The Gypsy Butterfly

by Carolyn

   

As I prepare to step into the historic illusion initially implemented by my Grandmother, it seems appropriate to share this singular story heretofore undocumented in our times. Indeed, what I begin to relate to you, dear readers, is a tale of complexity, diversion and mysticism borne of a terrible time in my family history. You see, our family was of Russian descent living in Germany during the early 1940's. Our immigration to Germany years earlier would not have been cause for alarm save the fact that we were a band of Gypsies; itinerants traveling in our wagons across the countryside carving a meager living as coppersmiths, trades folk, and, key to our saga, fortune tellers.

My grandmother was the renowned Madam Natasha. Her mystic powers were legendary throughout the barren lands of Russia. Townspeople would eagerly await the arrival of our queue of wagons just to have the opportunity to have their fortunes told by Madam Natasha.

Natasha herself was not an imposing woman although she was unusually tall. Gypsy men typically don't grow beyond 5'5" and the women are usually close to 5' if they are that tall. Natasha was 5'8" and therefore one of the taller people in the group. Indeed, only three of the men were taller than her. Nevertheless, she did not stand out, probably by design, for she rarely wore the traditional flashy, colorful garb of the gypsies but rather dressed in black nearly all the time.

Traveling from town to town usually took at least three days since our caravan would only make about 15 miles a day in good weather. Of course rain or snow would have their natural effect on our progress so often we would be over a week in transit.

During these treks from town to town, Natasha dressed and worked just like the other women in the group. However, when we arrived at our new destination, she would don her long black dress with black stockings and shoes with a club heel. With a scarf and a myriad of necklaces, bangles and rings she transformed into Madam Natasha. She was not a striking woman but her eyes were bright and while her smile would light up the wagon, she had a gaze that struck fear into even the bravest of hearts.

As a child, I remember the swish of her long black dress with the petticoat underneath that was accompanied by the jangle of her jewels and the click of her heels as she strode through the wagon to make her way to her tent where people were usually lined up 10 deep awaiting her arrival. She never wore make up save for these times. Bright red lips, a touch of rouge and of course deep red nails.

Natasha was not a vain woman but her nails were her pride. Since her hands played such a role in her fortune telling procedure, she groomed them silently every day as the sun set. I often watched her lay out her Tarot cards in their traditional sequence and understood her near obsession with her hands. Indeed, her rings, bracelets and red nails would flash in the candlelight adding to the mysterious experience of her questioners. Questioners, of course, were those who sought her insight into their futures.

As I grew, my relationship with my grandmother deepened. She saw in me some of the gifts she herself had as a child. We would talk for hours as our wagon slowly trundled through the German terrain. I learned of her past and, importantly, how she slowly became aware of her second sense, if you will, that allowed her to meld one's past into a glimpse of the future. She taught me that the key to seeing forward was the ability to look backward. Certainly I was awed at her unusual talent and often wondered how such insight could be attained.

One day when the roads were so bad due to a raging storm that travel was impossible, she surprised me. As we sat in the wagon huddled close to our stove, she got out her cards. She rarely did this other than when we were encamped for our shows.

I was very excited – I was not yet a 10 year old boy and, while everything new was an adventure, I knew this was a special moment. She instructed me to be quiet; to watch, listen and learn.

With that, she related the story of a woman she had read for during our last stop. She told me the woman's history and proceeded to lay out the cards as if to read her future. Child, she said, for now, you will be that woman. Sit still and let me open her future for you.

I was rapt. I quietly played my role of the questioner while Natasha slowly dealt the cards unveiling, by their sequence and meanings, what lay in store for me. Of course, she cautioned me not to fall too deeply into the questioner role as to believe this future was mine. We were role-playing and yet it was hard not to relate her tale to me personally.

When she spoke her voice was hushed. No, it was not difficult to hear but surely it was not her normal speaking tone. It almost seemed as though she spoke for someone else – as if there were phrases and words floating in the room that she alone heard and repeated.

As we progressed through the disclosure, I slowly became aware that I sensed what she was going to say just as she spoke. I remember shaking my head as if to clear my mind. This was a sensation I had not experienced before.

When she concluded I stared at her. She was not in a trance but at the same time, she did not look the same. Her sharp eyes were dulled – her face was slack, her body fully relaxed with her hands limp on her lap. Slowly I saw animation creeping back, starting from her eyes and then quickly on to the rest of her visage.

She looked at me oddly. "Child" she said, "Why did you not tell me you have this gift?"

I imagine my look was totally blank. I asked what she meant and she shook her head.

"You had flashes of what I was to tell you before I spoke, did you not? I saw the flicker of recognition in your eyes as I told you what the fourth card revealed and also the seventh. By the time I was at the tenth card I truly believe you could have revealed it to me."

Of course, she was right. How she knew, I cannot tell.

The next day we tried again. This time she had me play the role of a young man she had divined for at a prior stop. As she began the sequence, I waited for the sensation to return but alas, nothing! When she was done, she again was slack and tired-eyed. When she returned to her old self she looked deeply into my eyes.

"It was not the same, was it child?"

Sadly I admitted that there were no revelations during her discourse. I was devastated because I had begun believing that I had her gift. She too was disappointed but had an odd look on her face. I asked why it did not come to me this time and she brushed off the question as if not asked. As she carefully placed the cards in their container she glanced up at me. She started to speak but stopped. If only I knew then what she nearly told me.

The weather cleared that night and so the next day our trek resumed. We arrived in the next town just as the sun was nudging the horizon so we had to move quickly to settle in and put up our tents. As always, the townsfolk were abuzz with excitement at having an audience with Madam Natasha. Of course, she did not disappoint and our eyes were heavy when she finally finished with her last questioner.

The next morning, she took me aside and stared for an uncomfortably long time deeply into my eyes. Then she asked me to sit with her in our wagon. We were alone as the most of our band were out hawking wares or doing odd jobs for a few coins. Natasha smiled at me and said, "Do you trust me, Child?"

"Of course, Grandmother- please never ask that again!"

"I know you do, but I wanted to be sure you knew as well."

With that, she went to her trunk and drew out a long black shawl, similar to the one she wore for her card readings. She came over and, instructing me to be still, gently wrapped it around my shoulders. She then drew up a table and opened her box of Tarot cards.

"Today, you do the reading. I will be the questioner. Fear not that anything you say will be silly or foolish. Hear the voice – relate the meanings – speak softly but clearly."

I didn't know what to do. Here I sat with beshawled with a pack of Tarot cards in my hand preparing to read them for the famous Madam Natasha.

"Please Child; trust me as you've said you do. Pretend I am a townswoman with a large family and little means of support. Then tell me what you see."

And so, I began. As I laid out the cards, I just began speaking with little forethought. I let the meanings of the cards guide me and, sure enough, soon it was if I heard a voice telling what to say even though there was no audible sound. It was nearly an hour before I finished and I was exhausted.

Natasha gazed at me with curiosity and nearly a smug satisfaction.

"Child, you have a gift without doubt. However, your's is far beyond mine or any other I've known or heard of. Your talent comes from both sides of your mind – the male and female sides. Your intuition is astounding, even to me. Yet, you have the pragmatic logic that molds your intuitive senses into an understanding of the cards that surpasses all others."

I, of course, did not understand much of that. My mind was racing from her words "you have a gift". She gently took her shawl from my shoulders, folded it and laid it in her trunk.

"How did you feel during the reading?" she asked,

"I can hardly remember, Grandmother. Everything seemed at once clear and cloudy. It was if I was listening to myself. Did I do a good job?"

"Of course you did. I believe you will grow to take my place. I am so pleased to have found my successor. I have watched and waited for years for one of our family to show signs of having my gift. I never dreamed I would find someone who will one day surpass me!"

She said this with such pride that I sat straight and couldn't help but grin back at her. I began to imagine being the one for who people in all the towns we visited would be waiting.

Time passed and we held more practice sessions, each time with me donning her shawl. One day she surprised me again by having me wear one of her necklaces and two of her sparkling rings. It felt surprisingly natural as I had grown accustomed to falling into mid-gender during these hours.

I progressed quite well until it was clear to both of us that I would be ready to divine publicly.

When I was 17, Natasha became gravely ill as we traveled through a bleak winter. We finally came to our destination and, as always, people were eagerly waiting to see the famous Madam Natasha.

She called me to her bedside and asked me to sit quietly. She took my hand as she asked me to grant her a favor that would change forever my role in our family.

I could not fathom the request. Natasha gently requested that I fill her shoes and present myself as Madam Natasha to the queue waiting to see her. Of course I was nonplussed. Oh, I wasn't worried about wearing her clothing or pretending to be a woman. I had grown accustomed to such role playing over the years and had become adept at it.

My fear was carrying the load of her reputation and maintaining a semblance of her mystic talent. While I had donned her dress, shawl and jewels and practiced readings for members of our small band, I never really was concerned about accuracy. Indeed, I had learned from her not to worry about the things I was saying but rather to simply say what came to mind.

Little did I know that the family and our whole band had been planning for this night for years. My mother had silently entered the room and was watching Natasha for the signal that my transformation should begin.

"Well child, will you do this for us? Will you be Madam Natasha tonight?"

Shaking the cobwebs from my mind I looked closely at her. I turned and looked at my mother who discerned the questions in my eyes. She smiled and nodded. And so it began. I was to experience my first night as Madam Natasha amongst strangers.

The transformation was rather easy although I was a bit shaken about how thorough they both insisted my guise was to be. They gave me an under-dress with room at the bodice, instructing me to move behind the curtain and slip it on over my bare body. With a swirling head I complied, wondering why such detail was to be in order.

As I walked around the curtain clad only in a soft white gown, I was told to sit. Mother rolled a pair of thin woolen stockings up my legs, fastening them snugly with tightly tied ribbons. She tied another ribbon over my gown just below my chest and flounced the bodice up above the ribbon. She gently placed a small, narrow pillow in the pocket she had created.

At that point I realized she had provided a modest figure to enhance the illusion that was to come. She then had me step into a brightly colored skirt. I looked at her curiously for Natasha always wore her long black dress. She ignored the question in my eyes so I meekly obeyed.

Next came a soft ivory tunic that lay over the skirt. She tied a bright sash over the tunic around my waist. Suddenly I realized this costume had been hand sewn just for me – just for this inevitable night. As I looked down I realized I was beginning to feel the role. I sensed the flow of my skirt, the tightness of the sash and the modest thrust of my pillow-breasts against my tunic.

Mother then brought out a pair of black shoes with a small two inch heel. At first I thought they were Natasha's but then realized they were new and my size. As I slipped them on, the feelings continued to well inside. Next my hair was brushed out and a kerchief tied around my forehead. Large hoop earrings replaced the small ones I normally wore, for gypsy men pierced their ears in their early teens.

Natasha gathered the strength to climb out of bed and move to her jewelry box from which she drew three necklaces along with a pile of bangle bracelets including one that clipped around my ankle. She pulled three rings from her fingers and slipped them on to mine.

It was then time to use her paint to color my fingers. Red lipstick was daubed on my lips along with rouge on my cheeks. I felt totally transformed – almost like a butterfly crawling from a 17 year old cocoon.

"You are now the young Natasha," my grandmother announced. "You will not wear the dreary black clothing I was forced to wear as a girl but rather you shall be colorful, and, may I say young Natasha, beautiful." I blushed! No one ever had called me handsome, good looking or even attractive. Suddenly I was beautiful!

I rushed to the small mirror in our wagon and shuddered when I saw my image staring back, wide-eyed and yes – a beautiful young woman was standing in my new shoes wearing my new outfit. My head swirled as my heart leapt. It was as if this night had been foreordained and, looking back, it most certainly must have been.

My mother pulled me aside to caution me not to be overwhelmed by my look or by the feel of the clothing. "Think not of who you are or what you are. Think only of the cards and listen to the wind for the words you will speak."

I nodded and prepared to leave the wagon. Suddenly mother stopped me. "Young Natasha, I was wrong!" she cried. "Of course you MUST think of who you are and what you are. Tonight you are indeed a young woman and must certainly think and act like one. Oh my dear, I should have coached you in anticipation of this night. How can I expect you to slip into such a foreign role without practice?"

She was clearly distraught and I quickly comforted her. I slowly walked over to her and, tucking my skirt as I sat, explained to her that Grandmother had spent hours showing me how to deport myself as a girl and lately, as a young woman. Indeed, Madam Natasha knew this night was coming and was not going to allow me to stumble about as a man in a dress. Indeed, I had learned many of her gestures and was quite comfortable playing the illusion.

"Mother," I said in the quiet voice I had practiced using for hours with Grandmother. "Please do not be concerned. I feel wonderful and confident in my costume. Grandmother has had me playing the role of a young woman for years. It is true that I not only know how to be Young Natasha, I love the sense of mystery it gives me. Indeed, being, if just for a night, a woman is a delight and a joy for me. Dearest Mother, understand that you are truly blessed for in one, you have both a son and a daughter."

She smiled at me, content that my reply was genuine and that indeed, I had responded as a young woman, not a boy. Thinking back, it seemed clear to me that she was pleased to hear how I embraced being a woman. The illusion was natural for me with the only discipline required was to keep mindful of my true gender for these times when I, in my heart, became Natasha. Indeed, the sensations were near surreal. The flowing skirt, the stockings and heels combined with the bright red nails sped thoughts unclear through my young mind. As Natasha did I really become a woman? Of course not and yet I didn't feel wholly male either. How could I?

I smiled back at Mother, a bit demurely I'll confess, and prepared to leave the wagon. "Be careful, my dear," was all she said as I pulled up my skirt to walk down the steps.

Suddenly I was alone amid the crowd that milled about our camp. People looked at me as I strode to the tent, carefully taking small paces and quickly assimilating my alternate persona. I was rapt at the swish of my skirt and the jangle of my jewels. For that moment, and for many to come, I was indeed a young woman walking through a crowd of people who had no idea that I was anything but. Oh my, it was a singularly stimulating sensation!

That night remains a blur. I did many readings and saw the admiration and wonder in the eyes of my questioners. To my knowledge, none of them had any inclination that I was anything but the new, young Natasha. My insights were stark. I could see this from the reaction of those for whom I read. It was clear that my place had been secured. From that night forward, my lot was cast. My role in our small band was set. I was that night, and would be for my life, Natasha: the new Madam Natasha.

When the evening drew to an end I made my way back to our wagon. A part of me cried out for the night to last forever yet I was exhausted. Mother and Grandmother stood at the base of the steps beaming as I approached.

"My dear, you were wonderful!" "Young Natasha, I am so proud of you!" Mother and Grandmother were effusive in their praise and tears welled in my eyes. As tired as I was the exhilaration was palpable as I slipped off my heels and collapsed on a chair. I sipped a cup of tea and listened to them relate how impressed everyone was with my performance. Grandmother grew silent while she watched and listened.

Finally she spoke. "Natasha, for that is what we will call you from here forward; you have done a marvelous job of stepping forward to fill my role. I have grown weary these past months and it was quite a relief to be able to rest this night in our wagon. My reputation is now yours. The cards, they too are yours. This is a suitable contribution for you to make to our small group. I have spoken with the leaders and they all agree. It is now up to you to decide. Is living a dual role, sometimes as a man and sometimes as a woman, a challenge you wish to accept?"

I was stunned. Oh, I knew I had been successful that night. I doubted anyone realized the charade in the half light of the tent. Yet to take over as Natasha was a leap I was not prepared to consider.

"Grandmother," I said in my Natasha voice. "I am so honored that you would offer this opportunity to me. I did not know you had been planning to pass it on so quickly and I fear I am not prepared to answer you. I have questions even as we speak and I am sure I'll have more by morning. May we talk again when the sun comes up and the intoxication of the night I've just had has worn off?"

With a smile she granted my request and we began to prepare for bed. I carefully took off my jewelry and began to undress. Grandmother tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a soft nightgown.

"Wear this, my child, as you sleep and it will help you dream of you as Natasha."

I gave her a soft smile as I slipped the gown over my head. I then began to strip the polish off my nails.

"Oh no, Natasha," Grandmother admonished. "Let your nails be. Polish is dear and should you decide to assume your role, then you'll need them red tomorrow. If you decide to say no, then we can clean them in the morning."

She was a wise woman, my Grandmother. She knew that maintaining the illusion, even just with a nightgown and painted fingernails would make it difficult to decline her offer.

And so I slept, eventually. I tried to measure my response in my head but the answer indeed was tucked peacefully in my heart. When morning came, I was prepared to accept my role but had oh so many questions.

As I should have expected, Grandmother had anticipated them all. The hardest for me was how I could do my chores, which were mostly outdoors and caused calluses and normal nicks and cuts on my hands. I shared the pride in beautiful hands and fingers that Grandmother had demonstrated over the years. The men in the camp were so grateful for the sacrifice I was making that they were happy to assign woman's work to me. After all, a large portion of our total income had come from Madam Natasha's readings over the years. Everyone was relieved to learn that the coins would still ring in the tent.

And so it was that, when we came to a town, I lived as a man in the daylight and as a woman at night. One day, Grandmother called me to her bed. She had been increasingly ill for months and her body was failing. Her mind, however, remained crisp.

She had been watching the townsfolk as we were readying for the evening. They were all craning to catch a glimpse of Natasha. Of course, my transition for the night had not begun.

"Natasha," she said in her frail voice. "You must realize that the townsfolk are looking for you. Quickly child, change and walk about the town. Help the women with the wash and be visible. We mustn't give anyone reason to doubt."

Of course I complied and from that day whenever we neared a village I would transform myself into a young woman. Oh that I had been beautiful but alas, my features were no so. Not that I was an ugly woman but certainly I was far from striking. As time went on, I realized this was a blessing. In my heart, of course, I reveled in my womanhood for I had by then embraced my female side and yearned to be Natasha always.

The years passed and one cloudy morning a tragedy struck our small band. A tree limb simply fell from a tree onto one of our strongest men. He was about my age but much larger. He was married to a wonderful woman who too was among the larger people in our group. Her name was Nadia and she was a delightful person who used to love to challenge the men in feats of strength.

When Dmitri died poor Nadia was devastated. They had no children and she was suddenly all alone. For a gypsy woman to be widowed in her late 20's was a cruel blow for normally all the eligible men were married in their early 20's just as Nadia and Dmitri had been.

We all expected Nadia to mourn for a normal duration but to our surprise, the next morning she was up early and had taken Dmitri's spot among the woodcutters. No one questioned her decision, assuming she couldn't bear sitting alone in her wagon. However, we were all amazed at how hard she worked! Nadia was able to hold her own with all the other men and by the end of the day her stacks of wood were as large as or larger than all the others.

Gypsies are a close knit company of people and our small group was no different. Everyone quickly saw that Nadia had chosen a man's job and we all were content to let this happen. She soon began wearing Dmitri's work clothes and it wasn't long before her arms bulged and her hands became calloused. This didn't seem to bother her.

I had always liked Nadia and thought it would be a nice gesture to make dinner for her. After all, she worked all day with the men and always looked tired when she returned to the camp. I approached her one morning and offered to cook for her that night. She smiled broadly and offered her wagon as a kitchen. I was to use her food and she hoped I would join her for dinner.

I was very excited to do this. We were near town so I was Natasha that day. I picked out my favorite dress. It was red with colorful scallops around the neckline and at the hem. The arms were billowed and cuffed with lace. I wore a pair of 3 inch heels for the occasion. I decided that I would do my best to immerse myself in my female role. Cooking for Nadia was a special treat. It felt wonderful to handle a traditionally woman's task.

When I entered her wagon I was shocked. It was a mess – clothes strewn everywhere- dust I could write my name in- dishes unwashed and clutter everywhere. I grabbed an apron and got to work. It had to have been at least three hours before a semblance of order was restored to the wagon. My hair was a mess and my beautiful dress was dirty. I nearly cried but knew that time was creeping by and I had much yet to do. I had been thinking about our dinner and had decided to make a special stew for her that was one of my favorites. It had wonderful spices and hearty chunks of meat. I assumed Nadia would be hungry after a long hard day's work.

I peeled my vegetables and got the pot boiling. I had often watched my mother make this dish and knew her secrets. One was to cook the meat over the fire before adding it to the pot. Once that was done I added the meat and vegetables to the pot and let it cook slowly. A few choice spices and cloves of garlic and my stew was ready to steep for awhile.

With a satisfied glance about Nadia's wagon, which was much improved thanks for my hard work, I went quickly back to our wagon to clean up.

My dress was certainly too dirty to wear and as I took it off I decided I had time to take a quick bath so I could present myself as attractively as possible. As I soaked, I reflected on my position in life. I realized how happy I had become being Natasha especially since my role in our small group was of such consequence.

As I began to dress, I took extra care to wear fresh undergarments and stockings. I put on a lovely blouse that tucked into a bright blue skirt with a wide cardinal red belt. My waist was thin and I pulled the belt tight. Donning a pair of red shoes and a gorgeous flowered scarf, I sat down to apply my makeup. My goodness, I thought to myself, you certainly have learned to primp. I actually blushed as I realized I wanted to be as pretty as possible for Nadia. I even added a drop of scent to complete the illusion.

I moved gracefully now as I walked and concentrated on assuming my most feminine persona. I was entirely focused on providing a sumptuous dinner and a relaxing evening for a hard working Nadia.

When I entered her wagon the smell of the stew was intoxicating. I was so thrilled that the dinner was going to be delicious. I moved steadily, setting the table, putting some fresh flowers in a bottle and even opening the bottle of red wine I had been given by a grateful villager after a reading.

As the sun dropped below the trees the door opened and Nadia walked in. She was clearly exhausted but her eyes lit up when she saw how clean her wagon was and as she smelled her dinner her sigh was palpable. She strode over to me and hugged me!

"Oh Natasha" she exclaimed. "Everything is so beautiful. I have not had flowers in my wagon for months and the stew smells intoxicating! You, my dear, look beautiful too!"

I nearly swooned. Her reaction was more than I had hoped for. I felt so lucky to have been able to provide such joy for her.

"Please give me a few minutes to clean up. I shall not be long. I can't wait to taste your stew!"

With that, she moved to her private room. After what seemed like an hour, probably 10 minutes, she emerged and it was my turn to be surprised. Nadia had changed into one of her most beautiful dresses, fixed her hair and even put on some lip rouge. She was stunning.

"Oh Nadia", I squealed. "I had nearly forgotten what a beautiful woman you are."

"Well Natasha, I can't be frumpy around you. We make a good looking pair of women having a delicious dinner together. I cannot thank you enough for all you've done for me today. Dressing well is the least I can do."

With that she hugged me again and we quickly set out our dinner and had a delightful chat as we ate our fill. We toasted to our deepened friendship and stayed up talking way too late. Indeed, she had to get up early to join the men in the fields.

When I finally left her wagon, my heart was pounding. I realized I had been totally immersed in my feminine role the whole time. Nadia accepted me as a woman, as a girl friend and confidant. She shared with me how lonely she had been since Dmitri died. The reason her wagon was such as mess was clear. When she arrived each night it was all she could do to feed herself and stumble into her bed where she cried herself to sleep.

My heart went out to her as she spoke. This poor dear woman kept such a strong faηade while her heart lay in pieces in her breast. I vowed to be a special friend to her and eagerly anticipated future evenings of wonderful interchange between us.

The months passed and I had become a regular companion to Nadia. We quickly fell into a rhythm. Each afternoon I would go to her wagon, spruce it up a bit and prepare our dinner. Nadia insisted that she provide the food, reassuring me that my help was invaluable to her. Her heart was finally mending and we became very close.

Inevitably we began to talk intimately. She seemed to forget I was a man but occasionally it struck her and she complimented me on my carriage and deportment as a woman. It surprised me when she said that because I no longer concentrated on my portrayal – it had become natural.

One night she took my hand, looked deeply into my eyes and asked if she could talk about a sensitive subject.

"Of course, my dear. I'll be happy to tell you anything. You are my truest and dearest friend."

My dear Natasha, you know I feel the same about you. I've never felt so close to another woman – oh! There I go again. I keep forgetting you are a man under all your womanhood. That is the basis of my question for you."

At that, we began discussing sex. I had never been with a woman or a man. Frankly, the thought of a man made me shudder. There had been times, I told Nadia, when men had touched me and looked at me with eyes that clearly hungered for more than a Tarot card reading.

I always quickly moved away from these men and our band was always near to protect me. Nothing had ever happened except for one night as I walked alone back to our wagon after a long evening reading cards. From the bushes a young man leapt and before I knew it his mouth was hard on mine. Without thinking I shoved him away and dashed to safety.

I admitted to Nadia that it had been my first kiss and that I wasn't sure I ever wanted another. It was horrible.

She smiled at me, stood up and gently took my hands helping me stand with her. She said nothing but her smile said it all. She pushed back my hair and gently kissed me.

She stepped back – put her finger to my lips and came to me again.

This time she carefully explored my lips with hers. I was weak. The sensation was incredible. Without thinking I placed my hand on the back of her head and pulled her to me. Our mouths opened and we held our kiss forever!

I stepped back and stumbled into my chair.

"Oh Nadia! I never have known this feeling."

She smiled coyly. "Natasha, it has been a long time for me. You are a beautiful woman but in my heart I know you are also a beautiful man. I've been in love with you for months. I cannot imagine not being with you."

With that she took my hand and led me to her bed. She was so patient with me that night. I know now how hungry she must have been for intimacy but she knew to guide me slowly in the ways of love.

Our night lasted until dawn.

We had drifted off to sleep as the birds began to sing. My heart was so full! I had no idea what I had missed and was thrilled at the discoveries of the night.

We finally awoke, snuggled tightly together. Our mouths found each other and we blissfully purred our love for each other. Nadia decided not to work that day. This was allowed, especially for those who labored hard and long daily. It was expected to take an occasional break.

I got out of her bed first and, calling out that I would return quickly, dashed back to my wagon. There I was met with looks of surprise and understanding. My mother shooed everyone out and sat me down.

"Natasha, my darling, I have been expecting you to spend the night with Nadia. None of us was surprised when you didn't return but we are all concerned with your happiness. Was it a nice night?"

I could not suppress my grin.

"Oh Mother, it was simply wonderful. I truly love her and she me. We haven't talked about it much but I'm hopeful for a long life with my dear Nadia."

My mother held me closely. She cautioned me about losing focus on my role as Natasha. Indeed, I had concerns about this myself. I had no desire to abandon my female role and hoped Nadia would understand. In my heart, I knew she would.

I told her I wanted to go back to my beloved. First, of course, I had to shave and change. This I did quickly and spent extra time on my hair so I would be as pretty as possible when I returned.

When I reached Nadia's wagon she was waiting for me at the door. Her smile sent chills down my back and tremors through my body.

"Natasha, my love, please come in. I have much to say but first I want you to know that my love for you is deep and true."

So we sat inside talking for hours that blissful morning. Nadia wanted to clear the air about us as a couple and how we could manage with me remaining Natasha the fortune teller. She said that making love to me was wonderful and that she was surprised how exciting it was to be with a man who looked, acted, smelled and thought like a woman.

I was so relieved. I had worried that she would not embrace my femininity and in my heart I knew that I could never live my life as a man.

We decided we would tell our families and the entire group that we wanted to wed. This may sound like a rash decision but we both admitted it had been foremost on our minds since that first night I made our dinner. Nadia had one more surprise for me.

Since we had become such close friends and now lovers, she told me that she had approached the workers requesting that she no longer do a man's job. She explained that they had expected this decision and related how they encouraged her to abandon her ax and return to a normal role in our group.

Oh my! I was beside myself with joy. While I never even considered this could happen, in my heart I longed for my woman to be home with me and not out working so hard each day.

Nadia and I began to cry tears of joy. I could not believe how happy we both were. It was dreams come true for both of us.

Suddenly I stood up.

"My darling, we have to tell everyone at once! I want you to come with me to our wagon. My mother knows of our love and has been expecting this day."

Nadia quickly agreed but insisted on taking time to fix herself up. She, of course, looked lovely to me but I understood a woman's vanity. Indeed, I had rushed home earlier to primp myself!

As we strode across the distance between the wagons, hand in hand, the world seemed perfect to me. Our skirts ruffled in the breeze and we chatted like hens. It was deliriously wonderful.

Soon the whole camp knew that we had opened our hearts to each other. Of course, I truly believe they knew long before we realized it. Everyone embraced our partnership and plans were made for a huge wedding celebration.

My mother took us both aside. She warned us to appear as sisters or close friends but not as lovers when we were in villages. Two women living together was a common occurrence and understood. Two women with love in their eyes for each other could be scandalous to those who didn't know the truth.

We knew this and assured her that we could act as sisters. We had already had this conversation and were fully aware of the need to be discreet. Frankly, it was easy deporting ourselves as girlfriends for indeed, that is what we were! Even when we were alone, I always was her Natasha and she my Nadia. Our loving was surprisingly gentle, filled with intimacy and long hours spent holding each other afterwards in the night.

Our wedding plans were immediately discussed. I was to be given a trousseau by my family as was our custom. My Mother began sewing my wedding dress the very day we announced our love. It was beautiful – a long flowing white gown with lace everywhere!

The first time I tried it on I nearly burst. I had never felt so feminine and wonderful. We had some coins so the next time we went into a town, Nadia and I shopped for shoes. We decided to wear matching white pumps with a 4 inch heel. It was hard for both of us to master them as I had only one pair 3 inches high.

It was such fun wearing them for each other in our wagon. It wasn't long before they were second nature for us girls.

The wedding day finally arrived and we spent extra time getting ready. I dressed in our wagon and Nadia in her's. Soon her's would be our's!

It was so important to me that I look my best. I took a long bath and oiled myself thoroughly. I had been shaving my legs since that first dinner I cooked for Nadia. I hadn't had to in the past because all me skirts were long. Somehow I guess I knew that cooking for Nadia may lead to something and I wanted to look AND feel my best.

I spent extra time on my hair as well. Mother pinned some daisies in it, Nadia's favorite, and we were able to get long curls down the back of my gown. Fresh rouge and lipstick we applied and I was ready. I felt so beautiful and there was no doubt I was all girl that day.

The wedding itself passed so quickly! My heart was pounding the whole time and I barely remember the ceremony. I do love to recall when we told it was time to kiss the brides! Nadia was gorgeous and I think I looked pretty good myself.

Afterwards there was a huge party with dancing and so much food. Music filled the air. Nadia and I both danced with all the men and some of the women danced with me as well. Everyone was so happy for us.

Of course, Nadia had suffered such a loss when her Dmitri died that everyone was thrilled that she had received a second chance at happiness. As for me, I'm sure most of the group had doubts if I would ever marry. After all, few men have the chance to live their life as a woman and yet marry such a beauty as my Nadia.

I had made what in their eyes was a huge sacrifice of my manhood for the sake of our small band of gypsies. Little did they know how fully I had embraced, relished and adored my life. At first it had been an honor to step in for Grandmother. Very quickly playing her role became more than a game or a task: it had consumed me. I loved and still love being viewed and treated like a woman. I would not have changed a thing.

Many years have passed now. While Nadia and I were never blessed with children, our love has never languished. I am now nearly 60 years old and have been known as Natasha for nearly all my life. Even I think of myself as a woman as I continue to read my Tarot cards. Of course, we no longer travel in wagons. We now have cars and vans which hold everything we own. We often stay in motels as we move up and down the coast.

I am so immersed in my womanhood that no one ever considers me to be anything but. Nadia and I often walk about towns, window shopping and laughing like teenagers. She is such a joy to be with. We remain discreet in public and I truly believe most people assume we are sisters.

  

  

  

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