Antifreeze…Part 1.

I read the letter having to sit down on the steps.

I had gotten home from work feeling well honestly pretty grotty and gross. I worked last night stripping at Cecilia’s.

Yes I strip.

No, I don’t want to. I really never wanted a lot of the things that happened in my life to have happened.

It started…I guess it really started when I was twelve and I found and stole some tranny porn magazines from a neighbors garage. I had first thought “Oh boobs!” With that fever that pre-teens starting to touch themselves feel.

No it didn’t change me because I was already different. I had a tingle I never got then for girls clothes. Girls looked good, their clothes made them look good and my mom and my two older sisters seemed to put great stock I their clothes.

I had a pair of my oldest sister’s satin panties and had soon used them to stroke with. The magazines were pretty bad, really tawdry stuff but them made one thing clear in my mind like nothing ever had.

Boys could be girls.

And that seemed to just stick right in my head.

Boys could be pretty girls.

I wanted to be a pretty girl too.

I had no idea what transgendered or transsexual meant. All I knew that this was me. Hell I didn’t even know it; it was just this super powerful trigger to who I was, to who I really was inside.

By the time I was thirteen I was cross-dressing, badly and in stole and recovered clothes but I was cross-dressing. I’d even gotten away with it until Billy Martin and his three friends caught me in the old mini-barn just out back of our place in the woods.

They were fifteen and I was dressed and just finished smoking a joint when they found me. They didn’t beat me up. They were more interested in my bag of shake I think. I was scared but I offered it up and we got pretty baked. My little camp was a pretty safe place to smoke up so they stayed.

Billy saw my magazines and looked through them and it didn’t take long before I was on my knees sucking or trying to suck my first guys off. They didn’t force me either but between the porn, being teenagers and having those images of those women being me burned into my brain. I was scared and shy about it but I still wanted to do it.

And honestly I loved sucking them too. It made me feel like I was going to be okay? Like I could be those pretty lady boys in my magazines. I was hating more and more to live like a boy, dress like a boy, I wasn’t one. And while I’d heard of sex changed people and stuff I’d never seen she-males until then. I thought it could happen, they could be me.

Tommy, John, and Steven got too freaked out by our third week or so with them. And with the whole gay thing looming in their heads they never showed back up. Billy, Billy on the other hand became my first boyfriend. He brought me more clothes; a decent mirror and he even bought or got me my first cheap make up kit.

He was also the first guy to use Vaseline and take my cherry. Billy was a novice lover really but we really didn’t know what we were doing. My fantasy side of the sex was fantastic enough though and just the act of getting fucked was enough to send my dreams into reality as I’d cum feeling him doing the same inside of me.

It was good, we were in young love or I thought we were and I even started making friends which had been hard for me since I was a shrimp. Instead even if I and Billy were the only ones that knew. I was one of the girls and made friends or started to with them.

Mary Jane Brighton was my best friend in a really short time. I think it was because she was an outcast too. Her folks were poor and most of her family had or where in jail. Home done hair cuts and hand me down clothes never stopped her from being smart or funny or willing to be someone’s friend.

Whitney Stonewell didn’t like me too much. She was going out with Steve and she made sure everyone knew it. Even at the difference in their ages her being in my class they were skirting the legal edge with them both being underage him if barely at fifteen and her at thirteen.

I think she didn’t like me because she didn’t impress me and Steve wouldn’t lay a finger on me. After all before he got scared I had sucked on his cock too.

But someone told someone… and after Billy and I had been together for about four months my dad kicked in the doors of my camp one night and the place still had weed smoke inside and cigarette smoke too and Billy had been fucking me.

The first swing of the baseball bat set Billy out of my in a hurry. The second swing hit me across my butt. I was shocked and freaked and in pain and watched my dad kick the crap out of Billy pretty bad before Billy ran away.

Gallant huh. So much for him loving me.

I was next and I don’t remember all the horrible shit he said but. Tranny, Freak, Faggot were all used multiple times as he beat me. Not with the bat anymore than the hard thump across me ass but hard damned slaps. He tore all my clothes off me and slapped and shoved me back to the house through the bushes and thorns and the ditches and it never matter to him that I was getting hurt.

He even shoved me into the house through the back porch door still screaming at me. Every time I’d curl up to defend myself he’d grab me by a fistful of hair and lift me off the ground until the pain made me stand.

Mom flipped…some of the things were hers, and I smelled like cum and anal sex and cigarettes and dope. I had so fucked up worse than my sisters had ever done and dad literally dragged me by my hair to my bedroom and threw me inside.

There was a screaming match between them right after that.

Dad left and Mom came in with a garbage bag and went through my stuff. Anything, I mean anything remotely femme in my room was tossed into the garbage. Books, music, CD’s anything that I had hid they took from me ripping away at my identity.

“Mom?”

“Mommy?”

“Shane for the love of god just…just be quiet…I can’t even talk to you right now.”

“Mom…”

She slapped me for the first time in my memory of her ever hitting one of us kids.

“Don’t just don’t say a goddamned word! Please!”

She broke into tears looking at me and left.

They locked my door too.

From my bed I could see my camp, my safe place where I was really me being torched. All my stuff, all of me was in there. I bawled like a girl I was…am. I was still bawling when dad came back home and with my two older brothers holding me down he shaved off the one treasure of the real me I had left and that was my long hair.

“Steve, Shawn hold him…you’re going to be a man dammit not some little faggot, I’ll….I’ll get that out of you…No more Shane, no more!”

He shaved me bald. Took that last shred of the real me and killed it.

He got up. “Bring the little fairy.”

They dragged me up and they both looked at my like I wasn’t even human. They even were holding me like I was covered in shit.

Then they made me get a bath in water and Clorox…it smelled and made me sick and burned my cuts and scrapes. Dad poured some in the cold bath water and some over me right from the jug.

They watched to make sure I did get cleaned up. My brothers both slapped me hard enough it bloodied my mouth whenever I stopped. Dad was in and out yelling and fighting with mom. Every slap from them came with a faggot, or pervert or freak from them.

That was the first night of hell.

I lasted about a month; my two brothers treated me like I was dogshit. My sisters pretty much ignored me to the point of me being shunned. My father too called me names when he drank which got to be more often than before. Sober he called me “You.” actually he’s never called me Shane ever since. And it was every day, in and out and they never let up…If I cried and they found out it was “Be a man.” and they’d hit me. If it was dad he’d smack me one.

If he was drinking it was his belt.

“I’ll give you something to cry about! You dirty faggot I’ll beat your ass so bad you’ll never do something so dirty…disgusting…ever again.”

He never did that cliché sex abuse stuff….no the rest of the abuse was more than enough.

Some times he’d miss my butt if he was drunk enough…I’ve got some scars too. Leather even if it’s a wide belt can cut skin. I was lucky though…he never got bad enough to use the belt buckle.

They pulled me from school after I’d been beaten badly by a literal mob of kids. And a lot where my closest friends all turning on the tranny fag. Proof they weren’t. The three guys that I had been with other than Billy, they started it I think. Oh and Billy, I never saw Billy again. I Googled him once and never found anything really except a missing persons report. He bailed and ran away from all of us.

Worst part of that M.J. got beaten up too and pulled out of school. I wasn’t there but I heard someone hit her in the face with a brick.

Like I said I lasted a month before it all became too much and I stole money from the kitchen, clothes from my sisters and I ran away from home.

I haven’t been home since………

I ran down the tracks until I got to a trucker’s rest stop and hid in a rigs bed box. The guy never even knew I was there and I don’t know who he was but I stole some cash in rolled change he had. Likely his wash money, took his smokes and leather jacket when he stopped making a delivery. That guy never caught me.

I made my way to the highway after getting directions and started hitchhiking out to California. Just off the truck stop a guy called Tony picked me up in his rig and he knew what age or so that I was. And he drove me to an overpass that was where I was heading and he raped me. “Cash, grass or ass, no one rides for free.” I let him, I wasn’t really into it or really liked him but at my age and my size. So yes I’m still calling it rape.

Then dumped me out of his rig. Literally shoved me out. I was lucky enough that one of the things I was trying to hold onto was my pack. Still…raped, fucked and tossed aside….

I spent the very worst fall of my life getting to Los Angeles. I was beaten twice by truckers for stealing rides, sold myself for money and food or rides a dozen times. And was attacked by hookers at the truck stops twice once getting cut badly on my arm from a black bitch with a knife. I ate from the garbage more than once and slept huddled outside under the overpasses a few times too. I was skin and bones and worn through sneakers by the time I got to L.A.

I missed Thanksgiving altogether and spent my first Christmas ever in a seedy homeless shelter. I was there three days before I got tired of the abuse from the others on the street or rather the shelter and I took off.

I lived on the beaches for about a week and with my broken middle school Spanish I got a job in a sweatshop sewing for the first time in my life. They do hire street kids and runaways like me as much as they do illegals. People like me, no place to live, nothing at all we’re in pretty much the same boat.

I got a room with two other girls from Mexico about my age and still sort of living on their goodwill slept on the floor. I saved every bit of cash I could get my hands on and bought clothes, my first real girl’s clothes and a wig since my hair hadn’t really grown out that much. And for a bunch of people that are supposed to be all macho and catholic they were really kind and tolerant of me. That and I spoke broken if decent Spanish and as a white kid I was a decent translator and able to read stuff too.

They even eventually stopped treating me different than the other girls except to get called Maricon every once in awhile. A lot of then went with the whole love the sinner hate the sin a whole lot better than my family ever did.

I actually learned a lot there. Like really, how to sew. I know knock offs really easy and I even learned how to make my own clothes. Actually a lot of the clothes the girls and first had were ones we made for ourselves. I still do but not as much now.

And I learned to like and eat and even cook a lot of Mexican food. It wasn’t anything like the way I thought it was. It’s so not so much about spicy as it is about flavors and making the best from next to nothing. I survived though, they really taught me that. The second big thing I got and took me the rest of the year to get was my Id’s.

The girls knew a guy that knew a guy and after some talking I went from being fourteen to being eighteen with a fake birth certificate, a passable social security number. And with that I got a job. Two actually at first the day shift at El Burro Taco’s and a night job at Trader Joes as a cashier. I think I spend most of my time sleeping on the bus that first year. Eck I even spent my weekends going out with some of the girls and their families to the farms on the weekends and picked everything from lettuces to oranges and it all helped.

I was doing everything I could to stay off the radar of people in general and out of the sex trade.

But I had bills. My hormones that came in from across the border weren’t cheap and it wasn’t like I could just go out and get insurance that’d cover it. So I went to a “Pharmacy Bus” and got my meds like a whole lot of folks bought their regular meds at when they can’t afford regular prices. My hormones were a sought after commodity actually as there is a large tranny market here on the streets of L.A. in both the sex trade and porn industries.

But by the time I turned fifteen, twenty on my fake ID’s I’d “Blossomed” into myself my breasts came in nicely and my butt was pretty rocking too and yeah Mr. Happy shrank a lot and I never really hit male puberty just sort of skimmed it’s edges I was looking like the real me or getting there.

And that was the year Michelle the head girl at Cecilia’s recruited me into stripping and dancing. That was almost three years ago. I’m not quite eighteen really and almost twenty here according to my Id’s.

My name is Shayne just added the y in there because it looks girly. Shayne Starr just like my stage name having got it changed and when I’m not stripping I still work at Trader Joes. I’m five seven, and I’m a hundred and thirty pounds and I have 36 D’s thanks to some implants. Blue eyes and bleached out blonde hair. Really I’m one twenty since I believe a woman’s breasts and brain shouldn’t count against her.

I do a sexy she-male cowgirl act on stage and stuff with rope and leather and lace and even whips. And the whip and my cowgirl boots with spurs have come in handy with the grabby ones. But yeah I’m a stripper.

But I don’t do the sex stuff. Not for money, if I’m interested yes but not for cash. I just strip and I dance.

Why?

I want to, this is me I guess plus I need the cash to pay off my plastic surgery, nose, lips, chin and my apartment and my car. Plus there’s all my normal living expenses. Utilities, gas, clothes…okay I’ll admit to being a clothing addict at least a little. I think it’s still a hold over from when the old man burned all my stuff.

So, that’s me in a nutshell right up until now.

And why do I need to sit down?

I’ve a letter from home.

** Shayne…

I guess that’s still your name even though you changed it. I’m not to sure about how to feel that your last name is Starr ad that you work in one of those places, or even look the way that you do in these pictures.
I still don’t get it, but you’re still beautiful to me.
I guess you’re wondering how I know so much but truthfully I didn’t your father did. He hired a private detective to try and find you. Several in fact I think but this last one had found you about a month ago.
I never knew anything until.
Shayne your father passed away, he was cutting wood in the back yard when he took a massive heart attack. I only found out about you from his papers in the safe he had in the den.
I’m sending this by the UPS man to get it to you as fast as we can since I don’t have your phone number.
The funeral is this Sunday.
I think he wanted to bring you home honey, I really do.
Please come home, I miss you.
I love you and miss you a lot.

Love Mom.**

There’s a phone number there too well two of them.

I sit there until the mix of it getting cool enough to be chilly and tired and hungry gets to me and I wipe my face free of the tears that are there running down my cheeks.

Dad was looking for me. He knew and said squat to anyone. I really doubt that he wanted me back. He really wasn’t the type. He was a rough guy. Drove a dump truck and he was one of those be a man men. No he wasn’t looking for me to bring me home.

But Mom…maybe, maybe she has gotten past it. She said she doesn’t get it and I believe that but I do believe that she loves me and wants me back. I’m nowhere near as mad at her as I was. I know the kind of asshole dad was and I hated him. Hated him….I guess now. Still I didn’t have to live with him like she did so…

Yeah I’m cutting her some slack now.

Perspective I guess. I’ve been in a few relationships that sucked or started to suck and because of dad and the asshole he was…if I thought that the guy was going to become anything close to him. I pulled the plug on it.

Yeah guys, I like men. Girls and T-Girls too but mostly I’m attracted to men. But trying to find a decent guy’s. Well finding anyone really isn’t as easy as they make in look in the movies. I just want to find someone really that likes me for me. I’m Pansexual I think, I don’t know really sometimes. Sometimes it really depends on the person.

But really other than a few flings that haven’t turned out to be much. I’m practically a nun.

I dig out my keys and unlock my apartment. Hands shaking trying to get the keys into the lock and eyes blurry with tears.

“Goddamn it, fuck!” I put my head against the door and close my eyes. Why now? Why the hell now?

I was just getting used to my life, my life! And now this?

It’s curling or curdling inside of me twisting my guts up already the hurt and the thoughts of going home.

And dad being dead.

I finally get the key in and head inside to my apartment. I’ve got really a half a house it’s one of those side by sides in an iffy neighborhood but that’s okay. It really only iffy to some kinds of people. I don’t mind all the different ethnic groups and we kinda only sorta have the gang thing here. Not really but there’s families of them here. It’s mostly blacks and Latinos around here but more the old school blacks not the bangers and a lot of the Latinos here are actually Cubanos.

I slip out of my shoes and take off my skimpy dress. Yeah no cashier work today I was at my night job today. I head right for my room and the shower stopping only to get undressed and to toss my things in the hampers. I have four…yeah, a bit OCD of me but it’s just easier to put stuff in where stuff goes then it’s already separated when I go o do the laundry.

I get in the shower and let it blast me with the cold water first to…I don’t know shock me from breaking down. It helps and it doesn’t. I’m too skinny really to keep it on cold and I’m shivering when I turn the hot water into the mix. I wash with my puff and get about halfway through scrubbing the day off when my shivers turn to shakes and my shakes into sobs and I end up sliding down o sit in the tub and crying.

I hated him.

I hated him and yet I’m bawling like a baby because there’s part of me still that hurts so badly for failing him.

I know that’s just about the opposite of everything I feel day to day or even try to live my life by. But really it never goes completely away. The want for the love, the approval and wanting to just be take as is and accepted. Even if we know that will or would never happen.

It’s a hard, hard damned cry but I not let it or let him rip me apart. I’ve survived him before and survived some shit since. It sucks but I pick myself up and finish my shower and get out and go through my normal routine.

I don’t know why either but maybe it’s just me being all emotionally fuck you to him but I get dressed up in my better undies. Satin and lace bra and panties blue trimmed with navy lace and a spaghetti strap silk cami to match. Even though I wear slinky sexy stuff at work my stuff’s a far cry from the stuff you wear at the club.

I look at myself in the mirror. “Uh-huh, great idea Shayne. Just the thing to cook supper in.” I leave them on but get into my… I’m at home I don’t have to be pretty sweats.

I put the laundry on doing my work clothes first then head into the kitchen. Normally when I’m upset I don’t eat but kind of get that upset nausea thing but I haven’t really eaten since breakfast since I was called to a rush of customers while on my break and by the time I got back to my sandwich it wasn’t that appetizing.

My stomach is growling at me now pretty badly.

I get out some dark rye bread and one of my big tomatoes. That’s it really I toast the bread and use real butter and add tomato slices. Just a bit of salt and pepper and that’s it. One of my favorite comfort foods beside soup a toast and tomato sandwich. I make one and eat at it while I make a can of red bean soup. It’s a Japanese thing but I kind of like it really just some miso in chicken stock some red bean paste and whish it while it heats.

I dip my second sandwich and take my mug-bowl of the soup with me to the couch and instead of dwelling on stuff I try to turn my brain off and watch some TV. I flick through until I find a movie to watch on my Netflicks and I end up ordering “The Lucky One.” I’ve seen it when it came out on DVD and liked it and really my kind of movie for the mood I’m in. I pull my comforter over my feet and sip my soup and get all weepy and angsty because I want someone like that and I’m crying and that’s taking the tears away from being just solely about dad.

I look at the clock and it’s nearly ten here so home that’s Midwest/Central time it’d be nearly midnight. (Sniffle.) “I’ll call in the morning.” I get up and put stuff in the dryer and take out some stuff for tomorrow and use the bathroom before going to bed. I really wanted to avoid going to bed tonight. But I have to work so….I need to sleep. Though I use some lotion on my face and another kind as I rub my feet. I’m not sure what’s harder on the feet dancing in four inch heels or standing behind a cash of concrete floors.

I crawl into bed with a grateful sigh. I honestly love my bed. It’s a queen sized one with two mattresses on a box spring and a sort of fancy brass and white enamel frame that I actually rescued from the trash near UCLA. Yeah I pick through stuff on the curbs sometimes. Especially at the start and end of the year at campuses around. Hey I’m not the only one either the things that some of the better off kids just toss out.

But the mattress and the rest came from Goodwill and after a couple of afghans and a few quilts on it to sort of pad things out and I actually sleep with a nice set of nylon sheets that seem like satin and my big fluffy comforter on top. I love the femmy sort of smoothness and the cuddly warmth.

And usually I sleep naked or in just panties but tonight I’m feeling chilled and vulnerable so I crawl into bed as is.

Sleep takes awhile after crying yet again over the letter and partly of the thoughts of calling home.

Crying and at the first few hours I guess sleep but nightmares too. Then my alarm goes off way too early. I get up and drag my butt to the kitchen and fill the top of my coffee maker and set it on the stove to perk. I love the old stove top perk pots and I watch the weather while I hop on my exercise bike (another by the curb freebie.) and I pedal myself into a sweat pushing the resistance and stopping when the coffee is done. I have my first cup black and really hot as I head to the bathroom and get showered and ready for work.

I don’t even bother with much make up a bit of foundation and concealer really blended in and pony tail my hair and get my clothes on. I iron my smock and the pants but I just take them with me after I iron everything and eat breakfast which is a glass of orange carrot juice and a bowl of Total Cereal with a bit of banana on it and soy milk. And a soft boiled egg. Yeah it’s a lot but it’s a long day. I make my final coffee for the day from the rest of the pot with a bit of whipping cream I nuke to get hot with some milk added and whip with my stick blender adding coffee at the end and a shake of cinnamon.

It’s my skid-row-cappuccino. I put it in my travel mug after dumping the hot water out of it and grab my purse ad things and head out to my car and get in and turn it over and drive to work. I head out pretty early but I stay off the freeway as much as I can. I’ve just got really used Toyota Camry and while s good little car it’s seen its better days and I’d rather not break down on the freeway not in this town.
I stop in at Cantina Gas a decent little family owned gas station and put ten bucks in the tank. I stare at my phone. I take a sip of my coffee and take a deep breath and dial the number for the house.

It rings a few times and someone picks up. “Hello?” It’s a man’s voice.

“Hello…Is Stephanie there?” That’s mom’s name.

“This isn’t a good time miss can I ask whose calling?” I think I recognize his voice.

“It’s Shayne, Steven.”

“Shayne?….Shane…you…you sound like a girl talk right mom doesn’t need this.”

“I’m talking the way I always do Steve, I’m your sister.”

“No, you’re not and don’t call here again.”

“Steven…” He slammed the phone down on me.

For a minute there’s just nothing, not even the hurt then there’s the memory of one of the last times I seen Steven he was helping to hold me down while dad shaved off all my long hair.

I’ve been gone how long and this is what happens?

I don’t cry but just pay for my gas, clean off my windshield and drive to work. It feels like though it’s hard to breathe right and that my whole heart’s been bruised. I knew I shouldn’t have expected anyone to change, I never should have believed mom’s letter.

I’m kind of a zombie at work, not zoned out of it but there’s that feeling like the world’s just grey all around me and I just really can’t feel the point of anything. It was this feeling like someone dropped this lead blanket over my soul.

It kind of hurt just seeing all those regular everyday people having their everyday lives that I’ll never have.

By lunch Gary my shift boss takes some pity on me I guess and tells me to take some cool off time to stock the coolers. It’s kind of code at the store and it’s where we can go to be upset. See there’s a refrigerated storeroom in behind all the coolers with doors to each cooler and really with all the stock in that room there’s only room for one person in there.

It helps just getting out of there even if I’m freezing my buns off. I’m not good with the cold. Aside from my breasts and my butt I’m kind of skinny and it’s my own fault too; not really enough eating sometimes like skipping lunch today and then there’s the dancing but that whole being a girl thing too. It’s hard enough being me as is…anyway it helps. The cold and the alone time and even the aches in my fingers….I can’t find my gloves I use in here.

“Seriously, it’s like the pens around here.”

No really it’s like that. Well I guess everywhere is really, I’m always having one of the girls at work “Borrowing” some of my stuff there too. I don’t mean here but at the club. I hate it when someone leaves or gets fired sometimes because they’ll steal your stuff if you’re not there before they go.

I head back out front feeling a little better and stop at the break room and make myself a coffee before heading back out to the lines and re-open my cash. The afternoons is light at first then it gets a bit busier around the time that school lets out with parents stopping in here for stuff for supper. We do good business really the prices here are pretty good as a rule and well it’s Trader Joes we carry a lot of really different stuff so that draws people in.

I see him come in.

Yeah him.

I think his name is Chris. I watch him come in from his truck limping a little and he holds the door open for a few people before coming in himself. He’s one of these rare nice guys even though he looks like well. He’s in his twenties I think and he usually like today has work jeans on and work boots both looking like he just came here from work and he’s got a decent build too six feet tall with dirty blonde hair that’s kind of that surfer/don’t get my hair cut guy thing that goes with his three or four day beard. I think he only shaves like once a week and I’ve never seen him clean shaven before and he’s about two hundred pounds or so with really built arms. Add in a simple white t-shirt and a plaid work shirt over that and you have Chris.

Well I think I forgot to mention his eyes.

He has eyes that are this Pacific Ocean blue grey.

Okay that sounds really bad like I’m crushing and maybe I am a little. He’s good looking in that really rough sort of way and he’s nice to people and if it sounds odd…the stuff he buys.

I lose sight of him for a time and catch him again coming to my cash with his basket. I start ringing things through musing at what he might do with the stuff he has. The good canned tomatoes from Spain, three different kinds of bread all of them multigrain types, a bag of avocados, mushrooms, shallots, peppers, hominy, milk and butter and some different cheeses.

I’m smiling but trying to avoid eye contact with him while not looking like I’m being coy and flirting or trying to avoid looking at him. My phone buzzes in my smock pocket and…god…I don’t know why reflex…bad habit but I slipped it out for a quick peek at who it is and…

Mom…

Or it was the number for the house.

Either way…

Oh…Oh…was this a call back to say what? To yell at me? To make me feel even more like a freak or like, like I’m not good enough to be family. It hurts, it hurts and it’s so hard to breathe.

I was shaking and I jump. “Aaaah!” scream/shout in surprise when Chris is touching me. I’m still shaking and he’s looking at me with those eyes. I know I’ve been treated okay some decent people but there’s this look in his eyes that softens the blue grey and he says.

“Breathe, breathe Shayne it’s going to be alright. Just breathe through it…”

I try, it hurts that first breath that ragged shaky inhale. I’m getting looks from some of the customers. The boss comes over looking at us. “Shayne are you alright?”

I try nodding and Chris says. “No, she’s not she’s having a PTSD attack.”

“PTSD? She wasn’t in the military?”

“You don’t have to be, trauma’s trauma.”

There’s that look again? Empathy?

“Shayne, go home. I’ll cash you up and do your till.”

“Gary, I…I’m okay…I can finish the shift.”

Gary looks at me. “No, you’re pale and shaking go, that’s an order. I’ll punch you out for your full hours.”

“Y..you don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah I know but you always come in when I call you, you never call in sick and you’re too good an employee to lose if you’re going through some stuff.”

I blush, I’m not used to heavy open praise. Not without the come on’s. Dad…dad…I think if he hadn’t hated me so much he might’ve been proud….

I try to be a hard worker…

I don’t want to but the tears start to spill out and I’m crying again. I hold onto Chris which is really pathetic because I’m a complete stranger to him and bawl. Actually my reality pretty much dissolves into tears and wracking sobs.

I don’t think I fainted but I do think that I cried myself to sleep. I wake up and It’s dark but it’s November so I’m really not sure what time it is. I’m in a truck, and I’ve a jacket wrapped around me and an arm…Chris?

My eyes feel really gritty and sandy.

I look around not really moving yet, he’s asleep. I can tell by his breathing but the radio’s on playing some oldies and Chris’s truck is a lot cleaner inside than I thought. But there’s this smell on him and his clothes like metal and something else. It’s not a bad smell but he has this hint of it on him mixed in with his own scent.

Oh…that’s that earthy man scent, not funky or musky but just…I don’t know, some guys smell funky but Chris has that clean guy scent like hints of dirt ad old wood if it was flesh? I can barely pick up the hint of Irish spring on him too.

That’s good, I like that smell on a guy it’s better than the overpowering crap they try to sell guys these days. Me? I’m a Dove girl, it really helps with my getting dry skin sometimes.

God, where’s my head at?

Well actually it’s resting on Chris’s shoulder. I’m really dry and lick my lips and work my mouth trying to get my tongue unglued. I really hate that feeling.

“Don’t you just hate that feeling?”

Eep! I thought he was asleep? I jolted a bit with the unexpected voice.

“Easy, you’re safe.”

“Sorry, I thought you were still sleeping.” I move to sit up and look at him. He’ looking back at me thoughtfully.

“You feel better?” God he’s got a nice soft voice.

“Yeah…sorry, god I must have looked like a freak in there.”

He shook his head. “No, just shared and going through a shitload of stuff.”

“I just found out my dad died.” I look down at the floor of the truck. Huh, surprisingly free of garbage unlike my Camry.

“Sorry, for what it’s worth.”

I look at him. “For what it’s worth?”

“For all I know there could be good and bad reasons why you were crying over him that hard.”

I look at him. “Are you psychic?”

He shrugs. “Likely no, just been through my own stuff…It’s kind of made me try to just…at least put myself in other peoples shoes.”

“Yeah, you….you were right on the money with that though.” I unwrap myself from his jacket. “Thanks Chris, I…I should get going.”

He looks at me. “You think you should really be alone tonight?”

“I’m usually alone.” It just came out…shit. He’s really easy to talk to and he’s, he’s being so calm and stuff he still hasn’t moved from the corner of where the truck seat meets the door. He just gives off that he’s safe, or that I’m safe.

“Me too.”

“I noticed you never show with an S.O.”

“S.O.?”

“Significant other, I didn’t want to uhm…I didn’t know if you had a girlfriend or boyfriend.” I blush at that part and tense…some guys can be hyper anti-gay and freak at the slightest mention of it.

He smiles a bit sadly. “No, no S.O.”

“Oh…sorry?”

He shrugs. “So we’re both alone right now….” He pauses a minute like he’s making a decision. “Have supper with me, I’m tired of cooking for one.”

I look at him trying to see why? I mean it, there’s a lot of bullshit with being trans and trust, trust and just plain decency is hard to come by. He’s meeting my eyes and he’s not staring m down or looking away just looking at me. Like maybe…maybe he’s looking for something in me too?

I want to trust him.

God I want just something, something fucking normal, sane and safe. I can’t handle being hurt right now…I feel like I just got glued together and that the glue’s still wet.

“Chris…I’m not what I look like.”

“No one is Shayne.”

“No, I’m not a real girl.”

He looks at me, tilts his head. “Transgendered?”

“You…you’re not freaking out?”

“Nope, I know a few.”

“You’re not a chaser are you?” I give him a leery look.

He smiles. “Likely not since I don’t know what that is.”

“Tranny-chaser….you know having a fetish for girls like me?”

“Uhm…no.”

“But you’re okay with me being trans?”

He looks at me still a bit of a smile on. “I was in the Army, and one of the “guys” (He actually does the air quotes thing.) I went through basic with ended up transitioning when she got out.”

“Oh…and you’re okay with that?”

“Sure, Kelly’s a great person and she’s saved a lot of lives over there, still does.”

“Still?”

“She’s a paramedic now.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, so we’re still friends even if we don’t see each other much. But I’ve learned a lot about the entire situation.”

“Situation?”

“Sounds better than decision or lifestyle right? It’s not like you get to choose who you really are inside.”

“Thanks Chris…yeah, lots of people think that it’s a choice.”

“DADT was in place while I was serving, and take it from me there’s no difference. Black, White, Brown, Male, Female, Gay, Straight, Trans…no difference.”

“Not a lot of people’d say that Chris.”

He’s looking down but rubbing the leg with a limp. “Trust me Shayne an IED doesn’t care what you are or what you look like.”

Oh…. “IED?”

“Improvised explosive device.”

“Oh….shit Chris….I’m sorry.”

“Thanks…..” Another pause. “So…supper?”

I look at him and there’s just something inside that just seems honest there. I don’t know if it’s the acceptance or the fact I’m pretty sure that he’s messed up too in his own ways….but I kind of feel okay with him.

“Do you live far away?”

“Not really just the other side of Silver lake.”

“Can I follow you in my car?”

“Sure….where is it?”

“Oh, the staff park in back.”

He starts the truck and he drives out back and I point out my Camry. He asks. “You have your keys I’ll get it started for you.”

I shake my head. “Uhm No way am I going to let you see the mess my car is in but thanks.”

“Okay, here keep the jacket on and I’ll stay here so you can hop back in until it’s warmed up.”

I can’t help but smile. “Thanks Chris…for all of this.”

He smiles and there’s a hint of a blush there. “You shouldn’t…I’m just…”

“You treating me better than anyone has in a long time.”

I slip out of the truck and get in my car. I’m covering my own blush, I never really meant to say that too, or have it come out like that but it’s true. It’s been a log time since, I met someone like Chris that’s been this decent and understanding.

Dammit it’s really chilly after being in the nice warm truck too. Don’t let people tell you that California’s not cold. It can be pretty cold at nights here and especially in winter. Okay November’s not technically winter but it’s still pretty chilly here. But then again tired and upset and everything piled on me today isn’t helping things either. I get tired and I get chilled.

“Wow, my car’s a mess.” I know, girls are neater…yeah, right. Okay my house is okay but really you should see my closets and my purse oh and my car…that’s pretty much my purse on wheels.

I get out though while the heater’s going and get back into Chris’s truck. I’m so not used to getting into a truck either. I lean ahead in the seat closer to the heater. He’s smiling at me a bit.

“So….is there anything you don’t like since I’m having you over?”

I shake my head. “No, really I’m no fussy, I’ve learned to eat pretty much anything. Though I’m not a big fan of liver and all those bits.”

“No, no liver not tonight.”

“Good, thank you.”

He nods. “I do a pretty good soup and a sandwich though.”

“Me too, I pretty much live on both and salads.”

“I eat salad all the time too.”

“Well duh, we’re in California that’s like all we eat out here.” I laugh a bit with that.

He looks at me. “You don’t have an accent are you from California?”

“No but I’ve been out here for a few years. I’m actually from Minnesota.”

“Never been there.”

“You’re not missing much, so are you local?”

“I’m from Maine actually.”

“Maine, you don’t have that New England accent.”

“Well most of us don’t, everyone thinks we do because somehow the Massachusetts accent got all famous. Where I’m from there’s only one a in the way we say stuff.”

I laugh a little. “I get that too, I’ve met people who think I should talk like I’m from the movie Fargo.”

“Wasn’t that North Dakota?”

I shrug. “I don’t know but I keep getting this whole mid-west accent thing when people find out.”

He’s nodding. “If there was an accent I’ve lost it or picked up the local one. I’ve been out since…” He gestured at his leg.

I nod and my stomach chimes in. I duck my head and blush. “Sorry…I kind of skipped lunch.”

He nods and smiles. “We should get you fed then.”

“Yeah the car should be warm enough. Just lead the way.”

I slip out and get in my Camry and follow him to his place. It’s not that far but it’s still out of the way. Silver lake is kid of hilly but along with the classic California palms there’s lots of other trees and spots of green space. Not like the parks though there are a few nice ones out here but actual trees and bushes. While not the woods by far it’s greener than most of the suburbs.

His house is down one of those sort of single streets that ends in a cul-de-sac with lots of big older trees and things. The houses here are pretty much the older kind with two stories and a driveway with a shed or something instead of the attached garages that’s all part of the modern houses.

Chris’s place is sort of it the right hand corner if you will…yeah I know cul-de-sac’s are round but he’s in that sort of spot. It’s an older house, two and a half stories with the peaked roof and that window turrets design that used to be popular. I like them too some of those houses used the for window seating and though I’ve never sat in a window seat before I’ve always liked the look.

Wooden boards on the outside not siding gives it a nice touch and it’s painted a nice soft brown color with darker brown on the edgings. He’s got a small front yard with hedge styled rose bushes and a decent little front deck with the roof and pillars thing going on.

Brick drive way that goes all the way to the back of the house with a mini courtyard feel to it between his house and a decent sized garage. The garage looks refurbished and part storefront or shop? The rest is a nice big back yard with a tall wooden fence ad some ivy growing over it. There’s a porch on the backside of the house that matches the front but a bit bigger.

We stop and get out. I’m looking around. “Wow, this is a nice place.”

“Yeah, It needed a lot of work, well still needs a lot of work really.”

I look at the garage. “You work from home?”

“Yeah, It’s easier.”

“So what do you do?”

“I’m an artist sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“People hear artist and I’m suddenly a hippy, or lazy or some other stereotype. You want to see?”

“Sure?”

Actually I’m interested. I get what he means because I’ve known a few “Artists” and they don’t have their own shops. Maybe a place they make the art but not to sell…

Oh…

It’s small and very well set up and it’s full of glass. I mean it’s the bulk of what’s there. He blows and pulls glass. I love some of the things here from actual dishes and vases to little statues and figures as well as ornaments. There half the shop that’s that and the other half is pottery and porcelain?

I see a computer and a camera and a spot set up with packing stuff and courier boxes. It’s actually very real and impressive more than the whole gallery stuff either he’s definitely an artist but he’s a craftsman too.

I kind of really respect that.

I get shown the store side and then the shop. That’s the scent, the metal smell the kiln and the furnaces he’s got here plus all the coloring agents and stuff for both. It’s very fascinating to just be in here. It’s warm too the glass furnace isn’t going but the kiln is and has things inside.

I smile at the pottery wheel room. “So have you played Ghost in there yet?”

“No, I haven’t had someone in my life long enough to get that far. It’s kind of cliché too right?”

“That’s actually why I’d do it…there’s some cliché’s that are part of the stuff we want to have in our lives. Like feeding each other when you’re in a relationship’s cliché but we still like doing it. The whole ghost thing…it’d be one of those clichés that no one ever does…I’d love to have that moment with someone I’m in love with.”

He nods and escorts me from the garage to the house. “Okay actually that makes sense. I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone that’s done that in real life before.”

We get inside and the place is nice but it’s pretty bare too. The back porch leads to an inside porch area and then his kitchen. It’s semi new looking with the new appliances or they were new and are just well kept up. But it’s the stained wood cupboards and cabinets that make the kitchen along with all the wrought iron hinges and the racks and shelves for stuff.

And in the turret window here on the back part of the house did have a window seat built into it and was sort of set up like a breakfast/dining nook. I bite my lip and go over and sit in it and it’s nice, like a sort of love seat actually and I turn sideways and look outside at the back yard.

“This is nice, I could see sitting here with a coffee in the fall with a good book and watching the leaves.”

“The newspaper for me, so what are you reading?”

I blink and look around. “Uhm…nothing?”

“No, you mentioned a good book so what are you reading now at home?”

I blush. “I’m not, it’s just something that I though people say…Well I’m reading some manga though.”

“Manga?”

“Japanese graphic novels.”

“Like a comic?”

“Yes it’s drawn but no…..not a comic.”

“Oh….I’ve never really heard of them before.”

“Sorry, It’s one of the things I’m into that sometimes touches on my situation without getting all hardcore or eww about it.”

“I can see that. Disney doesn’t have the prince needing to be a princess thing or the reverse.”

He’s putting things away and taking things out and I hear and feel the furnace kick in Chris is opening canned tomatoes and putting oil and butter in a saucepan and blending the canned tomatoes. I see some paprika and a few dashes of this and that and then he’s making a cream sauce by adding cream to the cooked flour and oil. He then adds the tomatoes and has a strainer with some cloth to catch the seeds and the skins then he stirs it all together until the two are really well mixed and sets in on a simmer.

Then sandwiches…He makes grilled cheeses but a sort of a Cuban. Walnut whole wheat cranberry bread with pepper jack cheese and swiss then some back forest ham and a bit of mayo with stone ground mustard and pickles then buttered on the outside and grilled.

Grilled cheese sandwiches and homemade tomato soup. The soup is really good too just thick enough to dip in and hot and creamy but not really spiced up or too acidic either. But way better than canned tomato soup….and I actually love canned tomato soup.

And it’s kind of nice to get waited on and cooked for too. Chris sits and eats with me and we eat quietly for a few minutes well he does. Me I’m rolling my eyes at how good everything is.

“I’m glad that you like it.” He says between sips of the soup.

“You’re a good cook, kitchen duty in the Army?”

“No, just a latch-key kid and then a bachelor. The soup though my Gran taught us how to make.”

“Us?”

“Most everyone in the family, She said if you can make soup then you could feed yourself pretty well.”

“Smart lady.”

“She was, she passed away while I was gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay she had just turned ninety so.”

“Not your great grandmother?”

“No, I’m the youngest in my family…well not counting my nieces and nephews now.”

“Oh big family?”

“Yeah lots of side relatives and all that. You?”

I sigh.

“I’m the youngest too, I ran away after my dad found out that I was cross dressing and in a relationship with a boy.”

He looks at me. “I take it there was fallout?”

“Shunning, buzz cut, getting washed in Javex…emotional abuse. It was a Shawshank thing for me…either get out or likely kill myself.”

He just nods and breaks one of his sandwiches up and dips a chunk. “And you just found out that your father passed away.”

“Yeah, my mother sent me a letter having found me because dad found me through a PI and she wants me to come home for his funeral. I called and the reception I got well…was…”

“Oh…yeah that had to suck.”

I nod but wipe at some new tears. “Suck isn’t the word…it was, it was like it all brought back the shit they said and did all over again.”

“And that’s who called in the store?”

“Yeah, it was the old number to the house.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know If I want to call and talk to them again. It hurt enough the first time around I’m still recovering from the hell they put me through.”

“And they might not stop calling.”

“Yeah….part of me wants that and part of me hates that too.”

“Hates it?”

“Right now there’s at least one of them crowing and spouting off about the way I am and the way that I’m living just to be all holier that thou about it. I know that he’d just add me not going or showing up to the long list of my failures and wrongs as a human being.”

“So go?”

“I’m scared, I promised that I’d never go back there.”

“Then don’t.”

“Mom, said se loved me in the letter she sent me. She even knows about me being like this and even my other job.”

“Other job?”

I blush. “I strip at Cecilia’s.”

He nods like I just aid Burger King. He finishes a bite he was working on. “No wonder you’re getting hit with everything working two jobs.”

“Okay…yeah but I really need the money….me stripping isn’t a big thing to you?”

He chuckles. “Shayne, I was in the army for six years. I’ve known a stripper or two.”

“Isn’t that a cliché too?”

“Nope it’s just the perpetuation of an occupational stereotype.”

I laugh at that and he takes the dishes. “Dessert?”

“Sure, I never say no to dessert.”

He smiles and he has a really nice smile now that it’s opening up. There’s just something there…I think I get why the dark broody guys are so popular. When they shine, they really shine and it’s kinda all just yours.

He makes us two bowls of vanilla ice cream with hot dolche de leche drizzled over it. God the only thing better would be a churro to have with it. But he does have coffee and he makes us some to go with it.

“I’ll go with you.” Chris says looking at me as we takes our bowls and starts getting the water in the sink ready for the dishes.

“What?” I’m staring at him kind of in shock.

“I’ll go home with you.” He says again.

Wow, or I mean Whoa….

“Chris we barely know each other.”

“Well I figured I’d offer since we’ve already slept together and you’re wearing my clothes.”

I smile, I completely forgot about still being in his coat, and the joke was cute.

“Well, yeah but that’s too much to ask.”

“You didn’t ask I offered.”

I step in and hip shove him from the sink. “Your place you dry, I don’t know where things go.”

I bite my lip because one the offer is really sweet and two just pushing him like that was so…I want those moments in my life and I really think that I’m never going to have them. I mean…guys that don’t mind being with a trans-girl are usually after one thing.

But I’ve never done dishes with a guy before.

We don’t really say anything either as I was and he wipes and puts them away. I think he made most of his own dishes and I go for a towel to dry my hands off and he takes the cup towel he has and dries them for me.

That’s really…I’m looking up at him and he’s looking at me.

I could really, really sleep with him right now. My nipples are hard and I’ve got the ache for someone hard and hot inside me.

“Can I think about it?”

“Sure.” Goddamn he’s got beautiful eyes this close.

I take my hands away through a supreme force of will and look at him. “I…I should get going I’ve got my other job to get to.”

“Okay, can I get your number?”

“Sure, can I get yours too.”

We trade numbers and he walks me to my Camry and I go to take off his coat again. He stops me. “You can give it back later it’s still cool out.”

I blush, just because it’s nice and him being this nice to me feels good. “Thank you.” I tippy toes and kiss him lightly.

He kisses me back. Not a hot and heavy kiss but still a nice one. Not a bit put off by who or what I am. The urge for more is strong. I break the kiss first and realize he was holding me in his hands during it and that feels.

It feels good.

I open the car door and am about to get in when he says. “Hey Shayne?”

“Yeah?” I turn to look at him and he steps in and he wraps his arms around me and he gives me this really big and gentle hug.

I just about lose it right then. I haven’t been hugged, not really hugged by somebody since before I ran from home. I’m drowning in how much my body is telling my heart that I missed this, that I needed this.

“Chris….Chris…I…I can’t…I have to go, if I don’t I won’t want to go.”

“Then stay.”

Oh god…

“I can’t we, we don’t know each other…”

“Shayne right now you know me more than anyone else in my life.”

I look into those eyes and…

“You just found out your dad died, call in sick tonight.”

“I can’t, I need the money.”

“Okay…”

“God, Chris….if I stayed right now I’d sleep with you and I don’t just mean sleep okay…I…I don’t want to be that girl, not with you.”

“Okay…” He smiles that little great smile from earlier. And he tightens his hug a bit more. “Thanks Shayne.”

“Th..thank?”

“Yeah, it’s been….actually…I think you’re the first person in my life who said they thought I was worth something like that.”

I’m seriously blushing now. “Well yo..you are.” God he makes me stammer just by being him. I move his arms though, I have too. I mean it, it’s have too or else I’d never leave.

He lets me and I get in my car and pull out of the driveway and he walked to the end of the driveway and he watches me go. It’s just such I think a Chris thing, doing that instead of just going back into the house.

I’m good until I get to the stop sign and tears slip out.

I’m not really crying over dad this time but over Chris. I bet he really doesn’t get how good this was for me. Being treated like I’m just Shayne and not Shayne Starr. Like I’m actually a person and something more than just some tranny girl.

I really needed this.