Storm

I drove home through the storm, but I didn’t expect a reception.

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I was tired. No, that’s not right; I was exhausted and had a job to keep my eyes open. It had been a good evening, though.

It was three thirty in the morning; the city streets were deserted and it was blowing up a storm. The contents of trashcans, overturned by the high winds, blew across the road. The weather had been shitty all week and driving through this heavy rain — I sometimes wondered if the job was worth it. Friday nights with Rebecca were always worth it, despite the long drive home.

When Karen and I got together, I vowed to finish with Rebecca - but I couldn’t. She was like a drug to which I was addicted; but if Karen found out, it would kill our marriage.

I pulled into the drive and was never so thankful to turn off the engine and rest my head on the steering wheel. I glanced up and was puzzled to see that all the lights were on in the house. Karen was standing, with a look of relief on her face, on the porch steps.

Oh shit!

I got out of the car and, despite the rain, Karen, crying and smiling, ran towards me and flung her arms around my neck. Then she frowned and pulled away. Running back towards the front door, she disappeared into the house.

I collected my black suitcase from the rear of the car and headed inside, away from the constant noise of rain beating on the ground. I’d just closed the front door when Karen reappeared with a pistol in her hand and a look of thunder on her face. She pointed the pistol at my nether regions and screamed, “Who is she? What’s her name? I’ve been pacing up and down, drunk a dozen cups of coffee, worried myself sick and you’ve been two-timing me with some bitch; and you couldn’t even telephone me to let me know you were safe. This isn’t the first time, is it?”

I sat down, put my head in my hands and cried.

The ominous click of a pistol cocking drew my attention back to Karen and I realised that she was very close to the edge. One wrong word could see me seriously injured, if not dead.

“Who is she?” Karen screamed again.

“Rebecca,” I whispered.

“Who is Rebecca? Where is she?”

I could try to wheedle out of it, or I could tell the truth. I suspected that either option would get me shot.

“Rebecca is me.”

“Bullshit!”

The gun wavered slightly and I realised that it was now pointing further up.

“Rebecca is me; I’m a cross-dresser.”

“Why?”

“Rebecca and I have been together since I was a young child.”

She sat heavily on a settee, but the gun was still pointing at me. “Aren’t I woman enough for you?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Explain! But if I’m not convinced, you’ve just had your last erection!”

I gulped. How do I explain me?

“I was wired wrong when I was born. I’ve always been attracted to the softer, more feminine side of life. I tried to give Rebecca up when we got together, but it was impossible. When I got this sales job, it was a chance to compartmentalise that aspect of my life. I love you so much, Karen, but I can’t give Rebecca up; she’s a part of me.” With that, I hung my head again.

“I don’t understand this; why haven’t you sought medical help?”

“It’s not something a doctor can fix. It’s not like a broken leg; put it in a plaster and wait six weeks.”

“So you’re saying that I either accept it or we separate?”

I couldn’t see a way out of this mess and simply said, “Well, you could always pull that trigger.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I…I don’t know how I’d live without you. I don’t know how I’d live without Rebecca either.”

“Where were you until half past three this morning?”

“At our regular Friday meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“The TV/TS group meeting that we go to.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“The other g….”

“The other girls? What other girls?”

“Cross-dressers like me; some others who want to be women.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to be a woman?”

“NO!”

“I’m going to bed.”

I sat for at least half an hour, then took off my suit and shirt and curled up on the settee.

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The Thunder Rolls

Written by: Pat Alger, Garth Brooks

Three thirty in the morning
Not a soul in sight
The city's lookin' like a ghost town
On a moonless summer night
Raindrops on the windshield
There's a storm moving in
He's headin' back from somewhere
That he never should have been
And the thunder rolls
And the thunder rolls

Every light is burnin'
In a house across town
She's pacin' by the telephone
In her faded flannel gown
Askin' for miracle
Hopin' she's not right
Prayin' it's the weather
That's kept him out all night
And the thunder rolls
And the thunder rolls

The thunder rolls
And the lightnin' strikes
Another love grows cold
On a sleepless night
As the storm blows on
Out of control
Deep in her heart
The thunder rolls

She's waitin' by the window
When he pulls into the drive
She rushes out to hold him
Thankful he's alive
But on the wind and rain
A strange new perfume blows
And the lightnin' flashes in her eyes
And he knows that she knows
And the thunder rolls
And the thunder rolls

The thunder rolls
And the lightnin' strikes
Another love grows cold
On a sleepless night
As the storm blows on
Out of control
Deep in her heart
The thunder rolls

She runs back down the hallway
To the bedroom door
She reaches for the pistol
Kept in the dresser drawer
Tells the lady in the mirror
He won't do this again
Cause tonight will be the last time
She'll wonder where he's been

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I hope that you’ll find that the story fits the song and that the lack of an outcome doesn’t detract from it. I have no intention of pursuing this. Knowing BCTS readers, your imaginations will do a far better job of providing an ending than I ever could.



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