Angry Diary, by Karin Bishop

Part Five

5/16

Remember the first thing I wrote in yesterday’s entry? About not wanting to be Alan anymore? Now, even more so. Even more so! A lot of stuff happened, but I’ll try to keep it shorter than yesterday’s, which was as long as War and Peace.

I’ll start with last night: Mom and I left Susan and her mom before the male McMillans got home, thank God. And, true to being girlfriends, Susan told me to wear the clothes home; she’d be over the next day and maybe we could do something and maybe she could borrow something of mine.

Yeah, like I have anything much.

On the ride home last night, it really struck me how I’d have to start from Zero and go on from there. Well, maybe not Zero, because I had the nighties and Mom had picked up some things like shorts and tops. But I knew that I wanted to start building Alyssa’s wardrobe, but I didn’t want Mom to go broke doing it.

We were both so happy when we got home that she hugged me before I went to get ready for bed. I washed and moisturized and came to show Mom how I looked in one of my new nighties.

Okay, I chose the short one. I had to!

I loved the way it floated around me, and I loved seeing my bare shoulders in reflections; I just loved being Alyssa, but I knew that reality would crash in.

Not yet, though.

Mom told me she loved me and that Judy would be delighted, and that we’d see how the world could handle two Cunningham women.

I was still chuckling at that as I got into bed, remembering the twinkle in my mother’s eyes when she’d said it. God, I love her, and other than her choice of husband, I want to be just like her. For the meantime, though, I’m overjoyed just to be her daughter—

Wait-wait-wait …

What the hell has happened to me? What is happening to me?

That’s what ran through my head as I lay back, stunned, and stared at the ceiling. I knew that I had been a boy named Alan. Yeah, I was small and unhappy and got teased a lot and then came home and got hit a lot, but I was a small boy named Alan.

Now I was a girl named Alyssa and becoming even more so, every minute. It didn’t seem like a then and now or a before-and-after, like stepping over a state line: Step there, you’re a boy. Step there, and you’re a girl. Instead, there was a flow, a blending, and I couldn’t say where me-as-a-boy ended and me-as-a-girl started—but I knew, absolutely, that I wanted to be a girl. That in some ways I already was a girl. There had been no conscious decision to it, no reasoning. Things … happened, like shopping for tennis things for Mom, and then things were different afterwards. Or maybe it had begun before that? In any case, little by little, change by change, moment by moment … I’d changed, and now I was overjoyed to be my mother’s daughter.

I’d have to talk about this with Mom and with Judy, and maybe someone else, although I didn’t want to. But just as I’d thought the words ‘overjoyed to be my mother’s daughter’, I’d felt the joy. I’d felt the happiness and warmth and the rightness that whether Alan-to-Alyssa had been little steps or a smooth flow or all at once, I was where I should be in my life. I was who I should be.

I felt another surge of happiness at that thought, and fell asleep quickly. When I woke up this morning, there was a confidence in my decision, in my life, that I’d never felt before—that Alan had never felt before—as well as a sense that the world had tilted, had slid; that I was in another dimension, an alternate reality … But it was the proper reality. The world had slid into place. Getting out of bed and feeling the nightie about me—even though it was wrinkled from sleep—made me more than ever determined that Alyssa was what and who I was meant to be. I don’t know how it happened, but it is right.

Judy came over around noon. I was in the denim skirt again, with a blue top and the bra, but the day was heating up so much I didn’t know what to wear, especially after Mom told me in no uncertain terms that I shouldn’t wear things two days in a row.

“So I’ll just have to go topless,” I said.

“Don’t be flippant, young lady,” Mom said, and all three of us cracked up at how automatically she’d responded, and how good it was to hear and say those words.

Judy was amazed at me all over again, and we hugged, and I felt wonderful. Susan called and we talked about her coming over, and she asked if I wanted to come back over to her house, because they have a pool.

Yeah, I thought, but what would I swim in?

She read my mind and told me don’t worry at all. Because they had a pool and she swam all the time, she had lots of swimsuits. I put her on hold and talked with Mom, and this is what we did …

We went shopping!

I can see why women love it; as Alan I never cared, but Alyssa loves to shop—of course, maybe because I don’t have very much right now. But it’s more than just getting stuff; it’s a bonding thing with women, and a learning thing, and so much more than just picking up something to wear.

Mom and Judy were going to some art exhibit in the afternoon, and it didn’t matter what time they got there, so the three of us piled in and went to a mall near Susan’s house, one that I hadn’t been to since a couple of Christmases ago.

On the way over, Judy complimented me up one side and down the other about how well I was ‘adapting’ to being Alyssa (she likes the name, too). Being methodical, she proposed that we go just three places in one department store since we had limited time, and could mega-shop later. First, we’d pick up some extra tops and skirts—‘functional day wear’ she called it—and second we’d pick up a swimsuit, although she admitted that swimsuit shopping can take weeks to do right!

In the Juniors section we picked up skirts in tan, black, and denim; an assortment of tops, and some capris, which I was dying to try for some reason. I think it’s because they’re pants that boys don’t wear. In the shoe department I got a pair of shoes like Mom’s Keds, brown and white flats, new flip-flops, and my own pair of strappy sandals! I was dying to try heels, but knew that would be rushing things. Still …!

On to swimsuits, and I was dazzled and overwhelmed by the selection. On the recommendation of Mom and Judy, I got two, a royal blue with white trim two-piece, and a black maillot. The time waster was trying on three different pairs of the two-piece to find a top and bottom that fit me well. I didn’t even have time to think about what it felt like to wear these things; it was just ‘into the changing room, off with this, on with that, off with that, on with this, back out and repeat’.

Whew!

We started out of the store, and Judy called out as we passed the jewelry cases. She and Mom murmured, and I suddenly found myself the proud owner of a thin gold chain, a bracelet, and the prettiest ring!

I couldn’t believe we’d only taken an hour—I said Judy’s efficient!—and yet I had a pile of things to put away when I got home. More to the immediate point, I had suits, flip-flops (and a towel courtesy of Mom’s detour), and some casual wear for after the swim. I put everything I’d need in one bag as we drove to the McMillans’ house.

Susan and I assumed it would be just the two of us lounging by the pool.

We were very wrong.

They dropped me off at two; Mrs. McMillan was going to take me home later. The day was getting summery hot and I thought the pool would be great. I should have realized things weren’t going to be so peaceful when I noticed all the cars parked on the street. Maybe someone on the block’s having a party, I thought in passing. Before I rang the bell, Susan opened the door. She was wearing a day-glow orange bikini top and had a towel wrapped around her waist.

The first thing she did was apologize; she said the thing wrong with having only one pool for two kids is that each kid might have separate plans for it. Susan said that just after we’d talked, her older brother Patrick had told her he’d invited ‘a few friends’ to use the pool this afternoon. Susan had tried calling me to alert me or cancel, but I was out shopping with Mom and Judy and she didn’t know our cell phone numbers.

So the pool deck was filled with teenage boys, a situation that would not be unbearable for a typical teenage girl, but might stress me out. But that wasn’t the worst … some of Patrick’s friends brought girls, including Amanda Joyner and some other girls from our class! Right now by the pool, there were three girls and maybe six guys who all knew Alan—and maybe more were arriving, because guys always invited guys who brought their guy friends along. And guys would bring girls, and the chances of people being there who knew Alan Cunningham skyrocketed.

I couldn’t very well ask Mrs. McMillan to take me home right now (Mr. McMillan was nowhere in sight). I couldn’t very well hide in Susan’s room all day. I mean, I could, but the other girls would probably come in and discover me. I couldn’t very well go out to the pool like I was a real girl, with the kids I knew from school.

Or could I?

I was thinking all of this while Susan walked me up to her room. I could hear the buzz from outside; it was inviting and terrifying all at once. Susan kept apologizing; I kept telling her to forget it. We got to her room (with a locking door, because of her brother) and Susan leaned against the door after locking it, and asked what I wanted to do.

My options came down to call Mom, call a cab, beg a ride from the McMillans, hide, run away, and what?

Face it. Ride it out. Go among ‘em.

Geez.

Well, Susan had asked what I wanted to do … and I knew, instantly: I wanted to be me. I want to be me, from now on. I was going to do it!

God help me!

I told Susan that she’d invited Alyssa over to go swimming, so … Susan and Alyssa were going swimming!

She jumped up and hugged me, and then asked what I was going to wear. I showed her my suits, which she said were very cool, and although I don’t think I have the curves for it, Susan was pushing for me to wear the two-piece. I tried it on—carefully making sure I was better tucked than ever before—and I reluctantly agreed with her (although my tummy is nice and flat from exercising). Susan said it really qualified as a bikini, the way it looked on me.

Incredible! I’m wearing a bikini—and it’s mine—and Susan says I look good in it!

There was an awkward moment when she looked at my chest. I’m not being evasive and refusing to say ‘boobs’; she looked there, of course, but also at the sides of the top and frowned.

“Um … Alyssa? You need to, um … well, some girls I know call it ‘fluff’. You need to fluff yourself.”

I had a glimmer of what she might mean, but teased her in a haughty voice. “I only fluff myself on alternate Tuesdays!”

Susan giggled. “You nut! No, I mean, um …”

“Something involving my boobs,” I said, even as I marveled at how easy it had been to say the word.

To test it further, I said, “Fluffing is doing something with my breasts?”

A thrill went through me; it was the first time I’d said ‘my breasts’ and it was right and it was proper and—and what did she want to do?

Susan was tentatively reaching her hands out towards me. “Um … Since you’re new to, well, everything … is it okay if I help?”

“Fluff away,” I grinned, even as I was almost shaking with nerves.

She locked eyes with me, then slowly reached into one cup and slid her hand under my breast and pulled it up and in, then tightened the strap slightly. I nodded and she did the other side, faster.

“Properly fluffed, are we?” I teased again.

“Yeah. No—we aren’t. Watch so you’ll know what to do next time,” she said, and quickly scooped her breasts to the top of her bikini cups and had much more cleavage than before.

So that’s how it’s done!

“Check it out,” she nodded to her mirror.

Omigod! I could see the round tops of my boobs above my bikini top! I had cleavage!

I was shocked by this but she just nodded—job done—and all that, and turned to her vanity. Fortunately, she’s a swimming pro, so she had lots of waterproof makeup. Yes, I know you’re not supposed to share mascara, but she had this waterproof kind, and a kind of waterproof blush, and some combination lip gloss and sunblock, and then a spray sunblock on top of everything else. Then she tossed a tube of sunblock in a tote bag; she said if we got lucky, we could have it applied later by cute boys—a thought that thrilled me and made me choke both at the same time. She also asked what to do about Amanda and anybody else I knew.

Geez again.

I did have to face them at school, and even if I ran away right now, I didn’t think there would be any way to get the Alyssa-genie back in the bottle. Trying to deal with my new femininity would be extra-hard at school. It had to be now. So, a cover story …

“Well, it’s a medical thing. You could say …” I trailed off, then made up my mind. “Just tell ‘em you’re helping me become the girl I really am,” I said.

God bless her; Susan just nodded and said, “And always was. Cool.”

I fluffed my hair up and out; it now fans out way past my shoulders. Armed with flip-flops, towel, tote (from Susan), sunglasses, and magazines (CosmoGirl for me, TeenVogue for Susan) we headed out.

It was a madhouse; loud rock from a boom box down by the deep end, guys jumping and screaming off the diving board, guys walking around with cans of soda pretending they were beer (and maybe some of them were), and a couple of guys sitting with girls. The McMillans have a huge backyard; to the side of the pool is a gazebo, with a little pool house behind that. Grass all around.

Susan led the way; guys stopped and stared, some whistled, and I was so glad I had sunglasses, because I’m sure my eyes would have shown my terror! Susan walked up to Patrick, pointed to some grass in the sun, and told him to keep his goons away from us. Patrick nodded, belched and his buddies cracked up. Susan did the cutest nose-in-the-air turn, all snooty, and I followed her to the patch of sunlit grass.

We laid out the towels and stuff, and I watched how she got down by swiveling with her knees together and lowering gracefully. I copied her, just a little bit behind her, and hopefully it looked like I’d been sitting down in a bikini all of my life.

Once we were set, I whispered, “Are we gonna swim?” and she said, “In time.”

I had to agree with her, actually; I’d probably look like a drowned rat.

Of course, Amanda Joyner came over with a kind of snippy way of asking, “And so who’s your friend?”

Susan leaned up on one elbow and told Amanda to bend down. Amanda’s eyes widened as she was told about how my ‘endocrinological imbalance’ was permanent, and I was not becoming a girl; my body was finally allowing me to be the girl I always was. Way to go, Susan!

Amanda’s not a bad sort; she was just so amazed at it all that she forgot to be snippy and said, “That must be so hard for you—and so weird!” and I agreed it was, and then the awkward moment passed, she sat down next to me and somehow I knew—in Amanda’s mind I was now a girl. Even better, I’d been reclassified as always having been a girl.

I wondered, God, is it all going to be that easy?

Susan told Amanda not to say anything to the other girls; they didn’t go to our school and wouldn’t know Alan. As far as they were concerned, I was Susan’s friend and probably competition for the boys’ attention. Amanda agreed, but every so often she’d point out this guy or that guy and we’d all do the girly giggle thing, looking but not looking.

I was getting into it, playing along, when I realized that one of the cute guys Amanda pointed to was Scotty.

What the hell was Scotty doing here?

Only it was a Scotty I almost didn’t recognize. For one thing, familiarity blinded me, I’m sure, but over the months I had noticed that he seemed like he was getting in better shape. Since I didn’t have PE anymore, or seen him in the showers, I didn’t know just how much his body had been changing, even as mine was—well, not the same way, of course—and now … now he looked like the other guys. And better than some; he was a good-looking guy, an actual dude. Not fat little Scotty anymore; I bet he’s Scott now. When did this happen? Was I that wrapped up in my own life that I missed it?

Susan told me that Scott had helped Patrick on a test or report or something, and Patrick invited him. She looked at me over the top of her sunglasses and asked what I wanted to do?

“Disappear,” I said.

Amanda was kind of oblivious and was getting impatient and bouncy, and finally got up to walk towards the other girls (who were talking with some guys) when all of a sudden some guy swooped her up and dumped her in the pool! She shrieked going in and came up spouting water and bawling out the guy who’d dunked her.

“See how it’s done?” Susan asked. “Now watch what’s next—the hair move.”

Sure enough; just as Susan said that, Amanda bent at the knees and submerged, then came up with her face up, her hair streaming behind her. Then she reached up with both hands and kneaded the water out of her hair.

“And push the chest out—good, good,” Susan commented as Amanda did it. Susan giggled. “She probably hooked half-a-dozen guys with that toss. Look,” she nodded around the pool and sure enough; I could see at least six or seven guys staring hungrily at Amanda—and I also saw daggers from some girls.

I had no idea it was so much a formula, so predictable. I realized—again—how little I know, and was again grateful that I had such a knowledgeable and fun mentor as Susan.

Susan asked if I was ready to play. I stammered something, and she said we’d go get drinks and maybe make it back. And if I hit the water, she said, grab my top and keep it down!

I was so nervous that I forgot everything, except to follow Susan’s lead. We got up with a reverse of the knee-roll thing, and walked towards the house. I found that I unconsciously did the thing girls do with their fingers, sliding them under the bottom edge of their swimsuit and pulling it down.

Suddenly, the world shifted in an instant. I had the sense of falling sideways and then rising in the air, but Susan and I had been swept up by the Benson brothers, two blond giants with a future in pro football. Susan started her shriek, kicking her legs, so I joined her, as the two guys tossed us in.

I remembered to grab hold of the bottom of my top; if I hadn’t, it might very well have been knocked up by the force of the splash. I held it in place as I emerged, thinking quickly, what was the routine? Oh yeah, spout water, hair streaming down the face, and yell at them. I did; Susan did, and the Bensons were laughing and high-fiving each other, shouting, “Doubles!”

The next bit was to bend underwater and come up face first, my hair streaming. Then the biggie—arms up, hands to the back of the head to pull the hair back. I came up and was in my stretch, thinking that even my small boobs looked bigger this way. I could see (without appearing to notice) more than half-a-dozen guys staring at us. The Bensons had tossed Susan ten feet away from me, and she was walking toward me, a question on her face. I just smiled, and she smiled back and knew I was okay, but she was nearby if I needed her. Then I heard an “A-hem” behind me.

And, of course, it was Scotty, so there I was, my arms raised behind my head, my boobs sticking out, water dripping from my waterproof, mascaraed lashes, and all I could think was, ‘I hope I look good’. His face was doing all sorts of things; I think he guessed it was me but hadn’t committed to it.

Either way, he was diplomatic and said, “I gotta apologize for them. Not all guys do that,” meaning the pool toss. Part of me realized that, yeah, guys do it and girls let it be done and it’s all part of the flirting game, and I further realized that he didn’t know that, and it dawned on me that he’d only just joined this kind of crowd so it was all new to him—as it was to me, but I had Susan coaching me.

All this flashed in my head in an instant. All I could say was, “It wasn’t so bad, it was pretty hot out and we needed to cool off.”

Of course, my voice further confused him. Judy has commented occasionally that when I’m with Mom and her, my speech pattern changes to more feminine, softer and more musical, and that’s how I was talking. I guess it was also my concentrated time with Susan and Amanda.

Scotty said, “You’re … uh … do you know Alan Cunningham?”

I was already in a pool, but it was time to dive into the deep end …

I swallowed my lump of fear and said, “Yes, I do; I used to be him.”

Scotty’s mouth dropped, but it also had a strange smile to it. “Alan?”

“No,” I said, “Alyssa.” I swallowed again. “Hi, Scotty.”

He did the typical stunned, “Wha … how …?”

I stood closer to him and said quietly, “The endocrine problem I had earlier? That medical thing? It’s kind of sorted out now.”

I knew he wanted—and deserved—more information, but this was definitely not the place. I also knew that by standing closer to him, he couldn’t help but see my boobs up close. My cleavage! Then one of the Bensons—I think it was the one who tossed me—jumped in screaming, “Cannonball!” and splashed us both, to a roar from the crowd. Susan waded over and said, “Hi, Scotty. Let’s get those drinks, Alyssa.”

I smiled at the bewildered Scotty as Susan and I waded out with that left-hip-forward, right-hip-forward way you have to walk in pools. We got out—to wolf whistles and a pouty look from one of the girls—only to see Amanda get tossed in again, and we were temporarily forgotten. We crossed our arms under our chests and quick-stepped to the pool house refrigerator. Inside were a few cans of Diet Pepsi left. Susan said with some glee, “Beer’s gone—Dad’s gonna kill Patrick!”

We were standing to the side of the pool house, sipping our Pepsis, when Scotty came up to us. I must say, out of the water and only wearing jams, he looked surprisingly muscular. He was all embarrassed and didn’t know what to say. Susan offered him a Pepsi, which he took gratefully because it gave him something to do, I think.

I decided to grab the bull by the horns. I told him that he was lucky; this was the world premiere of Alyssa Cunningham. He was astounded. I told him I’d been out in public over the last few weeks with Mom and Judy, and hanging out with Susan, but this was the first time with other kids that might have known Alan.

He asked, “So is this … is this temporary or permanent? And what are you going to do?”

I told him, “This is me, now and forever. Everything makes sense now, and I’m far happier in the short time since I’ve become Alyssa, than in all my years as Alan.” I sighed and asked him, “Scotty, isn’t your life better now that you got in shape?”

I felt a catch in my breathing and my heart when I thought about him being in shape.

Scotty turned and looked at the pool and admitted he never would have been here if it weren’t for losing the weight. And, yeah, he felt better all around.

He turned back and asked again. “So what are you going to do?”

I told him, “About school, I don’t know. About life, well, it’s going to be as a girl. Because that’s what I really am.”

Susan, God bless her, nodded and said, “Scotty, I’ve known Alan all of his life. I’ve known Alyssa almost all of her life, and I know boys from girls. This is my friend Alyssa, and she’s a girl, one-hundred-percent, absolutely.”

I could have hugged her right then. Scotty nodded at what she’d said, and said that I was right; everything made sense now. Then the million dollar question: he asked, “But what about guys?”

I told him, “I don’t know; I’ll have to work it out. The old me says no way, but the new me says … to forget the old me. So we’ll see. Everything is still changing with me; to get all lyrical about it, I’m on a journey and I’m only part-way there yet, wherever ‘there’ is.”

He nodded again, and said, “Well, for what it’s worth … you look great. You look fantastic …” and then he blushed and looked down at his drink.

I thanked him and looked at Susan, who nodded and said it was time to go, and we headed back to the grass and retrieved our things. We walked into the house—I caught a glimpse of Scotty watching me—and Susan asked if I wanted first shower or second. I chose second because, well, I didn’t want to get out of my bikini so quickly.

And while she was showering … well, I did spend some time checking myself out in her full-length mirror. It showed a girl, pure and simple. Creamy skin, light brown hair darkened by water but hanging past her shoulders, green eyes and a cute face—not babyish, but sweet. Small boobs, yeah; but curvy and, I had to admit, pretty.

I was still trying to grasp all of this when Susan came out of her bathroom tucking in a towel at her boobs, and told me there was another towel and robe. I went in and reluctantly peeled off my bikini—I loved it so much now!—stepped in, rinsed the bikini and then washed, shampooed and rinsed. I wrapped the towel around my chest and went into her bedroom; she was brushing her hair. I thanked her again for everything and she waved it away.

“Just girlfriend stuff; no biggie,” she said.

Her face got serious and she asked if she could ask me a hugely personal question. I had some idea what it might be, and said go ahead. She asked what I did with … and pointed below my waist. I decided to show her; just girlfriend stuff, right?

I turned my back, did a quick tuck and turned back. I lowered the towel. Her eyes grew wide when she saw what looked like a typical girl’s mound. She said something like, “But how …” and I told her about tucking. I didn’t tell her about the testicles, but she guessed. She awkwardly asked about my penis. I’d gotten smaller in the last month or so, and so when I relaxed and widened my legs, there was this little droopy blob hanging between my legs. I quickly tucked it back. She asked if I was going to have surgery, and I smiled and said, “As soon as possible.”

Since I’d shown her my most embarrassing, revealing part, it seemed silly to be modest with her anymore, so I let the towel go to the floor, rummaged around in my bag and stepped into a pair of panties. “Looks perfectly natural!” Susan said, about how I looked in my panties, and I felt a rush of happiness. I put on a bra—a new one for me—and pulled on a white silk-like cami. I wiggled into some white capris that rode low on my hips and finished with a peach camp shirt hanging open. I began brushing my hair.

Susan, meanwhile, had slipped on a yellow printed sundress, and I was instantly envious—she looked so good in it; I wanted one—or more!

I had an idea; I called Mom who said it was okay for Susan to come over for dinner if it was okay with her folks. She went down to ask her Mom; it was fine with her—she’d have more than enough to handle with Patrick’s party winding down. I gathered up my stuff, Susan grabbed a bag, and we went out to the front lawn to wait for Mom.

Scotty came over; he’d dressed (jeans and t-shirt) and was already out front. We had this awkward moment again, and then Susan snapped her fingers and said she’d forgotten something, and ran indoors.

Darn her! Now I was alone with him!

But I also knew she’d done it on purpose, and I loved her for it.

The awkwardness built, until Scotty said, “So, are you going back to school?”

I said, “Well, yeah. State law and all that.”

He said, “I mean, what are you gonna wear?”

I knew what he meant, and decided to go for the truth. “I don’t know,” I told him, “I’m just playing it by ear. Now that you’ve brought it up, I’m terrified of getting laughed at or beat up. And I have no idea what the Administration’s going to do. But I don’t want to be Alan anymore.” I chuckled ruefully. “I think I’ve changed too much to pretend to be Alan anymore.”

He said, “That’s for sure; you don’t look anything like a boy.”

I smiled and probably blushed; and I got a warm buzz hearing that. I thanked him, but then tried to wave it away.

“Anyway, it’s for the doctors to decide, really. I’m just …” I kind of lost it and started blabbing. “God, Scotty, I know I don’t look anything like a boy, and I don’t feel anything like one, either. I feel like I’ve found myself, or I’ve come home, or something like that. It’s hard to explain, but the bottom line is I just want to fully live my life as a girl. As Alyssa.”

“By the way,” he smiled, “it’s a beautiful name, and it suits you.”

I thanked him again, and I know I blushed this time!

Susan came back out, discreetly, as Mom pulled up. Scotty said, “Hello, Mrs. Cunningham” and we all laughed a bit because it sounded like something from a rerun of Happy Days. We said goodbye and got in the car; as we pulled out, Mom said she couldn’t get over how Scotty had changed; he was almost a hunk, now!

“Not almost,” Susan chuckled, and nudged me with a twinkle in her eye.

And I’m going to make him my hunk!

End of Part Five