Nicki: Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes

Hey all. Long time no post. Um, a lot's been going on. For the past several weeks I've been going by Nicki. It was something I toyed with ever since becoming a woman, but I didn't want to give in that way. But things change.

It started one evening while I was sitting in the tub shaving my legs. I cut myself pretty bad and it stung. My eyes started to water, and then I ended up full-on crying. I sobbed for like five minutes and something occurred to me. A few things, actually.

First, I hadn't cried since getting a concussion from an errant softball in the fifth grade. Second, I was sitting in a bathtub shaving my legs. Third, I didn't have a penis. Fourth, all of this seemed okay.

Until recently, I had identified myself, if not biologically then at least mentally, as a man. My identity was all tied to boyhood memories, sports, chasing girls, and most importantly, whether or not I had a penis. Even without one, I thought often "I wish I still had my penis" but as I wiped my eyes I thought "It's okay." I was realizing, maybe it's okay not to be a man.

I've been living as a woman for months now. No matter how I tried to spin it, ever since that chilly spring morning, I've been a woman, dealing with tight underthings, various areas of extreme sensitivity (example: I hear like a bat now and get a ton of headaches,) cycles, leering men I have no interest in touching, and the physical limitations of being shorter, weaker, and more vulnerable. And less and less I resent what I see in the mirror, because more and more it becomes mine. For better or worse. Which brings me to this post.

I'm sitting here half-dressed with crumpled up tissues all around. I should be getting ready to go out, but I needed to make this point. It's about knowing what you want.

Not long after I slept with Traci I had to tell Cherrie about it. I wanted to get her feeling on it. We met in a cafe for lunch.

"Well there it is," she said with a sighing smirk, "Now you know the secret."

I laughed and shrugged, "Well it really just confused me more because I wasn't sure if I liked it."

She nodded, "Well, that makes sense, all things considered."

"I think," I leaned in closer and whispered, "I'm a woman - let's get that out there, I'm a woman - who is interested in women."

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe you're just afraid of men because you used to be--"

"That's not it!" I whisper-hissed, "It felt fine. It didn't feel... you know, gay or anything. If that was it, why would I be so comfortable dressing myself like a woman rather than like a man? Why did I do it in the first place?"

She reasoned "Because you wanted to find out if--"

"Exactly." I cut her off. "As a man, I never wanted to find out, because I knew I liked girls. Now I'm a woman and I had to find out, and I know. Cherrie, I know. I like girls."

She squirmed a bit, not knowing what to say, but probably fearing what I was about to say. I put my hand on hers.

"I like you, Cherrie."

A tear trickled down her cheek and she pulled her hand away from me. "Don't..." she whimpered. It was too late. I said it and I meant it.

All she said was, "I'm sorry" as she dug through her purse, put a few bucks on the counter, and left, repeating, "I'm so sorry Nick."

I felt bad. Really heartbroken, like a teenager again. It was the exact same feeling whenever a girl would turn me down in high school, in college, in life. That's how I knew that was what I wanted.

Now I'm sitting here, minus one friend, and I have something I should be dressing for. That's the second part of the story but I really am low on time so I'll tell you how it turns out on Friday.