It Started On A Rainy Afternoon - Part 2
By Pentatonic

I was enjoying my new situation. The food at my Aunt’s house was a lot better than at home, and under my Aunt’s supervision I was becoming a quite good cook. The parties my Aunt threw, about one every two months, were spectacular. Aunt Beth hired kitchen staff and maids for the occasion, but still there was a lot for me to do, not that I minded it, since a side benefit was that Aunt Beth wanted me to have a new party dresses or cocktail dresses for each occasion.

My Aunt was a supporter of the arts, and there were concerts and plays to attend, along with art gallery showings. Some times I was even able to get an invitation to bring Steve along. While invitations were extended to Emma she mostly declined, because she had no interest in serious drama or classical music. Even with the social events, my Aunt made sure that I had time to study, so I kept up my grade point average. This meant that there was talk of academic scholarships, which would be necessary if I even hoped to go to college.

Finally my seventeenth birthday was just around the corner. Unfortunately for me, I share a birthday with Adolf Hitler. This caused great merriment among my classmates, who began calling me ‘Adolf’ and ‘der Fuhrer’ much to my chagrin.

On the weekend after my seventeenth birthday, Mrs. Benson was coming in on Saturday to ‘clean up some loose ends.’ Since this didn’t concern me, I was luxuriating in a huge bathtub which was part of my en suite bathroom. My reverie was interrupted when I heard the bathroom door open, and Mrs. Benson walked in. “Happy belated birthday,” she said. Thankfully I had put lots of great smelling bubble bath in the tub so I was mostly covered with bubbles. “Let me wash your back,” she offered. “Move forward a bit and sit up straight,” she commanded.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I need my back scrubbed,” I responded.

“Nonsense,” she countered, “everyone needs their back washed.”

There was no real option except to comply since it was not really possible to just get out of the tub. So she started on my back. That was okay, but then she began to wash my chest, paying special attention to my nipples, which, even though small, began to react to her ministrations.

“I really would like to kiss and lick your nipples,” she said. I began to get embarrassed.

“No, you may not,” I said. Her rubbing was also affecting a different part of my body, which, thankfully was covered by bubbles. Unfortunately as my member grew, it became clear that there were not enough bubbles. She reached into the tub and put her hand around my penis. “Congratulations, birthday boy, you’re now over the age of consent,” she said.

So that was it, I thought, She’s obviously had designs on my body, but was only restrained by the law. Finally, and in no uncertain way, I commanded that she leave the bathroom, or I would tell my Aunt. That did it, and she left. For the next several weeks she was decidedly cold toward me.

* * *

Then, out of the blue, she renewed her offer to take me to a Dalton Gender Society meeting. The meeting was on a Wednesday evening and we agreed to meet at her apartment. Since my Dad went bowling every Wednesday, I was able to get dressed at home. I packed a bag with my boy clothes with the hope of changing into them before I arrived back home. I decided to wear a matching dark blue skirt and jacket, over a cream colored sleeveless top. This meant dark panties, but a white bra. I also put on dark blue pantyhose, and wore my pair of black pumps. I fussed with my hair, and put on some mascara and lipstick.

When she met me at the door, she had a huge smile on her face. “My, don’t you look sweet,” she said as she gave me a perfunctory hug, but no kiss. However, as she broke off the hug, I could feel her hand rub my backside. On the way to the meeting, Mrs. Benson told me that she went by the name of Gloria, and asked that I used that name when talking to or about her at the meeting.

“You may call me Gloria any time you wish, except those times when your Aunt would prefer that you call me Mrs. Benson,” she instructed.

The meeting was both instructive and enjoyable. We arrived when most of the other attendees were present. I must have made an impression, because when we walked into the room, all conversation ceased as everyone looked at me. Angela, the leader of the society came up to welcome me. She looked me up and down, checking me out and turned to address Gloria. “You have a very pretty girlfriend,” she commented, “are you now interested in girls?”

“Margaret is a lot like me,” Gloria said, “she was born a boy.”

“I would never have guessed it,” Angela replied, “when the rest of the girls find out they’ll all be envious.” She then turned to me. “I bet that all of the girls will want you to tell them how you manage to look so pretty and so feminine.”

I just smiled in return.

A few minutes later, Angela called the meeting to order. “I would like all of us to welcome Gloria’s friend Margaret, who, I understand, was born Jason.” This revelation caused mummers of conversation among all present. “Maybe we can encourage Margaret to tell us something about herself, such as how she makes herself looks so gorgeous,” Angela added. Gloria gave me a push to go up front, at which time Angela handed me the microphone.

“I am seventeen and a junior in high school,” I began. “As you can guess I go by the name of Jason in school, and only one classmate knows that I am also Margaret. Going to school dressed like this may cause too many problems and may also be dangerous, since my school has its fair share of neanderthals. I have a sister Emma, and I almost look like her twin, which is a good start for my appearance. Emma has been my prime support and has helped me in all aspects of appearing to be a girl.” I then described the history of my cross dressing.

“That was very interesting,” commented Angela, “maybe you could tell us about your plans for the future, and how we can help you.”

“I don’t have any definite plans, other than keeping the status quo until I graduate/ After that, I just don’t know. I know very little about being transgendered, and I am hoping that all of you can share your experiences with me and give me your opinions of what I could do.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” one of the girls asked.

“Sort of,” I answered. “I hope to develop the relationship, but I’m not sure how to do it.”

“How do you know Gloria?” another asked.

“I spend weekends at my Mother’s Aunt Beth’s house and help my Aunt. Gloria is my Aunt’s housekeeper, and that is how we became friends. Gloria suggested that I attend this meeting to help further my plans for the future.”

Finally I was allowed to relinquish the microphone and sit back down next to Gloria, who put her hand on my knee and whispered, “You did so well up there, All of the girls loved you. I’m so proud of you.” With her last words to me, Gloria rubbed her hand up and down the inside of my thigh.

“I’m getting aroused,” I whispered, “maybe you had better stop that.”

“Spoil sport,” commented Gloria with a smile, indicating that she was not offended with what I said.

After the meeting broke up at about nine, Angela mentioned that some of the girls would be going to a TG friendly bar for a few drinks, and that maybe Gloria and I would like to join them.

“I appreciate the invitation,” I answered, “But I have to be in school tomorrow, and I am too young to have a drink, but thank you anyway.”

A few minutes later, Gloria indicated it was time to go. When we were in the car, she turned to me. “You had them eating out of your hand. You were great.” With that she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the mouth. Perhaps due to the excitement of the evening, I kissed her back. “That was great,” she said, in reference to the kisses. “It looks like you enjoyed it too.” With that I could feel her hand move up my thigh and under my skirt where it remained all the way back to Gloria’s apartment.

“Would you like to come in for a few minutes?” Gloria asked.

“It’s getting rather late. Maybe I’ll come in to change back to Jason, in case my Father is still up, so after I change I better go home so I don’t fall asleep in class,” I answered.

* * *

The next day Mrs. Benson was at my Aunt’s house when I arrived. “I enjoyed your company at the meeting last night,” she said, “did you get any useful information from any of the girls?”

“A few of them suggested that I look into hormone therapy, since I am as flat as a board. Some even suggested breast implants,” I answered.

“In my opinion, if you are seriously thinking of transitioning into a girl, you should consider either or both,” she responded. “Of course you will need to see a doctor and a counselor before you start. Do you have a doctor?”

“My family has a doctor,” I said, “but he’s a bit old fashioned, and probably wouldn’t be of much help.”

“Why don’t you ask your Aunt if she has any ideas?”

I did, and before long I had a doctor and counselor, both of whom were familiar with gender matters.

The doctor was very helpful. “It may be a good idea for you to start some hormone therapy at this time. Because you have another year in high school, we have to proceed carefully. I don’t imagine that growing large breasts before you graduate would be a good idea. I would recommend a testosterone blocker to more or less keep the status quo. After you try this for a while, we might add some estrogen.” I then had my prescriptions.

My new counselor and I discussed my transition. “You should be sure that you want to go through with it,” she said. “If you want to undergo sexual reassignment surgery, you have to undergo a year of real life experience, where you dress and act as a female, all day and every day for a year. I think that we can agree that you want to graduate from high school before you start that.”

“I agree, since my Dad is dead set against me wearing any feminine clothes at home,” I volunteered.

“I see,” she said, “You will have to resolve your issues with your Father sooner or later. I would like to explore your options with you, and maybe we can come up with a plan.”

My hormone therapy did gradually result in some physical changes. I was delighted to discover that my nipples and areolae grew larger and darker. I even noticed that I was developing breasts. Unfortunately they sometimes itched. One such time was when Steve and I were riding home from school. I couldn’t help but rub my budding breasts.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“My breasts itch,” I replied.

“Why?”

“Because I’m taking medicine that makes them grow.” I replied.

“Can I see when we get to your house?” he asked.

“No,” I answered.

When we arrived at my house he renewed his request. “There isn’t much to see,” I said.

“Then can I touch them?”

“Definitely not!” I asserted, even though I wondered how it would feel if he fondled them.

* * *

Steve’s seventeenth birthday was coming up shortly, and after I confirmed that my Aunt had no plans for Saturday evening, I invited him to a dinner to celebrate. “As Margaret or as Jason?” he asked.

“As Margaret,” I answered.

On the Monday following my dinner with Steve, I went right from school to my Aunt’s house. Mrs. Benson was still there when I arrived. “Your Aunt told me that you had a date with Steve this last weekend,” she commented. “How did that go?”

“Great,” I replied.

“Did you seduce him?” she asked with a leering smile.

“Hardly,” I said, a little miffed.

“Too bad,” she responded.

My conversation with Emma a few days later was a repeat of my conversation with Gloria.

“You know, I think that you are teasing poor Steve. Remember, as a boy he has certain needs.”

“I know,” I answered, “because I have the same needs.”

“Then you should do something about it,” she said.

“Maybe he would like it if I did something for him, but I’m not sure that he would want to reciprocate,” I added.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Emma said, “unless there is some romance, he may lose interest in you and find a new girl friend.” I didn’t like this alternative.

“What do you suggest that I do?” I asked.

“He probably would love it if you gave him a blow job,” she answered, “after all, both of you are above the age of consent.”

“But I don’t know how,” I complained.

Emma made a sound of disgust. “It isn’t rocket science,” she said, and gave me a graphic description of how to do it.

“Then what do I do?” I asked.

“Swallow it, of course, and lick every drop from him. That should be obvious,” she replied.

“What does it taste like? Is it disgusting?”

“There are two ways to find out,” she said, with a bit of disgust in her voice, “you can either jag yourself off and taste your own cum or you can give him a blow job and find out how his tastes.”

“Do you think he’ll then give me a blow job in return?”

“Probably not, unless he is gay. Is he?”

“I don’t think so.” I said.

“Have you ever touched him?” Emma asked.

“Once, when I jerked him off after a dance lesson.” I answered.

“Did he return the favor?”

“No,” I answered.

“Then it’s quite clear that he won’t blow you,” she said, “it’s one of those girl things, The guys want relief, but won’t return the favor”.

* * *

That Thursday I had a short day at school, so I arrived at my Aunt’s about one o’clock. I went to my room and put on a skirt and top. When I came back downstairs, Mrs. Benson was still there.

“Margaret,” my Aunt asked, “could you drive me to All Saints? There is a meeting which I want to attend, and I would rather you take me than to ask one of the other ladies or Mrs. Benson to do so.”

“Sure,” I answered, “it would be my pleasure.”

When I returned to the house, Gloria came up to me. “How are things with you and Steve?” she asked, and then added, “did you think about what we discussed?”

“All right,” I said in answer to her first question. “And yes, I did think about it. I even discussed it with my sister.”

“And?” she asked.

“Emma thinks that I should give him a blow job,” I said.

“So will you?”

“I’m not sure I know how or even if I could do it,” I said.

“The only way to answer your questions is to try it,” she said.

“But what if I start the process, and I can’t follow through, or if I botch it completely?”

“From my experience that is only a slight possibility,” she said.

“I’m concerned,” I said, “I want to do it right. If only I was sure that I could do it.”

“If that is your problem, I have a solution,” she said, as she took me by the hand and guided me upstairs.

* * *

My next date with Steve was memorable because I was able to do what I had learned, and yes, he did reciprocate.

* * *

During my summer vacation I spent more and more time at my Aunt’s house. While Aunt Beth was out playing bridge one afternoon, Mrs. Benson and I were sitting at the kitchen table drinking lemonade.

“Gloria,” I said, “I have a question for you, but you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

“Oh boy,” she responded, “That sounds ominous, but ask away.”

“How do you keep your secret from my Aunt?”

“You mean that I’m transgendered?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t,” she replied.

“You mean she knows?” I asked with some surprise.

“Let me put it this way,” she started, “Your Aunt isn’t THAT old. She’s only in her fifties, and she has her needs, which were unsatisfied for several years after she was widowed. She mentioned her dilemma to a cousin of hers, no direct relation to you, who is gay, and who has friends in the transgender community. One thing lead to another, and I was introduced to your Aunt. Because I present as a woman, but can function as a man, she hired me as her part time housekeeper. Since everyone she knew believed that I was a woman, this raised no suspicions. Since I was hired, I can discretely service her needs. To keep up appearances, I call her Madam, Mrs. Yardley or Miss Beth and she calls me Mrs. Benson or Gloria, as would be proper for the occasion when other people are present. We have other names when we are intimate.”

“Will the fact that you took me to the transgender society meeting cause any trouble, if she knows that I know you are transgendered?”

“Hardly,” she responded, “it was your Aunt who suggested that I tell you and take you to the meeting. Her only regret was that she could not be at the meeting, after I told her how well you handled yourself.”

“Obviously all of this must be kept a secret,” I commented.

“In that you are correct. It would be a bad idea if your family found out about any of this, especially considering your Father’s prejudices,” she said. “If you decide to become a woman, hormones and surgery et al, your Aunt told me that she would welcome you to stay with her full time, especially during your one year real life experience,” Mrs. Benson said.

“That’s really kind of her, and you,” I said.

* * *

During the fall of my senior year I began to think about college. While my grades and test scores were good enough to get me admitted to many colleges, I couldn’t make a go of it financially, even with the scholarship I won. There was another consideration. My Aunt invited me to live with her full time, and if I went away to college, I wouldn’t be able to spend much time with her. Perhaps that was the reason she didn’t offer to help me financially.

I applied for admission at Dalton Community College and was accepted. The college has a liberal policy regarding transgendered students, and I was able to enrol as Margaret, even though my high school record identified me as Jason.

I anticipated that I would be looking for a job, and a lot of the courses offered at Dalton Community centered around business and careers. Many of the courses had prerequisites so I signed up for the ones in business and accounting. Dalton also offered courses in gender and women’s studies which seemed interesting, so I signed up for Sociology of Sex and Gender.

* * *

Right after graduation I moved into my Aunt’s house, and became Margaret full time except when I visited my parents and sister. My Aunt and Mrs. Benson seemed to approve of Steve, and he became a frequent guest at my Aunt’s house.

It was at this time that Mrs. Benson often stayed overnight, sleeping with my Aunt in her bed. Given this situation, neither of them seemed to object to Steve spending a lot of time with me in my room.

* * *

Gloria and I had attended quite a few of the gender society meetings, because I found them informative. “You really don’t need me there,” Gloria said as we were in the car going to a meeting. “The reason I go with you is to keep the other girls from propositioning you. When I’m along they consider that you are my date. Before I would turn them loose on you, I’ll have to teach you how to gracefully refuse any propositions, that is, if you don’t want any,” she added with a smile.

It was at this meeting that Angela announced that the society was planning a picnic at a local forest preserve. I was interested, and signed up to bring a German potato salad. After I had done so, Gloria told me that she couldn’t be there and I was on my own. “Be careful,” she said, “I’ve noticed more than one of the girls casting hungry looks at you.”

On the morning of the picnic I arose early and made the potato salad. My Aunt produced a picnic basket with plates, cups and utensils. It had enough room for the potato salad, a soft drink, insect repellant and sun screen. I had purchased a skort just for the event. It was a pair of shorts with a piece in front that made it look like a skirt from the front, and shorts from the rear. I put on a nice pair of panties, and a push up bra which, with my beginning breasts, gave me a hint of cleavage. I also wore a v-neck top to display the little cleavage which did I had. I also wore a pair of tennis shoes. Just a little jewelry and some mascara and lip gloss completed the look.

When I was finished, Gloria and my aunt looked me up and down. “Delicious,” said Gloria, “That’s going to attract a lot of attention. Are you ready for that?”

It was then that I notice Gloria slip something in the picnic basket. When I arrived at the picnic, I discovered that it was a package of prophylactics. As I was walking out the door, my Aunt handed me a plaid blanket. “In case you have to sit on the ground,” she said.

When I arrived at the picnic grove, I saw that quite a few of the members were there, and yes, some were casting hungry looks at me. More than one of them asked if Gloria would be here. When I told them that she would not, a few made a humming noise of approval. After a period of socializing, we got down to eating. I filled my plate, put the blanket on the bench, and sat down. Almost immediately I was joined by two of the girls who had been casting hungry looks at me, one to my right and one to the left. I noted that while there was plenty of room on the benches, my lunch companions were squeezed close to me, with our bodies touching each other. I also noted that while my lunch companions gave me broad smiles, they were casting dirty looks at each other. While eating we introduced ourselves to each other. For some reason, they already knew my name. The girl to my left was Adele and to the right was Teresa, also known as Teri. During the lunch I felt either Adele’s or Teri’s hand rubbing my leg, slowly moving up toward the hem of my skort.

After lunch I decided to explore some of the forest preserve. Once I was out of sight of the grove, Teri joined me. “That’s a really cute outfit you have on,” she said, “and it really looks good on you.”

I returned the compliment, and as we walked on she took my hand in hers. “It’s a shame that Gloria couldn’t make it,” she said, “have you known her long?”

“A few years,” I answered. “I live with my Aunt, and she’s my Aunt’s housekeeper” I volunteered.

“Does Gloria also live there?” Teri asked.

“Off and on,” I answered.

“So she spends the nights there?”

“Some of them,” I answered.

“Gloria is a good-looking woman,” Term observed, “don’t you agree?”

Things appeared to be getting rather personal, so I decided to keep my answers brief. “Yes,” I answered.

“And rather sexy, wouldn’t you say?” Teri asked. I made no answer. “But not as sexy as you,” she continued with a salacious smile.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I answered, and with that she took my other hand in hers, so we were facing each other.

She pulled me closer to her and smiled. “I have to confess that I could go for you,” she said with a lowered voice. She let go of my hands, but before I could move away she had her hands on my shoulders. She pulled me even closer and kissed me.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the first time I met you,” she said. I didn’t reply. She then kissed me again and again. When we separated a bit I looked down and noticed a bulge in her jeans. She saw this, and said, “Yes, you turn me on. Do I turn you on?”

“Not really,” I responded. This produced a crestfallen look on Teri’s face. I decided to soften my answer. “It’s not you,” I continued, “It’s me. You certainly are sexy, but I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she said. “But does he take care of you?”

“Yes,” I responded. With that we walked back to the picnic grove, where I saw Adele giving both of us dirty looks.

I was hit on quite a few more times, which kept me busy until it was time to wrap things up and go home. I then saw Teri approaching me with a concerned frown on her face. “Adele’s really pissed off and jealous. I don’t know if she’ll give me a ride home. If she won’t, will you?”

“Sure,” I answered, and we left. Nothing further happened, except for a brief ‘thank you’ kiss from Teri in front of her house.

* * *

When I arrived at my Aunt’s house, she and Gloria were waiting for me at the kitchen table, both wearing nightgowns and peignoirs. “Well, it looks like you survived,” Gloria said.

“How was it?” My Aunt asked.

“I was hit on more times than a softball at a picnic,” I responded with a big grin.

“But is your virtue intact?” Gloria asked.

“As intact as it was when I left this morning,” I answered.

My Aunt saw that I was staring at their nightgowns and peignoirs. “We didn’t have time to get dressed,” my Aunt said lamely. I gave them a knowing smile.

* * *

As the summer was drawing to a close, one of my Aunt’s friends was throwing a pool party, to which my Aunt, Gloria, and I were invited. My Aunt’s friend had a big house with a good sized in-ground pool. I wished that Steve could be there, but he was already on his way to college. When the invitation was made, I panicked. “I don’t have a swim suit!” While Jason had a swim suit, Margaret did not. I couldn’t attend as Jason, because by now my breasts had begun to be noticeable. I also realized that most stores would not have a good selection of swim wear this late in the season.

“Well,” my Aunt said, “We’ll have to go shopping and see what’s left.”

“Wear your gaff,” Mrs. Benson whispered to me. Even though the selection was poor, I was able to find a one piece that had a short skirt built in. There was also a matching cover up.

Most of the people at the pool party were older, around Mrs. Benson’s age, however there were a few who were around my age. One boy looked familiar to me. When he saw me, he smiled and walked over to me. “Hi, my name is Terrence, Terry for short,” he said.

“I’m Margaret, Peggy for short,” I answered.

“I know that,” he said, and at that point I recognized him. He was Teri from the gender society picnic.

“Is Adele here?” I asked.

“No,” he responded. “How about your boyfriend?”

“He’s away at college,” I answered.

“Are you college bound?” he asked.

“I’m going to Dalton Community.”

“How come?”

“Money, the usual problem,” I said, “My Dad doesn’t approve of me as Margaret, and he wouldn’t cosign any student loans for me. How about you, are you going away to college?”

“I’m going to college, but not away. I start at Salem Tech next week. Hey, maybe we could hang around together if you’re not mad at me for hitting on you at the picnic.”

I laughed. “If I was mad at everyone who hit on me at the picnic, I’d need a data base to keep their names straight. Actually, I’m flattered with the attention you showed to me.”

“I’d ask you for your phone number if I could find a piece of paper and a pencil,” he said.

“Are you still going to the society meetings?” I asked.

“I haven’t for a while, but if you’ll be there, I’ll be sure to show up,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll be there, but I caution you, so will Gloria, and she keeps a close eye on me,” I said.

“What’s it with Gloria, anyway?” He asked. “She’s old enough to be your mother.”

“It’s a very long story. Maybe I’ll tell you someday, and then again, maybe not.”

I rejoined my Aunt and Mrs. Benson. “Who’s your friend?” my Aunt asked.

“Someone I met at the gender society picnic,” I answered. “I don’t know his, or her, last name.”

* * *

A few days before my college career was to commence, Aunt Beth, Gloria and I were having coffee at the kitchen table. “What do you plan to wear?” asked Aunt Beth.

“I didn’t see any dress code in the catalog,” I commented.

“Maybe not,” continued Aunt Beth, “but if you are studying business, you should look like you mean business.”

“You mean no student grunge?” I responded with a grin.

“Precisely,” Aunt Beth answered. “Dress as if you were working in an office. For the first day you might want to over dress: Pantyhose, dress flats, a nice skirt and a conservative top.”

“No flashing cleavage?” I rejoined, but not seriously.

“Well, maybe a little,” my Aunt conceded.

For my first day at Dalton, Aunt Beth and Gloria decided to help me get dressed. When I came out of the shower, they had laid out their selection of clothes on my bed. There was a pair of nude pantyhose, nice panties, a white half slip, a pink plaid pleated skirt, a push up bra and a pink silky nylon long sleeved blouse. After I was dressed, Gloria picked out a pair of hoop earrings, a necklace with a heart pendant, two simple bracelets and a nice watch.

“Let me fix your hair,” Gloria offered, which she then did. A little mascara and lip gloss completed the look. I went to the mirror to admire the finished product.

“Leave enough buttons open so people can see your necklace,” suggested Aunt Beth. They could also see some cleavage.

My first class was Introduction to Business. When I walked into the classroom, I could feel a lot of eyes checking me out. The boys seemed to approve, but the girls just gave me dirty looks. All of my classmates were in various degrees of student grunge,

The instructor was a youngish man wearing a mismatched plaid shirt and tie. I noticed with some satisfaction that he could hardly keep his eyes off of me. The tease in me was having a field day, and I let my skirt ride up a bit, exposing a lot of leg.

My course in accounting was met with similar results. After each class, the girls mainly avoided me, but a few boys made a point of introducing themselves to me.

Most of the students in the gender and women’s studies class were, as expected, female. The instructor was a middle aged woman, overweight with a short haircut and no makeup. She wore tan slacks and a plain yellow cotton blouse. No teasing here, I thought.

She introduced herself as Ms. Birch, with emphasis on the ‘Ms.’ She went over the syllabus and an introduction of what we would be studying. “We will examine how the male culture has degraded women, and made them second class citizens. Women are almost forced to dress as men would have them dress,” which statement was directed at me.

After another twenty minutes of lecture, she changed the topic of discussion. “We will also be examining gender. Do any of you know what ‘transgender’ means?”

On of the boys, with a silly grin, answered her, “That’s when boys turn into sissies.”

His answer was met with disapproval by Ms. Birch, and she launched into a diatribe on gender discrimination. While I full well knew the ins and outs of being transgendered, I kept my peace. I figured out that she disapproved of me and the way I was dressed, and I didn’t want her to start on me. But she did.

“Ms., ah,” she paused as she looked at the attendance list, “ah, Cleary, you’re all dressed up. Are you trying to fit into the stereotype that men have set for women?”

I just had to answer this challenge. “No,” I said, “I’m dressed this way as a sign of respect for the faculty of this college. I took the time to look this way because I respect the faculty’s position.”

Ms. Birch didn’t respond to what I said, but returned to her question of the meaning of transgendered. “I don’t suppose that you have any idea of what ‘transgendered’ means, do you?” she challenged.

I was beginning to get offended with Ms. Birch, but rather than telling the truth, I came up with a snotty response. “I hope to learn that by taking this class,” I said. Ms. Birch did not respond.

I considered dropping this class, but decided that I would ‘gut’ it out. I also decided that I would dress down for subsequent classes, not that it would do any good, because I felt that her opinion of me would not change. I wondered what she would think if she knew the truth about me.

At dinner that evening, my Aunt and Gloria were interested in how my first day of classes had been. “I don’t see any problems with the business and accounting classes,” I said, “but I am a little concerned about the gender studies class.”

“Why is that?” my Aunt asked/

“The instructor, a Ms. Birch, seems to have taken an instant dislike of me, just because of the way I was dressed,” and I recounted what had occurred in the class.

“You know, I think that Angela from the society knows Ms. Birch,” Gloria observed, “From what I heard, Ms. Birch likes to champion the rights of gay, lesbian, and transgendered people.”

* * *

The next meeting of the society was interesting. First, Teri was there, and renewed her interest in me, much to the disapproval of Gloria. Second, Angela had asked me to do a short presentation on how to change names and gender identity or markers on drivers’ licenses, birth certificates and the like. My Aunt’s attorney had graciously helped me in this endeavor, and told me how to do a name change. Angela asked me if I was ready for my presentation that evening. I assured her that I was. “Keep it short,” Angela requested, “because we have a guest speaker this evening. Her topic is discrimination against trans people.” Angela paused and looked around the room. “I don’t see her,” she said, “I hope that she will make it. ”

She did.

It was Ms. Birch.

Oh shit!

Because I was making a presentation, I wore a blue dress with a full skirt, gathered at the waist, along with nylons, garter belt and heels. After Angela opened the meeting she asked me to come up and give my presentation and said, “Peggy is one of our newer members and has some information which all of us will find useful.” What happened then was priceless, When Ms. Birch saw me, her mouth dropped open in surprise, accompanied with a look of astonishment on her face. It caused me to smile.

I gave my presentation, and then Angela introduced Ms. Birch as a faculty member at Dalton Community and an activist for transgendered rights. When Ms. Birch stood up and began to speak she fumbled her words at first, all the time staring at me. To her credit, she quickly recovered and delivered what I thought was a well presented and though out presentation.

After the formal part of the meeting, most of the members stayed to talk with each other. Many of the members complimented me on my presentation. I could see Ms. Birch talking with another group, all the time casting glances at me. When she was free, she came over to me. “Seeing you here was a surprise. Seeing you in class, I would never have guessed. You are, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I am,” I said, “that is why I am interested in amending my birth certificate and drivers’ license. Right now they identify me as ‘Jason,’ a male. I’m always concerned that the cops will pull me over, and when they see my drivers’ license I will be subject to some unpleasant discrimination by the police because I am transgendered.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Ms. Birch replied, “but it is a good point. I’d like to incorporate that in my course materials.” She paused. “You seem to be well informed. What to you hope to get out of my class?”

“There’s a lot of misinformation out there. I’m sure that you have researched what you say, and what you say will be the truth. For obvious reasons, I am interested in what I will get out of the course,” I responded.

“I can’t get over how feminine you look,” she said.

“Well, isn’t that one of the goals? To look as feminine as possible?” I responded.

“Maybe, but you take it to a new level,” she said with a smile.

“Do boys hit on you?” she asked.

“They do. Actually, it’s kind of flattering,” I said.

“Did you ever hit on girls as Jason?” she asked.

“Sure, and now I know how obnoxious I was at times. You know, I should write a book called ‘How to, and how not to, pick up girls: a primer on what works,’ except the boys who need it the most probably wouldn’t, or couldn’t, read it,” I said with a smile.

“How about girls?” she responded, “do they ever hit on you as Peggy?”

“On occasion,” I answered.

“How do you deal with that?” she asked.

“I tell them that I have a large and jealous boy friend.”

* * *

Gloria was busy with Angela when Teri walked over. “Hi, I hoped to see you here. By the way, a great presentation. Still have the same boyfriend, and is he still away at college?”

“Same boyfriend and still away at college,” I answered.

“Want to go out sometime?” Teri asked.

“As Teri or as Terrence?” I asked for clarification.

“Either way that turns your crank,” Teri responded with the hint of a leer.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.