The sunlight and long grass were swaying in the breeze, my skirt was gently floating around my legs, and you were smiling down at me. I loved this pl...ce instantly. Walking out into the middle of the meadow, you set down the bag and pulled out a blanket. Spreading it out, we pulled off our shoes and sat down. You began pulling out containers of food and out of the mysterious bag came a bottle of wine, strawberries, grapes, and chocolate cake. I was amazed. I couldn’t believe you had. Oh, to feel texture as a woman:the thrill of velvet, the slickness of silk, the breathiness of linen.What a sixth sense! And on these mornings, I gain a seventh sense aswell: the female color sense. Yes, as an unmodified male I knew if thesky was blue, or black, or orange. But I never knew the euphoria ofindigo, or the myriad emotions in shades of graphite, or that mostshades of orange are really quite hideous.I had dreamed of being a woman since I first could dream. As a teenager,I mistook it. More

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