- Title: A Private Tutor
- Subtitle: The Most Feminine Desire
- Author: Yu Sakurazawa
- Category: iPS, transplant, MTF
This is a story of Nigella, a transsexual British woman who visits Barcelona and falls in love with a penniless singer.
The singer proposes to Nigella, but asks for two years time to marry her as he wishes to become successful first. Nigella agrees to wait and gets a job as a governess in order to remain in Barcelona until she can marry him.
Nigella’s employer is a widower with two young daughters. He is also a scientist, working on secret research projects for which he makes the unsuspecting Nigella a guinea pig. Before Nigella knows it she undergoes a transplant surgery.
Will Nigella be able to get away from the employer’s crafty clutches?
A Private Tutor
The Most Feminine Desire
by Yu Sakurazawa
It all began when I was in Spain. I fell in love with Barcelona: its unique Art Nouveau buildings, leisurely beaches and vibrant nightlife. I sauntered through the dusty piazzas of the city in the night of a fiesta, dressed in the flamenco-dancer’s red and black dress, with a crimson rose tucked behind my ear. It was then that I saw Mathias Crespo: the man who was to become my life, my love and my entire existence in the years to come.
He sat in the dusty alley, with a guitar balanced on one comely knee. As he strummed it with his fingers, sweet, sad notes of music filled the air. He sang soulfully of love, loss and loneliness. He was tall, and had a lean, hungry look—as if he hadn’t eaten for days. His features were chiseled; his hair jet black. He was dressed casually, in a pair of black jeans and a white shirt, with the top buttons rakishly open.
People stopped to listen to him, fascinated. After a while, they dropped a few pennies in his “Contribution Box” and moved on. Within seconds, they became absorbed in the humdrum of their daily existence, forgetting all about the beautiful singer with a haunting voice.
But not me. I stayed on long after all of them had gone. I asked him out to dinner, and he obliged. I learnt that his name was Mathias… Mathias Crespo.
Ten minutes later, we were sitting in a bustling, crowded restaurant, talking over pasta, green salad and roast lamb (which the Spaniards refer to as cordero asado). I’d ordered a gin and tonic; while Mathias opted for coffee. I noticed that he savored every bite and sip, as if he hadn’t eaten for days.
“This is the best meal I’ve eaten in years” Mathias confirmed, spooning in a large chunk of pasta into his mouth. “I’ve been living on lean soup ever since I lost my job”. Mathias went on to elaborate that he was a struggling musician who, until four years back, had painted houses for a living. Mathias had had little absorption in what he did for his bread and butter, and thought constantly of music. This tendency began to show in the form of irregular timings and shoddy work. One day, Mathias was kicked out of his job for playing the guitar on the rooftop of the house he was supposed to be painting. Mathias’s infuriated agent never referred him to another client again.
“I have been struggling to make it as a musician for years, with little luck” said Mathias “except for the small sum I receive as state unemployment benefit; I am literally penniless. But hey, a man lives on hope”. He smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth.
“You are very talented, Mathias” I earnestly said, looking into his warm brown eyes “I know you’ll make it big one day”.
“That’s for destiny to decide” shrugged Mathias nonchalantly “Now let’s talk about you Nigella. You told me you are a Briton”.
“Yes, I am a Briton” I confirmed “my family hails from London. I am 26 years old, and have worked as a governess for about five years now. I love swimming, learning new languages and playing the piano. And oh, I am a pre-op transsexual woman”.
Except for a slight raise of one fine eyebrow, Mathias showed no reaction. “You must have really yearned to be a woman” was all he said.
“Yes” I said reflectively “I’ve always felt like a woman on the inside. Loved women’s clothes, makeup and accessories. I’ve been on estrogen for the past nine years”. “These” I said indicating my breasts and running a hand over the hand of the smooth, velvety skin of my face “are the result of Hormone Replacement Therapy”.
I paused, waiting for the expected reaction. But Mathias didn’t flinch or grimace like the other men I had dated. He seemed to accept my identity as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, Nigella” he said in a quiet voice “I’ve never seen such beautiful pale skin, ginger hair and green eyes. I am glad you decided to become a woman. Otherwise, men like me would have suffered the greatest loss”. His dark eyes looked sincere. It was clear that Mathias wasn’t joking.
“You mean what you say, don’t you?” I asked taking Mathias’s hand.
“I do, my darling” Mathias said, squeezing my palm hard.
Things moved very fast from this point onward. Mathias and I started dating and making proclamations of undying love to each other. Soon, he slipped an engagement ring (of oxidized steel; he couldn’t afford gold or silver) into my finger and asked me if I would marry him. I thought I’d swoon with joy. Obviously, I replied in the affirmative. Little did I realize that there was to be a major catch.
“I assume you love me very much, dear Nigella” he said, looking at me with those warm, spaniel-like eyes.
“More than my own life, dear Mathias” I replied.
“I trust you love me enough to wait?” Mathias said.
Butterflies suddenly started doing a jig in my stomach. What did Mathias mean? I asked the question out aloud.
“I mean, it’s impossible for us to get married right now” Mathias replied falteringly “I am living on dole, and am incapable of supporting a wife. But some instinct within tells me that I will make it big in about 2 years time. I think that would be the right time for us to get married”.
It felt as if my heart had shattered to a million pieces.
“Mathias” I said patting my lover’s dark hair “I love you. I am willing to marry you right now. I wouldn’t mind roughing it out”.
“Please understand, Nigella” said Mathias gently, but firmly “I live in a one-room apartment, with broken tiles, a leaky washbasin and practically no ventilation. It would be a shame to keep a lovely woman like you in a pig-sty”.
“I don’t mind at all” I sincerely said “I am marrying you, Mathias, not your house”.
“Kind of you to say, Nigella, but I have my pride” said Mathias rubbing his cleft chin “if I am ever to marry, I’ll keep my woman in a palace”.
Mathias’s voice was gentle, but obstinate. I realized that arguing with him would be useless.
I couldn’t face the prospect of going back to England. I couldn’t bear going back to its rainy days, staid people, and weak tea and scones (I don’t mean to insult my own country and culture). I wanted to bask in the glory of the exotic, expressive and colorful Spain. I wished to bask in the warm opulence of Mathias’s love.
“I can’t go back to the UK” I said breaking down and weeping “I need to hold you every night, to touch and feel you…I need to feel your rugged skin against mine; your hot breath on my neck…”
“Darling, Nigella!” cried Mathias, evidently touched “do you actually love me so intensely?”
“Yes, my love” I said “I can’t ever bear being parted from you”.
“What shall we do?” said Mathias clutching his handsome head in his hands “what do we do, my beloved?”
“I know” I said suddenly brightening up “I shall get myself a job in Barcelona”.
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