Second Comings

Then he thought of her not dancing with him. Why? Was she protecting him then? And she had been trying to protect him from Sharon Hastings? Why? What was going on?

He opened his old HP laptop and the screen remained black. He unplugged the thing, tried to restart it again and...nada. Nothing. Even the power light remained off.

"Swell! That's just what I needed today!" he said to his office walls. He called the Hastings house, and Sharon answered.

"Sharon? It's Dennis Secord."

"High, Denny. What's up?"

"My laptop. I think it's fried. Anyplace here in the village to pick up a new one?"

"What do you have?"

"An old HP."

"No, no, no. Everything's Apple up here, Amigo. The student's get papers to you over a proprietary system that's Mac only, and all faculty correspondence comes over that system too. They didn't tell you?"

"Nope."

"Well, that's just peachy. Know how to use a Mac?"

"No, not really."

"I should've guessed. Republicans use PCs, Democrats use Macs."

"So I've heard. But I guess when in Rome? Where can I get one?"

"Best bet, with classes starting next week, is Boston, at the Coop, or one of those new Apple Stores. Want some company?"

"I'll have to let you know. I may do mail order. Not sure I have enough time to get into the city now. Thanks for the heads up though."

"Jordan, I'm home all the time this year, so if you need anything, just call me. Okay?"

"Thanks, Sharon. I appreciate that."

"Uh, Jordan? Did you look up Lansing in the faculty handbook?"

"Yup. Sure did."

"I'm sorry. I felt like I should've warned you or something, but Dennis said that would be inappropriate."

"Well, it's a brave new world, and I'm a little out of touch."

"I know. Look, I'm sorry I came on so hard the other night, but it get's lonely up here. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here. Okay?"

"Got it, Sharon. And again, thanks. I'll talk to you soon."

He rang off, rolled his eyes and shook his head. "That's gotta be the horniest broad in Vermont!" he said to the walls as he thumbed through a magazine looking for a Mac source. After a few calls, it looked like the Apple Store in Cambridge was going to be his best bet, but it was already too late to make the trip that day, so he decided to shoot for tomorrow.

Then without thinking he picked up the phone and dialed Lansing's number.

"Hello?"

"It's Jordan. Jordan Secord. You busy tomorrow?"

"No," she said, but he could hear the hesitation in her voice. "What's going on?"

"I've got to go to Boston. Do you know your way around the city yet?"

"A little. Where're you going?"

"Apple Store. Cambridge."

"I know right where that is. When were you thinking of leaving?"

"Seven-ish."

"That sounds right. Want me to pick you up?" she asked.

"I need to drive my car in for service. Why don't you swing by, we'll leave from here."

"Okay." He still heard the uncertainty in her voice, and he felt his growing by the moment too, then he felt himself adrift. Then: "Uh, Jordan, did you, well, did you read my faculty listing?"

"Yup."

"You're not, like, going to try to kill me, are you?"

He laughed. "Doubtful, but I did want to talk about things."

"Things?"

"Yeah, things. You, mostly. What happened, I guess." He felt like he was on autopilot deep inside that moment, just following the contours of his heart, not thinking things through like he ought to. "And I need to do a few other errands while we're there, so why don't you bring an overnight bag, just in case we run late."

"What?"

"In case we run late," he said again, stumbling through the fog of desire. "Just a few things."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure? About you? Hell no, I'm not sure. I'm anything but sure, but when it comes to you I'm losing my fucking mind right now. But you're a shrink, right? Who better to spend the day with than a shrink!"

She laughed. "I see your point." There was a long pause, and he listened to her breathing. "Jordan?"

"Yup?"

"I'm glad you called." Then the line went dead, and suddenly Jordan Secord felt a great calm descend over his troubled soul.

"Now why the devil did I do that?" He said to the walls.

"Because you need to," the walls said back.

+++++

"So, you've never been married?" she asked him. They were eastbound on the Mass Pike, still about an hour or so from the city. "Why?"

"Oh, I'd like to say I never met the right girl, but that's not quite right. I met a few, but things never really clicked. I've been accused of having an abrasive personality, you see." He smiled, but the words hurt.

"Abrasive?"

"I think pompous and stuck up are the words most commonly used to describe me."

"But you think you're shy? Is that it?"

"Sometimes. But I think I put on the pompous act as a way to keep a certain distance from people."

"Distance?"

"Well yeah, but that's what got me about you the other night. I didn't feel that way. I didn't feel the need. That's what's been bothering me ever since."

"Bothering you?"

"Well, you're a guy, right? I mean, you were?"

"I still am in some ways, in ways I can never change, but I've always felt like I was a woman, and I've made some of the physical changes. Is that what bothers you?"

"Yes."

"What exactly bothers you?"

"You said you've made some changes?"

"Yes, but I still have my penis. Is that what you mean?"

"I'm not gay, Michele."

"And neither am I, Jordan, though some people would argue the point. I like men, but I've never thought of myself as a man. It's a tough idea to wrap your head around, I know. It took me years to get where I am now."

"And where's that?"

"I'm comfortable in my skin, Jordan. I'm a woman, just not the type of woman you're used to."

"A woman with unusual, well, equipment."

"Yes. I guess you could say that, but that's not how I define myself."

"Are you going to stay that way?"

"I think so. The surgery is daunting, the results often more trouble than they're worth. So, I'm just waiting to find someone who'll accept me as I am now."

"Do you think that'll happen?"

She looked at him then. "I'm hopeful, but maybe I'm just stupid." She looked around the inside of the car for a moment. "This is an Audi, isn't it?"

"Yup, a TT. It's eight years old now, and getting to be a pain in the ass to keep running. I wanted to look for something new in the city today."

"Like what?"

"Probably four wheel drive, something bigger. Maybe a Land Rover."

"This car suits you, Jordan. Why get something bigger than you need?"

"I want something that I can carry skis on, and maybe four people."

"Kids?"

"Me? I doubt it. I don't think I'd make a particularly good 'dad'."

"Why not?"

"I think I get too wrapped up in my work. I'd hate to short-change a kid that way."

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Geez, I forgot you're a shrink!"

"That's called resistance, Jordan, in case you were wondering."

"What? Changing the subject?"

"Um-m."

"What about you? Do you want to be a...mother?"

"Yes, sometimes I think I'd like to do that, within the obvious limitations."

"Adopt, you mean."

"Yes."

"Did you ever see the movie 'Shadowlands'?"

"You mean the one with Anthony Hopkins, as C. S. Lewis?"

"That's right. You know what I find most comfortable about that movie? It's Lewis and his brother. They live together, teach at Oxford, and no women complicate their lives until that poet, you know, the Debra Winger character, moves in after she gets cancer."

"I remember. You mean you find that interesting. The celibacy?"

"In a way. It's living without the complications of a relationship, of any kind. What I find odd, at least when I think about it at all, is that men tend to get married and then spend a lot of their time plotting to get away from their wives. Play golf one weekend, go hunting the next weekend, always some excuse to get away from their wives, and be with their friends. Their friends, who happen to be man. Like brothers. Just men off having fun with the friends they grew up with, more often than not. Friendship, companionship. Not sex."

"That's called being a bachelor, Jordan. Nothing new about it, by the way. Many men are afraid of commitment, and so never marry. Most are content to have a series of brief, casual relationships in lieu of long-term partnerships, and they're happy. Does that description fit you?"

"So far, but people change. But, would you call bachelorhood a psychopathology, then?"

"I'd hate to apply a label like that with such broad strokes. It could be, certainly, depending on individual circumstance, like why a person avoids commitment."

"So, would I be a confirmed bachelor? I'm in my forties and don't feel compelled to marry."

"I don't know you well enough to answer that."

"You know, this is weird, but I find it easier to talk with you than I ever have with anyone else before. I mean anyone. You just feel comfortable to me, and that unsettles me."

"Why? Because I have a penis?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's as simple as that, yet even so the comfort is there. Like I'm talking a guy, but you're not really. Does that make any sense?"

"So, why Shadowlands?"

"I guess more than anything it's the idea of living without all the tension that comes from the sexual dynamics of a married relationship. That's the most attractive thing about that movie."

"Seems like that may have been a good solution for two older men, brothers at that, who also happened to be deeply religious. You don't have a brother, do you? And somehow I doubt you're the religious type."

Secord laughed. "That bug never bit me, but I consider myself a moral man."

"Okay. So, what you think you want is a long term, asexual relationship, with a brother figure. Have I got that right?"

"That's not what I said, is it? I said I found the idea comfortable. I also think I'd find it socially impractical, and probably emotionally very unsatisfying in the end."

He slowed for a toll booth, then continued into the city towards Brookline, and Secord wound his way through the city to Boylston Street, to an Audi dealer. He walked in, talked to a salesman for a while, then came back out to the lot. Michele was walking around the new cars, looking at a row of TTs.

"I like this one," she said when Jordan got to her. It was a bright silver hardtop, with a deep red leather interior.

"Yeah? I do too. Classic colors, a very '50s combination."

The salesman approached. "I'll need your keys, sir," the man said.

"Work up a number on this one for me, will you?" Jordan said. The salesman smiled as he walked away. "Any others hit you?"

"No, this one suits you."

"And it suits you, too?"

"If I had the money to buy a car like this, it'd be this one right here."

"Then this is what we'll get."

She shook her head. "What do you mean, we?"

"I don't know. I guess that just kind of slipped out." He looked at her, saw the expression of dismay on her face before she turned away. The salesman came back a few minutes later and handed him a piece of paper, and Secord wrote down a counter offer. The salesman said he'd try and walked back inside.

"Are you really going to buy this thing? Based on what I said?"

"Yup. Provided the numbers work."

"Why?"

"Because I listened to what you said. You made a good case."

The salesman came back out, said he could go at that price, so Secord pulled out his checkbook and filled one out, then handed it to the man. "How long to get it ready?"

"Half hour at the most, sir."

"Got a ski rack for this thing?"

"Yessir, permanent or removable. Your choice. Price is the same."

"Removable, then. Just toss it in the back."

"This is unbelievable," Michele said.

"It's a car," Secord said. "No big deal. Besides, you like it."

She shook her head. "Right. Like that matters."

The salesman showed Secord how to work the electronics, including the GPS, and they were off, headed across town to Cambridge. They were at the CambridgeSide Galleria before noon, and left with a MacBook and an iMac a half hour later.

"Man, we're making good time," he said. "How about lunch?"

"Sure. You like Thai?"

"Yup."

"There're a couple of good places near the MFA."

"The museum? Sounds doable. Hope parking isn't an issue."

They drove across the river and found a parking place, then walked to the restaurant. She had on heels again and he still couldn't keep from looking at her legs every chance he got, and that unnerved him. They went in and he asked that she order for them both, which seemed to unsettle her a little.

"Something's bothering you," he said as they waited for their iced-teas.

"You seem to be making some wild assumptions about things, Jordan. That's all."

"Oh, I see that, but I'm not sure I agree with you. I like the car, a lot actually, and that doesn't have a lot to do with your liking the car. I'm glad you do, but it was either going to be another TT or a Land Rover, and really, I'm happy with this. Our tastes are alike, I guess."

"Okay," Michele said, "I'll buy that. But you seemed to imply you wanted me to be happy with your choice. Why?"

"Because I feel that way."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"And I'm absolutely sure I don't understand."

They both laughed at that, then ate a big lunch, and both immediately regretted it. Secord was sleepy now, and he said he didn't feel like making the two hour drive back to Vermont. Michele seemed content with that. "You look like you need a nap," she said, "or would you like me to drive back."

"I think I'd like to get a room."

She nodded. "One room, or two?"

"What would you like?" he asked.

"One, I think."

He called the Marriott Long Wharf and reserved a room, then they drove down to the bay and checked-in. He pointed down the wharf to an old two story building. "See that? The Chart House. Best rum drinks in North America. You game?"

"Maybe in a few hours."

"Sounds about right." They went inside then up the escalator to registration, and he had the concierge make reservations for eight at the restaurant, then he handed her bag off to the bellman. Their room overlooked the bay, and views of the waterfront were stupendous. After her bag arrived, she went into the bath and shut the door.

He was nervous, as unsettled as he'd ever felt in his life, and he felt oddly out of control – again – like he was on autopilot...like his life was suddenly veering off on an unexpected tangent. She came out a few minutes later, and he gasped when he saw her.

She'd pulled her longish hair up into a tight bun, and had put on maroon lingerie and gray stockings, and sky high maroon pumps. Her penis was stuffed inside lacy panties, and the sight was vaguely unsettling, yet oddly exciting at the same time. She walked across the room and lay on the bed, looked at him silently, expectantly. He went into the bathroom and showered quickly, then joined her on the bed.

"You know," she began, "what happened the other night was one thing. This is something else entirely. Jordan? Think about what you're doing...where you're at. Is this what you want?"

His eyes were wide, his expression more like a little boys, and he slowly shook his head. "I have no idea what I want right now, Michele. I'm terrified, but it's like I'm intoxicated. I look at you and I...well, you're the sexiest creature I've ever seen in my life. Then I look at that thing between your legs and I want to shrivel up inside. I want to run away. Then I look at you again, at your eyes, no, I look into your eyes...and I want to hold on to you forever."

"You're confused. I think that's natural, Jordan, and don't think we have to push this. We don't have to do things you're not comfortable doing."

He felt a great weight lifting, and he leaned into her and kissed her once, then he leaned back and looked into her eyes.

"The thing is, Michele, I feel something right now like I've never felt before. I don't really know what love is, but I always expected it would feel something like this."

"You're sweet, Jordan. But we're not there yet."

He shook his head. "No, we're not. I don't know what's happening to me right now, but I'm happy you're here with me."

"Maybe you want to fall in love, Jordan. Have you thought about that?"

"Not until I met you. Does that seem hard to follow?"

"I think it's supposed to happen that way," she said as she smiled. "At least, that's what I heard once."

He nodded and grinned, then kissed her.

"Jordan? You're sure?"

"I want to try," he said, "but no, I'm not sure."

She took him in hand and began working his cock, and when he was steaming hard she leaned down and took him in her mouth again. He was out of his mind now, completely consumed with the idea of her – then she lay back on the bed and removed her panties. She spread her legs and pulled him up to her face. They were touching down there, rubbing into each other, when she whispered hoarsely: "Fuck me, Jordan. Put it in me now and fuck me..."

She put her legs on his shoulders and he felt her silky nylon sheathed legs caress his face, smelled the leather of her shoes as he placed his cock on her rosebud, and in an instant he was inside her. Her back arched, she began writhing beneath him as he plowed into her – and once again he was on the verge within moments and he tried to hold back...but it was too late...within the span of a few heartbeats he was on his elbows and toes, shooting his seed deep into her ass...then he was falling, falling into her arms, crying uncontrollably, holding onto her fiercely, whispering her name, telling her that he loved her over and over.

And she was holding him as tightly, taking all he had to give and wanting more.

'Oh, I know you,' she said to herself, 'I know where you've been hiding all your life.' She held his face now, kissed the tears away while she continued to move gently under him.

"You are so beautiful," he said. "Everything about you...is so beautiful..."

She kissed him again, felt him growing inside her again, and when he was ready they moved slowly into the evening together.

+++++

She'd wanted him to take her in his mouth, in his ass, but he simply couldn't handle the idea and had pulled back. She understood, she'd said, yet she'd clearly been hurt by this semi-rejection. They'd showered together, kissed and held on to one another as his storms passed, then she'd soaped off his cock while the hot water ran down their bodies, yet he'd been reluctant to even touch her cock, and the more insistent her need grew the further away he pulled.

Dinner was lost in a haze of rum induced denial, and he seemed to pull even further away as the evening wore on. She wanted to hold him there and then, tell him it was going to be alright, but the simple truth was she didn't know how to handle the pain of his uncertainty. He was confronting something so momentous, emotions so beyond his own set of expectations that he was, she feared, beginning to lose contact with reality, at least the reality he had known and taken for granted all his life.

This was an entirely new 'gender identification' problem for her too, something she knew existed in a clinical sense but that nevertheless represented an emotional hurdle beyond her own experience. Jordan was, after all, a man. A man with heterosexual patterns of relating to the sexual world. Now, over the course of a few days, decades of both experience and expectations were being challenged – and overturned. They were, she understood now, moving way too fast for his limited experience. She risked alienating him, or worse, fracturing his personality, if she pressed too hard, too soon.

They walked down to the end of the wharf after dinner, and she waited for his hand to seek hers. When he did, when he took her hand in his, she moved closer.