Margaritas, Beaches, and Bikinis

Chapter Two
Belk's Department Store

A few days passed. And the writer's block still held its firm iron grip on me. I still felt like I'd abandon all of my writing projects and I felt like I owed my readership a reason why there had been no new Emily stories. Or any updates on her many misadventures. But every time I opened up a blank word document  and told myself that now I was going to work on her stories I found my mind going blank. Blank like the word document I was peering at.

But I had more pressing concerns. I needed to update my closet. If I was going to spend the whole of my gifted holiday as Rebecca and then I would need more female clothes. And I knew only one place to go and buy some decent clothing. And that would be the Belk's Department Store, a regional favorite among Southern Belles of all ages. 

And given I was still new to shopping for female clothing I decided it would be best to do it early in the morning when the store had just opened for business and both floors of the department store were still void of customers.

Anyway I swallowed hard and I put my car in park. The drive from Benton to Ridgeland had taken only forty or so minutes and that was because I'd somehow got turned around somehow. Anyway, I leaned over the steering wheel and I once more found my mind going blank. My mission was simple. Get in, and get out.

“It can't be that hard.” I said unbuckling my safety belt. “Just get in and get out.” I said taking a deep breath as I reached over and unlocked the driver's door and then I climbed out and turned around and pressed the clicker a few seconds later the front headlights flashed for a few seconds. A sign that my car was indeed locked.

I then turned my eyes toward the front door.

I'm not sure what I expected, I kind of expected that all of my questions would be answered. That I would enjoy browsing the many racks of clothes. That figured a sense of euphoria would come sneaking up on me. And soon I would like the women in the posters, smiling a smile that reached from one end to my face to the other as I clutched tightly a collection of bags.

I was wrong. Instead I felt my old nemesis, gender dysphoria starting to sneak up on me. And soon he was right on top of me, not only was he on top of me, he was beating me down with his iron fist. Pounding me into the ground. My chest tightened and the palms of my hands started to sweat. And for a brief second I thought one of two things was possible. 

The first possibility was I was going to have a nervous breakdown right here in the middle of the store, the second possibility was I was going to have an asthma attack. And while I wrestled to get control of myself. All I could see around me were shadows, shadows of people that I knew were not there. But they were in a roundabout way very real to me.

I was tempted to drop the bundle of clothes I'd collected right there on the floor and to rush out to my car where I was sure I was going to cry myself to sleep. Instead though, I drew in a deep breath, reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out my phone slowly with trembling hands. I pulled up the 'Google' app and slowly I typed in 'Youtube' once that was brought up I typed in 'Little Victories, Treseella'.

Once the video came up. I felt like a huge burden had taken off my shoulders. The soothing melody of the song kind of made me feel grounded and soon my breathing became steady and that dark storm cloud that was hanging over my head started to vanish. 

Degree by degree I felt bits and pieces of my sanity starting to return to me. Slowly I found the strength to collect myself. Once I was sure of myself, I started to walk with trembling feet toward the cashier. 

And talk about anticlimactic. The cashier just casually pushed my items through the scanner. I even found myself getting a little offended by her whole nonchalant attitude. Once she was done she pressed several keys and then in a dull lifeless tone of voice asked me.

“Would that be cash or credit?” The cashier asked me.

“Credit.. debit.. really.” I said shuttering a little. 

“There's the same thing.” The cashier said with a small sigh.

“Credit I guess.” I said handing over my card.

She took the card from my hand. Entered my card information into her register and then handed the card back to me. And then as if she was just brushing me aside she said. “Our machines are old. Like we don't have card readers. We need to enter your information.. also it takes a few minutes to go through..” 

I nodded my head.

A few seconds pasted before the machine made a horrible ear splitting sound and a few seconds later it vomited up a long sheet of paper. The cashier shrugged her shoulders, reached down and snatched the sheet of paper from the mouth of the machine and handed it to me. 

“Here.” The cashier said, taking a deep breath. “And thank you for shopping at Belk's and have a good day or something?” And with that the cashier handed me the paper and two big bags. 
I was too stunned to say anything. Instead I just took the bag from the cashier's hand and then nodded my head. I mean I don't know what I was hoping to happen. I guess I was androgynous 
enough to pass as a girl And while I was not wearing overly feminine clothes, just a fading pair of jeans, a white button down shirt and a pair of white sneakers.

And why do I bring that up? Because I'd just brought three different styles of sundresses, a little black dress, and four different styles of bikinis, and of course bras and panties. All told I'd just spent around four hundred dollars. 

“I guess I passed..” I said, sighing a little as I started to walk back toward my car.

 Margaritas, Beaches, and Bikinis

Chapter 3: The Nightly Bedtime Ritual

So I bought some new clothes, filled my black Ford Taurus up with gas. And last but not least my phone was on charge. And my outfit for tomorrow, a nice breezy sundress had been laid out along with a pair of boy shorts to hide the bulge and small lacy white bra to hold my girls.

I'd also showered, deep conditioned my hair, washed it, blow dried it, and because I felt cute I'd divided it down the middle and fashioned each section of my hair into two cute pigtails. With each pigtail tied off with a cord of tricolored ribbon. My legs felt like they were on fire because I'd tried for the first time in my life a home waxing kit. The results had been worth the pain though. Or so I thought they had been.

Up next I slipped into a loose cotton nightgown that reached just below my knees. Once all that was done, I fixed myself a glass of mineral water on the rocks, and took my nightly estrogen. Those little blue pills were the tracks the train ran on.

Anyway all of that out of the way I decided that I needed to write or at least make a dent in my backlog. Now sometimes I can write quickly, other times I write slowly. Lately I've not been writing at all. I've been reading a lot though.

You see, when I was a teenager, I guess I was around sixteen at the time, I stumbled upon a story site called “BigCloset Top Shelf: TopShelf TG Fiction in the BigCloset” and well it blew my mind. Now, I've read stories in the past of male characters becoming female. And I'd written a fair few stories were popular male characters from either anime or video games get forced into crossdressing in public.

But I never knew there was a whole genre devoted to the topic. Here on this humble site I discovered women who I personally consider the best of the best. The elite of the craft. The first one that comes to mind was a talented brunette named Emma Anne Tate, who for some reason reminded me of Jane Austen. Maybe it was her brunette colored hair and her sharp wit and darling prose.

Up next was a blonde haired beauty named Joanne Brabarella, her pose was simple, earthy and straight to the point. And her stories featured realistic characters and featured real life places. And that is what I most adored about her writing. That and the fact that she had infected me with a love of french maid outfits her stories often caused my virgin heart to flutter. But I had my own fetish for the classic Playboy Bunny Suit.. so who was I to judge.

Up next on the list was the amazing Shiraz who I personally considered among the best of the best. She was the mastermind behind the Tammyverse all of her stories centered on the darling Tamara Smart and her many misadventures in and around the Scottish Highlander town of Thurso.

And last but not least, we had SnowFall, who was the best writer of the lot. Her 'Frills' was to the Transgender fiction at it's best.

Just then my phone started to ring. Taking a deep breath I picked up the phone and swiped to accept the call.

“Good evening.” I said, taking a deep breath. It was my editor calling.

“Hey! Tomorrow is the big day!” My editor seemed to be in a good mood. This was either a good sign or a bad sign.

“Yep, I just finished filling my car up with gas. I'm already packed. And I'm hoping to get some work done for you.” I said, closing my eyes.

“Wonderful! I was just calling to check in on you. And I was wondering if you've had a chance to work on any of the Emily projects.” And just like that her voice had gone from being cheerful to foreboding.

“Not really..” I said, taking a deep breath. “I did manage to write around five hundred or so words for a new Emily short story though. Its working title is called 'The Phantom at The Prom'.”

“Let me stop you right there.” My editor said in a snappish tone of voice. “I don't want another short story. I want you to finish what you've started. I can understand you've gotten stuck on the main story. I can understand your hoping that these so-called 'side stories' will keep people hooked till you can return to the main story. But, before you go chasing foxes through the underbrush. I want you to focus on one thing at a time.”

“Yes ma'am.” I said blushing.

“You know I always thought blondes were bimbo's and brunettes were the smart ones.” My Editor said with a sigh. “But I'm starting to think that you might be the first brunette bimbo I've ever come across. I mean really, can't you get your scattered brain cells together long enough to focus on one thing?”

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

“Yes ma'am..” I said as I cradled the phone I my shaking hands.

“I mean you've never been to prom have you?” My editor asked, it was a direct question.

“Yes ma'am..” I said, taking a deep breath.

“And I bet you've never worn a formal gown a day in your life, am I right?” It was another direct question. One that cut me like a knife.

“Yes ma'am..” I prayed that God would strike me dead.

“So, how can you possibly write about a young girl trying on her first formal gown without having lived that yourself? You know what, I'll take that a step further. How can you write about wearing a formal gown when you've never even worn one yourself?” My editor said her voice rising with each word that left her mouth. God somebody was in full on bitch mode today.

“.....” I paused and took a deep breath and slowly I started to count backwards from ten to zero, starting at ten of course.

“You know, forget it.. Have a good trip and don't forget about sending something I can publish.” My Editor then paused. “Or think of an Emily story you can finish?”
And wit that being said she hung up. Leaving me holding my phone in my hand.

Margaritas, Beaches, and Bikinis
by
Rebecca Anna Coleman
Chapter 4: I hope I don't hear Banjos

At three o' clock the next morning I found myself putting the twinkling lights of Benton behind me. Roughly five hundred or so miles of open road lay between me and Orange Beach. Or so Google Maps told me. For the trip that morning I decided to go all out. At first I was going to wear a pair of tan cargo shorts, a loose fitting cotton t shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. Then I decided, in a fit of madness that it was time to embrace being Rebecca and stop hiding her.

And so I rose earlier than I would normally that morning, washed and conditioned my hair, clipped and polished my fingernails, shaved under my arms, my legs, I even clipped and polished my toenails. That done I decided to slip on a pair of lacey pink panties and a lacey pink bra. Cause you gotta match, And over that went a light blue flora sundress. Matching blue flip-flops and and cloth tote bag. And last but not least I pulled my hair back, braided it and tied a ribbon at the end of the braid.

The tote bag held my phone, wallet, keys, pills, and last but not least my rescue inhaler. For those nasty flare-ups when my asthma was really bad or something triggered a sudden attack. And given the nature of my mission I'm sure something would.

As I drove I started to think about all the great ones that came before me, and writers who I really wanted to write like. I know I named a few of them last night. But their were so many more. So many other great writers had tried, and I guess failed to show me what road to take. Maybe I really needed just get out of Benton for a good long while and explore the coast.

“Hey things are going to be different this time around.” I told myself as I drove through downtown Jackson. Briefly my eyes looked up at the massive high rise skyscrapers and shuttered a little. Downtown Jackson was now for three things, drug lords, pimps, and hookers. But you needed to drive through downtown Jackson to get onto the highway that would take you to Orange Beach.

And then before I could catch myself I felt a small tear starting to fall from my eyes.

“Yes, things will be different this time.” I said as I cleared away the tear with the backside of my hand. And at that most I found myself falling through time and space. A verbal vortex of memories, both good and bad, started to swirl around me. The mileage of my car started to tick.

“This time. I'm going to be true to myself. I'm not going to hide myself away from the world. I'm going to embrace my true self and enjoy myself.” I said smiling.

And then memories of my last beach vacation came rolling in like the surf of the gulf. Like I told you guys before. I was fourteen the last time I visited the beach. At that time I was going through puberty and my body was pumping testosterone through my body. It was a hellish time period.

This was before I knew about being “Transgender” or that magical bill that could put the pause button on the hellish change that puberty had brought.

I then fell into a brooding silence. I focused on the road in front of me. I'd started the day in the “Delta Region” well that was according to the map. Some purest debated if Benton was really in the “Delta” or not. That aside I'd traveled from the “Delta” to the “Capital-River” region. That's all the area that surrounds the state capital Jackson and the surrounding cities, villages, hamlets and settlements. All told, a full one third of the state's population lived within the “Capital-River” region. That was some million and a half souls.
From there I'd traveled to the “Pines” if only briefly. Could always tell when you entering into the “Pines” region because the color of the soil changed. The color of the soil was red, red as a brick, or red as ruby. This red clay was the bane of farmers, yet strangely enough it was ideal for growing trees.

All of this musing was interrupted by little alarm bells in my bladder going off. That and a growling in my tummy told me that skipping breakfast had been a mistake. It was at that moment I had a small panic. First off was the pressing pressure down below my waistline. I knew I could not hold it for long, and every passing second was me running the risk that I would soon spring a leak.

The second pressing concern was my growing hunger.

“Fine.” I muttered under my breath. “I'll get something to eat.”

Though I had no idea where I could get something to eat. I was only twenty minutes out of Florence. And I was eager to put the dimming lights of the greater metropolitan area behind me. Aware that I was pushing my body to it's breaking point I drove another fifteen miles before I spotted a big yellow sign that read.

FOOD. GASOLINE. HOT BREAKFAST. HOT LUNCH. GIFTS AND MORE AT LAKE GAS CENTER. OPEN TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAY, ONLY CLOSED ON CHRISTMAS AND DONALD TRUMPS BIRTHDAY! ONLY FOUR MILES AWAY, RIGHT ON THE HIGHWAY!

Now the last part scared me a little. But considering I was half a tank of gas. And considering I needed to really pee, and considering I was near famished I decided to roll the dice and take the chance and stop there.

“I just need to hold out for four more bloody miles.” I whispered under my breath as I crossed my legs. My legs firmly crossed, I took a deep breath and sighed. “I guess I should call my editor too and tell her what's going on. After all, I do have an Emily chapter in the works.”

And so I took a deep breath as I pulled into the parking lot.

“I hope I don't hear banjos.” I said as I shut the car off and put the car in park.