Richard's Way
by Jennifer Christine
part 2

School was a bit of a trial as I didn’t actually have to do any work, I had social studies and all those esoteric subjects that are normally reserved for mentally challenged students so they could be graduated without actually knowing anything. History and Geography could be as interesting as I made them — I’d done my A level (Uni entrance type level) when I was 14 and got a top grade. I’d done French as well and of course maths and the sciences I’d done at 13. They were really easy. I was only at school for socialization which was almost impossible seeing as how I was not allowed into the girl section of the school until I was a senior and they wouldn’t let mebe a senior until next term — I had to work my way up — so I was stuck with a bunch of smelly and spotty pubescent boys, who giggled at rude words and were full of testosterone.

“Come on Dick wad, show us how good you are at arm wrestling.” Three or four of the class bully’s cronies laughed at the idea of me being able to beat Slasher Thomson — he was about 100lbs and 6 inches wider and higher than I.

“Ok,” I said and sat with my arm ready at a convenient desk, Slasher looked surprised then immediately sat opposite me with his back to the door — his cronies stood at his shoulder.

“One, two, three, go!” Just as he said “Go” I looked up at the door and said, “oh, sorry sir” (arm wrestling was a no no) Slasher’s muscles immediately went limp and I crashed his arm to the desk. “I win”. Smiling I rose and walked away. The door was shut and no ‘sir’ appeared in it.

A badly aimed text book sailed over my head. “Oi that’s my book,” one of Slasher’s mates exclaimed. I knew it wasn’t over, but it was good to use brains over brawn.

Who’d want to socialize with thugs like that anyway?

Gym was always fun — I played badminton since I had no curriculum to maintain. I just had to do a couple of hours a week. The other fifth formers were annoyed as they had supervised classes and had to exercise properly — well I didn’t want to chip my nails, did I?

The guy I played badminton with was a weedy guy called Martin Eckineh — I think he was Sri Lankan by heritage but had a Liverpool accent you could use to cut cheese, a hard one like Parmesan!
I think he was even more girlish than I was, except he had a todger that a mare would shy away from and it occasionally slipped out of his pants when he dived for a shuttlecock.

I asked him one day, “Did you dive for the shuttlecock or trip over your own?” His skin wasn’t so dark you couldn’t see the blush.

Well that about covers school except Slasher clouted me across the back with a cricket bat later in the day “demonstrating” a cut shot to his mates. I’d seen it coming and I moved so it hit my back, square on, which was covered with three layers of clothing and my ace bandage. So it made me cough and splutter but no harm done. He thought he’d got me a good one, so did Mr Swan who decided it was deliberate and issued Slasher and his mates (for laughing) with a five page essay on ‘doorknobs’.

Mum picked me up as usual and we headed off to the Coombs residence.
“I spoke to Aunt Sandy today,” mum started. Now this could be inane chatter, but it sounded like a more focused start to a conversation. I gulped mentally — scratched my cheek absently, (physically — to show non interest.)

“Oh yes? What did she have to say? Did she forget something last night?” Feigning disinterest.

“She mentioned that when she hugged you last night,” (uh Oh) she paused to manoeuvre round a badly parked truck (that’s an English spelling folks and is not a typo) . “She felt something on your back like padding?”

“Guilty as charged, it was a bandage,” I volunteered, thinking fast.

“A bandage, are you hurt?” Mum sounded really quite agitated.

“Well a bit bruised, one of the bullies who is helping to ‘socialise’ me hit me across the back with a bat” No lies there and she can phone up and check. “I just used the bandage to pad it a bit so it wouldn’t hurt.” One small lie there.

“Oh darling, I am sorry, I wish you didn’t have to go to that awful school — it’s your dad that really wants you to go you know on the recommendation of your therapist. Can I see the bruise when we get home?” She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye to gauge my reaction.

“Sure, if you must.” Nonchalant as ever.

So while mum parked the car, I whipped into the downstairs loo and stripped off my bandage, leaving my pullover and shirt and singlet in place. When she came through to the hall I made a show of sliding my clothing up and bunching it on my chest (covering up my unusual pectorals!!) That left most of my back bare and mum could see the bruise of the bat across my back.

“Oh that’s horrible, I’m going to ring that school and give them what for.” Heading straight for the phone.
I let down my shirt and slunk off to my room. Once there I slipped on a seriously tight singlet — one with a lot of lycra in it. It really flattened me out up front and then slipped on a sweat top — a nice loose one!

I could hear mum ranting down below, “My son came home with a huge bruise across his back; what do you have to say about that?”

“Those animals are only getting an essay to write, what sort of punishment is that? I expect you to expel them for such behaviour.”

“No I won’t leave it to you, I expect you to inform me when they have been expelled or I shall take proceedings against, not only them, but you as well. Is that UNDERSTOOD?”

Apparently it was, the phone went down with a clang.

Mum came upstairs and knocked on my door, “are you decent dear?”

“Yes mum,” I answered brightly and innocently.

“They said they only gave them an essay to write, that’s abominable, I’ve told them I expect them to be expelled; you could have punctured a lung.”

I looked at her with sudden illumination, she was right, what I was passing off as a prank could have been very dangerous if I hadn’t reacted and hadn’t been padded. A tear sprang to my eye uncalled and slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away surreptitiously, I’m a girl, not a sissy. I’m lying through my teeth and getting away with it — which is worse?

Mind you, they did hit me hard enough to bruise my back through all that clothing, I’m amazed I’m not really sore now. Another tear leaked out, Mum spotted that one and came over and hugged me.

“There there, pet, You pop down and grab a coke and I’ll make your favourite for tea.”

“Wow, lobster thermidore?” I gasped theatrically.

“No you prune, spaghetti Bolognese.” She sighed exasperated.

“That’s dad’s favourite not mine.” I chided. Almost pouting. (I’m not keen on red meat.)

“What would you like then, and don’t say lobster, I haven’t got any in the freezer.” Oh the horror, we have no lobster!

“Chicken Schnitzel with noodles and mushroom sauce then, please.” And no, I’m not a ‘Sound of Music’ fan!

“That I can handle!” She smiled and left me to it.

I’m beginning to feel guilty and I’m beginning to lose the will to be secretive. I hope I can steel myself long enough to make it to my birthday, I have no contingency plan for total parental control — and I can bet Sandy will have a hand in my demise. Oh I didn’t say did I?
Uncle Brad is a Surgeon and Aunt Sandy is a lawyer. Mum dabbles in real Estate and daddy has the bank… Perhaps I could be Annie and ….no not a good thought- I have no desire to be an orphan. If I did, I’d probably be out of here by now.

I heard dad’s car arrive as I walked down the stairs. I looked in the mirror at the bottom to check I wasn’t protruding overmuch, hunched over slightly and met him as he came out of the garage into the hall. “Hi pop.”

“Ted, could you come in here for a minute darling?” Oh dear — I wish she’d let it drop.

“Yes dear, what’s the problem?” There obviously was one or dad would be allowed to go and change straight away.

“I’m not having Richard go back to that horrible school, not one day more.” The anger in her voice was layered with the no nonsense and no answering back tone.

“Oh, and why is that, my sweet?” Code for ‘who are you telling that to?’

“He was struck by a cricket bat across the ribs and the culprits only got an essay to write. I rang the head and demanded he expel the perpetrators or I’d sue the pants off him.”

Dad looked over at me and raised his eyebrows quizzically. I nodded and shrugged in answer to say yes. “And why did they do that son?”

“Because he’s 100lbs heavier than I and his cronies would and did think it amusing.” I answered truthfully if a little vaguely.

“Then I am all in agreement. Going back there is pretty much an exercise in futility anyway and you can be learning reality and earning a living instead of aimlessly being the victim in others’ pranks.”

Things were looking up, I really think that I might be out of that place for keeps.
“Thanks dad, that sounds excellent. Perhaps I should advertise myself as a computer tech — I could really make some good cash at that.

“That wasn’t quite what I meant, - summer is coming on and I think you could do a lawn mowing round — it’ll build you up and give you some muscles in that skinny frame — maybe even send you off to a military academy for a semester..”

“I’ll go back to school then thanks. I think my virginity would last about 40 seconds in a military academy.” I looked him right in the eye.

He blushed, “You’re not that attractive.”

“I would be in a boys only environment. How was it at your school, weren’t the weeds buggered daily?” I asked, injecting a bit of venom to make him squirm.

“Of course not,” He swallowed — I caught the swallow.

“Too close to the truth eh — what was it, weekly after chapel?”

“That’s quite enough of that Richard; times have changed, that doesn’t happen any more.” I’ve never seen him try to dismiss a subject so fast.

“Not much it doesn’t, get real dad.” Putting in the spur.

“Well, we’ll see, I want a word with that headmaster first; see what the hell’s going on.” He turned for the stairs to go get changed.

I stepped further into the kitchen to raid the fridge.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on him; he’s not in touch with the real world you know.”

“I gathered that.” I shook my head and popped the tab.

“Dinner in 15, don’t make me come and find you.”

“K.”

Dinner was quiet, Dad wasn’t really coming to terms with what happened and tried to quiz me — I just shrugged and passed it off.

“Do you want to grow up a weakling Richard? You’ll have to get a grip, no one respects a man who can’t hold up his end physically.” Dad really was trying to be fatherly.

I wiggled my eyebrows at the last remark and he sighed. “Not at the dinner table son.”

I ate my lovely schnitzel and smiled at mum. She smiled back and we carried on quietly.

Later dad looked at me over his paper. “How old are you now, 16?”

“Next month dad. 28 days from now.”

“You’re very small for your age son, have you had a check up…. Physically?” He nodded at my groin area.

“Yes dad, every 6 months, I’m due another in about 6 weeks” — ‘by which time I’ll be my own boss and you won’t be able to do a thing.’ I added mentally.

The next day dawned and mum said, “I suppose you’d better go to school, until dad sorts out the problems.” She was trying to be parent-like but failing.

“No, I don’t think so — I’ll go back if those thugs have been removed, but there’s no chance of me turning up and getting lathered by them for dobbing them in.” I put into my voice finality that there was no possible argument that would induce me.

“Yes, you’re right of course. I’ll see what can be done but it’ll mean you’ll be at home all day today, can I trust you?”

“That’s the most insulting statement you’ve made these last six months. I’m nearly sixteen years old with an IQ which is probably similar to the total of the rest of the school put together. 165 at last count. Just - pray tell, what possible problem there could be? I’m all attentiveness.”

She glimped at me, “There’s always something boys of your age get up to.”

I looked at her as it dawned on me what she meant. “You think I’m going to masturbate all day? Get a grip mother, If I did it would take all of 5 minutes and I could, if so inclined, which I’m not, perform that while having a shower every morning.” That was a lie really, I couldn’t even get an erection. Not full of girl juice anyway!

She flushed and turned away, “Well, I wouldn’t know, I’m sure.”

“So am I mum, so am I. Sure that is.”

So they left me home and I pleased myself. I even briefly tried on the nighty that the girls had given me. I’d put it in the drawer in their room like they’d left it behind. It smelt lovely, like soft and warm. Quite depressing really — time stands still when you need it to spin.
I spent some time on the computer researching autonomy and self emancipation. Had I sufficient capital I could do it at 15 but at 16 I could go on benefits. However I’m not sure what I’d do if I had to. I’ve been used to the easy life, parents financing my upbringing. I needed to get through college and I needed to have my op — I had enough for neither — though I did have a scholarship to Oxford due to my noodles being so beneficially constructed. It would still cost and I couldn’t go into girl digs without backing.

Things were still up in the air. I needed my op and I needed it fairly soon to be able to continue my life as it should be. I needed my folks too, I may give them grief, but I still loved them dearly and would miss them terribly if I had to leave home (or got kicked out).

When they got home, I’d made a pineapple upside down cake and concocted a reasonable chicken curry with all the trimmings — so they were reasonably pleased and dad even said, “If you’re going to feed us like this, perhaps you should be our O’pere.” Sadly it was in jest, but I smiled like it wouldn’t be a burden and told them I’d get a maid’s uniform directly. Mum glimped at me…… shudder — she’s a real martinet inside! She probably thinks I’m a crossdresser now. Like the bloody therapist. I wish I’d told him I was totally gender stuffed. It might have been easier, and with a better outcome.
On the other hand it might have been a reportable thing and I’m sure Dad would and will throw a fit with his leg in the air when he finds out.

I’m still trying to work out how to tell them really — it’s one of those things that has no definitive answer. It comes out, then one or other or both or neither throw a fit and you’re either swamped in hugs or swamped in poverty — maybe somewhere in between, but it polarizes people — and I’m sure dad will go up the pole even if mum doesn’t.

Inevitably the week drew to a close with nothing further being discussed or discovered; stasis.
“We’re off to Brad’s this evening, so pack some things while we’re out and mum’ll pick you up when she finishes up at work. OK?” Dad enquired of me at brekkers on Friday.

“Sure, do you want me to bake a cake to take or something?” I asked feeling like there was something I could be doing.

“Good idea, I’ll ring Sandy and ask if there’s something you can make for supper — you’re getting to be a nice little cook.”

I ended up making an apple pie and some shrimp cocktail.
I packed minimal stuff — that tight lycra singlet was doing good things and I decided I liked it better than my ace bandage. And it was less likely to draw attention when hugs were performed.

It was lucky really, as when we arrived Sandy gave me a big hug and surreptitiously rubbed her hand up and down my back. “Bruises all gone?” She enquired — glimping a bit like her sister.

“Yes thanks, I didn’t want anyone to know and it’s one of the reasons I didn’t go in the pool.” Covering my bases.

“You should be in court.” She was not convinced. “There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip.” She smiled slyly at me and went to hug Dad.

I looked over at the twins, they coloured up so fast that I knew secrets had been spread further than they were supposed. Well maybe this was a better way than having to find the words myself.

I went over to the twins, “Spilt any milk lately?” Sarah immediately leaked a tear.
“No use, non at all. How?”

“Tell you later,” Ang put her hand on my arm and squeezed gently. “It wasn’t Sarah’s fault.”

It wasn’t til after supper that we had the opportunity to swap stories about the last week.

Sarah was all apologies and contriteness. “I am so sorry, but I managed to swear mum to secrecy.” She tried to cover her guilt with face saving.

“Tell me what happened. We’ll see how much damage control we can muster.” I sighed.

Ang started. “Well when we got home, mum said something about feeling a bandage on your back. We said ‘really?’ but she wasn’t convinced, we said you’d told us a secret and we couldn’t say. Well mum respects that being a lawyer, she said, ‘as long as no one is hurt by it and it’s not illegal.’”

Sarah continued, “Well that was when I said, ‘it certainly isn’t illegal.’ Mum picked up on it and thought about that and started quizzing about tattoos. “Nothing like that,” I said, which I shouldn’t have, as she was able to eliminate a lot of things with that statement.”

“It was later when mum said something about you not growing much for a 16 year old that she suddenly looked at Sarah and said something about your voice not breaking yet. Sarah coloured up straight away and mum got the connection. She’s pretty cluey; we said we’d tell her as long as she didn’t tell Aunty Liz or dad”

“She didn’t promise, but she did indicate it hung on what you said this weekend.” Ang finished. Goose totally cooked.

“I’m really sorry; it really can be shitty when your mum is a lawyer. You’ve no way of getting round the truth without telling a lie and they get you in deep doo doo.”

When the evening was over and we had all retired to bed, there was a knock on my door.
“Yes, come in.” I knew it would be Sandy, (she’d said she’d be in later — to tuck me in!)
She slipped in and shut the door — mum and dad were on the other landing so wouldn’t hear bumps in the night.

“I think we need a little chat to clear some air, Richard.” She looked at me, sat up in bed, the covers up round my neck. I let them slip a bit. “Sure,” I said, patting the bed so she could sit down. My heart was not equable — it was banging like a bloody drum and I was truly frightened. This ‘interview’ and ‘air clearing’ could fry me.

Her smile was kind, but her hand reached out and pulled the covers down some more.
“Time for show and tell, I think,” I acquiesced. I lowered the covers so my pjs were my only cover. The swell of my breasts pushed them out — they were pretty obvious — I wasn’t unproud of them — just worried that they might not be as permanent as I’d like if things went badly — I knew that if it went wrong, my life was over — IQ or not, I couldn’t survive being a guy.

Sandy’s eyes followed the line of my torso, her only word was, “Impressive”. Then, “Care to show me the rest of them?” I lifted my top and bared all.
“My, oh my, this is not Richard at all is it? This is more… Renata…” She squeezed my hand - which was trembling holding up my shirt. “Ok, cover up before you get cold.”
“I thought your bottom was a bit round… before, but I thought it was just puppy fat.”

“No, it’s not puppy fat, it’s my hips; they’ve developed quite a bit. It’s hard to keep them hidden. Please, Aunt Sandy, Oh God please don’t tell on me. I’ve only got to go another month and I have some autonomy at the moment I could be pumped full of testosterone at the wishes of my parents. I wouldn’t be able to survive. At least if I get to 16, they’ve got no control over my body.” It was over, I collapsed in tears — I promised myself I wouldn’t but it was like a huge weight had lifted. I was no longer in control — I’d been sprung.