And I did. I went through the five years with Jane, making myself into a pleasant and honest person. I told her of the tapering off of my desire for her. I was kind to her in every way. She was understanding, and grateful for my straightforwardness. There were no fights.

I did not have sex with her any more than I had had originally. Living in Limbo all these years had obliterated any interest in sex for me. I made no changes in that department.

My second wife was named Millie. She was a librarian for a chemical company and very serious. Millie was a very serious person. It was eventually that seriousness that I learned to hate. Whenever I spoke to her, even about unimportant matters like the grade of hamburger we were using or the best kinds of plant food, she was always incredibly attentive. Millie had a good figure and an earnest sexual style, but she wore drab clothes. She looked like the librarian she was to the core.

Within a year of our marriage I had stopped making love with her. I was drinking a good deal by then and I would sometimes find a seductive woman at one of the bars I went to and take her to a motel for the night. Millie would look even more serious the next day but she would never ask where I had been. I knew she felt lucky to have gotten me in the first place. I was a respected biology teacher at a large high school and my salary was far above the average. I had clean habits and was generally polite. My indiscretions were always careful. I had no interest in provoking scandal. Besides I had no real liking for any of the women I took to bed in motels. It was just something I did. Sometimes, in fact, there would be no real sex involved. I would just watch the woman undress herself, feel satisfied enough, and fall drunkenly asleep.

Yet I felt guilty. And from Limbo I was greatly relieved to make the necessary changes, to spend those motel nights at home with Millie, reading or watching television.

In something like four and a half years of Limbo-time I have managed to edit my relationships with my wives in such a way that I now feel guiltless and at ease about what happened. I have altered some other aspects of my life—as a student, a teacher and a church member. I am satisfied. I hope to be reborn, to have another life. So far it has not happened, but it may not take place immediately. Limbo is slow, and I understand that. I would like to be reborn as a woman—as a vivacious and sexy woman. Why not?

***

Days pass and nothing happens. I sit and wait, moving from chair to chair. Must I go back and reedit? Was I wrong in expecting a second life after rectifying the first? I think not. I feel certain that good editing will propel me toward a new existence. I no longer feel content with Limbo. I am ready to move on. I want to be a girl. I want my name to be Beth. I want to be white, middle-class, pretty, and I want to be given a good education and be well dressed.