I met Alex a few months ago, a nice guy who paid rent on time just like I did. We never had any problems. I had roommates before, but none were as pleasant to get along with as Alex. Usually I'd come to our two bedroom apartment dead tired, exchange a few words and bid good night. Normally I'd consider myself a social butterfly but at those late hours, I could only see myself flitting to my bed. I honestly barely knew Alex but we were fine to leave it at that.
Work hours gradually got more lenient and I found myself being home at more reasonable hours, thankfully. Also, I was able to learn more about Alex's background and learned we had so much in common. We both enjoyed watching sports, had the same affinity for certain types of women, and loved reading similar types of books. We watched a basketball game one night with beers, a night of relaxation I certainly welcomed.
I personally had been out of the dating whirlpool for years but had found ways to supplement my engineering work with other activities. Working out was my functional stress relief, very necessary for those long exhausting days. I devoted time to novel writing, perfectly satisfied to walk to a local park with my computer. I would set myself up under the oak tree and continue blissfully.
One day, there was a leak in the bathtub and I contacted maintenance to fix it.
I texted: "Hey, Alex. Looks like my shower has a leak. They should fix it really soon. Hate to ask this, but mind if I can use your shower in the evening? Hopefully they can fix it by tomorrow."
"Of course, man. No need to even ask."
"I appreciate it."
That evening, after a nice jog, I picked up my towel and some clothes and walked over to Alex's bathroom. I was surprised to see the door was slightly ajar and I accidentally caught a glimpse of Alex's backside in the mirror. Whatever one's definition of gender might be, nothing prepared me for what I saw. Alex had a woman's body! There was no doubt about it. The curves of a woman are smooth, intentional and voluptuous compared to those of a man.
I felt embarrassed at not even suspecting before. Body hair, short cropped hair on the head, clothing. There was no reason for me to suspect Alex was a woman.
And yet, it was in plain sight. I could not pull my eyes away. She bent down to dry her legs, accentuating the curviness of her round butt. When she planted one leg down before lifting the other to dry, there was a sexy jiggle in the glutes and thighs. Her movements were much more feminine as well, different compared to when we were watching TV or having conversation. She appeared more graceful, strong and tender simultaneously, exuding power in simplicity and complexity at the same time. Grace knew no bounds. Yes, Alex was a woman.
I pulled away and called her name to make it appear as if I had just arrived. Even saying her name for the first time with the knowledge of her identity felt strange.
"My bad, I had to shower. Almost done." Her voice was still fairly deep. What did her real voice sound like?
"OK, no worries," I said.
A part of me wondered why she had to conceal herself. She's clearly playing herself to be a man. But why?
I showered, still mesmerized. Finished, refreshed, I dried myself and suddenly an odd feeling came over me. Peering at the handheld mirror placed near the shower I could see a face. Alex!
My heart raced faster and I had no earthly idea why. I continued to dry myself as casually as possible. What could I do? I definitely didn't want to confront or make the situation awkward. Honestly, though, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a feeling of excitement. I had no prior experience with voyeurism. Boys might have tried to peek into girls' locker rooms, but why would I waste my time engaging in such creepy behavior? Yet, there was something extraordinary about this woman desiring to see my nude body. I slowed down my movements purposefully. I turned around so I was fully exposed in the front toward the door while I continued to look in the mirror. I could feel myself harden some at the thought of her observing me. I mentally calmed myself and went back to put my clothes on. I noticed she was gone from view after.
"What's going on, Dave?" One of my friends asked me over coffee at a downtown cafe. While I would have been writing at this very moment, I couldn't pass on meeting with my good friend, who I had known since high school. She had the uncanny ability to read my countenance, one she previously described as that corner piece of the jigsaw puzzle. Once she identified the placement of that piece, everything would fall in place. As a licensed therapist herself, could one expect anything different?
The quaint cafe room was brightly lit from the sun light, illuminating the hanging daffodils and pothos surrounding the dining area. There was light jazz music in the area and a comforting chatter in the midst.
"Oh, nothing at all. Maybe a bit of writer's block. That's all. Nothing a therapist can't fix, right?" I smiled before sipping on my espresso.
She batted back a smile too, her teeth perfectly gleaming, cute dimples framing maroon lips. The room was so bright that she appeared even younger, masking any marks of that beautiful aging process we must all accept and succumb to. However, in those times of adulthood mundaneness and normalcy may feel oppressive to any individual, I couldn't help but feel enthralled by the beauty of the seemingly artificial. I was not seeing an apparition in my friend but one who was both real and stunningly unique at the same time. I mentally shook my head to push away my literary demons and took another sip.
"No, it's not that. You usually don't blink your eyes for a long time and you have more of a stupid grin on your face if you were thinking about your writing." She laughed. She leaned back in her chair smoothly, putting back a tassle of hair in place, lest it interrupted her lips perching onto the rim of her coffee cup. Frankly, I was disappointed she removed that beautiful lock, resembling the dripping ivies clinging to the walls of the cafe. Sensuality was in the air and I was here for it.
There was an unspoken agreement between us that we would remain platonic friends. I valued that friendship in her too much to fall in love. At least, I think so. A damn part of me wish I could read her mind about me, however. She had clearly observed me enough times to know my tendencies. What did that mean?
I laughed politely. "You're right, it's something else." I took a deep breath before sipping some water to sooth my throat. "My roommate is... a woman."
I observed my friend's face, expecting a wild change in expression but she simply furrowed her eyebrows, perhaps from proper etiquette. Honesty, as with the evolution of any beings lucky enough to experience life on earth, may adopt many forms when infiltrating human expression. My friend was one of of the most compassionate people I knew, and her timely insertions of sarcasm or humor were, for lack of a better term, endearing. She wouldn't pull any punches, though.
"I see. I mean, you've stayed in the same place a long time and you discovered this recently?"
I nodded and proceeded to explain. She sincerely listened, grasping my dilemma without my mentioning of feeling. She asked the obvious question. "What do you think of her?"
This was the troublesome part. Over the past few days since I had seen her naked, I couldn't erase it from my mind. Guilt wretched my inner core, wringing the pride I had with respect to self-control. I had been celibate for 6 years, and while I still considered myself a sexual person, I also took great pride in being able to "save" myself for that right person, one who could share mutual interests, insights, intuitions, inertia, in-
"What is it?" She asked me.
I realized I had never said this to anyone. I looked up at my friend's soft gaze and took a deep breath.
