Defining Moment

Wow.

It was hardly anything more than the tiniest of kisses, really. But... wow. It was the feeling it evoked more than the actual kiss itself that affected me so. I couldn't really wrap my mind around the fact that I was *touching his mouth*, if that makes sense. It's like caressing the most forbidden fruit. Sweet fruit.

Once more I kissed him, out on his back porch a bit later.

And after that... he offered to help me up from the loveseat as I sat there once more, and once I'd gotten my footing all I heard was the sharp intake of his breath in one split-second harsh sound before my entire body went on the fritz. Every nerve just jangled around and jumped for joy; partied hard and totally exploded on me in the span of the two seconds it took my body to hit the loveseat and his to land on mine while his lips were wreaking total havoc on my senses caressing my mouth in the most... TUMULTUOUS kiss I've ever experienced. It wasn't the lewd, all-out tonguing one would expect that kind of kiss to be, either. It was simple, but sudden, unexpected, rash - the clash of his mouth against mine and suddenly I was being smushed into the cushions of the loveseat by the wonderful weight of his body - the feeling of both of which I seared into my memory as a picturesque moment in time, frozen for all eternity and filed away in my head for later viewing.

It was, however, that first, initial sharp intake of his breath that I remember the most vividly. For some reason, it just fried my synapses, it was that erotic. I still have no clue to this day why.

Some time after that, we gravitated once more to what I'd come to term "his" couch. (As opposed to the loveseat, which I normally slept on while spending the night.)

The *most* memorable of any moment I've ever had with him, aside from that initial sharp intake of breath... was that moment on his couch. He lay down and scooted back a bit, asked me to lie in front of him, and we simply lay there talking for a bit.

"I used to do this with her."

"Used to?"

"We don't anymore. I don't know why."

I lay there, beyond tense, attempting to both nurture the warmth I felt just simply being held by someone and avoid really *touching* his body. It was almost... I'm not entirely sure how to describe it, really. It was as though I just simply didn't know exactly how far this "thing" with us was going to go, I didn't know if any further contact would be welcome... we'd already kissed, and we were laying together with his arm around me… but there's a very slight difference, despite more popular belief, between intimacy and, well.. INTIMACY. I was so unsure of myself, as the tension constantly coiled within my body reminded me.

I could feel the warmth of his breath as we talked on the back of my hair, whispering against it and ever so lightly disturbing the strands.

My body felt so restless, so much energy coiled within like a snake awaiting the perfect moment to strike. I shifted slightly, and my backside accidentally brushed against his front...

"Watch out for the merchandise…”

He said it jokingly, but a flood of heat rushed over me as, for some reason, I only *just then* realized that he had… parts. Interlocking… parts. I'd always concentrated so much on the lithe form of his body, the graceful line of his back. On the elegance of his hands and the moist softness of his mouth. I'd never truly stopped to consider what all he had tucked beneath his clothes, to be honest. I think my brain actually did go completely blank for a moment...

I noticed with no small amount of pleasure that he was playing with my hair. The feeling that evoked was somewhat stuck between being totally overwhelmed by the sexual tension he was creating within me simply by being in such close proximity, and a flood of comfort accompanied by a warmth spreading through what seemed very near to the core of my being. Maternal instinct, perhaps - that feeling of comfort and just... everything *natural* in the world coalescing into an emotion that seems to almost nestle quietly but insistently within one's belly, close to the womb. Not necessarily a feeling of procreation or even anything to do with children - but everything to do with being a *woman* and feeling desired, wanted; worthy of such simple affection. It felt almost like... coming home.

And so, in typical (yet not always rare...) Addy-form, I decided to goad him on, wanting to stretch that moment out just a little bit longer.

"Don't tease unless you aim to please..."

"Not teasing. This would be teasing."

I think every firework in the universe seemed to go off in my head as I felt him gently pulling my hair back to expose my entirely too sensitive neck to the softness of his lips. *Nothing* existed in my world at that moment except the tiny, fluttering brushes of his mouth against my skin.

And when my focus seemed to come into view again, I was laying half-under him, his mouth on mine, and his hands moving over my torso - though above the waist… He caressed and kneaded my breasts gently and the shock of the action was enough to send me into a near-catatonic state, although I'm sure that what I was feeling was entirely secluded within my own body and mind. Surely if he'd have known the affect he had on me...

I suppose now would be the best time to truly explore these events "behind the scenes" so to speak. Describing the actions, the feelings they evoked… that is certainly a large portion of what eventually came to be my undoing.

But the truly spectacular parts in between have been left somewhere in my memory and have escaped the pages along the way.

I had, of course, had sex before. (And no, that's not where this is leading quite yet…) And although I got *very*, *very* lucky in that my first time with a man had been with a person whom, I'd not only had a long term relationship with (very long term in teen years... my first boyfriend lasted 2 years), but whom I'd also been very much *in* love with, it did not quite meet up to my expectations, as many "first times" are wont to do.

It was pleasant, but only so. There was no true passion, no real fire. I did not expect, by any means, some grandiose notion of "true love" or some climactic climb of sweaty bodies, harsh breaths, and/or exploding universes. Yet, it was not only none of those, but also just no… feeling. Physically. To be quite honest, I'd feared for many years since that I was perhaps simply frigid and incapable of feeling true attraction to a person in the physical sense. My body reacted clinically - prepared itself. But there was just - nothing. For the longest time, I honestly doubted it truly existed.

So, when I tell you, in vivid description, what feelings were riotously running through me in response to this one man... you should know the true scope of what exactly I mean.

I am a very passionate person by nature. I believe in many things, and my beliefs and moral codes are the foundation of how I live my life. My emotions do not rule my mind, but my mind is most definitely governed by them in somewhat of a democracy. I am very instinctual. What my mind does not know, my "gut feeling" and emotional reaction in tandem with what those same emotions trigger as a physical reaction, will ultimately make up for despite any current logic on the situation at hand.

This same character trait - and, at times, flaw - has enabled me to get into and out of many a debatable situation. "Fight or flight" instinct, I've heard it called.

I also feel *very* strongly. Very rarely do I ever feel simply one emotion at a time. When I am angry, I am usually also frustrated, irritated, depressed, hurt, among many other possible combinations. When I love, it's forever. I never *stop* loving a person, although that love does change with the circumstances. (Many of my exes and friends I've cared for, I would die for. I still love them *very*, very much. However… there is a difference between loving a person and being *in* love, and although one may stop being *in* love with another, in my world view, that does not mean they necessarily must stop loving them.) When I feel attraction, it is wholeheartedly and every part of my being is thrown into it. It's how I work, how I tick - how I live. Everything within me goes into what I am passionate about.

So, for me to feel hardly anything during sex was, indeed, extremely confusing for me; however, it was also simply the way things had been since the beginning for me, and so I learned to simply live with it and didn't really expect anything different.

I guess he proved me wrong in that aspect. I had never, have not, and possibly may not again - feel the overwhelming response my own body had to him.

Because of this, however, it also led to many complications along the way on my part that perhaps could have been handled much better than I handled them at the time. Something so unfamiliar to me was very real, very scary, and very addictive simultaneously. The only thing giving me *any* kind of self control was my own hesitancy and low self-esteem. I held back then, not only because I was unfamiliar with what I was feeling, but also because I was just too unsure of my own desirability. This created quite a paradox within me as I gained confidence around him, however. I will admit that I had very, very little control. What little I did have, however, was not from any true guilt or remorse for what we were doing.

He was also a special sort of person. I've always been attracted to people who stand out for one reason or another, even if I don't yet know *why* they stand out. My first boyfriend just drew me into him, for no other reason than he simply did. I could, and have, never pinpoint(ed) what exactly it was about him that attracted me so.

But this "crush" of mine… he was different from what is considered the "norm". (I am highly abnormal myself, so I'm not particularly fond of what may be "socially acceptable" - life is just too damn short to worry about pleasing everyone else and never yourself.)

He wrestled. He traveled with the fair. He was a transsexual.

Many do not completely comprehend the difference between a "cross dresser" and a "transsexual" person - and to be quite honest, I'm slightly fuzzy on it myself. I will, however, attempt a short description.

Cross dressers, from my own experiences, anyway, simply enjoy dressing in the clothes of the opposite gender. Perhaps they enjoy the "taboo" of it - the feeling of being "naughty" or perhaps it's the dark, secretive nature of it that is appealing.

Transsexuals, however, (again… my own opinion) are different in as much as that although they *do* dress in the clothing of the opposite gender, they *also* have the desire to BE the opposite gender. Some people do this because they are unhappy in their lives as they are and wish a change. Not all transsexuals are created equal in some aspects, and this is why, during the "Sexual Reassignment" process, many are required to enter into counseling prior to any surgery performed. Many people simply see it as an "out" of sorts - a vent for things going on in their lives, and do not always completely go through with the reassignment process in lieu of changing their minds or simple hesitancy of such a drastic change from what they've been all of their natural lives.

Most, though, simply feel as though they were born into the wrong gender. They feel as though the body they are in just does not "fit" with what they, in their minds and hearts, truly feel it should. Many people misconstrue this and many others feel the need to bring religion into this foray - but the simple truth of the matter is that a person such as this can live their lives as "socially acceptable" and NEVER truly feel as though they really belong in the skin they're in, or they can change that and begin to live a much more mentally stable and healthy lifestyle of their choosing. It all comes down to one very simple concept, and that is that regardless of what gender a person may be, or religion they may be - everyone has the right to be and feel truly comfortable with themselves. Some people have low self-esteems, others have a lot of problems in their life - these are emotional issues that one must resolve with time and support. Feeling as though you are not welcome within your own body, however, can be changed nowadays. If this is what a person feels they need in order to resolve and preserve their own self image, my personal opinion is that they should be able to do whatever they wish in order to accomplish that goal. It is just simply no one else's business.

Which is why, with as many social issues as there are surrounding this particular subject, I was quite shocked that he told me quite upfront that he *was* part of the transgender community and desired to be a woman not even a week after meeting him. Many people realize *quite* well, that such a thing is socially frowned upon. What he did in telling me was quite possibly the hardest and, forgive the pun, balls-iest thing I've yet to see done, even to this day.

I am bisexual, by the way. To me, not only was I impressed that he would simply come out like that with it, but also that he seemed to be the best of *both* worlds for me. A man with the mental and emotional capacity of a female - and someday - the body of one as well. Some may call me insane... but that just made him that much *more* appealing to me.

Everything about him drew me to him - his personality, his lifestyle, his attitude, and his physical appearance. He was just this incredibly beautiful, all-around, insanely majestic person. Everyone, of course, has their faults and downfalls. I suppose that from the beginning I should have realized more was going on as far as my own feelings were concerned than sheer physical lust from the fact that I was quite willing to accept any and all flaws he may have had upon meeting him; however, lust is exactly what I felt it was at the time and for a long time after.

I had never met anyone quite like him, really. Because of this, I just had absolutely no idea how to deal with the feelings running so rampantly within myself. Many of them I got confused with other, similar emotions. Others I simply just didn't even realize I had until much, much later.

But for then, in that moment with him on the couch, I was honestly just simply content to melt away into the cushions and let him take the wheel.

_________________________________________

After that moment, and a few other occurrences that same day, we seemed to develop a pattern of sorts. Every other day, we'd have an "incident". I think this was mainly based upon his girlfriend's work schedule, as well.

And so the "tradition" continued when, the day after next, his girlfriend went to work and I, being the manipulative biotch I am, decided to make up some excuse for asking his girlfriend to lend me one of her nightgowns to sleep in. (I did, of course, have plenty of my clothes at hand.) It was not by far the "sexy" attire many would assume, however. It was simply more... convenient... than pants. Just in case.

That day, and many others in a fairly routine schedule (every other day), we would always wind up making out on the couch. Kissing, caressing, touching. And each time we did this, we would go just a slight bit further. I could obviously tell it was building up to something, however, that "something" still made me a bit nervous.

I was nervous for several reasons, really. The most prominent reason was that my own body's response to him was just so much stronger than anything I'd ever really experienced before. By the bit of back story I've already given you, dear reader, I think that by this point you do grasp just how unusual and… *exciting* it was for me. And, of course, as previously mentioned - it was also very addictive. I knew at the time that what we were doing - being "together" (even if only physically) behind his girlfriend's back - was wrong. I consciously knew that even by my OWN moral code, what I was allowing to happen - even participating in - was wrong. But at that point, I did not care. To me, it was a liberating experience that, despite my better intentions, I just could *not* give up quite yet.

I have forced myself to both do… and NOT do - many things in my life. At that point, however... I just simply wanted that moment for myself. I saw an opportunity to experience something - and someone - so vividly brilliant that I just couldn't make myself even truly *want* to stop. I got caught up in a maelstrom of emotions and *feeling* - this beautiful, wonderfully INTENSE feeling… that I couldn't for the life of me force myself to care about the obviously impending repercussions of my actions. I knew it was coming, but he just made me feel so intensely *ALIVE* and I did not want to give that up just yet.

__________________________________________

To make an incredibly long story slightly shorter (and less graphic…), we did eventually reach the climax (quite literally) of all of our previous actions one day.

And at this particular juncture, although I shall skip the sordid detail, I do wish to elaborate on the experience a bit.

Sex with him was... okay. It was very slightly disappointing that first time, I have to truthfully admit. It wasn't by any means "bad" - it was just... okay.

Most of the reason for it being so is that I was just entirely too nervous, although whether or not it was obvious to him I have no clue. Anxious, perhaps might be a better word. Everything: every kiss, every touch: had been just so exhilarating up to that point that I suppose I'd simply built it up too much in my head to the point that, not only was I afraid that I was frigid - I was also afraid that I just wouldn't be good enough for him.

Sex is also a very personal thing to me. Many people have it often and without care - not even really truly considering what they're doing, just concentrating on the feeling of it, the physical sensations. I've had many people tell me that I put too much into it - that I expect too much from it - and/or that I just think too much. All of which have been accurate, though not simultaneously, at some point or another. But the simple fact is that sex IS a personal thing: not only for me, but in general. For a female, you're allowing someone else INSIDE of your body. For a male, you're putting a part of yourself INSIDE someone else. When you stop to really consider that: sex suddenly becomes both more exciting and almost frightening simultaneously.

Because I think this way, however... I've been told before that I live in a fairy tale world. Where sex should be perfect and what happens in movies is real. This both is, and is not the case. Sex SHOULD be more than it is for many people. I truly believe that. Yet I also realize that it often isn't.

I do not live in a fairy tale world, despite more popular belief. I do tend to live in somewhat of *my own* world, but reality is featured quite often in my world more so than many would give me credit for. It is just simply that, where others may see reality as a harsh, cruel world: where poverty occurs often, unhappiness is "normal", wars begin, last, and end with nothing but death, and children are no longer the joy of our existence; they are a way of holding one's beloved to them, a bargaining chip in court, or a cheque every month in the mail: I see clovers.

I do realize, of course, that to many people this does NOT make sense. Especially if you do not know me in person.

I love clovers. I love their texture, their shape - their deep, rich colour. Their flowers make excellent tea. I also find a lot of four, five - at times up to nine-leaf clovers.

I find so many because of how I see the world around me. I see colours, shapes, and the reflections of light both natural and ambient. I see patterns and incongruencies. I see LIFE.