It Started On A Rainy Afternoon - Part 3
By Pentatonic

About three weeks after I started at Dalton Community Aunt Beth, Gloria and I were sitting down for dinner when I mentioned that I might like to look for a part time job. “Why?” Aunt Beth asked.

“I want to feel productive, and I would like to earn my own money rather than sponging off of you,” I replied, “My class work doesn’t take all that much of my time. I know that it would cut into the time when I drive you around, but if I earn money, and I can pay you something for room and board to make up for it.”

“Let me think about it,” my Aunt said, “What kind of job are you thinking about?”

“Some low level office job,” I replied.

It was several days later that my Aunt was at one of her bridge gatherings, and at dinner that evening she turned to me and asked, “Are you still interested in getting a job?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“The reason I ask is that Dorothy Eames said that she is having problems with getting competent office staff. She has her own business, the Eames Agency, which is a modeling agency here in Dalton. She was complaining that she only wants part time, and the quality of applicants leaves something to be desired. I mentioned to her that my niece is looking for an office job, and she suggested that you call Virginia, her office manager, and make an appointment for a job interview. You will need to make up a resume before you go.”

So the next day I looked up the agency on the internet and decided to call for an appointment. I spoke with Virginia, the agency’s office manager. “Do you have any experience working in an office?” She asked.

“No,” I replied, “I just graduated from high school last spring.”

“Can you use a computer?” she wanted to know.

“Yes “ I said. It seemed silly to ask if a teenager could use a computer, but then there must be some who can’t.

“When can you come in?” she asked.

“I’m pretty much free all Tuesday,” I replied.

“Good,” she responded, “how about ten on Tuesday morning. Bring your resume.”

That evening I reported to my Aunt and Gloria that I had a job interview lined up at the Eames Agency. “Great,” Gloria said, “your Aunt and I will help you get ready. I might suggest that you make an appointment at the salon before your interview. You want to look as great as possible. First impressions count.”

I really didn’t think that I needed supervision when visiting a beauty salon, but my Aunt and Gloria insisted that they go with me, to ‘help make the correct decisions.’ The beautician and the three of us poured over hairstyle books, until the correct ‘do’ was found. I loved the final result. While at the salon, the beautician suggested a make over and my Aunt not only agreed, but offered to pay for it and the cosmetics used. On my way home, I felt really glamorous.

Bright and early on Tuesday morning, while I was in the shower, my Aunt and Gloria were busy selecting the exactly ‘correct’ clothes for me to wear for the interview. When I came back into my bedroom, they had laid out three outfits which they deemed ‘appropriate.’ The one I chose consisted of a cream colored A line dress, with a princess neckline and cap sleeves. Underneath this I wore a white full slip with lace at the top and around the hem line. Gloria suggested that I wear hose and a garter belt, because it would make me feel more glamorous. To go with the dress, I put on some off white hose and a pair of cream-colored shoes. My Aunt and Gloria selected the jewelry which they deemed appropriate, while I started on my makeup. Neither Gloria nor my Aunt could leave well enough alone, and fussed with my hair and makeup. I ended up with tan eyeshadow, pink lipstick and, of course, mascara. Gloria insisted on trimming my eyebrows, to make me more alluring. While I believed that I could have done an adequate job dressing myself, I couldn’t deny them the pleasure of being involved.

On my way downtown a car full of boys pulled up next to me at a light, and the catcalls and whistles ensued. It made me feel beautiful to attract attention, and rather than ignore them, I turned to face them and smiled. Before anything else could happen I made a right turn and they were gone.

When I entered the Eames Agency there was no one at the front desk, but shortly thereafter a nice looking woman appeared, who I assumed was Virginia. “I’m Margaret, and I’m here for a job,” I said. Virginia looked me up and down and smiled with approval.

“Wait here, and I’ll tell Ms. Eames,” she said, obviously not connecting me with her ten o’clock appointment. It was only a minute later when she escorted me into Mrs. Eames’ office. Mrs. Eames did not ask me to sit, but rather came around to the front of her desk.

“Turn around slowly,” she commanded, which I did.

“Very nice,” she commented, and then invited me to sit. “Can I see your portfolio?” she asked. I didn’t know exactly what she was asking, but I did have my resume in a leather holder, and I offered my resume to her. “Where are your photographs?” she asked with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

“I don’t have any,” I responded

“How do you expect me to sign you on as a model if you don’t bring your photographs?” she asked rhetorically and with some impatience. Her question explained the confusion.

“I’m not here for a modeling job, I’m here for an interview for the office job,” I volunteered.

Ms. Eames looked at me for a moment. “Virginia,” she called out, “come here, you’ve sent me one of your flock. She’s not here for a modeling job. She’s here for the office assistant job. Didn’t you make that clear before you sent her in here?”

“She just looked so good, I just assumed that she was here for a modeling position,” Virginia said, “As you know, the office assistant candidates mostly show up dressed like they had just come from cleaning their garage.”

Ms. Eames chuckled now that the confusion was resolved. “No harm,” she said, “you know, you are gorgeous enough to be a model. By the way, do you always dress like this?”

I decided to chance some humor. “Not when I’m cleaning the garage,” I replied.

Both Ms. Eames and Virginia laughed.

“Virginia, have her fill out an information sheet and take her to Joe to get some photos,” Ms. Eames said.

The information sheet which Ms. Eames referenced wanted all of my measurements, along with dress size and shoe size. There was a space for ‘previous modeling’ into which I wrote ‘none.’

I had assumed that the photos would be the standard ID photos, but I was wrong. Joe had a studio with all sorts of lights and backgrounds, and was a professional photographer. He spent a little time looking me up and down, sideways and backward. “Very nice,” he said to himself, “but now let’s see if the camera loves her.” What followed was a series of photographs of me from various angles and in various positions. He even had me take off my dress, lowered the shoulder straps of my slip and bra, and wrapped a black stole like thing around me, leaving my shoulders bare for more photos against a dark background. ‘Head shots’ he called them.

“Let me go through the digital photos and print up a few for Dorothy, he said when he was finished with taking pictures. Just before we left, he motioned Virginia to look at some of the photos on the computer screen. “Dorothy ought to like this. The camera loves her.”

When we were done, Virginia and I went back to Ms. Eames’ office where she was looking at some of the photographs which Joe had shot of me. She was smiling. She put the photos down, and turned to me. “We have an unwritten dress code in this office. You don’t have to get as dressed up as you are, but I do not allow blue jeans and T-shirts. You may wear a dress, skirt, or slacks, and an appropriate top. I do expect you to wear a little makeup, since we have an image to maintain here. If possible, I would like you to wear a skirt or dress every day you are here. I’m looking for you to work about twenty hours a week, and I will pay minimum wage to start, with reviews every three months thereafter. Because you are part time, there are no benefits, although you can sign up for health insurance at your own expense. Now, why don’t you go with Virginia and set up a work schedule.”

When Virginia and I walked to her office, I said, “I assume that since we are setting up a work schedule, that I have been hired.”

“Look here, honey, you were hired the minute Ms. Eames saw you,” she said.

“Why all the photographs?” I asked.

“You mean you don’t know?” Virginia responded, “Ms. Eames is setting up a model portfolio for you. She may send you out on modeling jobs.”

“Oh,” was all I could say.

It was no more that a week later that Ms. Eames came storming out of her office. “I can’t believe it!” she shouted.

“Can’t believe what?” Virginia asked.

“Cindy,” Ms. Eames spat out the name, “we had her set up for a photo shoot today, and she just called to cancel. Virginia, see whom we have available.”

Fifteen minutes later, Virginia reported the bad news. “No luck,” she said, “no one at her rate or below is available. We could send someone who has a higher hourly rate, but it’ll cost us dearly.” While all this occurred, I was sitting at the front desk, entering billing information, so I understood some parts of the crisis.

Ms. Eames came out of her office. “What are we going to do? We can’t afford to lose the client,” she asked to no one in particular. She started to spin around to go back into her office when she stopped halfway through her spin and looked at me. “Stand up honey,” she said to me. I stood up. “I think this will work,” she said to herself. “What do you have planned for the rest of the day?” she asked me/.

“Nothing but some shopping and doing homework. Why?” I said.

“How’d you like to go on a photo shoot?” she asked.

“I guess that it would be okay,” I answered.

Ms. Eames went to a phone. “Jake,” she said, “Cindy cancelled, but I have someone whom you are sure to like. What you’ll really like is that she had just started as a model, and her rate is a lot lower than Cindy’s, so you’ll save a lot of money.” She paused for a minute when Jake talked. “The camera loves her. I have some photos I can send you.” Another pause. “They’ll be on the way in a minute.”

After she completed the call, she turned to me. “Is there anyone at your house who can pack up your makeup and some spare clothes for you? I’m thinking of different colored panties and bras, slips, pantyhose, stockings, garter belts and the like.”

“I think so,” I answered. With that she called my house.

“Beth, this is Dorothy, and I need a favor. I’m sending your niece on a photo shoot, and I need someone to pack up her makeup and some spare clothes, and we’ll pick them up on our way.”

A minute later Virginia held a telephone to Ms. Eames. “It’s Mr. Jacobs. He loves the photos, but wants to know why you didn’t let him use Peggy from the start.”

“I’ll take the call in my office,” she said, “Virginia, give Peggy the address, and have her stop at her house to pick up her makeup and spare clothes.”

“When you get to your house grab your stuff and immediately head off to the photo shoot,” she commanded. “No time to visit with your Aunt.”

Everything was a rush, but I arrived ten minutes before the photographer, so everything worked out.

That evening I was able to recount my adventure to Aunt Beth and Gloria. It appears that everyone was pleased with me, as Ms. Eames recounted to my Aunt. I was pleased with the money.

Fame can be fleeting, and when I was back at the office the next day, it was back to entering billing records into the computer, but Ms. Eames assured me that there would be more modeling work.

* * *

A few days after my first modeling job, Ms. Eames called me into her office. “I just heard from Jake. He is exceedingly pleased with you as a model. He said that you are not only gorgeous, but you were very cooperative and the photo shoot went smoothly. He also said that the camera loves you, but we already knew that. He is sending over some glossies from the shoot for our records and for your portfolio. When the ads appear, he said he will send copies to me.”

In addition to my work in the office, I was sent out on some modeling jobs. One day, Ms. Eames invited me to attend a fashion show with her. “I have several models here. I want you to see them walk up and down the runway, and to see if you could do the same.” I paid close attention to how they walked and turned and later I practiced in front of my Aunt and Gloria.

When I thought I had it right, I mentioned it to Ms. Eames. I was wearing a nice dress and heels, and Ms. Eames suggested that I show her. There was no runway available, but we used the hall in the office as a substitute. Once or twice I gave a twirl as I turned, lifting my skirt. Ms. Eames liked it and declared that I was ready for fashion shows.

Over the next weeks I did several photo shoots and some runway work, both locally and out of town. I was beginning to get over my nervousness and start to enjoy this work.

However, I was concerned that no one at the Eames Agency knew that I was a transwoman, and if it came out it could cause problems. I had no idea how to tell them, and still keep my office job. I mentioned my concerns to my Aunt and Gloria. They had no unique ideas, and said just tell the truth, and, when you decided to break the news, really glam up.

I finally decided to tell Ms. Eames on the next Friday, and made a special effort with my appearance. I asked her if she had a few minutes, because there was something I wanted to talk with her about.

“I’ve got a problem I’d like to tell you about,” I told her.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” she asked. I could see that big problems in her opinion were things that would change my appearance and end my modeling career.

“No, nothing like that,” I said. I thought it was humorous that pregnancy was one thing that was impossible for me.

“If you have a problem, let’s find a solution. I’ve got you scheduled for some holiday shows and this is an important time for the agency.” She waited for me to express my problem.

“Ms. Eames. I haven’t been quite as candid with you as I should have been. You see, my name was Jason when I was born. I’m a transwoman, if you know what that is,” I blurted out.

“And you think that is a problem?” she said. “Have you ever heard of Andreja Pejic, Kelly Star or Carmen Carrera to name a few? All of them are top models, and all of them are like you. Being transgendered is not a problem at all, in fact it may be an asset. I may have to increase your hourly rate now that I know. Think about whether you would be comfortable with us making it public, because I think there is a market for it.” She had a huge smile on her face.

“Virginia,” she called out, “Please come in here for a moment. Our little Peggy has just revealed another surprise. She’s a transwoman.”

“Oh, that’s so neat. She looks so beautiful that no one will believe it. We’ve had requests in the past for Transgendered models, and now we can satisfy the demand.”

I went home that afternoon, a very happy girl. A huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Now if I could only resolve the problem with my Dad.

* * *

Since I started living at Aunt Beth’s house, I had tried to visit my parents and sister at least once a week. Because my Dad was uncomfortable at my Aunt’s house, I usually went back to my parents’ place, as Jason. However, over the summer and into the fall my hormone therapy had caused my breasts to grow and my hips and butt to become larger. It was no longer a matter of putting on Jason’s clothes, I now had to bind down my breasts, and I had to get different jeans. Needless to say, I was uncomfortable during my visits.

Emma was disappointed that I couldn’t wear a dress or skirt when I visited, since my cross dressing had begun with her, so she would occasionally visit me at our Aunt’s house. My Aunt would occasionally go with me when I visited my parents, but my Dad made it plain that Gloria was not welcome, and Aunt Beth limited her visits.

On one of my visits, Emma asked me to come up to her room. Once inside, she asked me if I was wearing panties, which, of course, I was. “Let me see,” she said, so I unzipped my jeans and pulled them down. It was then that she noticed that my jeans appeared to be girls’ jeans.

“They just fit better, since I have more fat on my hips and butt,” I explained.

“How about your tits,” she asked.

“Growing,” I replied.

“Can I see?” she asked.

“I have them bound down, so there isn’t much to see,” I replied.

“Then take off the bandage,” she suggested, which I did.

“Oh my,” she said when my tits were free, “they’re getting bigger. Can I touch them?”

“Sure, why not,” I answered. But she did more than just touch, she fondled them. I began to squirm with pleasure, and made soft moans. This just encouraged Emma, and she leaned over and began to suck on my nipple. I could hardly stand it.

“You better stop,” I gasped. When I recovered a bit, I said, “I didn’t know that you went for girls.”

“I usually don’t but I’ve had a few lesbian affairs. Remember Sandra?” I did, especially her large breasts.

“Help me get the girls bound up,” I requested, and handed her the elastic bandage. With her help I got dressed.

A minute later she picked up the style section of the local paper and turned to a page which she had marked. “Anything look familiar?” she asked.

“That’s a picture taken in Forbes Park, here in town,” I said, ignoring the obvious.

“Not the park, silly, the model,” she exclaimed. I did recognize the model, because I was she.

“When did you start modeling?” she asked, and I recounted the story of me and the Eames Agency.

“Does Mom know?” I asked.

“She’s the one who pointed out the ad to me,” Emma replied.

“I’d be willing to bet that she didn’t show it to Dad.” I commented.

“That’s a sure bet,” she commented.

After looking at fashion magazines and making idle conversation, she turned serious.

“I’ve missed your company. When are you and Dad going to come to terms?” she asked.

“They’re his objections, not mine,” I answered. “He has to come to accept me as I am.”

“And how do you propose to get him to do that?” she asked.

“I just don’t know,” I said with a dejected tone in my voice. “Maybe Mom has an idea,” I suggested.

“I’ve asked her, and she doesn’t,” Emma responded.

Aside from Mom asking how I liked my new job, nothing more was said about what I did, or where I did it during the whole dinner. One safe topic was college, and I described my accounting and business courses in detail, which pleased my father, I decided to not mention the gender studies course. Emma had recently landed a job at an auto parts store, which I found hilarious because she hated anything mechanical.

When back at my Aunt’s house, I told her and Gloria that I would like to resolve the issues with my Dad. “Have you suggested counseling?” Gloria asked,

“Mom and I did, but he said counseling was an unnecessary expense. He said that everything could be resolved if I stopped prancing around in a dress like a pansy,” I related.

“What is being done has resulted in no progress,” Aunt Beth observed. “Perhaps we could bring things to a head if I invited everyone to Thanksgiving dinner here. You could wear that nice dark-green cocktail dress you bought.”

“If Dad knew what was up, he would refuse to come, and Mom wouldn’t either, since she wouldn’t want him to be alone on Thanksgiving,” I observed.

“The key here seems to be your Mother,” observed Gloria, “Maybe we could get her to make him to come.”

“Let me talk to her about that,” Aunt Beth said, and things were left at that.

* * *

I had hoped to see Steve over Thanksgiving, but he and his family were visiting some relatives in the next state, and would not be in Dalton at all for the entire weekend. I was visibly unhappy. That night, I saw Gloria open my bedroom door, and felt her slide into bed with me. “Your Aunt asked me to come here to comfort you,” she said.

The next evening Teri or Terrence, I couldn’t tell which, called, and during the course of out conversation I let on how disappointed I was that I could not see Steve during the Thanksgiving weekend. “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” she or he said, “let’s catch a movie this weekend.” Having no better plans, and needing company, I agreed. Only after I hung up the phone did, I realize that I still didn’t know if I was going to be with Teri or Terrence, but in my state of mind, I really didn’t care. It would become obvious when I arrived at his or her house.

On Saturday my mood had only slightly improved, and I thought that if I wore something sexy that I would feel better. I decided to wear nylons and a garter belt, along with a skirt, slip, bra, camisole and blouse. When I arrived at his or her house, I saw the door open and out stepped Teri. She also was wearing a skirt and blouse under her jacket. She slid into the car, leaned over and gave me a kiss. She then put her hand on my thigh, and as we drove I felt it inch up my leg until it was at the top of my stocking. I then felt her finger the garter strap. “Ooh,” she said, “nylons and garters. I’m excited.” When I parked the car at the theater, she took my right hand and put it on her crotch, just to prove that she, in fact, was excited.

The ride home after the movie was a repeat of what had happened before. I was missing Steve, and a little erotic touching was not totally unwelcome. When we arrived at her house, she invited me in. I knew that I should refuse, but I was feeling lonesome, so I went into her house. Once inside, she said that no one else was home, and with that she embraced me and began kissing me. During our kissing, I could feel her hand rubbing my body, and my breasts touching her breast forms. I became excited, and a certain part of my body made that obvious. We took off our jackets and she guided me to the couch, where she sat with her body touching mine. She moved her hand up my skirt. I was so excited I couldn’t get her to stop. What ensued was obvious.

I was too embarrassed to want to discuss the evening with my Aunt or Gloria, so I complained of a headache and went directly to bed.

* * *

During the week before Thanksgiving, my Aunt, Gloria and I spent most of our available time preparing for the dinner. My Aunt had decided on a classic Thanksgiving meal of turkey and the usual. Aside from my Aunt, Gloria and me, and my family, Aunt Beth had invited her brother and his wife, their two children and their spouses, a distant cousin and, surprise of surprises, Ms. Birch.

I wore a dark-green cocktail dress which emphasized the feminine curves which I was developing. My father wore an angry expression; angry that my Mother and Emma had practically forced him to be there, angry at me for the way I looked and acted, angry at Gloria, who he didn’t like, and otherwise just plain angry. Everyone else wore what would be expected, skirts or dresses for the women and coats and ties for the men, all except for Ms. Birch. She couldn’t have looked more ‘butch’ if she tried. The conversation at the table was fairly innocent and everyone was too busy eating and recounting stories of years gone bye. It was after the dinner and when everyone retired to the living room that things heated up. The big argument had my father on one side and Gloria and Ms. Birch on the other. Unfortunately for my father, he was not only double-teamed, but outclassed in the fact department. My Mother, Emma, and I just sat there and watched. The rest of the guests kind of drifted off, the women to the kitchen and the men to the football game on the television. The argument appeared to have two issues. The first, promoted by Gloria and Ms Birch, was ‘are you going to allow your stupid prejudices to cause you to lose a child who loves you deeply.’ The second, promoted by my Dad, was ‘what he’s doing is unnatural, prohibited in the bible, and is really a passing fancy that he could stop any time he wanted to.’

Ms. Birch had the facts to establish that what I was doing was not a passing fancy but was a recognized medical condition, and my Dad lost that point.

Dad pointed out that calling how he felt was ‘stupid’ was uncalled for, and he won this point.

Everyone agreed that I loved my father deeply, and he admitted that he loved me, at which time I jumped out of my chair and went over to give my Dad a big hug. This pleased everyone present.

Gloria backed my father into a corner where he had to admit that his position would eventually mean that he would lose a child who loved him and whom he loved. He said that was not what he meant, but couldn’t get around it. He lost this point.

Ms. Birch challenged my father’s position that being transgendered was ‘unnatural’ and had the historical facts to back up her position that it had been going on since the dawn of humanity. She also brought up that there were people who were intersexed. My father had no facts to counter this point.

The final point was the bible. My Aunt was able to get my father to concede that there were inconsistencies in the bible, and he was so flustered that he couldn’t say where in the bible it said that what I was doing was condemned.

Regardless of what had been argued, the issues all came down to love. Unconditional love between a parent and a child. This was the most important thing. If I loved my Dad, and he loved me, that should be enough to overcome the rest. My father had to concede this, which he did with tears in his eyes. When he started to cry, my whole family gathered around him.

Finally, we all agreed that my father didn’t have to like what I was doing, but that he wouldn’t prevent it or kick me out of the family. This appeared to be a compromise we could all live with.

I wondered how it came that Ms. Birch was included in the Thanksgiving dinner party. I never knew, but I think that Gloria had something to do with it. My Father told me he wanted to change the ‘r’ in her name with a ‘t.’ I had to agree with him on that point. I decided that it would be best, given that a compromise had been reached, to not tell my Dad that Ms. Bitch, I mean Birch, was the instructor for one of my classes.

Finally, we all agreed that I would continue to live at my Aunt’s house, that my Father was always welcome there and that I could dress as I pleased when I visited my parents and sister.

After the argument was over, I was asked about my job. Everyone, including my Father, was impressed that I had the start of a modeling career.

* * *

It was not surprising that Ms. Birch used the substance of the Thanksgiving day battle as a classroom example of how family disputes over a transgendered child might be resolved. What was surprising was that Ms. Birch actually wore a skirt to class one day. Unfortunately, she had ugly legs, and I thought that slacks were a better option for her.

Then came the class projects. As threatened, she said all of the boys had to dress as girls for at least one day, and that they were not allowed to hide in their houses for that day, but had to do what they usually would do but wearing a skirt or dress. This caused great mirth among the girls, and where was no shortage of girls who would help the boys. There was an unsubstantiated rumor that some other boys were to hit on the cross-dressed boys, so they would know what it was like to be hit upon.

My project was a natural. I wrote a paper on sexual stereotypes in the modeling business.

I am pleased to report that I earned an ‘A’ in all of my classes.

Because the issues with my Father had been resolved, I could now dress as a female all day, every day, and start on my Real Life Experience.

* * *

I eagerly awaited Steve’s return home for his Christmas break. One evening I was sharing my excitement with Emma. “So, do you have anything exciting planned for him?” she asked.

“In what way” I responded.

“What way do you think?” she replied, “it should be obvious to you.”

“Oh, that,” I said, “the usual.”

“You know, there are plenty of girls at Steve’s college who are more than willing to go all the way, and he may have found one or more of them. Your ‘usual’ may not be exciting enough.”

“So, what do you suggest?” I asked.

“Talk with Gloria. I bet she has experience with a solution,” Emma answered.

Later that evening, Aunt Beth, Gloria and I were sitting around the kitchen table sipping camomile tea, when I recounted the substance of my conversation with Emma.

“I assume that you want to keep Steve interested in you, with something new and different,” my Aunt said.

“There is something you can do, but it might gross you out and you might not like the idea,” Gloria observed.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it involves your butt,” she answered.

“Oh,” I said, getting the general drift.

“Have you . . .” I started to say.

“Yes,” Gloria replied, knowing what my question was.

“And so have I,” my Aunt interrupted.

“If you’re interested in taking this further, just let me know,” Gloria said.

When I was in bed, I saw my bedroom door open. It was Gloria, and she climbed into bed with me. “Your Aunt suggested I come here,” Gloria said, “she thinks you should try it.”

She produced a jar of lubricant and a small device, which she proceeded to use on my behind. At first it hurt, but later on it was pleasurable. I had learned something new.

When Steve and I went out on a date, I afterwards brought him to my Aunt’s house, and used my new found knowledge. Steve loved it.

* * *

Right after the first of the year, Steve returned to college and things got really busy at the Eames Agency. I did a lot of photo shoots for local businesses, and even a few out of town fashion shows. It wasn’t easy to balance school and work, but I did the best I could.

One of my New Year resolutions was to get a name change and change my name and gender marker on my driver’s license, after which I could work on getting an amended birth certificate. The first step was to legally change my name to Margaret Cleary. To do this, I obtained and filled out the necessary forms, and filed them with the court, after which I arranged for publication of my intent to change my name. I also obtained a court date for the hearing on my name change.

On the day of the hearing I wore a charcoal suit with a pencil skirt, which came down to just above my knees. I also wore an ivory long sleeved blouse with, charcoal pantyhose and heels.

There was a list by the courtroom door of the cases being heard that day, and I located my case. At last, my matter was called. The judge studied the papers which the clerk handed him, after which he asked about my financial status and if there were any criminal charges pending.

“Mr. Cleary, you want to change your name to Margaret Cleary from Jason Cleary? Tell me why,” the judge then asked.

“I’m a professional model, and the name Jason doesn’t quite match what I’m doing,” I answered.

“Okay, name change granted,” he ordered, “Have your order stamped by the clerk.” After having multiple copies of the order stamped, I left the courtroom. That was it.

Now that my name was legally changed, I could amend my drivers’ license. The name change order was necessary to change the name on my license, but to change the gender marker required a letter or affidavit from someone in the medical or mental health field, including my physician, LCSW, MSW, RN, or PA, certifying that I was taking appropriate clinical steps to change my gender. Having these, I went to appropriate office and had my drivers’ license amended.

I was now in my sixth month of Real Life Experience, and my counselor was pleased with my progress. “You are halfway there, Margaret,” she said, “have you figured out how you will finance your surgery?”

“I have health insurance, but I’m not sure how much of the procedure is covered. Luckily I am well compensated for my modeling, and I have a tidy sum put away. When I have enough between insurance and available funds, I can go forward.”

While I was waiting for the time to pass before I could have my reassignment surgery, I decided to have breast enhancement surgery, which meant, after it was done, that a lot of my clothes no longer fit me, but on the other hand, I now had really nice cleavage. I went shopping to replace the part of my wardrobe which no longer fit with clothes that emphasized my new shape and cleavage. All in all, I was very pleased.

When I went to the next gender society meeting, Teri was more than casually interested in my new figure, and made it plain that she would like to spend more time with me, an invitation which I gently declined.

With the approval of my counselors and medical people, I scheduled my surgery for the next spring. Ms. Eames understood why I was doing this, but moaned that she would lose the services of one of her models during my recovery. “There is a compensating factor,” I told her, “I can then model string bikinis.” This brought a smile to her face.

Gloria graciously volunteered to accompany me to my surgery. I would have liked to have Steve there, but that just wouldn’t work. As a compensation, I decided that he would be the first to try out the new me. I loved Steve and wanted to marry him, but his parented were dead set against me and what I was doing. The even threatened to cut off his college funding if he thought of marrying me. One of the reasons they expressed was that I could not have children. I pointed out that in any marriage there was no guaranty of children, but they were not dissuaded. The idea of adopting children was, in their opinion, not an acceptable alternative. What Steve wanted was only a very minor consideration.

Steve and I discussed eloping after he finished his education, but that was years away. If I could be sure of a career in modeling, I might be able to pay for Steve’s education, but no conclusion was reached. In any event, Steve did not have the fortitude to try anything that would challenge his parents. While we continued to date, I was not welcome in Steve’s house, and treated very coldly when in his parents’ presence. Gloria’s prior advice to me rang in my mind: ‘One thing I’ve learned is to consider my feelings first, and not let another person control my life.’ Steve obviously didn’t agree with this. In any event, the whole point became moot when Steve became engaged to some air head bimbo he met in college. The irony of it all was that she proved that she could bear children, because she did just that without the benefit of being married. As a result, Steve had to drop out of college and get a job to support his family.

Oh well, you can’t win them all.