Beyond Mortality

by Ami Lamida

 

I can't tell you how long ago I became aware of existing. I don't have any real memories except what I am currently observing. I can't find any way to identify who or what I am. I don't have any form, just a feeling that I am alive. I am surrounded by many beautiful colors, though they don't seem to have any form either. There is light, but it doesn't seem to have a source. I would like to be able to describe things better, but I don't have any memories to compare my current experience to.

Vaguely, I am aware that I have floated for some time in my colorful void, but I finally feel something – a strange disorientation that might be movement. I am not sure because everything around me seems to be constantly moving while remaining still. But I do feel some tugging deep down at the core of whatever I am.

The directionless light is beginning to fade, and it eventually becomes dark. I have a new feeling – one I don't like. A name for my new feeling presents itself out of somewhere. It is called fear and panic. Yet there is no way for me to act upon that feeling. I can only wait and fear.

The timelessness of my existence confuses me because it seems like both an eternity and no time at all before light again comes into existence around me. The light is accompanied by images that seem to be approaching me. These images are the first forms I have seen since I became aware of myself, and I feel a strong attraction to the new images. Unfortunately, I have no means of movement, so I wait.

The timeless waiting continues as the images get close enough to identify objects. There is a bright light that seems like a pinpoint, yet has a glow that radiates out. There are figures around the light that seem to be staring at something. The figures are bathed in white light, but seem to be covered in blue cloth. Again an idea presents itself to me from nowhere – this is a hospital room.

Suddenly, thoughts begin to present themselves to me from everywhere. The figures in the images are holding a tiny object, and I know this is a baby. The baby is crying, and a directionless voice tells me that the baby is me. I am witnessing my birth.

The images continue to approach me but swirl and dissolve as they draw near. They resolve again into a few large figures looking down at a smaller one. The figures are so close I feel like I am part of them. The swirling colors around me fade and I seem to be inside a box with the figures. Suddenly, I am a participant in the tableau of figures in front of me, though I am somehow aware that I can't act upon the scene. I am merely a watcher, as memories of my childhood return to me.

~~~

I had been alone, playing with my army figures in my room. I had brothers, but they would often go to friend's houses to play football and other games. I didn't have any friends, nor did I like the rough sports the other boys seemed to like. I wasn't the happiest of boys, but I was happy enough when I was left to myself. I was my own best friend, and I had many adventures with myself that I wouldn't have traded for all the friends in the world.

My parents were scolding me. "Why don't you go outside to play? You need to get some fresh air and make some friends." I didn't answer, but I didn't want to go out either. I was having fun by myself. "Honey, we are concerned about you. You don't want to grow up to be a hermit do you?"

I didn't know what a hermit was, but if my parents thought it was bad, it must be bad. "No," I meekly replied.

"I don't know what to do, Bob. You handle this." Mom left.

"Come on, Jack. You're going outside to play, and you're not coming back in until dinner." Dad led me out the back door of the house and locked me outside. I was left to decide how I would spend the afternoon. I knew one of my brothers was a few houses away playing football with a friend, but it didn't interest me. My other brother was a few blocks away playing monopoly with his friend, but I was only ten years old, and he was twelve. It seemed like a huge generation gap to a kid, and I knew I wouldn't be welcome there either.

So I skulked around the side of the house where there was a swing set, and I half-heartedly swayed back and forth on the swing. Luckily, a child's imagination is a fertile thing. By the time I was called in for dinner, I had built a kitchen in the sandbox and surrounded myself with an assortment of mud pies.

~~~

The images swirled again, and suddenly I was fourteen. I was again standing in front of my parents being scolded. They were much angrier this time, and I knew why. I was wearing one of my mom's dresses along with her silky under-things.

I had been alone again, and my mind had strayed. I had just been curious at first, but once I put my mom's clothes on I couldn't bear to take them off again. I had discovered that women's clothing was sensual and pretty on me. The bra, panties, and hose were both constricting and liberating. The dress rubbing against it all gave me wonderful sensations.

My parents came in and caught me prancing in front of the big mirror on the wall of their bedroom. It was very humiliating. I was told never to go in my parent's room again and that I was grounded for life. Grounding never really had an effect on me since I liked to be home alone anyway. But being cut off from this wonderful clothing and the feelings it gave me was going to be difficult. So right then I resolved to get some female clothing of my own.

~~~

The world around me swirled again, and I found myself in college on a date. I was breaking up with a girl I was beginning to fall in love with. I was feeling heartbroken, but I knew I was doing the right thing.

"Why? I don't understand," she insisted.

"I can't really explain it. Just trust me; you wouldn't be happy living with me. I have all sorts of problems that you couldn't handle. We would be divorced within a year. I love you, but it just wouldn't work."

I took her home and knew I'd never be hearing from her again. I cried as I drove away, letting the tears flow freely. I was angry with myself, not because I'd done the right thing, but because of what I was. I cursed the day I tried on my mother's clothes, but knew at the same time that it was inevitable that I was to become a cross-dresser.

I went back to my shared apartment and locked the door to my room. I took my trashiest outfit out of my trunk. I put on the red lace bustier, filling the cups with old hose. I slid on the red seamed stockings, clipping them to the elastic straps built into the bustier. I slid on my silky red thong and patent leather pumps with the 3" heels. I put on my stretchy red mini-skirt, makeup and long red wig.

I admired myself in the mirror and strutted around the room a bit. I was quite a pretty little slut, and the tops of my stockings showed nicely when I posed just right. Still, I was feeling pretty guilty about dumping my girlfriend and I flogged myself mentally as I thought about what my life might have been like.

I felt compelled to punish myself physically after that. Struggling against a tight hogtie while dressed up eased my guilt somewhat, and when I finally wore myself out, I flopped over on my side and fell asleep.

~~~

I don't remember waking up in my bondage because the world had swirled again, and I was thrown forward into my thirties. I was having an argument with my wife. I should never have gotten married, or perhaps I should have married my girlfriend in college. But life is rarely perfect for a habitual cross-dresser.

My wife was complaining about my cross-dressing, which I never did when she was around, so I couldn't see why it made a difference. Her having sex with another man in our bed seemed to be a much bigger deal to me. She refused to take any responsibility for her affair, claiming she "needed a real man." I should have known better than to get married. I had been fairly happy living by myself.

~~~

The swirling propelled me forward again into my forties. I had become the hermit that my parents had warned me about becoming; only I couldn't see anything wrong with it. I was happier than I ever remembered being.

I had sold everything I had after the divorce. Luckily, I had been hiding some money from my wife for years and she never found out about it. It was my cross-dressing fund, but there was more there than I'd ever need for buying clothes and makeup.

I bought a little patch of land high in the Smoky Mountains and had a small cabin built there. I had no driveway because I had no car. My land was just a clearing in the thick forest.

Every so often I would hike into the small town nearby for supplies. That was the only time I would dress as a man. Few people knew what kind of life I led up in my cabin and that was the way I wanted it to stay.

The rest of the time I lived in bliss as a female. I occasionally got bored, but there were some hikers that would happen across my cabin from time to time that kept things interesting. It is funny how otherwise bigoted men will act when there is absolutely no one else around. Some of them became fairly regular visitors to my little cabin.

On this particular day, I was outside cultivating my flower garden. I was dressed for getting dirty, but still pretty feminine. I wore a plain white blouse, a beige sweater, a loose beige skirt, ankle socks, and tennis shoes. I must have been daydreaming because I didn't hear any sounds before I was grabbed from behind and strong hands covered my mouth so I couldn't scream.

I was hauled into my cabin and thrown roughly on my bed. I didn't even get a look at the man at the time because he immediately put a hand on the back of my neck to hold me down while he bound my hands behind my back with some rough ropes. I was blindfolded, gagged, and raped. I still don't understand why he had to strangle me afterward.

~~~

The scene seems to retreat as it fades, and I have another new feeling. I know the name of the feeling now because I remember feeling it just as my consciousness faded. It is called anger.

I want to rage and strike out at something, but I have no substance, nor does anything around me. My anger fades slowly, and I begin to feel a warmth from somewhere. Again I feel a tugging in my soul and I get the feeling of movement again.

A bright light grows in front of me. It has no shape, but it begins to fill the void. I find myself in front of a white gate where a man stands as if he is waiting for me. It turns out that he is waiting for me.

"Welcome to heaven. I hope reliving your troubled life hasn't upset you too terribly. We are all very proud of you for overcoming the obstacles in your life and very sorry about the way you died. It may be of some comfort to you to know that there IS justice in the eternities. The man that murdered you will spend many millennia dying the same death he gave you.

"But enough of the bad; we like to focus on the good here. And the good news is that you will be able to live happily here for eternity. You proved on earth that you were fit for heaven, even though we wouldn't normally approve of that hermit period of yours. You might have helped other people with similar problems instead, but we understand your reasons for closing yourself off to society, and you certainly paid the price, so you are forgiven.

"Now…you can't be floating around heaven without a form, so if you will look in the mirror in front of you, you will see that your form has been perfected."

The air shimmers in front of me and suddenly solidifies into a perfectly shaped mirror. It reflects a perfectly formed woman wearing beautiful white robes. Tears come into the eyes of the woman in the mirror. I find I can speak now. "But…" The voice is that of a woman.

"Oh yes, I almost forgot. The image you see is the form that is perfect for YOU. Although it is unusual for an angel to take the form of the opposite gender he or she is born with, it is not without precedent. The important thing is that you be happy here and you would never be happy as a man.

"You will discover the rest on your own. Now Jackie, please go through the gates and follow the golden path. You will meet another angel along the way that will lead you to your new estate."

As I pass through the gates, a warm, heavenly feeling comes over me. There are no words to describe what I feel and see…

And that is when Paul woke up. He felt groggy and disoriented, as many do when they have visions of heaven. Many never quite get over the shock of waking up still in the imperfect mortal world. But Paul had been more intent on the message of the vision than the glamour of it.

Paul got up and carefully applied his makeup, more determined than ever to live his life the way he wanted to…as Paula.

 

-Report filed by Jackie Roberts, Guardian Angel of the Gender Challenged.

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Ami Lamida. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.