Michelle's first day after dealing with Dr. Limpke and presenting herself as woman to her father and brother.   Mike versus Michelle: Part 7 Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Holsteader By Sharon Parsons

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The day that had begun so horribly ended on a high note when my father gave me permission to become the woman I had always dreamed of becoming. Technically speaking, I could have done it without his approval, but his support made it so much easier. However, support and understanding are two different things. My father supported my efforts to become a woman, but he didn't understand them.

I wouldn't call my father a homophobe, but he has a difficult time accepting that my husband and I are more than just friends. It's possible that I'm being unfair. Perhaps he'd be just as uncomfortable about sex if I'd been born a real female. The one thing that is for certain is that our relationship evolved as I became more womanly. It has always been loving, but it had definitely become more awkward.

Its safe to say that all my pre-Michelle relationships changed. You can't do what I did and have people think, oh well, its still the same old Mike. He's just wearing a dress! It doesn't work that way. And that's a good thing, because I sure as heck wouldn't have gone through the effort for that kind of result.

My evolution from Mike to Michelle caused a lot of confusion and some hostility with the people who had always known me as Mike. I could handle the confusion, but the hostility tugged at my heart.

My brother Tony was confused about the change. When he left for the school the other morning, I was just his long haired older brother. When he got home, he found a woman in my place. He was six years old when he met me as Michelle.

He asked our mom who the pretty girl was. Mom told him who I was. He didn't believe it until I spoke to him. Tony wasn't angry. He just wanted to know why and how it happened so that he could prevent it from happening to himself. To Tony, being female was a disease, unless of course you were his mom.

Mom and I had less than five minutes to make up before Tony got home from school. Perhaps Dad had tipped her off while I was redoing my make-up. Or maybe she could just tell by the look on my face that I wasn't angry any more. The final clue was when I hugged her and told her how sorry I was for acting like a jerk.
 

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That afternoon was special because it was the first time my family had seen me dressed as a woman. I wasn't a woman to Dad and Tony at that point. I'm pretty sure they felt as I was wearing a costume. Much of the blame for that fell on me because I wasn't presenting myself as a woman.

Having Dad and Tony see me for the first time was liberating and necessary, but it was nothing like when I dressed for my mom the first time. I needed my mother's approval and acceptance more than I needed Dad's and Tony's.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that my first time dressed in front of my family wasn't happy-go-lucky. It felt a lot like I had been caught doing something I shouldn't have been doing. I felt a lot like I had betrayed Dad and Tony by switching teams.

Mom and Dad attempted to make the best out of an uncomfortable situation. Its amusing now, but it was anything but amusing when it happened. I was the 800 pound elephant in the room, and they were doing their best to pretend that nothing drastic had changed. I was still their child and they loved me unconditionally. Even now, I couldn't expect them to behave any differently than they did that first day.

I also remember that day as the day I began speaking openly in front of my parents. My mother and I didn't have as many secrets to keep after I showed myself off to Dad and Tony.

Mom and I talked about the hormone prescription and the smoking without fear of Dad and Tony overhearing our conversation. I felt like I was farting in the room but wasn't trying to hide it. I was still embarrassed about it, but there wasn't any need to hide.

Mom wanted to know what I wanted to do about it. She offered to go to the drugstore before it closed and pick up dinner on the way home. She offered me a pack of cigarettes in front of Dad and Tony. I said no to both of her offers. I told her I'd rather wait until the next day when we could take our time.

I wanted those two things to be special and I wanted to share them with my mother and nobody else. She understood that.

I went to bed that night wearing my favorite long silk nightgown. I didn't lock my door that night and I remember feeling very relieved about that. "Relieved" is the word that best describes how I felt about that day.

I wasn't happy. I was relieved. I was still burdened with the idea that I was doing things I shouldn't be doing. I was relieved because even though I had no business doing the things I was doing, I had my parent's blessing to do them.

I wasn't a boy who had blossomed into a young woman that day. My life hadn't become a fairy-tale projected in technicolor. I didn't feel like Cinderella or any of the other Disney princesses. My wanting to be a woman was more like the monster in a closet that is suddenly discovered to be real. That monster's name is Sissy-Pervert.

I laid in my bed and looked at the trophies I had won for running faster and hitting harder than anyone else on the team. I had enjoyed playing those games. More importantly, I had enjoyed being a boy.

That night would have been cause for celebration if I had truly felt worthy and in need of the great prize that had been bestowed on me. The truth of the matter was that I didn't feel as if I deserved to be a woman like my mother. I didn't deserve to dress like her or smoke like her or be anything at all like her. I didn't deserve those things because I lacked the necessary prerequisite. Underneath it all, I wasn't a woman. I was just a sissy-pervert who couldn't help himself from playing with his mother's things and had gotten caught one too many times.

I rarely waste my time wondering if my life would have been better if I had grown into a man. It would not have been better. As a woman, I am an asset to society and I've made the world a better place for my child, and my husband, and even my mother.

Having the opportunity to become a woman was synonymous with having the opportunity to become a full time sissy-pervert without having to hide it.

It sounds like I'm being harsh on myself, but in reality I'm being harsh on Mike. Michelle doesn't deserve the pain, or humiliation, or skepticism that Mike puts her through. Michelle is a beautiful woman both inside and out like her mother. Mike is the filthy beast that resides within her.

I hate Mike, but without him, there could be no Michelle. My therapist jokingly refers to me as Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Holsteader and says I can't be her without being him.

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To Be Continued...