CHAPTER 24
I woke up once more with Larinda’s weight on me, and the knowledge that the Von problem was, if not exactly sorted, at least on a different plane. She knew, that was all. I didn’t think she was likely to torch the flat or boil lagomorphs, but there was a temper behind her Valleys persona that could burn hot or simmer slow and deep.
I lay for a while, just enjoying the warmth and smell of my companion, up until the romance of a full bladder moved me from the bed. She made a strange grunting, and turned over away from me, still asleep. I realised, so clearly, how easy it was to become accustomed to her presence.
Kettle on, and a quick wash, changing into one of my long cotton skirts coupled with an old sweat shirt. That brought a pause; every day, I dressed up as a man, and each evening I threw off the trousers that felt so, so wrong. A skirt was more than a badge of femininity desired, it was a practical, comfortable garment. As I walked the tea through to the bedroom, I realised that with all the crap the day before, I hadn’t picked up the post from the door mat.
There it was, the hand-addressed letter. Inside was the first request for an appointment, interview, therapy session, whatever. I realised that it was indeed an interview, but for a life rather than a job. Was it one I could afford to fail? I took it back upstairs to the bedroom, and shook Larinda awake for her tea and a council of war. She read the letter through in silence, her lips thinned, and then looked at me without a word. I filled the silence.
“This is make or break, kid. You do understand I have no choice?”
She sat silent for a while, sipping her tea, then looked up.
“I’ve made my choice, OK? I’ll say no more”
Three days later I was there. I had taken a day’s leave from work, and I was crapping myself. There was one strand of thought that wouldn’t unwind from my head, and that was my appearance. I had read so much about my options, and over and over again had come across references to ‘passing’ and how so many doctors hesitated before signing anyone off who they felt didn’t look womanly enough. If you were a skinny waif with a fat arse, then you would easily qualify. Those like me, more normal in appearance, were faced with an uphill struggle. Not fair, not fair at all, in so many ways.
“Mr Carter? Room 12…”
The receptionist waved me towards the corridor to the consulting rooms. I was finding it particularly hard, as despite all my preparations, I didn’t have an earthly as to what to expect. I opened the door after a quick rat-tat with my knuckles.
“Good morning. Who do I have today?”
“I should be down as Carter…”
“No…”
He was a small man, quite shabby, rather unshaven, in a cardigan that showed old food stains, and for a brief moment I wondered if I had found a patient rather than a shrink.
“No, I meant do I have Robert or Gillian today?”
Deep breaths, as ever.
“Gillian. Always Jill. Rob is an act”
He smiled, but it didn’t seem entirely to reach his eyes.
“Hello then, Jill. My name is Alec Devereaux. I am a counsellor, not strictly a doctor, so you can call me Mr Devereaux, or Alec, or if you really prefer, Doctor. Up to you. I like my visitors to be relaxed, or at least to make the effort. So…do you want to tell me, or shall I ask?”
“As long as you don’t ask anything silly. I’m just a little, you know…?”
“Pissing yourself, but not with laughter? It’s a big thing, what you are doing, even if it isn’t real. Be surprising if you weren’t at least a little apprehensive. Tell you what, you set the pace, I follow behind, right?”
“OK. I suppose you want me to tell you how long I have felt like this?”
“Well, it would be a start”
“I rehearsed a whole raft of ideas before I came, er, Alec”
“I would be astonished at you for that, too, if you hadn’t. Well?”
“Well…a bit like handedness, aye? Knowing which shoe goes where, which hand to eat with, which one feels right? Same time”
“Uh-uh”
“Same time I start seeing girls as different to boys, and that’s sort of phase one, aye?”
Not stage one. Phase one. Keep away from thoughts of stages.
“Phase two?”
“Ah, that was the hard one, when I realised that those over there weren’t in my seat, and that I had to stay with the aliens”
“Aliens?”
“Aye, aliens. Look, I read a lot of fantasy stuff, a lot of SF, and there are these tropes, yeah?”
Alec laughed. “Reading my textbooks?”
“Ach, it’s the right word”
“Who did, do you prefer?”
“As a kid? Oh, André Norton; some Heinlein, but he was always a bit too brutal for me, except for Podkayne, but that was a bit silly in places”
“Well, it WAS a juvenile!”
“And so was I, yeah? No, Norton, she had the Janus books, and that first one, Judgement, that was a dream for me. You dig something up, find the magic bean, whatever, and you fall asleep and…”
“And you wake whole? Yes, I know that trope. It’s not a real one, though. There is no magic bean, no fairy spell”
“You think I don’t know that? Fifty-three years of this, I worked that out, there’s no magic, and it isn’t easy. There is a pile of shit ahead, but it’s better than…”
“Than?”
“You know what”
“Indulge me”
“This is the bit where I tick the GID boxes, the can’t-live-on-as-a-lie ones”
“Can’t you?”
I surprised myself, just then, as all my careful presentation evaporated like a snowflake in water. I stared, ever so softly, to weep. Alec handed over the usual box of tissues, and waited. Then he sighed.
“When?”
More of those deep breaths.
“Once I had separated from my girlfriend. Once Mam had gone…”
“So, you were looking at the welfare of others first, or just saving yourself from being shown up in public?”
“You…oh. Saving my mother from a coronary, really”
“And how did she take it?”
“How did you…oh, nice guessing. She has astonished me, same with my brother. He’s gay, so, well, I suppose it must be easier for him to understand”
“Not necessarily. You may find some gay men and women to be less than appreciative. I assume you are gay yourself?”
Sharp look, rather than deep breath this time.
“What do you mean?”
“Simple, really. You are either a man with a fetish, possibly gay, or a gay woman with a rather awkward anatomy”
“Fetish?”
“You dress up?”
“You want the pat answer, Alec, or a longer one?”
“Try me with the pat, first”
“This is dressing up. This is acting”
“I see. Now, when you are at home…”
He grinned, and this time it reached his eyes, then put on a rather silly voice.
“…would you like to tell me what you are wearing?”
I had to laugh at that, tension easing. I suddenly felt I could talk to him, really talk, and then, immediately, I wanted to talk, to spill everything, bare my soul.
“Nothing special. I like long skirts. Nothing tight; just comfort. I have some really nice dresses, but I can’t get into them all. Bought them online, as I can hardly go in and try them on, aye? Some tops, got some tights, and I do like shoes”
“Tights? Not stockings?”
Had that conversation. “No. Larinda bought me some once, think she thought they’d look sexy, like”
“Did they?”
“Not to me. I wear tights to look right under a skirt, and they keep my legs warm, aye? Some shoes, nylons make them fit better, specially pull-on boots…am I being too detailed?”
“No. Carry on. Larinda?”
“Er, new girlfriend. She knows all about me”
“Ah. And how does she take things?”
“Very hard. She’s straight as all hell, which gives us a few problems, like”
“Such as?”
Yet again, he took me by surprise, and the waterworks came on.
“This is someone, aye, that I should have met decades ago. If I had, I might have been able to make a go of this life”
“You really think so?”
I thought about that one for a few seconds. The answer was there, and it was painful in its simplicity.
“No, Alec. No. Not for long”
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Comments
Cyclist or is it Steph?
I have seen both terms used when reading others' comments - I don't want to miss name you, so ask for your forgiveness now if I have.
I am greatly enjoying this saga as I have others you have authored. I feel particularly joined with "Rob" - I originally had a similar name "Robert" & did not get around to look into my subconscious until I was 64 - ten or so years older than "Rob". It is scary at that age but it can be lived through as I know form the last 10 years.
Keep on biking & writing - I love your sense of humour.
Ruth
May the sun always shine on your parade
Ruth
May the sun always shine on your parade
Thanks Steph,
ALISON
'such reality,so close to the bone,but you give me hope.
ALISON
talking
Yeah, that's not as easy as it might be or should be perhaps. That curious mix of obvious insanity and perfectly rational explanation of something that is neither or a clever mix of both. Good thing he has a clue and a bit of humour.
Books? Hmm, I read Hitch-hikers guide back in High School, thought it was great. Tried again a few years ago and it struck me as juvenile crap so I tossed them in a charity bin. Might have been frame of mind but there ya go. Life and... stuff changes things. Keep scribblin'
k
'Man in a frock'.
Firstly let me welcome you back. Hope you enjoyed your time back with the family and any cycling you managed to pursue. Cycling always helps me clear my head.
I've often thought about the 'man-in-frock' issue and wondered how much it might affect - impair - cloud a psychiatrists judgement of their patient. You dwell very effectively on the 'other issues' that doctors seem to use to pierce our fragile armour, especially the questions like 'Why now? Why so late? Is it because you were afraid to hurt those around you? and so on.
And yes, these are questions I still find hard to answer for if I answer them for my own selfish truth, I know I am wounding others and that's a bastard. I don't want to hurt anybody yet my very being causes distress to those around me.
It's just no good for others to tell me, 'You must do what's right for you Bev' cos it just doesn't work like that. I am still a creature of my past as well as a creature of my very conception.
Yes it was nature for all the physical stuff but it's also nurture for what's in my head. 65 years of 'nurture'.
The easiest question to avoid is 'What of the creature you wish to become?' because that is the hardest resolution to arrive at.
Yes I am a coward to avoid that question but I am afraid of the answer; for deep in my head, I know I'm an 'inbetweeny'. I could live quite happily as a woman for weeks at a time but then there's a slow cycle and I find myself drifting into male-mode in my head and that's just confusing.
Truly, I understand the issues and sympathise with transgendered people like Rob but I also envy them their seeming certainty.
The only consolation I find in being 65 is that sexuality seems to be counting for less these days and lots of stuff just doesn't seem to matter anymore as my libido decays. Androgony seems the best way forward.
This, once again, is a wonderful chapter for it helps, as your chapters so often do, to focus one's mind on the personal issues we all face.
Once again.
Welcome back.
XZXX
Bev.
Judging...
I had read so much about my options, and over and over again had come across references to ‘passing’ and how so many doctors hesitated before signing anyone off who they felt didn’t look womanly enough. If you were a skinny waif with a fat arse, then you would easily qualify. Those like me, more normal in appearance, were faced with an uphill struggle. Not fair, not fair at all, in so many ways.
How many of us have looked in the mirror and almost felt the same way; judging ourselves unworthy of any further consideration. My wife asked me recently, or rather stated quite candidly, "You don't want to...I mean, you don't even look like a woman, why would you?"
That I've decided to remain as I am has more to do, as Jill had decided in some similar fashion, with the needs of others than my own. But I would face the exact same challenges brought about by a decision forced upon a broken child decades ago. Simply too painful to read, but too needful to neglect, Steph! Thank you!
Dio vi benedica tutti
Con grande amore e di affetto
Andrea Lena
Love, Andrea Lena
Ditto!
Ditto.
It's the not knowing what to do or how far to go and, the older I get, the more certain I get about my 'duality' ... yet the more confused I get about everything else.
What's more is that the 'flip - flop' thing seems to be accelerating.
I just don't know.
Bev,
flip
I am finding this one hard to write, in that I am doing my best to cover the aspect of 'real men' who aren't. So many stories have happy, androgynous characters who merely have to slip into a skirt to have every eligible bachelor panting...etc. My life, Bev's life, Drea's life, Wren's life...just for starters, none of us ever had that ease. I am doing my best here to follow a fat, hairy and elderly man who never was male. I won't/can't talk about cheer squads, shopping trips to the mall, whatever.. I do my best to write reality.
Sorry, ladies, if I have taken your names in vain.
And those of us in that have
And those of us in that have been in that boat recognize the reality in this. I'm 188 cm tall, big boned as well as fat, and had very early onset baldness. When my denial wall was crumbling, one of the things I used to shore it up was that I was so far from the physical ideal of womanhood, that I'd never look "right," so may as well not try. But then, if fate were inclined to give us bodies to make this easier, why wouldn't it go all the way and give us girl bodies to begin with. In the end, I transitioned not because it was easy, which it wasn't, but because I couldn't not (short of a final exit strategy which I was hoping to avoid). That said, life's turned out better than I imagined it would, if not as nicely as I might have hoped. So yeah, this story scrapes some raw nerves, but it's worth reading.
you could add my name to that list, hon
But I've started the same journey as Jill has, and I dont want to give up, just because I'll never be a pretty girl.
Dorothycolleen
Yes.
Lots of us overly tall middle-aged women here with a less than feminine hairline, just doing what we have to do. In my case, transitioning to a 'happy, androgynous character' (or at least some approximation) in an attempt to find a compromise between my needs and those of my wife who, like Larinda, has found herself to be unfortunately straight.
Anyhow, thanks for a story that manages to be seriously realistic (or is it realistically serious?) and still upbeat in its own way.
I came across a quote once
Paraphrased because I have a crap memory:
A story should do one of two things. It should either teach us how to live, or it should give us a break from living. You write gritty realism, which shows so much of the human condition, and our part of it in particular. Those of us who write fantasy do so to offer a weekend retreat where you can go and forget the shitty bits of life for a while.
I know you're not criticising, and I know that, in our rich and varied world, there are those who like the one and can't get on with the other. Personally I love both, but very probably could never write both.
What you write makes me hurt in all the right ways. I feel a lot like a Rob (even down to the choice of name... No not that one, the other one), except that I see making the change he's committed himself to as very much too little, too late. For me the only respite is in fantasy, which is why I write it, and a hope that maybe there's another answer out there that works, and that maybe I'll find it someday.
See I'm writing fantasy again.
Re: flip
I'm no waif, I'm 5'5" and I weigh about 270, although I don't look quite that heavy.
I have obvious breasts; no, they aren't man boobs, I've been on hormones for most of the last 25 years.
I suppose I could get by with my size, my major issue is that I have visible facial shadow minutes after shaving. I've tried just about everything that I could afford at various times over the years, and nothing works to cover it completely, so I don't bother any more.
Thanks Steph,
ALISON
'you have always been realistic in your stories and I have commented several times that the reality has been
frightening.There are many of us who are older,fatter,taller than most,but we still have that need to be who we are
and the majority of genetic women are not petite little things in silk and lace.Just sit in any shopping venue and
watch the passing parade,all shapes and sizes,slim,fat,tall,whatever.I have a friend in transition who is 6 foot
3 inches tall and makes a striking figure of a woman,as does one of our writers! It is not a matter of how you look
but how you feel in yourself,being able to dress is a bonus,no matter how you look.
ALISON
I Have Great Difficulty With This Story
It touches too many raw nerves, but I can't put it down or just ignore it. It's like that itch that you shouldn't scratch because you'll make it bleed but can't stop yourself.
And I worry at where Jill is going and what's going to happen with Larinda. Is this a slow-motion "train crash"?
Joanne