Parents - Part One

Believe it or not, setting the date to get married was was the easy part.

I haven't mentioned that while all this was going on, I was still making regular phone calls to my parents - highly censored calls I might point out. Since neither I or my parents had any idea I would end up as a female, none of us had considered what announcing I was a transsexual would be like. After all, even I had a hard time believing it.

The first hint was when my mother asked if I had a sore throat, my voice didn't sound quite right. Little did she know that my voice box had morphed with the rest of my body and I now had a distinctly alto range. I put her off, but I'm sure you realize how ineffective lying to your mother is.

The next week there was no hiding my almost-soprano range, but since I had just learned the word 'transgender' I didn't have a clue what to say. I told her that there was something major happening that I didn't quite understand yet.

Ain't that the truth!

Week three I asked if she had ever wanted another daughter, but since I already had two sisters she thought she had a full quota. When I told her that might be changing she was confused. I left it that I had discovered some things about myself that would mean big changes in my life.

She was skeptical, I was evasive.

By week four I knew we had created a new life together and I was going to be a mother. There was no help for it - I had read several transition stories by then and came out as female to my parents.

They was skeptical, I was no longer evasive. Vonda was affectionate. I needed that.

The next week, after we had set the date, we tried a video call. My parents knew it was me because they knew my phone number. They certainly didn't know my image. I tried to dress down and not too show much cleavage, but there was no doubt that I had breasts. The look on my mother's face was priceless, the look on my father's face was partway between shock and the typical male reaction to my tits. He was having almost as hard a time as I was.

Vonda was a hit and had an easier time of it than their wayward daughter.

I was ready to drive the 200 miles to their home, but they wanted to see my new place. Being retired they had a lot more free time so we were happy to agree.

Neither of us were ready to talk about our family ghost.

Parents - Part Two

Before we could come to our senses after hanging up on my parents, Vonda grabbed her purse and told me to take mine. It was time to go meet her parents.

Not even the insulation of a video call since they lived in town. She hadn't told them we were an item yet, but if they lived in town, they would hardly have missed the gossip.

Harold, her slightly breathless father answered.

"Sorry katzele, I was out back. How are you doing?"

"Floating on cloud nine, dad. There's someone I want you to meet."

"You mean your friend that bought the haunted house that everyone's been talking about?"

"More than a friend, dad. Go get Mom, we should tell you both at the same time."

"You're smiling so it can't be bad news."

"Save the fishing for the next trip to the lake. Get Mom."

I should know that stereotypes are nonsense, especially after my sudden gender change, but I had a vision of a Jewish mother as a gray-haired lady with a nasal New York accent and ample bosom, stirring a pot of soup while screaming at her kids from across the house. I blame television.

I blame myself, because I realized suddenly that I was about to marry a Jewish mother in a few weeks and she certainly didn't look like that stereotype.

"OK, you got us both now. What’s the news.

"Glenda, this is my Mom Hannah, you already met Dad. Mom, Dad, I want you both to meet the woman I'm going to marry."

Talk about dropping a bomb.

"Vonda, you shouldn't make jokes like that, I have a bad heart."

"No joke, Dad. We came over to invite you to the wedding. Seriously."

"We are serious, Mr Brayley," I added.

"Oi vey! I should have known you would have a wedding like no other."

"On all other nights we marry men so why do we marry a woman on this night?"

"Vonda! Please!"

(If you aren't Jewish you may not get the joke. An important part of the Passover Seder is asking questions like 'on all other nights we eat xxx but on this night we eat only yyy.' Vonda was skating on the edge of the sacrilegious. I wasn't getting only a fast education in how to be a woman from Vonda.)

"Sorry, Mom. It's true, we are getting married a month from now."

"So fast! What's the rush?"

"You can't be pregnant again, can you?" asked her father.

"I certainly can be pregnant."

Dead silence. On both ends. We hadn't planned on this.

"Vonda, we need to drop the other shoe."

"I suppose so. Glenda is the father, she's transgendered." Not strictly true, but who would believe the real story?

More silence. Then a nasal New York accent. "I work I slave. I scrape my fingers to the bone to raise a good daughter. All I ask is she marries a Nice Jewish Boy who is going to be a doctor and what do I get? A goy who don't know a yingl from a meydl."

They all broke up but I didn't get the joke.

"Yingl is Yiddish for boy and Meydl is a girl," my love told me. "And my mother is a lousy comedian."

"All right, children. Sit down and tell us all about it."

So we tried to explain. How successful we were is an open question, but at least Vonda wasn't disowned.

We were still keeping mum about Mrs Major.

The Crew Boss

Even though our personal lives were in complete disarray there was still work to be done. For Vonda it meant finishing those iron gates, for me it meant clearing the house of over a century of stuff.

Some of the stuff was worth keeping, some of the stuff was worth selling, some of the stuff was worth nothing. It took two days for the antique guys to make recommendations and another two days to pack and remove what was going to be auctioned.

Once the clutter was reduced we could begin things like refinishing the woodwork and floors and putting up some wallpaper that didn't look so godawful ugly. The house was structurally sound and I wasn't going to be moving walls or putting up additions, who needs more than nine bedrooms and six baths?

I had a tentative schedule in my head for what was to be done and when to do it, but Mrs Major's ministrations, not to mention a wedding, had blown it all to hell. We wanted to be married in our home, hoping that Mrs Major would approve and leave us alone since we were going along with her plans.

The living room and parlor were first on the agenda so we had space for the wedding, but suddenly my parents were going to need a bedroom. Flexible, they tell me a successful contractor is flexible. Successful contracting crews are not flexible; they are often booked well in advance since they do superior work.

I called in some favors and had some luck, managing to get five guys I had worked with before to make the trip to the boondocks and remodel a bedroom for my parents, then start in on the downstairs. No - make that five guys who had worked with Glen before. I gave Bud a cryptic heads up that I was no longer the man I used to be, but didn't want to give him the whole story until they were safely arrived in town.

Once Bud was on board I took Vonda's recommendation for a cleaning service to do enough with five of the bedrooms so that the crew had somewhere to sleep. That led to the discovery that moths had gotten into the linens and they would all need to be replaced. Sometimes it never ends. That construction loan was getting tapped far faster than I had planned. For that matter, I was beginning to suspect I was not going to be flipping this place but making it our home. Maybe start a Bed & Breakfast and offer ghost tours?

My first meeting with the crew confirmed my suspicion that having D cup boobs on my body would be a challenge. Construction guys aren't known for their extreme respect for woman, shall we say. Construction guys aren't all that familiar with the word transgender either.

Construction guys do like money and I was paying premium rates for a fast turnover. They swarmed in the room and went to work, before the day was out the wallpaper was stripped, the wood prepared for finishing and the plaster cracks filled. The bathroom fixtures were replaced with the new ones I had bought and the iffy plumbing replaced. I only had to slap Stan once when he got fresh and grabbed my ass. At least he was smart enough not to cop a feel or he might have met Doctor Christa under less than ideal conditions.

The following day Vonda and her mother took the pickup to the county seat to find a new mattresses and linens. We would be using the best of the furniture that came with the place in that room. Meanwhile they guys started priming and refinishing, somehow dancing around each other to get the job done in record time.

Me? I started to put all the books and curios in boxes, preparing to do the work on the living room and the parlour. Harold, Vonda's Dad was there to help. Conversation was a little stilted at first, but eventually we found enough in common to get to know each other.

I may now have a woman's body, but Mrs Major seems to have been satisfied not to monkey with my arm and leg strength. I could still move boxes of books almost as well as before my transformation. Those darn boobs do get in the way, though.

By Friday the bedroom was ready and the action shifted to the site of the wedding. Much more detail work had to be done in the formal rooms, but they were in far better shape than the bedrooms that had sat untenanted for decades.

Naturally, my parents arrived in the middle of the chaos with Bill on stilts plastering cracks in the ceiling, Sam and Charlie filling in cracks in the shelving with wood putty and Steve stripping wallpaper. They had to pound on the door since someone had removed the doorbell to gain access to the wiring. I was in the office/library playing with the ancient computer that had come with the place. Good thing the previous people hadn't bothered with passwords and apparently didn't do online banking and such. At least the wireless and cable had been installed so I could use my laptop again.

"Hey Glenda!" came a shout. "Someone to see you."

"Hi Mom, Hi Dad," I said into the sudden silence. The stupid buggers had stopped work, knowing just what was going to happen.

Sure wish I knew what was going to happen.

"Like the new place? Like the new me?"

"I was sure you were setting up some elaborate joke when you were so obscure on the phone. Just what the hell have you been doing?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"But… but… Are those real?" asked my mother.

"100% pure home grown. They just got a little more enthusiastic that I was hoping for."

"Little?"

Wait until you meet my wife-to-be. She's hiding in her studio to escape the crew here. Let me show you your room and we can go over and meet her."

"She wouldn't have anything in the line of adult beverages, would she?"

"I can offer you some white wine, I've developed a taste for it lately." Damn it hurt to say that deadpan.

"This, uh, change is more than skin deep, then?" said Mom with a grin.

"Deep as it gets. Vonda can supply you with scotch if white wine doesn't do the job."

"Then she's the girl I want to meet. I guess you're the girl I had to meet."

"Believe me, I've been putting it off as long as I could. Come on upstairs."

My poor parents. First a son becomes a daughter with no warning, then walking in on a Valkyrie of a daughter-in-law high on a ladder wielding a welding torch. I could hardly wait to introduce them to Darth Vader this evening, but we had taken the secret passage between the properties.

That was our first joint project - a bit of work with a chain saw, weld a gate in the fence-line and no more having to go the long way around. We made it wide enough to accommodate a golf cart in case we needed to move larger art objects in the future.

We gave them the three-dollar-tour of the studio, with bonus viewing of her old house. Mom and I shared a white wine while Dad joined Vonda in some single-malt scotch. To each his own.

My father raised his glass and proposed a toast: To a long and happy marriage for our children and to the first of many grandchildren for the grandparents!"

That let the cat out of the bag. We hadn't found time to tell my parents that there was a bundle of joy on the way.

"You don't mean…" asked my father.

"I'm about two months along," Vonda replied.

"Oh, my!" That was Mom.

That caused a necessary delay before we once more we went through the official story of how I ended up like this, trying to give them time to take it all in.

Actually, it didn't go all that badly, after all I grew up in their house and they knew in their very marrow that I was a nutcase.

Vonda and I took our parents out for dinner at the Cowboy Steakhouse, really the only place in town that offered an attempt at a fancy meal. Mom laughed that Vonda and I chose the T-bone steak. I may have been a woman but I hadn't lost my taste for steak and baked potatoes. Mom and Dad had the broiled trout, Vonda's Mom the chicken Marsala and her Dad the pork chops. Something to everyone's taste.

As we relaxed over cheesecake my mother innocently asked what dresses we had selected for the wedding.

So OK, I had been on the dark side barely a month. Thanks to our spectral shopper I had yet to invade a changing booth in any store. While Vonda was one hell of a woman, she was not the type to dither and fuss over clothes. We both had loads of work on our plates and had been taken by surprise with the need for a wedding. So no, we hadn't given a thought to what we would wear.

We barely escaped with our dignity intact. No wedding dress with only weeks to the wedding? Unthinkable! Further distress was evident in that we had opted to simply call those few people we we wanted to be there and had not so much as designed a card or contacted a caterer.

We had, however, arranged someone to do the ceremony. Actually it was one of Vonda's ex-boyfriends who was ordained in one of those oddball churches that spring up like toadstools. Much to the dismay of the conservative Calivaris County officials he was duly accredited to perform marriages - at least after his lawyer brother put the fear of his oddball god into them if they refused because they didn't consider his theology good enough.

When we had been well and truly scolded about our lack of respect for traditional wedding apparel, the question of groomsmen and bridesmaids came up. Noting the lack of a groom, we had opted to dispense with the groomsmen. Vonda's best friend in High School had pledged to be her maid of honor, but that was twelve years ago and the girlfriend was now living in Alaska. Scratch the maid of honor. We were down to the essentials: bride, bride, officiant.

Like hell we were! Our mothers were incensed. Our fathers were amused. Our sisters were soon on the other end of parental cell phones and commanded to fill the bill. Since my younger sister was stationed in Japan with her sailor husband, she would not be able to attend. That left Carol to get the call.

As you might imagine, my sister was thoroughly confused, having not the slightest idea that she had another sister or that sister was getting married. I've always wondered just what the nearby diners thought of the competing conversations as our mothers fixed us up with matrons of honor.

This whole scene did much to cement my reputation as the dizzy broad who bought the old pile of bricks just outside of town. Since the family name changed with every generation, the place never got a picturesque name like 'The Old Picadilly Place' or 'The Old Mason mansion.'

By the end of the meal we were ready to elope.