The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2368 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The young man seemed transfixed by the pill then he burst into tears, “I don’t know what to do,” he sobbed.

“What d’you feel you need to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, what d’you want to do?”

“I’m not even sure about that.”

“So how did the vice principal get involved?”

“My marks were falling.”

“And you disclosed it in a tutorial?”

“Yes—was that a mistake?”

“I don’t know—probably not as the university has a policy about equality and diversity, so if you decide to swap over, it’s obliged to support you. The problem is, once you do, it’s pretty well irrevocable.”

“So what do I do, take your pill?”

“There is no magic pill, I just wanted to see your response to it so I could try and gauge where you were.”

“Where I was? I don’t understand.”

“If you gone for the pill, then offering support for your transition would have been wrong because it would be something you either didn’t wish to do or weren’t ready to do. That you didn’t, means you’re contemplating transitioning, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, I thought I was but when I see beautiful women like you, I know I’d be wasting my time.”

“I don’t look very beautiful when the baby wakes me up in the middle of the night, neither do I feel very beautiful.”

“I feel so jealous of you for being able to have babies, I’d give my left arm to be able to get pregnant.”

“How would you carry a baby with just one arm?”

“Eh?”

“You said you’d give your left arm to have babies.”

“It’s fantasy, isn’t it. I’ll never be a mother like you obviously are.”

“I’m not sure comparing yourself to me is really helping things is it? To compete with me you’d have to go some, and I mean some. So let’s keep this relevant, shall we?”

“Okay.”

“Are you seeing a gender specialist?”

“Um—not yet.”

“Have you spoken to your own doctor?”

“Not directly.”

What is it with people today, they seem to have less idea than ever?

“Well I think that might be a good idea. Have you spoken to student health?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well you need to do that too.”

He looked at the floor and tears dripped off his nose.

“Are you really transgender?”

“Yes, I think I am.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Carl or Carly, which ever you prefer, I’m not rejecting you or giving you the brush off because I’m not, however, I can’t really do very much until you have some idea of where you want to go. I usually help with things like appearance and presentation.”

“Where do I start?”

“Have you not done any reading on transitioning or on transgenderism or transsexualism?”

“Um—not really.”

“I suggest you do, then come back and see me when you know what you want to do.”

He seemed to be playing with something on his jacket—was it a microphone? I began to wonder if he was with some anti tg group, usually religious but not always. Was I being set up? If so what for or why? Was he actually a real student or a plant?

Whatever he was I needed rid of him so I could do my own researches.

“Right, Carl, I don’t think I can do anything more to help you until you know what you want to do and have registered with a gender clinic or specialist in gender medicine. You also need to speak with student health. Okay?”

“So you’re not going to help me change sex?”

“No, I’m a biologist, you need to speak to people with more idea than I have.”

“But they said you were an expert on it.”

“I think they mislead you whoever they were.”

“But they said.”

“Did they?”

“Yes, the vice principal did.”

“Other than being a sympathetic ear, I can’t do anything else.”

“They said you could arrange a sex change for me.”

“They were mistaken, I deal with ecology not sexuality issues.”

“So why won’t you help me?”

“Shall we ask the vice principal why he sent you to me?”

“To help me change sex.”

This guy felt more like a plant by the moment.

“I don’t think so.”

I picked up the phone and he said loudly, “So you won’t help me?”

“I think you’d better leave, don’t you?”

It took several minutes to get him out of my office whereupon I called the vice principal’s secretary. They had no knowledge of any such referral or even of such a student. It was a set up. They immediately set up an enquiry as to how the man had got into the building. Thank goodness I hadn’t disclosed anything useful about me or anyone else.

I called security but he’d long gone. I then spoke to Tom, who told me to go home. Just what was going on? I did go home and rather than go straight there I went via a tortuous route so no one would follow me. I had no idea why anyone would be investigating me or who they’d be. It looked like a tabloid but which one and why?