– Find Part 1 here – Chapter list here –
I don’t know how long I slept. When I finally drifted back from that blissful sleep Annabel was beside me in the bed fast asleep, her hair tumbled over her gently rounded shoulders.
I watched her for a few minutes as the early light of dawn filtered in through the half drawn curtains. How perfect that shoulder was, the warm brown of her skin, the lift of her breast, half uncovered by the sheet. It seemed inconceivable that this could have been the shoulder once of a boy, or a man. No, I was looking at a woman, regardless of what incongruity may be below that perfect flowing waist and flat tummy. How meaningless the label of this or that was, when what I was witnessing was beauty.
Does beauty demand a label, I asked myself. Male, female, young or old? No, what was before me was beauty – regardless of categorization or analysis.
Annabel’s breath flowed softly to and fro. I leaned forward and smelled the softness of her breath. How intimate an act that was. The warm flow of life into her and from her.
Surprised at my own boldness I drew back and silently slipped from the bed. A few quiet steps and I was outside walking on the sand, naked in the dawn, the air warm against my skin. I stepped onto the beach, and felt the soft sand between my toes. In my nakedness the familiar sensation of the cage between my legs seemed a contrast to the honesty of my nudity.
I cast this thought from my mind and surveyed the beach from left to right. Some 50 yards further down the beach stood another beach house, similar to the one I found myself sharing with Annabel. I guessed Miguel lived there. I could see an antenna rising from the roof. I gave it little thought, though. This place was both paradise and a prison.
In my naked state I walked along the beach and felt the warmth of the sun on my skin in a celebration of the coming day. Pressing my hands together between my breasts in prayer I set my legs a couple of feet apart and faced the rising sun. Sliding one leg back I began a sun salutation, allowing my body the pleasure of a yoga stretch. For several minutes I worked my body, feeling the bruises and sprains gradually ease as movement replaced stiffness.
The recent brutality I had faced at the hands of men slipped away as my body asserted itself. I found exhilaration in the languid flow of my body.
After some time I stepped into the water and found it warm, the shallow waters of the Gulf Of Mexico almost bath like as they flowed around the contours of my body. With slow easy motions I swam feeling the mobility an extension of my yoga practice. With slow and deliberate motions I drew the crescent movement of breast stroke in an exaggerated calming rhythm. My body was singing its pleasure.
Before long I turned back toward the beach and slowly returned toward the shore. Silver flashes of tiny fish moved to and fro beneath me, and the occasional black and yellow fish moved below me, till I felt my feet touch the firm sand and I walked to the deserted beach.
Some distance down the beach I stopped and faced the sun. Warm caresses of sunlight dried the surface of my skin, rejuvenating me inch by inch.
I had no idea of time, and the stillness of the remote island gave no clue of what might lie ahead. The sun by now was up a little, so I guessed it must be something around 7 o’clock, not that it mattered.
As sat on the beach and stared out across the empty sea, one perfect cloud on the horizon and wondered what might be ahead. Worrying about the future seemed a little pointless, and yet I could not help but think all this perfection could be snuffed out in an instant. Annabel’s assertion that all we could do was wait seemed just a little too fatalistic. And yet, any actions that might disrupt a negotiation for our freedom seemed foolish. Not that any such action seemed very possible.
My thoughts were interrupted when I saw Annabel appear from the beach house and give me a wave. She held something up, and called out. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, so got to my feet and walked in her direction.
Annabel wore a lemon wrap about her legs and a bikini top. I suddenly felt exposed in my nudity.
She slowly walked toward me and as I closed the distance I saw she’d brought me a large piece of watermelon.
“How bloody perfect is that,” I said quietly to myself.
As she got closer she said, “Won’t you have some breakfast, you must be hungry.”
“Thank you,” I replied and took the still chilled fruit. As I bit into it I felt it almost melt in my mouth.
“How long have you been up,” asked Annabel.
“I don’t really know,” I replied. “Half an hour or so I guess.”
“Well, considering you slept through the entire day yesterday, you must be hungry,” she said.
I had no idea so much time had passed.
“Is there any word about our fate,” I asked.
“Nothing,” replied Annabel. “All we can do is sit and wait.”
I glanced toward the other beach house.
“And Miguel?” I said. I wondered what he might think of my state of undress.
“Oh, he won’t be up for an hour or two. Come in and let me get you a proper breakfast. I’ve got some eggs, some ham and some beans.”
“That’s great,” I said.
The gilded cage seemed even more gilded and ever.
— —
Inside the beach house an old FM/AM radio picked up a few Mexican stations, and I found the BBC World Service on the AM band. There was obviously no satellite, or cable. Our connection to the outside world was tenuous to say the least. I knew this was quite deliberate, but found myself missing the ability to find some connection to the wider world. For no good reason this gave me a sense of anxiety.
Annabel busied herself in the kitchen, emerging with a tray with cutlery and two plates laden with toast, a fried breakfast, and orange juice, and set it all down on a table in the sunshine.
“Coffee will be a minute,” she said.
“Has this ever happened to you before,” I asked.
“Good heavens, no,” she replied.
“You seem awfully relaxed about it,” I said.
“Well, there’s really nothing we can do,” she replied.
Yeah, but the sword of damacles, and all,” I answered.
“We haven’t got any swords,” she said.
I wasn’t sure if that was a joke or she had missed the reference.
“Look,” she said sitting back in her chair with an air of patience, “I grew up being beaten for being too much of a girly boy. And as an adult I never had anyone close. The people who did get close to me would never take me home to meet the family, and frankly as they got to know me better they’d get bored and fade away. No one takes the trannie home to mummy.”
It was a familiar story. As she told it I knew many people like us had walked that same path. It is, after all, the trans story.
“Frankly, the people back at the farm have treated me better than anyone else in my life. I have no reason to think they won’t continue to do so. I have value there. And, when you think about it, worrying about the situation here sure as hell won’t change it.”
Handing me a piece of toast she had liberally spread some marmalade on she continued.
“So, the way I see it we might as well trust our luck, and enjoy the watermelon, the beach and the marmalade. Now, to the important stuff. Coffee?”
“Yes,” I replied softly. “Coffee.”