I was twenty-two when I transitioned. I remember the night well. Ten years seems like yesterday when you live in my shoes. That night was much like the night I met Cliff. A vicious storm came out of nowhere and lingered well into the evening. I often thought my transition brought about my strange connection to storms. Thinking back on that night, however, I remember a terrible ache in my lower back prior to the storm. As Mother Nature released her fury, the pain seemed to radiate throughout my entire body. Of course, back then I thought it was an early onset of arthritis or some other disease. Growing up in a funeral home has a way of tarnishing a kid’s head. I had seen more dead bodies and heard of more ways of dying than most ever encounter during their entire life. Death and disease was a part of my everyday life, and so I acted as my own worst doctor. Each pimple, every muscle spasm, or nose bleed was some disease threatening my life. I had no way of knowing that the tingle and burn I was feeling was a strange sixth sense. I often wondered if I would have changed anything about that night, had I known what was about to happen. Probably not. Living with death gives one a sense of immortality. A cruel irony in my case.

It was a slow day for death, and I was taking reconstruction lessons from my father when we were told we had a visitor waiting for us in the parlor. I had always been a behind the scenes kind of guy. My father knew this about me, and until that night he had never pressured me to meet with the living clients of our business. I, for some unknown reason, asked if I could join him. He agreed to my request.

Stephen was there to plan his mother’s funeral. We all took a seat in one of the rooms and as my father began his round of routine questions, I took on the responsibility of a more personal arrangement -- undressing him with my eyes. My imagination that night was working overtime wondering what I would find under the tailored three-piece suit. And if the games my mind were playing wasn’t enough, I began to believe that Stephan was doing the same with me.

My father spent the next hour taking down his mother’s information, how large of service he wanted, and of course what type. He pulled out several brochures to introduce Stephen to the range and styles of the caskets we offered. After some deliberation, Stephen picked out one of the basic models. “My mother hated to be fussed over.” He confessed. “Less was more in her world.” When my father asked about clothing, he seemed to pause. He glanced at me. Our eyes met for a brief moment before I turned away. The heat rushed back into my face. He cleared his throat, and spoke. “My apologies. With everything going on, I forgot to bring her clothes.”

“If you want the service tomorrow afternoon, we will need the clothes tonight.” My father urged with a gentleness only he could possess.

“I am so sorry for the inconvenience.” Stephen spoke. I felt his eyes needling me. “I don’t suppose your son here, Victor is it not?” I nodded. Stephen continued. “Would it be alright if Victor follows me home? He would be of great assistance to me in picking out a proper outfit.”

The rational side of my mind, insisted that Stephen had no intentions toward me. The fantastical side told me otherwise. I chose to listen to the latter thinking of ways to quietly flirt so as my father wouldn’t notice. It excited me to be doing something so daring in front of my father. My pulse quickened at the thought of being alone with Stephen. I adjusted my crotch as I reposition myself on the couch. I wanted to give Stephen a clear view of the extent of my interest, while keeping it hidden from my father, who typically never missed a thing.

Stephan seduced me that night. Or I him. It was complicated. His near hairless body, unlike mine, won me over the minute he undressed. His pale skin shimmered in the dim light of his bedroom. The first time he touched me, a chill coursed through my entire body. I thought it was desire, which brought the temperature plummeting. It was death and it gave me such delight, I knew there was no turning back. He spoke little that night as he lowered himself to me, pressing his body against mine. His kiss was passionate, and in a strange sense of irony, made me alive for the first time in my life.

Stephan was the most ardent lover I ever had before or since. His caresses ignited each of my scenes. I took in the scent of his breath, the smells of his overheated body. I ingested the sweetness of his sweat as I licked and nibbled his smooth, muscular body. His deep, guttural groans of pleasure were music to my untrained ears, and his eyes, his eyes were where I became lost in the darkness of his soul. It was when he raised my legs over his shoulders and entered me, that I knew something wasn’t right.