Intersexed

My mind was spinning. Well, figuratively speaking, I mean. It was already near lunchtime, and I was glad we were almost through with the testing and the talking. I could do with a break from thinking about this.

Mr. Daimon and Dr. Griffin seemed to know what I was feeling, and Mr. Daimon said I should focus on the current situation for now.

It helped a lot, and we were able to plan for things with clearer heads.

After a long chat in Mr. Daimon’s office to hash out the situation, we agreed that the biggest thing was that my gender change would leak eventually, and I was all for pre-empting the problem. Dr. Griffin’s suggestion was the only one we thought was halfway workable. She said that we should say I was intersexed, specifically the version that used to be called Female Pseudohermaphroditis - a kind of intersex condition where a genetic female had external genitals that appeared male.

So the plan was for Dr. Griffin and Mr. Daimon to call my folks, tell them my supposed condition, and that what should be done was to perform an operation to align my genitals to my genes.

As for the student body, they’ll also be told the same story. That part of the plan was wrought with trouble. I knew the kind of bullying and abuse I’d be in for, but the only other thing I could do was to transfer schools. And could I even do that? I would be disappointing my folks terribly. We moved like seven hundred miles for me, and for a chance at a college scholarship. They changed jobs and left family and friends back home, all for me. And if I was to stay at Delos, at least there was only a little over a month remaining for the semester. That meant school would be out soon. That could only be a good thing, allowing me to save on some abuse.

Reluctantly, I agreed to the plan. Dr. Griffin gave me a hug, and Mr. Daimon shook my hand.

“I think you’re doing the right thing, Val,” he said. “And it’s the brave thing to do.” He shook my hand. “Let me write you a pass so you can go back to class.”

“Mr. Daimon…” I said, “I was wondering… would it be possible for me to not go to class today? I don’t know if I could face class right now…”

Mr. Daimon nodded. “I understand.” He got out a pad and wrote on it. He tore off the top sheet and gave it to me. “Here. Show this to anyone who asks. This is your pass for the day. And, later, around three, I’ll give your folks a call. Can you give me their numbers?”

I wrote their cell phone and office numbers on a pad.

“Thanks. Be sure to be back home around that time so your folks won’t worry. And here’s my card in case you need to talk or whatever.”

“Thanks, Mr. Daimon; Dr. Griffin. I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then.”

Playing Hooky

So I texted Carla and Michael and told them I was going home.

“Dude,” Michael texted back, “don’t do it. You’re gonna regret it tomorrow. Detention ain’t fun.”

“Not playing hooky,” I texted Michael back, sending Carla the same message. “Got a pass. I’m just going home.”

“You feeling okay, Val?” Carla texted while Michael sent “What’s up? What happened?”

“Got some news. Medical thing. I just don’t feel like going to class.”

“What is it?” Carla responded.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. See ya later.”

I was pleased my two closest friends in Delos were concerned for me, but I couldn’t take that concern at the moment, so I turned off my phone’s ringer. I’ll make it up to them later.

I didn’t know what to do, but I definitely wanted to stop thinking about it. I decided to go to a mall or something. I went over to North Bridge mall, and went to the food court for lunch. I didn’t know Chicago as well as I liked. After all, my folks and I have been in town for less than eight months. And this mall was one of the few I knew in town.

Every time I went to North Bridge, I felt like the mall was becoming more and more empty. I guess the decreasing popularity of malls was true here as well. Still, there was enough of a selection of stores that made the mall a decent enough place to hang. But first things first – lunch.

At the food court, I ended up going to a restaurant called Aloha Poke Co. Their gimmick was you made your own bowl made up of the ingredients they had with a Hawaiian kind of flavor. Needless to say, I got their biggest bowl – the Big Kahuna – and picked my own ingredients.

Given the time of day – just before lunch - there weren’t too many people in the food court, so I had lots of choices for tables. Before starting, though, I turned on my phone and texted my folks.

“Hi, Ma and Dad,” I texted them instead of calling, and deliberately texting in full words and sentences – Ma doesn’t like it when I abbreviate - “got some news at school. Mr. Daimon, the vice-principal, or the school doctor will call you later to explain. Vice-principal gave me a pass for the rest of the day – couldn’t face classes today. Anyway, just hanging out at the mall, etc. Will see you guys at home later. Love you.”

I kept my phone’s ringer off. I couldn’t face having to talk to them as well.

Women’s Sizes; Acting Over Being

My Big Kahuna bowl was great, but I couldn’t finish it all. That surprised me. I guess I just wasn’t that hungry. I was really thirsty, though, and bought a bottle of water after I finished off my large Coke.

As I was eating, I thought about school, and what I would do after my supposed intersexed condition became known. Should I just adopt being a girl? And should I go all the way? That troubled me a bit, but it was something to consider if I were to live with this.

I couldn’t imagine what I’d really be like as a girl, and if my tastes and behavior would change in any substantial way. And if I’d start liking boys. I don’t think I ever would, but it’s more important to appear like a girl, rather than be a girl. At least for now. For now, it was just about being accepted. Long term wasn’t important right now. It’s all about acting> like a girl than being a girl.

So. Let’s just stick to looks. And that meant clothes. Clothes were the biggest factor in being accepted, after all, at least in school. And for girls, this included makeup and hairstyles.

I chided myself for my seeming naivete about girls, but then I was a guy, so I couldn’t help it. Sound like a thin justification, but my pride would take any justification it could.

And I thought what it meant to “go all the way” to look like a girl. But then maybe “all the way” wasn’t the thing to do. I thought of the girls that I knew in school and tried to recall what they usually wore. Carla, for example, was one of the prettiest in school, and always looked great. But she wasn’t really going too over-the-top. Her day-to-day outfits were always great, but not over-the-top.

I remembered what I saw in the mirror in the clinic, and I thought I looked enough like a girl that I could, maybe, pass for one. But I definitely would need some assistance… Maybe I should try it out before Ma and Dad get home? And if it doesn’t work, I wonder if I would need plastic surgery or something to pass. And would Mr. Daimon agree to that.

So I decided to try. Guess this was yet another of my rash decisions.

So, where to buy an outfit?

I decided on Nordstrom, so after a short walk and a little bit of exploring, I was at the women’s clothing section. I looked over the selection they had, but didn’t really know what to pick. Then I saw an advertising poster and now had a picture of what to pick. Another rash decision? Yep.

What I apparently had decided on was a gray pullover turtleneck sweater and a pair of what I found later were black opaque thermal tights. I originally thought they were girl’s slim-fit jeans, but they turned out to be tights. But I didn’t want to stick around too long in the women’s section just to fix my mistake so I just took them and quickly walked to the cash register with my selection. The sales girl suggested some underwear as well, so I just grabbed the pair she had in her hand, randomly grabbed something from a nearby shelf of packaged bras, and paid for my clothes. I hoped I wasn’t too rude.

I then left Nordstrom, but then I stopped just outside the store. I, apparently, didn’t think it through, so I decided to look for a restroom. Walking around North Bridge, I finally found a women’s restroom, and sure enough, there was a nearby men’s room.

No one was inside so I had the pick of all the stalls. I picked the farthest one, of course, and hurried in. Thank god the mall’s restrooms were clean… But as I was tearing open the packaging of my new duds, I realized a few problems…

First, I didn’t buy shoes and socks.

But I was wearing combat boots so that should be okay since girls wear combat boots, and, sure enough, the tights I got were what were called “footed tights” – these tights feature a fully covered foot that gives a seamless look in shoes. So that solves the shoes and socks problem.

Second was the sizes of the stuff I bought. I never thought to think about sizes. My clothes sizes were mostly medium so, without thinking, I unthinkingly picked medium sizes for the stuff I just bought. I would learn later that there was about a three-inch average difference between US men’s sizes and US women’s sizes. For example, A men's medium was 38-40 inches in the chest and 30-32 in the waist, while a women's medium was 36-38 in the bust and 29-30 in the waist: I ended up getting clothes way too small for me.

So after I took off my shirt, shorts, pants, boots and socks, I found that I needed to squeeze into my new, too-small clothes. Thank god most women’s clothes had a lot of stretch to them.

Third was the bra. What I ended up getting was also a medium bra - a 36B. However, with bras, the straps didn’t stretch much. I sat on the toilet and studied the bra a little bit. Eventually, I figured it enough to be able to adjust the straps to their maximum. With the straps adjusted to their very end in their little buckles, I ended up loosening them enough to allow me to strap them around my chest, although I suspect the bra was a little too high on the chest than normal. Well, at least I’ll have perky boobs. Lol.

Fourth was that the bra would collapse underneath my clothes. So I got lots of toilet paper and stuffed the bra cups.

There – with my boots, I was now in my new girl duds.

I stuffed my boy clothes into my backpack, and then listened for other people in the restroom. Not hearing anyone, I snuck out of the men’s room and then rushed to the nearby ladies’ where I could finish my change.

There were a couple of girls inside the ladies’, primping in front of the mirrors, so I rushed into the first empty stall I found to avoid them.

I breathed heavily, worried – I was afraid the girls outside knew I was a guy, but after a few minutes, not hearing any indignant exclamations, I knew they didn’t. I stayed in my stall and waited for the girls to leave, and when they left, I gingerly stepped out of my stall and looked at my reflection in the mirror. Not bad, I thought. I noticed I didn’t have any makeup on as well as any earrings. Yet another mistake. But then it’s not as if I knew how to apply makeup. At least the oversight didn’t make me stand out too much.

I decided to wash my face with the fruity-smelling hand soap from the dispenser - I had to go for the well-scrubbed look - and wetted my hair down just enough to take out the wavy-messy curls of my shoulder-length hair. I took my comb from my jeans’ pocket (my jeans were in my backpack) and combed it through my damp hair until I had what looked like straight hair combed straight back making it look sleek, shiny and stylish. To my boy’s eyes at least.

I also combed my hair over my ears so that my earring-less lobes would be hidden, and I guess that was it.

As I was putting the final touches on my new look, a couple of other girls came in and went straight for the mirrors. They smiled at me politely, and I smiled back. They continued chatting as I continued fiddling with my hair. Just like nothing was wrong.

One of the girls went to the booths and pretty soon, I heard water hitting porcelain. And in a while the other girl went in as well.

So far, so good, I thought. I decided to leave and walk around to give my look the acid test.

I casually shouldered my backpack over one shoulder, smiled into the mirror “Not bad,” I said to the girl in the mirror – she was actually pretty cute. And then I stepped back into the mall.

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