(Now married and working in Washington, DC, Rich Bromely’s demon is under control and he is happy, until he is faced with a stark reminder from an unusual source. How will he respond?)

Struggles

Denial

“Take a look at this and tell me what you think.” Lenny said as he slid the thick file across his desk to Rich. Rich opened the file and began reading, flipping past the claim form, the medical release form and reading the various medical reports. He tried not to show emotion, show the surprise and shock he immediately felt.

Richard Bromley rarely worried about that issue that so troubled him when he was young and before he was married. Now, he reasoned, it was completely behind him and with his adorable and sexy wife they could occasionally indulge in some cross gender play. And every so often he could have a little fun dressing up and practicing makeup by himself. Being married worked; the dreams Rich Bromely regularly had as long as he could remember, the ones where he is partially dressed in public in female underwear, nearly stopped after he married Brandi.

Lenny Myers was the old salt in the office as well as the manager. His staff, he called them his ‘kids’, consisted of seven young women and two men. Only three were married, including Rich. Rich hadn’t planned a career with an insurance company but after he graduated from college, he got an immediate job offer and he couldn’t refuse; after all he was now 26 years old, married and trying to start a family. It was a great opportunity with a well-known company with a large government contract providing health benefits for over a million Federal employees and their families. His job, along with the others in his office, was to answer questions from Federal employees and retirees about the health plan (how to file claims, what was covered, explain payments and denials, etc.), and to be the covered employee’s liaison to the claims processing center in another city.

For his part, Lenny played the role of patriarch nicely. He loved to listen to the back and forth between the staff, and was particularly father-like to his ‘girls’ as he called the women. Lenny frequently brought one of the ‘kids’ into his office to discuss nuances of coverage, and/or how to handle a particularly dicey denial; how to explain it to the customer, enrollees as the company called them. Lenny would challenge the ‘kids’ as a way to teach and develop analytical skills, and they all admired Lenny for including them in even the most sensitive issues.

So it was not unusual for Lenny to be asking Rich to review a file and give his take. Lenny sat watching Rich’s face as he continued to read; he waited a few minutes for Rich finish and look up at his mentor.

“Well, is it covered?” He asked the young claims representative.

“I don’t think so.” Rich answered hesitatingly looking for some clue for the right response from Lenny, while wondering why Lenny asked him to review this one. Why not one of the women, he asked silently before answering, “I mean, I would think it would easily be considered cosmetic. Its’ not covered because it’s really cosmetic surgery.” Rich finally announced.

“Ok” Lenny allowed without further comment. “Anything else?” Lenny took a long drag on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly through his nose not giving away his thoughts in his expression.

Rich really didn’t know what to say and didn’t want to discuss the details, but he knew he had to respond. “Well the surgery doesn’t really treat any medical condition, does it? I would deny the claim as cosmetic, not medically necessary for the treatment of a diagnosed medical condition.”

“Very good, my boy.” Lenny exclaimed. “That’s what we thought and that’s the reason we denied it. It’s completely cosmetic. The surgery doesn’t improve any normal function; in fact, it actually takes away a body function, one that worked very well if you read the complete file.”

Lenny normally strayed away from personal comments or opinion, carefully couching everything he said in contract language. But he couldn’t help letting Rich know how he felt about this particular claim.

“Can you imagine?” He continued. “How in the hell could this surgery help him look any better? Cosmetic my ass.” He declared crudely. “It’s not cosmetic; it’s just wrong.” Lenny took a deep breath realizing he was breaking his own rule of staying unbiased. “But now he has an attorney and they are threatening to sue. Here, read this.” Lenny handed Rich a letter, on heavy vellum paper from an attorney in Atlanta; actually not just from an attorney but from a large, and probably prestigious firm. The attorney that signed the letter was at the top of a long list of partners featured on the left side of the letter. Rich read it slowly.

March 22, 1972

J. Gilbert Rollings
Attorney at Law

Rich felt queasy. This was not a subject he wanted to discuss and he was panicking. He couldn’t look at Lenny, afraid that the older man would read his expression, see his fear. Rich stared at the letter not wanting to say anything but knew he had to.

“You’re right. Does this guy really think we should pay to change him into a ….” Rich couldn’t finish that sentence. It wasn’t what he wanted to say. He really wanted to know more; wanted to read the whole file, especially the medical reports. He changed the subject, or at least the thought.

“So what are we going to do with this? We can’t pay it, can we?”

“Looks like we’ll have to, damn it.” Lenny barked. “If we don’t and we lose in court. We’d be giving this, this freak, lots of money to go shopping with.” He concluded allowing a slight smile from his craggy face.

“No, my boy. What Mac wants us to do is some research. He’s up on the hill briefing Members of the Civil Service Committee. And he’s already talked to the Commission. Mac wants us to do some research; gather information we can use to negotiate an exclusion for this.” Lenny leaned back in his chair as if plotting how to keep anyone else from getting such awful surgery paid. “Did you see how much this cost? Over twenty thousand dollars. My house didn’t cost twenty thousand dollars. It wouldn’t take too many of these to hurt us. We’ve got to stop it. Reduce the risk as I always say.”

Rich wasn’t thinking about risk. He was thinking about Miss Colliers. Actually he was thinking about Mr. Colliers. What made the man want to go that far? What made him do it? How could he be so public with this? Rich long felt the tug of wanting to be girlish, the impulse to dress up and pretend. He had been doing it for as long as he could remember when he had the opportunity. But how could anyone take it outside and live that way, and then try to call it normal, try to be normal about it. That was crazy and well, just impossible.

Rich’s thoughts flashed back to the night he spent with Frannie, almost exactly four years before. Frannie was like that but she was different. Frannie knew she was a girl from the beginning. That’s what she said. Frannie didn’t really become a man, or live and work as one, except briefly. This Ms. Colliers obviously grew up a guy, went to college, got married and then, well, then just decided to become a woman. Rich didn’t understand how that worked, could work. Lenny’s voice brought Rich back to what they were talking about.

“Mac wants you to see what you can find out about this. Hell, we’re really in the dark here. First claim the Company has had for this. And there’s no information in Hartford. Mac talked to the Blues and they haven’t had one either. Hope it’s the last. Take a couple of days, the week if necessary. Go to NIH or Johns Hopkins. One of the doctor’s mentions a program at Johns Hopkins. Find out what you can and report back.” Lenny looked seriously at Rich. “Don’t worry about any expenses. Just submit whatever you spend.” He added.

“You want me to research this?” Rich asked not fully grasping the assignment.

“Yes, you. Mac didn’t want to get one of the girls involved. He thought you would be better. Your résumé showed you did some research at AU and well, he didn’t want a woman doing it. He was afraid a female might not have the proper perspective; might be sympathetic or biased. A woman might think this a good thing, some kind of feminist victory. We want someone who can look at this without any bias.” Lenny and Mac likely did want bias; the bias only a man, a heterosexual young active man would feel at the thought of being completely and surgically emasculated. They expected Rich to feel the primordial fear of castration and report accordingly.

What Rich was feeling was terror, and conflict. For all of his life he had strange feelings he knew wasn’t right and he had always been able to keep them in check. He suppressed when necessary and indulged when he could. It was just the way it was. Rich had a problem that he managed and his life was good, his marriage wonderful; after four years in the army he finished college and had a good job in Washington. And he would soon be a father. What could be better? Rich could have everything a man, a good hard working man, deserved, and at the same time manage the deep pull toward the other gender. He certainly didn’t need to know any details about what this man who was now a what, hardly a woman, and he especially didn’t want to know what pushed him to such extremes.

Conveniently Rich had forgotten or suppressed things that had happened in his life that related to this, how his path always seemed to lead without any direction from him to this insidious topic. He had even repressed that weekend with Frannie in San Francisco, the weekend that was both wonderful but contained all the pitfalls that could have ruined the path he was now firmly on.

Rich picked up the file, Miss Colliers’ file, and stood. “I’ll do my best.” He assured his mentor as he turned toward the door.

“Rich.” Lenny called. “Not a word to the others. This isn’t open for discussion in the office. This one isn’t debatable. I’ll tell them you’re working on your training. I’m serious Rich. Don’t tell anyone, especially Janet.”

Rich knew what Lenny meant. Janet and Rich were close and Janet was probably the most sensitive to customers. Janet was also probably more than just a feminist; she was a little anti-male. At least that is how Rich saw it. Janet didn’t date, or show any interest in men. She and her airline hostess roommate did everything together. Yes, Janet would likely be sympathetic to Miss Collier but not just because of her choice of gender.

* * * *

When Rich got home that evening, with the file in his briefcase, he debated how much to tell his wife. It wasn’t that he couldn’t tell her about his assignment; he just worried that she may think that it was his idea; that he volunteered. They had talked about Rich’s feelings; he had written it in letters to her when they were separated both before and after they got married. He told her he had always been drawn to girls and the things that made the genders so different, mostly the clothes they wore. He didn’t tell her how he dressed up as a boy, and he especially didn’t tell her about the weekend in San Francisco. He did tell her that wearing something made him feel good; made him feel at peace with himself. It was the best explanation Rich could muster; it was what he believed and what he knew. He also told her it was a turn-on; that wearing a nightgown or a pair of panties during sex enhanced the mood and moment, even though that wasn’t really true. For Rich there was really no need for any props; Brandi was beautiful and sexy sans clothes of any kind. Still Brandi didn’t seem to object to Rich’s proclivities.

What Rich didn’t admit to his wife, or even to himself, was that wearing nightgowns or panties wasn’t sexual at all. Rich had no trouble being sexual with Brandi without him putting anything of the female gender on and he didn’t fantasize about being a woman during sex. But wearing something female during sex was a wonderful opportunity that he could not resist. Actually lingerie was much more sexually arousing when Brandi was doing the wearing. Rich also didn’t tell his wife that he sometimes dressed up completely when she wasn’t home, and he didn’t process in his mind that those episodes were not sexually arousing. They were affirming.

After dinner when they were washing the dishes together Rich broached the subject, immediately being defensive.

“Why me?” He started, getting Brandi’s attention. He turned and put his arms around her. He loved her and the last thing he wanted was for her to be suspicious of him. Brandi waited for him to continue.

“Lenny picked me for a research project and I just don’t know why he didn’t go with one of the gals or even Tony. All of them have been there longer than I.”

“Lenny likes you. He sees how smart you are. And handsome too.” She teased. “Are you going to tell me about it or should I just guess?”

“There’s this claim that they want me to research. It’s a first, I guess. Some guy in Georgia wants us to pay for a sex change.” Rich had broken off the hug and turned slightly away from his wife hiding his expression.

“What’s to research? You’re not paying for that are you?” Brandi asked more as a statement than a question.

“We might have to. He, uh she, has a really good attorney and the home office feels they would be better off just paying and keeping it quiet. They don’t want the word to get out and get bunch of claims like these before they can put in an exclusion.” He explained. “And they want me to research it so they will have the facts during the next contract negotiation.”

“And you’re wondering why Lenny asked you? What are you saying?” Brandi asked with some suspicion.

“Yes and no. I guess he likes me and thinks I would do a good job. He indicated they didn’t want a woman investigating it. I think they are worried one of them might have some bias and figure I would see it clearly for what it is. I don’t know.” He responded mulling over his own conflicts.

“So what’s the problem? Seems cut and dry.”

“I guess. I can do this but I really don’t want to deal with it. I don’t want to know what makes people like that want to go to that extreme.” Rich said revealing subconscious thoughts. Neither spoke for a minute. Brandi now put her arms around him and looked up into his eyes. She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Obviously, they are troubled.” She concluded letting her head rest on his chest. “That and they don’t have someone who loves them like I love you; someone who understands and can make them happy.” They both stood there thinking about what she had said. Rich heard his wife commit to helping him deal with how he felt; even enabling his obsession. Brandi heard herself put her husband on notice; ‘I will love you so deeply and sincerely that you will never want more than me; never want any part of being female beyond the mild role play in the confines of our apartment’.

* * * *

The next morning Rich lay in bed watching Brandi get dressed, thinking things he tried to suppress. Brandi was so comfortable with who she was; each morning getting ready for work, getting dressed, so at ease with what she did each day, applying makeup so dexterously, drying her hair and making it look just right. Rich had, of course, tried to emulate that as best he could but it wasn’t easy, especially the makeup. Now he was thinking about Amanda Colliers; he didn’t even know what name she went by as a man. How did she learn how to do what Brandi did, and was she really good at it; could she make herself believable. Rich wondered what she looked like, how she lived through going public. There were no pictures in the file; he had looked. Rich could relate to giving in to the feelings, at home, usually alone. He just couldn’t imagine telling anyone, or especially trying to go out.

After Brandi left for work Rich showered and started to get dressed. He didn’t know why but he opened the top left drawer of Brandi’s dresser and took a pair of her panties. He put them on and finished getting dressed, in a suit and tie. Rich had not done that before; panties were for use at home.

Before he left home he looked up the address for the National Library of Medicine at the National Institute of Health in Bethesda and dialed their number to find out when they were open. He drove around the Washington Beltway and exited on Connecticut Avenue and then over to Wisconsin and the large standalone building with the sign National Library of Medicine. He parked, went in and found the card catalog.

After at least an hour Rich had found very little. There wasn’t any direct reference to transsexual, the term used by one of Miss Colliers’ doctors; there were numerous references to transvestism, including a books by Magnus Hirschfeld and Havelock Ellis. He couldn’t remember the name of the doctor Frannie told him about. Rich already knew about cross-dressing, about transvestism. Rich had searched that topic before, on his own, first at the Johnstown Library when he was no more than eleven or twelve. He knew cross-dressing was abnormal and deviate, at least that is what everything he had found told him. He also knew it was inexorably linked to homosexuality and considered by doctors to require treatment. Rich found nothing else and he didn’t need to spend time on that topic; Rich needed something to report back to Lenny.

Rich put the few notes he took in his briefcase and walked out of the Library. He felt he was failing and he felt as if he couldn’t continue. He considered just going into the office and telling Lenny he couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle it. Instead he sat in his car and took the thick file out of his briefcase, Ms. Collier’s file. Rich Bromely sat in his car in the parking lot of the NIH Library and carefully reread the reports in the file. He didn’t read the letters from the lawyers, or the letter from Ms. Collier’s supervisor about how “normal” she was since she returned to work after her “change”. Rich read the letters from the two psychiatrists and two psychologists; he read the report from the endocrinologist detailing the hormones Ms. Collier started taking while still living as a man; and he read the progress notes from the hospital. Finally, Rich turned to the operative report; the detailed narrative of the surgery. He read about what was prepped, what was cut, incised, removed, redirected, sutured and legated. It didn’t really bother him when he read what was inverted, then pushed inside, sutured into place and finally packed so she could heal. The word ‘vagina’ brought a subconscious pang of excitement deep within the young man.

Rich closed the file and started his car. He didn’t know where he was going to go, or what he was going to do. He rejected going in to the office; he couldn’t let Lenny down and he was afraid it would hurt his career and that would hurt Brandi. He considered going to Baltimore, to Johns Hopkins and trying to find something from the doctor there doing some kind of research about sex reassignment, a Dr. Money. Rich laughed at the name. ‘Dr. Money’ he thought, ‘maybe that’s what it’s all about. Dr. Money seeking publicity and money.’

Rich headed north toward Baltimore but without thinking he found himself back at his apartment. It was only noon; what was he doing? He knew he would have to account for his time, make some explanation but he could not control what he was about to do.

Rich locked the apartment door behind him. He took a shower and shaved his face for the second time that day. Rich Bromely looked in the mirror at his naked body, the hair on his chest, his male parts. He slammed his fist against the sink and saw blood gush from his knuckles. He turned in pain and turned on the cold water. He watched the pink mixture of blood and water wash down the side of the basin. Rich Bromely was not in control of what he did next.

After bandaging his hand he went back to the left hand dresser drawer, Brandi’s dresser. He found a bra and a panty girdle, not that Brandi really needed one, but she had it. He struggled getting into the bra and hooking it, it was so tight for his chest even though he had a very slim build. He stuffed each side of the bra with a pair of Brandi’s panties, like he had done as a boy. He put back on the panties he wore earlier and then the panty girdle, trying to push his maleness down and as flat as possible. He went into the closet and selected one of Brandi’s skirts and pulled it on. The skirt fit fairly well over his thin hips. He zipped it up in the back.

He found a loose fitting blouse and put it on and buttoned it. He then unbuttoned and unzipped the skirt so he could tuck in the blouse and then zipped and buttoned the skirt again. Only then did he look in the mirror. He felt good but he wasn’t done, he wasn’t complete. He went back into the bathroom and started to apply makeup, tried to do it like he had watched Brandi do it; foundation, eyeliner, eye shadow and of course mascara. Finally he found an almost empty tube of lipstick and applied a heavy layer to his lips, smacking them together to make for even coverage, like he saw women do many times. He stepped back and again looked at himself. He clearly enjoyed the feeling; something came over him, a feeling he had no words for, a peaceful and calming feeling. He also liked the way he looked in the mirror; mostly he liked the image of himself as female.

Rich Bromely then sat at the dining room table with the file, Ms. Collier’s file. This time he didn’t read the operative report, the bloody and gruesome details of the radical surgery she went through. Rich instead concentrated on the psychiatric notes and reports. He desperately needed to know the background; what was ‘he’ like before deciding to change from man to woman? What was ‘he’ like as a boy? How and when did ‘he’ know he felt this strongly about it? Most importantly for Rich, was this person in anyway like Rich before ‘he’ sought the help of doctors? Did Rich have the same condition and would it progress to the inevitable? Rich Bromely vowed he could not let that happen.

In his wife’s skirt and blouse, Rich laid down on the couch and cried until he drifted off to sleep. That’s when he had the dream again, the recurring one where he is partially dressed in some female garment and out in public. This time he was at work wearing just a bra and panties trying to explain to Lenny and everyone in the office why Ms. Collier should be hired to work with them. Bizarrely all of the women Rich worked with wore the same skirt Rich was wearing when he fell asleep and none were wearing blouses; just the same bra Rich was wearing.

Rich’s was awakened by footsteps outside his apartment door. He had lost track of time. Thinking it could be Brandi, afraid he had been caught, he jumped up and raced to the bedroom and noticed from the time that his wife would not be home yet but that he had less than an hour to conceal what he had been doing. He again caught his image in the mirror and this time what he saw was troubling. His mascara had run from his tears and he thought he looked like a freak.

He quickly got out of the skirt and blouse and hung them up being careful to place them neatly exactly where they hung before. He unhooked the bra and pulled off the panty girdle and put them back in the drawer. He went to the bathroom and standing in front of the mirror in just the panties, he washed the makeup off his face, practically scrubbing his eye lids to remove any trace of eye liner and mascara. He then removed the panties and put them in the clothes hamper to be washed hoping Brandi would not notice. Finally he went back to the bedroom and dressed; dressed like the man he was; suit and tie. This was a ritual that Richard Bromely would repeat many times over the next dozen years or so. Stay home, dress up, read or do housework and then revert and hide.

When Brandi came home Rich was fixing a scotch and soda. They hugged and talked about their day; she about the first graders she taught and he about not finding much at the Library of Medicine.