I was getting worried that Cindy stayed sick and weak for so long because I’d kind of bounced back pretty quickly. Hopefully a full night’s sleep would finally cure her. I washed, went upstairs, and pulled on a longer nightgown that I found in the drawer. I lay awake for awhile, thinking about everything that had happened so far, and hoped for the best tomorrow.

The Cabin - Part 7

Chapter 19: Chuck’s Return

The moment I woke the next day I could tell it would be a hot one. I loved the airy feeling of the nightgown swishing around my legs, and thought about sleeping in an old tee-shirt and shorts. Never again, if I could help it! Well, maybe a cute camisole and tap pants, I giggled to myself. I went to the bottom drawer where all my girl clothes had been stashed, and selected a pair of yellow panties, yellow shorts, and a cute green and yellow short-sleeved top with a scoop neck. I brushed my hair back and used the combs that Cindy had loaned me, then added my jewelry. A little blush and lipgloss and spray of Sunwater and I was ready to go.

I figured that my aunt and uncle had gotten back late and would sleep in, so I quietly went down to Cindy’s room. Her mother was sleeping soundly, and Cindy was still asleep but looked a thousand percent better. I took a quick shower, got dressed, then went into the kitchen to have breakfast.

Chuck was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. Staring at me. I couldn’t read his expression; it seemed to be equal parts wonder, disgust, anger, surprise–and who knew what else.

I figured it was now or never, although I didn’t know if they’d told him about me yet …

“Good morning, Chuck,” I said coolly. After the way he’d treated me and especially after what he’d done to Larry, I didn’t think he deserved a warm welcome.

“My dad told me ...if I didn’t see it I wouldn’t believe it. You are a sissy!”

I fought my anger to calmly say, “No, actually I’m not–”

“Fairy! Queer! Pansy! Fruit! Faggot!” he said without shouting but with rising emotion. He spit some of his cereal out on some of the words, and the milk dribbling down his chin made him ridiculous as well as repulsive.

I waited until he ran out of words. “Are you done? Good. Is there any more cereal?”

The fact that I’d calmly taken his abuse shocked him. I was afraid he might react with rage–maybe even try to attack me–and I’d kept my hand on a chair to shove at him if he charged me and I needed to run. But after spewing those words, he sort of deflated. I released the chair and passed him to go to the cupboard, and got a bowl and some cereal, then opened a drawer and got a spoon. Every second, I was terribly conscious of his eyes boring a hole in my back, but I also knew that he’d smelled the Sunwater on me, the same scent as his sister. I had also felt his eyes on me when I reached up to get the bowl; my top rode up a little showing my tummy. And both Cindy and Bonnie had told me I had a cute little butt. I also got a placemat, something he’d forgotten to do. I think it was the placemat that somehow turned him around.

“Is what Dad said true? You’ve really been a girl all along only pretending to be a boy?”

Inwardly I cheered; his parents had been right about the cover story. It was far easier for him to accept than the truth. So I replied very matter-of-factly.

“Yes, it’s true. I tried but I just wasn’t very good at trying to be a boy.”

“I’ll say! I always thought you were a homo!”

“Chuck, could you do us both a favor and not use those words? They’re mean and they’re not even true.”

“Yeah, well ...okay. But they would be true if you were a real guy!”

“Right, but if I were a real guy we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? But it doesn’t make the words any nicer.”

He took another scoop of cereal and thought. I imagined I could actually hear rusty gears turning. I’d been careful to modulate my voice like Cindy’s, and to use proper English because it would sound ‘girlier’ to Chuck.

After a time, he struggled with his questions. “What was it like? Trying to be a boy all these years? Did the doctors make a mistake? Do your parents know? Man, that would be weird!”

I didn’t know the story his parents had told him, so I didn’t want to go into things too deeply until I’d checked with them. I said, “Yeah, it was weird, but I can’t go on trying to be something I’m not. And my girl’s puberty is kind of blowing the whole ‘boy’ thing. So we all decided I could relax and stop trying, and just be myself, while everything sorts itself out. Medically. And, yeah, my parents know and are glad and finally stopped calling me Stuart.” I rolled my eyes like girls do.

I didn’t want to go further but didn’t have to because there was a soft knock at the back door. Chuck went to the door and saw Bonnie. I still had enough knowledge of being male to recognize him kick into high ‘stud’ gear. And inwardly I both cringed and laughed at him.

“Bonnie, hey, long time no see. Looking good, Bonnie! How ya been?”

If he thought this would work, he was even more delusional than I thought he was. Bonnie hadn’t seen me at the table, and was obviously on her guard about saying too much now that Chuck was around.

“Is ...your cousin awake?” Bonnie phrased it exactly right. No name, no pronoun. Smart girl!

I stood up, put my things away and walked up behind Chuck. “I’m here, Bonnie. What’s up?”

She visibly relaxed. “Oh, hi, Sue! I brought–”

“Sue?” Chuck turned and looked at me.

“Yes, Susan. Didn’t your folks tell you that?” I said with some exasperation, trying to make it seem like it was an everyday, trivial matter; like everybody knew I was Susan.

“No, they never said–wait a minute, when we sang ‘If you knew Susie’–”

I nodded my head. “That’s right, didn’t your dad tell you that was my real name? Why do you think he chose Susie? Sorry, Bonnie,” I said to her to excuse the wait. Chuck was processing things pretty slowly.

“But Dad said that’s what you would have been named if you were a girl–”

“Right. That was the cover story.”

The carefully-constructed cover story kicked in; realization finally dawned on him that this had been going on since I was born, and he did a big, slow take. “Ohhh, I get it!”

Through the screen door, I could see Bonnie roll her eyes.

Chuck explained it to the kitchen, pointing out details with his finger. “He just said that while you were pretending to be a boy, but he let it slip! I get it!”

“Great. Now could we please let our guest in?” I said it just like an annoyed girl, like his sister spoke to him, as I moved past him to open the door for Bonnie, who nodded to Chuck as she quickly passed. I think she was trying to keep from laughing out loud.

“Why didn’t I see it before? You even talk and act like a girl.” He was still working it out.

“It’s actually a pretty easy thing to do because she is a girl, Chuck,” Bonnie said. “And you know what? I don’t have any problem talking and acting like a girl, either!”

Bonnie and I could see him grapple with this. In the strange macho wilderness between his ears, he ranked females as second-place to males–yet he’d also been raised to treat females with some degree of courtesy. It was gay males that were the target of his hatred, disgust, and probably fear. But if I was female, his brain laboriously worked out, there was nothing gay about it.

That seemed to clinch it for Chuck–I was a girl, I’d always been a girl, and I couldn’t be blamed for trying to be a boy because after all, he reasoned, boys were the best thing to be, right?

I’d seen the same process with his father–only much quicker with Uncle Jack–where I was removed from one mental pigeonhole and placed in another. Now I was in the same category as his little sister Cindy, and I held no threat and little interest for him. And believe me, that was exactly the way I wanted it. He did a couple of slow nods to himself and went back to his cereal.

Bonnie and I went into the living room. “Thanks for coming, Bonnie. What’s up?”

She’d come to tell me that I had email; she’d been too polite to download it. She also had found some more websites she thought I might like to surf. And speaking of surf, she said it was going to be a hot day and did I want to go swimming later with her and Hannah. And how was Cindy? And how was Larry?

We chatted for a bit, then she headed back home and I went into the kitchen to actually start my breakfast. Chuck was finishing up and started to get up, leaving his things on the table.

“Chuck, are you finished?” I was referring to him leaving his things, and put just the right spin into it for him to recognize his mother’s tone.

“Yeah,” he said, putting his bowl and spoon in the sink. “Geez, you sound just like Mom,” he grumbled as he went out.

I knew at that instant that I’d won! His mom and Cindy constantly reminded him to clean his own place. From a male, he might resist being told to clean up, but his mother had subtly trained him well. He’d responded to me exactly right; just as he would to any other female. The funny thing was, although he considered females to be second-class, he had no idea how well he was trained to obey. Hopefully that could be nurtured into respect, as well. For now, I was glad that I wouldn’t have to worry about Chuck trying to kill me.

Chapter 20: Going To The Hospital

I’d just finished my cereal when Cindy came down. She looked much better and said she felt better, too. The proof was how well she attacked a melon. She asked for an update; I’d heard Chuck go into the garage so I could brief Cindy quickly. She relaxed a little, and I realized again just how much Chuck’s anger and macho swagger had put this family on edge. I told her Bonnie asked about swimming, but I’d rather spend time with Cindy if she was feeling better. She gave me a warm smile; I knew she considered Bonnie a competitor, although she needn’t.

Aunt Margaret came in at that point, dressed but looking sleepy, kissed us both and poured herself some cereal. She told us that the police had finally dropped any thoughts of charges for Chuck but would be keeping an eye on him. Uncle Jack still had charges of contributing to the delinquency of minors and would have to answer for them, but the shooting was being declared an unhappy accident brought about by alcohol.

Larry was stable, but the doctors still didn’t know how much function he would have from some of his internal organs. That made us somber as we considered poor Larry. My aunt and uncle had talked about packing up and leaving for the city right away, transferring Larry to a big city hospital, but decided to stay. The transfer would be dangerous at this point, and they were satisfied that he was getting excellent care, as good or better than he would receive in the city. And they actually lived farther away from the big hospital; the cabin was much closer to Larry.

I double-checked that Chuck was still in the garage–we could hear him tinkering with something–so I briefed Aunt Margaret on my encounter with Chuck. She, too, was relieved and couldn’t help but smile at the way he’d obeyed me about cleaning up. She was also glad that Cindy was better. Since it was going to be a hot day, and now that my situation was out in the open and resolved, she suggested a trip into town to check on Larry, followed by an all-girl shopping spree for my own clothes. I was overjoyed; I think I actually hopped in my chair with excitement. Cindy wanted to come, too, and her mother said it would be wonderful as long as she didn’t overdo it.

Aunt Margaret told Cindy to get dressed; she told me my shorts were fine and the top was cute, but I might want to wear a blouse with buttons so I wouldn’t be pulling it over my head all the time when I was trying things on. Trying things on! That sounded so simple but so wonderful; I was going to get my very own girl’s clothes–ones that belonged only to me! I loved Cindy, and I’m sure as girlfriends we’d share clothes now and again, but there was something odd about always wearing her panties, shorts, whatever. I wanted my own!

I hugged my aunt and dashed upstairs with Cindy. She handed me a sleeveless lime-green camp shirt that nicely matched the yellow shorts, and some sandals. I still got a kick out of seeing nail polish on my toes, I thought as I got dressed. After brushing my hair, I pulled it back loosely and held it with a white scrunchie. Cindy wore one of her sundresses, fluffed her hair, and we headed back down. We must have taken longer than we thought–well, we did try on a few other outfits–because my aunt had finished breakfast, and was waiting for us in the garage while she talked with Chuck. Seeing all three of us together, it was obvious that he now considered me to be ‘one of the girls’, and I couldn’t be happier.

“Tell your father we’ll be back before dinner, and we’ll either bring something back or we’ll eat out,” Aunt Margaret called over her shoulder to Chuck. “And clean up the garage like you promised.”

“See ya, jerk face,” Cindy absent-mindedly said to Chuck as she walked past him. It had been one of their ‘pet’ names when they were younger.

“See ya, lizard breath,” Chuck responded.

As I passed Chuck, I simply said, “Bye, Chuck.”

He looked surprised that I hadn’t taken a shot at him. “Bye, Susie.” Then he took a good look at me and shook his head. “Man, how could I ever have thought you were a guy!?”

I smiled warmly inside; this was confirmation that he’d been defused. I wasn’t even going to attempt to educate him any further, though–he might be treating me like another girl in the family now, but I knew there was still something twisted inside him. Defused was the best I could hope for.

We three got in the car and took off. Aunt Margaret told me that she’d explained things to Bonnie, who’d said I could check the email later and to ‘have fun’. We’d start by not having fun: The plan was to see Larry first, and there was no telling how long that would take. My aunt gently suggested that in his weakened condition, it might not be a good idea for Larry to see me. That was okay with me; I could always read some magazines. Then my aunt thought that we might try to drop in at the office of the doctor mentioned in my father’s letter; she’d noticed the name at the hospital. That sounded even better to me.

We pulled into a gas station; it was old-fashioned in that a guy actually came out and pumped the gas. Cindy and I bought Cokes while he worked, and we couldn’t help but notice that he was checking us out. On purpose, Cindy stood with her back to him, then raised on tiptoe and leaned over a counter; he darn near yanked the hose out of the car he was trying so hard to see up her dress. I gently slapped her forearm and we both giggled. Then Cindy shocked me.

“Okay, kiddo, it’s your turn.”

I had no idea what she meant.

“You know, silly. Pose. Flirt. Come on, Susie! Get him excited. Wrap him around your little finger.”

“Cindy! I can’t do that!”

“Yes, you can! A hot babe like you–” Cindy noticed that I was genuinely shocked, not just pretending. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sue. Forget it, okay? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s okay, Cin, it’s just ...it’s just that I haven’t thought about, well, guys that way.”

“Well, start thinking, girl! As good as you look, they’re sure as heck going to be thinking about you!”

I thought about Cindy’s words as we pulled out of the station. I hadn’t thought about boys. Or sex. I was having such a good time so far, just dressing and being with other females that I hadn’t thought about how I would be expected to be around boys my own age. Well, maybe older; some of the boys my age were so immature ...

Whoa–there I was thinking about ‘us and them’, with me squarely on the girls’ side. While I didn’t have any strong feelings about boys yet, I already identified so strongly as a girl that maybe that would come. Then I thought that I hadn’t had any strong feelings about anything before I became Susan, so maybe my feelings for boys would become clearer later. If I let them ...

The thing was, I didn’t want to be thought gay, but if I was truly a girl, then I would be thinking romantically about boys–and sexually, too. And it wouldn’t be gay; it would be a girl thinking about boys, which would make me straight. Whew! I decided that I’d cross that bridge when I came to it, but more importantly, I wouldn’t have any preconceived notions. I would discover my true feelings as I experienced them. Maybe I’d like them; maybe not. And if I turned into a boy-crazy flirt like Cindy, then so be it.

Cindy fell asleep right after the gas station, and my aunt said to let her sleep. My aunt and I talked quietly for a little bit; she complimented me for how well I’d handled Chuck; she’d said the way I’d done it was instinctively female. But I could tell her mind was on Larry so I fell quiet, too. I’d been enjoying feeling the breeze from the open windows on my sleeveless arms, and had dozed a bit myself, coming awake when we got to the hospital. We woke up Cindy, and we all headed to the front desk and then on to Larry’s floor. I sat and started looking through the old magazines while Aunt Margaret and Cindy talked with a nurse. Then they walked back to me.

“Larry’s sleeping but due to be wakened in about fifteen minutes. Want to go find that doctor?” Aunt Margaret said as Cindy slumped in the chair next to me.

“Sure,” I said, getting up. Cindy waved us away and moved to a larger, padded chair and curled up to doze. My aunt decided to leave her there; she’d be right back anyway.

We took the elevator to the doctor’s floor and then to his receptionist. On the wall a sign said ‘Dr. Lee Janssen’ but with no description of specialty. I figured that he dealt with gender problems but not much beyond that. As luck would have it, the doctor was free to meet us because of a cancellation, and we were ushered into his office. Or rather, her office; it turned out ‘Lee’ was an attractive woman in her early fifties with beautifully sculpted short blonde hair and a classic Scandinavian face.

My father had already briefed her somehow, and once again I marveled at how thorough–and fast–he’d been. The doctor asked to see the documents my aunt had received in the FedEx package, and had her receptionist make copies while she asked some basic contact information. I briefly wondered if the thick file she held was about me, but dismissed the thought; after all, we had just dropped in so I figured it was somebody else’s file and she was just using it to write on. Aunt Margaret mentioned the sleeping Cindy and wakening Larry, so Dr. Jansen asked if I could give fluid samples while she spoke with my aunt.

Her receptionist was also a nurse; she directed me to a tiny bathroom where I gave urine. The container was left on a little shelf, I washed up and I came back out. The nurse nodded to a chair; I sat and she drew blood, swabbed my cheek, and even clipped a bit of hair that she put in a tube. She smiled and told me to wait until the doctor was ready for me.

Once again, I found myself reading hospital magazines, but these at least were hipper–there was even an old Glamour among them. It took nearly twenty minutes, but my aunt came out with the doctor and told me she was heading up to see Larry. When Dr. Janssen was finished, her receptionist would call the nurse where Larry was and we’d all meet. I told my aunt I loved her and I hoped Larry was doing great, then followed Dr. Janssen into her office.

And then there was the typical physical exam. Dr. Jansen said it was best to get the awkwardness out of the way first and I supposed it made sense. There was a small examination room next to her office and I undressed. I was a little embarrassed to be seen in girl’s underclothes, but wanted to slap myself for that silly thought–what else should I be wearing? It was only when my penis swung free into her hands that I nearly shivered with humiliation. She dispassionately examined it and felt around between my legs, then told me to get dressed and we washed up and went back into her main office.

Her nurse had brought in my fluid results, and Dr. Jansen said I could ‘get composed’ while she checked them and murmured something about ‘great new gadgets’ so I guess the process used to take longer; I had no way of knowing. She flipped some pages, nodded, flipped, nodded, made some quick notes and then sat back and smiled at me.

So we began the personal interview. Many of the questions she asked were about things I’d been asking myself, and her responses to my responses were surprisingly similar to the thoughts and conclusions I’d been coming to on my own. I was surprised that we did some word games, and some ‘describe the picture’ type things, then the doctor and I discussed her preliminary conclusions.

What it boiled down to was that she thought we were pursuing the right course: letting me spend some time in the female gender–she was careful to separate ‘sex’ and ‘gender’, explaining her definitions–and then have a major evaluation at the end of summer. I was initially surprised that things had moved so quickly–and without an appointment, no less!–until she reminded me that my parents had already contacted her directly, and a lot of information had already been passed for her to study, as well as medical and insurance information. The large file was mine, of course; I was staggered–until I remembered how incredibly efficient my father and mother are. Dr. Jansen and I would have met in the next week anyway, apparently; she was going to phone me for an appointment but our drop-in had forestalled that. She was very interested to meet me at last and also with Aunt Margaret, and had pleasantly surprised me with her knowledge of my situation. Dr. Janssen, I discovered, was full of surprises.

“If you are willing, I would like to take the next step that usually wouldn’t occur until many months of study,” she said while she studied my eyes.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. I mean, we just dropped in today to schedule an appointment. And thank you again for seeing us.”

“Of course, but we were going to meet sooner or later; it just happened sooner. I’ve actually been studying you for awhile now,” she said, indicating the file. “Now that I’ve finally met you, I think we should proceed. Susan, you’re a very unusual case. The literature has only a very few case studies of someone as young as you who assimilated so quickly. Amazingly quickly, actually, and amazingly fully, as far as I can determine. And the … ‘neuter’ state, as you called it, is also extremely interesting and little-researched. To the casual observer, you’re a normal girl, in every way.”

“Thank you, ma’am, and I hope that’s what I become!”

She laughed good-naturedly. “That may very well be. Well, what I propose is this: I’d like to start you out on hormone replacement therapy right away to see how you adapt, physically as well as emotionally. I must explain that I have already spoken with your parents about this, and I have informed the hospital as well. It is rather radical but there are …factors in your case that will allow us to proceed.”

Dr. Jensen looked at my file as I wondered what the ‘factors’ were; judging from the thickness of my file, there must be reports from my regular doctors, maybe school information as well. Suddenly it struck me that my parents couldn’t possibly have collected and transmitted all that information in the short time since I first told them about becoming Susan. The only explanation was that they’d already been gathering it–maybe for years–and had copied the files over to Dr. Jansen; which meant that they’d known, or suspected …and never said anything to me?

But all I said was a polite, “Yes, doctor.”

Dr. Jansen folded her arms and gave me a direct look. “I said ‘hormone replacement’ but that’s a misnomer, particularly in your case. We are considering this approach: First, a shot we call an ‘androgen blocker’, that will put any further male puberty in suspension. Stop any masculine development in its tracks.”

“That sounds …really good, doctor!” I smiled. “I’ve actually, uh, been reading about this.” On her look, I explained, “Our neighbor at the lake has an internet connection. She’s a psychology major and has helped me find information on being transgender.”

She nodded, but there was still a frown. “I would caution you to …not necessarily believe everything you read on the subject, especially on the internet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said automatically. “I mean, no, doctor. I mean …”

She chuckled at my confusion. “Let me tell you about Nebraska.” She waited.

I frowned, totally confused.

Once she knew she had my complete attention–although completely lost–she chuckled. “One article on the internet about Nebraska may be completely factual. Population, square miles, major crops, and so on. Another article about Nebraska may have been copied from the first and is mostly correct but spells Omaha wrong. Several other articles, copied from the second article, all continue to spell Omaha wrong. And then there’s the article written by somebody that hates Nebraska and slants everything negatively.”

“Why would they hate Nebraska?” I asked without thinking.

She shrugged. “Maybe they got a speeding ticket there; who knows? The point is that among the internet you can find objective, factually correct information …but how do you know which is which?” She chuckled. “All of which is my long-winded way to tell you to beware of info on the net. It’s good that you have an older guide, your neighbor, but I will provide you with a list of sites that have the correct information you need.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jansen. And …am I right in thinking that you’ve spoken in detail with my parents already? They seemed to get awfully knowledgeable awfully fast.”

“Yes, I have, and with your aunt as well,” she nodded towards the door. “So this is a first face-to-face for you and I, but I have already begun the evaluation. Which allows me to proceed quickly. Ordinarily you would receive the androgen blocker and then there’d be months of evaluation before the next step. But as studies of youthful transgender patients have indicated, we can perhaps be a bit more proactive. And I’ve received authorization from the hospital to follow this path. So I am proposing that you receive the blocker, and then we will begin trying different …I’ll just say flavors of hormones. Different mixes, too.”

I thought my smile couldn’t be any wider. “Yes, doctor! Thank you!”

Dr. Jansen raised a cautionary finger. “However, you must understand three conditions: First of all, you must specifically request in writing that we proceed with this course of action, and that you accept all the conditions.”

I nodded, but felt the warmth building up inside of me; a warmth of happiness at a new hope.

“The second condition is that it will be a blind test. You will not know when you are receiving hormones and when you are receiving a placebo, and you will not know the dosage, which will vary. And at some point we may discontinue medication for a period of evaluation. Understood?”

I said, “Yes, but we are talking about female hormones, right?”

“Yes, for the most part. We may also try some male hormones as well.”

“I don’t know if I’d like that. Besides, don’t I already have male hormones?”

“That’s part of what we need to check out; it may be that your hormones–specifically, how your body processes the hormones your body manufactures–are lacking in one or more areas. I can verify that through the blood work up to some extent, but I may want to try some synthetic male hormones. But don’t worry that it’ll turn you into a macho man; remember that every human–every human, male and female–has a mix of both male and female hormones. And many women receive controlled doses of testosterone and other male hormones to even out their chemical balance, and are completely feminine, normal women. Okay?”

“Well, I agree, but kind of nervously, you understand.”

“I do. And the third condition is that you keep a journal, and you must be absolutely truthful with me regarding the effects on you. This is vital. Don’t think, ‘Oh, I’ll just tell her feminine things and I’ll get to be a girl’ because you’ll never know what medication you’re receiving, and I have to know exactly what you’re thinking and feeling to adjust your dosage properly. You may in fact be injuring yourself and your hopes by reporting false or nonexistent data. So if you’re feeling feminine and vulnerable, I need to know. If you’re feeling clumsy and stupid, I need to know. If you feel attracted to boys, I need to know, as well as if you feel attracted to girls. That means I’ll need to know your fantasies and dreams. Now this next part can get very embarrassing for you. If you masturbate, I need to know precisely what you’re thinking. And the results. Do you understand?”

“Actually, I do. I mean, I understand!” I blushed. “Dr. Janssen, I don’t masturbate. I never have. And I’m not lying about this because I know everybody lies about it, but I’m not everybody! I know what it is, and what wet dreams are, but I’ve never, ever done it. Or had a wet dream. I think it might be …well, because it’s a sexual thing, and I haven’t sexual thoughts. I’ve never thought about sex with either boys or girls …but that may change; hopefully, I’m growing up. And if it does change, I’ll tell you, I promise. And I promise to be truthful always. That means I can tell you that right now, I don’t really know how I feel about some things; I can feel this little war inside me between what I feel and what I think I’m supposed to feel. I’ll try to make them both clear to you, okay?

She agreed with a smile, and we set up a loose schedule for follow-up appointments. She had an email address so I could contact her through Bonnie’s computer; that would probably work out better than trying to get her on the phone. Her receptionist brought in forms and witnessed while we signed, then left to make copies. I wasn’t surprised that Aunt Margaret had already signed her approval, and in my file they already had the letters from my father and the one granting Aunt Margaret my medical supervision. To my further surprise, Dr. Janssen asked me to pull down my shorts; she prepared a whopping big syringe and shot me in the hip, then a second shot in the other hip. I pulled my shorts up and she handed me a couple of prescription sheets, reminded me to start the journal, told me she’d see me again in a week, told me I might want some ibuprofen if my hips were sore tonight, shook my hand, smiled warmly, and it was over.

Aunt Margaret and Cindy were waiting for me; Dr. Janssen’s receptionist had been in touch and they were already done. My aunt smiled and hugged me; she knew what had been done even without me telling her. But then she apologized that we wouldn’t have time to do any serious shopping. I told her that was fine with me; I hadn’t expected to see the doctor and besides, I didn’t want Cindy to overdo it and get sick again. I was anxious to hear about Larry; she said he was doing better but the doctors said he would have to stay several more weeks, while they assessed his organs’ functions. Then they wanted to know all about me, and I told them a condensed version of everything that had gone on. I was still amazed at how quickly it had all happened, but was so excited I imagined I could feel my breasts start to tingle and grow already! Wishful thinking, I knew, but I was determined to stay on this course. And my parents knew all about it and approved!

We drove home tired, but I was excited about the shot and sat in the back seat thinking about breasts. I’d never really thought about them before as a boy; I mean, I had never been interested in girls. Basically, anything to do with girls had been blanked out–they just didn’t register. Of course, I now suspected it was because my mind was protecting me from contemplating my own gender. So now that I’d made the change to Susan, and had no doubts at all about my preferred gender, it was time to start thinking about breasts.

I’d already learned that there was so much more to being a woman than a pair of breasts; I’d read about teenage boys with gynecomastia that developed breasts and never for a moment stopped thinking and feeling that they were boys. I also figured out that women who’d lost their breasts through mastectomies were still fully female. Breasts alone didn’t make a woman, but, oh God! I wanted my own now!

Thinking about Cindy and other girls I knew back home, I remembered how thrilled they were when those bumps appeared in their t-shirts. The bumps were followed by curves and suddenly the tomboy bodies disappeared, replaced by curvy young women learning about womanhood. It was a definite threshold, a boundary between two ages. I’d taken a ballroom dancing class, like for a cotillion sort of thing–was dragged to it by my mother, actually–and remembered how the girls on either side of that threshold felt different. When I recalled those classes, I didn’t really remember what I’d worn beyond a dark suit and white shirt, and I couldn’t remember what any of the other boys wore; probably the same thing and they all blurred together. I couldn’t even remember any other boys’ names! But as I thought about the class, I could easily remember–and see–Debbie’s green dress, or Veronica’s cute white gloves, or the sprig of flowers in Jennifer’s hair that matched her blue dress. It seemed like even my memories were girlish–I’d just never registered them as such.

I knew that I would be just like them; that I would be excited and proud of my new bumps when they came–and I’d probably a pain in the neck about them, like other girls! They would make me a target for male eyes, too, and I still wasn’t sure where that thought was going, so I shelved it for the moment. I just knew that I was so looking forward to the first time I placed a snugly-fitting bra over my very own breasts!

End of Part 7