I am your Princess Colleen
April 17, 2016
Hi D,
I am
Colleen. I hope always to be your Princess. There are some things I want you to
know about me. I am not Colin. I have a friend who is a doctor named C but
that’s not me. I am a new, brave, beautiful, powerful, feminine, intelligent
woman named Colleen. I am not that experienced, but I am learning fast. Please
join me for the rest of my life. But, please, leave C behind. Admit it, you
don’t even like him that much. You are always arguing with him. You disapprove
of the way he manages L and you make it evident. You disagree with his
attitudes towards money, and that has caused a lot of unnecessary friction. You
don’t have these issues with me. You have always supported me and made me feel
beautiful and necessary.
I have been
Colleen for as long as I can remember. Since dreams at age 3 or 4 when I
dreamed I was being reborn as a girl, and, oh, it felt good. Since my passion
for sweaters that was clearly manifest from age 4 on. From my love affair with
my nipples which I embraced by age 7. Since my mom dressed me up in full makeup
at age 8. Since I tried on her clothes in the attic at age 11. Oh, did I have a
lot of shame about these acts, but that was me, and it never went away. My
mother repeatedly said that I had such fine fingers, not like a man’s. Mable
repeatedly admired my legs—“You should be a woman with those legs.” In high school I was completely left out of the normal heterosexual banter about
girls. When they showed romantic films at boarding school I always identified
with the female character. When I look at the ads in the Sunday papers for
women’s garments and undergarments, unlike the rest of the boys who fantasied
being with these women, I fantasied being one of these women. When I first got
introduced to porn, my odd fondness was for the lesbian pictures. It all looked
so tender and sweet to me. I had no interest even in being with a woman as a
sexual object, just as a friend. Some of these good friends remarked how easy
it was to talk with me, almost like I was a woman.
In college,
I thought that these feelings meant I was gay, at a time when gay was first
being accepted. I thought about joining the LGBT club, but didn’t have the guts
to let the world know anything about what I was feeling. Instead I spent a lot
of my college career taking psychology classes (actually only two) and reading
books to try to understand what it was about my childhood that made me the way
I am. I learned an awful lot; it was all so new to me, and revealing, and
important, but it didn’t answer that question. Why am I the way I am? Of course, I went through just enough
formulaic dates so that I would not be suspected of being strange, but never
once did I ever get almost really attached as a man to a woman. My involvement
in the local Cambridge community and the boy scouts provided a much needed and
intense distraction from my ‘problem,’ for which I had no descriptors.
Fortunately
medical school keeps you so busy that you really have relatively little time to
ponder your sexual identity. Again I did some formulaic dates, and I was
starting to get very itchy to start my final destination family life, but every
time I came close, I had a panic attack. This pattern happened again during my
internship, and it was these panic attacks and flawed relationships that
brought me to Rochelle. Unlucky me.
In all my
marriages I tried to be a man. I could be a pretty good father, but I couldn’t
be anyone’s heterosexual male lover. So I turned inward. I didn’t turn outward
again until my relationship with M, where there was some real tenderness
and affection for me, having nothing to do with my profession or finances. And
when I got comfortable, the female me started to appear with an intensity that
surprised us both. It was right for me, but not for him, but that is another
story. It also awakened my sexuality and when I visited erotic fiction sites I
found that the transgender stories moved me most. I asked myself why. I then
asked, “Could this be me?” And, indeed, I found that it was. I started therapy
and to make some body changes—laser hair treatments and OTC estrogen creams.
Then I started buying some sweater dresses and some wigs, and with every step I
liked me more.
Of course,
I had already met you, but you were married. Then I encountered you when I
broke up with M. I think we were both surprised when we found how well it
worked. Then I shared my secret and you jumped right in both feet and both
breasts. That’s when Colleen really came to life. You’ll never know what a
delight it was to be able to express that side (it really isn’t a side; it’s
the whole thing) of me, and to be able to progress, to get help in how to
dress, how to do makeup, how to make love. It is so interesting that the first
time we made love, my male sexuality didn’t work, but I had the most unique
sexual encounter I had ever had, which left such a strong compulsion to keep
returning, to keep being female, and to share my ever-becoming-more-feminine
body with a woman. It has been such a delight, near nirvana. And your faithful
support of my love for girly sweaters, and your acceptance that I was not made
to have man-on-woman sex, but rather for woman-on-woman sex. You are my
favorite lesbian, a title you wore uncomfortably at first, but now seem to wear
with pride. I know I am proud of it and of us.
You know,
when I look back, I think it was probably a mistake for us to marry as Colin
and D. It should always have been as Colleen and D, but the reality
put that so far away at the time. But it also turned out that half-baked like
that didn’t work very well. I hope you want me as Colleen. I hope you can let
go of C, except as an old friend. And I hope that Colleen and D will
always be together.
There’s a
little limbo to get through, but surely that doesn’t matter that much when
there is so much ahead for us.
With all my
love,
Your
sweet little Pink Pretty Pussycat Princess
I am Colleen. Hear me roar. I am Colleen. Touch my bunnies
and hear me purr. Touch my soul and I will serve you forever!
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