Ten Days Later: The Third Meeting
About ten days later, I met him. It was our third encounter. That day we didn’t have time for a movie, so we settled on dinner alone. This time he insisted on treating me and guided me to an upscale restaurant. Whether he had reserved ahead or not, we were shown to an outdoor terrace. It was a thoughtful gesture that took my smoking habit into account.
I kept telling myself this wasn’t a date but a meeting between friends. Still, that small consideration alone earned him a generous score from me.
“You know… sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I’d been born a man. I look pretty boyish, don’t I? Hehe… Have you ever thought anything like that?”
I casually steered the conversation in that direction after we had emptied our second glasses of wine. That was how I set the pace. I no longer remembered being born with male genitals, and the time I had spent lost because of that fact was behind me. These days I had zero desire to live as a man, yet I deliberately tossed the question out to gauge his reaction. No matter how he answered, I was the one directing the game, and I expected it to be thoroughly entertaining.
He blinked several times at my question, then drained his glass without replying. By then I had already lit a cigarette. I had openly declared myself a smoker on our first meeting and had even smoked in front of him with his permission, so now that we were friends it felt completely natural to show him how much of a chain-smoker I really was. I only took care to be mindful because I knew he had recently quit.
“Doesn’t everyone think that at least once?” he answered, sounding perfectly casual.
Yet at that moment his gaze drifted to the empty seat beside us. He was looking at the purple blouse I had draped over the backrest. I could tell the same situation from last time was repeating itself. It was nothing more than a hunch, but it was the kind of intuition only people like me—those who had dated both men and women—could possess. I was certain of it. On top of that, it’s a common psychological phenomenon for someone who’s been drinking to unconsciously fixate on an object they’re emotionally invested in, which only strengthened my conviction.
“What about you? Not other people—you. You’ve had that thought too, haven’t you?”
“Well… it would be a lie to say I haven’t. Living as a man is more exhausting than people think. When do you find yourself wishing you’d been born male?”
I answered without hesitation. The usual clichés spilled out: the social discrimination women complain about, how cool and impressive men can look—boring, trivial answers like that.
“I’ve had this thought before,” I continued. “If I ever get married—if I do—I hope my husband is someone special. Hehe, it might sound ridiculous, but I’d like to marry a man with a delicate build, someone slender enough to look good in women’s clothes. At home we’d live like two girls who get along wonderfully. If the mood struck me, I could play the husband… That way we probably wouldn’t even fight. We’d understand each other’s worlds so much better. It’s absurd, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Hehehe…”
His pupils trembled. I saw it clearly. Just as I had suspected, he was definitely interested in cross-dressing. Whether it was simple curiosity or a serious hobby I couldn’t yet tell, but I was confident the interest was there.
“Wouldn’t you think a man like that is a pervert?”
“A pervert? Like a flasher? Or the kind of metamorphosis where a caterpillar becomes a beautiful butterfly? Hehe… What are we, children? Don’t you think it could be fun to understand each other, enjoy it together, and share a sweet little secret between the two of us? We only live once. Wouldn’t it be better to find someone who shares your wavelength and enjoy life as much as possible instead of going through it alone?”
I began to pour out my opinions little by little. It was enjoyable. Since we weren’t going to get married and were only meeting as friends of the opposite sex, I figured this much of a barrier was worth tearing down for the fun of it. In fact, it was more fun than sex. It was a novel pleasure I had never experienced before. The more he latched on, the greater my enjoyment would become—I had already calculated that much. All I had to do was keep casting the bait and waiting to see if he would bite.
If the topic displeased him? Then that was the end of it. Finding another subject wouldn’t be difficult. But if I had to keep searching for suitable topics just to maintain the conversation, there was no reason to keep spending time with him. The meetings would naturally grow further apart and eventually stop. After all, I could find friends like that anywhere else without having to work so hard.
“I must look like a pervert to you right now. I probably shouldn’t have brought it up… Ah, let’s change the subject. Bottoms up!”
I lifted my glass with a bright shout, and he raised his as well. By then we had nearly finished the first bottle of wine.
“If you’re not too drunk, shall we have a bit more? Tomorrow’s my day off anyway.”
I exhaled cigarette smoke to the side as I asked. His face had grown flushed; he glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even ten yet, but he seemed unusually hesitant, like someone who had another appointment.
“What? Don’t tell me you actually have a date tonight and made other plans? Or is meeting me not even counting as a date, so you went ahead and scheduled a late-night rendezvous with someone else? Hehe…”
“No, it’s not like that. I enjoy spending time with you. Especially today…”
Finally, he was hooked! I was sure of it. It wasn’t that he had gradually come to like me over three meetings. Today’s particular topic was what had delighted him. The first meeting had been formal, the second had been something he couldn’t refuse after my one-sided insistence. This third meeting had happened because I suggested we get to know each other better as friends. And now the vague feeling I had sensed was becoming concrete certainty.
He was interested in my sexy clothes! No—he was interested in women’s clothes! Maybe even more than that! I wanted to know exactly how much.
“You don’t have to lie. We met so we could talk openly as friends, yet here I am killing the mood with weird talk… I’m sorry.”
“No, really, it’s not that. It’s not because of that story. Last time we parted before eleven, so I just assumed it would be the same today. I really don’t have any other plans.”
“Really? Then let’s move somewhere else, have a glass of sake with some skewers, and call it a night.”
In the end he couldn’t refuse my suggestion this time either. As I stood up and reached for the blouse I had left on the neighboring chair, I quickly handed both the top and my handbag to him.
“I should probably visit the restroom. Could you hold these for me?”
While walking to the bathroom I glanced back without him noticing. Most men would have taken a woman’s belongings and gone to settle the bill, but he remained seated. Not only that, I could see him fingering my blouse. I couldn’t tell whether it was unconscious or not, but he was clearly being careful not to disturb its shape. A smile rose to my lips.
This is getting really fun. Hehe… Should I play with him a little more seriously?
What exactly was I thinking back then? I hadn’t drawn up any concrete plan. I had simply sensed with certainty that Changjun was hiding a secret about cross-dressing, and I wanted to elevate that secret into my own personal “game.” I didn’t think of him as a pervert. After all, how many people in this world aren’t perverts in one way or another? Whether in a good sense or a bad one, as Hermann Hesse wrote in Demian, every human being has to break out of their egg. Perhaps he simply wanted to break out as well. In that case, I could help him while enjoying myself. With genuine delight!
For some reason I had grown sick of dating both men and women. All I wanted was to savor this new game for as long as possible without growing tired of it. I had no intention of revealing that feeling, nor of letting it be discovered. So after we changed locations I deliberately avoided bringing up the subject again.
Of course, that was part of my strategy. Even if he might have wanted to continue, I would leave the topic untouched and simply observe. It was also preparation in case I had misread him. And if I was right, I would wait for the subject to rise from his own lips. If my hunch was correct, he would definitely speak first. Only then would my game truly begin in earnest…
Even I had to admit I was quite the cunning bitch.