Pearls of Asia: A Love Story (26 page)

A howling hair dryer followed a long shower. Mac cranked up the volume, but it didn’t matter. Tom Hanks in running shorts just wasn’t doing it for him.

As Sheyla emerged from the bedroom, Mac couldn’t decide whose hips swayed more, Sheyla’s or her cat’s. Wearing a silk floral robe that stopped just short of her knees, Sheyla poured herself a glass of wine and made herself at home on his lap. Her soft skin was as smooth as silk, and her hair smelled like a dozen red roses. Mac took a moment to admire her face. Sheyla wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, and as far as he was concerned, she didn’t have to.

“Do you like my place?” she asked.

“Where does the maid sleep?” he joked. “This is incredible. I love this television. I could sit here and watch it for hours.”

“I should have you over on Sunday. The 49ers are playing the Patriots. The only thing better on Sundays than a three-hour champagne brunch is watching Tom Brady run around in tight pants.”

“You like football?” he asked. Mac was blown away. Denise despised sports. She would banish Mac to their bedroom with the 12-inch set he bought for fifty bucks back in college, just so she didn’t have to listen to him root for his favorite team.

“Yes. I love watching sports. I enjoy movies, too, especially old ones. I want to be Katherine Hepburn in my next life.”

“So let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he said while holding up his hand to count off with his fingers. “You like sports, movies, wine and cigars?”

“Yes, and don’t forget I’m gorgeous and have an insatiable appetite for sex.”

“Oh yeah…right.” The smile on Mac’s face was brighter than the TV screen.

Sheyla slid her hips to one side, causing her robe to ride up her thighs. Mac noticed a small tattoo on her right butt cheek. “What is that?” he asked.

“What’s what?”

“That tattoo on your butt. Is that some kind of flower?”

Sheyla stood up, lifting the hem of her robe ever-so-slightly, letting Mac get an up close and personal view of the work of art inked on her body. “It’s a butterfly resting on a leaf. I got it when I was in Thailand. Isn’t it beautiful? I made sure its wings were open, ready to fly. It represents me, Mackey. It’s a symbol of how far I’ve come, and how much further I have to go. Becoming a woman was just one step in my journey. I want to get married, have kids, and live a life I can be proud of. I had the artist draw it there because I only wanted to share it with someone I care about.” Sheyla curled up next to him like a cat. “I guess that means you, Mr. Fleet.”

“Aren’t you more lioness than butterfly?” he asked.

“You’re still putting my puzzle pieces together, aren’t you?”

“It’s what I do.”

“Well, the poet Maya Angelou once wrote, ‘We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it goes through to achieve that beauty.’ I swear she wrote that line just for me, Mackey. That’s why I chose the butterfly.”

“That’s beautiful, Sheyla. I mean that. It says a lot about you.”

“Speaking of which,” she said, closing her robe, “I realize I still don’t know anything about you. I’m the one who has been doing all the talking.”

“That’s because I’m as intriguing as a bowl of cottage cheese.”

Sheyla leaned over and softly kissed him on the cheek. “Well, here’s another piece for your puzzle, Mackey Fleet. I love cottage cheese.”

“I’m being honest with you, Sheyla. There’s nothing to tell. I’m just a cop who loves his job. Other than that, I’m not that interesting.”

Sheyla refilled her glass of Opus One. “Okay Mackey, then I guess I’ll just have to tell you about yourself. First of all, besides being one of the hottest looking guys I’ve ever met, you have a great sense of humor, and I love it. It’s part of what makes you you. But you’re using it to hide something, and it goes beyond the breakup of your marriage. Someone, or some thing, has created a pain deep inside your soul that causes you to doubt yourself.”

Mac gulped his wine like he was polishing off a glass of grape juice. “Well aren’t you a regular Sigmund Freud.”

“I’ll go even further,” she continued, grabbing the bottle to refill his glass. “I’d bet my entire shoe collection that you don’t have any tattoos, either. You know why? Because you don’t know how to express yourself. That’s why you wouldn’t talk to me the other night about your father. You’re afraid to open up to people, even those who are close to you. You keep things bottled up inside of you because of some Neanderthal doctrine that says a man shouldn’t show weakness. That’s bullshit, Mackey. I’m attracted to strong men not because they’re macho and tough. I’m attracted to strong men because they’re not afraid to be themselves.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheyla.”

“Charing,” she cried, echoing the phrase she taught Mac at Fleur de Lys. Sheyla pointed at the glossy black and white photo on her bookshelf. “Mackey, take a look at that picture. Believe it or not, that’s me. Back then I was nothing but a miserable fourteen-year-old, scared-out-of-my-mind gay boy. I hated my life then, and if I didn’t believe in myself I’d be nothing now but a miserable thirty-year-old, scared-out-of-my-mind gay man. I live my life honestly, warts and all. A lot of transsexuals don’t like to display reminders of their past, but I do. My childhood is part of who I am, of who I’ve become. So many people use the painful experiences of their lives to make excuses, but not me. I’m not afraid of failure or pain, because that’s part of what life is all about. The Japanese have a word for it: shoganai. It means bad stuff happens in life, and you can either make the most of it and move on, or use it as an excuse to do nothing. I’ve used what’s happened in my life, both the good and the bad, to create a tailwind to help me grow, instead of a headwind to slow me down. I’m proud of who I am, and I’m proud to say I’m a transsexual.”

Mac sat stupefied and stared at Sheyla. Who was this person, he thought, and how dare she talk to him like that? She barely knew him, for God’s sake. But deep down, Mac knew she spoke the truth. Sheyla may not have been formally educated, but she possessed a wisdom that went far beyond a classroom. Unlike himself, Sheyla wasn’t afraid to speak the truth, and Mac respected her for it. He moved in close to kiss her when her cat decided to jump between them.

“That was predictable,” he quipped. “Who’s your roommate?”

“Her name is Esares. Isn’t she sweet?”

“What kind of a name is Esares? Is she some kind of Greek goddess?”

Sheyla gave one of her deep, sexy laughs that warmed Mac’s heart like a cup of warm hot chocolate. “No silly, her name stands for the initials S-R-S, which is short for Sexual Reassignment Surgery. That’s the procedure a trans woman goes through when she decides to go all the way and get a vagina. Since I’m not planning on going that route, I got a cat and named her Esares. I tell my girlfriends she’s the closest I’ll ever get to having a pussy.”

Mac gave Sheyla a quizzical look. “Wait a second. I thought getting a vagina was the Holy Grail for girls like you. Don’t you lay in bed at night dreaming about having a man make love to you? I know I would if I were a woman.”

“Of course you would,” she chuckled while Esares made herself at home in her lap. “You’re a guy, and all you ever think about is getting laid. Having a vagina might make you a female, but it takes more than a hole between your legs to make you a woman. Plus I know plenty of girls who look back and regret having their surgery. Most went to Thailand to get it done, thinking that having a vagina would land them the man of their dreams. The reality is once your penis is gone, you’re just like the millions of other women out there dealing with the games you men like to play.”

“But hold on. You also said you wanted to get married. How can you expect to get married if both you and your partner have the same…uhm…original equipment? Last time I checked, same sex marriage is still illegal in most parts of this country.”

“Give me a break, Mackey. Fifty years ago it was illegal in most parts of this country for a black man to marry a white woman. It’s just a matter of time before gay marriage becomes legal. Besides, who said marriage had to be between two people who can make a baby? If a couple are in love and want to share their lives together, and are willing to make an emotional and physical commitment to each other, why can’t they be like everyone else and make it a legal commitment as well? Not every heterosexual couple who gets married has kids, yet no one from the government knocks on their door telling them they have to return their marriage license.”

“I don’t understand,” said Mac, confusion dripping from his face. “I thought you wanted to become a complete woman.”

“I am a complete woman,” she professed, “who happens to love her joy stick as much as you love yours.” Sheyla then took a hold of Mac’s hand and slid it under her robe, flaunting both her building excitement and her decision, for tonight at least, not to wear panties

“Whoa,” clamored Mac, pulling back his hand after touching, for the first time in his life, an erection that wasn’t his own.

“Calm down, Mackey,” soothed Sheyla. “It’s okay. I promise it won’t bite.” She returned his hand to her lap. This time Mac didn’t resist, touching her with less shock and more awe. “Mmm…you have no idea how good that makes me feel.” Sheyla took his hand and wrapped his strong fingers around herself.

“Oh, wow,” he murmured. Fondling her there, in her most sensitive spot, and watching her lustful reaction, excited Mac, and turned him on more than if he had touched a live wire. Within seconds the cat was launched into orbit, and the pair began necking like two hormonal teenagers on prom night. Mac removed Sheyla’s robe, revealing a black see through lace teddy that wasn’t meant to stay on. Her breathing turned heavy and heated, compelling Mac’s hands to set off on a search and enjoy mission for her breasts. Sheyla ascended onto his lap, mashing her puffy areolas into his face. Her nipples, made hard by the throes of passion, found their way into Mac’s mouth, where he kissed, licked, and bit them ever so lightly. Sheyla leaned her head back and moaned, her luscious brown hair falling like a soft rain onto his thighs.

Clutching her magnificent ass, Mac rose up, lifting Sheyla by her bottom. She wrapped her legs around his waist and threw her arms around his neck. After another passionate kiss, she took a deep breath and whispered into his ear, “Take me.”

Mac carried her into the bedroom and placed her on top of her canopied four-poster bed. Scented candles illuminated every corner of the room. Mac stripped down to his shorts, then circled the bed, stalking Sheyla like a panther approaching its prey. He never wanted a woman more.

Timeless minutes of amorous foreplay later, Sheyla rolled Mac onto his back. She stared at him for a moment, admiring the prodigious bulge erupting from beneath his silky blue boxers. Then she slid her hands along his thighs and slowly slid them off, exposing his trim and naked body for the very first time.

“Incredible,” she whispered.

Sheyla reached over to a bedside table, opened a drawer and removed a bottle of lube along with a condom. As usual, Sheyla had taken control. Whatever she was planning to do, Mac thought, was fine with him.

Sheyla kissed his neck, then his chest, and then flicked her tongue down to his waist. She took his erection into her warm mouth and caressed it like an only child. Without missing a beat, she lubed the index finger on her left hand and rubbed it around Mac’s anus. After rimming the entrance for what seemed like an eternity, Sheyla slowly, and willfully, pushed her finger inside him.

Mac took a halting breath. Sheyla wiggled her finger and gently tickled his prostate, giving him an erotic sensation he never imagined. Mac was in complete and total ecstasy, moaning in delight while Sheyla continued to probe and orally seduce him. No woman had ever done this to him before, and he loved it.

Just as he was about to climax, Sheyla sat up and reached for the condom. After ripping the wrapper off with her teeth, she seductively rolled it onto him. She picked up the bottle of lube and rubbed a handful onto her anus. She then placed more lube in her hand and lathered it all over Mac’s throbbing monument to manliness.

“I want you inside me,” she begged.

Sheyla got on her hands and knees, and Mac knelt behind her. Using slow and gentle strokes, he began to slide himself inside her. She was tight at first, so he made sure to take his time. Once completely inside, Mac’s hips began to thrust, back and forth, back and forth, and Sheyla let out a series of breathless moans and silent screams. Mac went a bit faster, a bit harder, and a bit deeper with each lustful stroke, until he lost himself in the ecstasy of the moment. After endless minutes of pure erotic passion, both lovers climaxed. Exhausted, they collapsed onto the bed.

Mac stared at the ceiling. He was physically and emotionally drained. He turned his head and glanced over at Sheyla, who looked as though she was about to fall asleep.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.

“I was just thinking how happy I am,” she said, breaking her silence. “It’s so wonderful to make love with someone you really care about.”

Mac wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t had sex in nearly a year, and he had just made love in a way he never would have imagined. He started to get up from the bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked, frightened that he was about to leave her.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?”