Sandy's fantasy founders on the rocks of reality as Georgie is haunted by the past.

Georgie

“You’ve got to take him for a haircut. He looks like a fucking girl!”

“Karl, watch your language. He’s such a beautiful child. Cutting his hair would be a shame!”

“I don’t want a ‘beautiful child.’ I want a son that doesn’t look like a damned sissy! He’s an embarrassment!”

…

I was sitting on a booster, feeling cold scissors work across my forehead. Shiny gold filaments skidded off my lap onto the floor. Mother was sitting opposite me, silent tears falling.

…

“Only girls throw like that. What the hell’s wrong with you? I’ve shown you how to throw a hundred times. I’ll have your mother put you in a dress if you don’t throw it like I showed you!”

…

I was trying to sleep. “He’s a sweet, sensitive child. Shouting at him like you do is just as abusive as if you hit him!”

“I’m trying to make a man out of him. You can raise the little pansy any way you want for the next year. I expect he’ll be in curls and nail polish when I get back from Iraq. Why not just buy him a dress and be done with it?”

…

I was sitting on the porch. Two men in dress uniforms were inside with mother. “We regret to have to inform you …”

…

I was grown up – happily doing dreamy twirls in my new skirt, fantasizing about my date with Sandy. Suddenly, two MPs grabbed me and dragged me into a court marshal.

My father was presiding. “I tried all my life to make a man of you. Now look at you – a fucking fairy spinning in a flower dress and sissy blouse.” He ripped them off me. “A bra and panties too! You make me sick!” He threw up on my new loafers.

…

I was in front of a firing squad. “Ready, aim, …”

I woke in a cold sweat. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I kept thinking what a disappointment I’d always been to my father. Now I was betraying his memory – fixated on being pretty for a date with a woman who encouraged me to have my nails done and wear women’s clothes. I’d let mother make me up and talk me into buying heels and a skirt. I’d even fallen asleep in a bra and panties.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. Something was terribly wrong with me! I’d become the “damned sissy” my father feared! I had to break it off and start acting like a man! I threw my bra and panties in the trash. I shampooed the flip out of my hair and scraped the polish off my nails. I’d get a buzz cut later. It was getting light. I went to get dressed. My underwear drawer held nothing but panties and bras. I put on the white cotton pair Sandy’d given me and resolved to buy boxers after work.

I left before mother got up. When Martha found me waiting at the shop gate, she only remarked that I no longer had my “new look.” Later, when I was sullen with customers, Martha told me that whatever was going on, I needed to put on my game face. I tried to act cheerful.

At my break I called Sandy. She was in a meeting. It was cowardly, but I left a message with her admin. It was too easy for her to bend me to her desires. I wouldn’t be going on our date, nor did I want to see her again.

After work I stopped at K-Mart to buy boxers. My credit card was declined. I was over my limit! I started crying and hid in the bathroom until I regained my composure. Even in trying to be more of a man I was such a sissy!
I wanted to avoid mother, so I wandered the streets until 11:30 when I went home to sleep.

Sandy

Everything was going so well. Georgie and I were both happy. Then, out of the blue, he breaks it off without talking to me – not even saying why! I felt hurt, empty and angry.

When I got his message, I wanted to rush down to the coffee bar and confront him, but that was too much like stalking. If I were patient, maybe he’d talk to me. After an hour, I gave up on patience, and texted him. “Why don’t you want to see me anymore?”

“I want to, but I can’t. Plz leave me alone.”

I hadn’t cried since my ex hit me, but now I was crying. He wants to but can’t?? What the hell does that mean? Nora had given me her cell number, so I called her. I tried to be calm and objective, but soon my voice cracked like my heart.

She was stunned that he’d dumped me. He’d been ecstatic when they were shopping for our date. He’d been avoiding her. So she knew something was wrong, but had no idea what. She’d try to find out.

Georgie

The cold water I’d splashed on my face didn’t help. Martha knew I’d been crying.

“Look, sweetie, he’s a fool who doesn’t deserve you. We’ve all been dumped by men we’re too good for. I know it hurts now, but you’ll find someone better – someone who’ll treat you like a girl … er, a sweetie like you deserves.” She gave me a warm, motherly hug.

I was going to correct her, but the words caught in my throat as renewed tears stained her blouse. Now we were both a mess.

Nora did something she’d never done – rolled down the lobby gate, flipped the sign to “Closed,” and turned off the store lights. We sat in her microscopic office until I was cried out, then she sent me home for the day.

I was asleep on the sofa when mother found me.

“What’s going on, George? You’ve been avoiding me and your eyes are red and puffy.”

“I broke up with Sandy.”

“What did she do?”

“Nothing. It’s me. I can’t stop thinking what a disappointment I must be to dad.”

“Your dad is dead and in heaven. If he was disappointed in you, I’m sure God’s straightened him out.”

“So, what did Sandy say when you told her?”

“Nothing. I didn’t actually talk to her. I just left a message saying I didn’t want to see her anymore.”

“Did you say why?”

“No. I was too ashamed to let her admin know what a sissy I am.”

“You can’t just dump someone and not tell them why – especially by remote control. She called me in tears. You’ve really hurt her. I thought I raised you better.”

“I know. I’m a coward – just what you’d expect from a sissy.”

“Is that what’s bothering you? Being a ‘sissy’? I thought you were a college grad, but mentally it seems you’re still in grade school. … Did someone call little Georgie a sissy?” she said in a mocking tone.

“No … yes. I mean dad did.”

“You’re dad did!? He’s been dead over ten years. How could he call you a ‘sissy’?”

“I had a dream. He had me arrested, and court marshaled, and shot.” I started crying again.

“So this is all about some silly dream you had?” she asked incredulously.

“It’s not just the dream – it’s what a disappointment I’ve turned out to be. He was always trying to make me a man and I wind up a worthless sissy in a bra, heels and a skirt!” I couldn’t control the flood pouring from my eyes.

“Your father was a wonderful man in many ways, but when it came to appreciating what a great son he had, he was a total jerk! An asshole!”

I’d never heard mother criticize dad before. Her vehemence shocked me.

“Your dad thought in stereotypes. You didn’t fit the box he wanted to put you in and that embarrassed him. Instead of seeing how sweet, caring and beautiful you are, he kept thinking how embarrassed he'd be if his buddies thought you weren’t a he-man. You never knew, but we used to argue about it after you were asleep.”

“Sometimes I wasn’t asleep. I was in bed crying about what a failure I was.”

“Georgie, you poor dear!” She held me close. “I swear, you’re just like your father!”

“What??”

“You both think that not fitting the stereotype makes you ‘a failure as a man.’”

“Well, doesn’t it?”

“Who says what a man is supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. God I guess…”

“I don’t think so! God made you as you are – and ‘God don’t make trash.’”

“God made me a sissy??”

“There you go with that word again. I swear, your almost 23 and you’re thinking like you’re seven! Seven year olds think that anyone who isn’t what they think a boy should be is a ‘sissy’.

“God makes each person different. He doesn’t put people in boxes, humans do. He made you sweet, sensitive, and yes, pretty. Instead of complaining you don’t fit in some stupid ‘being a man’ box, you need to be the very best, the very happiest, George Myers you can be.

“When I saw you twirling in your new skirt, I could only think ‘how pretty and happy he is.’ I didn’t once think what a sissy!’” She was crying too.

“You’ve made three happy people very unhappy.”

I heard what she said. I did regret the pain I caused Sandy and now mother, but I missed my dad terribly. The idea of betraying him tore at my soul. I was sure I needed to be strong and “do the right thing.”

“I need to act like a man. It’s what dad wanted.”

“Well, it wasn’t acting like a man to break it off with Sandy by leaving a message … and avoiding me was hardly ‘manly,’ either.”

“I guess I should see Sandy and explain it to her.”

“If you don’t, you’re sure as hell a sissy.”

Sandy

My intercom buzzed. “Mr. Myers on line 2.”

“Good afternoon, Sandra Majors,” I said stiffly.

“Hello, Sandy. It’s Georgie, er, George. I hope you’re not so mad you won’t let me explain things. Can we meet and talk?”

“I’ve got a busy week, I don’t know if I can fit you in, George.”

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I’d need to talk to you. Please!”

“Let me look at my iPad. … I have an opening Monday evening, are you available?” I could see him a lot sooner, but was mad and wanted him to wait.

“Yes, that would be fine.”

“I’ll be at your house at 7:00.”

“Can’t we meet somewhere else? My mother will be home.”

“Oh, are you still hiding from your mother?” I was going to take him to a quiet coffee shop where I’d often met clients, but was in a rotten mood. If he didn’t want to meet at his house, then I did.

“No, I’m not.”

“Good, then I’ll see you Monday at 7:00. Bye.”

I thought I’d feel better after sticking pins in Georgie, but, as the afternoon dragged on, I didn’t. In fact, I was ashamed of myself. He was on the verge of tears, but I’d shown no compassion. I was hurt and wanted to hurt him back. I thought about calling and meeting with him sooner, but decided I needed until Monday to cool off.

As the week crawled by, I thought maybe Nora would call to tell me what was going on. Eventually I realized that she wanted Georgie to do his own explaining.

Georgie

“Doing the right thing” didn’t feel good. I’d never been more sad and lonely. Sandy may have treated me like a girl, but I felt wanted and special with her. I’d never pleased dad, no matter how hard I tried. He knew I was only acting a part, not being a man. When I bit the embarrassment bullet and did as Sandy suggested, I felt genuine appreciation. Before her, I felt a failure – never having pleased anyone but mother. With her, I felt like I’d found my rightful place.

But, how could a place be right when I wasn’t doing the right thing? Was it right for a man to have his nails done or buy a pretty outfit for a date? I felt pretty when I wore my panties. Surely a real man wouldn’t feel like that. No wonder dad threw up on my loafers. Of course he hadn’t really – my subconscious had.

Monday morning, when I got dressed, my underwear drawer still had no boxers. I’d gotten paid Friday, but hadn’t gotten around to buying new ones. I had lots of excuses. Mother usually bought my clothes. I was depressed over the breakup. I saw my hand reaching past brightly colored cotton panties to a cream pair of satin pettipants with 2-1/2” lace trim on the legs. “They’re the closest thing I have to boxers,” I rationalized. They didn’t feel like boxers as I pulled them up my shaved legs. To stop looking at them, I quickly pulled a pair of khakis over them.

My fuchsia blouse called from my closet. I reached past it to a tan polo shirt. “Dull as dishwater,” I said with some satisfaction as I did a little turn in the mirror. I hadn’t gotten the buzz cut I’d promised myself, so I pulled my hair into a low ponytail. My face was too pretty … maybe some dark makeup to create masculine contours or beard shadow? What was I thinking? I wore a masculine scowl instead.

“George, why are you making a face this morning?”

“Oh, was I?” So much for the scowl idea.

“Yes, you were. It doesn’t make you look more masculine, just constipated.”

“Oh.”

“Also, you can’t wear khaki and tan together. You need some contrast. You know that. Now go change.”

“Yes, mother.” I did not want to see my pettipants again, so I changed into a maroon polo.

I worried all day about what I’d say to Sandy. Would she listen to anything I’d say?

“George, your almost useless today. That’s the third order you’ve messed up. It’s not like you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m meeting Sandy tonight to explain why we can’t go out anymore, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You need to focus while you’re working.”

“I’ll try to focus more.”

“You better, or I’ll have to send you home without pay until you can.”
I finished the morning rush without further errors. When the shop emptied, Martha lowered the gate and called me into her office.

“So, this Sandy person didn’t dump you? You dumped him?”

“Sandy is a woman – a lawyer upstairs.”

“Really?? Oh, that’s great! … but why are you dumping her? I’d never seen you so happy. Was she unfaithful? Abusive?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

“It’s me. I need to be a real man, like my father would have wanted.”

Before I’d finished, Martha was laughing. At first she tried to stifle it, but she couldn’t stop herself. I frowned.

“I’m sorry sweetie. I’m not trying to be mean. I think the world of you, but ‘a real man’ and you just don’t fit. I can’t even imagine what it would look like.”

“I was thinking of getting a buzz cut and …”

“Please don’t. You’d look like a dyke, sweetie.”

“Oh,” I said, defeated.

“So, all this is because your father said something?”

“No, he died years ago, but I had a dream and he …” I started crying. I was a wreck.

“Did he love you, George?”

“Yes, but I was a disappointment to him.”

“If he really loved you, he’d want you to be happy. You were before you broke up. Now you’re a mess. Go home and do whatever you need to do to fix this. I can’t keep closing the shop. The owners will find out and be on my case.”

As I waited for the bus I realized that everyone who loved me thought of me as a girl. The last time I was happy was doing twirls in my skirt. I needed to do whatever was necessary to fix this …

Sandy

I rang the bell precisely at 7:00. As I stood waiting, I recalled Professor Kunst telling us, “Never ask a question you don’t know the answer to.” I didn’t know any of the answers. Did George just want to tell me why he couldn’t see me anymore? Had he changed his mind? How would I react? Would the spark of anger lingering in my soul burst into rage? Could I stay strong and calm? Or would I show weakness by crying? I’d started this relation with me in total control. Now it was totally out of control.

Suddenly, I realized that I was a woman, had always been a woman, and had no experience whatsoever playing the male lead. A fantasy is comfortable toy, but real life can quickly spin out of control. I was in over my head, drowning in a sea of emotions: compassion, anger, loneliness, masculine dominance, maternal concern and God only knows what else! Maybe this is what made Ted act like such an ass. I was almost hyperventilating by the time Nora opened the door.

“Hello, Sandy, George is cooking in the kitchen. I hope you haven’t eaten.”

“No, I usually eat late.”

She led me into the living room. “I’ll get you some wine and then leave you two to it.”

She ducked into the kitchen and returned with a tumbler of iced sangria.

“George will be out as soon as he gets the paella in the oven. I’m off to visit a friend.”

I sat, drinking the sangria and trying to breathe regularly. I was feeling mellow by the time Georgie emerged. He was cute in a tight top and shorts, but now he was absolutely delicious! His hair was in a casual do reminiscent of Lauren Bacall. A hot pink, no fuchsia, satin blouse topped black Palazzos and block-healed pumps. As he came closer, I saw just a hint of bust filling his blouse.

“Oh, God, Georgie, you’re beautiful!”

His expression changed from timid and tentative to radiant. “This is what I planned to wear for our date last Friday. I wanted to look pretty for you. I’m so sorry I didn’t.” A torrent of tears started.

My remaining anger evaporated as I ran and pulled him into my breasts. “It’s OK. It’s OK. Do you want to tell me what happened, Princess?”

A flood of words took his story first in one direction, then another – happiness, fear, joy, self-loathing, advice from Nora and someone called Martha, shopping and firing squads, walks in the dark and tears in his bed, the cold hand of a dead father trying to smother his beautiful warmth. I couldn’t follow it all, but I got enough to know that he’d been through an emotional wringer much worse than mine.

The oven timer's buzz broke our embrace. We sat down to a delicious paella and more sangria. By the end of dinner, we wanted to give ourselves to each other. Georgie took my hand and shyly led me to his room. He gave me a new toothbrush and showed me the guest bath. By the time I finished, Georgie had lit candles and was in bed in his bra and panties. I removed my dress and slipped in beside him. Georgie had just taken my nipple between his lips when we fell into an exhausted asleep.