That summer I met my first love. I fell head over heels in love with Philippa. She fell in love with me. As they say, We had fun, we had joy we had seasons in the sun. That really was a lovely summer. We spent every moment we could together. Our hearts thumped. We had picknicks together, we went riding together, we went to concerts together, we popped over to Paris and the Riviera together. And then we were just together. I think just being together with someone I loved was what mattered most to me.

My relationship with my parents was not strained at all. We were perfectly civil to each other whenever we met. That summer my father had custody of me. My friends, or rather acquaintances, called me Pinball since my parents regarded me as the trophy in their fight against each other. Whenever the parent in charge was splashed on the front pages of the tabloids due to some scandal, which happened with depressing regularity, the other swooped in to grab the prize, Why? apart from the win, I never could figure out.

That’s why I suggested a compromise when another storm brewed one August. Instead of bouncing back and forth between them I suggested that I’d go to a boarding school. I took care of everything. I found a Public School that was prepared to accept me. Public School? Hey, this is England and we treasure our quaintness. A Public School is an expensive private school, most often with the students living on-site. The most famous ones, like Eton and Winchester refused me for various reasons. Not that I cared. I preferred not to go to school with my usual crowd, many of whom already went there. The school I found, sorry, it called itself college. For some reason calling a fancy Public Shool a school when it calls itself a college is sacrilegious. Don’t confuse those colleges with universities though. Very confusing but never call one of those colleges a school, never ever. Anyway, I managed to get myself into that school, er college. Having a multibillionaire father might have helped. I later learned that it did. Not that the Headmaster was impressed by my father’s wealth. Most students there had parents that ranged from very rich to filthy rich. No, the reason the Headmaster accepted me was because he pitied me because of my father. My father has got a reputation for being utterly ruthless as well as very rich. He’s not exactly sophisticated either.

No matter the reason. I left for school, sorry college. I had a goodbye with Philippa that had the tears flooding my father’s very big house. Whoever said that parting is such sweet sorrow? The bloke must have been out of his mind! We solemnly promised each other that we’d call, write and then meet again at Christmas. That meant that we were bound to be together again. No way that I or Phillippa would break a solemn promise. To me a promise is sacred. I have never broken a promise or a New Year resolution. Intellectually I know that some people do but I can’t understand that. I counted the minutes until I’d see Philippa again.

There I was. A new boy and not in one of the lower forms. Awkward. Add to that in any Public School sports is central to life. Especially cricket and in this case rugby. To be honest my first word when I started talking wasn’t “wicket”. I had never played cricket. My father had grown up on a council estate so zero interest there. Not that I wasn’t athletic. I was a very good swimmer. Unfortunately those muscles are not as visible as those developed by other sports. Too bad swimming was considered an inferior sport in the college. I was not short but I was rather lean and had soft features and liked my hair long. Then add the fact that my mother was a fanatic “The Goodies” fan so I had been christened Taylor Brooke Timm. Not a good starting point to integrate into a very male society. Oh yes, the college was boys only.

The first month was “interesting”. Then I became a friend of the most unlikely of my fellow students. Robin was a brilliant student. More importantly he was the rising cricket star. He was already the first eleven’s star bowler. Even an untutored spectator like I could appreciate his smooth bowling. Not that Robin was a goody-two-shoes. I detected the same ruthlessness that was so visible in my father’s case. Only Robin was more smooth in that aspect. However, he wasn’t above using underarm bowling if that was necessary to stop the opposing team scoring those last vital points.

Robin was also the school, er college, recluse. He was one of only three students who had a room of his own. Thankfully the college had abandoned the old dormitories some years ago. Still, all other students shared rooms. The one I shared with was civil to me but nothing more. Robin was also one of the students who was there under an assumed name. He was not the only one of course. Even if the college had more of traditional clientele, titled families, old money and all that, rather than Arabian princes or Chinese noveau riche parents. Still, for security reasons some used another name. Robin was one of them.

So, where was I? Right! Robin was a recluse despite having everything going for him. That is until I arrived. Once more I think it was a case of pity. I was bullied for many reasons. My lack of ancestors (ironically the worst bullies were styled “Honourable”), the girly way I looked, my allegedly girly behaviour, my name but most of all because they resented that my billionaire father somehow had bought my way into school, eh college. As I’ve told you that last thing wasn’t true. Father didn’t ever pay. I did that myself. Yes, I personally paid the very high fees. That was part of the deal I had with my parents. I told you that my father was ruthless. What very few people appreciated or even understood was that he was also scrupulously fair. At age six I had come up with a brilliant idea that my father’s company developed and made insanely much money from. I got 1% of the company as compensation. Doesn’t sound much, does it? Well, to tell the truth, at the time it wasn’t. Now? Multiply by many billions of pounds and you see that I was pretty rich all of my own. Then at age ten I discovered that I could borrow money with my shares as collateral. Father set things up so I could make any investment I wanted and gave me a blank check. So what if I lost my money? He clearly stated that that was my headache. As things turned out I made some money. So much that I decided to hide them carefully in Panama, out of sight from the press (and HM Revenue and Customs). I did not wish to feature on lists of world’s wealthiest kids and such. I abhorred the tabloids for good reason. I had been collateral damage in my parents’ fights all too often. As a result my personal wealth was a very well kept secret.

But that wasn’t what I meant to talk about. The subject was Robin, wasn’t it? To resume, Robin was a star in the cricket first XI, a brilliant student, an enigma when it came to his real identity but presumably with very VIP parents and he didn’t take advantage of that but kept away far from the maddening crowd. Until he swooped in to save me from bullying. We became friends. I think I might have been Robin’s first real friend ever. He certainly was mine. Robin was tall and sturdy. Not first XV sturdy but a fine example of the aristocratic English male. Good-looking. Exquisite manners. Could come across as the haughtiest of haughty lords but also be one of the guys and surprisingly the most thoughtful of friends. I had my issues. Robin made allowances for them. Robin patiently listened to me gushing about Philippa for hours and hours. Robin even introduced me to cricket. Soon I even occasionally managed to hit that deadly weapon that is used as a ball in cricket. Robin had great fun at my expense but his laughing was so infectious that I could only join and not be angry.

So while life in college improved immensely I started to worry about Philippa. She was not really keeping her word. She didn’t send as many messages as she’d had promised and the started to get awfully short as well. Well, she was a mere girl so I had to make allowances for her and then we had Christmas coming up when we’d do all those lovely things together, just the two of us again.

On Christmas Eve she sent me a short message and broke up. She had met someone else. Someone that was a real man. An assertive young man that showed her what a sissy wimp I was. Yes, she used exactly those words. That somewhat marred my Christmas. Christmas is otherwise my favourite holiday. My mother and all my father’s other ex-wives always celebrate Christmas together with me and all my half-siblings. Of course Father is not welcome*. Contrary to public wisdom I’m on very good terms with my ex-stepmothers. All of them. And I LOVE my half-siblings. They are so cute and happy. Yes, Christmas is best day of the year. I should have spent New Year with Father but there was some government in Africa that needed browbeating so I went back to college instead. College did really pull out all stops to make New Year as enjoyable for those students that hadn’t gone home or to some friend’s to celebrate. Robin was one of those, to my great joy and sorrow. I realised that Robin’s family life was less rosy than I had imagined.

Too bad I was no good company at the time. I was devastated by being dumped by Philippa. My heart was broken. No, not broken – shattered. Shattered into millions of tiny and very sharp shards. There I thought I had found my soulmate, someone that I could finally completely and utterly connect with and then she had dumped me brutally. Not only dumped but she had BROKEN HER WORD! How could anyone DO a thing like that. Especially to someone you loved, all right, had loved.

I resorted to drugs or more specifically my favourite drug. I had to be very careful. Alcohol could get me expelled. Class A drugs could land me in prison, or could it given my age? No matter, my addiction was something much more dangerous if discovered. I was addicted to Corazón Tenderheart’s soppy romances. Fortunately the boy I shared the room with was away, happily spending the holidays with his loving family.

Then disaster struck. Robin unexpectedly entered my room while I was reading the latest “masterpiece”. I was done for! Robin just looked at what I was reading, smiled indulgently and proceeded to invite me to a game of fives. Robin really was a one-of-a-kind boy! If anything he only grew closer to me over the next few days.

At the strike of midnight those still in college celebrated. There just might have been some alcohol involved. Don’t look at me! I just might have been a bit intoxicated, not only chemically but also from the good feeling towards my fellow inmates at the college. Anyway, I always make a new year resolution but usually I’m a bit more careful with what I promise. This time I resolved to foreswear girls for the entire year. The hurt from Philippa’s betrayal was still deep, incredibly painfully deep. Robin, apparently the only sane person present, tried to stop me. He knew very well that I NEVER broke a promise. He also knew that I would regret what I promised the next day. I did. But I had made a resolution and I was going to stick to it!

After that there were two parallel developments. The warmth that I had detected in Robin the last few days before New Year disappeared. We were still friends but, just for a few days, there had been something more. Something I missed when Robin withdrew it. That also started me to look into myself. I had forsworn girls but I hadn’t forsworn boys. Did I try to tell myself something? Same-sex, platonic, relationships were not unknown in college. Two good reasons – such relationships were both traditional in Public Schools and at the same time acceptance of such relationship was regarded as being proper for a college with some claim to be progressive.

I started to realise that I liked Robin in more ways than I had been aware of. I mean I REALLY liked Robin. Loving Robin would mean not be breaking my promise. I fell for that logic. I let myself be deluded by the thought of loving Robin. That put me in a quandary. I liked having Robin as a friend but it was also sheer torture to spend all that time with someone that I had come to realise I loved and not daring to express my love. Not daring? I was terrified. Nonetheless, the urge became to strong and I confessed my love to him. Robin became very distraught and just told me it was impossible, completely impossible. And then he left but not before I could the tears in his eyes. Was it because I had destroyed our friendship or was it something else? I desperately grabbed that last thought since I to my surprise found out that millions of tiny very sharp shards can be even more shattered.

After three days without Robin my withdrawal symptoms became too strong and I tracked him down by the river. Fortunately at a secluded spot. It was a warmish sunny day, just like one of those magic days I had spent with Philippa last year. I had come to understand how shallow and, to be honest, quite stupid and insipid girl Philippa was but her betrayal still hurt me incredibly. That only made my resolve to have things out with Robin so much stronger. Robin was in every single way superior to Philippa (excluding the breast part). I could not stand to have things unresolved with him. He might hate me but I wanted us to be honest with each other. It took some time but I finally got her to tell me the truth. Her?

Robin was a girl. That’s why my new year resolution had shattered HER. She had fallen for the pathetic boy already the first week but had held back because I had promised myself to someone else but then I had been released and she had intended to tell me all.

At that point we were disturbed by one of the groundskeepers.

- What’s going on here? I heard some very strange noises. Is everything OK?

Robin, in a very commanding voice: Oh, go away Malcolm. I’m fine. No not fine, but nothing that demands your attention. Taylor Brooke and I have some thing to settle, that’s all.

Me: What was that? Why do you order the groundkeepers around?

- Oh, Malcolm is one of the soldiers in Dad’s army.

- Dad’s army. That old sitcom?

- No Taylor, don’t be stupid. I really mean my father's army. His Grace has many old privileges. One is to have a personal army despite being one of Her Majesty’s vassals.

- His Grace?

- My father, the Duke. The Duke that can’t bear the thought that the title would go to a distant relative. The Duke that had me registered at birth as a boy since it was a miracle my mother, that they thought already had entered menopause, had given birth to me and impossible I’d ever have a brother. The Duke that has pushed me to be a boy ever since my birth. A sportsman. Every inch a British aristocrat. Even to the extent that he wants me to take hormones and have surgery. This year I just couldn’t take the pressure one Christmas more and that’s why I stayed here. That book you read, that just confirmed how much I love you. I love them too.

- And will you become a boy, go all the way?

- I don’t know. I truly don’t know. Being a boy is all I know. It’s what my parents want. But it’s such a big step that I hesitate. And then you have to come and complicate things further. You and your stupid New Year resolution. Why did you have to do such an imbecilic thing? WHY? WHY? Why do I have to be what I am, whatever THAT is!

- I think that you are perfect. You are perfect just like you are. You know, when I look at you I see a boy in the uniform of a boys only school …

- College

- College then! I see a boy in the uniform of a boys only college, an amazing boy athlete with very masculine manners. If it looks like a duck, it walks like a duck,,,

I was interrupted by Robin pinning me down on the ground. She smiled and opened her lovely mouth.

- QUACK!

And then he kissed me.

I started to understand Philippa better. It WAS nice to have an assertive boyfriend. Very nice but I also was a firm believer in equality, one of the reasons Philippa had me down a a sissy wimp. I managed to roll over the pair of us so I was on the top.

- QUACK!

Robin had just the time to break out into a lovely smile before I kissed him. Then I remembered Robin’s strong bowling arm. It was only by a fraction of a second that I was able to - duck.

T
* I borrowed the idea of the Christmas celebration from real life, a (distant) relative of Bru's. The relative himself usually goes to Thailand during Christmas.

I hadn’t been home for a very long time. Actually, I hadn’t been home since I went away to college more than ten years ago. My parents and siblings preferred to come to the big city, New York, instead to see me. Much more exciting than our little town. The town could have been the model for a Hallmark movie. Everyone knows everybody and all that. The church socials, the Christmas market. Well, you get the picture(s).

Since I was going to move to Paris (France, not Texas) I finally decided to go back once before I moved. Of course, my family would love to visit Paris with the excuse of visiting me, so we’d still see each other but it was Christmas and all that… Also, I have to admit that part of the reason I went back was so that I could brag about my new position as the manager of our Paris office. Quite a career move for a young woman, especially one born as a boy.

The winter road was treacherous and some five miles outside the town I wound up in the ditch. When I was standing there trying to evaluate the damages (minimal) trying to figure out how to get the car up on the road again (very tricky) a pickup truck loaded with Christmas trees stopped. The guy getting out of the truck was breathtakingly handsome. He was the incarnation of a Norse god. 6’6”, long wavy blonde hair, the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, a manly beard, strong arms. The torso was hidden by a lumberjack-style jacket but I could imagine the rippling muscles beneath. I could hardly breathe such was his effect on me. I had never met a man that I had WANTED like this prime example of the species. I woke up again when he asked me what had happened. Not that it wasn’t obvious. His voice was as heavenly and masculine as everything else about him. In five minutes flat he had my car up on the road again. Well, what could be more natural than giving him a thank you kiss, on the cheek. He had a very nice blush. He got back into his vehicle and said

“See you in town later”

How could he know that I was staying in town and not just passing through?

“and welcome back, Martin”

Now it was me blushing. I hadn’t recognized Simon, my inseparable friend when we were boys. I had kissed him, how embarrassing. Not that I hadn’t wanted to kiss him when we were teenagers, but I hadn’t dared. I had been too afraid of what could happen. We had spent all our time together. Simon was a bit exotic. His mother was the only foreigner in town She was from Canada. Originally, she had come to Walker’s Pass to be the French teacher at the local high school. After two years school board decided to stop trying to get any students to study a foreign language but Henriette had got married to a local man so she became the geography teacher instead. Despite all the years in our town she still had kept that exotic French accent. I had adored her. She represented the big world “outside” to me.

I drove into town down Main Street. There was the bakery from where there came enticing wisps of the smell of freshly baked bread, the quaint little Antiques Shoppe, the old General Store that was the local Gossip Central. As I drove past Simon waved at me with a broad smile. He was busy getting the Christmas trees set up to sell.

I drove on to my parents’ house where I got a warm welcome, i.e. a mug of hot cocoa. Having settled in I left my parents to the Christmas preparations. Apparently, I was just in the way. I could hardly avoid passing by Simon’s Christmas tree selling place. He jumped out and hugged me.

“What a beautiful woman you have turned into.”

“What a hunk you have turned into”

Did I really say that out aloud? How embarrassing! However, judging from Simon’s smile he didn’t disapprove.

“So, what should I call you now?”

“Marianne”

From that point I was swept up by him. He introduced me to various people, without telling them who I used to be. One of the persons he introduced me to was his son, George. The cutest little nine-year old you could imagine. Well almost ten as he insisted. I was surprised that the boy wasn’t a big strapping lad like his father. He was rather “delicate”. His father wasn’t his fashion model either. Boy’s clothes but neat and not suited for rough and tumble.

I had lunch with them. Not a good idea since that fanned my infatuation with my old playmate. I could swoon just looking into his eyes. I tried to ask him about the mother of George. The only thing I got out of them was that she was Marilyn, one of the girls in our class. A Prom-induced pregnancy. Simon, who wasn’t great in school, married her and stayed in Walker’s pass with the child while the mother got herself a law degree before returning and setting up her own practice in town. Strangely enough they said absolutely nothing about her in the present. I got the impression that she had passed away and probably not that long ago. I also learnt that Simon’s mother also had passed away. That really saddened me. I had loved her both as Simon’s mother and as a teacher.

The next two days Simon and I got very close. The first time I followed him and George home I got a big surprise. George ran upstairs and soon came down in a pretty dress. Simon told me that “Anne” only appeared at home. She showed me her room. All in pink and frills. A real girly-girl. A pity she didn’t dare to show herself outside. Simon had told her about me, and it turned out that I had become a role model for Anne. One of the things was that she was determined to be as good as I had in school to become a hotshot lawyer like me. Strangely, she didn’t mention her mother in this context. Grief I assumed.

When I said Simon and I got very close I mean cuddly close. We sat out at night looking at those millions of stars visible on crystal clear the sky without any light contamination. I ‘pretended to be cold, so he swept his voluminous and warm jacket around both of us and hugged me closely. At that point I knew that this was the one and only man for me. We looked at each other. Slowly, slowly our faces were pulled closer to each other by an invisible force. We kissed. We broke off and looked slightly embarrassedly at each other and then once again the force acted on us. The second kiss never seemed to end. Neither did the third nor ….

“I love you” I whispered

“Not as much as I love you” he whispered back.

I returned home walking on small pink clouds. I couldn’t hide what had happened when I got back so I told Mother and Father. They were very upset and told me firmly that I had to forget about that. Why? They didn’t want to tell me. They just ordered me not to see Simon again.

The next day I understood. When I was in the General Store I heard the clerk greet someone called Marilyn and then ask if she had missed Simon and George on her trip. How could Simon do such a thing! He had cheated on her. No, we hadn’t got into bed but that night under the stars was way beyond that. He had CHEATED on his wife. He had deceived me. Did he do this to every gullible woman he came across? My heart was crushed. How could he do this to me? I ran out of the shop crying.

I returned home and locked myself into the room I used. I cried and cried. I thought I finally had met my great love. Someone who was comfortable with who I am and it turned out to be just a philanderer. Not MY room any longer. Now it was an impersonal guest room. I wished I could have left Walker’s Pass immediately, but I couldn’t do that to my parents, not on Christmas Eve. I passed a miserable Christmas without leaving the house again. I prepared to go home to New York and a miserable single existence again but I had to buy a few things first.

Of course, I had to run into Simon, Marilyn and George. I tried to get away, but Marily stopped me.

“So, you’re the girl that my Simon has fallen in love with.”

Stammering I tried to explain things but she interrupted me. She explained that her and Simon’s marriage never had been a happy one. Shot-gun weddings rarely are she added. George (she never used the name Anne) just compounded things. Marilyn was angry at Simon for coddling the boy and refusing Marily to “man up the sissy”. Not that she’d ever really cared about the unwelcome child. At that stage Marilyn had found herself a lover. A rich one. They had just spent two weeks in the Caribbean. Unashamedly Marilyn admitted that she’d have divorced Simon long ago if she could have found a way to get out of alimony and child support. Simon falling in love with me was unexpected good luck. If he wanted to marry me, well good riddance was her opinion. She knew how to expedite divorces, especially if uncontested. Then she could marry her rich lover and move to Bahamas. I was aghast and was about to hit her but the happy face on Anne’s face made me to hold my anger. Marily happily skipped down the street. Simon shocked the town by embracing me forcefully and no less forcefully kiss me. Now people REALLY had something to gossip about!

Simon, Anne and I went into the coffeeshop to clear things up. Did I want to marry Simon? Of course I did! (A loud YAY from Anne). The only thing was that I wasn’t sure if I could fit in in Walker’s Pass again. I could probably take over Marilyn’s practice but …

“Marianne, you stupid little goose. Why ever should you move here?”

“But this is where you and Anne belong.”

“ WE don’t belong here. I hate this end-of-world town. I only stayed because I have no marketable skills I could use in a big city and as for Anne… Why did you wait until AFTER you left Walker’s Pass before you transitioned? Don’t think I couldn’t see that you were a girl long before that.”

He was right. Walker’s Pass is paradise if you fit in. If you don’t, like if you’re transgendered, then you’re OUT. Not like that they will abuse you in any way, but you will be an outsider, not welcome in the community, cold-shouldered. Being lonely in place like Walker’s Pass can be very lonely indeed.

“Besides I just realized that I have some marketable skills for a specific job. I’m a hunk like you said when you came.” (I blushed again) “I speak fluent, cultured French and I have read all of my mother’s high-brow novels. Maman encouraged me to speak French at home. I was the only one she could speak French with here and she wanted to discuss all those books with me. So, you see, I’m highly qualified to be a trophy-husband in Paris. Please, please be my knightess in shining armor and rescue me and Anne!”

The next day all three of us left Walker’s Pass.