed as a boy. Memories of summers growing up flooded him — the sunny, sinful days of lying in deep green grass and fishing in little streams and going on expeditions with BB guns. His memory also dredged up winters of lying in his upstairs bedroom with windows made opaque by heavy frost. That cold, spartan room had almost driven him crazy with its repetitive-patterned wallpaper. He remembered hearing through his heating vent the sounds of his father powerfully shoveling coal into the basement furnace before going to bed. Through that same vent came the sounds of his parents fiercely arguing downstairs the next morning, and his mother’s tears after the old man went to work.

At the far end of the street the public school stood on a hill in moonlight. In place of the old brick grade school was a modern glass and aluminum box. Next to the newly-tamed stream where he and his buddies used to probe with sticks for crawfish was a new, trendy, blacktopped playground. Why can’t my past remain the same? Why do things get covered over and forgotten?

He forced himself to keep walking. People were probably watching, he thought, wondering what he was up to. Eventually he reached the small downtown and it was without life. He bumped into one semi-inebriated man who remembered him from school days and who invited him into Arnie’s Bar but David politely declined.

As he walked under the big clock of the bank on the corner, he realized with a pang that his classmates here had already lived out a hundred stories of success or mediocrity while he played out his little transvestite drama in California. Many of them already had children and were running businesses.

David went on up to his old Methodist church in the north end of town. He loved the homely designs of the bricks in the walls, the white wooden steps and the illuminated steeple that went up to the stars. It was in their building that David had developed a crush on a just-married, very pretty woman in the choir and had once walked through her clothesline just to brush by her bras and panties.

Arriving back at his parents’ house for a final reconnoiter before returning to the motel, there was still no sign of anyone. He walked up the long dark driveway to the patio at the rear of the house and sat in a metal lawn chair. Were his parents staying with one of his sisters overnight?

He rocked from side to side on the uneven legs of the chair until he remembered how as a kid he’s obsessively rocked himself in rocking chairs to anesthetize himself. And how he’d rolled in bed, like rolling halfway buried in sand, until his parents shouted at him to stop.

Finally resigning himself to return to the motel, he went to the back door of the house and turned the old ornate doorknob. To his surprise, the door opened. Amazing — they still leave their doors unlocked around here.

He went in and prowled around the house. Weak shafts of streetlight and moonlight penetrated the darkness and highlighted certain familiar scenes in an eerie fashion. He went in to use the bathroom and didn’t turn the light on so as to preserve the mysteriousness. Not finding the toilet, he had fun peeing in the sink before moving on.

He heard the faint sound of a car. Its faraway sound brought him a deep loneliness, a loneliness he relished.

David wondered if Patricia out at the motel had awakened in an unfamiliar room and had forgotten that he’d left for a walk.

He gingerly began walking up creaking stairs to the upper floor of the house. Through lace curtains hung over a window he could see darkened neighbors’ homes. Everything including himself seemed deliciously frozen in time.

He reached the top of the stairs and peeked in his old bedroom, lit gently by a night light. New wallpaper, same old bed. Then he walked stealthily down the hallway to his parents’ room, the only bedroom being used. Their bed didn’t seem as substantial and imposing as before. In fact, it seemed quite ordinary. His old Pandora’s Box of sensual delights, his parents’ chest of drawers, stood familiarly against a wall.

He flopped down on his parents’ bed and let its coolness and firmness support him as he lightly began drifting off to sleep.

Unaware of how much time had passed, he jolted awake when he heard the crunch of automobile tires on the gravel driveway outside. He immediately reverted to a fifteen-year-old dressed in his mother’s clothes masturbating on her bed while the rest of the family was at church. he involuntarily checked himself to see if he was wearing a bra.

How long am I going to be a frightened boy? How long will these charades go on?

He walked downstairs switching on lights as he went.

“I haven’t worn it since, except once when I used it to whack off in. It’s kind of a religious relic if you know what I mean.”

“It should be in the Smithsonian. The gown that stopped armies and yours truly.”

“Maybe I should get married in it.”

“Not on your life! If we get married you’re going to be properly respectable. It won’t be a hippie wedding, you dope.”

vvvvv

David’s life was moving at a much faster clip than he’d anticipated. Despite his misgivings, he’d become somewhat involved in Pat’s business, at first attracted to the computers there. He’d ended up taking computer courses at the nearby junior college, becoming the resident household computer genius. Pat had sighed a sigh of relief — her former husband had purchased and set up the machines before their divorce and her employees knew more about them than she did.

David’s slack time decreased. The get-togethers with Harvey and Margaret became farther and farther apart, postponed, a chore. David realized with a start one day that he hadn’t dressed as a woman for an entire month, and more than that, hadn’t missed it. He couldn’t say that he was truly happy, but he could say that he wasn’t lonely and at loose ends any more. Parts of him wrangled and tangled with his decreased freedom.

On a camping trip that summer he didn’t shave and upon returning — to the accompaniment of Pat’s jokes — kept his mustache and let it grow bushy. At work, his boss and Gene Gatzo noticed with interest.

vvvvv

Sunlight streamed in the kitchen on a Sunday morning as Pat brought fresh-buttered English muffins to the table where David and Danielle sat. Both were playing their game of acting in TV commercials.

“Mmmm good. This is sooooooooooo good I could eat a thousand of them,” said David as he put a generous helping of strawberry preserves on Dannie’s muffins, then on Pat’s and his own.”

“You guys just can’t get enough, can you?” Pat scolded. “You guys are going to get fat just like me.”

“You, fat?” said David incredulously. “The way you work? No way, lady.”

“No way, wade-y,” chimed in Danielle. She wolfed down her muffin before the adults were halfway through and clamored for more.

“David, I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh-oh.”

“Why don’t you quit work at the VA?”

“I’d love to. But I don’t have an alternative.”

“Are you kidding? With your stock photography and the computer work you’re certainly doing your share here if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He paused. “I’ll admit that I’d really love to go in and tell those SOBs off. Sorry about the bad language, Dannie — tell ‘em I don’t need ‘em, I mean.”

“Go do it.”

“I’ll think about it. I mean, I have to think about losing my benefits and health plan and all that, too.”

vvvvv

“Hi,” said David as he flopped himself down next to Vince Grasso’s neat desk. Vince looked up, surprised. They’d had very little contact lately. Office gossip had it that David was now living with a respectable lady, not with someone like Corky. One thing hadn’t changed, though — he was still habitually late.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m sick.”

“You need to go home?”

“I mean, I’m sick of this place.”

“Well, we all get sick of work at times. If you’re stressed out or something, why don’t you just fill out a sick slip and take the day off?” Vince adopted a soothing tone.

David started laughing as he looked away.

Vince shuffled some papers. “I think you’d better get back to your desk. I don’t know who put you up to this but the joke’s over.”

“Really. I’m here to tell you that I’m quitting, resigning, whatever you call it. I’m giving a month’s notice.”

“Oh, surprise. I see. Well, I suppose it’s nice when you can do that. What are you going to do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Odds and ends. Odds and ends. I’ve got some things cooking.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that you’re leaving. You’ve been a valuable part of the team here.”

“I’ve been a scalawag and you know it.”

“Oh, well, we all have our off times. But I’d like to think that we were friends on the job here. You contributed a little variety to the office.” Vince smiled knowingly. “Anyway, David, that’s your final word, then? If you change your mind, you let me know right away, OK?”

As David walked to his cubicle, Vince wondered if his records clerk was going to be photographing weirdos full time.

vvvvv

“David, love, it’s time we had our discussion about you know what,” said Pat, calling in from the adjoining room as David finished washing dishes one evening. Danielle, tired after a long day of play, was fast asleep.

“Oh, yeah.”

“‘Oh, yeah,’ — is that all you can say? If I remember correctly, there was this small matter of marriage we were going to talk about.”

David walked out to see her, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “Wait a minute. I have to go put on a pair of panties to get in the mood.”

Pat ran over and grabbed him and he allowed her to force him to the living room carpet. “You’re not getting away from me even though you’re probably two-timing me and doing all kinds of things I don’t know about,” she chortled.

She got that way sometimes and he didn’t always like that part of her. He wrestled himself to the top — he wasn’t going to do any negotiating at the bottom of a pile — and pressed his body hard against hers. “So,” he said gruffly, kissing her hard more out of self-defense than anything else, “will you marry me and make me king of the castle and give me half-interest in everything?”

“King, huh? Just where do I fit in? Yeah, that’s probably exactly what you’re thinking.”

“Let’s sit down on this, OK?” reasoned David. “I mean, look, what I want you to know is that I love you a lot and that you’re the most important thing in the world to me now.”

“Now?” She cocked her head to one side. “What about tomorrow and a year from now?”

David put his finger to his mouth and shushed her, then sat her down and poured petite glasses of amaretto. They set a date in November.

vvvvv

David lay in bed wearing the red Frederick’s corset Pat had given him. He was alone in the house. Wondering what he could fantasize about, his mind raced about tapping that old memory, this fresh one. He fixed on Diane Beckelmeyer for a moment and resurrected the image of her whipping him with his hands tied. She would have an evil grin and she’d tease him, rubbing her breasts against his body.

Then he remembered various women he’d seen in ads — the way the cups of their bras or corsets held their breasts and created smooth lines. He remembered the black bra Pat wore sometimes, the way the tight straps made small creases in the skin of her shoulder and back, and the way he photographed her wearing that bra. He could reach over to her chest of drawers and put it on if he wished. No, he was too close to coming. The sweetness was too great. Then he thought about the simpleness of her cunt, the rose-like flesh that had repulsed him the first time he’d seen it as a college student. Folds of wet skin upon folds of wet skin — Pat’s ultimate softness. He had a full image of her cunt and amazingly it was propelling him to orgasm.

Never before had he managed an orgasm centered on a women’s cunt. Now he understood why women in porno magazines often exposed their cunts — guys got off on the rosy skin alone.

vvvvv

He was only too happy to leave the wedding details to Pat. He figured that if so many men had gone through the ceremony without screwing up too badly, then he could too.

vvvvv

Dear David,

We’re so happy for you both and so anxious to meet Pat and see you again. Of course we can come out for the wedding.

We’re wonder if you need any help financially. We’re willing to help out if need be.

You haven’t told us very much about Pat. We’re in the dark!

Mother

I’m glad to see your life on track again. It makes us very happy. We were worried about you for a while there. We’re glad that everything seems to be going good for you now. We’re anxious to meet Pat.

Dad

vvvvv

Sometimes he asked himself if he was doing the right. thing. He had set this whole program into motion without ever having a master plan for his life. “I mean,” he wrote in his diary, “here I am getting married. How the hell did I ever get to this point? Am I trapped? Is this what I really want? It’s too late to back out now — the champagne’s been ordered.”

Otherwise, their life seemed charmed while they prepared for November. They would soon be an official family — husband and wife and daughter — and everyone would think of them as such. Even their neighbors on Marwood Court would see the name on their mailbox — The Nunleys — and think that normalcy had returned. He and Patricia would get old together and have children and grandchildren. David, gray-haired, would be out raking leaves while she knitted on the porch.

As he sat in his customary slumped position in the car he returned to thoughts of Danielle and her mother, It was odd, he thought, that he had been closest to them when another man was in the house — a competitor.

Riding the ‘L’ to the end of the line near the zoo, he made his way through a pedestrian tunnel to the beach. He could always count on the smell of the ocean, the cool breeze and the sound of waves to invigorate him. He left miles of footprints from one end of Ocean Beach to the other, sometimes jogging and sometimes stopping to take telephoto pictures of beach people in the hazy distance.

Then he left the beach and walked through the upper-class Seacliff district before returning to the shoreline at the base of the Golden Gate Bridge. The giant structure arched above him in waves of latticed steel as he heard the faint whoosh of unseen cars.

David looked out toward the ocean. Although the cold wind coming in through the Golden Gate nipped his cheeks and ears, he felt warm and secure in this thick jacket. His day had started with fears of boredom or depression but had ended up invigorating him. No wasted time, very little loneliness.

His mind began to put together the events of his recent past. Maybe he hadn’t been traveling so aimlessly in his life — maybe he hadn’t been squandering his time. Maybe, as on this hike, he had been on a straight, nearly predetermined course all along. Maybe Corky, Diane and even Gene Gatzo had served a purpose.

It was curious, he thought, that when he was in a good mood, things came together. Things made sense and the world was all right again.

David made his way up past shrubs to the bridge toll area to wait for a bus. He glanced to the south and saw the new television tower being built on Twin Peaks. The last rosy rays of the setting sun were still illuminating the tall, simple structure. It stood bravely and stalwartly like a strong mother.

vvvvv

Halfway home on the bus he realized he was in Karen’s neighborhood, got off, and walked the four blocks to her apartment. Karen answered the door and invited him in.

“This is a surprise, Natalie!” she said, looking thin in her bathrobe. The doctor’s real, long hair was uncombed.

David explained where he’d been. “I feel so goddamn healthy. I should get out more often! How have you been?”

“I haven’t been so fantastic. Jean left, you know. I guess you and I haven’t talked for a while. Listen, I’m taking a long vacation from work while I change over to being Karen all the time. I’ve got the date for my operation and I can’t wait! Want to see my tities?” Karen opened her bathrobe to display small, dark-nippled breasts. Something about them seemed unnatural and faintly evil to David.

“How are you making a living?”

“No problem. There’s the money I saved up and I’m helping another doctor put a medical book together. There’s some editing and proofreading work.”

“You seem kind of thin and cooped up here. Are you OK? How do you feel with the hormones?”

“I haven’t been eating as well as I should. Not having Jean here leaves a gap. To tell the truth, nothing’s going to be quite right until I have the operation. I just need to be a certified, card-carrying woman.” For a moment Karen seemed her old self. “You can see how I’m marking the days off the calendar.”

Karen went to get some beers. They drank in silence. Then Karen asked if he’d like to dress up and keep her company.

“Oh, it’s way too late to get into that now,” said David.

“Then why don’t you stay with me overnight? You could sleep on the couch or whatever.”

An hour later David was trying on some of Karen’s things — a bra, a dress, a beautiful wig and heels that were too small.

“Oh God, I need a shave,” he said. Just then he remembered starting the day at Patricia and Danielle’s. That seemed like a week ago. Now it was nighttime and he was sinning. He fell asleep on Karen’s bed dressed, with wig still on and Karen’s arm around his shoulder. An hour later he woke and took off all the women’s things. He slept the remainder of the night with his butt touching Karen’s.

In the morning when he was pretending to sleep, Karen ever so gently began caressing his back and chest. He lay still and didn’t discourage her. Karen leaned over to see if he had an erection. He did, and lay on his back to display it to the coyly smiling doctor. When Karen took its tip between two fingers, though, David could only break up in giggles. Karen tried suddenly to kiss him but David evaded like a little boy. He finally pulled Karen to him and they hugged for a long time until the alarm buzzed for David to go to work.

David ran the taste of Karen through his mind as he rode the bus downtown. Part of him took pride in being liberated, but he wouldn’t return for that sort of thing. It was OK one time. If he kept doing intimate things with her, with her still-present cock and male aura, he knew he’d feel lousy.

He wondered how much of a letdown Karen would have after the operation. He pictured her in a bathrobe in the morning making coffee, then working extra hard with her makeup to try to erase all vestiges of her former masculinity. In real life, she’d find herself competing with the genuine article. At least she’s a doctor. She’ll find a way to make it financially.

He resolved not to see her again until after the operation. Then, who knows? He might even be a little jealous.

vvvvv

He lay in bed the next morning, a Saturday, thinking. Jeanette hadn’t returned from Sonoma yet and the house was totally quiet. It would be a slow, carefree day. After Karen, the prospect of seeing Pat and Danielle again seemed positively error-free. They would all get together and behave like a family, or something like that. Everything would be clear and reasonable and filled with light and understanding. Their instincts would lead them to do the right things.

At eleven o’clock David got off the train in Palo Alto and saw Pat’s Volvo waiting under the shade of a large tree. Only momentarily miffed that she hadn’t gotten out to meet him, he snuck around to the back of her car. She seemed oblivious to the world, intently reading a paperback and listening to classical music. He edged around the side, hoping that no one would think him too strange. He smiled at a passerby to allay any suspicion. Then he raised his head so he could see over her door.

He received such great enjoyment from looking at her sweet face unawares. A face in repose — calm, self-possessed, and more serious than when she knew people were looking. He wished he could photograph her that way, slouched down in the car seat, totally absorbed. In that state she could be a man, she could be a woman — but most of all she was an alive, quirky human being.

“Hi,” he said softly.

Pat jumped. “The train … I was so involved with this book.”

“I’ve been sitting here looking at you for the last few minutes.”

“You’re kidding.”

Pat was, David noticed, made shy by his voyeurism. He got in the car and they kissed.

“What did you see?” she asked.

“I saw a woman in a classical painting. Maybe an Eakins. Or I can think of dozens of paintings of the Madonna.”

“It must be the motherly qualities you see in me.”

“I wonder if you realize how really beautiful you are.”

“Like the last time I picked you up?”

“That one doesn’t count.”

“Well, anyway. I appreciate your telling me these things, even if they’re not true. I need a hug. Give me a nice big hug.”

David did just that. Hugging was like eating, drinking and breathing for Patricia. Quite necessary.

vvvvv

David took to spending weekends in Palo Alto. Danielle still looked at him askance sometimes but David wasn’t so uncertain about her any more. If she took a temporary dislike to him, that was OK. If she took a shine to him, he didn’t fall over in amazement either. He began to see her as something other than a clone of her mother.

On Saturday afternoon when Pat and Dannie were out shopping and David was alone in her house began to look through Pat’s drawers. He hated and loved sneaking around behind her back, just when they’d concluded a pact to be completely honest with each other. He found some new and previously unknown lingerie and tried it on, masturbating gloriously. He’d been missing those masturbations. That evening when they were about to go to bed — and what a soft, fluffy bed she had — she found a pair of patterned panty hose that he’d forgotten to put away. When she saw the wicked run he’d left she knew what had happened.

It wasn’t so much that he’d been wearing her things as his secrecy.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I get this kick out of doing things on the sly. I mean, I enjoy our sex but there’s still the old me in me too. If I shared all the sex in me, sex wouldn’t be so exciting.”

Pat was hard pressed to understand. “To me, sex is in the open between people, the more in the open the better. Why should you want to hide things from me?”

And on and on it went.

“Oh Jesus,” she complained. “If it’s not one thing it’s another.”

vvvvv

One cold night in February when David and Jeanette were making their respective dinners in the Hancock Street apartment she offhandedly announced she was giving him 30 days’ notice. She said she’d decided to go share a flat with another woman artist out in the avenues, out in the fog belt.

“You don’t like it here?” he asked, taken aback.

“I’ve had a pretty good time.”

“Then what?”

“You’re going to live with Pat, aren’t you?”

He smiled. “What gives you that idea?”

“You’re not around here that much any more. I guess I need to have someone around more often.”

“You mean you miss me? No, you wouldn’t admit that.”

She made one of those tilts of her head which revealed beautiful curves of cheek and lips. “Well,” she said with a small smile, “one does get used to another person. We had some good talks. You were around when something needed fixing. You told the neighbors off when they made too much noise.”

“I guess I wanted to hear that I was more than Mr. Fixit. But Pat and I — we haven’t talked about my moving in. So your leaving kid of puts me on the spot.” David thought a moment. “Maybe it’s for the best. I should probably thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Jeanette, scooping cooked brown rice out of an old aluminum pan.

“One thing, please. Can you still cater my photo show in April? I’ve been counting on you for that.”

“As long as I’m still working for Virgil’s.”

David began to make an inspired milkshake with all kinds of exotic ingredients. He had recently bought a book titled Better Health With Your Home Blender from someone at work who had self-published it.

vvvvv

One evening Pat invited over a transvestite couple for a foursome of Scrabble. She’d met them at the Beaux Artes Ball.

The woman loved to buy her husband female things and help him cross-dress. They often went out as girlfriends — he was able to pass in public if he didn’t talk much. Her husband’s special hobby, she was fond of saying, was no more unusual than other men’s model train layouts or gun collections.

Then David and Pat visited Harvey and Margaret’s — such were their names — and they had begun a routine. Harvey and David would dress fully as women while Pat would dress masculinely, with earrings. Margaret was always Margaret, with dresses.

These private get-togethers allowed David to be even more relaxed about becoming Natalie. He no longer experienced the unease he’d had when he first went out in public. What they were doing had a very middle-class taste to it. They talked about the rising crime rate, automobile gas mileages, grocery store produce departments and the best places to buy women’s shoes.

vvvvv

Meanwhile, David was learning more about Pat’s business.

She had named the business, after practical consideration, Peninsula Rental Search. Basically, she oversaw it. Five part-time employees did the front desk work and answered the phones while she, having majored in business, handled the taxes, bills, complaints, computers, payroll and advertising. Her customers were nervous, mobile techies and students from Silicon Valley and Stanford looking for places to park their lives. She put in five or six hours a day in her very efficient way — sometimes taking Danielle to the office with her, sometimes to a baby-sitter. Her company’s sterling reputation gave her the lion’s share of the rental agency work in that part of the Bay Area.

Her part-dressing as a male enhanced her self-image as capable entrepreneur. Cowboy boots, Levi’s and denim shirts were a typical work outfit.

She worried a little about David. Their emotional life had gone well enough, but she noticed his disappointment that his photography hadn’t taken off. He was only earning enough at it to pay his expenses. She herself was getting on in years, thirty-six of them, and had been counting wrinkles. If she wanted any more children she’d have to commit herself now and she did want at least one more. She wished that David would consent to work in her business, but every time she’d broached it he’d back away.

Her conservative, retired neighbors on Marwood Court knew she was different, given her penchant for male clothing, the animals in her back yard and her unmarried status. Since she’d hooked into the transvestite crowd there had been many a knotted-brow glance in her direction.

Jeanette had been out of David’s apartment for a month when the time for his show arrived. He’d been spending so much time at Pat’s that someone had broken into his flat and stolen some of his camera equipment and a pot plant on the back porch.

He took a day off work to hang the show and — after Pat’s urging — bought a new sweater and trousers for the opening. Even though he’d mailed announcements to friends and the media, he worried that no one would come.

vvvvv

David and Pat — Dannie in his arms — walked into the gallery on Grove Street the evening of the opening. Jeanette and an assistant had preceded them, setting up a wonderfully inventive spread of hors d’oeuvres.

Pat wore the same outfit she had on when she picked him up at The Parlour — for luck, she said. He wore a loose, tied-at-the-waist pair of white yoga pants that, if one looked hard enough, showed the faintest outline of black underwear.

The photography critic for ARTnews was also there, along with Arnold Stanton, the photographer. Stanton as usual was noncommittal. The kindest thing he said was that “Your prints look better. Try toning them with a stronger solution next time.”

David was not to have more than five minutes with any one person for the next two hours. Several photography critics who buzzed through quickly on their rounds of galleries were polite and interested. One asked for an extra print to accompany a review. Finally, there was an inebriated young man who said the photographs were passé and proceeded to spray circles of shaving cream on the sidewalk outside. Diane made a brief appearance with her son and Laura in two, saying, “It’s not my thing but you’ve done a great job.”

The entire context under which David had photographed the desert began to escape him. Now the photographs were all caged up and on display like animals in a zoo. David pondered all this as he sat on the commode in the men’s room, shaking a little from all the excitement, looking down at the little hairs on his winter-white legs and the black panties at his ankles. He had trapped the butterflies. Now all that mattered was the price.

He sold five prints outright and promised Jeanette two of her favorites.

When it was over, after countless finger foods and cheese cubes and burgundy, and after a half hour of conversation with a street philosopher who wouldn’t let him out the front door, David took Pat and Danielle to Adrienne’s Italian restaurant in North Beach. Amid lacy white tablecloths and romantic wineglasses, he felt expansive and happy. The event that he had planned, worried about and worked on for so long had come to pass, and it had succeeded. The old David, the drab, underground newspaper photographer who’d been paid peanuts by the Real Times was history.

He wished he was rich so he could overwhelm Pat with expensive gifts. The reality was that he was a guest in the home of an independent businesswoman. Still, he had to ask the question.

He fumbled for words and reached out to touch her hand. “I have to ask you this. I’m not the kind who can speak very well, but I would really love to be able to live with you and Danielle. You both have been really close to me, and … I don’t like living by myself any more. Would you mind a crazy guy like me?”

A big tear slipped down Pat’s cheek. “Yes. A thousand yesses. I love you, David.” More tears wet her cheek. A tear escaped David’s eye too and he felt himself going soft.

Danielle seemed worried. She’d seldom seen her mother cry.

“David Nunley, I know you,” said Pat. “You had to have a success before you could take a step like this.” She smiled the most soul-melting smile he’d ever seen and said again, “I love you so, so much.” They held hands across the table and then both held Dannie’s hands too. The girl smiled shyly. David for once felt thoroughly genuine, and didn’t care what the waiter thought.

“Dannie have new daddy now?”

David reached over and put her on his lap. “Can I be your new daddy? If you want me to, I’ll be your daddy.” The girl became very animated, reached up to touch his cheek and grinned an exuberant “Yes.”

vvvvv

That evening in bed, Pat and David lay in each other’s arms.

“Honey?”

“Yes?” David said sleepily.

“Have you ever — well, let me put it this way …”

“Yes?”

“I want to live with you but I need more commitment than that, too.”

David was still.

“You seem to be tense,” Pat said.

“I am, I suppose.” He shifted to pull away from her slightly. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“What.”

“You think we should get married somewhere down the road.”

“You said it. How do you feel about the venerable institution?”

“I suppose with a child in consideration it would be the right thing to do. I’ll be honest, though. It scares me. I want to go one step at a time. I mean, just a year ago I was a dirty old man living by myself, beating off behind drawn shades. I’ve been on a crash course on how to live with other human beings.”

“I know. I appreciate that. Let’s give us a few months and then sit down and talk about it, OK?”

They were instantly asleep. It was three a.m.

vvvvv

Dear Mother and Dad –

Sorry I haven’t answered your last few letters. The excuse is that so many things have been happening.

I have recently moved (I received your last letter forwarded) to 36 Marwood Court in Palo Alto, ZIP 94306, where I’m living with Patricia Wending and her daughter from an earlier marriage, Danielle. Dannie is three years old and quite a kid.

I want you to know that this is not a fly-by-night coming together. Pat and I are quite serious about each other and who knows, there may be further developments.

Love, David and Pat

P.S. David tells me that I should write something. I just want to say that you have a wonderful son who is a fine photographer and makes our house complete once again! I hope to meet you sometime soon. David has told me all about his growing up there in Ohio and it would be fun to visit sometime.

Pat

He wrote that she’d tire of him because he was dull, or because he wouldn’t get along with Danielle. Then there was the fact that he lived too far way. She’d find someone closer and more exciting, someone who was more loving.

Several times when Pat phoned, David felt sluggish and unresponsive. Finally she asked why. He said he didn’t know. “Probably something passing,” he said. She asked if she’d done something wrong. “No, no, it’s nothing like that.”

One quiet weekend at 36 Marwood Court, David dragged around the house. He was making an extra effort to be friendly with Danielle, helping her feed her pet rabbits. When Dannie went to bed in the evening Pat helped David become Natalie. Then they went to cuddle on the sofa and watch Masterpiece Theater. David was silent and stiff.

“David, what is it?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. I feel out of it.”

“I don’t think you want to be here.”

“But I do,” he protested, wondering what miscalculation had gotten him in this jam. After a long, heavy silence he said meekly, “I wish you’d tie me up and whip me.”

“So that’s what you’ve been thinking about all this time.” She sat back and looked up at the ceiling like an awkwardly-propositioned college student. “I don’t like to see you like this. Why do you want to be punished? You remind me of some religious flagellant.”

“It’s exciting. I fantasize about it. Haven’t you ever been turned on by pain?”

“Oh yeah, biting and so on. But I draw the line when the whips and chains come in. I’m not a hardware person.” She chuckled.

He was at least relieved to air his secrets. He realized that she’d behaved exactly as he’d wanted her to. He worried, though, that he’d made himself too weak before her and that she might want to push him away as Corky and Diane had done.

He changed his position on the sofa. “Let’s do something different.”

“Like?”

“I know this sounds crazy, but let’s camp out, outside the house, like we used to do when we were kids.”

“We can’t leave Danielle alone in here. But hey, we could get out the sleeping bags and sleep right here on the living room rug. We’ll just open the patio doors all the way and it’ll be like being outside.”

They zipped two bags together. Then, makeup and female accouterments removed, David enjoyed cuddling for a time. He felt the heat of her body, the heat that both comforted and burned. Eventually they turned their backs to each other and dozed off. Sometime during the night David heard rain spattering on the bricks and plants in the patio. A cool, wet air slid over his cheeks and into his nostrils. He relaxed, imagining himself to be in a tent in a deep redwood forest, protected from the elements. He turned over on his side and Pat said something like “How’r'ya doin’?”

“It started raining. I love rain.”

“That’s nice.” She immediately fell back asleep. David lay a few minutes longer, feeling microdrops of rain hit his face. Then he too drifted back to sleep.

vvvvv

He worried about his moodiness, and thought he shouldn’t overdo being with Pat. So he told her on the phone that the following weekend he was going hiking in the woods ” … to be by myself a little and take some pictures.” Instead, he wound up staying at home, lazing around the house and taking in a movie. Sunday morning he answered the phone. It was Pat.

“I thought you were going out hiking.”

“Changed my mind. Didn’t feel up to it.”

“Something funny’s going on with you.”

“Oh, hell,” said David, getting an instant headache, “I’m getting in over my head. Things are getting too complicated.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to give you any complications,” she said, and hung up.

David thought about dressing up to help his mood, but it didn’t seem to fit. No doubt about it, he was involved with this woman. Maybe he did love her. The only problem now was that she wouldn’t be mean to him — she wouldn’t whip or reject him. Now I’m forcing her to do that too, in my own way.

He finally walked over to Castro Street and ate in an expensive gay restaurant where the waiter was much too formal. The VA clerk doodled on a napkin gloomily, sure he was the only single person in the restaurant. He replayed his relationship once more. Surely he’d taken Pat too much for granted. She’d been an absolute angel, so supportive of him and his crossdressing.

He remembered her coming for him at The Parlour and how he’d thought only of his own embarrassment when he’d first met Danielle. What had he done for the two of them, anyway? The surprise was that the relationship had gone as far as it did. maybe it was because he was a good fuck. Yeah, sure. David suspected that Pat was this nice to whomever she became involved with.

vvvvv

The cold winter winds of November were blowing, drying out streets wet from an earlier storm. On his evening walk home from yet another restaurant — eating out improved his morale — he kept himself warm inside a down jacket. Alone again. Who would he spend Christmas with? He’d alienated Pat, and Jeanette planned to go visit relatives in Sonoma. He would end up all alone. In the old days when he was in college in Michigan he could still return home to spend the holidays with his parents.

But he was a big boy now. Maybe he could go down and take pictures at one of the charity dining rooms that gave free meals on Christmas Day. He could get in line himself in old clothing to get an idea of how it was at the bottom of the heap.

He thought about his upcoming show. Pictures of the desert, he muttered to himself. Some kind of phony mysticism. Something in vogue now. I should really be out photographing people like bums and prostitutes and workers. He kicked himself for channeling his energies into safe, uncontroversial photography.

Upon returning home, he got into a discussion about Pat with Jeanette. Uncharacteristically, he asked her for advice.

“Do you love her?” Jeanette asked abruptly. They sat at the wooden table where they always talked, the table where they did the monthly bills.

“I honestly don’t know what the word means. What do you mean by love?”

“You’re kidding.”

“I mean, it’s misused. Everybody says love, love, love, like it’s water out of the tap.”

“Well, then. Do you like to be with her a lot? Do you think about her a lot?”

He took his time before answering. “I feel like I want to be with her some of the time. I certainly think about her a lot but don’t want to be taken over by her.”

“Does she love you?”

“I think so. She said so a couple times, but I’m not sure if she really means it. I’ll tell you this, though — I think she likes me quite a bit more than I like her. That’s the kind of person she is. She more generous and loving — there’s that word — than I am. That’s one of the things that bothers me. I know I can’t give back equal amounts.”

David began to wonder if her should be so candid with a woman whose own choice of partners left something to be desired.

Jeanette looked serious. “I’ll tell you something. I like Pat and I think you’re alike in many ways.”

David urged her on.

“You both are honorable people.”

“Honorable. God, what an unusual word to use. About the last one I’d expect.”

“And you both seem to be into magic. I mean, I can see this by your both dressing up to change yourselves.”

“Magic. That’s a nice way to look at it. But you know that Pat’s daughter complicates things.”

“Sometime you’re going to have to come to terms with kids. When you accept yourself then you can accept kids.”

David laughed. “Jeanette, you’re a goddamn oracle. I’ve never seen this in you before, but I should have known.”

vvvvv

David stopped going to society meetings. The club had gone further downhill and now seemed to exist chiefly as a newsletter and a few scattered meetings in homes. There was, however, a very active chapter in Pensacola, Florida. David put on panties once in awhile or wore a bra in the stressful environment of the darkroom where he constantly had to make decisions. He wrote several letters to Pat but pitched them all in the wastepaper when he thought he was chicken not to call — and he didn’t call because he felt weak.

At nine o’clock one evening something clicked and he phoned her, ” … just to say hello.”

“Well, hello.”

“I was wondering.” Silence.

“Ah … What I need to say …” — the words wanted to come out like blood from a cut artery — “is that that I’d really like to be with you and Danielle for Christmas if t-that would be possible.”

“We’d love to have you. But there’s one thing. Marty asked to come out for Christmas and I said yes.”

David remembered her descriptions of the research biologist.

“Oh. Then you wouldn’t want me to come.”

“You’re so silly. You can both be here as far as I’m concerned, if you don’t mind being around him.”

“I guess not. I’d like to meet him.” David’s throat clenched.

vvvvv

At work the women put together a Christmas office party and the head of the local VA district came by on his annual visit to tell them what good team players they were.

David inwardly smirked. If he, David, were the big boss he would sure as hell visit installations more than once a year. Sitting on a desk across the way was Gene Gatzo, laughing at the director’s heavy-handed jokes. The grapevine had it that Gene had been seeing a new woman for several months. David had finally seen her pick him up one day after work — a slender woman with so-so hair. On the other hand, she’d been driving a new Audi so maybe she did have something on the ball.

As the party drew to a close, David and Gene had a few tentative words. Across the way, even though only nonalcoholic punch had been served, The Jock had managed to become inebriated. Mrs. Johnson took Polaroid pictures, David wore red-lace panties under his clothes and Vince Grasso loosened up to sponsor a few toasts.

vvvvv

David felt a jerk as a Southern Pacific engine began to pull his passenger car out of San Francisco’s train station on Christmas Day. Children traveling to holiday gatherings watched out the windows as the many pairs of tracks gradually narrowed to two. David hoped the gray skies overhead would clear. After all, what was Christmas without some sun?

He liked riding trains, especially since they went by people’s back yards, through long tunnels and behind the facades of well-known businesses, which often turned out to be junky and overgrown with weeds.

In a few minutes he’d meet Pat and Marty. He had Marty pegged as a kind of Carl Sagan in heels, an intense, friendly guy. David expected he’d have to play second fiddle to the intruder. He checked to make sure he still had his travel bag next to him. Within it were Christmas gifts and his ammunition — a favorite dress, a long wig, makeup and lingerie.

Ten minutes after he called from the Palo Alto train station the familiar shape of Pat’s station wagon rounded a far corner. His heart raced. It had been a long time. She unlocked the door and he got in. She had dressed carelessly, making her look overweight.

“It’s so good to see you,” said David, along with a perfunctory kiss. “Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” said Pat, allowing a wan smile to creep across her tight lips.

“I almost forgot to say Merry Christmas — ”

“Yes, well, it certainly is Christmas, no doubt about that.”

As she drove away, he decided to lay low. He wondered if he’d feel like dressing if she was acting this way. Suddenly he didn’t like the drift of things.

“Pat, I don’t think it’s going to work today,” he said in a small voice. “I think you’d better just leave me on the corner here. I’ll catch a train back.” There were tears in his eyes.

Pat pulled to one side of the street abruptly and said, “You think I’m mad at you. Well, I’ll tell you. It’s Marty. He’d been here two days now, all the time in drag. First off, when he heard about our relationship and that you were coming, he behaved like a jealous child. Then he wanted to marry me — right away. He’d been like glue — he just attached himself to me. I’m afraid he’s a little off his rocker.” She let loose a pent-up breath and looked at David with tired eyes.

“Oh.” David imagined a harried female pigeon being chased by a single-minded cock pigeon.

“So, my friend, that’s what you’re walking into on Christmas Day. Marty’s back there now, cooking things for dinner. I’m trying to keep him occupied.”

Marty was a model of politeness when David arrived. She wore a curly blonde wig, pants and blouse. There was a resemblance to a middle-class English woman on a holiday.

Marty was behaving so like a woman, busily measuring flour and spices for a pumpkin bread, that her feminine presence seemed quite natural. David wondered how long the Easterner could maintain her frenetic pace. Busy, busy. David announced that he’d dress up later, giving him some time to play a new board game with Danielle, who’d received it from her absent father.

When David did finally dress, the taut magic of attiring himself for his eyes only was missing. The only spark of enjoyment came when he put on makeup, which transformed his face enjoyably. At two in the afternoon, with sunlight breaking through the overcast and pouring in through the patio window, they all sat down to the Great American Spread. The ritual of eating always put David-as-Natalie in a better mood.

“You two worked so hard on this,” Natalie said, sitting erect and proper, “that I hereby promise to do all the cleanup.”

“Hear, hear,” said Pat, finally smiling. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” She had transformed herself, now wearing an Asian-print dress with a low V-neckline. A black velvet choker and silver earrings contrasted nicely with her lightly-powdered face. Her hair gorgeously cascaded down from a barrette.

Danielle played with her potatoes and gravy. “Have some turkey, Dannie,” her mother coaxed.

“I think she saw me make my potatoes this way,” said Natalie, pointing to the gravy lake she’d carved in the middle of her mashed potatoes.

“Davie dress like you, mommy. Davie look like you.”

Natalie didn’t think she’d embarrass that easily, but she did. Why didn’t Danielle say that about Marty?

“Davie likes to dress that way sometimes. But now you should call him Natalie, because that’s his girl name.”

“Dannie like to dress that way now.” All those around the table laughed.

“You can dress up, sure you can,” said Pat, “but let’s eat first.”

Natalie’s long, hippie-girl wig put her in a softer, more feminine mood, and she felt more comfortable with Marty. She asked the guest about her trip west.

“They almost got me,” Marty said speedily, looking at Pat, who’d obviously heard the story.

She explained that she’d stopped midway in St. Louis to see some relatives. On the way to a motel in a rented car — she was in drag — a cop stopped her for a bad brake light.

“He asked for my ID. I showed him my male driver’s license. He kept popping questions — what was I doing here, and so on. Finally I just showed him my card from the Sexual Identity Forum which explains why I dress. Then he backed off, but he said I should be careful. Phewww! So I came the rest of the way here as a male.”

“You’re brave,” said Natalie.

“Brave or stupid.”

Natalie began to appreciate Marty’s plucky spirit and energy, as though the woman’s mainspring had many more years before it would wind down. Natalie herself was already tiring from food and wine but managed to get Marty to talk about her high-tech job and failed marriage.

vvvvv

Patricia Wending lay in her darkened bedroom with a faint patch of moonlight falling across a curious scene. On one side, Marty’s coifed head lay over Pat’s arm. A couple tears ran down her cheeks, eroding her makeup. Pat couldn’t see them, but felt them on her arm. On the other side Natalie lay stiffly, similarly held.

Marty whispered, “I am so turned on by you.”

“I know.”

“And I can’t do anything about it.”

Natalie had slipped into a favorite nightgown. She moved her hand to cup Pat’s breast. That way they all fell asleep.

The next morning Natalie-as-David got up early to leave for work. Making toast and cutting up a banana over cereal, he startled when something touched his back. It was Danielle. David was hungry to respond to her freshness. She was after some breakfast too and wanted what he was having. He felt on an even plane with her for once in this little oasis of time.

“Can tie shoe?” she asked, holding her tiny sneakers.

Danielle’s mother eventually ventured out in her bathrobe, looking rather down-to-earth again, saying that Marty was still sleeping after a restless night. Pat was in a buoyant mood and had breakfast with them.

When he left for work it was with a warmth, a feeling that domestic tranquillity might just be possible. As he lightly napped on the train back to San Francisco, though, someone threw a rock against his window. After the shock of that, he settled back and replayed the events at Pat’s. A resentment against Marty set in. I’ll bet he’ll whine until Pat gives him her body. I’m glad he’s leaving. I hope he doesn’t come back.

Sam Waggoner told him to be patient about the photos from the Beaux Artes Ball she’d submitted to the magazine.

A week later David was again hanging around the store. The salesclerk said the magazine was late. Towards the end of the workday, David snuck out of the office to look for the magazine. Finally, there it was, with a bright, brassy cover and the headline Having Fun in the 70s — Leisure-Time America.

He quickly flipped pages to find the article, but saw none of his pictures. The photos were by TIME staffers or from big photo agencies. He disparagingly paged on through the third and fourth pages of the layout. Shit. Then on the last page of the spread he saw — as his heart skipped two beats — one of his black and white photos of TVs at the ball. Alongside the photo in small but important-looking lettering was David Nunley/Pacific Image. He bought five copies and made a spectacle of himself squeezing into a crowded elevator just as the doors were closing.

His coworkers seemed impressed and patted him on the back, though Vince seemed peeved that David had left work. In a sudden sweat and after a funny look from Gene, David wondered if he’d compromised himself by showing a photo of people in flaming drag. But he carried on, acting as though it was nothing extraordinary.

Vince tried to imagine how David would look dressed up.

That evening one of the TVs in the photo called to say that if his wife or one of her friends recognized him from the picture his marriage would be over.

In the flush of his small success David temporarily put aside memories of his evening with Pat. He knew that if he tried he could probably locate her through some of the Society members from Palo Alto. But she had his phone number and knew where he lived — after all, she had dropped him off. If there’s anything between us she’ll get in touch. Besides, he’d been busy in the darkroom.

 vvvvv

David happened to be walking downtown on Market Street during his noon hour one day when his roving eye detected something interesting in the weave of moving bodies — a woman crossing the street toward him. A quick glance revealed that the woman was one of the transvestites from the Society probably trying to live as a woman. She was in her late forties, dressed conservatively. Obviously, David thought, she had studied the kind of woman she wanted to be and had imitated her down to the last detail. The woman had seemed oblivious to him, not even casting a glance in his direction.

David wondered if he would ever try a daylight foray and how much of a thrill it would be. Then he thought about Karen, who called herself Karen Various — that sense of humor of hers — and the hormones she was taking.

Jeanette and David had recently thrown a little party for some friends, including Karen and Jean. Karen had come along dressed as a man. But he had worn a semitransparent shirt and everyone could see budding breasts and darkening, expanding nipples underneath. Jeanette had been mildly upset and no one had been comfortable enough to talk about the sensation. David too had been ill at ease. He liked things to be less ambiguous — either you look like a man or woman.

Along the same lines, some new types were showing up at The Parlour get-togethers. They called themselves gender-fuckers and came in dresses along with mustaches. One came in a sequined dress with a flat chest and hairy legs ending in tennis shoes. These newcomers brewed controversy among the regulars. Should these clowns be asked to leave or could they be the wave of the future? After all, some of the original members had been pretty far out in their own time.

 vvvvv

David had gotten into a habit which was with him everywhere. He liked to imagine how a given man might look if dressed as a woman. David was positive that given the right wig, makeup and clothing, a good number of men could pass quite successfully as beautiful women. Conversely, he looked at women, especially on the bus, and imagined them dressed as men, with men’s haircuts. He thought that the main non-reproductive difference between the sexes was the way they adorned themselves.

 vvvvv

Mother,

I guess I’d like to brag a bit about some things that have happened to me recently.

Number one is that I’ve been selling some of my photos through a stock photo agency.

Number two, and not the least, is that one of my photos is in the current issue of TIME magazine in the section about “Leisure-Time America.” I finally feel like I’m getting somewhere with my photography.

David

vvvvv

They called on Sunday when rates were low. A faraway-sounding woman’s voice asked, “David?”

“David, this is Mother.”

“Well, hello!” His enthusiasm was hollow and he had the distinct impression of being visited in prison.

“David, your father and I are so proud of you. We went out after we got your letter and bought the copy of TIME and saw your photograph in it. We’re so happy for you.”

“Thank you. It was a surprise. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it.”

There was a short silence. “We never thought anyone in our family would be published in a national magazine.”

“This is just a one-time thing, though.”

“Here’s Dad.”

David gulped and felt something stick in his throat. He coughed and wasn’t sure he could speak.

“David, it’s really something to be published in a magazine like TIME. Your picture looked very professional.”

“Though the subjects were off-color.”

“You know, you’ve reached the top when you get in a magazine the caliber of TIME.”

They were all too nice to each other, but the subject of David’s dressing was never discussed. After the call David leaned back in his chair and balanced on its rear legs by touching the wall behind him. So his parents had taken the big first step. But they’d never be comfortable with his transvestitism. They probably thought it was something he could excise like a mole or corn. It seemed they were better off pretending that the TV side of him didn’t exist.

On the other hand, he felt like he was a little boy again in the sunny back yard of his childhood with his parents stroking his head and saying, “You’re such a good little boy.” It seemed that a compromise was in the works. He’d be good and they’d forget his transgressions. He tried to balance on the two back legs of his chair without touching the wall and was able to hang in suspended animation for as long as ten seconds.

 vvvvv

That evening David dreamed many dreams and recorded several in his diary. In one, he was visiting a house occupied only by women. In one of the women’s rooms he looked through drawers and found a filmy blue bra, which he fondled. The woman it belonged to came in and saw it and his erection. She took this as something usual and went about her business. He knew then that the women accepted him and that touching the bra was just part of the total sensuousness of the world.

In the other dream he was riding on a bus with some eager Japanese touring San Francisco. The bus driver, David’s father as a younger man, was explaining the history of the city over a PA system. While the tourists were all on one side of the bus photographing buffalo in Golden Gate Park, David idly looked out the other side and saw a very high radio tower which resembled the Eiffel Tower. Some college students were climbing it as part of a zany fraternity stunt. Before they reached the top David found himself climbing above them. The tower was being blown in a strong wind, swaying dangerously. Eventually David was confident enough to hold on to the tower with one hand and swing out from it. He wanted his father to see him, but he was still describing the buffalo scene to the tourists.

 vvvvv

After two weeks, he still hadn’t heard from Pat and was wondering if he’d been a none-night stand.

Pat, however, had been starring in some of his masturbation fantasies. In one, he pictured her being filmed for a porno movie. She was deliciously dressing up in a man’s rough clothing. He dwelt on a scene where she was pulling on long, thick socks over smooth limbs. Seeming slim and muscular, she lay down and began to massage her clit under white jockey shorts.

Then he imagined her pointing a pistol at him and forcing him to dress as a woman. Finally she ordered him to accompany her down a busy street, she wearing a man’s pinstripe suit and him a loose-fitting dress. People could see that he was male and looked at him curiously. Pat walked proudly like Diana Rigg.

 vvvvv

The Diana Society’s social night at The Parlour was refreshingly like the old days — there were no gender-fuckers — except for the news that the get-togethers wouldn’t be held there any more. The Society’s new president didn’t get along with the management.

Josie, the bus driver who always wore satin, was at the bar talking to Charlotte the warehouseman who never quite lost his burly voice. Next to him was his wife Sandra. At one of the tables was Jimmy Kim in male clothing along with Dedee Chu, who worked as a waiter in an expensive restaurant as a female. Susan, a petite commercial artist taking hormones, and Rose, a shy college student, filled out the table.

David-as-Natalie had walked from home again nearly without a second thought, past the junior high school and archdiocese offices, past the ice cream shop and the blue collar restaurant. At one point she began to whistle a tune, not sure where she’d heard it before.

Finally she waved to the gypsy fortuneteller in her storefront and made her way across the busy traffic of Market Street. The fabric of her dress swirled around her as she walked. Men were looking.

Call me dangerous.

In the cozy bar Natalie was pleasantly surprised. Her photos of the ball had been published in the Society’s newsletter and there were orders for extra prints. A glass of wine made her feel even better. Soon Karen came in looking impish and sat down for some girl talk. Yes, her breasts were still growing. No, her patients didn’t seem to notice — or didn’t want to notice. Jean was getting turned off by the changes. That didn’t seem to bother Karen terribly — she was concentrating on forming the wardrobe she’d wear as a real woman. On the recommendation of her shrink, Karen had decided to live as a woman full time before she was sex-changed.

Natalie grew disturbed as she listened to Karen chatting on like a songbird, sometimes creating elaborate fantasies about her upcoming womanhood. Natalie wondered just how stringent the screening process was for sex-change operations and how much counseling pre-operative patients got. There had always been something whimsical and screwy about Karen and now that part of her seemed to be taking over. And she was a doctor for Christ’s sake.

The new president of the Society, a big-shouldered broad, came by to ask if either of them knew of another bar where the socials could be held. Was there another simpatico gay bar? Natalie, irritated at her for losing The Parlour, so close to home, was about to answer when she felt cool and gentle hands cover her eyes.

She impulsively slipped her head around, twisting her wig slightly. There stood Pat, resplendent in a tweed sports coat and black turtleneck sweater, with a warm smile.

“I can’t believe it! You beautiful woman! How’d you know I’d be here?”

“Jeanette told me when I dropped by the house.”

Natalie absorbed some of the warmth emanating from the figure standing before, combined with a dusky fragrance that might have been perfume.

Natalie introduced Karen. “Won’t you join us? Would you like some wine?”

“Gee, I’m sorry but my daughter’s out in the car. Why don’t you come out and meet her? I can’t bring her in here.”

Natalie was less than excited.

Danielle Wending was two and a half years old, a quiet blonde. She looked at the stranger seated next to her in their Volvo station wagon only when she could hold on to her mother. Pat gave her to Natalie, who felt ridiculous holding her. She’d left the easygoing part of herself back in the bar. Now she was a guy wearing greasy makeup and a wig.

“Hello, Danielle,” he said, lowering his artificial voice a notch. He asked Pat if her daughter had met TVs before.

Pat nodded yes. But the little one pouted and put her hands to her eyes as if to cry. David tried to pull her closer to his bosom and then she actually did cry.

“Well, I tried.”

“She doesn’t know you. Don’t feel bad. I just wanted you to meet her.” Danielle immediately stopped crying as Pat took her back, and the toddler looked intently at David again.

“She’s a very cute girl,” he allowed.

 vvvvv

After a pleasant bite to eat in The Parlour’s restaurant, an invitation to Pat’s home was extended and quickly accepted. On the freeway in San Francisco, with Danielle asleep in her car seat in the back, Pat drove by the giant bubbling glass of beer atop Hamm’s brewery. They had stopped to pick up some male clothes at his flat, but he remained dressed as a woman.

“Love your outfit,” he said as they passed gentle hills lit with the scattered embers of distant street lights.

“It’s my favorite. I wore it because I hoped I’d find you tonight.”

“I feel so lucky to see you again.” He paused. “I’m just a little curious. Why didn’t you get in touch before? I was beginning to think I was a one-nighter. I have an excuse — I forgot to get your phone number.”

Pat was driving at ten over the limit. “Well, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to see you, believe me.”

David waited.

“I suppose I’d better tell you. I have a friend, a guy from out East. He’s a research biologist, a well-known one — Marty’s his name — and guess what, he’s a TV. He was just out visiting. He’s quite taken with me and tends to be very jealous. So I didn’t want you calling or anything.”

“How do you feel about him?”

They both looked back to see Danielle asleep, clutching a doll.

“Friends.” She smiled. “I think he’s a brilliant guy and all. He’s really into dressing. The guy flies all the way out here to be with me and dress maybe three times a year. But whether he realizes it or not he’s too involved with his research to have a relationship. He calls a lot. Very intense person. Very funny sometimes, too.”

“How does he look dressed?”

“Pretty nice. He can afford the best. He knows his makeup. Last time he actually flew out in drag.”

“You seem to have an affinity for transvestites.”

“I do. You’re probably thinking I’m some sort of TV den mother.”

They both laughed.

David grew silent again and looked out at the night. Stars were showing above the nearly deserted freeway that lazily followed the contours of wooded hills. Pat’s features were softly defined by the warm glow from the instrument panel, yet she still had the look of a determined woman.

He had begun to whistle under his breath before he became consciously aware of it. Again he wondered what the tune was — it was the same one he’d whistled on the street earlier. It was so familiar –

“I feel comfortable with TVs,” she was saying. “After all, in my own way I’m kind of one myself.”

“That part of you turns me on in more ways than you could imagine.”

“When I’m dressing in guy clothes I feel more together. I just like heftier clothes. Sometimes I’ll dress frilly like a woman, but just as something different to do, not the way I like to be most of the time.”

“You were a tomboy, I suppose.”

“I grew up on a sheep ranch my dad owned in Wyoming. I don’t think I wore a dress once until I was in high school.” She explained that both of her parents were dead, her father in a truck accident, then her mother of a heart attack several years later. And Pat, the only child, had come into a modest inheritance.

Pat excited the 280 freeway and slowly angled down into the quiet streets of Palo Alto. As she entered a cul-de-sac, David made out Marwood Court on a street sign. As they pulled into the driveway of a darkened, pleasant-looking small house he was suddenly uneasy. This is where I want to be, isn’t it?

Danielle was put to bed after being carried in over Pat’s shoulder. Then in her softly-lit living room Pat and David sat on a sofa and looked into each other’s eyes. Pat reached out and touched his face. They kissed gently.

After getting up and pouring him wine, Pat went to a closet, found a gift-wrapped package and smilingly handed it to him. Never a great present-giver himself, he was always taken aback and pleasured when someone gave him one.

“This is a surprise.”

“Just open it, kid.”

Inside the wrapping was a slim box with a Frederick’s of Hollywood logo.

“What a wet dream!” He was looking at a red satin corset, the most erotic he’d ever touched. The cups had just the right amount of tasteful decoration and stiffness. Its sides were lightly boned and there were dainty garter straps.

“Aren’t you going to put it on? You should know that it wasn’t easy to find. I had to go to the San Jose store to find a tall one.”

When he came out of the bathroom he felt like the lead in the Rocky Horror Show. Pat, meanwhile, had changed into soft corduroy trousers and a starched white shirt under a soft sweater. Her hair was pulled back again masculinely.

“It’s just a little small,” she said as she had him turn around. “How does it feel?”

“It’s so nice and tight.” For a moment, David compared this scene to his scenes with Diane.

At that moment his penis chose to spring loose from under the corset and hung in the air. Pat put her hand around it as David quivered and stood for a moment on his toes.

“All right, big boy,” she said as though talking to his member, “get your dress back on and we’ll take care of you.” She grabbed his ass and squeezed it hard.

 vvvvv

In bed the next morning after a tumultuous coming together, Pat wanted to know about David’s growing up as a TV. David was back in a male mode.

“I don’t know for sure why I got into it. For a long time I read every psychology and psychoanalytic book I could but they didn’t tell me much.

“My dressing has always been pretty sexual. But when I was a kid sex was never discussed — it was all a mystery. I started by getting off on lingerie ads. The bras seemed so perfect, you know, like they were on Greek goddesses or something. Then I started wearing my mother’s lingerie and stuff when I was alone. I even stole some of her things.”

“Didn’t she ever find out?”

“I was so careful she never knew anything. Or if she did she never let on. Finally when I came out here to California I could do whatever I wanted and began to get serious about the whole thing.”

“You’re from Ohio, right? That’s where your parents live now?”

“Newsome, Ohio. Yeah, They’re still there. Listen, I’ve got to tell you how it was growing up there. Can I bore you?”

“Yes, please bore me.”

“I can remember wearing my mother’s clothes while everyone from my family was away at church. I’d hear the church bells ring and know that other boys my age were walking to church like little saints while I was sinning my ass off. I’d beat off and then try to destroy every last shred of evidence of what I was doing.”

Pat tried to suppress a laugh. “No, I’m not laughing at you. I just remembered this thing that happened in high school. I had a big crush on one of the football players, and he didn’t even know I existed. They called him Truck. Truxtin was his real name. He had the neatest snakeskin cowboy boots. One time I appropriated them and took ‘em home. You know how pointy cowboy boots are. You know how one might kinds fit in down her — ” She pointed between her legs. “They provided some great solitary sex.”

They traded stories, luxuriating in a Saturday morning bed. Danielle came trotting in later to crawl in bed with them. Pat had explained the night before that Dannie was from her seven-year marriage to the part owner of a small electronics parts company. Bought out by his partners, he’d grown distant and hostile even though he too was a TV. “Believe it or not I didn’t know what a transvestite was before we got married.” He’d spent too much time tooling around at night on his motorcycle. Since the breakup Patricia had been supporting her abbreviated family by running a computerized rental-finder service.

 vvvvv

When David returned to the city that afternoon he was giddy, his brain occupied with the memory of Pat’s body against his. It occurred to him that she combined the best of both worlds. She had a strong, mother-like, nurturing quality besides being a temptress.

As days went by things seemed different. The world was happier. He noticed that when he walked the few blocks from the bus to work he was more aware of smiles than frowns. Pleasurable ideas were bounding around and expanding inside him. The glow and excitement was also mildly threatening. If he didn’t watch himself he could become silly. He’d been that way briefly with Corky and Diane, too, but without any trust.

One day out walking during the noon hour he found himself whistling that familiar tune again. Then while he was listening to an offbeat FM station that evening he heard it once more — and it finally registered as the tune his father used to whistle when he was preoccupied.

At work David plodded on, struggling to stay awake, watching the clock, imagining he was slipping down a hillside of scattered, slippery file folders. He continued to rue the fact that he wasn’t making enough at photography to quit. He and Gene weren’t talking. Vince Grasso was his usual white-bread self.

On another front, David slacked off production of stock photos for Sam and Pacific Images and spent most of his time producing the desert prints. In the late hours of the night he hung out in his red-lit darkroom, and amid the smells of sulfur and acetic acid relived his Anza-Borrego trip. This was the nitty gritty of it all — developing pieces of silvered paper that sometimes responded magically and sometimes cursed him. But the more time he devoted to the darkroom the better a printmaker he became.

Midway through the process of making his large prints he brought some samples to a professional studio photographer he’d once been introduced to. The feisty old man, who’d become somewhat shaky in his later years and whose assistants did much of his work, gave him fifteen minutes. Mr. Stanton’s close-cropped hair and neatly-trimmed beard were white, and David watched as the man lit his pipe and put on bifocals that hung from a slender chain around his neck.

“It’s just my opinion, of course,” he said, “but your prints overall need more contrast. Also, I think a warmer paper would fit your subjects better. Your blacks should be blacker. Do you use toner?”

David shook his head no, and wrote down Stanton’s recommendations.

The old man complimented David on his shooting and conception, however. When David explained that he was trying for a show, Stanton phoned a friend who ran the municipal gallery downtown. “George,” he said, “I’ve got a young man here who should get a show at your place.”

Evidently the elder photographer’s recommendation carried some weight because David was given an appointment to see the curator. As he was leaving, David was told by one of Stanton’s assistants that “I’ve only seen the old man do this for one other person,” and he named a well-known nature photographer.

David returned to his darkroom with a head of steam that carried him past 20 new prints in two weeks. He spotted, mounted and wrapped them and took the stack in a handsome new carrying case to George at the Irons Gallery. George noncommittally looked at the prints while talking about everything but. Finally David was forced to ask him point-black if he was going to get a show.

“Oh, yes, yes. Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I make it clear? Oh, yes, Mr. Nunley. Anyone that Mr. Stanton recommends is quite fine with us. Don’t mind me. It’s just that I enjoy talking so much to artists. I’m sorry if we had a misunderstanding, I really am.” And so on.

David left with directions on how to prepare his work for the exhibition and a firm date for it in April. When he told Jeanette — “My first show!” — she said he deserved it and shook his hand like an old-fashioned pump handle. David insisted on a bear hug. Jeanette promised to cater the event, five months away.

Natalie suddenly remembered she’d promised to take table shots of Society members for the club newsletter. This wasn’t a job she looked forward to — there were too many TVs and their friends and it would be difficult to attract their attention. Still, she diligently set out to do just that.

When she started by photographing her own table she was happy to see that Jeanette, while retaining a certain reserve, was talking to nearby TVs. At the next table, Natalie didn’t particularly notice a person in a black tux who smiled obligingly along with the others when the black-velveted photographer’s flash went off.

 vvvvv

Natalie, her clothes in temporary disarray, sat in a cubicle in the women’s restroom. She had finally given in to nature’s call, put off for an hour.

When coming in, she’d passed some curvaceous young women in the powder room dressed in tight cat costumes. Seeming to like the idea of men dressed as woman, one had flirtatiously suggested she might accompany Natalie into a cubicle. Her fiends had giggled and Natalie had smiled her best “I’m flattered” smile.

After getting herself rigged up again, and feeling pain from having her chest taped up so long, Natalie admired herself in the mirror next to the cat-women before sailing out again into the swirl. She dodged the glare of television lights and a reporter interviewing Mayor Moscone.

As Natalie walked back to her table, tipsily talking to herself, she rounded a large mirrored column and almost bumped into a tall person in a black tuxedo who said “Hi” in a decidedly female voice. Screeching to a halt, expecting to see someone she knew, Natalie saw a woman with brown eyes and hair pulled back masculinely into a bun. A large black bow tie, red carnation, white gloves and silver cuff links completed the effect.

“We haven’t been introduced,” said the woman pleasantly. “I think you photographed our table?”

Natalie was preoccupied with the woman’s face. There was a certain comeliness and reserved humor there. It was the face of a woman who’d been in the outdoors, a face touched by the wind and sun, yet one that didn’t tan easily. An English face.

Natalie suspected that the person wanted a print of her group photo. “Yes, that would’ve been me. I’m playing society photographer tonight.”

“You look like a person I’d like to know. I haven’t seen you at any Diana Society parties before.” The woman’s directness was disconcerting.

“I’m a recent, ah, member, should I say? But then I’ve been to meetings lately and haven’t seen you.” Something made Natalie want to reach out and touch the woman’s earlobe and its tiny jeweled earring.

“I just go to the splashy things a few times a year with my friends from Palo Alto. But you, what is your name? … Natalie. Perfect. You’ve made yourself into quite a beautiful woman. Do you know how sexy you look?”

“No. I mean, thank you. I do feel nice tonight. A little wine, liberated people, neat things to take pictures of.” Natalie began telling the story of how she’d found her dress, then remembered she didn’t know the first thing about this woman.

“Patricia. Call me Pat.”

“A nice unisexual name.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m admiring your outfit. Very spiffy. Very polished. Believe it or not, I’ve never worn a tux.”

“Well, you should sometime.”

Natalie was embarrassingly out of words. This sort of thing hadn’t been in the script. Besides, maybe this woman was just toying with her — what if she found out how dull the David part of her was?

“Do you dance?” asked Pat.

Natalie allowed Pat to take her arm as they walked out to the dance floor. They lucked into a slow tune and the two held each other closely. Natalie inhaled the beguiling scent of Pat’s perfume. She half expected to feel the hardness of a man’s body but instead felt the muted softness of breasts. Her hands detected the swelling of hips. She knew that if they danced this closely all evening and didn’t go further, she would be a very frustrated girl-boy.

They danced the better part of an hour. Natalie mentioned that she thought she was a real-life Cinderella and that everyone must be looking at them. Then, her lips touching a soft wisp of Pat’s hair, she dared whisper that “A certain part of me wishes it could get free.”

“Could it be that you are interested in me?” Pat asked softly in Natalie’s ear.

“That’s an understatement.”

“We-l-l-l-l, we could go upstairs — before you turn back into a pumpkin.” Patricia let it be known that she and several of her Diana Society friends had rented a suite in the hotel for the evening.

“That’s lovely. But what do you propose to do if we go there? I mean, we’ve just met. Surely you don’t expect — ”

“Oh, hell, just come on up for a few drinks. Hey, you can trust me! I wouldn’t do anything you wouldn’t.” Pat deepened her voice.

“OK, then. But we can’t get my dress mussed,” Natalie insisted as they left the dance floor.

Natalie walked quickly over to Jeanette, realizing with a start that she’d completely forgotten about her photo gear. That rarely if ever happened. Jeanette was sitting alone at the table looking sleepy.

“Jeanette! I’m sorry I’ve left you alone for so long. I really am. What’s happened is that I’ve met someone and I suspect that we’ll spend the night here in the hotel.”

Jeanette smiled sweetly. “I saw you dancing. You looked really nice together.”

Natalie had hoped that Jeanette would be jealous. “Jeanette Butterfly,” Natalie said, bending over so as to brush her roommate’s shoulder with her hair, “can you drive home by yourself and take the camera stuff too?”

“Of course. Have a good time,” winked Jeanette.

Just then Pat joined them and was properly introduced. Next to Jeanette, Pat seemed so much more grown-up and mature. As they left, Natalie glanced back and saw Jeanette casting a confused look at them.

Gleaming escalators carried the hand-holding couple up into the hotel’s main lobby. After the revelry in the ballroom, the mostly straight world above was like moving from Jamaica to Billings. Natalie felt tourists’ glances, though the confidence emanating from Patricia helped. The two entered a glassed-in elevator along with an inebriated, over-the-hill straight couple who seemed to know what was happening.

“We must look OK,” Natalie said after they stepped out on the proper floor. They paused to look down into the spacious courtyard with its massive globe floating on a pool of water. Trees held cages of doves whose faint coos melted into the air. Nearby, bored hotel guests lounged, waiting for unforeseen events to occur in their lives.

For the first time since leaving the protective atmosphere of the ball, Natalie relaxed. Part of her enjoyed the tightness of her garments and the security of being confined. She liked the perfume in her hair. Another part of her felt just a little silly, as though she was a little boy again in a grade school play. What I’d like most now is some sex, just some nice warm cozy sex.

Patricia’s suite consisted of two rooms. After mixing drinks in the first, they proceeded into the softly-lit second room and locked the door. Pat opened a window and let some cool night air in while David-as-Natalie came over and peered out at the lights of the city. The sounds he heard and the complexity of buildings and traffic made him think the entire city was pulsing with energy from the ball.

Pat lay on one of the beds quietly looking at David. She called for him in a soft way, the way a mother night call for a child at bedtime.

David turned from his reverie, realizing guiltily that he’d lost some steam. At first, Pat’s newness and exoticness had overwhelmed him — their first touches seemed nearly as potent as orgasms. Now David felt more like burying his head in the breasts she had exposed. He lay down next to her and gave in to her desire to play.

They held each other tightly. In David’s stomach was a sugar-water and vinegar mixture of dread and excitement. Pat’s kiss seemed too soft, too mushy.

Pat pulled up David’s dress and ran her hand up his thighs to the center of his tight padded girdle. David stood up, self-consciously pulled off the girdle and exposed his cock, which had been buried for too long. Then David looked at Pat’s breasts under her suspenders and his prick came to life, a snake-puppy in folds of velvet.

Pat’s female shape emerging from her male clothing disappointed David somewhat. He preferred a slender, more male-like body with smaller breasts. Her hips were too wide. But Pat seemed experienced and responsive. Her hands knew where to touch. When poised over her, he looked down at his own breasts and nyloned legs and felt his long hair falling past his face and onto hers. He was glowing.

Natalie hadn’t been sure, walking along Church Street under streetlights, if passersby had seen through her. If they had, they’d been polite and didn’t stare. She had worn an unremarkable coat that took away the thrust of her breasts and covered her face slightly with a large collar. It had been a thrill to pass by men who had sex in their eyes — to see them from the eyes of a woman.

If anything gave her away, she thought, it was her not-quite convincing gait, so she tried walking with smaller steps.

“Natalie!” exclaimed Karen, using a pay phone in a shadowy corner of the bar. She walked over and they warmly embraced. Karen’s body felt good. The doctor was wearing a wraparound dress which displayed her figure well.

“My dear, you do look ravishing,” said Karen, noticing Natalie’s improved confidence.

“Well, babe, let’s party tonight!” said Natalie. “I’ve had a tough week at the office.”

With glasses of wine from a beefy, quite gay bartender, and hors d’oeuvres, Karen and Natalie made their way through knots of other TVs, some of whom provided amusement to the bar regulars with their unkempt wigs over weathered old men’s faces. Sitting down at the one remaining empty table, Karen was eager to talk. She whispered, “I’ve started taking hormone shots. I’ve been seeing Doctor Phil, you know, Doctor Samuelson.”

After a startled look from Natalie, Karen continued. “I think I eventually want to have the operation. But while my buds are developing I’ll have lots of time to think about it. Jean wishes I wouldn’t But it seems right. I’d really like to live as a female all the time.”

“You’d make a beautiful woman,” said Natalie, speaking softly. “But remember, once you’ve done it there’s no turning back — that’s it.” Natalie made a karate chop on the table. “No dickie no more, forever. Besides, what would it do to your practice? Parents would worry about bad influences on their kids.”

Karen only smiled. “You know I’ve thought about all that. But what it comes down to is that you only go around this merry-go-round once and we might as well do it the way that suits us best — that’s a pun, dear. I’m happy to say that I’ve saved a tidy sum over the years so I can afford to lose some of my patients for awhile. Who knows? I might even relocate.”

Somehow Karen had seemed too lighthearted to have conscientiously put money away.

Karen winked. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about a sex change.”

“I hate operations. I really do! Actually, I thought about it a couple times. But I’m the first to admit that I have a lousy figure and a man’s face. I know I wouldn’t look good as a woman. You’re lucky, you have such a classy face.”

Karen smiled.

“But really,” Natalie continued, “I wouldn’t like the idea of having a nice part of me cut off. I just like the idea of being able to change from one sex to another whenever I want. And last but not least I might want to be a father some day.”

“Freeze some sperm.”

“Yeah, and what happens if someone pulls the plug? Seriously, having a sex change isn’t a possibility here.”

They both became distracted by a woman visitor with a good-looking boyfriend in tow. Everything — her manner, voice, dress and looks — said woman, the sort men compete for. She soon let on that she’d had a sex change. As she virtually held court among the admiring TVs, Karen looked on with awe and jealousy. Later, the two talked.

The party had become increasingly lively. Natalie had never been so relaxed while dressed and acting the part. She felt she could drop her guard and have fun rather than worrying about displaying masculine traits. When two tipsy straight businessmen blundered into the bar and tried to pick her and Karen up, Natalie knew how far she’d come.

When closeted, she used to concentrate on such refined delights as how lingerie felt against her skin. Now the thrill was in the finer points of makeup and in passing in public. The Diana Society’s occasional classes helped.

 vvvvv

In October David decided to dress up as a cowgirl and go to the Hookers’ Ball. On the appropriate Saturday evening he showered and put on his padded girdle and very tight blue jeans. There was no hint of a penis behind the zipper. He wore rented chaps, borrowed cowboy boots and a very white, close-fitted shirt over his bra. A sheriff’s badge and cowboy hat over a curly blond wig completed the fantasy. Seeing that his costume was in a playful vein, Jeanette helped out, arranging David’s wig and offering suggestions on his makeup. When they finished he had her photograph him in various amusing poses. “This is fun,” she allowed.

“You should go with me sometime.”

“Are you going to any other balls?”

“A week from today.”

“What as?”

“I’ll be in an evening gown.”

“Where’s the ball?”

“The Hyatt at Embarcadero Center. You could go as a giant bumble bee.”

“You’re reading my mind, David. But no, not as a bee. I think I’d like to go, but I think I’ll surprise you.” She gave him a rare coquettish smile.

David-as-Natalie got a lift to the Civic Auditorium for the Hooker’s Ball with Karen and two other Society members. Karen, dressed in a fifties prom dress with built-up bosom, tight waist and fluffed-out skirt, sat beside Natalie in the back seat of a small car. Karen’s hand snuck between Natalie’s legs against the roughness of her Levi’s. The two then over-dramatically kissed while a beautiful Asian TV in the front seat tisk-tisked and shook her head in mock disapproval.

Natalie had known they were moving toward this moment. The kiss was fun, yet mixed with the forbidden and unnatural, because behind Karen’s sexy lipstick and eye shadow and dress were male muscles and a trace of beard. Natalie was aroused — and queasy.

Natalie had her camera and flash as always and shot two rolls of celebrants at the ball. Some of the men wore scanty G-strings while more than a few women displayed their breasts. Toward the end, when he took a series of photos of a walking banana, there were plenty of volunteers to join in the pictures.

After the party, with unresolved energy between her legs, David-as-Natalie went home and developed the film. There were some solid, exciting shots. The following Monday he stopped by Pacific Image, the stock photo agency, to leave some other prints for their files. Sam Waggoner was there, working busily at her desk while baby-sitting her sister’s three-year-old. This time Sam’s muumuu was a wild flower print. Eventually, she offhandedly asked if he had any shots of ‘wildness in San Francisco. You know, outrageous costumes, general licentiousness.”

“Funny you should bring that up. It seems like that’s all I’ve been shooting lately.”

“Well, whatever moves you. TIME called and they’re going to do major coverage about new American ways of having fun. They want some interesting stuff on how far we go out here.”

“Hmmm. I have lots of black and white material. Is that OK for them?” He tried to act as though dealing with TIME would be just another business transaction.

Sam shook her head and explained that TIME used mostly color. She allowed that he might bring in some transparencies “and a few of the best black-and-whites” from the Beaux Artes Ball he was attending with Jeanette. “Also, there might be a tie-in with TIME-LIFE books.”

“By the way, I like the prints you left here last time. I’d suggest giving your prints more contrast in the future, though.”

David felt humbled as he shuffled down the worn wooden steps to the street. He concluded that she must badger all of her photographers this way.

 vvvvv

At home, he found another letter from his mother in the mailbox.

Dear David,

I want to thank you for your letter. It made me feel so good to think that you cared to write.

I think that your father is trying to understand you. There was a program on PBS recently and I kind of “arranged” for him to be watching TV when it came on. A part of it was about what you are. He almost switched the channel at first, but the film was pretty non-controversial and he ended up watching it all. At least we know more now about different lifestyles.

Sometimes your father and I think back about raising you kids in a small town and wonder if that was right. You grew up in an isolated atmosphere.

You said in your letter that you were dressing up when you were living with us as a teenager. It makes us feel bad (well, me mostly) that you had to keep it from us. Of course, we probably would’ve tried to discourage you from doing it. As I said, we didn’t know about people doing those things.

Well, I’ve gone on long enough. I finally showed your last letter to your father and I guess he coped. Sometimes I think he hates things to get complicated.

We’d like you to write again if you could.

Love, Mom and Dad

vvvvv

David poked through the dress racks at the Friends of the Ballet thrift store on outer California Street looking for a dress to wear to the Beaux Artes Ball. He was the only man in the women’s section and he thought his purpose must be transparent. It was too bad, he thought, that he was larger than the average woman. He usually took a size sixteen dress. The sexy ones were smaller. All he could find in sixteen were absurdly cut, dismally plain ones. Except for the one he had just uncovered. He ran the black velvet material between his fingers. The bodice was low-cut and classically simple.

He took the dress to a seamstress favored by some Diana Society members. The woman was quite busy with work for other TVs and complained that she had so time until after the ball season. David managed to get on her good side and finally she agreed to help, saying that she’d rather fit a dress to a TV who wasn’t overweight.

Fortunately, they agreed, the dress had been floor-length, so it wouldn’t be too short when altered for him. When David showed up for the first fitting two days later the woman again complained that she didn’t have enough time and nobody appreciated her. Finally she threw her head back in exasperation and began to pin the dress on him, making chalk marks as she went. She said he had chosen well — the dress would good on him.

All this took place in the back room of her storefront, concealed from her straight customers.

 vvvvv

On the night of the ball David could barely contain himself. Jeanette was dressing in her candlelit room as a butterfly. She’d made her wings and mask of papier-mâché and had painted the whole outfit violet and purple. In the bathroom, David shaved the parts of his body which would show, then began a process of taping his chest to imitate the beginnings of breasts above his dress’s bodice. Because his skin wasn’t loose, the taping hurt a little. Filling out the cups of his bra were cloth sacks of rice. Finally, on went the dress. David-as-Natalie felt as tight as the rigging on a clipper ship and as loose as a slinky black panther.

After final touchups to her makeup and long, blond wig that shone in the light, Natalie lifted her new high heels to appreciate them. Admiring herself in the mirror, she dabbed a touch of perfume to her neck and to her thigh, vaguely hoping it might bring luck. For a moment she imagined David meeting Natalie on the street — surely he’d be captivated!

Wobbling slightly on her slender heels, she traipsed down the hall and found Jeanette on the phone in her room. When Natalie bent over and kissed her neck, Jeanette turned around and was speechless.

vvvvv

They parked Jeanette’s VW in one of the cavernous Embarcadero Center garages, then Natalie escorted Jeanette like an older sister might across the street to the Hyatt Regency. They circulated for a time in the ballroom lobby looking at all the sinful, Marti Gras-like costumes. Natalie took photos of men in leather, lingerie or full drag and of real women dressed fancifully. Then sexy, pounding, disco-style music drew the pair into the ballroom. Through a smoky haze and the crush and warmth of beautiful bodies they entered an immense area with mirrored ceilings and columns and sat at one of the round tables the Diana Society had reserved.

As Jeanette saw the show that underground San Francisco was capable of, her eyes grew larger by the minute.

Finally the official show began — the judging of costumes for individuals and groups. Natalie self-consciously made her way up to the stage to take photographs. Straight newspaper photographers, several of whom Natalie recognized from her riot-photography days, made room for her without recognizing her. On the stage above were processions of costumes overflowing with feathers, gold and silver. Like cut flowers, the costumes would be used only this one time.

After a few glasses of wine Natalie became more gregarious. Costumed celebrants circulating below the stage seemed at ease being photographed by her because she was one of them. Some propositioned her and gay men put their arms around her. It was a night where even dirty old men could do almost anything they wanted.

The show seemed to go on forever. Groups paraded on stage with Egyptian or Oriental themes. Some had an outer space motif. Just when the audience thought a production had climaxed, as in a fireworks display, a final surprise would bring gasps and cheers.

Natalie drank in the atmosphere of magic and conjuration. For one night she could leave the world of dullness and conformity. Here the blossoming of imagination and goodwill prevailed.

There was a letter under the door of his apartment. He expected another lecture from Gene but found instead a business letter announcing the apartment building’s sale and a rent increase of $120. David snorted with indignation. How dare they? The building had been family-owned, with the owners living only a few blocks away. If he locked himself out, a quick call brought them over in minutes to let him in. It was likely that a speculator bought the building because the letter said to send the rent to a realty office. David resolved to move.

He decided that the rent increase would be a godsend. This workaday and dull neighborhood had never brought him much joy. Every day he saw the same old man walk to the corner store to get his daily bag of groceries. Teenagers were out at all hours on weekends banging on their cars. He needed a change, a new space, and more exciting surroundings. Living in the Excelsior District had been lonely, tinged with the morbid.

In the last few days before his return to work, and Gene Gatzo, David toiled in his kitchen darkroom developing film from the trip. The pictures of the century plant seemed superb. His renditions of the play of sunlight and shadow on boulders were exactly as he’d planned. He marked the best frames on his contact sheets and put them aside.

 vvvvv

The first thing he noticed at the office was that Gene was nowhere in sight. The ladies were busy with their desk work and didn’t seem to pay David any special attention, so evidently Gene hadn’t told anyone. Maybe everyone was giving him the silent treatment.

Trying to act casual, but finding himself with a slight Gatzo-like stutter, David asked The Jock where Gene was.

The Jock leaned back. “Yeah, Dave. You’ve been on vacation, haven’t you? You haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?”

The Jock paused to lend emphasis to his words. “You won’t believe this. Our friend got himself in a peck of trouble.”

David waited until The Jock returned with a clipping one of the office women had been keeping.

SHOT WITH OWN GUN

A Veteran’s Administration employee was shot with his own pistol last night as he returned to his downtown San Francisco hotel.

Eugene J. Gatzo, 26, a resident of the Hotel Astrid, 725 O’Farrell St., reported being accosted by four youths. According to the victim, the youths attempted to mug him, and when he drew his pistol, a fight for the weapon ensued. During the scuffle, the gun discharged and a bullet entered Gatzo’s leg. Police were unable to find the suspects or the weapon.

Gatzo is in stable condition at Kaiser Hospital.

David inquired about Gene’s condition.

“He’ll be OK–just went through his thigh muscle. He’ll have to walk with a crutch or cane for a while.”

“When’s he coming back?”

“A week or so. Are you going to see him in the hospital?”

“I guess I’d better.”

“I mean, you guys are pretty good friends, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve done some things together.” David hoped The Jock didn’t think there was more to him and Gene than friendship, though The Jock was always making off-color remarks about coworkers. “I guess it’d be the right thing to go see him.”

The Jock leaned back in his chair and smiled. “What’d'ya do on your vacation?”

“I was in Arizona and New Mexico–then down in the desert near San Diego for awhile.”

The Jock pretended to raise a camera to his eyes and click off a shot. “Shutterbugging as usual?”

David detested that word. “I’m always taking pictures. You know me.”

The Jock described how he and Vince and one of the office women had gone to see Gene the day following the shooting. “He said some Asian kids did it. If you want my opinion, I don’t even think they were trying to rob him, they were just playing with him. He must’ve said something that ticked them off.”

“His having a gun was a mistake.”

“Yeah, right. Oh, say, I didn’t know he was staying at your place before he moved to the hotel.”

How much did The Jock know? “I told him he could stay there while I was on vacation. He kind of left things in a mess.”

“That’s funny, he said you were messy.”

 vvvvv

With exceptional luck, David found an attractive, traditional Victorian flat just after the landlord posted the FOR RENT sign. This was an apartment with character, offering a tiny ornamental fireplace, high ceilings, rich woodwork, a slightly-sagging back porch where a darkroom could be installed, and a back yard with shade trees and garden possibilities. It was on Hancock Street near the gay Castro district of town, and it was only natural that the upstairs flat was occupied by a gay couple. David could barely afford it, having to pay first and last month’s rent and a deposit. He figured the only way to keep the place and still live decently would be to have a paying roommate.

When he moved in and began to repaint the interior during the wee hours of the night, he thought that a roommate might be just what he needed. It was time for him to draw out of his shell and get rid of lingering memories of Diane.

A week after he finished moving in, he ran an ad in the Bay Guardian asking for a female roommate. He received several calls from women, but none came to see the place. With his savings low he resorted to running an ad for roommates of either sex. Then the respondents were mostly men. David was reluctantly about to choose between three straight guys when he got a call from Jeanette, the woman he’d talked to at the Pacific Images party. Inviting him to an opening of a textile art display, she promised that the catering company she worked for would be supplying “beaucoup good food” and that he should attend if only for the feast.

David expressed interest, then went on to describe his new place.

“Do you need a roommate?”

“Yeah, why? Do you know someone who’s looking?”

“Am I glad I called. Let me put it this way. I’ve been living with Brian for two years. You met him, didn’t you?”

“I think so.”

“Well, to put it simply, we’re not getting along any more. He just gets in moods and closes off. I’ve decided to leave. It’s not working any more. So, I’m looking for a place. Can I come over and see what you’ve got?”

David fended off the male hopefuls for a few more days until the tall Jeanette could visit. David guessed her age as 24. She came on a Saturday afternoon with flashing eyes and big red lips like an excited kid. David showed her the two rooms set aside for a roommate and the rest of the long apartment, proud of the freshly-painted white walls. As he walked with her, he kept noticing her generous hips and bosom, and her blonde, bushy hair.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I really, really love it. It’s a great part of town and I’ve got friends nearby. So, in 20 words or less, David, I’d like to share this place with you. Say OK, OK?”

They sat down to talk business. Her finances were slim because she only worked part-time for the catering service. Her artistic efforts–the weaving–were only paying for the materials. “But I live very simply,” she said, as thought the right word from him would cascade a shower of lucky magic on her.

“Would Brian still be seeing you here?”

“I think we’ve split for good. He’s leaving for Idaho.”

As he’d done with the previous interested men, David explained that he was a TV. “You should know in advance.”

“Then you’re gay?”

“No, no. There are a lot of hetero TVs. But really, what I need to know is if my dressing up once in awhile would bother you.”

“I don’t know. How often do you do this?”

David tried to talk nonchalantly, as though they were talking about someone else. “Every month to go to a meeting up the street–we have a society for transvestites. Occasionally I dress up here at home so I can take pictures of myself.”

“This is really something. I’ve never known anyone into this. I guess it’d be OK.”

They went to see the two empty rooms again. David could see Jeanette’s eyes already deciding where things should go. Before she left, he promised to make up his mind soon about a roommate. He spied on her through the front window as she walked away, book bag slung over her shoulder. She’s nice, she’s into art and she doesn’t have a man.

He talked to one more woman about the apartment that afternoon, a photographer who’d noticed he listed a darkroom in his ad. A thin, driven women, she too fell in love with the flat and eyed the darkroom space. When he mentioned he was a TV she quickly made excuses and left.

 vvvvv

After calling with the good news, David helped Jeanette move in, using the catering company’s van. It was true that she didn’t have much — her loom, a hunk of foam on the floor for a mattress, two suitcases of clothes and an aging VW bug. The little trinkets and mementos she brought seemed precious and religious. In many cases, she explained, they were gifts from other artists or admirers. Like David, she kept diaries.

That evening when he was cooking a simple meal for the two of them, and feeling brotherly, he found himself saying magnanimously that they should just stay roommates and not make any sexual overtures. She wholeheartedly agreed. They would be best friends, she said. Later at work David thought about how nice it would be to come home and have a woman in the house to talk to. They were both artists, he with his photography and her with her weaving. The arrangement could only be positive for them. On the other hand, there was always the chance she’d fall for him …

 vvvvv

They walked up a trail from Muir Woods basin toward the top of Mt. Tam. It was a warm and sunny Sunday, the first chance they’d had to do something together outside. Jeanette seemed refreshed and sure of herself since the split from Brian. They were in a redwood grove and the light filtering down provided a relaxing tableau. She watched as David jumped to the far side of a stream. He crouched down and focused his camera on a miniature waterfall, totally absorbed.

Later she lay atop a large, flat rock in the sun. David joined her, stretching out and baring his chest. Their hands were only inches apart, and he wanted to touch her, but they just lay there basking, semi-sleeping, until a Boy Scout troop came up the trail.

Later, nearby, David took pictures of her standing in a shaft of sunlight with her eyes closed. She certainly wasn’t a Raquel Welch, but her confidence and natural sensuality was making his heart race. Why, he wondered, did he have to fall for every woman who came his way?

 vvvvv

When her friend Rod came the next night David tried to act blasé. The unshaven man she introduced as a Berkeley poet seemed out of place against the stark, shiny hardwood floors of the flat. He seemed like a refugee from the streets — a bum, practically. Jeanette’s flushed and excited face said it all. David retreated to his darkroom rather than sit around straining to hear what they were doing in her room. He had decided to try for a show of his desert photographs and had begun making large black and white prints.

When he finished his work around midnight, Jeanette’s room at the front of the house was dark and quiet. There was just the sound of his print washer swooshing water methodically around soggy photographs. He hadn’t been able to remove Jeanette entirely from his mind. That scruffy man was up there, David was sure, sleeping with her in David’s own house! As he poured his used chemicals into storage bottles he remembered ruefully the time he’d stopped to pick up a good-looking woman hitchhiker when he’d had a car. After she negotiated a ride and started to get in, her boyfriend and a big white dog appeared from behind a bush and joined her.

 vvvvv

Eventually David felt comfortable enough to try to call Gene at the hospital. After all, he would have to work with him again. Gene answered from his extension. He sounded older and a bit shaky.

“Say, Gene, this is David from work.”

There was a moment of silence. “Yeah?”

“I — I’m calling to see how you are. Sorry to hear about what happened.”

“Well, they say they’re going to r-release me by the weekend. I had some complications.” Gene went on to describe some of the nurses and orderlies on a first-name basis.

“Say, ah … I’d like to come by and say hello if that’s OK.”

Gene wasn’t enthusiastic but they set a time. An hour later he called back. “I-I thought it over. I-It couldn’t be good. I’d just get upset.”

He has some nerve. Getting hurt makes him think he’s a big shot. So Gene-boy doesn’t want to be upset.

On the other hand, maybe the shooting had in some way made Gene wiser. David pictured him lying in his hospital bed taking stock of his life.

 vvvvv

Jeanette was out of the apartment working on the catering of an evening party. David was alone and wearing a filled-out bra while working in the darkroom. He hadn’t worn any of his women’s clothing yet in Jeanette’s presence because he thought it might compromise him. So he received a major jolt when he walked into the kitchen and saw her at the table munching carrots and reading. He had on a loose sweater and hoped that she hadn’t noticed. Breezing through as though in a hurry, David spoke as he looked through negative files in the next room.

“You’re back early.”

“They didn’t need me to serve. I just helped put the food together.”

“I suppose you would’ve like to work the longer hours.”

“No, not really, I was tired. Besides, I’ve made enough money this month. Gives me more time on the loom.” She resumed crunching carrots.

He wished that she’d go to her room so she’d be out of his hair. He could, of course, sneak off to the bedroom and take off the bra, but he didn’t want to hide in his own house. So he walked back into the kitchen with his contact sheet and negatives and sat down across from Jeanette. Her eyes went first to his face then to his chest.

She didn’t seem perturbed. “I thought that you just dressed up all the way. But you like to go around with just a bra on? If I have friends over it’d look kind of weird.”

“Well, I like to do this in private. I didn’t expect you to be here!” He caught himself before he became too apologetic. “Sometimes I wear panties under my trousers. Even to work. I’ve got quite a collection of pretty things.”

She didn’t indicate a burning desire to see them. “Why do you wear these things? I mean, to me they’re just things I wear every day. There’s no thrill to it. Sometimes wearing a bra all day can be pretty uncomfortable.”

David leaned back in his chair, cradling his breasts with his crossed arms, and looked out the window. Logically explaining it took the fun away. Putting things into words was like trying to make it into something wholesome. He continued anyway, comparing men’s underwear to women’s.

Jeannette giggled, then resumed her serene moon-Madonna face again. “Yes, but I wear these things every day, you know. They don’t move me like they seem to move you.”

“Well, it’s funny. Sometimes I just like to wear the stuff. Some other times I really get off on it. Fetishes, you know. I have some very hot masturbations wearing your sort of things.”

Jeanette blushed and looked away, rolling her eyes slightly and sighing as if to say, “How did I get myself into this?”

David hoped that he hadn’t killed his chances with these disclosures. On the other hand, even if they never made it, at least he was opening some freedom for himself. He wondered if he would ever be comfortable walking around the house totally dressed in her presence. He thought that he might try it, just to make a point. To show her that … he didn’t need her?

vvvvv

Jeanette left for work at five on a still-dark morning. David rose ten minutes after the front door closed and went to her room, listening for any sign of her unexpected return. He detected delightfully distinctive smells there — faint perfumes, a slight mustiness, body odor from her unmade bed, and the honey-like sweetness of cut flowers. When he went to her dresser and pulled out the top drawer, a new host of fragrances played upon his senses. What was it that women used to make their underwear so provocatively pungent?

David experienced a deja vu of the highest order, remembering similarly being in his parents’ room as a fifteen-year-old, violating his mother’s lingerie drawer, feeling the sensual nylon, satin and elastic of her private things.

Running his hands magically through Jeanette’s bras and panties was like touching parts of her. Another part of him calmly rated her level of taste, which was better than average. He would know — he’d been through many other women’s drawers in his time. Jeanette had some slinky red panties, low cut, and some black lace creations. David wondered which ones she wore for Rod.

After making a thorough reconnaissance of her closet — not as exciting as the drawer — he borrowed the sexiest things, along with a pair of her leather boots, and took them to his room. He undressed hastily and pulled on her tight black panties. Lying down, he put one of her boots between his legs so that the shiny heel protruded into him. He eventual orgasm was high up on the Richter Scale.

As he’d learned to do as a teenager, he replaced everything in its exact place before he left for work. He felt vaguely guilty. It was like having sex with her spirit, the spirit that stayed behind in hr clothing. Maybe I can’t deal with her. Maybe I’m just a ghost-fucker.

 vvvvv

He had to tell The Jock at work eventually. Yes, I have a female roommate. No, we’re not lovers. Yes, she turns me on. No, I haven’t gone to bed with her. Well, I value the relationship and I don’t want to scare her away.

Barring his mother and sister, he’d never lived with a woman for the length of time he’d been with Jeanette. He’d never had to divide chores before. There were the all-important questions of who would do the dishes and take out the garbage, of who would pay the bills and who would sweep and vacuum. The volume level of the TV had to be negotiated. Would they share this meal or that? She taught him that it wasn’t nice to leave whiskers around the quaint old bathroom sink they shared, nor a ring around the four-footed bathtub.

 vvvvv

The VA clerk began to consider his relationship a sixty per cent one. If her boyfriend, and she had taken on a new one since Rod, had her for an occasional evening or day, David had her for a much longer time. David grudgingly came around to respect the boundary between them.

He took many admiring photos of her. He told her several times that he loved her and this embarrassed her. Sometimes they talked about their plans. David admitted that he’d eventually like to get married ” … as crazy as that sounds.” She wanted to get married too, “but I’ve got some living to do first.”