With every day that passed, I realized that I missed it, the love brought to me by a friend. My boyfriend was an Australian male, nearly seven feet tall. He was okay as a lover, but really, he was too distant for my liking. Every time we called, he'd be caught up in games. Of course, I was a stupid girl then, I allowed it to happen. It hadn't dawned on me why I felt so lonely in his company, but it is clear to me now. After all that I had been through, it was apparently no surprise why I had developed a chronic illness of posttraumatic stress disorder, depression, and severe anxiety.
He wasn't willing to acknowledge that I was ill, all he cared for was the adultery in the relationship, any other time it was a short and rather careless response of 'mhm'. We even tried to do a three-way relationship, a friend of mine was involved. I drew the line and left, not because I didn't love either of them, it was because I didn't exist to them. That was when I had the never-ending sense of the feeling to harm myself, a way to punish myself for being the crude monster I was. I was then sent to a mental facility where they analyzed me inside and out.
When I returned, I stayed in contact with the two, them still going somewhat strong with their relationship. I did see a lot of repetition from my relationship with Michael in theirs. She came to me several times about an issue he could have easily taken care of if he had enough sense to pause the games. But I digress, I proceeded to help her. Eventually, Michael left her because he still loved me, or that is what he told me. However, my friend also loved me. She told me all the time, but I refused to say it back because I knew it wasn't my place to.
After they had broken up, he realized I wouldn't take him back. So, he tried to become friends with benefits with the girl. Her name was Memphis. I disliked the idea, but it was their life, not mine. One night, we had spent the whole day talking, and that night we had been in a call for a while. I was tired, and for those whom know me. they'd know it's almost like I'm drunk. As they say, a drunk person's words are a sober person's thoughts. And of course, I had blurted out of nowhere the idea of dating her again. Much to my surprise, she said yes.
My heart throbbed with joy, as I felt happy for the first time in a while. After all these years of lying and hiding behind a fake smile, I found someone who looked behind my mask and said it was okay, that they still loved me. It didn't matter to her how much of a monster I could be, she saw that I was broken, and much like me, she was too. Memphis was the type of girl who cared for everyone, she took the blame for many things out of her control. Just like me when I was younger.
She told me all about the failed relationship between her and Michael, how much he disliked the idea of her eventually becoming a male through the process of medical science. I told her that as long as it makes her happy, it'd be okay. I actually quite liked the idea, as I was more straight than bisexual. I started to call her by her desired name, Steve. I loved how that name rolled off my tongue, how it sounded, the name brought me a sense of joy, it brought a real smile to my exhausted face. I could tell him anything, he was what I've been looking for all along, what I was looking for in Michael, but could never find.
We spent all the time we could together, holding hands, even walking through the woods. We shared a special bond, because it didn't matter what I looked like, I was still beautiful to him. My brown hair fell below my shoulders, my brown eyes gained their sparkle back, my cheeks had a light red hue to them once more. I couldn't imagine having anyone better by my side, he was the perfect man in my life. Even if he was a woman at the time of the beginning of our relationship.
At the time of the operation, he was nervous, but I reassured him. He went in as a woman, but came out a man. The total time of the operations took around a month and some weeks for recovery, but he was finally a male. His voice was smooth, I loved it. He was maybe a few inches taller than I, but not much. I didn't care, because I loved him so. The idea of engagement wasn't new to our relationship, as it was talked about more than just once. We both had a mutual agreement of it, but we decided to wait. We didn't want to rush.
Making love was something else, he always knew just what to do. Something about the way he kissed my sensitive spot on my neck, how he would leave his mark to signify that I was his, something about the way he was passionate, it made me fall harder for him. His name in my phone was always 'Husband', mine in his phone was 'wife', despite the fact we were still only dating. I didn't mind because I knew that he would be my husband one day, and I would be his wife.
His black hair was always shining, his brown eyes sparkled, his pale skin was beautiful, him as a whole was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Not only was he good looking, but his personality was kind, in a sense we had gone through some of the same past traumas, and we both understood each other on another level. I didn't care he was a transgender, I didn't care what he looked like, the fact that he understood me and I understood him was good enough for me. Steve was perfect. He is my transgender lover.
Author Notes: Based on a real relationship, I don't know how good this is, so I suppose I am fixing to find out. I hope you all enjoyed.