Photo by Andrew Gaines on Unsplash

1 - Home Sweet Home

I 'celebrated' my fifty-fifth birthday in Savannah Georgia, all alone in a motel room. Being there wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it meant I was employed. That was actually a good thing; you see I am, or was, an engineer and industrial programmer. That means I sat at a computer and designed things like assembly lines or machines that built things, then wrote the programming. Once that was done I drove mile after mile to fix problems that the came up when the machine was actually installed. I got paid pretty good money for doing that and I loved the work, but it could get lonely.

On my special day I was pleased to get calls from both of my daughters, not to mention my ex-wife. She had a hard time coping with being lonely while I was working late or on the road, so we didn't make it together. Unlike many of the people I know, we didn't end up hating each other and remain friendly. But what made this day special was it was my last day of work before I retired.
Retired, you ask? At fifty-five?
Yup!
You see, about ten years ago I came up with a way to make a certain widget faster and cheaper than anyone else had, and I patented it. That gave me a modest but reliable income that, along with my savings, was going to let me retire.
I had lived - when I was actually "home" - in a small apartment since the wife and I split, after all I spent most of my time on the road and didn't need much of a permanent base. Now retired and stationary, a place of my own, a place to settle, made sense. There was one more advantage - if you haven't guessed by now, I'm a crossdresser. Not the world's most convincing one, but I have my moments.
My closet was about to expand by leaps and bounds. Now that I could acquire a more fashionable wardrobe I needed to have a place to keep it. I wanted to be able to move more than a dozen feet before hitting a wall when I wanted to feel my skirts swinging. So I bought a house. Granted it might be considered a bigger closet, but as I had frequently ventured out in public while dressed when I was away from home, it was going to be sweet to dress whenever I wanted to.
While winding up my time as a wage slave, I found a nice split level in suburbia. I gave up my apartment, packed the few things worth keeping into a U-haul and moved. I had managed to save up a pretty good nest-egg, even if I was always depleting it by buying two separate wardrobes.
It was a great house, and I had gotten it for a very reasonable price from an older couple that had just completed a major renovation and addition. Sadly, they had been counting their chickens too soon. They had put in an addition between the family room and the kitchen to create a semi-open concept home with lots of space for family gatherings. Shortly after it was finished the husband developed heart trouble and could no longer tolerate the stairs in the place, so they had to sell it and move to a ranch house with no stairs. I bought the place, so you might say my chickens had come home to roost.
 
It had been a hectic week. The house was far larger than a single man - or woman - really needs, but I had visions of having my kids and grandkids visit; maybe even finding a woman who wasn't put off by a man in a dress. A guy, or a girl, needs to have fantasies, OK?
The place was pretty sparsely furnished when the move was done; one apartment does not a house fill. So I went shopping and did some filling of empty places.
No, I did patronize Berkshire-Hathaway or Williams-Sonora; not even Ikea. Goodwill, the Salvation Army and Craig's List were more my speed - and budget. I got to know my hometown better as my GPS gave me a tour of secondhand stores until I found enough furniture so that the new place wasn't an echo chamber. I did make one splurge and ordered a brand-new recliner/rocker which would allow me to settle back and enjoy my new digs. Nor did I neglect the dress racks, but I didn't pick up very much to add to my wardrobe - male or female.
Theoretically I was retired, but by the end of the week I had put in far in excess of forty hours on the job of fixing up my house and it was starting to shape up. I, however, was starting to resemble a puddle of overworked goo. By Friday night I had a working bedroom and all my things hung and sorted in their proper places. Moving is a lot of work and I had been eating out a lot. Since the kitchen was barely in shape to do any real cooking and the larder was bare, I decided to have one more restaurant meal - this one at a steakhouse to celebrate - before cooking for myself. I even bought a frilly apron to prove my good intentions.
On the way back from dinner I stopped at the megagrocery and stocked up on supplies so I could do my own cooking in my own kitchen. I also picked up one of those pre-made cheese and veggie plates along with some crackers and a nice bottle of wine. For my first night in my new home I was going to relax and pamper myself.
I showered, shaved, spritzed and took the time to glue on my silicone breasts, then dressed to the nines in my favorite clothing - women's clothing. It had been more than a week since I had been able to indulge, what with all the moving. Properly attired, I closed my bedroom door, descended the stairs and made my way to the family room with my e-book and my cheese and crackers.
And the wine. Don't forget the wine!
The place had been built in the seventies and the family room had a fake fireplace in it; made of real brick, but no chimney so it was just a decoration. My brand-new recliner sat facing it and it looked damned inviting.
I had decided that this was going to be my main hangout, lots of light during the day, built-in bookshelves and cabinets around the fireplace, right next to the kitchen/dining area and a perfect space to hang the few pictures I treasured. Mostly my kids growing up, a real nice one of my family just before the girls became teenagers and shied away from family photos. I also had several landscapes I had taken in my travels, my own personal art gallery.
It's a lousy picture, but the previous owners let me have this photo of how it looked when they lived there. You will soon find out why I can't just take a picture of my own to show you.

It was a welcoming room, but a touch cool in November, so I turned on the gas log in the fake fireplace that had been installed during the old owner's renovations. I swept back my skirt and settled into my easy chair with a glass of that wine I had just purchased.
Nirvana!
After a week of shopping, sweating and unpacking, I was pleased to be sitting down to contemplate the fireplace in my new home. With a sigh of satisfaction sipped the wine, nibbled the cheese and crackers and kicked back in the recliner to contemplate the universe. Pretty soon I was contemplating so carefully I was asleep.
 
In reconstructing the timeline for that evening, it appears I was in dreamland for about an hour before I woke up to an unearthly howling and the smell of smoke. Not the smoke from a backyard BBQ but smoke from my fireplace. Since the gas log was not supposed to smoke this was a problem. The yellow flames shooting out were an even bigger problem. Which explained the howling smoke detector. That's when the lights went out.
I struggled with the handle on the recliner, trying to get the dad-blamed footrest down and finally escape its embrace. Choking and coughing in the semi-darkness, I could see flames from two other places beside the fireplace and knew it was time to get out! I inched my way to the side door, which fortunately was only a few feet away, and got out into the cool night air, coughing and shedding copious tears. Damn! There went the makeup!
It took a few moments for my head to clear. I made my way to the front yard and finally reached into my bra to extract my cell phone. I know, it makes an awful lumpy breast to do it that way, but where else would I put it when wandering around the house? No pockets in that dress, you know. and the cell phone providers only give you a few seconds to answer before it stops ringing. I punched in 9-1-1 and called for the fire department.
The dispatcher was reassuring and calmed my incipient panic. She kept me on the line until the fire trucks got there. I described the situation to her and she relayed it to the trucks so they were ready when they arrived.
As I calmed down I realized she was calling me ma'am, apparently even in my distress I was using my Eileen voice. That's when I realized how I was dressed, something that had not occurred to me in my haste to get out. Not that I could do much about it since my breast forms were securely glued on and all of my clothes were in the house. I was well and truly about to come out of the closet.
Within minutes I heard sirens and then saw the flashing lights. I directed the aliens with black spacesuits, yellow tanks and bug-eyes to my side door, where the fire was quickly brought under control. I also got to meet most of my new neighbors.
Oh joy!
This was definitely not how I had envisioned my housewarming party. A little wine, some hors d'oeuvres, polite and witty conversation, the obligatory tour and most definitely not as my female self. I spent a lot of time clearing my throat and I bless the neighbor who produced a handkerchief to wipe my face and dry my eyes. I told everyone what had happened and in turn was told how was it was that Harry and Janet, the previous owners, had to leave after fixing the place up so nicely.
About that time a police car pulled up and I got to tell my story once again, omitting that my given name was - please don't laugh - Elmer. Eileen sounds so much better.
Eventually one of the aliens shed his outer skin to reveal an actual human being inside. He explained that the fire was out, but they had to chop a couple of holes in the walls where the electrical wiring had ignited. They got here soon enough that there was no structural damage, but the smoke would make the place uninhabitable until it was cleaned up. They had shut off the power and gas just in case until a professional could inspect the damage. The fire inspectors would be out tomorrow to take a look in the daylight.
I thanked all of the firefighters profusely for their efforts as they packed up and went back to the firehouse. The crowd started to disperse, leaving me standing forlorn with Pat and Tom Whiting, the couple who lived across the street. They were about my parent's age and kindly asked what I was going to do now that the excitement was over.
"I suppose I'll have to find a motel and try to get some sleep."
"But your clothes!" Pat said. "Not to be rude, but you smell like a house afire."
"And deservedly so, I guess," I replied. "I never thought I'd be glad that I keep a suitcase in my van for when I go out of town unexpectedly. At least I have something to wear that doesn't smell of smoke."
Actually I kept two suitcases in the van - one for Elmer and one for Eileen - enough for several days working out-of-town. In the chaos of moving I hadn't gotten around to unpacking them quite yet.
"We can't have that! We have a spare room, don't we Tom?" offered Pat.
"Of course we do. You're welcome to stay with us tonight. After all you've been through it wouldn't be safe for you to be driving around."
"I really couldn't…" Not as Eileen, anyway!
"Of course you can, you don't want to get your van smelling like a fire, do you?"
"Well…" I was starting to feel shaky; reaction setting in. But still… I had never been out as Eileen close up to other people who wouldn't end up hundreds of miles from me at my next stop. Then again, I was starting to smell myself.
"Get your suitcase, young woman, and you can get into the shower. You'll feel a thousand times better."
Young woman? Who was that? Well, I guess since they had maybe thirty years on me I just might appear young to them. She was right about feeling better, but a thousand times zero is still zero. Basic math, something my schoolteachers despaired of pounding into my head. It wasn't until my sophomore year that something clicked in there and it all made sense.
That happened about the same time something clicked in my head when I swiped my sister's bra and found out I liked it.
A lot.
 
I did feel better by the time I had washed the smoke smell off of my hair and body. Pat had generously supplied a garbage bag for my clothes to contain the smell and I felt like a new woman. Appropriate, since I was a new woman as far as my neighbors were concerned. It was a damned good thing I had invested in electrolysis, even if I was hesitant to go full time. With no makeup and a beard shadow I would have been in a world of hurt.
Listen to me - burned out of my new home, thrown into the public role as Eileen with no warning, mooching a bed from people I didn't know - just how could I not be in a world of hurt?
Clad in my flannel nightgown, I left the bathroom and froze in the hall. What was I thinking? I can't do this! These people are perfect strangers, they'll know I'm a fraud!
Panic is a perfectly normal reaction. Very feminine - if you're a chauvinist pig. But I was a big girl and had no urge to oink. All my life I've wanted to do this, to live as a woman. I finally get the chance and what do I do?
Panic.
I... Will… Not… Panic…
My breathing slowed, my eyes uncrossed, my feet started moving. I made my tentative appearance to find Pat and Tom waiting for me in the living room.
"Feeling better?" asked Pat.
"It's wonderful to be clean. I had no idea smoke smelled so awful."
"Not exactly a campfire in the woods. What happened?"
"I'm not sure. I was relaxing in front of the gas log and fell asleep. When I woke up the place was filled with smoke and I just got out and called 911."
"You didn't use the house phone?"
"No way! Besides, I don't have a land line. I had my cell with me."
"Smart girl!"
"Scared girl. I kept thinking about those news reports where they tell you the people died of smoke inhalation. I inhaled more smoke than I like to think about."
"Sounds like it, your voice is a bit rough."
Who would have thought of using that excuse to explain my borderline feminine voice!
"Thank you so much for letting me stay. I have no idea what the place is going to be like in the morning. My bed was delivered this afternoon and this was supposed to be my first night sleeping in my new house."
"Would you believe there was a fire in that house some years ago? Poor Harry and Janet and their kids had to live in a two bedroom motel house for more than a month while they cleaned up the damage. Everything they owned smelled like smoke."
"I'm going to worry about that tomorrow. I think I need to try and get some sleep now."
"I hope you have a good night. Don't worry about getting up tomorrow, we're retired and you can sleep in as long as you want. I'm just glad you got out safely and we are able to help out."
"I'm glad I have such wonderful neighbors. Thank you again."
"Good night, Eileen. Sweet dreams."

2 - The Morning After

Much to my surprise, I slept a solid eight hours. Strange bed? Hell, I frequently slept in strange beds on the road. Glued-on breasts? Pretty much used to that, too, if only for a few days at a time. Coping with emergencies? Just what do you think being an engineer and field tech is all about?
Coming out publicly as a woman? I've wanted to do that for a long time but didn't quite have the nerve. It was, however, one of my retirement goals. You might say I've been smoked out of the closet.
I know, I know! But I like puns and tortured jokes.
The house was quiet, so I made my way to the bathroom and took care of business. I looked in the mirror and about died - going to sleep with my hair still damp was not the wisest of choices. Not only that, but I still smelled smoke. If my hair still smelled like that, what was my nice, new house smelling like?
So I showered again and wrestled my hair into some kind of shape, then repaired to the bedroom to get dressed. Tartan skirt, wheat-toned blouse, minimal makeup, a pair of earrings that sort-of went with the outfit (not much choice in my traveling stash) and simple flats. As ready as I would ever be.
With a deep breath I made my appearance in the kitchen, to find a strange woman about my age sitting at the table doing a crossword puzzle.
"Uh, hi?" It came out about half an octave above my normal speech, but that's been my goal since I've been practicing my Eileen voice. Instant gratification, right?
Yeah, sure.
"Good morning!" my mystery woman chirped. "You must be Eileen. Sorry to hear about the fire, Mom and Dad told me all about it. They'll be back, they’re off shopping while I mind the store. Sit down, what can I get you for breakfast?"
I guess I wasn't as recovered as I thought. That torrent of words left me frozen in place. I was prepared for the nice old couple who took me in, not an enthusiastic and downright good looking woman who was so dang cheerful in the morning.
Well that. and there was something about this woman that made my heart beat a little faster.
Really?
At my age?
"Uh…"
"You need coffee. I should know better than to ask questions before a girl has her coffee."
She busied herself with the pot, giving me a short reprieve.
"Cream? Sugar?"
"Black, thank you."
"Here you go."
Heaven! I could feel the warmth as the blessed liquid entered my body. I had savored half of the cup when my body finally let go. I hadn't realized just how tense I was. A lot had happened this week, and it had taken its toll.
I sat back and finally took in my surroundings. Chief among them was the woman sitting across the table from me, looking concerned. Also looking quite fetching. Her pleasantly rounded face surrounded by a nimbus of curly brown-and-gold hair, startlingly green eyes and a well proportioned figure. An enthusiastically friendly demeanor, good sense of style with one of those Mexican embroidered blouses and a pair of bluejeans - also embroidered - and ankle-length boots.
Damn! I was attracted and just a little bit jealous. I should look so good!
"Thank you!" I offered in heartfelt gratitude. "I'm Eileen Rowan, I just bought the place across the street."
"I'm Cindy Whiting, Pat and Tom's daughter. I came over to mooch breakfast from Mom and Dad and do my laundry. I live in an apartment and the machines there suck. Some idiot dyed something blue in the washer and all my unmentionables turned blue a while back. I volunteered to hang out until you woke up so they could go to the grocery store and stock up for the week."
"Thanks. I wasn't quite sure what was going to happen. I suppose I need to go look at my place and see what the damage is."
"You need breakfast first. What's your pleasure?"
"I don't want to impose…"
"Not a problem. Mom and Dad are always helping people out. Grandma calls it 'taking in strays.' There must have been half a dozen long-term guests in this place while I was growing up."
"Maybe some toast and an egg?"
"Poached? Scrambled? Fried? Soft boiled?"
"Whatever's easiest. I need to wake up before making any major decisions.
"How about scrambled? I usually break the yolks when I try to do a fried egg anyway."
"Lovely."
Actually, I was glad the eggs weren't fried, my boobs seem to attract dripping egg yolk.
Conversation was a bit stilted at first, but it didn’t take long to relax in her company. I soon found out that she made her living as an IT expert, not a far stretch from my industrial programming experience. Well, there was one significant difference. – IT people made a lot more money than us industrial wage slaves. Don’t ask me why, that’s just the way it is. As far as I was concerned, IT work was boring, I always loved figuring out how to make a machine do what you wanted it to do, seeing some harebrained idea actually come to life as a physical object.
Since we spoke almost the same technical language, something most people I know don’t, we soon got off telling stories of monumental screw-ups on the job. Funny how that sort of story is always interesting to us technical types.
In fact, the conversation was so interesting that breakfast was long finished before I got around to thinking about my home across the street. I tried to excuse myself so I could go and check, but Cindy was eager to accompany me. Well, why not? I was beginning to like the woman.
 
One complication was immediately apparent. The weather had turned cool and my coat was in the house across the street. Even if I had it, it probably smelled like a house afire; not good. The ever-helpful Cindy offered me one of Tom's coats as she put on her own outerwear. Problem solved, at least for now.
The place didn't look too bad from the outside, but the fire had been in the back room so that wasn't too surprising.
"Hold on a minute, I need to plug my phone in to charge in the van. It's almost dead since I didn't have the charger last night."
"Good thing you have that available. Can't live without a phone these days."
"You bet - I had two of the things - one for work and one for me. Fortunately I'm no longer working so I don't have to wince whenever the work one rings on a weekend."
"Fortunately you're out of work?"
"Retired, not unemployed."
"Retired? If you're sixty-five than I'm Taylor Swift!"
"Let me hear you sing You Belong With me. Can I get tickets for your next show?"
"Are you always such a smartass?"
"It's a gift, sort of like a good singing voice. You can relax, I'm not after a job as your backup singer. I'm only fifty-five. Early retirement."
"Good thing. Nobody in their right mind would pay to hear me sing. How did you do it? There are days I would love to be retired."
"Clean living, steady work and income from a do-dad I invented. That and a damned good financial planner."
"Hell, I got the clean living part - mostly by default - I love my job and it pays well, but… Any advice on how to invent something profitable?"
"You IT types don't seem to do much with physical things like us industrial nerds."
"A good description for doing IT with a bunch of technically challenged lawyers. I'm the network guru for a law firm."
"No shit!"
"On the contrary, I deal with a whole lot of shit."
"And shit happens on the weekends."
"Not often, but it does happen. Nothing beats a panicked lawyer who can't get his case finished in time for court on Monday morning."
"Somehow I'm glad I only have to deal with screwed up machines. I never knew when I would have to up and leave town on no notice. That's why I have a suitcase in my van, which came in darn handy last night. Well, I do have to deal with the people who screw them up, but…"
"And I can't just hit my problems with a hammer and make them go away."
"Actually, neither can I. Hey! Maybe we could cut a deal, I can send you the idiots who screw up my machines and maybe your lawyers can find a way to get them to read the directions before they start pushing buttons to see what will happen."
"As soon as I find a way to train a lawyer to actually read the message on his screen before he starts clicking at random. Some people are never aware that they are doing something… I want to say stupid but that's not a word a professional would use."
"Provocative? Malicious? Inflammatory?"
"You'd make a good thesaurus."
"Nah, I do industrial programming, you would be better at word games."
"Damn! You found me out. You're going to have to swear a blood oath never to reveal the secret or there will be penalties."
"Penalties?"
"Yeah, you'd have to get your software certificates and deal with lawyers all day long."
"I promise! I promise!"
 
By the time we got to the front door I realized I had a new problem. When I ran for my life I left everything in the house. The firemen had thoughtfully locked the doors when they left, but my keys, including the spare I was going to hide somewhere in the back yard, were still in the house.
"I have a dumb question." I said to Cindy. "You wouldn't know how to pick a lock, would you?"
"Not one of my skills, but if they used the same side door as they did on my parent's place I can show you a trick I learned as a teenager."
"Do tell…"
"There were times when a girl wanted to meet her boyfriend when her parents didn't approve of him."
"No! A sweet thing like you?"
"Tell me you never snuck out of the house to meet your guy, I dare you."
Hoo boy! How do I answer that one?
"You couldn't really call me a good girl as a teenager, but I never snuck out to meet a boyfriend."
"How disappointing!"
Now, the Devil made me do it, he really did.
"I did sneak out to meet my girlfriend a few times."
That earned me a pointed look.
"It's complicated," I offered.
"So it would seem. However, getting through these cheap doors is anything but complicated."
"Too bad I didn't grow up here. I lived in an old Victorian barn with oak doors that would have done a castle proud. I always made sure I had a key with me, a habit I wish I still had."
"Not a problem."
She opened her purse, extracted a plastic card and slipped it between the door and the frame. A couple of wiggles and the door swung open.
"Something tells me I'm going to need a locksmith."
"Wouldn't hurt. Too bad I can't get my networks to open up so easily."
"With my current expertise, maybe I could light a fire under them."
"I suspect that the law partners would not consider that a valid option."
"Probably not. Whew! This place stinks!"
We entered to find a fine melange of odors - smoke, mold, soggy furniture, the tang of an electrical fire, melted plastic and swampy floors. The windows, which had yesterday provided beautiful lighting as the sun set, were deeply tinted with congealed smoke laced with a pattern random condensation, leaving the room in a spooky half light. The electrical boxes to either side of the fireplace were surrounded by charred wallboard. How the devil did an electrical fire get started here?
"If I didn't know better, I would think that there was a fire curse on this place."
"What?" I said in confusion.
"When I was a kid the boys who lived here bought this decrepit old Sunbeam sports car. David was a budding mechanic, so he and his buddy tore it apart, rebuilt the engine and patched the body. His older brother rewired the car completely, not a big job for an ancient pre-computer vehicle. David was actually down at the DMV getting the license when his buddy was finishing up the job. The buddy dropped the light he was using and it shattered in a puddle oil or gas – he wasn't really sure. Que the fire engines and the excitement."
"Your folks said something about a fire last night, but somehow the real estate agent didn't mention all of that to me."
"It was decades ago, he might not have known."
"Quite a story. I just hope it isn't a trilogy."
"How are you at storytelling?|
Thinking about just how I was dressed at the moment, all I could say is "I've had my moments."
"Not much we can do in here until the experts come by," Cindy observed.
"Agreed. Oh crap!"
"Yes?"
"My brand new recliner! I got to use it exactly once and I don't think it survived the experience. Sort of ironic - the people who sold it to me called the color Orange Fire; it went nicely with the color scheme of the room. Not so orange any more and it's soggy!"
"I supposed that's the remains of a smoked cheese plate I see there."
"It wasn't smoked when I bought it but it surely is now."
The plate now consisted of goo that used to be crackers and several kinds of cheese swimming in blackened water.
"Shall we see if anything else survived?" I asked.
"I suppose we should."
 
Greyish gunk coated every surface; the open concept that looked so appealing when I bought the place meant that the entire first floor was infused with smoke.
"I need to find my wallet and ID and such."
When we entered the living room I stopped and stared. The formerly white walls were adorned with hundreds of small black dots. I found out later that the smoke had condensed on all of the nails that held up the drywall, which were just enough cooler than the rest of the surface to make polka-dots.
With a sinking feeling I ascended to the bedroom and was amazed to find it was virtually unscathed because I had shut the door before going downstairs.
Picking up my wallet, I realized that I was going to need a purse. I had several, but just where did I pack them? Since I hadn't planned on leaving the house as Eileen any time soon, they were still in one of those boxes. A moment's thought identified the right box, labeled Eileen Misc in bright red marker. Using a key from my key-ring, (after removing it from the less-than-feminine belt hook) I slit the tape and found a purse, one that didn't clash too badly with my outfit. Keys, wallet and lipstick securely within its clasp, I exited my bedroom.
Just at that moment there was a knock on the door and someone hollered "Anybody home?"

3 - Inspection Time

"No!" I thought to myself. "I'm a ghost." If I were a ghost instead of a crossdresser I could sort of fade away into nothingness and not have to deal with the situation.
"Just a minute!" was what I actually said.
Cindy answered the door, she was closer. Me, I was the next best thing to a statue. Of course it was the fire inspector, so we introduced ourselves all around and he took a look at the damage. This wasn't so easy as the windows were smoked up and gave a brownish half-light.
"Give me a minute and I'll isolate the damaged circuit and get the power back on. The lights and plugs in this room are on separate circuits."
"I think it would be best to have a professional electrician take a look before you do anything." said the inspector. "You wouldn't want to start a second fire."
"You've got a professional, that's part of how I make my living. I'm an industrial electrician among other things."
"Well, if you're sure…"
He sure didn't sound sure. I could practically read his mind - how can a woman be an electrician? Granted, there are damn few women field techs in this world, but I have seen how they have to cope with male skepticism. In fact, my number two field tech was a lady named Carlene. I trained her a decade ago and she knows her business. But this was the first time I found such attitudes directed at me.
I borrowed the inspector's flashlight and soon had the lights working. Naturally, I had checked out the wiring when I bought the place and the guy who installed it - see, even I went and assigned a masculine gender to the person who wired the place - even marked what circuit went where. Not too common in home wiring. Soon the lights were on again.
"I've seen worse…" the inspector commented. "Let's have a look."
I have to say it was a thoroughgoing inspection. The man certainly knew what he was doing.
"Looks like the fire was confined to the fireplace area, anyway." He went over to take a closer look. "What the hell?" he exclaimed.
"What?" I asked.
There's an electrical outlet in this fireplace!"
"You're kidding!"
"Like hell! What kind of idiot contractor would put a gas log six inches from an outlet?" he asked.
"One who ought to be roasted slowly over a gas log, I think." was my answer.
"You get to see all kinds of stupid stuff in this job, but I think you should be talking to a lawyer about this one."
"I just happen to know a few lawyers," grinned Cindy.
"I get to see a lot of stupid stuff in my business, too, but this has got to set a record. Who the hell puts and outlet in a fireplace in the first place?"
"The contractor who built this suburb. I've seen it before. The fireplaces are all fake, purely for decorative purposes. This is the first time I've seen anyone try to make them actually work like a real fireplace."
"We have a truism in my business - no matter how much you try to idiot-proof something they keep building better idiots."
"Ain't that the truth!" agreed the inspector. "I'll finish up the paperwork and send you a copy. I'm sure your insurance people will want to see it. If I can offer some advice, I'd hire one of the professional insurance estimators to go over the place, insurance companies are prone to poor-mouth your losses to keep the payouts down."
"Especially since I've only been in the place a couple of weeks!"
"That's a shame. Get a cleanup crew in here and you'll be back in a couple more weeks. I wish you better luck in the future."
"Thanks…"
The inspector went on his merry way, but Cindy and I continued talking, oblivious to the atmosphere in the place. She was someone truly worth talking to, an instant friend. Eventually, I had a realization.
"Oh no! All the food I bought last night has probably gone bad with the power off."
"Even if it hasn't, would you want to trust it?"
"I had a bought of food poisoning a few years ago, no way I'm taking a chance."
"I assume you bought some garbage bags?"
"Of course."
"Then we had better fill them up."
"We? I highly doubt this is the way you planned to spend your morning."
"I had planned to be doing laundry. What do you want to bet Mom is doing it for me since I deserted the family manse?"
"I don't do bets. Well, at least if you don't count insurance as a kind of betting. I sure won that one, eh?"
"I love a woman who looks at the positive side of life. Your house burns down and here we are here throwing a perfectly lovely chicken in the trash and our hair is going to smell of smoke until we can shower, but you won your bet with the insurance company."
That's when the doorbell rang. Since the electricity was back on there was no need to knock.
"Want me to get that, Eileen?" asked Cindy. I'd almost forgotten the time. For that matter, I had almost forgotten to be nervous presenting as Eileen.
So we trooped up to the front door. Cindy was closest, so she opened the door.
"Oh!" came a surprised voice. "I'm here to see my father."

4 - An Interesting Lunch Date

Have you ever wanted to just find a hole in the ground, crawl in it and pull something like a manhole cover over the top and just hide until the insanity stops? A nice, heavy, cast-iron manhole cover that requires substantial tools to remove it? If you haven't, I surely did.
My daughter Michelle was at the door, gaping at a woman she didn't know, the one holding a full garbage bag and answering her father's door. Behind the strange woman was another strange woman and inside that strange woman was me.
Since there was a conspicuous lack of holes in the living room floor, I gathered my courage and spoke: "Hi Shell, your Dad's not here at the moment."
"Oh! Hi, Mom. I suppose I should have expected to find you here."
My daughter is pretty quick on the uptake.
"I don't know when he plans to drop by, since he's retired and off in la-la land."
"What's with the stink? You been making burnt offerings to the goddess of new houses?"
"Not voluntarily. My housewarming party got out of control. Let's go outside where we can breathe, OK?"
"Bummer!" commented Michelle after I had once again told the story, with Cindy joining in on the choruses. "So what are you going to do?"
"Call the insurance company, for one. My policy has coverage for times when the place is uninhabitable."
"On a Saturday morning? Dream on!"
"I'm not completely without resources. I can always crash on your couch."
"Only if you want to share it with Rex. And his hair…"
"I am not unacquainted with motels, young woman."
"Well duh…"
"Such a ladylike expression. Your mother doesn't approve."
"This from someone who spends her life in motels and can swear like a trooper when she gets on the job."
"How would you know. I've never brought you to take-your-daughter-to work day."
"Like I never talked to Carlene? She taught me quite a few things you never told me."
"Well damn…"
"She must want to impress you, Cindy," my traitorous daughter remarked, "that was pretty mild, considering."
"Yes, but what am I considering?" Cindy queried.
"Where we go for lunch. We were going to mooch off Mom but that plan is up in smoke."
"I hesitate to mention it," Cindy offered, "but there's a good BBQ joint about a mile away. Some smoked brisket might be an appropriate entree."
"How do you do it, Mom?" Shell's husband Barry spoke up for the first time. "You're barely moved in and you've found someone with your atrocious sense of humor."
"Just my burning desire to find a compatible neighbor. We’re really kindling a great friendship."
"Aww… I’m just glowing with happiness to have met your mother." Cindy snarked.
"You're ash-king for trouble with those puns. Don't make me hurt you," threatened Shell.
"I shall rise above this conversation like the legendary phoenix."
"In which case, we shall away to lunch. Your car or mine?" I asked Cindy.
"Let's take your van, since your phone is still charging in it."
"Text me the address, will you Cindy?" and Michelle gave her the phone number as we adjourned to my van.
 
"Turn left when you hit the main road," I was instructed. "Turn right two stoplights down."
Nice, clear instructions. Cindy had a much nicer voice than my GPS lady.
"Your daughter seems to be a very nice young lady."
"I'm glad you think so. 'Course if you knew her about six years ago she would have driven you mad. She sure did me."
"That would have been maybe fourteen or fifteen?"
"Right on the money."
"Goes with the territory. Please don't ask my folks what I was like at that age."
"Only if you will return the favor if you ever meet my parents. Since they live in Tucson I think I may be spared that worry."
"You're a fast worker, Eileen. We've only known each other for a few hours and already you're talking about meeting your parents."
"Hey! Not that way!"
"Relax! I have a strange sense of humor."
"Fortunately, I do too. We should at least get engaged before I bring you home for vetting."
"Besides, marriage didn't work so well the first time around."
"Sorry to hear that."
"It happens. He's long gone and almost forgotten.”
"You’re too young to be having memory issues."
"We had issues, but memory wasn’t one of them. Well, maybe he sort of forgot he was married to me."
"Too bad memory between the ears isn't as easily handled as memory on a chip."
"He had no problem with erasures, that's for sure."
"What can I say?"
"Not much I haven't heard before. I take it you get along with your ex somewhat better than I do with mine."
"Yeah, she's still talking to me."
"Wait a minute! She?"
Crap! I had gotten all too comfortable talking to Cindy.
"Oh shit! Looks like I have some memory issues myself."
"Look, I know that same-sex marriage is perfectly normal these days, but it wasn't when your daughter was born. Adoption?"
"No, They're both fruit of my loom, or maybe it should be shuttle. I'll just blurt it out, OK? I'm a crossdresser. That's why Shell asked to see her father."
"Well I'll be go to hell!"
"I certainly hope not. As an atheist I don't subscribe to the whole fire-and-brimstone bullshit and as a person I think you're too nice to end up consorting with the devil. I got a small taste of fire last night and wouldn't wish it on anyone."
"You're serious?"
"Certainly. Religion may not be the opiate of the masses but it sure can mess up some people's minds."
"No worries about eternal fire, then?"
"Not unless it's in my house. Threatening an atheist with Hell is like threatening a nudist with a wedgie."
"So much for the religion part, how about the you're not a female part."
"Guilty, even though I no longer feel any guilt about my feminine side. I was considering letting her out more often and maybe making the transition to full time with my retirement but, as they say, shit happens."
"Yeah - like I forgot to tell you to turn left at the last light."
"See? U-turn ahead."
"So, is wanting to be a woman why your ex is your ex?"
"Not really, and I don't want to be a woman - not really. I love the clothes and the way I feel when I look like a woman. Janine wasn't thrilled but she knew from the start I was a crossdresser. Part of it was because I spent so much time on the road, part of it was religion - she got Born Again and it sure didn't help the marriage. My observation as an amateur shrink is that since we just couldn't share such a major part of our lives it was a big part in why we couldn't make it work."
"That's rather sad. Turn right at the light."
"It wasn't easy. We've both grown up some since then and have found some middle ground. Not enough to put the marriage back together, but enough to enjoy each other's company - at least in small doses."
"It must be nice…"
"Maybe not nice but - I guess - tolerable?"
"I have to ask. Which side of you shows up when you see your ex?"
"Elmer. You can get it out of your system now."
"Huh?"
"Most folks laugh when they find out I'm named Elmer."
"That's stupid!"
"I blame it on Bugs Bunny. No one named Elmer can escape the legacy of Elmer Fudd."
"So you became Eileen to escape Elmer Fudd?"
"No, I became Eileen because I need to be Eileen sometimes."
"I want to know more, but the place is just up ahead on the left."
"You OK with still going to lunch with me?"
"A bit confused, but still hungry. Besides, I want to get to know Shell and Barry a little better. They seem like nice people."
"Can't argue with that."
I parked in the lot of the BBQ joint and got out of the van with the feeling that I had entered an alternate universe. Way too much was happening way too fast. My quiet weekend as Eileen had gone up in smoke, I was temporarily homeless, I barely been thrust publicly out as a woman before I told a very intriguing woman, who I certainly would have liked to know better, that I was a crossdresser.
"Took you long enough, Mom!" taunted Michelle.
"I'm retired – that makes me officially an Old Fart. Old Farts get lost and can't remember where they're going."
"Right, but everybody knows where you are by the smell."
"She did not get lost," replied Cindy. "I got involved in the conversation and didn't tell her where to turn."
Nice of Cindy to use feminine pronouns even after I opened my big mouth.
"Whereas the GPS knew just where this place was so we didn't need directions."
"But we had a far more interesting conversation." replied Cindy.
"And how do we know that without comparing the conversations?" asked Barry.
"Well, I outed myself to her," I replied smugly.
"No shit?" That from Michelle.
"I think that means we win the conversation contest, right Eileen?"
"Since you haven't run screaming from me, I think that I may be the winner."
That seems to be a great way to get a fresh start in my retirement."
 
Author's Note
This setting for this story was inspired by two actual fires in my parent's house, which were exactly as described. The picture of the fireplace is the best one I could find in their photo albums.
By the way, I was the older brother who rewired the Sunbeam.