I Can't Deny That Anymore

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I can't deny that anymore, even if I might like to. Even if it might be more convenient to deny it, that would be lying to myself.

No, the truth is that I love that aspect just as much as I like the far more wholesome parts. Being with a man who respects me, being with one who doesn't. Both have their time and their place and it's about finding the joy in what I can... It's about being...

Being comfortable with being me, with being her.

As my feet carry me to the street I think I am. I think I'm starting to, at least. Stepping out of the darkness of the alley and into the light glinting off the tall glass buildings downtown I am bathed by it and I feel the warmth on my skin and it gives me a little smile, a little skip in my step that carries me down and around the block.

I'm not the only one who notices.

Being noticed is still something that takes me by surprise everytime it happens. And it's possibly my favorite part of being a girl, the being surprised by it not necessarily the being noticed in the first place. Sure it makes me grin a little shyly and blush a little crimson, but catching a guy trying to subtly check me out when I pass takes a second to register why he's staring and then when I realize I don't want to take it for granted. Hell, a part of me almost wants to run over and thank him for it, though even I know that would end in absolutely the wrong way and pass along absolutely the wrong message.

I stop and I look into a shop, half to spy through the reflection and count the number of eyes that are on me right now but mostly to check the time. Somehow, miracle of all miracles, I've managed to get downtown and get my business done, my debt paid off, with time to spare before the rest of the group arrives.

And that only buoys my spirits even more, to the point where thoughts of motivation and contemplation at my own actions fade into the background in favor of living in the moment. In short, I start doing what I ought to do.

I start enjoying being a woman.

The swish of my skirt on my thighs as I step. The bouncy way my breasts jiggle when I skip. The feeling of vibration in my chest as I hum, rumbling through me in a lighter way than it ever had as a man. Something akin to the flutter of the wings of a hummingbird, fast and urgent.

That's a piece of this that I can note out and maybe that has as much to do with the vibrancy of youth as it does the joys of being a woman. But there is this positive kind of twitchiness that I feel in my fingers and toes and frankly all through every inch of me. It's like a rubber band gone taut and strick with the flick of a finger but it is constant and it is continual and it is all through me as I bounce down the street on this bright late-summer day and just bask in the joy of being me.

It's good. It's fucking great. And for an instant I think that nothing can bring me down.

I let myself think that, only catching myself immediately afterwards and realizing I've made a mistake.

If this was a upbeat drama movie then this would be the point where I stepped out into the street without looking and get absolutely hammered by a car running a stoplight. I mean I'd almost have to be, because when you think 'nothing can bring you down' or that you're 'on top of the world' or any other manner of tempting fate then the world has to respond by teaching you an object lesson in humility.

It simply has to. Doesn't have a choice or a say in the matter.

And I know that and I wince when I think it and I allow myself a moment's more hope that the fact that I didn't say it out loud will grant me some mercy but it doesn't.

Instead the bus pulls up at that exact moment and I stare inside into the eyes of girl-Kim.

And she looks pissed.

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