by Lee Geiger
“That’s beautiful, Sheyla. I mean that. It says a lot about you.”
“Speaking of which,” she said, closing her robe, “I realize I still don’t know anything about you. I’m the one who has been doing all the talking.”
“That’s because I’m as intriguing as a bowl of cottage cheese.”
Sheyla leaned over and softly kissed him on the cheek. “Well, here’s another piece for your puzzle, Mackey Fleet. I love cottage cheese.”
“I’m being honest with you, Sheyla. There’s nothing to tell. I’m just a cop who loves his job. Other than that, I’m not that interesting.”
Sheyla refilled her glass of Opus One. “Okay Mackey, then I guess I’ll just have to tell you about yourself. First of all, besides being one of the hottest looking guys I’ve ever met, you have a great sense of humor, and I love it. It’s part of what makes you you. But you’re using it to hide something, and it goes beyond the breakup of your marriage. Someone, or some thing, has created a pain deep inside your soul that causes you to doubt yourself.”
Mac gulped his wine like he was polishing off a glass of grape juice. “Well aren’t you a regular Sigmund Freud.”
“I’ll go even further,” she continued, grabbing the bottle to refill his glass. “I’d bet my entire shoe collection that you don’t have any tattoos, either. You know why? Because you don’t know how to express yourself. That’s why you wouldn’t talk to me the other night about your father. You’re afraid to open up to people, even those who are close to you. You keep things bottled up inside of you because of some Neanderthal doctrine that says a man shouldn’t show weakness. That’s bullshit, Mackey. I’m attracted to strong men not because they’re macho and tough. I’m attracted to strong men because they’re not afraid to be themselves.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheyla.”
“Charing,” she cried, echoing the phrase she taught Mac at Fleur de Lys. Sheyla pointed at the glossy black and white photo on her bookshelf. “Mackey, take a look at that picture. Believe it or not, that’s me. Back then I was nothing but a miserable fourteen-year-old, scared-out-of-my-mind gay boy. I hated my life then, and if I didn’t believe in myself I’d be nothing now but a miserable thirty-year-old, scared-out-of-my-mind gay man. I live my life honestly, warts and all. A lot of transsexuals don’t like to display reminders of their past, but I do. My childhood is part of who I am, of who I’ve become. So many people use the painful experiences of their lives to make excuses, but not me. I’m not afraid of failure or pain, because that’s part of what life is all about. The Japanese have a word for it: shoganai. It means bad stuff happens in life, and you can either make the most of it and move on, or use it as an excuse to do nothing. I’ve used what’s happened in my life, both the good and the bad, to create a tailwind to help me grow, instead of a headwind to slow me down. I’m proud of who I am, and I’m proud to say I’m a transsexual.”
Mac sat stupefied and stared at Sheyla. Who was this person, he thought, and how dare she talk to him like that? She barely knew him, for God’s sake. But deep down, Mac knew she spoke the truth. Sheyla may not have been formally educated, but she possessed a wisdom that went far beyond a classroom. Unlike himself, Sheyla wasn’t afraid to speak the truth, and Mac respected her for it. He moved in close to kiss her when her cat decided to jump between them.
“That was predictable,” he quipped. “Who’s your roommate?”
“Her name is Esares. Isn’t she sweet?”
“What kind of a name is Esares? Is she some kind of Greek goddess?”
Sheyla gave one of her deep, sexy laughs that warmed Mac’s heart like a cup of warm hot chocolate. “No silly, her name stands for the initials S-R-S, which is short for Sexual Reassignment Surgery. That’s the procedure a trans woman goes through when she decides to go all the way and get a vagina. Since I’m not planning on going that route, I got a cat and named her Esares. I tell my girlfriends she’s the closest I’ll ever get to having a pussy.”
Mac gave Sheyla a quizzical look. “Wait a second. I thought getting a vagina was the Holy Grail for girls like you. Don’t you lay in bed at night dreaming about having a man make love to you? I know I would if I were a woman.”
“Of course you would,” she chuckled while Esares made herself at home in her lap. “You’re a guy, and all you ever think about is getting laid. Having a vagina might make you a female, but it takes more than a hole between your legs to make you a woman. Plus I know plenty of girls who look back and regret having their surgery. Most went to Thailand to get it done, thinking that having a vagina would land them the man of their dreams. The reality is once your penis is gone, you’re just like the millions of other women out there dealing with the games you men like to play.”
“But hold on. You also said you wanted to get married. How can you expect to get married if both you and your partner have the same…uhm…original equipment? Last time I checked, same sex marriage is still illegal in most parts of this country.”
“Give me a break, Mackey. Fifty years ago it was illegal in most parts of this country for a black man to marry a white woman. It’s just a matter of time before gay marriage becomes legal. Besides, who said marriage had to be between two people who can make a baby? If a couple are in love and want to share their lives together, and are willing to make an emotional and physical commitment to each other, why can’t they be like everyone else and make it a legal commitment as well? Not every heterosexual couple who gets married has kids, yet no one from the government knocks on their door telling them they have to return their marriage license.”
“I don’t understand,” said Mac, confusion dripping from his face. “I thought you wanted to become a complete woman.”
“I am a complete woman,” she professed, “who happens to love her joy stick as much as you love yours.” Sheyla then took a hold of Mac’s hand and slid it under her robe, flaunting both her building excitement and her decision, for tonight at least, not to wear panties
“Whoa,” clamored Mac, pulling back his hand after touching, for the first time in his life, an erection that wasn’t his own.
“Calm down, Mackey,” soothed Sheyla. “It’s okay. I promise it won’t bite.” She returned his hand to her lap. This time Mac didn’t resist, touching her with less shock and more awe. “Mmm…you have no idea how good that makes me feel.” Sheyla took his hand and wrapped his strong fingers around herself.
“Oh, wow,” he murmured. Fondling her there, in her most sensitive spot, and watching her lustful reaction, excited Mac, and turned him on more than if he had touched a live wire. Within seconds the cat was launched into orbit, and the pair began necking like two hormonal teenagers on prom night. Mac removed Sheyla’s robe, revealing a black see through lace teddy that wasn’t meant to stay on. Her breathing turned heavy and heated, compelling Mac’s hands to set off on a search and enjoy mission for her breasts. Sheyla ascended onto his lap, mashing her puffy areolas into his face. Her nipples, made hard by the throes of passion, found their way into Mac’s mouth, where he kissed, licked, and bit them ever so lightly. Sheyla leaned her head back and moaned, her luscious brown hair falling like a soft rain onto his thighs.
Clutching her magnificent ass, Mac rose up, lifting Sheyla by her bottom. She wrapped her legs around his waist and threw her arms around his neck. After another passionate kiss, she took a deep breath and whispered into his ear, “Take me.”
Mac carried her into the bedroom and placed her on top of her canopied four-poster bed. Scented candles illuminated every corner of the room. Mac stripped down to his shorts, then circled the bed, stalking Sheyla like a panther approaching its prey. He never wanted a woman more.
Timeless minutes of amorous foreplay later, Sheyla rolled Mac onto his back. She stared at him for a moment, admiring the prodigious bulge erupting from beneath his silky blue boxers. Then she slid her hands along his thighs and slowly slid them off, exposing his trim and naked body for the very first time.
“Incredible,” she whispered.
Sheyla reached over to a bedside table, opened a drawer and removed a bottle of lube along with a condom. As usual, Sheyla had taken control. Whatever she was planning to do, Mac thought, was fine with him.
Sheyla kissed his neck, then his chest, and then flicked her tongue down to his waist. She took his erection into her warm mouth and caressed it like an only child. Without missing a beat, she lubed the index finger on her left hand and rubbed it around Mac’s anus. After rimming the entrance for what seemed like an eternity, Sheyla slowly, and willfully, pushed her finger inside him.
Mac took a halting breath. Sheyla wiggled her finger and gently tickled his prostate, giving him an erotic sensation he never imagined. Mac was in complete and total ecstasy, moaning in delight while Sheyla continued to probe and orally seduce him. No woman had ever done this to him before, and he loved it.
Just as he was about to climax, Sheyla sat up and reached for the condom. After ripping the wrapper off with her teeth, she seductively rolled it onto him. She picked up the bottle of lube and rubbed a handful onto her anus. She then placed more lube in her hand and lathered it all over Mac’s throbbing monument to manliness.
“I want you inside me,” she begged.
Sheyla got on her hands and knees, and Mac knelt behind her. Using slow and gentle strokes, he began to slide himself inside her. She was tight at first, so he made sure to take his time. Once completely inside, Mac’s hips began to thrust, back and forth, back and forth, and Sheyla let out a series of breathless moans and silent screams. Mac went a bit faster, a bit harder, and a bit deeper with each lustful stroke, until he lost himself in the ecstasy of the moment. After endless minutes of pure erotic passion, both lovers climaxed. Exhausted, they collapsed onto the bed.
Mac stared at the ceiling. He was physically and emotionally drained. He turned his head and glanced over at Sheyla, who looked as though she was about to fall asleep.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.
“I was just thinking how happy I am,” she said, breaking her silence. “It’s so wonderful to make love with someone you really care about.”
Mac wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t had sex in nearly a year, and he had just made love in a way he never would have imagined. He started to get up from the bed.
“Where are you going?” she asked, frightened that he was about to leave her.
“Do you mind if I take a shower?”
Sheyla told him to go ahead, and that she would keep a spot warm for him under the covers.
Mac turned on the water. Then he turned off the lights.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thursday, September 18, 2008 - 5:00 am
“Photos posted on the celebrity gossip website TMZ.com show Paul Osher and a mysterious Asian model vacationing at the exclusive Four Seasons resort in Maui, where beach attendants spray sunbathing vacationers with Evian water.
US Magazine
AWAKE FOR OVER AN hour, Mac watched the minutes tick by on a digital clock. Sheyla lay next to him, sound asleep, her naked body spooned against his. He needed to get his butt into work, if for no other reason than to prevent Mayes from popping an artery. Yet here he was, laying underneath a white lacy canopy, thinking about his old high school nemesis; Dopey Danny Murphy.
Mac got into few fights growing up, but there was one he never forgot. He was a scrawny freshman at Mission High School, located two blocks from San Francisco’s landmark Mission Dolores. Basketball practice was over, and Mac had his head wrapped in a towel, drying his hair after taking a shower. Then without warning, Dopey Danny Murphy walked up and hauled off with a right jab square into Mac’s jaw, knocking him flat on the floor. Mac picked himself up, dusted himself off, and then drilled a right hook to the side of Dopey Danny’s head, depositing him into a laundry bin filled with dirty towels and sweaty jock straps. Unlike Ali vs. Frazier, this one didn’t go the distance.
The basketball coach grabbed the pint-sized pugilists and hauled them straight to the principal’s office. “Alright you knuckleheads,” he said, “Let’s hear it. What’s this all about?”
“During today’s scrimmage,” explained Dopey Danny, a lump forming on the side of his head, “Mac and I had to guard each other. One time when he was dribbling the ball up the court, he said, ‘You can’t beat me cuz you’re gay.’ He said it again when he beat me for a rebound. When we were done, Mac wouldn’t shake my hand because, he said, ‘I don’t shake hands with fags.’”
“Is that true, Mac?”
“Um…well…yeah, I guess so,” answered Mac, staring down at his Converse Chuck Taylor Hi-tops, “but I was just teasing him. I didn’t mean it or anything.”
The principal scolded Mac, telling him it wasn’t right to tease anyone just because they were different. Their punishment for fighting would be to stay after school and help the janitors clean toilets for a week. For taunting Dopey Danny, Mac was suspended for two basketball games.
As he sat on a bench outside the principal’s office, Mac started to sweat, terrified of what his mom might do to him. He had never been in trouble at school before, except in the third grade, after he put a wad of gum in Jill Malley’s hair because he had a crush on her. Mac was a solid student and he got along with almost everyone. His mother told him never to get physical unless someone was trying to hurt him. His father, on the other hand, would have pinned a medal on him for decking Dopey Danny.
Victoria Parker spoke to the principal before walking her son to the car. She stayed silent as they drove out of the school’s parking lot. Once they got a mile or two down the road, she stopped the car to give Mac a lesson he would never forget.
“Don’t ever say anything like that again, Mackey Fleet. Don’t even think it. Whether Danny Murphy is gay or not doesn’t matter. Frankly, it’s none of your damn business. Just because someone is different than you doesn’t mean you shouldn’t treat him or her with dignity and respect. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, young man?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. He knew his mom was right. She was always right.
AFTER EXPERIENCING ONE OF the most erotic evenings of his life, Mac lay in bed next to his lover, searching for the answer to one simple question. Was he gay?
No matter how much he tried to rationalize, analyze, or scrutinize his behavior from last night, questioning his own sexuality had consumed him. He knew he made love to a woman, but there was no denying the fact that she had the same anatomy he did. Sheyla had aroused him unlike any lover he ever had, yet he couldn’t get over the fact that he had touched her “down there.” Not only did it not repulse him, he wanted to touch her again. Not because of some inane physical curiosity. Instead, he wanted to please Sheyla, to once again capture the rapturous look on her face while he made love to her.
Sheyla woke up as he tried to slip out from beneath the sheets. “Good morning, sexy,” she yawned while rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The bedspread had been kicked to the foot of the bed, and pillows were thrown all over the floor. So was a condom wrapper. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve got to get to work,” he huffed.
Sheyla protested, reminding Mac of their toast at Fleur de Lys. “Come on Mackey, stay in bed with me for awhile. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
Mac started putting on his clothes. He complained about being late, while Sheyla pleaded for him to stay. “Ah, men and their work,” she said, finally giving in. “Would you mind getting me some water before you leave?”
Mac returned with two glasses of water, and he sat down beside her on the bed. He wanted to talk about what they did last night, because the way he figured it, there was no one else he could talk to. Yet he sat there, silent, searching for the right words to say.
“No, you’re not,” said Sheyla, breaking the silence.
“I’m not what? What are you talking about?”
“You’re not gay. I know what you’re thinking, Mackey. You made love
to me last night, and the look on your face is saying, ‘Am I, Mac Fleet, life-long heterosexual male, gay?’ Well baby, I’m here to tell you in no uncertain terms, you are not gay. In fact, you might be the straightest guy I know.”
Her answer did little to quell his concerns, to answer the questions racing through his mind. “Maybe I’m not gay, but it doesn’t mean I’m straight either. I don’t know what I am. This is really upsetting me, Sheyla. I’m really confused right now.”
Sheyla asked Mac to get her robe. She slipped it on and sat straight up on the bed. She took another long drink of water, pulled her fingers through her hair, and then cleared her throat. If Sheyla were in a conference room instead of a bedroom, you’d think she was about to deliver the keynote address.
“Listen to me, Mac, because what I’m about to say to you is very important. First of all, there is nothing wrong with being gay. Being gay, straight, bi, green or blue is just a label some people like to use. What I can tell you is that you cared enough last night to satisfy me, which in my book makes you a great lover. So let me ask you a question: have you ever been sexually attracted to a man?”
“Never.”
“Has a man ever hit on you before?”
“Uh…this is San Francisco.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“I’d rather slit my wrists than have sex with another guy.”
“Are you attracted to women?”
Mac smiled at that question. Just looking at Sheyla in her robe, wearing no makeup and her hair a mess, was getting him aroused. “Of course I am.”
“Then I have news for you, Mr. Fleet. Gay men want to have sex with other gay men. You just said that having sex with a man repulses you. Then why on earth would you ever think you’re gay?”
“Because I just spent the night lying naked next to a person who pees standing up.”
