In the seventh and final chapter we let the chips fall where they may. How and why does Jill become Gill and move to Boston?

Friends Four Life
Gill: A Girl Friend
By Angela Rasch

Chapter Seven
To ST or Not ST, That Is the Question

My face was buried in the mattress. Muffled sobs accompanied my free-flowing tears.

The delicate hand on my shoulder was too small, to be Tony’s.

Debbie’s White Diamonds perfume filled my nostrils. She was working on the knots in the neckties that were binding me, to the bed.

Sarah stood next to Tony with her stun gun. She crudely explained to him what would happen -- if she were to touch it to his penis.

He looked asinine with his erection still waving – horribly coated with semen -- evidence of what we’d just done.

I could hear someone speaking from behind Debbie.

It’s Rebecca!

“It’s all over, Jill. He’ll never do this to another woman.”

Little does she know. I pushed my face back into the bed trying desperately to be someplace else. Sure, we have Tony under the gun for the moment. But he’ll be back on top -- as soon as he tells them about disabling our monitoring equipment.

Debbie finished untying me.

Un “Tied.” If only it could be that easy. We’re Tied for life.

She covered me with a blanket and then led me from the bed to the loveseat. She cradled me in her arms and gently rocked me.

“It’s over Jill,” Debbie said. “You did it. You were great. You were better than I ever could’ve imagined. It all worked perfectly.”

I wanted to scream the dreadful truth, but I couldn’t. Debbie had removed the panties from my mouth. Yet, I was unable to find the energy to tell them.

I’ve failed everyone - - again. I’ve brought down my family and friends. Once they find out how badly I’ve ruined their future, they will want nothing to do with me.

I could feel an awful stickiness between my thighs where Tony’s juices were mingling with mine. The room reeked of sex.

If only I had been man enough to resist cross-dressing years ago, none of this would have happened. My karma is plainly bad.

Even with his penis in jeopardy, Tony spoke venomously. “You stupid bitches enjoy yourselves. Have your little moment. If Jim doesn’t tell you what I’m going to do to all of you -- I will. He knows how much trouble you’re in, with your clumsy attempts at espionage.”

It’s very odd being called “Jim.” I’ve fully accepted Jill as my name. I had been his “Jilly” only a moment before when he wanted sex. I feel even more violated.

“How about it… Jiimmm?” Tony asked, before yelling out in pain and dropping to the floor.

Evidently, Sarah didn’t like hearing Tony mocking me any more than I did. Or maybe she just wanted to see what a stun gun could do.

Tony rolled around, in obvious agony.

I involuntarily bent at the waist and pulled my knees together. Jeez! She’s really done it. There’s no telling what the partners will do to us, for revenge.

His penis was finally soft.

“That was unfortunate,” Rebecca said. “I think we can all agree it was necessary force.” Rebecca gave me a wink. “Your buddy Tony doesn’t know me very well, Jill.” To hear Rebecca call me “Jill” was soothing. She said it in a kind way that let me know we were part of the same team.

I’m no longer a good ol’ boy and it’s doubtful I’ll ever be again. No matter what happens – I’ll always be a woman. No matter what Tony and his partners do, Rebecca’s making me feel like we’ll find a way to deal with it.

Rebecca continued. “If Tony knew me, he would know I always have a belt to go with my suspenders.”

YES! Rebecca’s undefeated status is intact. We have him!

“That’s a two-way mirror,” Rebecca said, pointing to the large mirror I had used to watch Tony screw me. “We had this room specially equipped. Two video cameras have been rolling all night, on the other side of the mirror. There are three other microphones in this room. The camera and mike Tony found were planted where we knew he would look. We’ve videoed everything Tony did and recorded every word he said.”

“You fucking bitch!” Tony obviously was still in immense physical pain. Even so, it was clear that he had understood what she said and its implications.

“Tony, you’ve been a wonderful witness for the prosecution. Thank you.”

Rebecca has a gift for sarcasm.

My relief at being out of Tony’s grasp was suddenly overshadowed by my shame. Debbie and Sarah saw the way I had physically reacted to him. They watched everything. I can’t even look at them. They witnessed how eagerly I sucked Tony’s cock and the pleasure I had -- being screwed. The smell of sex damned me.

Tony tried to get up from the floor. But Sarah waved the stun gun in his face, and he dropped back down.

So much for negative stimuli not working to extinguish unwanted behavior. It had been quite effective, on at least one rat.

He knelt glaring up at Sarah.

“Your testimony tonight will surely lead us to more hard evidence that will prove you and your partners committed several dozen felonies,” Rebecca said. “You won’t be doing your time in a country club prison. Your crimes, which cross state lines, merit hard time in a federal penitentiary. You and all your partners are married, aren’t you?” Rebecca had done her homework. “When I get done with you, you’ll be penniless. You’ll be turning tricks in jail, for cigarette money. My advice to you is to make a deal.”

Tony refused to acknowledge Rebecca. Sarah moved forward to give him another jolt.

But Debbie waved her off. Instead, Debbie left my side to walk around, to Tony’s front. Using a dance-step from one of our jazzercise routines, she kicked him squarely in the balls.

“That’s from ‘Tie’ number fourteen, you scum ball,” Debbie said. “Anne’s our friend. You’re lucky she went to the Woman’s Resources Closet the night you raped her. Jackie was on duty and got us all together, to help. Anne thought briefly about suicide. When I think about what you did, I want to break your face.”

“Again, we’ve used reasonable force to protect our safety,” Rebecca said as she gently moved Debbie away from Tony. “Easy Debbie - let me handle him. Tony, I know your partners and you will do anything to avoid prison and divorce settlements that will financially wipe you out. I’m sure everyone’s wives will also see the wisdom of a deal. Your actions were egregious, and they merit swift and true punishment. We’re willing to work with the court, to see that everyone involved comes out of this -- as legally whole as possible. These are our non-negotiable terms:

A. You and your partners will sell the National Corporation for fair market value, to an Employee Stock Ownership Plan.
B. You and your partners will immediately apologize to every Tie, including Debbie, Anne, Sarah, Jill, and Jackie.
C. You and your partners will make reparation to every Tie, including Debbie, Anne, Sarah, Jill, and Jackie. Each of you will pay an amount equal to one-half percent of the total value of the corporation. . .to each of your individual Ties. I personally will take a statement from every impacted National Corporation employee, to make sure you don’t miss anyone.
D. Each of you will give your wives what is left from your proceeds of the company and will grant each of them uncontested divorces allowing them everything you own other than an amount of $500,000. I estimate that’s about one percent of your current net worth.
E. Each of you will undergo at least six months of therapy in a full-time facility for sex offenders and will voluntarily register, on a national list of sex offenders.
F. Each of you will agree that you will take gainful employment at an annual salary of less than $25,000 and will remain so employed until you retire at age seventy.
G. You and your partners will hold one last board meeting, and name Jill the new CEO of National Corporation. Debbie will be the CFO, Anne the Secretary, Jackie the Treasurer, and Sarah the COO. Each will be given an annual salary commensurate with their title and will start working, almost immediately, at whichever office they choose. You and your partners will then resign from the board.
H. You will stipulate, in writing, that the charges made to the corporate credit cards by Anne, Sarah, and Debbie were approved as “fronted” by the corporation -- as short-term loans, to be fully reimbursed by Jill, within thirty days.
I. You and your partners will be charged with a raft of criminal offenses, to which you will all plead guilty. You will receive probation that is contingent upon you meeting every provision, in this agreement, to the fullest.

Ra - ah Becca - my good friend - is one of those people that can’t count and talk at the same time. She had to use letters. Obviously, she can think on her feet. Her plan exhibits pure genius.

Tony glanced at Sarah before he spoke. “Rebecca, it’s your camera and recording equipment. It’s your work-product. How about if I give you fifteen million dollars for everything?”

Rebecca snorted. “How about I let Sarah have you by herself for a few hours? You have fifteen seconds, to take the deal.”

The master negotiator looked up at Rebecca. He frowned deeply and then whispered, “I agree.”

“Good,” Rebecca said. “I’m going into the judge’s chambers tomorrow to get a consent decree. Given the circumstances of this case -- I know who the judge will be. I can safely say that she will find our terms most acceptable. Should any of the current National Corporation owners fail to perform under this agreement, a federal marshal will track them down. They’ll spend the rest of their lives in prison.”

I’m soooo happy to be on Rebecca’s team.

Debbie was back to hugging and nuzzling me.

Some of my feelings of intense shame are fading. Perhaps what had happened physically between Tony and me is of no real importance to anyone. It was part of what created the outcome we all needed. If I can find my way through a complicated maze, maybe I can live with myself. Maybe this all is a part of the process.

I looked at Debbie and Sarah and saw love in their eyes.

We are friends.

“I want to go home, Debbie,” I said. “I want to go home, to my own house, to Jackie.”

She squeezed me tightly. “You will be going home tonight. There are just a few more things that have to be done. We have to have an officer of the court take a sperm sample from your body, for DNA evidence against Tony. You need to have a physical examination. It’ll take about an hour, at the hospital.”

Rebecca took a tampon and maxi-pad from her purse. “Jill, please use these to make sure everything stays in place during your ride, over to the hospital.”

Women are always loaning those things to each other. I took what she had offered without comment and accepted what had to be done.

Sarah gave Rebecca the stun gun and then went back, into the room, with the cameras. She returned with a bag that contained a change of clothes for me. “Anne told us that Tony’s tough on clothes. We brought these, in case you needed them.”

The bag contained the pink jogging suit that Anne had let me use, for our very first shopping trip. Anne kept forgetting to take her things home with her when she visited me. I stared at the suit.

Sarah read my mind. “She’s okay. She’s over at your house with Jackie -- waiting for our call. I’ll place it before we leave for the hospital. Tony, you’re going to spend the night in jail.”

With some difficulty, I got up from the couch and then found my way to the bathroom. As I walked, I could feel where Tony’s cock had been. It was an irritating reminder of what I had done.

I avoided looking in the mirror above the sink. Left alone, for just a moment, I spent some time figuring out how to insert the tampon and fasten the maxi-pad. The tampon pressed against tissue that was tender from Tony’s penetration. I wonder if there’s been any bleeding.

I thought of the “on the rag” remark I had tossed at Judy, before we went to Perkins. Things had a way of coming full circle. It was my bad karma, again.

Rebecca used her phone, to call a friend, on the police force. After a few minutes, two officers were reading Tony his rights. Acting on Rebecca’s advice, they had collected two garbage bags filled with physical evidence, should there ever be a need: my shredded clothes, the ties, and other things.

“Hey, Tony,” I quietly called to him, on his way out the door, “Those cuffs look good on you. I hope your cellmate is hung like a horse.”

With all his problems, he had forgotten all about me.

I was disappointed when he didn’t respond. But it was a relief not to have his undivided attention.

Debbie came into the bathroom, to help me get myself together.

My make-up was a disaster. I used a cold washcloth to clean off the errant mascara and other smears. All I had energy for was a dab of face powder and a touch of lipstick. Sarah’s bag also contained tennis shoes, socks, cotton panties, and a bra.

Debbie found my breastsforms and had put them in my bra -- before I slipped it on.

I ran a brush through my hair and took one last glance in the mirror. I saw a woman getting ready to go home to the person she loved. She looked tired and somewhat confused – but happy.

Sarah called Anne while we were in the bathroom. She told her everything had worked perfectly. She briefly recapped the deal that had been struck with Tony. Sarah was circumspect in her description of the evening. She told Anne to let Jackie know that we would be with them, in a few hours.

Rebecca went back to her office to prepare documents, for Tony’s signature. She would meet with Tony within the hour. In the morning, she would fly to Boston, with three sets of similar documents. She wouldn’t sleep until she had all four partners’ signatures, on agreements.

Sarah and Debbie kept me quiet, on the ride, to the hospital.

Every time I tried to say something, I was shushed.

Debbie was in physical contact with me, at all times. She seemed agitated.

Sarah would not look me in the eye.

I assume she’s decided I enjoyed my time with Tony a little too much. After all our discussions to the contrary, it’s still possible that she’s homophobic.

Will Jackie react the same way? I asked myself. Is there any way I can be part of a normal family, after what I did?

The attending physician and his staff were professional. No mention was made of the mismatch between my biological sex and my attire. Their demeanor was sympathetic, as they carefully scrubbed me with antiseptic solution after a thorough examination.

I’m wearing a new scent -- “eau de hospital.”

Sarah and Debbie both tried hard to field the questions the hospital staff needed answered, shielding me from further mortification.

I was comfortable with them taking charge. They had been dominant in our recent relationship and I saw no need for a drastic change.

After an uncomfortable examination, during which they took gallons of my blood, we finally drove to my home. Debbie and I sat in the rear seat of Sarah’s spacious SUV. Debbie held me tightly -- as if I would break if I tried to sit by myself.

Maybe I would.

When we pulled into the driveway, I wanted to run to our door. But I also wanted to stay in the car. I was afraid to face Jackie and the consequences of my shameless actions. My fear was as bad as the first time I revealed Jill to her years ago, in that peach-colored nightie.

I took strength from her second letter and the notes she had sent. As I made my way up the walk, I noted the house was fully lit, in what I hoped was a sign of welcoming.

The front door swung open. I was in Jackie’s arms, and everything was as it should be.

We hung on to each other for several minutes, in a tearful embrace.

I had tried to imagine what our reunion would be like many times, in my motel room. My mind’s eye had included her careful inspection of the new me. There was none of that. It was just us being one.

After a few minutes, Anne joined us in a group hug that soon included Debbie and Sarah.

I looked to Anne, to beg her forgiveness.

She smothered my apology. “It wasn’t your fault, Jill,” Anne said. “You weren’t responsible for that animal.”

Someday, I might allow myself to believe her.

We made our way to the library. The boys were at Jackie’s mother’s house, for the night. It was 5:00 in the morning.

Debbie asked Jackie and Anne to step out of the room for a minute.

I bit my lip. I really don’t want to be separated from Jackie again, for the rest of my life.

Once Jackie and Anne left, Debbie pulled me to our couch, where I was flanked by Sarah and her. Despite my efforts to be stoic, I moaned as my tender bottom landed on the sofa.

“Oh, Jill,” Debbie said. “We didn’t want it to go that far. Sarah and I wanted to bust in when it looked like our original plan had gone bad. But, Rebecca said, ‘No.’ She convinced us that you would somehow let us know the minute you wanted our help.”

Sarah jumped in, as Debbie appeared too choked up to continue, “Rebecca told us we had to let things play out. She said that we really had nothing. We didn’t -- up until that prick admitted his sex ring existed. What a fool! Rebecca had checked the room just prior to your arrival. She found the chloroform. It was just where Anne said it would be. After that a-hole bastard drugged you, Rebecca said we should wait to see what he had to say. We were going crazy when he started admitting things -- things far beyond our foulest anticipation.”

“Twice, I tried to come in, to put a stop to what was happening,” Debbie said, between sobs. “I would’ve ruined everything. Rebecca was working on her legal theory and restraining both of us, at the same time. She can be pretty tough. We’re so sorry, Jill.” Her fingers lightly traced the marks on my wrist where I had been lashed, to the bed.

“I wanted to warn you about the possibilities of Tony forcing you to do things and using chloroform,” Sarah said. “We didn’t know if what he did with Anne was a one-time thing, or not. We didn’t want to scare you any more than what you were. I’m so sorry we got you into this. We should have found another way.”

I had heard enough. “You guys quit it. After what Tony did to Anne, something had to be done. I was the one to do it. I’ll be okay. He’s stopped. Rebecca was right, to let the evening run its course.”

Sarah was crying more than either Debbie or me.

I’ve never seen her so considerate or emotional.

Her tears were contagious.

The three of us were up and hugging again when Jackie and Anne brought in tea.

Jackie had thoughtfully provided a large box of tissues, which were being used by the handfuls.

I had gravitated toward my chair, a large La-Z-Boy recliner. I had spent thousands of hours, in that chair watching sports. I sat down, but immediately jumped out of it exclaiming, “It’s so big.” I feel tiny in it.

Jackie sat in my chair and then pulled me onto her lap. “It’s perfect for the two of us,” she said, snuggling me.

Debbie pushed a footstool across the room and sat -- with her hand on my knee.

Both Anne and Sarah elected to sit on the floor - - close enough to be able to touch us.

I nestled into Jackie. Those long days, without physical contact, were a fading memory.

“Rebecca will keep all the copies of the tapes,” Debbie whispered. “She needs to have them, for evidence, in case there ever has to be a trial.”

“Forgive me if I’m being selfish,” Jackie said. “But I don’t want to know what happened in that room. Whatever you had to do -- you did. I’m very proud of you.”

It seems best for her not to know.

It was time for a complete explanation, of the past several weeks.

“Jill, you’ve become a very lovely person,” Debbie said. “We aren’t at all surprised. We had seen glimpses of your true self, over the years.”

“After Jackie told us of your cross-dressing we all wanted to help you,” Anne said. “At first, we thought we needed to find a way, to help you quit.”

“I offered to give you shock therapy,” Sarah said, with a malicious grin.

A giggle from the others indicated that she wasn’t telling the truth.

“After we studied everything we could about cross-dressing, you were given the psychological tests we mentioned, in our letter to you,” Debbie said. “Our plan was along the lines of the teachings of Carl Jung. It was a three-step plan. First, your Ego needed to consciously decide that its identity had to include your true Self. Second, your false gender had to go away. Lastly, a new persona had to be established actualizing your true Self.”

I was having trouble following what Debbie had said. It was obvious she was parroting a professional source.

Anne took a stab at helping her. “This is how the doctors explained it to us. When you were very young, you first realized your Self was not matched to your biological sex. You attempted to hide from your Self by attempting to be the masculine person everyone expected you to be. At the same time, you wanted love, love that would validate your whole Self -- all of you. You allowed your true Self to be seen when you were quite young, by wearing your sister’s clothes. You were told in many ways by society that cross-dressing was unacceptable. Society drove your true Self deep inside of you -- by making you aware of taboos.”

“You became obsessed with cross-dressing at an early age,” Jackie said. “You needed to heal the split between your true self and what the psychiatrists call your ‘societal image.’ You had developed the masculine personality that was necessary for you to have a functioning life. But you were constantly torn between what others thought you should be and who you really are.”

“As you told me,” Sarah said. “At some time around puberty -- we assume -- the fear of the consequences of being caught cross-dressing caused you to become sexually aroused, while you were in contact with women’s clothing. You masturbated, which was the natural thing to do. Once you had experienced that sexual relief, you confused the need to wear women’s clothing for your Self-actualization with the need for sexual satisfaction.”

Jackie pulled me even closer to her.

We were discussing my masturbation and she was holding on, accepting that part of me that had caused me so much shame.

I listened intently - - understanding some things about myself for the first time in my life. I also closely watched all four of them to gauge the level of their conviction, in what they were saying, especially Jackie.

“Because you were a good Catholic boy,” Anne said, “you had tremendous guilt. You were angry and frustrated because you didn’t understand. How could’ve you known about your true Self? Your innermost thoughts were something you considered sinful. Books, movies, magazines, and television all confirmed your worst fears. According to their message, men who wear dresses are perverted creeps. Society has labeled cross-dressers as sexual deviants, to be ridiculed. We’re wrongly taught that transvestites are unlovable creatures, so disgusting they don’t deserve common decency.”

She went on after she had paused to consider her words. “We checked your computer’s history, at work. You had been surfing suicide sites.”

I stared at the floor in disgrace. Suicide was something I had thought of many times in my life. The grandfather clock tolled six, as we took time to consider the implications of what Anne had just said. Jackie’s Escape eau de parfum filled my mind. I had missed it.

Debbie pushed on. “We were worried about you. Suicides are common amongst cross-dressers. We’ve had you under twenty-four-hour supervision, for the past four months. The cameras in your motel room were meant to prevent you from doing something awful. Someone was always posted outside your motel watching you, on their laptop. From a month prior to the meeting we had with you, at my house, you were never out of our sight. We really were upset by your darned insistence that we wear those French costumes. But not enough to put you through humiliation. You had just provided us with a convenient excuse, to help you.”

I nodded slowly. “I’ll never be able to repay you for everything you guys have done.”

“We’ll think of something.” Sarah grinned.

“You’re what Native Americans call ‘two-souled.’” Jackie said, “When you and I have some time, we’re going to check into your past lives. You were in such despair. It was obvious you couldn’t conceive of a way to live with yourself. The plan for your process was drafted with the help of several psychologists. You have such a type-A personality. In your battle against yourself, you had reached the conclusion there was nothing you could do. The burden of inaction, not making any attempt to correct your gender error, was becoming more than what you could stand.”

Sarah took my hands in hers. “After our initial research, it was never our plan to ‘cure’ your cross-dressing. The first thing we needed to do was break the link in your mind between women’s clothing and. . ..” She dropped my left hand and pumped her right hand in a jerking-off motion -- that made me blush.

“We had to help you think of your clothes differently,” Sarah continued. “As a true woman, you’re very modest. We used that modesty to prevent you from masturbating when aroused by cross-dressing. You had been conditioned to have a sexual response to clothes. Just like Pavlov’s dog was conditioned to respond to a bell. Once the link between clothing and sexual gratification was broken, the clothes became part of what was needed to actualize your true Self. By taking away any need you had, to hold on to your false gender, we created a situation where you could let the masculinity society had imposed upon you to fade away. We wanted you to realize the simple explanation for your desire to be a woman. Quite simply, you’re a woman.”

I was beginning to see how and why their plan had worked. It was terribly simple. All I ever had to do was comprehend that a change to womanhood was a reasonable goal for me. I could rise to that challenge, as I had all the other challenges I had set for myself. I had been placing false obstacles, in my path toward achieving happiness. I was too busy whining to myself about why it couldn’t possibly happen, to simply go out and do it.

I felt like Dorothy. I had possessed the Ruby Slippers all the while I had been running around doing scary things -- trying to get home. All I ever had to do was click them together three times. It’s so easy when you know what to do.

There’s no place like home.

We must have awakened Champ. He trotted into the room and looked us over. Much to my surprise, he ran to me and started humping my leg.

“Welcome to the club,” Jackie said. Our laughter cleared some of the seriousness from the room.

“We never would have forced you to do anything,” Debbie said. “The lawsuit was a ruse. Rebecca’s a good friend of yours. She likes your nicknames for her. She thinks they make her sound tough. For years, Becky has been part of a transgender team that is associated with the university. She’s been doing pro bono work, helping people change their legal gender status. When her name came up in our research, we knew she would be a great ally. We had psychologists and psychiatrists involved every step of the way. The psychiatrists observed you twenty-four-hours a day when you were in the motel. You’ve been a case study that was paid for, by a very large grant. We reported everything you said to them. We had to tell them everything you did when you were outside of your motel.”

“I woondeeered about some of the questions Sarah asked me,” I said.

We all laughed.

“I was the only one with enough guts to ask you some of those things.” Sarah said, “We were told what to say and do -- most of the time. They made me be the fricking meanie.”

“Typecasting,” Anne said, giggling.

Debbie’s eyes had finally dried. “The psychiatrists helped us modify our plan as changes were needed. It actually was much simpler than it sounds. You did all the real work. Once you took the initial steps, you started to develop beyond the artificial limits that had been placed on you, by society. You really caught on to the advantages of being a woman. You’ve become a much more sociable person. When you balked at getting your ears pierced, it was a big step backward.”

“That’s why I was so upset,” Anne explained. “I didn’t want to see you revert to your old problems. I’m sorry I was so mean.”

“You couldn’t be mean, if you wanted to be,” I said and patted Anne’s hand.

“The date with John was meant to be a baptism of fire,” Debbie said. “The psychiatrist correctly predicted that it would help you understand your true Self.”

“Your cross-dressing episodes, for the past few decades, were only temporary fixes,” Jackie said. She was gently rubbing my shoulder, soothing me. “You paid a horrible price each time you had a fix.”

“Your cross-dressing soothed the symptoms of your inner conflict, but did nothing to solve the underlying problem,” Anne added. “There’s a strong political movement to curb the violence against transgendered people. It goes on despite Trump’s trans-bashing. Studies indicate hate is one of the primary factors behind much of the school bloodshed and bullying. Many people want transgendered people given the same social status as homosexuals. With more public understanding, widespread societal acceptance is possible. Twenty years ago, homophobia was mainstream. We’re slowly becoming a more enlightened society.”

“I remember telling you that the worst thing that could happen to me would be if you decided to have a sex change,” Jackie said. “I now realize I fell in love with your true Self. I admire the way you try to share housework and child-rearing with me. I’ve been frustrated by the limits placed on us, by our culture. Whatever you need to do to match your Self with your Ego is okay with me. I know it’s the best for everyone involved, including our boys. Although I’ll readily admit, it was wonderful to hear you have no interest in a sex reassignment surgery. I’ve read in the reports of your progress, and have seen with my own eyes, how your most positive qualities are being amplified. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life -- with you.”

Is there any wonder why I love her?

Epilogue

It has been almost eighteen months since that night, in the hotel.

So much has happened that brought us to our second wedding day. So much has changed.

Jackie and I talk through everything. We’re still each other’s best friend and lover.

For all our talking, we have never really discussed that night I spent with Tony, and probably never will.

Debbie and Sarah have been totally discreet.

Rebecca went to Boston the morning after my night with Tony. After showing the partners an Omaha police mug shot of Tony and listing the pending charges, she had their full attention. She showed them an unedited tape of my ordeal with Tony, including full audio. She refused to turn it off -- until the point when Debbie, Sarah, and she came into Tony’s room.

The partners called legal representation.

Rebecca played the complete tape five times for the lawyers, as they tried desperately to save their clients.

Acting on the advice of counsel, the partners grabbed the deal she offered, to them.

The contracts were signed and later filed with the federal court in Omaha.

Rebecca also had all the partners waive extradition to Nebraska should it ever become necessary, due to non-compliance. All four former partners were divorced, within a year. All have menial jobs, pulling down a workingman’s wage.

Jackie and I made restitution to National Corporation for money improperly charged to corporate credit cards. We had spent nearly $100,000. Much of it was eventually reimbursed to us by the foundation grant.

The first apologies we received from Tony and his partners were terse and sprinkled with legalese. Later, as the four went through twelve-step programs as sex offenders, we all received very sincere requests for forgiveness.

Anne and Sarah didn’t have to leave Omaha. They have been able to handle their corporate duties from there.

Jackie, Debbie, and I took over the Boston office. As it turned out, Jackie was eager to move away from, at least, part of her family. She had long thought they were restricting her personal growth by demanding that she fill the stereotypical roles of housewife and mother.

There was plenty of equity, in the company, to complete a leveraged buyout, by the ESOP. Two months ago, we took National Corporation public. The stock opened at fifteen and ended the first week at thirty-two. It stabilized with a market capitalization of $192,000,000.

We had successfully changed the culture of the company. What had been a company that used and abused its employees, had become a company that enriched its employees’ lives. As such, it became much more profitable.

Many of the current four thousand employees are quite wealthy. Especially well off are those unfortunate few that owned a ST tie or scarf.

In retrospect, Tony and his pals were very fortunate none of the “Ties” had committed suicide. The prosecutor never would have approved Rebecca’s plan -- had a death been involved.

The day of the initial public offering, the five of us got together, to celebrate with Dom Perignon.

Sarah uncorked the best line of the night. “Given this company’s history,” she said. “I hope no one thinks it’s a dot come.”

Anne made a full recovery from her night with Tony. She had been in therapy at the same time I was going through my process. She used the same psychiatric team.

It was hard for Anne. She had wanted to press charges against Tony immediately after being raped.

Rebecca talked her out of it, telling Anne that her style of clothing would be brought into question, in court. Rebecca said that it didn’t matter what Anne’s morals had been. Her wardrobe and beauty would allow Tony to say he had been enticed. Male dominant court systems still slant rape cases toward giving the man the benefit of the doubt. Helping me turned out to be a very positive activity for Anne. It gave her a greater good to accomplish.

She was married eight months ago to a man in the sports security business. She decided to quit the company and will raise a family in San Diego. With money from her stock, she bought a house on Coronado Island.

The blood the hospital took the night I was raped tested negative for HIV, herpes, and other STDs. The tests also showed traces of a drug Tony had put in my last drink.

The drug greatly enhanced my sexual desire and lowered my inhibitions.

I will always wonder if I would have sucked Tony’s penis, or if I would have been so sexually excited during the rape, had I not been drugged.

The blood tests also revealed that my body was producing estrogen at a high level. Simply by blocking a small portion of my testosterone production, I have been able to grow my own breasts. I’m a natural 36B. All of my male equipment is still fully functional.

My weight distribution has shifted. I’m even more pear-shaped than I was before. I no longer need the padded panties.

Unlike many other women, I love my body. Subsequent physicals have indicated a distinct drop in my once high blood pressure. I have had no colds or flu during the past eighteen months. I haven’t gained back any of the weight I lost while staying at the motel.

The plastic surgeon that did my nose job -- later had me in for a check-up. She suggested that I do a few things to “enhance my female presentation.”

“I can shave the bones behind your eyebrows and accent your cheekbones,” she said.

“Is that what you would recommend?” I asked.

“First, I would have to know if you’re happy with how you look now.”

“Jackie and I are both quite pleased with how I look,” I admitted.

“Personally, I think you’re pretty just the way you are. I hate it when my patients try to become perfect because I know my work will never please them.”

I have elected not to have more plastic surgery.

My wife and friends helped me bring my gender identity to a close approximation of my true Self. I’m happy and don’t want to make unnecessary changes. Society pushes us to want perfection. That’s the essence of the gender problem. Society wants us to be either a perfect man or a perfect woman. There’s nothing society recognizes in between.

I have gone through extensive counseling to complete the actualization process and to deal with the trauma inflicted on me by Tony. I have the occasional nightmare. I’ve realized that what occurred between him and me wasn’t my doing.

Most of the real work was done in Omaha, during those months in that motel.

The psychiatrists said my cross-dressing might have been partially an obsessive-compulsive behavior. They were intrigued by my mother’s mental health shortly before her death. She had exhibited several strong obsessive-compulsive behaviors. They suggested that I might consider ongoing counseling, to make sure I would be able to avoid a similar pattern.

It occurred to me the psychiatrists could be exhibiting an obsessive-compulsive behavior. I thanked them for their past help and ended their care.

During the weeks in the motel, I had thought about the possibility of never being a dad again and I was saddened by that prospect. Once I was back with my family, I made a list of those things that I did as a dad for the boys.

1.) Love their mother
2.) Nurture them
3.) Praise them daily whenever I honestly could
4.) Correct them, as needed
5.) Care about what they care about
6.) Spend lots of time with them
7.) Talk with them
8.) Monitor their education
9.) Filter TV, radio, books, and movies
10.) Screen their friends
11.) Know where they are
12.) Exhibit a proper sense of priorities
13.) Discipline prudently
14.) Be angry only when absolutely needed
15.) Radiate optimism as their role model

I couldn’t see any problem doing all of those as a woman. In fact, the role of a parent seems rather androgynous.

I have broken off with all my old chums in Omaha. I have very little in common with them. We have a wonderful new circle of friends in Boston and are constantly making more.

Shortly after moving to Boston, I spent three weeks at a “charm” school to help me eliminate the last vestiges of male habits and vocabulary.

Vestiges — hmmm – another “vest” word.

Women’s clothing is no longer the fetish it once was for me. It’s simply my clothes. I find them very sensual. But in a different way. I have broken the stimulus/response chain between clothing and masturbation. Sex with Jackie is more interactive and mutually satisfying.

My clothes are no longer an issue -- as no one makes them an issue. Society has such strange rules for us all. Why what you wear should be anything but a personal decision is beyond me.

My voice has adapted on its own, taking on a much softer quality. I have become a real chatterbox. I love small talk. Jackie and I babble at each other for hours, caressing one another with our voices.

I have had extensive electrolysis and no longer have a beard. I don’t have to worry about dulling the razor, for my face, when I shave my legs.

My friends successfully planted a rumor within the company. People believe I’m a natural-born woman who lived as a man, to defeat the corporate glass ceiling.

In the early part of the last century, my faux persona would have been known as a “passing woman.” Many women, who then worked for the railroad, passed as men, as the railroad would only hire men.

According to the rumor, Jackie and I are lesbian lovers who adopted three sons to maintain our cover.

Finding one’s Self is tremendously liberating. I’m no longer worn-out dealing with my internal conflicts. I have gotten much more energetic. The time I once spent cross-dressing is being directed toward purposeful things.

John called a few times. I finally agreed to have lunch with him during a business trip to Omaha. I told him the truth. My sexual orientation is definitely that of a heterosexual male. He finally crossed me off his list.

I appreciate the beauty of a good-looking woman. Due to the process of finding my Self, I also have a heightened appreciation for a handsome man. That is the end of my interest. I have been screwed and have sucked a cock. Any curiosity I had has been satiated. I have no desire to have sex with anyone but Jackie. Jackie and I have a great sex life. I would be a fool to ever want more.

That isn’t to say I don’t have fantasies about what it would have been like to actually become a sex toy. There have been times I have thought long and hard about it. I think about what sex would have been like with Tony, without the bondage. At other times, I fantasize about steamy, passionate nights with John.

But I know the infinite difference between fantasy and my true life.

John Lennon and Paul McCartney had it right. “All you need is love. Love is all you need. In the end, the love you get is equal to the love you make. Nothing you can do, but you can learn how to be you in time, it’s easy.”

Today, I got my wedding ring back. Jackie kept it until we could renew our vows as Jackie and Jill. This morning, I told her I want my name to be Gill and she agreed.

We were married at 10:00, in honor of the time Debbie, Sarah, and Anne normally would take me to lunch, during the process. It was a beautiful ceremony. Jackie and I walked down the aisle together. We both had bridesmaids. Jackie’s were Debbie and Sarah and mine were Anne and Bess.

Our investigation showed that every Tie had been blameless, in what they did. They all were victims like us. We uncovered no evidence of wrongdoing. Tony had embellished and outright lied about catching people doing things.

Bess is a lovely person who has found herself.

The seating was arranged with the family of the bride on the right -- and the family of the other bride, on the left. The church was packed with relatives, friends, and ex-Ties. Our sons served as ushers and ring bearers.

Jackie and I wore identical dresses created by her mother. We looked like we belonged on the top of a cake. She used yards and yards of white satin. The three of us spent many, many hours together planning the ceremony and the gowns.

I love the pace of female life. It’s a life that places importance, on details.

My Aunt Evelyn was against the wedding, from the start. She said it would give more people a chance to hurt me. Dad told her I was a big girl. He said I was old enough to choose my battles.

Then he said, “If your Uncle Kenny doesn’t like it, he can just pound salt up his ass.”

Uncle Kenny is my godfather. I let the comment pass. But was deeply wounded when he didn’t come to the ceremony.

Most of our relatives have accepted our marriage as a union of two people who are extremely happy and productive together. Most have accepted me, at least to a level where family events are uneventful. When comments are made that are negative, they’re terribly painful, but I can’t expect everyone to give me unqualified love.

My being a transgenderist will always be there, if someone wants to make it an issue. Unfortunately, Debbie’s husband is one of those, who can’t stand to be around me. So far it hasn’t altered how Debbie feels about me. . .or him.

Well-intentioned people have said, “This just isn’t you.” or, “You’re going through a phase.” or, “Don’t worry, this won’t last.” They aren’t being mean. I have come to realize that people are scared by change. They don’t want to be left with a new person. They worry about where they might stand, with that new person. They seem to think that if one person can change, others might too, and that makes them feel insecure.

Rebecca got permission from the court, to act as a justice of the peace. As such, she married us for the second time. When we were signing the marriage documents after the ceremony she whispered in my ear. “White, Gill? I was watching a video last night that suggests red would be much more appropriate, for your wedding gown.”

Rebecca can be a real bitch. I have learned a woman can say “bitch” with an entirely different meaning than when it’s said by a man.

Rebecca can also be very sweet. After the ceremony, she gave me a set of new official documents proclaiming my legal status as a woman. She had completed the legal gymnastics, to change all my identification to Jill. My status as a woman was affirmed all the way up to -- and including -- the Social Security Administration and the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles. It was her wedding gift to Jackie and me.

I will have to change the name on the documents to “Gill.” Changing a J to a G will be much easier than changing M to F had been.

Rebecca is now simply “Becky” to me -- and always will be.

When we moved to Boston, I started in the community as a woman and am accepted by almost everyone. Every so often I’m read -- when we’re out in public. I have received rude treatment from some shop clerks. It seems to happen at the oddest times and in the strangest places. Perhaps, I’m giving off male pheromones.

Our kids are really cool with the whole deal. Their attitude is, “Dad got sick and grew tits.”

I’m buoyed by the fact that no known child of a transgendered parent has ever shown signs of gender dysphoria.

I overheard a conversation our twelve-year-old had. “My dad had a sex change. He is now a woman.”

“Why?”

“He feels like a woman.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I feel okay.”

The eight-year-old has said. “Jill wants to be a woman. Jill wants a fresh start at life. She likes living as a woman. When I was six, I didn’t understand. As I’ve gotten older, I realized she must be happy as a woman. So, I get it.”

When asked, “Why does your daddy dress as a lady?” Our four-year-old answered, “It’s good for her.”

None of the boys has had an extensive conflict with their peer group. All have positive relations with me.

I have been so much happier without the guilt. Our home is a much nicer place.

I’m in the process of cashing in my stock options and winding down any involvement in National Corporation. We are a publicly held company, subject to intense scrutiny. I fear an expose in a magazine like Fortune. I don’t want to tempt fate.

Jackie wants to stay with the business. It suits her. She and I have created a wonderful relationship. We find the time to dance, talk, and live. Jackie told me she never thought she would be married to another woman, but now she can’t picture any other life. The process has freed her as well. She loves to pamper me. She has moved toward her true Self.

I no longer find work fulfilling or even interesting. I have started to write children’s books filled with bedtime stories. My characters are loving and caring. They cry tears of joy and friendship.

I’m going to try my hand at running a household. I have read every back issue of Martha Stewart’s Living. I have taken several food preparation and nutrition courses and will enroll in family studies when we get back from our honeymoon. I want to be Donna Reed, while Jackie wants to prowl the corporate boardroom.

I’m neither a Big Red football player nor a Big Red fan. Fran Lebowitz once said, “Being a woman is of special interest to aspiring transsexuals. To be a woman is simply a good excuse not to play football.”

I no longer spend my days trying to be a woman. I spend my days being me -- a woman.

I have come to realize that those who blindly condemn transgenderists as perverts are the same group who consider women second-class citizens.

They’re bigots.

At the current time, the gender bigots are in the slight majority. That doesn’t make them any righter than the majority of U.S. citizens who were racial bigots. Our society needs to evolve quickly to accept those who must live as what is incorrectly thought of as the other sex. The Tony Warrans of the world work hard to perpetuate the fear and hatred toward cross-dressers, so they can maintain their good ol’ boys club. There is no logical basis for transphobic behavior.

I have found ways to get involved with my club of sisters. I’m working with Jackie at a rape crisis center twice a week. It is much easier, as a woman, to be fruitful, in the important work that needs to be done.

It’s not all humanitarian work and no play, for Gill. Jackie and I have been on shopping trips to Paris and Rio. I love the shoes from Brazil -- but hate their sizes.

I’m a size thirty-nine in Brazil!

Jackie and I have made a list like the one John showed me, in the restaurant. It includes things we want to accomplish together. It will take us the rest of our lives.

A few days after the night at the hotel with Tony, I had my very last purge. I sent all my size 18, 38C, and 3X clothes to the Salvation Army, and threw out every drop of Heavenly. Also, into the dumpster went ninety percent of the cosmetics I had before my friends gave me a new life. Most of the colors looked hideous, on my skin.

I have often quoted Thoreau. “Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes.” I have learned that the wrong clothes were placed on me at an early age. Once I had accepted my Self, I consented to the wardrobe I was born to wear. I found the courage to be me by rejecting the enterprise of faking a male persona.

I have changed. I’m much less competitive, much more of a follower than a leader, and considerably more excitable. I have become more trusting, more secure, more willing to be supportive, content, relaxed, prone to mediate rather than confront, and much more straightforward and consistent.

The wind chime has remained true to its nature. Each note is pure and resonant.

My nails are dry. It’s time for me to get dressed and join Jackie, to leave on our honeymoon. We are taking a four-week cruise.

Debbie, Anne, and Sarah gave me a French-maid costume as a wedding present. They said that I had to take it along on our honeymoon and serve my bride properly.

I had planned my packing down to the last square inch. I now need to find room for that costume.

Clothes can be so much trouble!

The End

(This was the first TG story I wrote. I struggled with the validity of the graphic sex scenes. They’re entirely consistent with the story and Jim’s progress toward becoming Gill. The message contained in this story is one of love and hope. It is my wish that you will leave this story feeling much better about yourself and the people around you. — Jill (Angela Rasch)

Thank you to Gabi for helping me with this story.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a kudos and a comment. They mean a lot to me.

I have donated a group of stories to BC to help generate revenue for this site. Erin has said that these stories have raised tens of thousands of dollars in revenue for BC. I don’t receive any of that revenue.

If you buy a book from this list, you’re supporting this site.

Stories available through Doppler Press on Amazon:
Shannon’s Course
Peaches
Sky
The Novitiate
Ma Cherie Amour
Molly
Texas Two-Step
All Those Things You Always Pined For
Uncivil
Swifter, Higher, Stronger
Basketball Is Life
Baseball Annie
The Girl Who Saved Aunt T’s
Her
She Like Me
How You Play the Game
Hair Soup
Perfectionists
Imperfect Futures
Minnifer
Voices Carry
Andy and Dawn
The Handshake That Hides the Snake
Also, Erin has made several of my books available through Amazon. She retains one hundred percent of the income from these books to help with the maintenance of this site. Please check them out. If I were to read them, I would do so in this order:

The Handshake That Hides the Snake
Uncivil
Baseball Annie
Peaches
Sky
Shannon’s Course
Swifter, Higher, Stronger
Ma Cherie Amour
All Those Things You Always Pined For
Basketball Is Life

The following have been donated by me for Hatbox content:

The Ninth Fold
The Girl Who Saved Aunt T’s
Voices Carry over Water
To Alleviate Suffering
Residue