(Miri sets the mood for that difficult discussion with her husband about their son. Will it soften the blow?)

Choices

Chapter 11

Sex was not a topic for open discussion in Moundsville, at least not in the circles in which I moved. It wasn’t actually talked about privately either. I didn’t discuss it with friends, my doctor, the pastor or especially my mother, the SM. We weren’t ignorant, however, and were keenly aware that a man named Kinsey published books about sexual behavior; awful disgusting books that were not available at the library, or the book store in Wheeling. Most of what we knew about the Kinsey books we learned on Sunday mornings from Pastor John, who emphatically warned how dangerous and unchristian they were. I presumed he had studied the matter before arriving at his conclusion.

So I was surprised when I started thinking about sex before I made it back home after visiting Dr. Benson. I doubted that sex had anything to do with the dual competing messages of hope and dread I came away with from the talk. It might have been because it was a Friday and well, Don and I sort of had a Friday thing; something we certainly didn’t talk about. More likely I was subconsciously mapping out a strategy for how to tell my husband of over 16 years that I had been letting his second son wear dresses in the room above our own bedroom. I probably started thinking about sex because I wanted to create a certain atmosphere that would be more conducive to understanding. Understanding seemed central to mitigating any possible harsh judgment that I may have instigated, encouraged or enabled the aberrant behavior of our son. My experience was that sex often helped men understand the harshest realities.

I had three items on my agenda as I walked into the foyer of our home; drinks with Don when he got home, prepare his favorite meal and an early bedtime. Truthfully, I was almost devoid of hope, and overwhelmed with dread, about talking to Don, not so much from fear, but I just knew how hurt he would be, how deeply it would affect him. It had been excruciatingly painful for me to see my son in a dress and to hold him dressed that way, but it would kill Don, I was certain. Don was caring and sensitive that way, but he also wore his manliness proudly. I had serious doubts that he could be anywhere near as accepting and understanding as I had been.

I stood there wondering what to do first, and thanked God, literally thanked Him, that I was not alone. Actually, I thanked Him that I was alone, in the house. I give Him credit; somehow He had arranged for Don and I to be alone that particular Friday night. Brenda was staying with a friend from school in Elm Grove, a suburb of Wheeling, and my father was picking up the boys from school for a weekend on the farm. Things happen for a reason.

I headed for the kitchen, peeled carrots and potatoes and shoved the roast I had ready into the oven. Then I went to our bedroom, sat at my desk and jotted down everything John Benson had told me in my journal, even about that Christine person. I could hardly think of her (or him, as I wrote at the time) as a woman. John had offered to let me take the newspaper that had the article describing in some detail the change from man to woman but I certainly didn’t want it in my house.

Next, I ran warm to hot water in the bath, added more than a few drops of my Yardly English Lavender Bath Oil, stripped and placed my body, and my thoughts, into a much better, and sweet smelling, atmosphere. I sat there feeling so, well, so wonderfully female that I became almost happy. The dread seemed to wash away and I started to actually look forward to my evening with my husband, the one who I loved so much, and who loved me. Yes, my resolve to have that deep conversation helped lighten the burden, and the evening I had planned leading up to the revelation excited me, all of me.

After I washed my hair I stepped out of the bath and looked at myself in the long mirror on the back of the bathroom door. That wasn’t unusual, I always looked and, mostly, admired the woman I was. The backdrop of the coral colored tile framed my so white nude body in an almost picturesque way; not that I had ever seen any similar pictures. I certainly wasn’t stunningly beautiful, like Caroline. Most of my assets screamed childbirth and nursing times three, but I was reasonably fit and considerably female, I thought. I liked that. That’s when I mentally tried to get a nude picture of that Christine person in my head. I laughed to the mirror and shook my head from side to side. I was a woman and I wasn’t created by some surgeon in Denmark.

I hadn’t planned how to dress for that evening. I didn’t have to. It was almost automatic. I started with my new seamed stockings and garter belt. In those days most all women wore stockings and garters under a housedress, or a better one, to go to the store. Usually the garter hooks that held the stockings were attached to a girdle, which inflicted varying degrees of torturous confinement. Using the women’s room when out was a major ordeal unless you had one of the earlier girdles with no crotch. The garter belt was a better choice for going to the bathroom. Don liked the convenience it gave as much as I did. I added matching panties and bra, my sexiest. I dried my hair, of course spurning the bun I often put it in and giving it a wave that fell around my shoulders just the way he liked it. I carefully did my makeup, put in my diamond earrings and added the matching necklace. I slipped into my brown alligator pumps with three inch heels that I had only worn once before. The dress I chose was my favorite and his too; red silk, capped sleeves, calf length with a full skirt. Oh yes, the neckline was plunging, especially designed for cleavage viewing.

For the Coup de Grâce I went with Evening in Paris, rejecting each of the other two fragrances on my vanity, Midnight in New York and All Night in Wheeling.

I was in the kitchen wearing my best plain white apron when I heard Don coming. I had the scotch and soda ready and posed myself next to the stove holding my drink, and his, when he came through the door. He looked at me and he broke into that broad manly smile. Before he was able to take the drink or even put his arms around me I was sure there was the intended reaction. I’m very observant that way. He hugged me almost spilling scotch and soda down my back and I felt him breath in Paris, the Evening variety. He rather subtly slipped his hand down to my backside and through the silky material of my dress checked to see how confined I was. Judging by his built-in indicator his approval was complete.

“Am I to assume we are alone tonight?” He asked after he kissed me with some passion.

“I told you that this morning.” I really wasn’t sure I had told him but when dealing with men I always assumed they wouldn’t remember what they had been told. He stepped back and looked at me the way any woman loves. It was sheer power to stand there, dressed so perfectly, feeling so sexy, being admired by the man you love. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be a man and become erect. With Don’s lustful admiration and his cute smile on that precious face with a five-o-clock shadow I not only imagined the deep warm, and yes, wet excitement that I was sure trumped any erection, I felt it.

He opened the oven to see the roast with potatoes and carrots and he kissed me again. Food and sex seemed to be equally appealing.

“Right.” He said as if he remembered. “But all this.” He teased suspiciously. “Did you blow the charge account at Stone and Thomas again?”

That’s when I fell apart. I started crying and flung myself back into his arms spilling his scotch and soda. He held me as I sobbed like the stupid weak emotional female I was.

“What’s going on, Miri.” He asked. As I felt him holding me so tight I considered just coming out with it. I felt so safe in his arms. But I couldn’t ruin the evening I had planned and he deserved. I didn’t want to miss either. So I stalled.

“Honey, I don’t want you to worry. We need to talk, and I will but please, let’s just enjoy tonight. We need to eat and I need…” I pushed away from him and looked up into his eyes. “I need you. More than ever, Don, I need you.” I’m sure he thought I meant a physical need which was true, but I really was thinking of more emotional support. I wasn’t in the habit of being demonstrative or manipulative but I pushed myself against him and touched him. I felt his excitement.

“I need to be close to you tonight. Then we will talk.” I whispered in his ear.

Of course he didn’t object to what I proposed. He didn’t say anything. I felt his hand pulling my skirt up and checking the details of my garter belt, the tops of the stockings and especially the lace on my panties.

“You’re scaring me Miri.” He then said and started to say something else. I put my finger over his lips, then kissed him again and moved his other hand inside my dress to a breast. He obeyed.

We had two more drinks, ate by candlelight and had some pie leftover from Thanksgiving. That’s when I took his hand and led him up to our bedroom. I pushed him down on the bed in the dark and lit a candle. He watched as I unbuttoned the dress in the back, pulled my arms from the sleeves and let it fall to the floor. I stood in front of him for a few moments in just my bra, panties, garter belt and stockings. I glanced in the mirror to my left at my full length image and so admired the complete mature woman standing in the dim light. I opened my dresser drawer, the one with all of my sexiest things, and took out the beautiful peach full length gown that I had been saving. I unhooked my bra, let it fall and pulled the nightgown over my head and let it fall around me.

I checked to make sure he was still awake and noticed not only was he awake but he had stripped to just his briefs, white of course with large bulge duly noted.

Then I reached under the nightgown and removed my panties. Don sat up and motioned for me to come to the bed.

“Oh no.” I told him. “I’ll be right here but you have to go prepare.” He knew what I meant and after trying to reach for me reluctantly headed into the bathroom. I pulled the sheet down and laid on top of the bed. I heard him washing, brushing his teeth and taking care of other matters. Soon he turned out the bathroom light. It was dark again, except for the dim candle on my vanity. It was so quiet and peaceful. As he slid into bed I was on my side. He cuddled up against my back and reached around and felt my breasts. He was aroused and wearing protection as expected.

Don and I always enjoyed each other immensely. He was so gentle and caring in bed. He always made sure I was happy. And he was fun and playful. I liked how he touched me. Sex was often his idea but he made sure I came around. I guess like most men he could do it every night but with the kids and busy lives we weren’t making love very often. I never said no to Don in bed. I let him know when I had my period but any other time was a go. This night was different, and special. We rarely had the opportunity to enjoy each other like we were this night and I worried that what I was going to tell him, after we made love, would change things between us.

He gently caressed my back and continued to fondle my breasts. For all the planning and effort I went to, and how excited I had earlier been, I suddenly wasn’t in the mood. I’m not sure if he sensed I was not responding but he said nothing. He just continued. I guess his closeness was reassuring. As he touched me I thought about how I would begin to explain about Jack; what I would say. I couldn’t start while he was trying to make love to me. I couldn’t ruin his moment. He moved his hand down and pulled my nightgown up. He touched between my legs and I rolled over on my back and opened my legs a little. I was feeling his gentle touch but thinking about Jack. I thought about girls becoming women and boys becoming men. I thought about how different men and women are. Interests, clothes, emotions, sex. My thoughts returned to Don as he gently pushed his finger inside me and then up trying to find that special place. He found it and I felt excited again, suddenly wanting him as badly as he wanted me. I pulled him on top of me and felt him push into me. I grabbed him and pulled him as close to me and as far into me as I could. He tried to pull out and back in but I wouldn’t let him. I held tightly.

“Just hold me like this for a while.” I whispered.

He did. For what seemed like minutes we just laid there; coupled together; him completely inside me. I felt his weight, the fullness inside me, his power. I became lost in the intimacy; it was peaceful. Something about that moment was so reassuring, or maybe affirming. I was a woman and loved who I was. I was a mom and a pretty good one. I loved my kids and wasn’t going to let anything hurt them. I was a wife who had a loving and caring, not to mention sexy, husband.

After a few moments, I could feel his so special twitching inside me. He was ready and so was I. I released my grip and let him push in and out. He released and I felt that surge. I was more excited than ever and he kept with me. Soon I was on the verge of that ecstasy only a woman could enjoy.

“Take that Christine!” I screamed as I climaxed.

“Who?” He limply asked rolling off me. “Who in the hell is Christine.” I don’t think I was aware I yelled that at the height of my climax. I didn’t answer.

“Are you Christine? You’re not developing a split personality, are you?” He laughed with a deep roar showing he had no serious concern about my sanity. I wasn’t so sure.

I hit him on the arm and also laughed. “I have no idea why I said that.” I lied.

“Well.” He astutely noted. “Something is definitely going on with you. I could get used to this Christine person if she can be like you were tonight.”

“Doubt it.” Is all I could muster. It was time to face the music but I didn’t know where to start so I just asked. “Don, when you were a kid did you ever think you should have been born a girl and not a boy?”

“Jesus, Miri. Where did that come from? Of course not. What’s going on?”

“Don, we have a problem. It started a few weeks ago. Actually I don’t know when it started but it has to do with Jack”

“What started? Jack, is he ok? Why haven’t you said anything?” He admonished.

“Just listen. Please. This is hard enough.” I rolled over and lit a cigarette. Don didn’t smoke after sex, or before for that matter. He sat up and watched me. “Don, I haven’t said anything because I was scared. I thought I could deal with this and not have to upset you but….” I started to cry. Don pulled me over and I rested my head on his chest being careful not to burn him.

“For God’s sake Miri, just tell me what going on.” I really didn’t want to start with telling him Jack likes dresses. That sounded just wrong, like Jack was some sissy, or well, like Reuben Rogers. And it was so difficult to say to my husband that his son told me he wanted to be a girl. Don wasn’t stupid though and he made a reasonable guess.

“Wait, Jack thinks he should have been born a girl? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” He said loudly and with some incredulity.

I didn’t say anything, just cried harder nodding in the dark in the affirmative.

“Christ Jesus.” He called uncharacteristically. “He told you that?” He yelled.

“Don, I can hear you, and so can the neighbors. Yes, we had a long conversation about it.” I confessed.

“When? What did you tell him? He’s not serious is he?” I knew that I needed to get it all out. I had to explain it to him so he would calm down and we could discuss it.

“I found some of my things in his closet in September, a slip and panties and he goes to the third floor and wears dresses and he told me he always felt this way and John Benson found this doctor in Wheeling and Jack and Joanie played dress up.”

It was a stream of craziness that I’m sure shook Don to the core. I knew I had not handled it well and he was confused and yes, angry. He stood up and without saying anything went into the bathroom. A few minutes later he returned now not completely nude.

“Wait, slow down. I don’t understand and God, Miri.” He said and then proceeded to say more, so much more. Actually he said little but asked so much.

“What were you thinking?

I sobbed.

“Jack goes up to the third floor and wears dresses?”

I nodded.

“And, uh, panties too?

I shook my head up and down.

“And you’ve known about this for almost three months?”

I cried.

“Don’t you think I needed to know about this?”

I nodded again.

“Jesus Miri, you talked to John before you talked to me?”

I stopped crying and gave him the sorry look.

“And I suppose you thought your little sexy show tonight would excuse not telling me?”

I couldn’t help myself. I smiled, just a little and he did too. He had asked his way to being less outraged and more reasoned. He sat down next to me and shockingly took a drag from my third after-sex cigarette. He coughed and handed the cigarette back to me. It was quiet in the dark room with the candle now burned down and barely flickering.

“Jack’s not a sissy. I don’t see my son as a sissy. My son’s not..” Don didn’t finish his thought. He of course was thinking what anyone would, what I had thought and what might be true. Sissy boys become effeminate men and were homosexual. We all knew that and it is what John had eluded to and what I had read at the library.

“Don.” I said before he said the word. “I think it’s more complicated than that.”

He sat there thinking but pulled me over to him and I rested my head on his chest.

“Ok, start at the beginning and tell me everything, and I mean everything.” He commanded.

For the next hour I just talked. I told him everything I discovered and tried to recreate my conversations, and the sequences with Jack exactly. At one point I got up, turned on a light and read from my journal entries over the last couple of months. He listened, sighing occasionally.

When I was done he didn’t say anything for what seemed like an eternity. Then he was rather declarative.

“Miri, I don’t know what to say. I have a son who wears dresses, or who wants to, or who thinks he’s a girl. I can’t believe this. I mean, Jack is just so normal. I haven’t seen any of this. Have I been blind? What kind of father am I? This can’t be. Are you sure?”

He was rambling. He couldn’t process this; at least at first. What father could? I told him he was a good father and we talked for what seemed like hours. We went back and forth. What to do, what not to do. What it was; what caused it. I told him about how I thought when Jack was young that he should have been a girl and how guilty I felt. I thought he might blame me but he didn’t. He couldn’t believe that could cause this now. He was a little hurt that I involved John and that I didn’t tell him first but he trusted John and seemed ok with it. We didn’t come to any conclusion or form a plan but we both thought it was time to talk to a doctor.

“Don?” I finally asked, “You’re a man, grew up a boy, have you ever heard of this? Did you know any boys who wanted to wear a dress? Do some boys go through this? Tell me it’s just a normal thing and he’ll get over it.”

“Wish I could? I just don’t know. I never even thought about putting on a dress. When we were kids, Jack, my cousin, once dared me to put on a dress. God it seems like just yesterday that he was killed in the war. Anyway, we were in Winter Haven in the twenties visiting our other cousin, Ann, and Jack and I were sleeping in her room. We were all about the same age. I didn’t accept the dare but he did. He put on one of her dresses and pranced around but he never said anything again about it.” He explained.

“But no boy I ever knew wanted to be a girl.” Then he had to add. “What boy would?”

I said nothing but I wondered if there was some connection between the man who gave his life in the war, the one with whom I made love to once, and my child who insisted he was a girl. What if Jack Staub, my son’s namesake and the only other man I ever loved, had similar feelings as my little Jack? What if he actually was his father, passing some genetic female anomaly to an otherwise normal male child? Was this a twist of fate, or God the Controller exacting a price for my adulterous sin? I would never know.

We were both exhausted. I glanced at the clock. It was after three in the morning and there was just nothing more to say. Except he did say one last thing.

“Fix this Miri. I don’t mean to be mean but you have to fix this.” He said rather meanly.

“I’ll do my best Don, but I need you. I need your help.”

“I’m here aren’t I?” Spoken like a wounded male. “You need to talk, I’ll talk. Want me to put a lock on the door. I can do that. Whatever, Miri. But don’t ask me to talk to Jack about this and don’t ask me to go see some doctor. You are the mother. You’ve let this fester. You have let him think this is ok. So fix it.”

I should have been mad. I wanted to tell him you can’t fix broken children like the old truck he and Tim worked on. I wanted to tell him that he may need to fix himself. I quietly rolled over not pleased with how this was ending.

“I will.” I said barely loud enough for him to hear me.

In a way I knew he was right. I was the mother and I probably was somewhat culpable. I carried the ultimate responsibility to Jack. In the afterglow of a wonderful evening with my man, I was almost happy he gave me the job to ‘fix’ Jack. Only I was in a position to do whatever would be necessary to protect Jack and help him.

I also knew it would take Don some time to get used to what Jack was doing, or actually, who Jack was. It took me time to become open to getting help, it would take Don longer. To me Jack wasn’t that a regular boy anymore, and he wasn't the girl he pretended to be either. That wasn't possible. I just didn’t know who he was, or what he would become. I was still scared and still on that lonely path. At least Don now knew everything, and he was still sleeping next to me. And I still felt the warmth of the love, and pleasure, he gave to me, his woman.