Two Roses

A different kind of transgender tale

By Melanie E.

“This name origin stuff isn’t as helpful as I thought it might be. About half of the names seem to mean ‘good’ or ‘pretty’ and it’s one thing for parents to name their precious newborn something like that, but it would be arrogant for me to call myself ‘Agatha’ or ‘Jolie’ or whatever. Not that I like the sound of ‘Agatha’ anyway, but, you know.”

A second update in the same month, the world has gone mad! Mad, I tell you!

Enjoy, an update to RiH should be posted sometime next month.

In this chapter, Fight aftermath and fallout. Sasha has some 'splainin to do.

“I don’t know why you can’t dress like a girl. I mean, I’ve never seen you in a dress and you’ve lived next door for five years,” I told Susie, the tomboy that lived next door. She was my sister’s age, two years older than me, and I was starting to notice girls and she was one I noticed. Under her jeans (boys) and loose shirt, there was a good looking body. The only time you could tell was when she put on a swimsuit. “And you should do something with your hair and maybe wear some nail polish or somethin’,” I continued.

“Leave her alone Frank. She can dress how ever she wants. I don’t blame her. I like to wear jeans and sweatshirts too,” my sister defended.

“Yeah, you’re nearly as bad as she is. You only wear dresses sometimes, when there’s some kind of special occasion. You’ve got a drawer full of nice nighties and all you ever wear to bed is flannel pajamas. The only difference between you and Susie is you polish your nails. Susie never wears dresses,” I complained.

“I don’t always wear flannel pajamas.”

“Oh yeah; I forgot. During the summer, you wear Dad’s old T-shirt and Boxers. Real girlie. I’ll bet Susie wears that kind of thing year round.”

Susie whispered something to Karen, who nodded. “I’ll tell you what,” Susie said. “Let’s have a contest. I’ll bet that I can do everything you do and that you can’t do everything I can do. If you win, I’ll wear whatever you say for a whole week and fix my hair all girlie. I’ll even let you go first.”

“What if I lose?”

“Well then,” she grinned, “you’ll have to wear whatever I say all week.”

“What ever we say… I’ll even do it too. And you’ll have to do something with the sorry mop you call hair to make it look better. I don’t know where you get off talking about Susie’s hair. At least she washes hers,” my sister Karen insisted.

Originally posted 2012-9-19.