A good paying job? Check. A loving wife and little girl? Yes. And a beautiful home? You betcha. Yes, the current criteria defining success in America certainly applies to Daniel Davis. But is he happy? Most definitely not; in fact, he's miserable because he has everything he never wanted. All he wants is one thing: to stop living a lie by freeing the woman inside. But will he have the courage?

Chapter 2

The red-eye flight back home was certainly living up to its name. My eyes were shot from all of the crying, from all of the stress, and from all of the fatigue. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d gotten a good night’s sleep. Now my cumulative sleep deficit refused to be ignored, just like my true feelings refused to stay buried. I started to nod off but my respite from myself was short lived.

“Sir? Sir?” asked the flight attendant. “Would you like a beverage?”

I wanted to say, “stop calling me sir!” But all I could manage was a “no thanks.”

It was going to be a long flight. I nodded off once more.

After the uneventful flight touched down, I bypassed the luggage carousel for the first time in a long time-well, come to think of it, the first time ever-and jogged on over to the parking lot.

Sitting in the car, something perplexed me. If I was in such a hurry, then why was I just sitting there and resting my hands on the steering wheel. And then again, why did I feel guilty, as if I had cheated on my wife. I mean, after all, I was just following my therapist’s advice.

I shook off the feeling and pulled out of the deserted parking garage. On the way home I kept trying to convince myself that my last minute excursion was no different than pulling an all-nighter at work. After all, weren’t my own personal problems as worth sorting through as unread emails at work?

I shook my head and forced my latest rationalization to the back of my mind so I could focus on the dusky road ahead.

With parking lights rendered increasingly feeble relative to the brightening twilight, I pulled up alongside the curb of my picturesque four bedroom house. I didn’t want to wake anyone up with blinding headlights.

I gingerly opened and closed the car door and when I got to the porch, I opened and closed the door just as carefully, but like an old screen door, it creaked ever so slightly. I felt like a teen-aged kid trying to sneak in after curfew! However, I reminded myself that I had nothing to feel guilty about. Yet the guilt persisted.

What happened next was like déjà vu. Like a scene from some clichéd movie on Lifetime, the living room overhead glowed to life like the high beams of my resting car. And to my astonishment, there was my wife just sitting there on the couch, arms crossed and expressionless like a white and sterile surgical room.

My heart raced and I broke out into a cold sweat. I don’t know what scared me more, the fact that she hadn’t even put on her nightgown, or the fact that she wasn’t saying a word. Her eyes smoldered like the remnant embers in the fireplace.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me…dear?” she said, annunciating each word like she always did when she was quietly fuming.

“Ummm…” was my lame response. I was just too tired to think up a convenient lie.

“I know you weren’t pulling an all nighter…I talked to Bob earlier. So there’s no need to try and wrack your brain for another lie to tell me…So, who is she? Do I know her?”

“Actually, you do…I was at Mother’s…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you?”

“What?! Are you kidding me? Jesus! You mean you’d rather be with your mother than me.”

Rushing toward the couch to comfort her, I said, “Michelle, you know that’s not true.”

“I’m not so sure any more. And here I was, thinking four states away was far enough away, far enough to stop you from being so much of a mama’s boy. But I guess I was wrong. Jesus.”

She crossed her arms once more and averted her gaze, shooting a withering glare at the potted ficus in the corner of the room.

Sitting down next to her, I said, “Michelle, you know I love you and would do anything for you. Right?”

But all she did was to continue to stew in silent anger.

Continuing on as if I was talking to a wall, I said, “I didn’t go out to visit mom. I…I went there to confront some painful memories from the past that life has decided for some inexplicable reason to dredge up now.”

Slowly, she turned her head toward me. The expression on her face softened enough so that I reached over to grasp her hand.

Fighting back tears, I said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Michelle. I really am. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“But you did,” she said in a weary tone. “You know, I’m not angry that you hopped a flight to your mother’s. I’m upset because you lied to me. And that makes me wonder what else you’ve been lying about.”

“I haven’t been lying about anything else,” I lied.

“Are you sure? I mean, how many times have you said that you’re fine, or that everything’s okay, or that there’s nothing to worry about or…”

I could tell she was fighting back tears. Struggling to maintain her composure, she continued on.

“But I know you’re not fine, at least most of the time anyway. You say it and force a smile but I know you too well after all these years. I know you’re not happy anymore. Is it because of me? Is it because you don’t love me anymore?”

I grasped her hand while she cried. “Oh God no Michelle! How could I ever stop loving you? You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“Well it doesn’t feel like that lately. Sometimes I feel like I’m married to a stranger. I mean, you never even touch me anymore. I can’t even remember the last time we made love.”

“And I’m sorry. I need to do a better job and not take you for granted. You deserve better, so I’ll do better. I’ll be a better…man.”

“You promise?” she wondered, wiping away tears.

I crossed my heart with my finger before kissing her full lips. The sorrow drained from her face as she pressed her body closer to mine.

“Well,” she began, “That’s a start, but you still haven’t told me exactly why you went out to your mom’s in the first place.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Some memories are better left buried in the past where they belong. It’s time to start fully living in the present. And based on the beautiful and wonderful woman I see in front of me, the present looks pretty dammed good to me.”

I kissed her once more, only this time more passionately, the way I had always longed for someone to kiss me. Her arms seemed to float up of their own accord and wrap themselves around my shoulders in forgiveness. Getting her to forgive me was the easy part. I always instinctively knew how she wanted to be kissed and to be touched and that was the problem because I wanted to be kissed and touched like that. I could easily fulfill her needs but what about my needs? I sighed and wanted to shake my head at all of the irony. I always thought that if I found the right woman, I wouldn’t want to be, well you know, the girl I felt was trapped on the inside. I figured that being around a woman would fill the void that was in my life. But now, I was beginning to realize that the only woman who could possibly fill the void was the woman inside who was bursting at the seams to claw her way out. However, if I let her out, then what? What about our marriage? Michelle fell in love with a man and not a woman. And what about little Katie? What would happen to her if we divorced? Would I lose her once Michelle was granted full custody? I honestly didn’t know, and I really didn’t want to find out by indulging such a selfish desire. At that moment, the possibility of transitioning was off the table and I’d just have to continue being the man she married, and the father impressionable Katie so desperately needed during these confusing and trying times. All these questions and scenarios raced through my brain like the hot blood rushing through my passionate reawakened wife’s gorgeous body. But the only thought that was racing through my wife’s brain was, “are we going to make it upstairs or not?”

So, I did the only thing that I knew to do. I carried her upstairs to the bedroom, the way I had always fantasized a guy would do to me.

I laid her down and then kissed and caressed every square inch of her luscious soft skin before making love to her.

“Oh Daniel!” she exclaimed.

Close to orgasm and powerless to resist, I exclaimed, “Samantha!”

“What?!” she hissed.

“Sorry. I mean, could you call me Samantha just this one time? I’ve kinda always wanted to try it out sometime. It’s just a little harmless fantasy.”

With a devilish smile, she replied, “My, my. Aren’t we feeling a little kinky this evening…Samantha.”

I flashed her a toothy grin.

After making love, we laid next to each other, chests still heaving from such an explosion of passion. And there was passion to spare, for we gazed lovingly and hopefully into each other’s eyes like we did on our honeymoon all those years ago.

I said, “I hope I didn’t make you feel too uh…uncomfortable just now.”

Shaking her head, she replied, “Surprised…yes, a little. Uncomfortable…not so much. As long as you don’t start dressing the part, I think we'll be fine.”

Chuckling, I said, “Not to worry. I haven’t cross-dressed in years.”

The very brief yet awkward silence that ensued had me wondering if my wife actually thought it was a joke. And when her face finally lit up with a half-smile, I didn’t feel entirely reassured. Had she always suspected the real reason that I was different from other guys?

Easing the tension even further, she said, “Just promise me one thing. If you decide to start wearing panties, please get your own.”

Feigning disappointment, I said, “Darn! Samantha’s going to be so disappointed, what with her being so close to your size and all.”

“Well, be sure to tell Samantha, that’s what Victoria’s Secret is for.”

“Hey,” I added, “did you know that Victoria’s Secret is cross-dresser friendly.”

“Ooh! Remind me never to shop there again.”

“What? Why’s that?” I inquired.

“Think about it. Do you think I want to shop at a place and try on lingerie that may have just been tried on minutes ago by some…by some perv?”

Is that what she would think of me if I told her?

Before I could answer her rhetorical question, she continued on.

“Just the thought of what they might do with the lingerie in the dressing room makes me…makes me…well, it’s just plain gross if you ask me.”

“Sorry I mentioned it,” I said in deflated tone. “It’s just something I came across in the paper once.”

“Look, I’m not judging or anything. Whatever people want to do is their business. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

After a luxurious stretchy yawn, she rolled over and turned out the light on her bedside table.

Giggling she said, “Good night…Samantha.”

“C’mon Michelle. You know it was just a joke.”

“Mmm hmm. A joke you started I might add.”

“Yeah,” I said weakly. “Good night.”

I gave her a kiss and rolled over to my side of the bed.

Outwardly, I was quietly indignant, but inwardly my heart was aching because I longed for my wife to call me Samantha once more and set my heart all aflutter.

The next day was a beautiful day, but instead of basking in some unseasonably warm sunshine on a park bench while munching on my sandwich during my lunch break, I decided to seek out some company other than the pigeons who were beginning to accost me for some crumbs.

I moseyed the short distance down the busy sidewalk to the mall which was within walking distance of my office building. And I realized that with every calculated masculine step and restrained swing of my arms it was becoming as difficult for me to resist window shopping as it was for the city pigeons to resist diving in for a free meal in the form of breadcrumbs. The only difference was I think the pigeons had more self control!

For me, the breadcrumbs were in the form of the new spring fashions on display in every other shop it seemed lining Broad Street. Gorgeous red evening dresses and flirty little blue polka-dot and cute yellow sun-dresses taunted me along with the flawless curvaceous plastic figures which wore them behind the equally flawless glass.

Don’t look! Don’t draw any attention! I would shout at the exasperated woman inside.

But averting my gaze was just becoming harder and harder despite my fierce determination to fight such “inappropriate” feminine urges. I felt like I was doing battle with myself. But I knew I was losing. The urges were just getting more and more powerful, many orders of magnitude greater than the restless need of a newbie ex-smoker to light up a calming cigarette. And I should know. I had quit years ago. But how could I quit this? I was desperate to find a way. However, my desperation to find a way equaled my desperation to find a way to become the woman I kept locked up inside. Now my desperation for the latter seemed to be winning out on this beautiful day. That is, it was until I neared the enticing perfumed entrance to Victoria’s Secret!

At last! Female utopia!

Now, as I walked in and was greeted by one of the gorgeous young sales women, my heart was racing with exhilaration at the delightful anticipation of trying on any one of the assorted silky garments. Hanging on a rack, or perfectly folded on a table, it was a buffet of femininity for the eyes. I wanted to grab every type of lingerie and hold it against my petite frame while admiring myself in the mirror, but instead stood frozen like a statue. Perhaps if RuPaul had been casually shopping there I would have felt more at ease and less conspicuous, but as it was, I was the only guy (in the loosest sense of the word) in the store.

Finally summoning the courage, I walked over to the nearest table of bikini cut panties of assorted bright spring colors. But before I could reach for even one pair, another sales lady smiled at me. Now I felt uncomfortable and conspicuous once more because I didn’t know what kind of smile it was. Was it just the friendly “thanks for shopping here” kind of smile, or was it more of the “don’t worry hon, your secret’s safe with me and your wife need never know” type smile. I wasn’t sure. However, what I was sure of was that if I didn’t calm myself down, I was going to have to use one of the pairs of panties as a makeshift handkerchief because I was breaking out in a cold sweat.

So, what did I do to calm myself down? Well, call it pathetic, call it cowardly, but instead of reaching for a pair of the cute panties, I reached for my phone and pretended to read a newly received text, hoping that everyone would buy that it was from my wife. I forced a smile at the imagined conversation, slipped it back in my pocket, and then proceeded to superfluously check my watch.

Pathetic! Pathetic! Pathetic! I muttered to myself as I exited with flushed cheeks.

The frustration and disappointment I felt was akin to summoning the courage to ask a girl to the Prom but then getting cold feet, as if heart rate was inversely proportional to the distance between yourself and your crush.

“Daniel?” wondered a familiar female voice coming from behind me.

Oh shit! Is that Mandy? I exclaimed in my already racing brain.

Apparently, the inverse law didn’t just apply to the object of one’s adoration. It also applied to coworkers!

To Be Continued...