No Longer a Woman

Thank you for reading my story, I hope that you enjoy it. Love Mica xx Yorkshire, England

John thank you for the push. I hope I did you proud with this one.

I was sat in a café in town, minding my own business. I didn't really want to talk to anyone, I had just been to buy a prosthetic and they didn't have my size, I had to order it. It was so fucking depressing.

A guy sat opposite me, I looked around, the café was quite busy, I hadn't really noticed.

"I'm sorry, everywhere is taken, I hope you don't mind if I sit here."

I just shrugged, I didn't give a damn to be honest.

"Can you believe this weather," he said, I didn't care about the weather, "they say it'll be dry, and it rains, they say it'll be drizzle and it hoons it down."

I shrugged again, I didn't care two hoots if it rained or didn't rain.

"I'm sorry that you are so sad," he said, "I wish that I could do something about it."

"I'm not, and even if I was, it is not your job to do something about it."

"Oh, you can speak then, good, I hoped I wasn't sat with someone who couldn't speak."

"I speak when I need to." He was annoying me.

"Indeed, and I speak when I believe I have to. You look sad, I am a fellow human being that doesn't like to see people sad. I believe that I therefore need to say something."

"Well you don't need to, and I do not want you to suddenly burst into a song and dance routine, really don't."

"Good, I can't dance, except for a Argentinian Tango, and when my voice broke at age fourteen, it stayed broke, believe me people would pay me to be silent."

I almost smiled.

"I don't want cheering up, okay, my life is what it is."

"Has someone died?"

"No."

"Has your husband left you?"

"Yes but that is not a problem. Good riddance."

"Did he leave you destitute?"

"No. What's with all the questions? I just want to be left alone."

"Ah well, there's the thing you see. The café is full, you can't be alone, so you have to put up with me. Do you have a medical diagnosis that you can't bear to talk about?"

"Diagnosis, no, just leave me be."

"Ah, right. You did have one, and now you have the prognosis or the results. Your hair short. Cancer?"

"Do you always ask such personal questions?"

"Me? Hell yes."

"Well I don't want to answer. Leave me alone."

"Breast?"

I just nodded.

"Did you have reconstruction?"

I shook my head without realising. "Really can't you just leave me alone."

"I don't get it, they found it, they operated, you are alive, that sounds fabulous to me."

"Oh for fucks sake, you're a man you will never understand. Just leave me alone."

"Oh hockey sticks, of course I can understand."

He paused and then he continued. Why couldn't he be quiet?

"You've had a mastectomy and now you don't think you are feminine, men won't be interested in you, your life might just as well be over."

I said nothing. He had met me five minutes ago and had just about summed me up. I took a sip of my tea. It was cold, yuck, I hate cold tea.

"You are wrong of course."

I knew I wasn't, I said nothing.

"Whether you have breasts or not makes no difference, biologically you are a woman. You have XX genes, I have XY. I can never ever be a woman. I may grow breasts and have surgery to turn my dick inside out, but I am still a man, no matter what I look like. You are XX, you are and always will be a woman, no matter what bits are removed."

"I am grotesque, no man will want to see me naked."

"Now you know that is bollocks. Pardon my French. And anyway, relationships grow and a mature relationship may develop and one day you will want a partner to see you as you are."

He rummaged in his pocket and found a pen. He took a napkin from the table and wrote on it.

"Look my name is Dave. I think that you are attractive. In truth there were other seats, but I looked at you and I immediately wanted to get to know you better, so I lied about it being full, and I sat here. This is my mobile number. I would love it if you wanted to chat, perhaps go out for a meal, or just meet for a coffee. No strings, no pressure, but if you do, please ring me. I would be so made up if I got a call from you."

He pressed the napkin into my hand, got up and left.

I almost threw it away, screwed it up and left it the coffee cup, but, for some reason, I didn't. I folded it and put it in my handbag. I left my cold tea, gathered my things and headed to the car park. I was done with town.

My husband had left me whilst I was going through the treatment, before the mastectomy. In honesty our marriage could never have been described as loving. I acceded to his desires when he asked, but I never really enjoyed sex with him. It seemed to me that he simply masturbated using my body instead of his hand. He never seemed to care that I might want loving, that I might want touching.

His last words as he walked out of the door were: "you don't turn me on, you never have and with your tits gone it'll be worse."

And I guess he had a point, if I couldn't turn my husband on with my breasts, what chance would I have with none? Luckily it was only in my left breast. They were, it seemed to me, pretty severe in their hacking of my body. Where my left breast was there was now nothing but a long ugly red scar. To do reconstruction would require skin grafts from my thighs or buttocks. More surgery, more scars. No. I could not face that.

I had no family, I had been an only child and my parents had died in a car accident in Malta some years ago. My house that I lived in with my husband had been in their name and their will stipulated it went into trust for me. My husband had no claim, but his income paid the bills, and now all I had was a small endowment to live off, less than a thousand pounds per month. If I was careful, I could live reasonably well, but the recent massive increases in energy costs had stretched me.

I had received a message, my prosthetic was in stock, so I went into town to collect it, and perhaps a few other items as well. Special lingerie that would hold the prosthetic, matching knickers, bathing suit, no more bikinis for me, but with luck, unless you looked closely, I would have the profile of a woman. I didn't intend to let anyone look closely. I looked around the various options and picked two bras, matching knickers, no I didn't think I would need suspender belts, and I ordered a second prosthetic. Just in case. To be honest, I did not know just in case of what, but just in case. I picked a dress that was just above knee, covered my décolletage, and had short sleeves. Done, I went to the coffee shop and this time I had a coffee and a Danish. I sat back, my eyes half closed, not looking at the café and trying to ignore the general hub bub around me.

"I thought it was you." A voice and then a cup of coffee appeared before me. It was the man from the other day, Dave.

"Yes, it is me." I wasn't really in the mood.

"I think the fates conspire to confound us and perhaps beguile"

"I think not, it is mere coincidence, or you are merely following me."

"Oh no dear lady, not following, I was going into the arcade and saw you enter this café. I was sure it was you, albeit we only met briefly when your mood was low. I was pleased to set eyes upon you and my mood cheered."

"You are silly, I am no company of worth."

"Oh but you are. I see almost a sparkle in your eyes."

"It is just a reflection, my eyes can carry no sparkle."

He looked around as if searching.

"Madam I see not the source of the reflection."

"Will you stop calling me madam, it sounds wrong."

"I know not what else to call you, you have not shared that secret."

Oh for heaven's sake. "Sally, my name is Sally."

"Oh Sally what a fabulous name, thank you, I feel almost as if I know you for real, in my dreams I can address you properly."

"What do you mean dreams?"

"Of course I dream about you, it is a certainty."

"But why? Of what could you possibly dream?"

"Sally, I dream of us eating at an Italian restaurant, you sucking at a strand of spaghetti, it wiggles between your lips as it finally disappears into your mouth. I dream of us boating on the River Aire, the excitement as we avoid the weir and moor at a pub for lunch."

"You are utterly insane, I jest not."

He shrugged and took a mouthful of his coffee and then a bite of his pastry.

"People dream Sally, people dream of all kinds of things, they are usually a mish mash of shared experiences."

"I don't dream."

"You do, if you didn't you would die, you just don't remember them."

"Oh, well, I don't remember them, they can't be worth much." And I don't, never a single one.

"Try this. When you wake in the morning, try not moving anything at all, just lay there, your last dream will still be in your memory. As soon as you move your memory will dissolve. Then you will know you have dreams. To not move when you wake becomes easier with practice."

"How do you know this?" It sounded like rubbish to me.

"I read stuff, all sorts, it doesn't matter the subject, it is all knowledge."

I sat and finished my coffee. I don't know why I was encouraging him, why was I even talking to him?

"Dinner, lunch or coffee?" He asked.

"What?"

"Would you like me to take you out for dinner, lunch or meet for a coffee."

Oh yes, he had said something about that when we first met.

"I don't know."

"Well, I can always eat, so may I suggest a lunch or a dinner, I assume that you eat also."

"I don't really eat out, it is so expensive."

"Well, this will be my treat and I choose where. If you enjoy then you can choose where we eat a second time, it could, for example be at your house and you cook the meal, cheaper, or rather more cost effective. How does that sound?"

I would like a good meal, that is for sure, and I can always whip something up at home, a salmon salad perhaps. But then, that means inviting him to my home.

"Okay. I accept. Dinner perhaps, early though, say around six thirty."

"Okay, excellent. Now, will need your number to send you the details of where, is that okay? And would you like me pick you up?"

Oh God, of course he will need my mobile number, and my address if he is going to pick me up.

"Yes, of course, er, you can pick me up, I may not know where it is you take me and I am rubbish with directions." I gave him what he needed, nervous to my core having given someone my details. When I got home I made sure that my back gate and all my downstairs doors and windows were properly secured and locked. Just because you are paranoid, doesn't mean that no one is out to get you.

I rummaged in my bag and found the napkin with his phone number, luckily I didn't throw it away, at least it saved me having to ask him for it. I added it to contacts in my phone, I don't tend to answer unknown numbers. I showered, trying hard not to focus on my scarred chest which I hated, and just made sure I was clean, put my robe on and went back downstairs. I know there was much of the day left, but I didn't want to dress just yet. I made a pot of tea and went and sat in the conservatory and just listened to the birds in the trees, chattering amongst themselves as if they had no care in the world.

Did I have cares? I wasn't sure. I was pretty certain that I would spend the rest of my life alone, my scarring had seen to that. As longs as costs remained under control I had enough funding to live. But to live how? Simply surviving isn't comfortable. What would I achieve? I couldn't be a parent, I was no scientist or engineer, I could create nothing. What would I contribute?

I made a small dinner of ham and boiled potatoes. Sliced ham was so expensive these days, I tended to buy a large joint when it was on offer, cook it up, slice it and then freeze meal portions for later use. It made my money go further. You used to know when supermarkets did the price reductions, and get there at the same time for the bargains, now, you never knew, it was just any old time, so it was more pot luck. Sometimes I got real bargains, usually not.

After dinner my phone pinged. Oh. That never happens. I looked at it, message from Dave. Well, I knew it had to be, almost no one else knew my number, not anyone that would ping me anyway.

'Hello Sally. I will pick you up at six tomorrow night. X Dave'

Why the 'x', we weren't intimate. We hardly knew each other, having met in a Café and that was about it. I had no idea where he lived, what he did, anything.

'OK' I texted back. I didn't add an x.

When I went to bed that night I determined that when I woke, which was usually many times in the night, I would lay unmoving to see if my dreams persisted. In the morning my eyes opened, I realised that I was awake and my dream was still happening. As soon as I moved it just went and I couldn't remember much about it, the scenario but not the details. Lummy, Dave was right, who knew?

My morning was spent in the garden, dead heading, weeding, thinning, and finally a quick mow of the lawns. For lunch I had pickled onions, some gala pie, cheddar cheese and quartered tomatoes. After I had finished it occurred to me that pickled onion was perhaps not the best idea. Oh well. I spent the afternoon sucking mints, and I would of course clean my teeth later before I went out.

No dinner to plan for, I was being taken out, I knew not where. I tried on my new underwear with my insert in place. I wondered if I should add some talc? I suspected it may cause perspiration on my skin around there.

I then tried on the dress that I had bought, yes, I liked the look, you could not see any sign of the prosthetic and my profile was of a woman, not the deformity that I was. Shoes, I went for some low thick heels, Mary Poppins style. I was happy with my look, I just needed some make up. I put a cloth across my front, lest I spill makeup, and applied some foundation, blusher, eyeliner and a little mascara. Ready. Done.

I stood and twirled in front of the mirror, and was happy with how I looked. It had been many years since I had 'dressed up' for someone, this felt interesting, I wondered how the evening would go.

I double checked that all my windows were locked and secured, there was always the possibility that this evening was a ruse to get me out of the house so that others could burgle me. Not that I had much worth stealing. And then there was a knock at my door.

"Good evening madam, your chariot awaits," Dave said, a big smile on his face.

I set my house alarm, shut the door behind me and double locked. My house was as secure as I could make it. Perhaps, I thought, I could get a big woofy dog.

Don't ask me what his car was, I have no idea about cars. It was large and silver. He opened the front passenger door and I got in and fixed my seat belt. He shut the door and went around to the drivers side. I seemed to have oceans of room, perhaps he had the seat pushed all the way back, I didn't know.

I didn't ask where he was taking me, that, in my opinion, would have been rude. We pulled into a car park outside a restaurant just off the ring road. 'Luigi's' It said, so I guess Italian, perhaps pizza? When we approached the door I noticed quite a few awards, a star from Michelin and a number of rosettes from AA and RAC and a five star health award from the council. Okay then, not a greasy spoon.

We were seated and when Dave asked what I wanted to drink I suggested something not alcoholic that we could both share. He ordered an alcohol free Italian white wine. I wasn't sure that alcohol free and wine actually belonged in the same sentence, but, there you go.

A waiter came across and asked if we knew what we wanted. I had no clue so I suggested to the waiter, "I don't know Italian food, could I have the chef's choice for each course?"

"Madam," he said, "excellent, chef will be so happy."

"I will do the same," Dave said.

Looking at me he said "It'll be an adventure for us both."

"I think I have only had spaghetti or meat balls in terms of Italian," I said to Dave, "do you eat a lot of Italian?"

"Well, there are a lot of poor Italian restaurants, and then there is this one. I don't tend to go to the poor ones, but I do come here and whatever I have had here has been superb."

"It will be interesting to see if I get spaghetti and I end up doing what you dreamt." If I did get spaghetti, I may do that just to help his dream come true. It actually sounded quite sexy. There I was, for the fist time in ages using the 'sexy' word.

"I have a theory about Déja Vu," Dave said, "I think it is a quantum thing."

"What, like those films?"

"The Marvel ones, yes."

"Oh, go on then, I thought that was all made up."

"Oh no, it is based on scientific fact, quantum realms. I think Déja Vu is a bleed through of a parallel world that is ahead of us, and I think ghosts and apparitions are bleed through from worlds behind us."

"Oh. Okay. How does it work though?"

"Absolutely no idea, just a thought I had."

"Well it seems to fit. Perhaps it is true."

At that point the waiter came and in his Yorkshire Italian English presented us with our starters.

"Madam, Sir, the chef is delighted to present to you Frittura di Calamari. Lightly fried calamari and with the chefs own special tarter sauce."

We thanked him and he went away.

"Wow, this looks really good" I said. I do really like calamari and it so difficult to get in the UK, popular across the mediterranean countries, but generally poor here.

"Yes, it does, it never disappoints when I have it. I am not surprised chef offered it, it is usually sensational."

And it was, oh my goodness, the batter was so light, not like tempura, but still light and not in any way greasy on the palate. The squid was perfectly cooked, not a hint of rubberiness. I thought the tartar sauce okay, no more.

"Well now, what did you think of that Sally?" Dave asked after I had finished my last ring.

"I think that was really excellent. I am going to find it difficult to compete with that when it is my turn." Well I was going to find that hard to match.

"Oh, don't be silly, this is not a competition, it is just that this is the best Italian for miles and after my dream, I felt I needed to go Italian. What ever you chose will, I am sure, be fabulous. After all, it is the company not the food that is most important." He leant forward and briefly put his hand on mine and squeezed. Oh.

The waiter came and cleared away the plates, refreshed our wine and gave us cutlery for the next course. I couldn't guess what it was going to be from the cutlery, and then he returned.

"Madam, Sir, for your next course, chef has selected Gambaroni Aragosta, King prawns sautéed in a cream and lobster sauce. He hopes very much that you enjoy."

We thanked him and he wandered off. It did look rather nice. Two large shell on King prawns and then a number of shell off king prawns swimming in a creamy sauce. I tried the sauce first, oh goodness. That was divine. Creamy and full of lobster flavour. I was so pleased chef hadn't rolled a plate of pasta or some steak in front of us. This was a superb choice. And there was a plate of crusty bread chunks for dipping.

There was silence between us as we devoured the prawns, each leaving only some bread and prawn shells.

"Gosh that was good," I said, "really tasty."

"Yes, you know, I've not had that before, I shall certainly have it again, that is for sure."

The waiter offered a selection of Italian cheeses, grapes and biscuits to conclude, we decided to have one between us.

It had, all in all, been a wonderful meal, I had actually enjoyed myself, which I did not expect to happen. We drove home talking about what he did, he was a Management Consultant, and what I did, nothing, and just the general enjoyment of being with someone rather than just yourself.