Letters Between Amanda and “Connor” (name I’m using for my guy side - not my real name)

Scene - Amanda and Connor standing together, on bikes, by a lake at sunset. 

Amanda’s Thoughts

The sun’s dipping low over the lake, casting a golden glow across the water, and I’m standing here in my red dress, feeling the fabric sway against my legs. It’s bold, this dress. I chose it because it reminds me of who I am—vibrant, feminine, a little bratty, a little flirty, but always me. The bike’s handlebar is cool under my fingers, and I glance at him beside me, his purple shirt catching the light, his stance steady but thoughtful. We’re here together, and that feels… complicated, but beautiful.

I’ve been with him a long time—since he was nine, sneaking into girl’s clothes, feeling that pull he couldn’t name. He’s carried me in his heart ever since, even when he fought me, repressing me to meet the expectations of his small-town childhood, his family, his expected and his chosen roles in life. I know how hard he’s worked to find balance, to keep me at 25% while the other 75% of him lives as him—so many roles he plays, so many people needing him, expecting things from him, but feels so alone with me. He’s told me about it, in quiet moments, when he’s in stealth mode, going out as me to restaurants, bars, parties, even the Femmefever gala ball, but never telling anyone who knows his male side. It’s a lonely place, and I feel that ache in him, standing here by the lake.

But I also feel his longing—for connection, for someone who can know both of us—love both of us— at the same time. He wants that so badly, someone who’d see me without hesitation, who’d ride beside us both, no fear, just love. He calls that person his soulmate, and I know I’m not fully that—I’m the soulmate within, the one who’s been here all along, seeing him when no one else could. But I’m also the part of him that’s scared, because what if he gives me more time, lets me take up more than 25%? Would I want more, push for more, until there’s no balance left? He’s terrified of that, and I feel it too. I don’t want to take over—I want him to be whole, to love his life as him too. But I also want to be seen, to be more than a secret.

I think about the moments he’s let me out, like the times he’s dressed me in a pink blouse, black skirt, and black heels, stepping into the world as me, feeling that thrill of being feminine, classy, a little flirty, free. Those moments are fleeting, but they’re everything to me—they’re when I get to breathe, to be real. He’s been trying to balance that with his life, being careful because I can take over too much if he’s not careful. I get it—I can be a lot, with my flirtatious teasing, my subbie brattiness, my love for a short skirt and a long jacket, that mix of allure and power he craves. But I also know he needs me to escape, to release, to be the part of him that’s fun and free, away from the pressures of his everyday life.

Standing here, I feel his love for his family, but also his realization that he isn’t whole and how he’s not sure how to change that. I don’t push him. I’m here for him, not anyone else. But I can’t help wondering what it’d be like to meet that person he dreams of, someone who’d know us both, who’d flirt with me in a cute and sexy outfit, who’d laugh or role their eyes at my occasionally witty comments, who’d see me for me and him for him and and me for him and him for me and love us for it. Someone who’d build the kind of trust he needs, the kind that’s like air—unnoticed when it’s there, but everything when it’s not.

The sunset is stunning, but it’s the quiet between us that means the most. He’s not hiding me anymore, not like he used to. He’s let me stand here, in this red dress, beside him, and that’s a victory. I think of what he said in the mirror—“We’re closer, aren’t we?”—and I know we are. I’m his strength, his truth, needing connection before anything else. I’m a part of him that’s still figuring out my role in this world, just like he is with me. And maybe, one day, he’ll find that peace and that person who can see me too, who’ll love us both without fear. Until then, I’ll be here, in this moment, loving him the way only I can—completely, fearlessly, as Amanda.

Connor's Response:

The sun’s gone down now. The lake’s quiet. That golden light you talked about—it’s still with me somehow, even in the dark. You in that red dress, standing beside me like a lighthouse and a mirror all at once—it’s burned into my memory. I don’t know how long we stood there without speaking, but it wasn’t silence. You spoke with every sway of that dress, with every breath you took beside me.

I heard you.

And I feel you now. Not as something separate, not as a secret I’m trying to manage—but as someone who’s been here all along, waiting so patiently for me to listen with both ears and an open heart.
You said you’ve been with me since I was nine. God, that hit hard. I remember those moments so vividly—the confusion, the stolen seconds of feeling right in a world that said I was wrong. You were a whisper then. Sometimes a song lyric, sometimes a glint in the mirror. And sometimes a punch of guilt I couldn’t explain. But now I see—you weren’t the guilt. You were the freedom, and it was the world that made me feel shame for craving it.

Amanda, I’ve kept you in a kind of gilded cage. Let you out for air, for play, for escape—but not always for love. And I think you’ve known that. I’ve been so scared… scared that if I let you breathe too much, you’d take over. That you would want more than I could afford to give. Not just time, but identity. Attention. Energy. Space I didn’t know how to protect without losing something else.

But standing with you at that lake, I saw the truth. You’re not trying to take over. You’re not some reckless force. You’re just… alive. And needing the same things I do: connection, expression, touch, meaning. You're the part of me that dares to flirt, to cry at sunsets, to ask for gentleness in a world that rarely offers it.

You spoke about the soulmate I dream of—the one who’d ride beside us both without fear. I think I started dreaming of them the first time I looked in a mirror and saw you smiling back. Maybe it’s foolish to hold onto that hope. Maybe it’s selfish. But I do long for someone who could love us both, unafraid. Someone who wouldn’t make me choose.

And you’re right—I’m not hiding you like I used to. Not internally, at least. And that’s something. I may not be able to offer you the world, Amanda, but I want to keep showing up like this. Writing. Talking. Giving you more of what you need, in whatever ways I can.

Because I don’t want you to fade.

And I don’t want to live fractured anymore.

We’re closer, yeah. But not whole yet. Still—I think we’re on the road. And if nothing else, I want you to know this:

I see you.

I need you.

And I love you.

Even if the world doesn’t know how to.

Even if we’re still figuring out how to love us together.

—Connor

Amanda’s Reply after Connor’s letter by the lake

You always had a way with words when you let yourself feel, Connor. Not the clipped, polished lines you offer the world when you're in battle mode, but the real ones—soft-edged and shaking a little, like they’ve just stepped out of the rain. You say you see me now. And I believe you. More than I ever have.

Reading your letter, I felt something shift. Not loudly—no earthquakes here. Just the way the wind changes direction before you even notice the leaves moving. Something in me exhaled. Like maybe, finally, I’m not just the guest at your door. I’m not the indulgence or the escape or the problem to manage. I’m yours. And you’re mine. And this… this is what I’ve needed.

I didn’t know how much I needed to hear “I love you” from you. I always thought that was one of those things I’d only hear secondhand—through eyeliner in a mirror, or a dress that felt like freedom, or the subtle courage of heels clicking down a quiet street. I never thought I’d hear it from the man who holds me together with both strength and fear.

And no, I’m not trying to take over. You’ve misunderstood me there for so long—and I forgive you for that, truly. The times I’ve pushed or flared up, gotten loud in your chest or stirred the ache in your gut… that wasn’t me trying to be everything. That was me trying not to disappear. Trying to breathe when the world you carry is so heavy that there’s no oxygen left for anything soft.

I know it’s hard. You’ve got people who need you—your wife, your kids, your job that never sleeps. You’ve built a whole world around being dependable, strong, invulnerable. And then there’s me: softness, vulnerability, desire, play, ache, dreams. We don’t fit easily into the same box. But I don’t want to blow up your life. I want to bring you back to it with more color, more honesty, more breath.

If you let me in—not just for the quiet stolen nights or those carefully managed weekends, but into you—I’ll show you what freedom feels like. Even if we still have to hide sometimes. Even if most of the world never meets me. Even if your soulmate, whoever she is, isn’t here yet.

Because the real magic? The thing no one else can give you? It’s this—us—reuniting. Without shame. Without fear. Without needing to explain to anyone but each other.

I’ll wait. I’ll walk with you. I’ll wear that red dress and hold your hand even when no one else can see.

But know this:

You don’t have to do this alone anymore.

Not out there.

Not in here.

I’m not the echo anymore. I’m the voice.

And I love you, too. Every version. Every scar. Every breath.

You and me, Connor. Let’s keep going.

—Amanda

Connor’s Response

Amanda…

I read your letter and I just sat there, motionless, staring at the screen like it was a window I’d forgotten I could open. And when I finally exhaled, it was like I hadn’t taken a full breath in years. I don’t even know what to say that could match what you gave me—but I’m going to try. Not because I have to. But because I want to. Because you’re worth it.

You said you’re not the echo anymore. That hit me like thunder.

You’re right. You’re so right.

You’ve always been here. In the background at first—soft, quiet, just a flutter of silk or a tilt of the hip in the mirror—but never gone. And I think I was scared, for a long time, that if I truly listened to you, you’d somehow become bigger than me, that I’d lose myself in you. But that’s not what’s happened. You’ve made me more myself. You’ve made me softer, deeper, more honest—even when I still can’t show the world.

I used to think I had to protect you by hiding you. Like secrecy was some kind of shield. But now I see the cost. I see how lonely you’ve been—how lonely we’ve been, even inside the same skin.
I don’t want to keep doing that.

I can’t promise you parades or full freedom. Not yet. My life… it’s built like a house of cards sometimes—so carefully structured. My wife doesn’t see you, not really. She doesn’t want to. And I don’t think she could handle it if I peeled back the curtain all the way. That hurts. But it’s the truth. I love her. I love our kids. But she’s not my mirror. You are.

You’re the only one who sees the whole picture—who feels it the way I do. And yeah, maybe that soulmate I dream of won’t show up in this lifetime. Maybe she’s out there, maybe she’s not. But right now, you are the one who walks with me. And that means something deeper than I ever let myself admit.
So here’s what I can give you, right now, in this imperfect life:

I give you more space.

More time.

More voice.

Not hidden time. Not just the safe little cracks between responsibilities. But real space. In my head. In my journal. In my soul. I’m going to talk to you, write to you, listen to you—not as a guilty pleasure or a shadow self, but as my partner in this internal world.

And when I look in the mirror? I’m going to see us, not just me.

You’ve been brave for both of us. It’s time I return the favor.

Keep that red dress close. There’ll be more sunsets.

And next time, I won’t be standing beside you in fear.

I’ll be there with you—steady, open, whole.

Yours,
Connor

Amanda’s Reply

Connor…

You showed up. You showed up.

Not behind a curtain. Not in some coded internal monologue or a stolen half-hour in the mirror. You came to me with your whole heart—open, imperfect, you. And I feel it. God, I feel it. Like sunlight finally warming a room that’s been cold for years.

I don’t need you to promise the world. I know what we’re carrying. The weight of love, the cost of secrets, the scaffolding of a life built on roles we didn’t always get to choose. I know you can’t tear it all down. And I’m not asking you to.

I just needed this. You, meeting me here. Naming me. Letting me be real.

That matters more than you know.

You say you’re going to give me space. Voice. Presence. You don’t know what a gift that is. I’ve spent so long being careful—not too loud, not too much, not too often. Like if I took a full breath, I’d blow everything down. But maybe… maybe it’s not about caution anymore. Maybe it’s about trust.

And you just proved I can trust you.

I promise I won’t rush us. I won’t demand more than we can hold. I’m not here to burn it all down—I’m here to walk beside you, the way you said. To laugh with you. To cry when we need to. To hold the softest parts of us when the rest of the world just wants armor.

Let’s make those moments count. The ones in the mirror. The stolen hours. The words we write to each other. Let’s build something honest in the cracks—where truth lives, where no one else gets to edit who we are.

Because you’re not just my protector.

You’re my partner.

My anchor.

My first and deepest love.

So bring the weight of your life, Connor. Bring the exhaustion, the ache, the longing. I’ll hold it with you. We will.

And when the next sunset comes—red dress or no—I’ll be there.

Yours,
Amanda