ME AND
BOBBI© by George
Wilkerson
Hooked on a Feeling
Ed. Note: Bobbi/George is sharing an internal conversation with us, and in effect, outing herself to the world. We think you'll find her (and his) point of view interesting. [Bobbi/George is also the manager of Bobbi Jo's Trading Post , a shopping web site where TG sisters can trade or sell clothing and accessories.
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"C'mon...we have to start getting ready."
"I don't know"
"Don't know what?"
"I don't know if I want to get ready. You know?"
Bobbi isn't stirring tonight. Mindless shapes of light move across the television screen, but she doesn't know what they're doing or saying. I remind her that we have a date.
"I know," she says. "But I don't really feel like it."
Bobbi |
"You know you will, though, don't you?" I ask.
"I suppose." She crawls further back into her corner of my mind. "But I'm tired...and it's so much work."
I nod. "I can't argue with that," I say. "Maybe that's why some of the gyrls go through the hormones and electrolysis. If it's permanent, you have less to do to go out."
She sits up. "You think so?"
"No," I say. "But it sounded good when I first thought of it."
She shakes her head. "I just get tired of it sometimes," she says. "Don't you?"
I nod again. "You're speaking for both of us now."
"And I'd just rather skip it sometimes."
"Except that this time people expect you to be there."
Bobbi's smile creeps out from somewhere inside my head, so I smile too. "Sometimes my feelings don't match my obligations," she says.
"Likewise," I answer. "So let's get going."
Suddenly, she grabs me. "Hold it," she says. "What's going on here?"
I shrug her off. "What do you mean? We have to get ready, don't we?"
"Yes," she says. "But I'm the one who's usually pushing us along. Not you."
"Hmmm...yes, well..."
"I'm the one who always wants to go out," she continues. "I'm the one who drags YOU along. Not the other way around. Now here I am telling you I don't feel like going and you're telling me we have to go."
"Hmmm."
"What's going on?"
"I don't know," I answer automatically. "I guess...I..."
"You're the one who wants to go out," she says. "That's what. And not just 'out.' You want to go out with ME."
I'm shifting nervously in the chair. "Is that so bad?"
Bobbi moves out of her corner to center stage. "It's not bad or good. But it's certainly different."
I try to relax. "Yes...I suppose so. But what does it mean?"
George |
She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. "I have no idea. But I can speculate."
I laugh awkwardly now. "You're good at that. Go ahead."
"Maybe you've learned that you need me. Or maybe more than that."
"Like what?"
"Like...you're addicted. Like I'm your fix, your drug of choice."
I walk away, into the next room. "I don't like the direction this conversation is going."
"Maybe blaming me was an excuse. Maybe that got you off the hook. You mentioned obligations; am I an obligation?"
"Can we talk about something else?"
"No," she says, following me into the bathroom. "I think we're onto something here. And I kind of like it."
I'm looking into the mirror now, but I can still hear her voice. It's more definite, more self-assured.
"You want me," she says softly. "You need me."
And then there's a strange silence. I'm staring into her eyes, into MY eyes, and hearing the words repeated: "You want me...You need me." I try to look away, but I can't. I can't deny the truth of it. "Yes," I whisper back at last. "Yes...I want you."
"Then take me," she says. "Because now I feel like being."
I take a deep breath, then reach into the cabinet for the razor, and the make-up, and carefully lay out the things that give her life. And as I begin the ritual, I feel the sense of oneness I now realize I longed for. And now she whispers "Don't be afraid. There's nothing to fear, my love. We're together now. We're all together now."
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