5 – New Life
I began living fulltime as a girl once the spring semester of school ended. Never in my life had I felt more like myself. Cindy, of course, continued to be my best friend, and though we spent less time together due to her deepening relations with Josh, our times with each other were always the best. We shared “girl talk” constantly and she related so much of what she and Josh did in their private moments.

She even arranged for Josh to have his cousin who was visiting from Green Bay to be my date for a picnic outing on the last weekend in June. I hesitated in accepting the date, but Josh said his cousin was hardly the type of boy who would try to take advantage of a girl

“There’s no reason for him to suspect you’re not a girl and, believe me I don’t even think he’d try to kiss you,” Josh said.

“Yeah, just let him think you’re all girl, Perry,” her friend Cindy assured.

“I don’t expect anything will continue beyond this one outing, since he’s way up in Green Bay,” Josh said.

Quincy was a sweet, shy boy of my age who apparently had never had a girlfriend. I was happy to be treated like any other girl on a blind date. I don’t know what it was, but we really seemed to hit it off and he opened up, telling me his desire to be a writer. Josh had assured me that Quincy would not make any advances on me due to the boy’s shy nature, and he was certainly proven correct. Quincy was much the gentleman. Our only physical contact involved holding hands. For some reason, I found that erotic.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Quincy said, having held off that question until our date was nearly over and they were dropping me off at my house.

“Sort of,” I said, thinking of Jamie.

“Oh,” he said, looking crestfallen.

I almost cried, looking at this shy boy who apparently liked me but was afraid to push his friendship upon me. I realized, however, that my sadness came not from my desire to continue a relationship with him; rather, I felt sad for the sweet boy who asked it. In truth, I had a boyfriend and it was Jamie, even though Jamie was no longer in my life.

Like the young gentleman he was, Quincy escorted me from the car up to my front door. I gave him a quick kiss and said, “Thank you for a lovely day.” I could see him smile and grow red in the face as I turned and entered the house.

*****
I continued to be accepted as one of the girls into the group of Melanie Scouter’s friends. How sweet it was to gather into their giggling sessions, their gossiping and sometimes their times of stress. I became a confidant of several of the girls who told me all of their teenage troubles. Several wanted my advice, having come to trust my instincts (or maybe it was my feminine intuition, giggle).

Of course, we flirted with boys; more often than not, I was one of the girls who drew the most attention, a situation that bothered me, since I did not wish to create any jealousy among my newfound friends. To anyone looking at us gathered in the mall or on the street corner, I was just a normal looking teen girl; I dressed exactly the same as my friends, never succumbing to the lure of dressing more stylishly than them. Even in the scruffiest of jeans and boy shirts, I was still taken to be a girl.

Even though we had announced the closing of the “Ask Perry and Cindy” website, I had continued to receive emails from teenagers – usually girls – seeking advice for their problems. The blogsite remained alive, carrying the announcement that we would no longer accept questions.

Some I couldn’t resist answering; they were too heart-breaking and I worried that if I didn’t answer, the girl might do something to herself. I had recognized the tendency of many teenage girls to overdramatize happenings in their lives, only to soon forget the whole event within a few months. I also knew that teenagers were harming themselves – even to the point of suicides – more often these days.

A girl, who signed only as “Desperate” emailed:

Dear Perry: I miss your column so much. I need your help. Can you help me? Please.

Life sucks. I get teased all the time, just cause I’m fat. And no boy will ever want me. They just call me a fat pig or worse. I can’t help being fat. I’ve tried some diets, but none of them seem to work. Mom keeps cooking heavy food and says a girl needs some meat on her bones. She says men like fat girls, but she’s wrong. I’ve never been on a date and I’m nearly 17.

I’m so lonely. Other girls don’t like me and won’t hang out with me. They think their reputation will be ruined to even be seen with me.

I have no hope. I know where daddy’s hunting rifle is and his bullets.

Help me. Please, Perry.

Desperate

No way could I ignore her plea; the girl thought of herself as an outcast and was obviously facing rejection from her classmates. I had to answer her, I knew, even though I had no obligation to do so. I wondered what I could possibly say that wouldn’t sound like pointless pieties. Yet, I tried, not sure that my words would have any effect.

Desperate: I can’t tell you to merely continue on, promising that as you grow into adulthood, your fortunes will change. I am convinced they will get better, since most adults are less judgmental about a person’s weight. There’s a good chance, too, that some young man will find you and you’ll gain a partner for life.

No, you need help now! I can see that.

First of all, forget about your dad’s hunting rifle. Once you pull the trigger on yourself, it’s all over. There are no second chances. If possible, suggest to your dad to hide it where you’ll never find it; better yet, tell him to get it out of the house.

About your weight. I have no idea how fat you are. There’s a tendency among some of us girls to think we’re too fat, even when we may be merely a bit chunky. If you’re terribly obese, please see your doctor to get you started on losing weight. I’ve known some terribly fat girls who eventually lost weight and turned into beauties. And, of course, exercise; check out your local YWCA or Boys and Girls Club to see if there are programs for overweight girls and boys. Sometimes a girl needs help to lose weight.

And, don’t fret about not dating. That will come in due course. What are you good at? What are your career goals? Concentrate on your education. It’s important to get a skill, whether you wish to be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. If you like being a hairdresser or waitress, try to make yourself the best possible in that work. If you’re good at your job (whatever it is), people will not care how you look.

Dear Desperate, look to the future. I’m sure there’ll be some sunshine poking through the gray clouds for you.

Feel free to write me if you need more help. I’m proud to be your friend, Perry.

I hit the “send” button when I finished, not feeling confident that what a wrote would do any good.

A day later, Desperate, replied:

Dear Perry: Thank you for being my friend. Believe me, I’m too fat. I’m 210 pounds and only five feet five inches. I know I can do something about it; thanks to you, I checked out the “Y” and they do have a program for fat kids, so I’ve asked mom to enroll me in it.

I hate to admit this, but I like to work on cars. Like being a mechanic. My older brother runs a repair business and I’ve been helping out there. I think I’m good at it, but that’s no job for a girl, is it?

I’ll keep you posted on how I’m feeling. Thank you again. You’re so smart, dear Perry.

Hugs, Desperate

PS. My name is Wendy and I’m attaching a picture of myself.

The picture showed Wendy with a round chubby face; it was really a pretty face, showing warm, ruddy cheeks and bright, green eyes to match auburn hair, unruly and straight. A little work and Wendy could become a very pretty, though chubby, girl.

Thus began regular correspondence. To my surprise, Wendy wrote that she talked to her school counselor about taking an auto mechanic’s course in her senior year of high school. She said that she lost a few pounds, giving her confidence that she could continue to shed the fat. The truth was Wendy had a naturally large-boned frame; she could become an attractive sturdy and strong girl. More importantly, she had a date with a boy who ironically was tall and thin. “He likes me and has offered to take me out again. You’re a life-saver, Perry,” Wendy messaged.

My correspondence with Wendy awakened in me a realization that the advice column had really provided a service and maybe should be resumed, even if Cindy was no longer eager to join in the endeavor. The clincher came shortly thereafter when a popular online local newsletter offered to pay us if we’d resume the column and publish it with them. It was a fairly generous offer and suggested that we do the column twice a week. Cindy continued to be reluctant to work on it again and I considered writing the column myself, perhaps under the title, “Ask Perry: A column for teens.”

It was tempting, but when I realized I’d have to eventually reveal my questionable gender, I cooled to the idea. I decided to write the column, but only once and week and to self-publish it, content to have its readership grow through social media norms.

Melanie Scouter was particularly pleased that I resumed the column and she helped me sort through all the emails I got to help me choose the ones that required most attention. She offered to host me at her house where the family had a speedy, high-end computer system as we went through the messages, discussed them and figured out how to answer. Sometimes other friends joined us; the sessions offered more opportunities for me to bond and become one of the girls.

*****
My one sadness was missing Jamie. What a wonderful summer it would have been if he could have been just a couple of hours from me and we could have frolicked together as lovers. I was also worried about Jamie. Was it vain of me to think that he needed me, that it was my influence that brought him out of his reclusive funk, that brought a lovely, sweet boy out into the world of friends? Was his love for Perry, the girl, so strong that when he learned the truth about me he wilted back into his awful depression?

I was worried about my man; only, of course, he wasn’t “my man,” he was his man. Or, at least he was his own boy, since he wasn’t quite old enough to be a man. I wasn’t his mother, was I?

I missed the nightly phone calls, the cute text messages and especially our Skype sessions. I loved seeing his cowlick and often felt I could reach through the screen all the way down to Ft. Smith, Arkansas, to smooth that unruly bit of light brown hair down. And then maybe to kiss him.

I wondered sometimes if my love for Jamie was that of one boy for another, a gay love, and as marvelous as that might have been, I resisted the idea that I was a boy in love with another boy. No, no. I was a girl in love with a boy. I had hoped my pining over our lost love would lessen as time went on, but even with my busy, happy summer with my girlfriends, my thoughts about Jamie haunted me. So often, I was ready to punch Jamie’s phone number that was programmed on my cell phone to call him, or just to message him. I’d merely ask how he was doing; what would be wrong about that? But I didn’t.

I cried sometimes at night, realizing that I was a weird half-girl, a strange concoction of human being that no real man could ever love. I cried mostly, however, because of Jamie; he was always with me.

*****
My seventeenth birthday was August 17, a Saturday, and my girlfriends arranged a party for me at the home of Celeste Mallory, one of the wealthier girls in our group. The family had a well-manicured large yard with a spacious swimming pool. They had tried to arrange it as a surprise party, but I had known something was up, because the girls seemed to be plotting something involving me, ‘cause they always began shushing when I approached the group.

It was an all-girl’s party, and later it would become a sleepover, my first sleepover as a girl; actually my first sleepover, ever. Everyone by then knew of my transgender status, that I was now to live outwardly as a girl in preparations for hormone therapy and eventually sexual reassignment surgery and perhaps even some facial surgery and breast enhancement.

“Do you have a swim suit, Perry?” Melanie asked when she finally made the invitation. I had of course figured out they had something planned for that day by then.

“Not a girl’s suit,” I replied.

“You’ll need one,” she said, a mischievous smile appearing. “We’re holding a birthday party at Celeste’s for you on your birthday. It’ll be so much fun. They have a perfectly awesome swimming pool.”

I giggled. “Won’t I look weird in a girl’s suit?”

“My God no, Perry. You know I’ve seen you with your shirt off, you have a perfectly lovely body. Really, it’s not a boy’s body at all. You’ll look great in a bikini,” she gushed.

“A bikini?”

“Yes, we’ll all be wearing them. You must.”

“I got something to hide, Mel,” I said.

“My guess is that you don’t have much to hide,” she said, giggling. “Besides, don’t you have a gaff?”

I blushed. She was right; I didn’t have much in the way of a boy’s appendage.

“Yes, I do have a gaff. I suppose I could wear a bikini,” I said.

“Wanna go shopping now?” she asked.

“Why not?”

*****

The sky was a cloudless blue and the temperatures hovered in the low nineties on August seventeenth – my seventeenth birthday. I had never remembered such a warm day on my past birthdays and it made a perfect setting for the pool party at Celeste’s huge, lovely home. The Mallorys apparently had lots of money, but they proved to be warm and down-to-earth and welcomed all of us girls eagerly onto their back patio and pool area.

Thankfully, the family had a large cabana along one side of the pool, where we could lounge in order to get out of the hot sun. However, some of us, including me, hoped to work on our tans and planned to spend some time on chaise lounges in the sun, even though mom warned me against getting sunburned.

“Put on plenty of sunscreen, dear. You know how tender your skin is,” she warned.

“I’m too pale mom. I want to get darker,” I complained.

“Just don’t overdo it,” she said, as I raced out of the door to run to the car awaiting me at the curb. Melanie had borrowed the family Escape to pick several of us girls up.

“It’s too bad Cindy couldn’t come,” Melanie said as I joined her in the front seat. Two other girls already were in the back.

“I know, but she wanted to bring Josh along,” I noted.

“She knew it was girls only, didn’t she?” Melanie asked.

“Yeah, but you know how close those two are. You’d think those two were chained together,” Ellen Halverson said from the backseat.

We all giggled.

The Mallorys greeted us warmly, showing us into a shower and locker room they had constructed on the lower lever of the home, adjacent to the pool. It was obviously a co-ed room, but it had four stalls where the more modest of us could change in private. Naturally I chose one of those, while most of the girls changed in the large general room. How I yearned to get rid of that ugly boy thing so I could truly be one of the girls!

“Aren’t you the cutest?” screamed Ellen, as I exited from my stall.

I blushed and did a dainty twist to show it off; I loved the swim suit Melanie and I found at the Ms. Fashion store in the mall. It was a skirted bikini that offered protection against any unexpected arousal or problem that might occur (need I be more specific?). It was turquoise with a light feminine floral design; it had a matching bra with medium-sized cup into which were sewn two A-cup breast forms.

Mom thought it was too immodest, but I thought it was darling. In fact, of all the girls at the party, mine may have been the least skimpy, except for that worn by Heather Szymkowski, whose generously-sized body required a more substantial swimsuit.

What a day it was! The Mallorys had organized a few games to keep us busy, including a spirited game of water polo and then water volleyball. We giggled so much my tummy began to hurt at times; the girls made fun of my total athletic ineptitude, and I loved it being able to portray myself as a helpless, weak, dainty girl. Most of them were on one or more of the girl’s athletic teams at school.

We lounged for a while in the sun after the exhausting games; Melanie pulled our chaise lounges together into a sunny area. We applied more sunscreen; I loved massaging her firm, muscular shoulders, arms and legs.

“Your skin is so soft and smooth,” Melanie said when she began applying the lotion to me, as I lie on my tummy.

She moved her hands gently across my body, massaging my slender, fleshy arms and thighs. She seemed to relish lingering on parts of my body as she applied the lotion; I loved her touch, and I felt my bikini bottom tighten and grow moist.

I was awakened out of my reverie by a brief “ding” on my phone, signifying a text message. Melanie heard it, too. She reached down to retrieve my cell from where I had laid it and said, “Do you want this?”

I took it from her, and pressed the message button; the message read:

“Happy Birthday, Perry. Your friend, Jamie.”

*****
I must have nearly fainted when I opened the message. It was from Jamie; I hadn’t heard from him since Easter, more than four months ago

“What’s wrong, Perry?” Melanie said, noticing the shiver that went through me.

I looked up at her and could see the concern in her eyes; she had stopped massaging my back and I sat upright on the lounge, my feet on the hot cement.

“It’s Jamie. He wished me a ‘Happy Birthday,’ and signed off as ‘your friend.’”

She hugged me tightly. “That’s so good! No, it’s awesome. He’s still thinking of you.”

“I thought he hated me.”

Melanie kissed me. “Just imagine that kiss is from Jamie,” she giggled.

“Oh you! Maybe he was just being nice. It’s just a text message. It’s not like he’s sending me flowers.”

“No, Perry,” she insisted. “He still loves you.”

Melanie grabbed my phone out of my hand and stood up, looking down at me. I had laid down again to think about whether to respond. I looked up in time to see Melanie snapping a picture with me phone; she had captured my lounging in the sun.

“You’re so lovely, Perry,” she said.

“What are you doing? Gimme my phone back.”

Melanie only giggled and handed the phone back to me.

“What did you do?” I demanded.

“Jamie will love the picture. You’re stunning in that swim suit. He’ll never doubt you’re a girl now.”

“You didn’t?”

She smiled. I checked the phone; it was obvious: Melanie had hit the reply button to Jamie’s message and sent the picture she took to Jamie. Frankly, I didn’t know whether to be mad or pleased; I had to admit the picture was dazzling and portrayed what could only be viewed as a pretty, slender teen girl in a swimsuit that made her alluring and, in truth, a bit sexy.

“Oh, I wish you hadn’t Mel. What will he think?”

“Maybe you ought to reply to him, Perry, tell him I did it.”

It was the only thing I could do; otherwise he would take me as a cheap tart or, even worse, a whore like some of those ladyboys who prance around as prostitutes. I texted:

“Sorry for the photo. My friend Melanie sent that picture without my OK. Thank you for the birthday greetings. Perry”

Almost instantly, I got a reply:

“Loved the photo. You’re prettier than ever. May I call you? Now? Please.”

Melanie had crowded next to me, reading the message. Soon, several other girls gathered around us, wondering what was going on. They had all heard about my break-up with Jamie, and as girls are wont to do, they love to support a friend who’s facing a boy problem. They had all been so supportive and I loved them dearly.

“Tell him to call, Perry,” Celeste Mallory said.

“If you don’t text him back, we’ll take your phone and text him ourselves. You know you think of Jamie day-in and day-out,” Melanie echoed.

I shooed them all away, demanding privacy, which they reluctantly agreed to. I found a quiet place in the shade and sat on a lawn chair to reply to Jamie, telling him it was OK to call within the next ten minutes.

In less than a minute after I posted the message, my phone rang.

Me: Hi (said softly, tentatively).

Jamie: Perry? Is that you?

Me: Yeah.

Jamie: Happy Birthday.

Me: Thank you.

(Awkward silence for seemingly long time.)

Jamie: Miss me?

Me: Huh?

Jamie: I missed you. Lots.

Me: I guess.

Jamie: You didn’t miss me? (Said hesitantly, as if he was afraid of my answer.)

Me: (Crying audibly) Yes.

Jamie: I’m sorry I left you suddenly on that phone call. How horrid I was.

Me: I understood, Jamie. It must have been a shock. I was lying to you and you were right to dump me.

Jamie: No, you weren’t. I understand now. I’ve studied about girls like you since then. You’re still the prettiest girl anywhere.

Me: No I’m not.

Jamie: Well you are in my mind, anyway.

Me: That’s sweet of you to say.

Jamie: It’s true. What’s all that noise in the background? Where are you?

Me: At a pool party at my friend’s place. It’s for my birthday. We’re having so much fun.

Jamie: Oh? Are there boys there?

Me: (Giggling) You jealous?

Jamie: What do you think?

Me: No, it’s a girls-only party. You can’t come.

Jamie: I’m glad you’re having fun then.

Me: We are. Oops. Here they come. I tried to call you in privacy, but all the girls think you’re hot.

Melanie: (Yelling so that her voice is heard by Jamie) We all love her Jamie.

Jamie: Seems like you have a Greek chorus there.

Me: They’re hovering over me now, so maybe we better hang up now. It’s time for my birthday cake, I guess.

Jamie: Yes, but may I call you tonight?

Me: Yes. Usual time?

Jamie: Of course. I bet I know what you’ll wish when you blow out those seventeen candles.

Me: I’m not telling you my wish, or else it won’t come true.

Jamie: We’ll talk tonight.

We hung up. There were no noisy kisses, such as those we did over the phone in the past. I hoped those kisses would come the next time.

*****
That night, I learned that Jamie had been spending the summer with his grandparents, just a bit over an hour away. He confessed to being unable to get me out of his mind, and toyed constantly with the idea of driving up to my town to search me down.

“Why didn’t you?” I challenged him. Both of us had had a painful summer with constant yearning about spending time with each other.

“I just couldn’t get over you being a boy,” he confessed.

“But, Jamie, I’m not and never have been a boy,” I protested.

“You still got your boy parts and that bothered me. You were all girl to me and then you told me you weren’t really a girl. The thought of you being a boy, oh Perry, I would have felt weird dating . . . ah . . . ah . . .”

“What? I’m not a drag queen or a pervert, Jamie. I’m just a girl.”

I started to cry; I thought he had begun to understand about me, but apparently not.

“Don’t cry, Perry. Please, I don’t want to hurt you,” he pleaded.

“Why did you text me then?” I said finally, when I had stopped my sobbing.

“I told you because I never stopped liking you, and it was your birthday.”

“Thank you, and I like you, too.”

“Can I drive up Sunday and visit you?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” I asked, surprised at his suggestion.

“Grandpa will let me borrow his pickup and I can be up there anytime you want Sunday. I have to see you before I have to go back to Arkansas. I just have to.”

How could a girl refuse such a suggestion?

*****
I wrestled with myself, trying to decide what to wear for Jamie’s visit. He said his visit would merely be to have “fun” and to renew a friendship.

“Let’s go out and just enjoy ourselves,” he said before we had finished the call. “Let’s not get too serious about anything. OK?”

That was a good idea, I agreed; yet, I couldn’t help becoming more than a little overwhelmed by the prospect of seeing Jamie again. I kept telling myself any kind of romantic relationship with Jamie – given my transgender status – would be out of the question. He deserved a real woman, I reasoned. Yet, my mind couldn’t help jumping to the belief that I could be that woman.

Cindy was sympathetic, agreeing that my desire to be Jamie’s one and only girlfriend was a natural response of any girl.

“From his pictures, I can see he’s a hunk and he seems so nice, too,” Cindy told me.

I knew I blushed because Cindy just smiled and put her hand on top of mine in a moment of sisterly understanding. “Look, Josh and I are planning to go over to the beach at Lake Geneva Sunday along with Melanie and her new boyfriend. Why don’t you and Jamie join us?”

“Oh I couldn’t. Jamie doesn’t know any of you,” I said.

“Nonsense, he’ll get along fine with us, and besides it might mean you won’t have to spend so much time alone with him. We’re all easy to get along with.”

When I called Jamie that night and mentioned Cindy’s invitation, he sounded eager to join the group. “I’ll bring a swimsuit along and Perry you must wear that suit you wore at the party,” he said.

“I can’t wear that suit. It’s too skimpy and mom will forbid it,” I replied.

“You gotta wear it. It’s so cute.”