In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Chapter 43: Resurrection
Chapter 44: Shock and Awe
Chapter 45: Spring Training
Chapter 46: My First Girlfriend
Chapter 47: Baseball
Chapter 48: Inner Peace

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 8 of 8

Chapter 43: Resurrection

"Beth?" A familiar voice pierced my mental fog but I tried to ignore it. "Beth, it's me ... Michelle."

"Huh? Michelle? Is it really you?"

"Yeah, Sis. It is."

"I missed you, Michelle. I missed you so much."

"I know. But don't worry. I think everything is going to be okay now."

I started remembering again, and it upset me. I remembered the fire and how I tried to save my sister. But that didn't make sense. I was Beth. I kept trying to tell myself that I was Beth, but my memories wouldn't let me.

"I think I'm having more memory conflicts. I need Doctor Franklin."

"No, Beth. Doc Frankenpoo is history. She's the one who created the memory conflicts in the first place. She's the problem. She's always been the problem."

"I don't understand."

"You will, Beth. You will."

Michelle's words calmed me down. She really was like a sister to me. I hoped she'd never leave me again, but I suddenly got a bad feeling.

"You're not going to leave me again, are you?"

"No, Beth. We'll always be together -- always."

Her voice faded away along with my mental fog and I soon fell back asleep with a clear mind, and a smile on my face.

***

My bed didn't feel right, so I opened my eyes and stared up to see square ceiling tiles with the little holes all over them. They looked like the sort of tiles one would see in some professional building, like a hospital.

"Huh? Mom? Mom!"

"I'm here, honey. Don't worry."

I turned my head to see her sitting by my bed. She gave me a warm, sad smile and reached over to stroke my forehead.

"I had the worst dream, Mom. There was a fire, and Beth died, and I became Beth. I was trapped as Beth and ...."

My mom interrupted me. "It wasn't a dream. I'm very sorry but Beth did die. You tried to save her life and she ended up saving yours."

The last part didn't exactly make sense, and it didn't have a chance to sink in. I couldn't get past the first part.

"Beth is dead?" I said in a small voice. "No! She can't be!"

My mom got up and hugged me as best she could.

"She's gone, Mike," she whispered in my ear. "I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry."

We both had a good cry. Then my mom sat back in her chair, dabbed my eyes with a tissue and went back to stroking my forehead. The cry and her loving attention helped, and I soon felt good enough to get back to the second part of what my mother said.

"What did you mean about Beth saving my life? I thought I saved her. I remember pushing her out the bedroom window. She was still alive then. I know she was."

"She was brain dead, sweetie. You saved her body but she inhaled too much smoke."

More memories flooded my mind and they all started making sense, though I didn't exactly handle them well. I also didn't handle the new sensations I was feeling. My eyes went wide when I looked down at my chest and raised a hand to cup a fairly large breast. It was a little more than a handful, and it was mine.

"What?! I'm a girl! Why? How? Mom!"

"Calm down, Mike," my mom soothed, taking me into her arms again and holding me tight. "Please. Calm down. You got transplants from Beth. That's how she saved your life."

Again, her maternal influence helped and she sat back down. I searched my memories, but I couldn't understand how I had such large boobs. The last clear memories I had were just after getting the transplants. I certainly didn't have big boobs then.

"What happened to me, Mom? How long have I been out?"

"It's been ... a very long time. Don't you remember?"

"I ... sort of. It's all hazy."

"I was told everything should come back to you. Or perhaps we could have you hypnotized."

"No! No hypnosis. Please. Anything but that." I shivered with dread, though I didn't understand exactly why.

"Why not? What's wrong?"

"I dunno. I'm not ... sure."

"I think I know. You've been hypnotized a lot already. I think that's how you became Beth. Someone has a lot to answer for."

"Do you mean Doc Frankenpoo?

"Who?!" My mom laughed. "You mean Doctor Franklin?"

"I dunno ... who's that? The name Frankenpoo just popped into my head. I don't know why."

"Doctor Franklin was your psychologist. She convinced me that you were very confused and thought you were Beth. She said she was worried you might have a mental breakdown unless she helped you become Beth."

"But that's ... stupid. I'm still a boy ... inside."

"I know, honey. I understand that ... now. She said it was better if everyone thought you were Beth and treated you as Beth. I wasn't sure so I took her advice. I was so afraid of losing you."

She got up once again and hugged me, and I could feel her tears dripping on my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered in my ear.

"Okay," I said. "It's okay."

At that moment, I marveled at the sound of my feminine voice. I hadn't noticed it before, and it suddenly struck me as being very beautiful. I had a lot to get used to. I really was a girl.

***

Once I found out I wasn't sick, I'd insisted on leaving the hospital as soon as possible. I wanted to get used to being a girl in private. It might have seemed paranoid, but I couldn't help worrying about being videotaped or watched somehow. I had to get home, wherever that was.

I went to the bathroom to dress, and after carefully checking for video cameras, I threw on some jeans and a baggy sweatshirt that my mom had brought me. I left the hospital gown hanging on a hook and my mom and I headed for the front desk to check out.

The doctors put up a fuss, but my mother and I wouldn't be denied. We'd both had enough of doctors and hospitals. They'd served me well to make my body healthy, but they'd failed miserably with my mind. We'd still look for a psychologist to help me adjust. We knew I'd need some help. We just decided it would be better to be more careful about it and shop around.

When my mom mentioned shopping around for a doctor, my eyes went wide again. More memories popped into my head and I suddenly had an urge to go to the mall. Before I knew what I was saying, words starting coming out of my mouth.

"Can we go to the mall?" I asked.

"What?!" My mom looked a little surprised.

"Please. I think there's a sale. I could use a new skirt."

"Uh ... I don't think that's a good idea right now. We'll talk later in the car. Okay?"

"Sure, Mom." I smiled, just before tears rolled down my cheeks. I'd had a powerful flashback of being Beth. It swept over me with such force, I couldn't stop it. If that's what I had to look forward to, I'd really need a good psychologist.

"Oh, honey." My mother grabbed my hand and we dashed for the exit before anyone could even suggest putting me in a wheelchair to wheel me out.

We got outside to the car and headed for home, an apartment complex about 10 miles away according to my mom. I thought it was odd that she'd parked outside in a parking lot though. I kept remembering a parking garage for some reason.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Mike?"

"I think I need a new name."

I had zillions of memories of being called both Mike and Beth. It confused me to no end so I decided it would be best to make a clean break.

"I think that's a good idea, honey. Any ideas?"

A name suddenly popped into my head, and it sounded like my subconscious was screaming it.

"How about Michelle?"

"Michelle," my mom said, trying it out. "Yeah. I think I like it."

"Me too."

We drove along in silence for several miles after that. We both had a lot to think about. I would need help, and soon, and my mom would be busy helping me through the coming months.

It helped that we had the Christmas break. I'd have some time to regain my memories and stabilize my personality. I just hoped I stabilized enough to get back to school soon. I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into some of the advanced math that I'd been remembering.

Just as we pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex that I'd be calling home, my mom had one last thing to say before we went inside.

"Okay, sweetie ... Michelle. I'll never bring this up again, but if you only remember one thing, remember that even though you're a girl, you'll always be my special son."

We hugged and cried a little after that. I felt a little embarrassed that I cried so easily but I had to admit that it felt good. I also had another strange thought pop into my head. I was grateful that I wasn't wearing any mascara. I didn't want it making a mess of my face.

Chapter 44: Shock and Awe

Christmas was a wonderful holiday for me that year. In addition to all the wrapped presents that my mother, grandmother and friends gave me, I also received lots of fond memories from the past two and a half years. My Beth and Mike personalities slowly integrated, as my new psychologist said, and I happily accepted my feminine body.

I'm sure that my acceptance was helped by my attraction to girls. I blushed the first time I saw myself naked in the mirror, but I got used to it. My Beth personality helped me to control my lust. She helped me turn my lust into self-love. I liked myself and I was happy with the way I looked. It was a good beginning for me.

It also helped that I had so much of my sister's body. I looked at myself as a living memorial to Beth. I tried to save her and she returned the favor. I lived thanks to her unusual gift, and I wouldn't do anything to sully it.

My clothes took longer to accept. They were so complicated, and it took me forever to decide on what to wear. My mother assured me that was completely normal but it annoyed me. There was so much variety. It also didn't help that a lot of my clothes were just plain sexy. Some of them made me flush with excitement, more so than being nude. They made me look more grown up than ever, and I loved to imagine I was someone else and that I was going out on a date with that someone else. I took a lot of cold showers those first couple weeks out of the hospital.

The biggest shock had to be makeup and the ease I had applying it. I had no trouble making myself look even more beautiful and grown up, and it scared me a little. I didn't even use memories. It seemed more like a reflex.

The first time I put on my face, as my mother called it, I surprised both of us. My makeup was flawless, and my face, beautiful.

"Is that really me?" I asked the mirror I was staring into.

My mom had been standing behind me, ready to help, and I could see a look of awe on her face.

"Yes, sweetie," she told me as she put her hands on my delicate shoulders. "It really is. You're a very beautiful young lady."

***

My psychologist helped me a lot over the Christmas holiday. The memories continued to flood in but she helped me process them all and place them into a meaningful context.

I had some trouble reconciling my Mike personality with the more mature memories I'd accumulated as Beth. It had been about two and a half years since my transplants but it might as well have been decades. Luckily, I had a great psychologist, a loving family, and several friends to keep me grounded.

My friends would definitely help me catch up on my life, but they'd also present a small problem. They still didn't know I'd once been Mike. It seemed so long ago that I didn't think it would be necessary to tell them. In fact, my mother had insisted on not telling them. Everyone had known me as Beth, and it would be very difficult proving otherwise. I wasn't Mike any longer anyway, and I wasn't really Beth either. I was a combination of the two, and my new name would be Michelle.

I imagined that some people would have trouble with my name change, but I'd tell everyone that I needed to break from my past. The trauma of Mike's death still haunted me and I decided to change my name to the feminine form of Michael to honor him. It was partially true at least, and I didn't really care if they liked it or not. It was something I had to do.

I told Tracy, Anne and Kathy about my name change and they thought it was a nice gesture. They told me that it might take some getting used to but they were nothing but supportive. They were more concerned about my relapse, as I called it, and they visited me at home five days after Christmas to check up on me. They also wanted to thank me for the Christmas gifts I got them.

We'd exchanged gifts before I went in for my last therapy session. I vaguely remembered wanting to do it in case something went wrong with the therapy, and I was glad I did. It took me several days before I felt up to exchanging the gratitude that was meant to go along with the presents.

My three girlfriends all arrived together in Tracy's car. They all had their drivers licenses but only Tracy had her own car, and she didn't mind driving her friends all over. It made her a little more popular.

I had to think awhile to remember why I didn't have my drivers license. I postponed getting it so I wouldn't put any pressure on my mom to get me a car. She didn't make a lot of money and couldn't really afford one. It made me a little proud of myself until I thought about how much I got her to spend on my clothes and makeup. The money she spent on her boy magnet of a daughter could've bought a fairly nice used car. I really needed to find a job. I also needed to give some thought to how I felt about being a boy magnet.

"Hi girls!" I said, smiling as I let them in the front door.

"Girls?" Kathy said with a frown. "Don't tell me you forgot our names again."

I laughed, even though she looked serious. Kathy was ever the worrier.

"No, Kathy. It's just easier to greet you that way since you all came in together. Duh."

We all had a nice little laugh and quickly invaded the living room. We had the place all to ourselves since my mom was working.

I had to do a little more memory searching to figure out what I'd given each of them as Christmas presents. Then we thanked each other for them before matters turned to a more serious subject.

"So ... Michelle," Anne said, looking a little conflicted. I couldn't decide whether she was pleased or sad about what she wanted to say. "You said you had a relapse. Does that mean you don't like boys any more?"

I knew it. I knew that question was coming, but I'd dragged my high heels and avoided finding the answer. I couldn't avoid it any longer though.

I figured she'd be happier not having me as competition. She probably hoped I didn't like boys. Still, I was just as sure that she'd miss our double dates. It was probably just as well though. We wouldn't be double dating forever. Eventually, we'd all have to go solo.

"I honestly don't know," I said. "I remember having some good times out on dates. I remember several fantastic, toe-curling kisses." I stopped to blush and my friends giggled.

"But I do know one thing. I'm definitely attracted to girls."

"Really?" Kathy asked, her eyes wide.

"Don't worry." I laughed at Kathy's reaction. "You're all safe. But I can't help feeling how I do. It's not a lifestyle choice."

"We know," Tracy said with a wry grin. "It's cool with me."

The rest of the girls agreed. We were still the gang of four and we celebrated by driving over to the mall to see if I still had the magic touch. We were going trolling for boys, and I had to admit, the idea excited me.

I found I still did appreciate some things about boys, including some physical attributes. That surprised me, and it greatly pleased my girlfriends. I decided to give boys a chance, though I'd be a lot pickier about whom I chose from that point on.

***

New Year's Day brought an unexpected holiday surprise. I planned to lounge all day on the couch but a light knocking at the door startled me, just as I started to doze off.

My mother opened the front door, blocking my view of our visitor. I could still see my mom though, and she stiffened up immediately.

"You've got some nerve," my mom said.

"I'd like to apologize to Beth, if I may."

I heard a woman's voice and I froze. I knew that voice, but I couldn't believe she'd be bold enough to ever show her face to me again.

"Beth died several years ago," my mom said through clenched teeth. "There is no Beth here."

"Please ... whatever name she goes by ... I'd like to apologize to your daughter."

"I don't think that's a good idea," my mom told her as she started shutting the door.

"Wait, Mom," I said, slowly getting up off the couch. "Let her in. I've got something I'd like to say to her."

My mother gave me a questioning look but I mouthed, "It's okay," to her and she relented. She stood away from the door, and in walked Doctor Franklin.

My former psychologist looked pretty much the same, with the same cold, blue eyes, but this time, I thought I detected a trace of emotion in those eyes. It made me wonder if there was still hope for her.

"Ms. Franklin," I began. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, but since you're here, I have to tell you that what you did to me was wrong, and I hope you learned something from it."

Her expression didn't change at all. She just quickly looked me up and down once and spoke.

"But you're still so ...."

"Girlie?" I interrupted.

I wore a short a-line skirt and clingy knit top that nicely emphasized my bustline. I also wore light makeup and I made sure all the colors matched. I wasn't going out but I intended to look nice just in case. It was a holiday after all. Almost anyone could drop by for a visit.

"I was going to say, feminine, but you get the point."

"Well, I am still partially what you made me. What did you expect? Did you think I'd get a crew cut and wear boys clothes?"

"Well, no ...."

"I plan to be less feminine now and again, but I'll always be a girl. I admit I even like it. You helped me adjust, in a way, but what you did was still wrong."

She hung her head and heaved a sigh of regret. I couldn't tell if it was regret for wronging me or regret that her experiment didn't work out, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and call it a combination of both.

"Now then," I continued. "Didn't you have something to say to me?"

"Right. Okay. I'm sorry things didn't work out."

"What does that mean? You're sorry you didn't succeed? Is that it?"

"No ... well ... yes ... somewhat. I admit it. I'm sorry it didn't work out. You showed such promise. But that's not all."

"Yes?" I prompted.

"I'm sorry I hurt you ... you and your mother."

"And grandmother," I added.

"Yes. Her too. I'm truly sorry I hurt you all."

"Okay. Apology accepted. Now please leave."

I went back and sat on the couch, and I didn't watch as Doctor Franklin slunk out of the apartment and out of my life.

Chapter 45: Spring Training

I really had become more girl than boy, but I still had some boy tendencies that needed expressing. My love of sports came back with a vengeance, and I don't mean just watching them.

I fully intended to start the new year by getting myself in better shape, or make that better physical condition. I couldn't be happier with my curves.

My training started with afternoon bike rides. I still had my blue 10-speed, though it needed a little work, and I soon worked my way up to the 10 mile round trip to the cemetery. I had to make up for some missing visits, and I had a very important correction to make.

I walked my bike to my sibling's grave and sat on the cold concrete path while I caught my breath.

"Hello, Beth," I started, still huffing and puffing, my breath making a trail of little clouds that drifted directly over the grave plaque.

"I'm very sorry about taking so long between visits. I've had a few problems to work out."

I breathed easier, and the words came more freely.

"I'm also very sorry about calling you by the wrong name all this time, though I'm sure you'd forgive me. It wasn't exactly my fault."

It was awkward sitting there. I remembered a lot of what I said and thought over the past couple years. It was a little confusing because I'd been talking about myself all that time. Some of the irony made me laugh a little.

"Don't worry, Beth. I won't be making that same mistake again, and I also won't be bringing you any more daisies."

I stood up and reached into my carrier to pull out a single red rose. I removed the remnants of the previous bouquet from the green plastic vase and placed the beautiful flower into it. The red and dark green went very well together, and it brought a smile to my face and a tear to my eye.

"You and I share a love of roses, Sis. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed bringing it to you."

I placed the old bouquet in the carrier and turned to wheel my bike back to the parking lot, but I paused and made one final comment over my shoulder before returning home.

"Thanks for the skin and bits. Thanks for saving me, Sis. I love you. See you next week."

***

I thought I looked good before, but after biking for several weeks, my endurance improved and my legs toned up quite nicely, and I didn't stop there. Pilates, yoga and light weight lifting added more tone to my arms and upper body to finish my new, improved look. I looked great and I felt even better.

I wasn't sure exactly what to do with my great conditioning, but I began forming an idea. It seemed crazy at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. I just needed someone to practice and train with, and I knew the perfect person to ask.

"Hi James," I chirped, hurrying to catch up with him before he left school to go home. "Remember me?"

"Beth? Is that you?" he asked.

"Close!" I laughed. "I go by Michelle now."

I gave him a quick explanation for my name change and he nodded. Nothing seemed to faze him much.

"It's been awhile," he said. "How've you been?"

"Great. I've been great. I started working out. Check this out."

I tried to flex my arm like a body builder. The size of my biceps didn't impress him but he acknowledged my good muscle tone.

We stopped to talk for quite awhile that day. I told him about my therapy and the various relapses I had. I also apologized profusely for not keeping in touch. He'd been a good friend and I left him cold. A lot of it had to do with my relapses but I still felt guilty about it.

James was as gallant and nice as ever. He graciously forgave me, but he was still wary about one thing.

"What about your sexual preference, Michelle?"

"Oh ... that. Well ... I guess I'm bisexual." I gave him a shy grin and blushed.

"Oh? Like what you see?" He grinned.

"Yes," I told him.

"Cool. Thanks," he said, and paused before adding, "but you still can't have me." He laughed.

"Oh you!" I slapped his arm and he pretended that it hurt.

We walked home together after that, since we lived in almost the same direction, and just before we parted, I brought up the subject that I'd been skirting.

"So what do you think?" I asked him.

"Baseball? You want to try out for baseball? Are you sure?"

I nodded vigorously.

I knew I didn't have much of a chance of making the team, at least not that year and not on my own. It'd been way too long since I played and my arm strength wasn't nearly what it should be, but I hoped that by training with James, I might have at least some small chance. He played on the varsity team so I knew he'd have a lot of good tips for me as well as training techniques. Plus we could do a little batting and fielding practice together. Every little bit helped.

James shook his head -- just like a boy, I thought -- but he accepted the challenge, and right after dinner we started by going to the sporting goods store at the mall to get myself some equipment. I couldn't wait to get started. We didn't have much time before baseball season started.

***

Training for baseball was hard work, but it felt so satisfying to make a good play or get a hit. That's what kept me going when I played all those years ago as Mike. The camaraderie with my teammates was nice too. I really hoped I'd make the team so I could experience it all again.

Wearing grubby sweat clothes and getting dirty took some getting used to. The clothes made sense since they'd most likely get grass stains and dirt rubbed into them, but it still upset me to see them get dirty. It made my drab clothes look all the worse.

James was great, and he didn't cut me any slack. I asked him to treat me just like any other teammate and he was all too eager to comply. He even laughed when I fussed about sliding into home, earning a glare from me. Of course my look just made him laugh harder.

"Why don't you slide head first next time?" he shouted as I headed back to third base for another try.

"Ha ha! Why don't you develop boobs and try it yourself?"

My retort shut him up but he still snickered. Boys!

We'd started with base running, something that was fairly simple but important. James had wanted to see me in action to gauge my ability and see if it was worth continuing my training. I'd surprised him with my quickness so we'd quickly moved on to sliding into base.

Again, I surprised him with my feetfirst slide. I kept my body low and as far away as I could from where the catcher would stand, with only my one leg hooked to slide over home plate. Back in 7th grade, I'd used that same slide to get my only inside-the-park home run. I'd slid just under the catcher's mitt for the score. It had been a thing of beauty.

After I slid a few times to show that my skill wasn't a fluke, we moved on to a little batting practice. I took a few practice swings and was pleased to see that I hadn't lost my coordination. My bat speed was a little slow but I hoped to get a little time in a batting cage to help with that.

James saw me swinging the bat and finally had to make a comment that I thought had been on his mind for quite awhile.

"You've played softball before, haven't you," he said as a statement of fact.

I smiled and shrugged, but I didn't speak. Instead, I got into a good batting stance and waited for him to pitch me an easy ball so I could surprise him with a nice blooper into the outfield.

James just stood on the pitcher's mound and frowned at me. I knew he wanted more information but I wasn't going to volunteer it. I had to tease back a little if I was going to get used to playing with the boys.

Finally, he couldn't take it.

"So are you going to tell me how you can play so well?"

"What can I say?" I teased. "It's in the blood."

James muttered a little but he finally pitched the ball, and it was a doozy of a pitch. Luckily, he couldn't disguise a fast throw. I knew it was coming and I focused all of my attention on that baseball. For a split second, that ball was the only thing in my universe, and just as it crossed home plate, my Louisville Slugger connected and slapped it well into the outfield. James was shocked.

"What?!" I teased again. "Is that all you've got?"

"Hey! I'm not a pitcher. I play center field."

"Oh! I'm sorry. Did I strike a nerve?" I smirked.

"No ... errr ... yes! I can't believe you can play so well!"

"Why?!" I got a little angry then. "Is it because I'm a girl? Girls can play sports too."

"Yeah, but you're so ...."

"Girlie?" I interrupted.

"Yeah!" he huffed.

I rolled my eyes at him. "So why did you agree to practice with me if I was so girlie?"

"Because you asked me to. I figured you'd get it out of your system, or at best, try out for the softball team. Why baseball?"

"Why not baseball? If I want to play baseball, and I'm good enough, why not play?"

He agreed I had a point, and he apologized.

I could see that his sexist attitude surprised and embarrassed him, so I let him off with a warning, but I promised to make things much more difficult if he persisted. I didn't tell him what I'd do, but my devious mind cooked up a few things, first and foremost was making him take me out on a date. That made me giggle.

"What?" he asked. "What's so funny?"

"You'll see," I told him, "if you ever slip up again."

He shook his head in typical boyish fashion and we got on with practice.

***

James gave me a fair and honest assessment after we'd finished. He complimented me on my quickness, base running and fielding skill, but he mentioned that I'd need to work on my arm strength to make long, off balanced throws to first base. I also had yet to prove myself with a real pitcher so we made plans to visit a batting cage. I hoped I could at least hit a 50 mph pitch. What little masculine pride I had left still had to set some standards.

When we finished talking baseball, the subject soon returned to sexual preference, as I knew it would. I think I made him a little nervous after I confessed that I found him attractive because he only truly relaxed after I assured him that I much preferred girls. I teased him that he'd be safe unless he started wearing girls clothes. If he did that, all bets were off.

Chapter 46: My First Girlfriend

I surprised my mother, my friends and myself by getting a date on Valentine's Day. His name was Gary and he was actually an old friend of mine. We used to play baseball and video games together, and we went girl watching at the mall quite often. We used to be best friends when I was Mike, and I wanted to see if we could still get along. I have to confess that I was also curious if I might even find him attractive. I knew he kept in good shape for the high school baseball team and I wanted to test myself.

James helped me hook up with Gary and earned many thanks from me. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to return all the kindness that had been heaped upon me. I didn't have a lot of friends but the ones I had were the best.

Tracy and Anne both volunteered to double date with me, but I declined. I'd dated by myself a few times and I was sure I could handle Gary, even though he was very athletic. My girlfriends still sounded concerned, and they amused me with how much they reminded me of my mother. I didn't tell them that of course.

Gary showed up early one Friday evening and gallantly escorted me to the passenger side of his car to help me get in. I couldn't help notice that he stood more than half a head taller than me even with my high heels. He made me feel decidedly feminine, and I rather liked it. So far, so good.

We went out for the usual fare of dinner and a movie, and we chatted about various subjects including video games and baseball. If he was surprised by my interests, he didn't let on. Evidently, James coached him rather well.

The movie was nice, and the most that my date did was hang his arm on the back of my chair. He didn't try to hold my hand or do anything to annoy me. He was a perfect gentleman, and I appreciated it.

When it finally came time for the good night kiss, I began to wonder if I really was bisexual. Gary made me feel feminine just in sheer contrast to his overt masculinity, but I didn't feel the magic spark that signaled physical attraction. He bent down to give me a casual kiss, and I reached up to hang on to his neck and prolong it a little. I had to know if he could be the one to live out the rest of my days with. I wanted to give my mother grandchildren someday, even though the idea of giving birth scared the crap out of me.

We separated and I shrugged, giving him a faint smile. We tried, but there was no chemistry. I knew it didn't really mean I wasn't bisexual, but I was still disappointed. I got along so well with Gary when I was Mike. I really thought there'd be a possibility of falling for him.

The two of us parted as casual friends that night. Perhaps I'd changed more than I thought. I'd certainly changed more than I liked. I had to admit to myself that video games no longer held the appeal they once did, and I really knew very little about what Gary had been up to since he started high school. We pretty much only had baseball in common. Maybe we could hook up for some double plays instead of double dates, and maybe even go girl watching at the mall sometime for old time's sake. Maybe, but I doubted it.

***

James noticed that I was distracted during our next practice session, and he kept after me until I confessed what was bothering me. We spent far too much valuable training time talking about it but I was very glad we did.

"You've never had a girlfriend?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"No." I sighed. "But it's not because I haven't wanted one. I just don't know how to approach a girl I like. I've never done it before."

"Right," he said, looking up.

He lost himself in thought for a short while, making me both curious and nervous. He was obviously up to something.

"How about I introduce you to someone?" he finally asked.

"What? Really?" My heart started fluttering.

"Sure. I know this girl named Rachel who might like to date you."

"Rachel? Who's that? How do you know her? What's she like?"

I started throwing questions at James like a lovesick schoolgirl until he threw his hands up to surrender.

"Enough!" He laughed. "I'll introduce you and you can ask each other questions. Okay?"

I readily and gratefully agreed. Once again, James proved himself to be a great friend.

***

I'd never felt so excited as I did the next day. James had moved quickly and got Rachel to agree to meet me after school before she went off to band practice. He contacted me at lunch to tell me she played the flute. Then he texted Rachel to confirm the meeting and scurried off to get something to eat.

I was worthless the rest of the day at school. I daydreamed about a black-haired girl with deep blue eyes playing the flute. She played only for me, serenading me with music and mesmerizing me with her beautiful eyes.

"Michelle?" I vaguely heard a voice calling me, getting more insistent the second time. "Michelle!"

"Oh!" I gasped. "Sorry. Hi, James." I didn't even notice the girl with him. I was still distracted by lingering images from my daydream.

"Michelle Wagner, this is Rachel Moore. Rachel, meet Michelle."

James quickly introduced us and then ran off, leaving me alone with a girl who looked remarkably similar to the one from my daydream.

"Hello, Michelle," she said, holding out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Uh ... hi," I barely squeaked out.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I quickly nodded and just managed to say "nervous" before I took her hand and gently led her to a nearby bench to sit down together.

We sat facing each other and she gave me a warm smile. It relaxed me enough that I was finally able to find my voice.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a little nervous."

"Yeah. I got that."

We struck up a nice conversation then, and found we had several things in common, including an interest in going out on a date with each other. I'd be going on my first date with a girl, and I'm sure I glowed.

***

Rachel and I ended up on a date that bore a superficial resemblance to the one I had with Gary, but our first date had a lot more depth. I knew it long before we got into the movie theater and held hands in the dark. I knew it all too well when we kissed good-bye in her car. We both had a toe-curling experience when we kissed, and I knew we'd be having many more dates.

I was a little ashamed about not inviting her up to my apartment, but I still hadn't told my mom about liking girls. I still worried about being a disappointment. It didn't matter how warm and loving my mother was. I couldn't help it. I just knew she'd want grandchildren and I didn't think I could deliver. I'd tell her sometime. I just had to think about it some more.

***

James had entirely too much fun at my expense the next day. I tried to thank him for introducing me to Rachel and he said he only did it to keep me from chasing him.

"Don't flatter yourself!" I said, and we both laughed.

"Really," he told me, getting serious. "I'm glad you two hit it off."

"So am I." Tears threatened to ruin my perfect makeup, so I quickly hugged him to hide my face.

He flinched but slowly returned the hug, and then I did cry.

"Thank you so much," I whispered in his ear.

He didn't say anything. He just slowly backed away, and I rushed off to the restroom to fix my makeup.

***

Rachel and I quickly became a couple, and I really thought she'd be the one for me for the rest of my life. I was convinced, even if she wasn't. She was the more practical and cautious one in the relationship.

She was more than a little concerned that I hadn't yet told my mother about our relationship, but I convinced her that I would as soon as I felt I was ready. I confessed my fears and gave her a selective history of my therapy, and she understood.

She told me it'd been difficult for her to come out to her family. She'd been glad she did though, because they'd been mostly supportive. Her younger brother teased her a bit but she could handle him well enough.

In spite of her little brother's occasional staring, we spent a lot of time at her house when we weren't out shopping together or on a date. We liked to snuggle closely on the couch and watch a movie, our hands snaking together into a bowl of popcorn and fighting over a single kernel. Sometimes we'd both keep a grip on it, pulling it out and moving our mouths together to nibble it at the same time, with our lips wonderfully salty and deliciously close. It was so romantic.

Movie night was great, but we both liked shopping nearly as much. It was wonderful to have someone to share my love of shopping. I didn't think I'd ever find a boy who could appreciate it, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't admit it. Rachel didn't have that problem, and I thought she might even surpass me. I had to keep in good practice to keep my skills sharp with her around. I loved it.

I thought the best thing about Rachel had to be how she helped me with my gender conflict. I had a solid core of my earlier self in me that needed attention, and Rachel gave me more than enough. She made me feel somewhat masculine when I allowed myself to feel that way. Sometimes, during our extended kissing sessions, I liked to imagine I was still a boy. I'd hold her in a firm but gentle grip and let my inner boy take over. It added a little spice to our already strong relationship.

Rachel and my renewed passion for sports both helped me express my masculine side, and they also combined in a very nice way. Rachel got along very well with Tracy, Anne and Kathy, and they all liked to watch me train and practice for baseball. They thought it was great and supported me 100 percent. With them behind me and James helping me, I felt like I could do anything and be anyone.

Chapter 47: Baseball

I had fun at the batting cage, even if I didn't do as well as I liked. I'd consistently hit 50 mph pitches but they were mostly straight and easy. I'd need more practice with curves, sliders and other "junk". I'd also needed more work hitting faster pitches.

My boobs got in the way of batting but they actually helped a little with my fielding. It only took one very painful hit to my left breast before I learned to keep my focus. After that, I found myself extremely motivated to stop balls with my baseball glove instead of my boobs, and I did much better. Diving to snag a low line drive couldn't be avoided though, and the pain made me seriously consider looking for an armored sports bra.

At least my ability kept me in the game. James and I really got excited and started to believe in my chance to make the team. So did my family and friends. Even my grandma came to watch me practice, and she cheered me on with a surprisingly loud voice. It surprised me until I remembered that she was an avid baseball fan. She used to watch me play as a boy not all that long ago, and the memories made me smile.

My reverie had to be postponed though. Practice time called. I stood just on the edge of the infield, half way between second and third base, firmly in the domain of the shortstop. I needed more fielding and throwing practice.

"Look alive out there, Michelle!" James shouted as he batted a ball low to my right.

I lunged down and stabbed at the ball, vacuumed it up with my glove and then planted my right foot to make a fairly quick throw to Gary at first base. Everyone congratulated me, though James mentioned I could still use more arm strength. My throw arced a little more than it should have.

By that time, James had interceded on my behalf and talked the other boys into letting me practice with them. They balked at first, joking about my small size, but they did end up respecting my fielding ability at least.

I'd be hitting the weights quite hard over the coming months. It wasn't easy for me to build muscle, but it was possible. I already increased my strength significantly. The boys weren't impressed but Rachel was. She squealed one day when I picked her up and carried her to the couch to show off. I almost hurt myself doing it but I had to prove to myself, and her, that I could. It seemed very important to my silly inner boy.

***

On the first day of baseball tryouts, my nervousness almost made me back out, but James and the rest of my fans wouldn't let me. My girlfriends shouted words of encouragement while the boys teased me a little, and it helped. The combination of cheers and jeers got me fired up and ready to play.

My nerves still bothered me a little at first, but I soon got into a groove and sucked up all but one of the balls that were hit near me. I had one bounce out of my glove and trickle into the outfield. I ran it down and threw to second to prevent a double so the coach gave me points for keeping my head and following through.

As usual, I didn't do as well as I liked at batting. About the only thing I could hit was a changeup. That pitch never fooled me, but that probably had something to do with not being able to handle a fast ball. I'd swing at the same speed at both changeups and fast balls. Curve balls and sliders gave me fits. The whole experience frustrated me. My only advantage was my small size. I had a smaller strike zone so I hunkered down and made the pitcher be more accurate. It limited his pitch selection a little too.

I tried bunting and found I had a pretty good knack for it. I'd be able to advance runners if nothing else, but it looked like the only thing I'd be good at was as a defensive player for a close game. It was better than nothing so I'd gladly take it.

At the end of the week when the tryouts were over and the results were posted, I let all the boys run up and check first. I could wait, though I didn't have to wait long. I sat on the bench in the dugout and watched James come back after muscling his way through the mob.

"Well, Michelle," he said, looking sad. "Gary and I made the team, but I'm afraid you didn't."

"Oh," I said, hanging my head.

I'd tried my best but I was still disappointed. I thought I was one of the better fielders. I thought I'd at least make the junior varsity team.

"Hey. Cheer up. You might make the team next year," he added. "You improved a lot over a very short time."

"Yeah ... maybe."

I didn't know if I wanted to tryout again. I didn't feel like I had enough room for improvement. I felt pretty close to reaching my full potential already.

"Oh," James said, looking up. He was up to something again. "One more thing ...."

"Yeah?" I stared at him and narrowed my eyes, waiting for some joke or snide remark.

"When I said you didn't make the team, I meant the varsity team."

"Well ... yeah. Duh." I hung my head again. He wasn't teasing me or anything, so I couldn't get upset, but then what he said slowly sunk in.

"Wait a minute," I said, looking at him again and seeing the faint trace of a grin. "What about the junior varsity?"

"Oh ... that. Yeah. You made *that* team. Congratulations, Michelle. You're a baseball player."

I launched myself from the bench, grabbing him in a hug and squealing in his ear.

"Hey! Watch the volume!" he shouted back.

I pulled back, thanking him profusely for all his help and patience. Then I went looking for Rachel and the rest of my original gang of four. We had a celebration to start.

***

For me, Baseball was a slow game, especially when I had to watch from the dugout the whole game. I didn't get a lot of opportunities to play, but at least when I did, I made the most of them. Just as I figured, I was usually only able to play when the team needed some good defense during a close, low scoring game. I also sometimes played when we were slightly ahead late in the game and the coach wanted to stop the other team from catching us. I definitely had the best fielding skills of any of the shortstops, including those on the varsity team. I just couldn't hit.

I struggled with a batting average a little above .200. I just couldn't get the hang of hitting. It would've helped if I'd have kept at it over the past few years, and I know it would've helped if I'd been able to remain male, but I accepted it well enough. I was still happy with my body the way it was. I always preferred fielding anyway. It felt like more of a team effort being out on the field. Batting was always more like me against the whole other team.

My small group of loyal fans stuck with me, and most of them made it to all of the games. Rachel of course came to all the games, and she always made sure I heard her after I made a good play. She'd whoop it up with her own private cheer, and it would often get me fantasizing about her wearing a cute cheerleader uniform and doing lots of high kicks. It was too bad our high school baseball team didn't have cheerleaders.

There were only a couple bad things about the whole experience. I got used to getting dirty, but I got a little upset when players on the other team teased me. Some of the teasing was sexist, and I found it hard to strug off. Most of it was okay though, when I realized most of the boys were just trying to psych me out. They were just letting their good-natured competitive spirits shine though. Many of them did pretty much the same thing to lots of players on the opposing team, especially when those players were good. I eventually took it as a form of respect, even if it did seem a little immature.

The worst thing about playing baseball was actually the uniforms. Not only were they ugly, they weren't cut well for a mature girl's figure. My mom and grandma had to help me tailor it to my curves. I couldn't sew worth a darn, and just nodded my head when they tried to teach me. I was sure they'd be happy enough to help me next year, assuming I made the team again.

I was sure I'd try out again next year, and I hoped I'd make the varsity team. I thought it would be a good way to end high school. I wouldn't try to play baseball in college but it was nice to have the chance in high school.

I still figured I might try out for women's fast pitch softball, if the college I went to had a team. That looked like fun, and even if I didn't make the team, I seriously thought about sticking with the team and cheering them on. I'd pass on all the support I'd been given. It was the least I could do.

Chapter 48: Inner Peace

The baseball season wrapped up nicely. My school didn't do well enough for the playoffs but that was okay. I'd continue to play in a summer league with James and Gary, and Rachel and the rest of my friends would happily continue to cheer me on.

I was pleasantly surprised by how much my girlfriends got into the game when they'd never shown any interest before, and I later wondered if it might have had something to do with sexism. I wouldn't have been surprised if it was because I did encounter a fair amount of sexism in the game. I was quickly growing into a young woman and I knew I'd be fighting sexism now and then throughout my life, but baseball would give me, and possibly my girlfriends, some added self-confidence to deal with such issues. I figured that if I could handle males on a baseball field, I could handle them anywhere.

The rest of the school year wrapped up nicely - both academically and romantically. Rachel was actually a year ahead of me, and she was bound and determined to go to the senior prom, so naturally she asked me, and naturally I accepted. I just had one thing to take care of first. I still hadn't told my mom about having a steady girlfriend, and I was long overdue for a little mother-daughter talk.

"Mom? Got a minute?" I asked her as we finished up dinner one evening.

"Sure, honey. What is it?"

I sat her down on the couch then, and I continually paced in front of her while I tried dredging up the right words. I'd dreaded that moment for far too long, and the long wait just made it more difficult.

"I've been meaning to tell you something that I've been putting off for a long time. I know it's silly but I was so afraid of disappointing you. Please keep an open mind. Okay?" I stopped to give her a faint smile.

"Yes. Go ahead," she encouraged.

"You know all those boys I dated, back when I was confused?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wasn't myself then. I mean ... I liked it. Sometimes I really, really liked it. Some of them were awesome kissers ...." I stopped and blushed.

My mom actually giggled. "I figured Doctor Franklin had something to do with your boy crazy phase," she said, and then she encouraged me to continue with a subtle open hand gesture.

"Anyway, I like boys. I really like them, just not as much as I used to, and not as many." I paused and groped for the next thing to say but the words still didn't come very easily.

"What are you trying to say, Michelle?" My mom finally got tired of waiting. "Are you trying to tell me you're a lesbian or bisexual?"

My mouth hung open and my eyes went wide. Once again, she knew. It's true. Mothers knew everything!

"It's been pretty obvious that you're attracted to girls you know. You don't hide it very well." She giggled a little then.

I blushed but still didn't say anything. Shock still held my vocal cords in an iron grip.

"It's okay," she said. "Really. I'm not disappointed."

"You're not?" I said in a small voice. "But what about grandchildren? Don't you want grandchildren?"

"Of course I do. But it's a little early for that, don't you think? At least I hope it is." She gave me a worried look and I laughed.

"Yes, you don't have anything to worry about. Actually, I wanted to tell you that I have a girlfriend. There isn't much of a chance she can get me pregnant." We both had a laugh over that.

I told her all about Rachel and going to the senior prom, and my mother immediately sprang from the couch and hugged me. We started making plans to shop for a prom dress and the evening passed with very little stress from that point on. I only wanted to clarify one more issue.

"So you're really not disappointed that I might never have children?" I asked, nibbling on my lower lip.

"Oh, Michelle. You silly girl. Even if you stay with Rachel, there are other options. You could always adopt or get a sperm donor."

"I never thought of that," I said.

"Yeah. You were probably preoccupied. You've had a strange last few years."

"That's for sure," I told her, and we both laughed a little.

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, my mom had one more thing to say, and I was sure her words would stick with me for the rest of my life.

"Whatever happens," she said, "whatever you do or make of yourself in your life, know that I'll never be disappointed in you."

After that, we hugged and cried a little, until I couldn't handle the thought of my mascara running down my face. My mom giggled as I ran to my bedroom to fix my face. I'd always be more girl than boy -- always.

***

The senior prom was a dream. I literally lived a dream. Nothing felt real that night. I escorted a beautiful girl and I was a beautiful girl. Our dresses fit and flattered perfectly, with me in blue and Rachel in lavender. Our hair swirled upon our heads and dangled ringlet curls that bobbed about our neck and shoulders. Our makeup was flawless. We stopped more than one boy cold whenever we sashayed by him. Neither of us could help adding an extra wiggle to our hips to gather a few extra pairs of eyes, even if most of them belonged to males. Hormones rampaged that night.

Our first dance together raised a few eyebrows, mostly from the male teachers from what I could tell, and we had to suffer a couple wolf whistles from envious boys. Other than that, nothing touched us, except each other. We danced in each others' arms, neither leading nor following. We were equal partners in our relationship.

After the prom, we flew through a fast food drive thru for a quick bite to eat. Then we found ourselves parked at the mall, off in one corner of the huge parking lot, far from all the other cars. The neon lights of the stores reflected off the hood of Rachel's car and in her eyes. We finished our tasty, unhealthy snacks, freshened our breath and then explored each other.

Our hands smoothed fabric and caressed skin. Our tongues playfully danced together in our mouths. I truly became a young woman when I gave myself to Rachel that night, and I did the same for her. We gave and received our love and commitment, and Rachel finally agreed that we were meant to stay together. We'd get a little house, grow a garden, and hopefully raise a couple children together. I yearned for at least one daughter. I'd name her Beth, and I'd pour all the love I had for my sister into my little girl. I'm sure Beth would've approved.

After prom night, I never again doubted who I was, and my psychologist finally declared me mentally fit and ready for the world. I felt comfortable and happy in my life. I had a soul mate, a loving family and wonderful friends. I had everything I needed, and everything I wanted.

***

My last summer as a high school student arrived, and I pedaled my way to my usual early Saturday morning destination. I wore my favorite blue biking outfit under a cute pink hoodie that I'd shed after the air warmed up a bit more. I also included the usual flower in my carrier.

I rode into the parking lot of the cemetery feeling like I could easily bike another 20 miles, and perhaps I would after my visit. I was in great shape, the best of my life. My inner boy was proud.

I got off the bike and walked it along the familiar zigzag path until I got to my sister's grave. It was still marked with my original name but my mother and I left it that way for the time being. We knew who was really buried there, and that's all that mattered to us.

I left the previous rose in the green plastic vase that stuck into the ground by the plaque. It appeared as though someone put some water in the vase to help keep the flower fresh. Either that or the sprinkler got it. Whatever the case, I added my freshly cut red rose and stood back to admire the two of them -- one for me and one for Beth.

"Hiya, Sis. It's me again, your loving sister."

I smiled and imagined her smiling back. In my mind, she was still 13-years-old. She'd never age for me, even though I knew she would've looked pretty much exactly the same as I did.

"Rachel's going off to college in the fall. I'm going to be so bummed."

I sighed. I'd have to stay behind and finish high school of course, but at least Rachel and I both agreed to go to the same college, assuming I'd be accepted. I didn't expect it to be a problem though. My grades were certainly good enough to get me accepted.

"At least I'll always have you here," I told her.

I sighed again. I didn't know how to tell her my next bit of news. My mother had long ago stopped coming to visit the grave once a week, and I pretty much only did it as a workout.

"I might not be coming to visit you every week from now on. I hope you don't mind."

I imagined her giving me a mock angry look, and I giggled.

"It's not that I don't love or miss you. I'll always love and miss you."

I sniffled a little and fought off the tears. Even though I was working out, I still wore mascara and I didn't want it to run down my face so far from home.

"It's just that I need to move on with my life. I need you to let me go. Will you do that for me, Beth? Will you let me go?"

I could almost see her, sadly nodding yes. What could she do? She was my sister, and she had to let me go.

I almost cursed then. I started crying, but I wasn't quite finished yet. I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue and continued.

"I'll still visit you now and then, especially when I need your sisterly advice, and I'll always hold you in my memories, and in my heart. Good-bye, Beth. I love you, dear sister."

With that, I walked my bicycle back to the parking lot and rode off. I made peace with my past and peace with myself. I'd be okay, and I'd carry on, literally walking in my sister's footsteps.

*** The End ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.