Totally Insane 23–Delectations.
by Angharad

As I took my leave from Gemma’s, she and her parents came to see me off. Mum had arrived and while she’d been drinking coffee with Gem’s parents Gemma handed me a book. “I think you’ll enjoy this, it’s right up your street.”

Expecting it to a be history of locks and locksmithing, or something similar, I took it. It made me squirm when I looked at the title, Boy2Girl by Terence Blacker. I hastily shoved it in my bag and mumbled thanks.

“Kylie’s a remarkable girl,” we heard Mr Smith saying as we went towards the kitchen.

“Yes, she is,” said my mother obviously trying not to have to explain her agreement.

“She fixed the door lock, opened the desk drawer which had jammed and opened one of the other girls’ suitcase locks.”

“Yes, she’s always had this fascination with locks–I don’t know where she gets it from, although my father always enjoyed fiddling with machines and cars.”

“Is he an engineer?” Mr Smith asked.

“No, he’s a vicar.” After Mummy spoke there was an embarrassed silence, then polite laughter.

“Is your granddad a vicar?” whispered Gemma, sounding surprised.

“Yes, why?” To me it seemed perfectly natural; wasn’t everyone’s?

“Nuthin, just didn’t know.”

“He’s nice, you’d like him, my Nan’s nice, too.”

“Weird, does he like, accept you as a girl?”

“Yeah, no probs–they bought me loads of stuff, including these boots.”

“Kewl.”

“Is that you, Kylie?”

“Yes, Mummy,” Gemma and I walked into the kitchen and sort of joined in the conversation.

“Are you ready?” she asked me.

“Yeah, I s’pose.”

“Well thank Mr and Mrs Smith for having you.”

I blushed, I’d already thanked them once, but I suppose courtesy is never in large enough quantities. “Thanks for having me, it was a brill party, and the food was excellent.”

“Thank you for coming, Kylie.” Mrs Smith bent down and we air kissed at each cheek, “Come over whenever you like.”

“Like, thanks.” I said and blushed some more.

Mr Smith bent down and hugged me, “You’re a remarkable girl, Kylie, if I have any other locking devices I need help with–I know where to come. Thank you for saving the party.” He kissed me on the cheek, and I blushed even more. Unable to speak with embarrassment, I just nodded my acknowledgement.

Gemma and I hugged and air kissed, and she squeezed my hand–a conspiratorial gesture–she knew something her parents didn’t. “See ya,” she said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Come on, girl,” urged my mother, “You’re cooking dinner, remember?”
I yawned and shook my head, I’d completely forgotten.

On the way home, my mother asked, “Do you know where Brian went last night?”

“Like, how should I?” I replied.

“We heard him come back at four this morning.”

“Visiting with other trolls?” I suggested, while laughing inside.

“I think your father needs a little chat with that boy.”

“He’s alright really, Mummy.”

She stopped the car and felt my forehead with the back of her hand. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

I yawned, “Yeah, why?”

“Hmm, what are you two up to?”

“Huh?” I replied. She continued driving and shaking her head, muttering to herself.

Just before we arrived home, I asked her, “Mummy, if Gramps is a vicar, how come we never go to church?”

She blushed, “We can go if you want, except it’s too late today, unless you want to go to evensong?”

“I just wondered.”

“He brought us up to choose for ourselves, we choose not to go unless of course, I’m at home with them. Your daddy and I, made a similar decision with you two. When you’re old enough to choose if you want to go to church, or take some other religious path, you can.”

“I think I’ll be a muslin, I fancy those nice headscarves.” The car stopped abruptly again.

“The word is, Muslim, and the head scarf is a khimar, unless you mean a hijab or a burkah, which is the dress thing which covers them up completely, except for the eye slit.”

“I think Brian would look good in one of those,” I said blithely and Mummy let out a loud snort.

“It would hide those ridiculous jeans he wears with the crotch around his ankles.” She glanced at me and we both laughed. Poor Brian.

Back at home, while Brian caught up on his beauty sleep and Daddy read the Sunday papers, Mummy and I got the dinner on. I did it all, she just told me what to do. Part of me enjoyed it, I was spending time with Mummy which I loved, and she seemed to enjoy it too–which was special. Being a daughter had its compensations.

We rubbed the lamb with honey and pushed little cloves of garlic inside small snicks in the skin. Then we put it in a hot oven. After this we did the roasties and other veg. Mummy likes parsnips, I think they taste awful, so does Daddy. I mean he thinks they are ‘orrible, too. Brian quite likes them, so we did enough for him and Mummy. They were to be roasted and some grated cheese sprinkled over them. Yuck, cheesy yuck.

I thought glazing was something to do with windows, and I don’t mean that useless computer stuff–according to Mummy, it applies to carrots as well. You learn something new every day.

Something I already knew was how to cut melon into bits, but no, we had to use this scoop thingy to make melon balls–so I learned something else new. My brain was in danger of definite overload. I yawned to communicate its impending shutdown, but Mummy wasn’t having any of it.

“Come on, sleepyhead, you don’t get sympathy for staying up all night and telling each other scary stories.”

How does she know? She went on to tell me. “Remember, I was a girl, as well.”

“Did you have sleepovers and things?”

“Yes, Kylie, we did–I might be old but they had invented sleeping bags when I was young. I had a nice pink paisley one–until the dinosaurs ate it.”

“Nice,” I said as I was beating the sponge mix. “Dinosaurs?”

“You are sleepy, today, aren’t you?” She gave me a little hug and then poured the fruit puree into the dish and I put the sponge mix on top.

While everything was cooking I sat at the kitchen table and I must have fallen asleep because Mummy shook my arm and said, “Kylie, lay the table, sweetheart, and then come and finish the dinner.” I looked up at her and wondered where I was. “Table–it needs laying, you know cutlery–those metal things we eat with. Come on, girl, wake up.” There were downsides to this mother daughter business too. Brian was still in the land of nod, probably dreaming of the nasty things he could do with the photos he’d taken. Here was I, a mere slave in the hot kitchen, not even allowed to rest when I felt knackered. I think I shall become a member of parliament and improve things for girls–bloody boys, they get spoiled. If I hadn’t been so tired, I might have wondered if I’d made a mistake, but if I had, then so had everybody else, including Dr Shrinkwinkle or whatever her name was.

Daddy seemed impressed with the meal, Brian was happily stuffing until my mother mentioned that I’d prepared everything–then he pretended to be sick. Daddy gave him one of his glares, and Brian blushed and behaved himself.

Mummy and I cleared up, and went to sit down and read this book, I was intrigued by it, Boy2Girl. However, I didn’t even get past the first couple of pages before I was asleep. The problem with that was, when I went to bed, although tired, I couldn’t sleep. I was still awake when my parents went to bed. I lay there getting more and more cross, then in desperation, I picked up my book again. If it could send me to sleep once, it might do it again.

That wasn’t to be the case, it was a marvellous story that I didn’t want to stop reading. In the end, I did go to sleep, but only because I couldn’t stay awake to read any longer.

I was probably a bit dopey the next day too. I had to go and see Dr Wassername, the shrink. For a change my appointment was in the morning. Daddy took me, his time is a little more flexible some days than Mummy, who would have to take time off.

Dr Thingamabob, invited us in together. “Kylie, Mr Mosse, do come in. So I can’t be accused of talking to you in secret, I’d just like to hear what your dad thinks of having a daughter.”

My father–who is rarely lost for words–was lost for words. He blushed and spluttered. Eventually, he managed to splutter, “It’s fine, she’s doing really well.”

“Yes, I’m sure she is, but how do you feel about it?”

“It was a bit of a surprise, but she’s still my child, boy or girl, I love her and will always do my best for her.” He was really embarrassed, but he made me feel choked, he’s a splendid dad.

“So it makes no difference to you if she’s a girl or a boy?”

“One or the other, it makes no difference. If she was switching to and fro, I might have more trouble. She reads these books we got through the internet, about some kid called Gaby or Drew. He’s always switching back and fore, and although his dad copes, I don’t know if I could.”

“You would, Daddy,” I said sending him lots of love.

“But it’s not going to happen is it? She’s transgendered, so she’s going to stay as a girl, isn’t she?” I nodded frantically at Daddy to encourage him.

“I don’t know, Mr Mosse, sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t and sometimes they do and don’t.” Daddy looked alarmed at this summary from Dr Schlessinger. “It’s a huge decision to make, and once we start hormone therapy, things become less reversible, but as a pharmacist, you’d perhaps know that better than me.”

“When can I start hormones?” I asked.

My father glared at me, and Dr Schlessinger gestured for me to be quiet. “How do you feel about that?” she asked him.

“I’d have preferred to have a normal boy or girl, but if it takes hormones and surgery to make her feel whole, I’m okay with it. What worries me is if she were to change her mind after the event.”

“I won’t, can I have hormones and the operation, like now?”

“Kylie, don’t be silly,” chided my father.

“I’m not, “ I pouted and then felt the tears come. He didn’t tell me off very often these days, one of the advantages of girlhood–the downside was, when he did, I always cried, and got very upset.

They waited until I stopped crying, Dr Andrea handed me some tissues and a drink of water, mainly because I’d given myself hiccups. They did stop eventually.

Daddy was invited to stay if I agreed to it. I did of course and he was surprised, he’d preferred to have waited out in the waiting room or car, partly because he didn’t like doctors and partly because he could have used his laptop and done some work.

“I take it you still want hormones?”

“Yes I do, I want real breasts, not these fake things.”

“Kylie, you are only eleven, many girls don’t start breast development until or after that age. You are still quite young.”

“Okay, do the op then.” I challenged her. My father’s eyes nearly popped out.

“You know we don’t do that until you’re eighteen.”

“They do in Germany, Kim wassername just had it done at sixteen.”

“That’s a bit older than eleven, Kylie.”

“So, I’m just mature for my age.”

“Not that mature,” said Dr Schlessinger, her eyes twinkling.

“I suppose you’re gonna tell me that real girls don’t have vaginas until they’re eighteen?”

“Kylie, you apologise to Dr Schlessinger, this minute. I won’t have this insolence.”

“I’m sorry, Dr Andrea,” I said before once again bursting into tears. Once again, they waited for me to calm down.

“Kylie, there are two very good reasons for not doing the operation too young. Firstly, you could change your mind, youngsters often do. Secondly, the vaginal tissue after surgery contains scar tissue, which doesn’t grow or stretch, but the rest of you does, so you’d need to have further surgical adjustments every so often. That wouldn’t be very desirable now, would it?”

“No, I’m sorry, Dr Schlessinger.”

“You are still very young, and you are on anti-androgens, you have all your life ahead of you. I’ll make a deal with you, if you still want hormones after you have lived without problems for a whole year, then I might prescribe some for you. How’s that?”

“A whole year?” I gasped, “That’s like…”

“Three hundred and sixty five days,” said Daddy.

“A lifetime,” I said changing my mind from what I was going to say, because I was going to swear.

“It’s my best offer, I’m afraid, Kylie, I have seen dozens of children in your position, boys who make quite presentable girls and the odd girl who seemed more boy than most of the young males I know. I’ve seen them absolutely adamant that they want surgery and hormones, just like you do and then a year or so along, they change their minds and revert back to their previous gender. So you can see we have to be so careful. It isn’t as dangerous for boys, because until they’ve been on hormones for some time, the changes are reversible, but for biological girls, having a deep voice and facial hair start, it could be rather a problem if they want to change back.”

“But I know I won’t, I want to be a girl, like for always.” I felt my frustration well up inside me and more tears fell, “Why don’t you believe me?”

“I do believe you, Kylie, I just don’t want to make any mistakes. You’re a lovely young woman and I do believe you will finally transition into a full woman as you grow up, however, we do have some guidelines and I have to stick by them. Even giving you hormones in a year is putting myself in possible danger.”

She put her hand on my shoulder, “At your age, sweetie, nothing can happen fast enough, when you grow up, sometimes you’ll find they happen too quickly for comfort, eh, Mr Mosse?”

“Absolutely,” he said nodding.

“Also, in a year’s time, I shall know you much better and you’ll know yourself a lot more as well. Let’s face it, Kylie, you haven’t lived as a girl for more than a few weeks, have you?”

“No, doctor.” When she said it like that, my earlier outburst seemed rather stupid.

“So, I’d like to see how you cope with going to school as a girl and mixing with other girls.”

“Okay, I s’pose I can wait,” I said sulkily.

“You don’t have much choice, do you?” said the good doctor.

“No, I s’pose not, but it isn’t fair.”

“Kylie, don’t keep on,” asserted my father.

“But if I had an illness, Dr Andrea wouldn’t hold back the pills then, would she?”

“That’s a very good point, Kylie. Do you see your situation as an illness?”

“No, course not, I don’t feel ill or anything.”

“So it isn’t an illness?”

“No.”

“More a lifestyle choice?”

“Erm, I don’t know what you mean?”

“You prefer to live as a girl and have people treat you as such?”

“Erm, yeah, I s’pose so. Yeah, course I do, I am a girl.”

“So it’s about identity and lifestyle?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I felt she was trying to trip me up, which was unusual, normally I thought of her as on my side.

“So, if it’s not an illness, but more a question of identity and lifestyle choice, why are you seeing a doctor?”

What could I say? I didn’t really understand what she was saying, I felt betrayed, I didn’t feel ill until just now, and now I felt awful, like I wanted to die. I burst into tears, she put out her hand to comfort me and I stepped away from her, I didn’t want her near me.

“Sorry, Kylie, I had to show you that you aren’t as grown up as you think. There are all sorts of pitfalls along the way. I didn’t mean to upset you, but you need to understand that none of this is straightforward, everyone of my child patients feels slightly different about their situation or themselves. So I have to have some rules that keep me on the straight and narrow.

“To answer my own question, there is no answer which is right or wrong. Some people think it’s a lifestyle choice, some think it’s a medical condition, and for that reason it gets into a large book called the DSM —iv, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of the American Psychiatric Association. It happens to be a very influential book and thus affects the way medical services in this country deal with transgenderism. Do you understand me?”

I didn’t, nor did I trust her anymore. She was there to catch me out. I shook my head. Dr Shrinkwhatever looked at Daddy. “I’ll explain it when we get home, kiddo. Okay?” I nodded to him, tears were still rolling down my face.

“I suppose you don’t feel like coming again, do you?”

I shrugged and then shook my head, no. “I hope you will, because, you make a very passable female, and I do believe you in that you do think you are really a girl. If you still feel the same in a year’s time, we can talk about the hormones again. Is that okay?”

I nodded, but I was no longer listening, I wanted to go home and cry and cry.

“Will you come and see me again?” asked the doctor. I shrugged. She looked at my daddy, who nodded. “Two weeks?” He nodded again. “There will be no more nasty surprises, I promise you.” Her words fell on stony ground, I was no longer listening and no longer wanted to be there. Daddy put his arm around me, and I clung to him all the way back to the car.

This text has been duly Gabified, or was it edified? Oh maybe it was edited, yeah that's the word. Diolch Gabs. Thanks to Tricia P for recommending Boy2Girl which I thoroughly enjoyed reading.