Grandma and the Bear

By Ricky

What happens when you put an ad in the paper to rent one of your rooms and a bear appears on your doorstep?

Grandma was right.

She used to say to me "Sherry honey, there ain't nothing so bad it don't have a ray of hope hiding down deep inside it and there ain't nothing so good that it don't have a little devil hiding somewhere to make you feel just a tiny bit nervous about the whole thing."

So the good news was that after waiting far too many years to be sure the wonderful man I married had really, truly and irrevocably become a world class jerk he was out of my life. The good news was I could still lie about my 30th birthday and get away with it and I got the house. The bad news was the lawyers got just about everything else. Thus it was I found myself with a mortgage and taxes and only one income to pay where there once had been two. Since much of his income had gone for booze and women it wasn't that much of a difference, but it was enough that it hurt.

After a few months of waiting for my paycheck to clear and breathlessly running into the bank 5 minutes before the late fee was due I decided I had to find some extra money somewhere. I had this nice, big house with only me in it so the logical thing was to rent a couple of rooms to someone nice and take the pressure off. I sure wish Grandma had some sage advice about that topic; it could have saved me a whole lot of grief! I now know that being a landlord means being a confessor, drill sergeant, bill collector, big sister, scolding mother and psychiatrist. It's been what my mother used to call a "Learning Experience." I always hated her Learning Experiences but with what wisdom I have acquired I can see her point these days.

I learned that there are a lot of people in this world that look perfectly nice and speak well and make a good first impression but have no conception of how to clean up after themselves or don't get that the rent being due on the 1st means that the money needs to be in my hands on the 1st. It took a few tries but I finally found a gem by the name of Martha who had been with me for three months and we got along very well indeed. She was young, in her early 20s, and paying off her school loans before she went on to grad school. I liked her passion, her unabashed feminist attitude and her choice of friends. The house was a lot less lonely after she moved in and I really liked that.

So with one good roommate keeping the bills paid I figured a second would let me do a little remodeling and fixup around the place. I put another ad in the paper, but somehow I forgot to specify I wanted a female to join our little household. I probably would have told him "NO!" if I had taken the call, but since Martha was the one who answered her staunchly unbiased gender views held true and she told him to come over that evening to talk to us. Well, nothing for it but to talk to him. I suppose the good side was if I didn't like him it wouldn't take a lawyer to get rid of him this time, but I really didn't want to have to deal with a man in my house quite yet.

I waited nervously until the bell rang and opened the door. On the steps was a huge, hairy black bear. What had I gotten myself into? After a few seconds I realized the bear was wearing jeans and a rumpled shirt and spoke English.

"Evening, Ma'am. I'm Richard. I called about the room you have for rent?"

I was surprised. I was expecting a forest shaking rumble but when he spoke it was in a clear tenor. A soft Southern drawl tinged his speech. I stammered an invitation to come in and hastily called Martha down to be with me. Granted she would have to live with whoever I picked and she deserved a vote, but mostly I didn't want to be alone with this large and hairy man. At least I think I had convinced myself he was a member of Homo Sapiens and not Ursa Americanus.

The three of us settled at the kitchen table after the usual Coffee? Tea? (Definitely not me!) routine.

"So, Richard, why do you want to live with us?"

I swear his ears turned red, which were about the only thing above his neck, other than his nose, not covered in hair. He wore a small, green gem in each ear which particularly stood out against his flushed earlobes. I had never seen an embarrassed a black bear before!

"Well ma'am, I don't rightly mean to live with y'all, not like that. I just need a place to stay when in town. I'm a field tech and spend a lot of time on the road. My wife and I just split and neither of us can afford to live in the house alone so we're selling it and finding other places to live. She moved in with her boyfriend but since I spend so much time traveling I figure renting a room makes more sense for me, at least for now."

Part of me could sympathize over the cost of running a house alone, but part of me screamed "He's another rotten looser drunk! Kick him out! Now!"

"So tell me something about yourself, Richard." I guess he was lucky Grandma's influence made me look at both sides because I let him go on sitting at the table.

"Well, I don't drink. I don't smoke tobacco or anything else. I wash my hands before meals and behind my ears each night. I'm a fair to middlin' cook, read a lot - mostly SF and mysteries, love folk music, hate the TV and I can fix a toilet or plaster a wall whenever necessary. Oh yeah, I'm a computer nerd and gadget freak, but I'd keep that stuff in my room."

I was taken aback. I had been expecting something on the order of a Hell's Angel and got a cherubim instead. His soft, self deprecating humor and twinkling eyes belonged on an pixie, not a giant. I could tell Martha was just as taken with him as I was. She took up the conversation.

"What do you like to cook?"

Well, when there's time I like to go through the cookbooks and create a meal with dishes from very different cultures that somehow go together. That's not too often these days, so I'm afraid I resort to thawing a piece of meat from the freezer and microwaving some veggies while it cooks. One of the good things about being on the road is the company pays for the meals and I get to eat pretty well." He patted his ample stomach. "And — I get away without having to wash the dishes."

So he did have a flaw after all, but then again no one ever accused me of liking to wash dishes. I told him a bit about myself and Martha did likewise.

"Can you handle sharing a bathroom with two women, Richard?"

"I shared a bathroom with my wife and two teenage daughters, I suspect it won't be a problem. Besides, I've worked dirty jobs most of my life and had to shower as soon as I came home. That makes for a lot less congestion in the bathroom in the mornings. By the way, how do you feel about the occasional visit from my grandchildren? I don't want to disrupt your household too much but I'd hate to miss time with 'em."

Was this man a saint or what? Grandchildren!

"Richard, you are the most unlikely looking babysitter I've ever seen. Of course they're welcome. The next thing you'll tell me is you can sew and are knitting them mittens for the winter."

He turned red again.

"There's lots of free time in motels in my life. I finished the mittens and I'm working on sweaters right now. And I do sew but not much lately."

"My God!" cried Martha. "A renaissance man. Do you have any faults, Richard?"

He suddenly looked very sad.

"I'm afraid I couldn't hold my marriage together despite swearing to stay with her 'till death do us part. She had other ideas and it still hurts."

The mood in the kitchen suddenly changed. There was an obvious, painful sincerity in his voice. This man was either the world's most accomplished liar or he truly regretted having his marriage break up. Well, I suppose I once felt that way about my marriage, but by the end I was thrilled to have it behind me.

"Richard, no one goes through a divorce without a lot of pain. I've been there myself and I will never take sides when a couple splits. I'm sure you did the best you could no matter what the situation."

Much to my surprise I reached over and took his hand. It just seemed like the thing to do and I did it. I glanced over at Martha with a quizzical look and she shook her head 'yes'. I took my hand back and went over the details of rent and house privileges with him.

"Good. Write me a check for the first month's rent and the deposit and you can move in whenever it's convenient." Why was I doing this? Was I really inviting this man to be a part of my household? "And call me Sherry, ma'am seems silly from someone almost old enough to be my father."

"Yes Ma' — Sherry. I'll probably bring some things over the next couple of days then. I'm going to be in LA next week so you won't see much of me for a while."

I gave him a key and after the usual pleasantries he left. I turned to Martha and looked at her quizzically. She returned the look.

"Martha, did we really just tell that man he could live here?"

"Honey," she said in her best drawl, "that man could talk a cat into barking like a dog. We sho' nuf did that."

---

By that Sunday Richard had moved in but, as promised, we didn't see him much. Over the next week I had plenty of time to kick myself for being weak. How could I have let a man talk me into renting a room in my house? I damned my weak will, the culture that lets men dominate women and that great bear of a man with the silver tongue. I violated my first rule of having housemates and looked in his room, but all I saw was a pile of neatly taped boxes in the middle of the floor. Were they full of dynamite and timers? Maybe drugs or guns or…

Good grief! At this rate I was going to work myself into a first class tizzy. Control, woman, control! He's nothing but a big, fuzzy Teddy Bear who is paying you for a room he isn't even using! Get a grip, girl!

So I took a deep breath and went on with life. Nothing had really changed, so I just went to work and life went back to normal.

When he was home he proved to be a pleasant housemate. Unfailingly courteous, he helped with the housework, even folded our laundry when he took it out of the dryer. I started to notice Martha spent a lot of time with Richard when he was home, they would talk for hours sometimes. I knew she was having boyfriend trouble (not too hard to notice with grumpy phone calls and stormy partings every few days). The suspicious side of me worried that Richard would take advantage of my young housemate, but I gradually realized he had assumed the role of father in her life. I knew Martha had never met her father, her parents were divorced while she was a small child and her father had disappeared completely. She even started to call him Pop, along with Richard's own daughters.

My own relationship was more ambiguous. I was really too old to be his daughter (unless he was very damn precocious!) and a bit too young to be his contemporary. A funny thing emphasized the age gap on evening over a game of Trivial Pursuit. I got the question "Who are Alvin, Simon and Theodore?" I didn't have a clue, really I didn't. I was born just at the wrong time. Richard was old enough to have seen the original Chipmunks and Martha knew them from Saturday morning cartoons. The next night I was treated to a Chipmunks marathon on video. Can't say I missed much, but they were laughing like crazy people.

Did I mention he was a musician? I had never really known anyone who played, I grew up listening to the radio; the music in my life came out of a box. One evening I heard a guitar playing a soft, simple melody. My first thought was "What radio station is that?" I tracked the sound to his bedroom and, since his door was open, I looked in. He was intent on his instrument and didn't notice me until he had finished.

"That was lovely! I didn't know you were a musician."

"Yeah, I noodle around a bit."

"Do you mind if I listen?"

"Pull up a chair — I love an appreciative audience."

So I sat and listened for a while, and he even got me to sing with him. I hadn't really done any singing since I was a kid in the church choir, but the songs had easy choruses and his face lit up when I found a harmony line. Martha heard us and soon joined in. It was one of the nicest evenings I have ever spent, and whenever Richard was in the mood we always enjoyed joining him.

I was half expecting sex to rear it's ugly head, but Richard's sweet, Southern charm and abiding consideration never once made either me or Martha feel uncomfortable. Even when the inevitable happened and Martha neglected her robe when running to the bathroom he simply turned beet red and averted his eyes. Not that he didn't appreciate us as women, he certainly did, but he never once crossed that nebulous line between appreciative looks and leering. In fact, it got to the point where I sought his approval before going out for the evening. If he appreciated my outfit I knew it would please my date.

Boy, could he cook! I found room in the kitchen for his spice collection (I didn't even know there could be that many spices!) and it got so Martha and I were actually looking foreword to his return to see what exotic tidbit he brought with him. One Saturday morning he arrived from a stay in Houston with a large box, which he set on the kitchen counter It was full of fresh produce, but half the stuff I had never seen fresh in my life.

"I couldn't resist bringing home a little bit of Texas from the farm market. Would you ladies be interested in a Mexican feast tonight?"

Did he have any doubts? He pulled out exotic ingredients like a boy opening a Christmas present. I had to ask "What in the world is all that stuff?"

"Tomatillos, Nopales (cactus leaves to us gringos), chili peppers, jicamas, chayote squash and all the fresh spices to make everything taste like old Mexico. Have you ever tasted real Mexican cooking?"

"Does Taco Bell count?" He made a face, or at least I think he did because his beard moved in several different ways at once.

"Philistine! Well, you won't get real Mexican from me either, because I can't take the hot spices any more. But it's going to be a lot closer than anything you get at a Mexican restaurant. Hi, Martha! You got dinner plans tonight?"

Suddenly I looked at my watch and realized I was late.

"I've got a meeting" I said, "but I wouldn't miss dinner for the world. I'll be back just before dinner, Richard."

It wasn't until I was on my way home, a bit earlier than I had expected, that I realized I had forgotten my clothes in the washer with all the excitement of having Mexico delivered to the kitchen. Damn! In this heat the stuff probably smelled like crap after sitting in the washer all day. I trudged down the stairs to try and limit the damage and found Martha standing by the dryer. I was pleased to see my blouses neatly hung next to a huge white shirt that made them look like baby clothes. My panties were tidily folded (something I never do!) on top of the drier and my bras were even neatly looped around hangers.

"Thank you, Martha! I forgot all about the laundry when I left this morning.

"Don't thank me, I just got home. It must have been Richard."

Just then the dryer clicked off.

"Well, I really should return the favor, shouldn't I?"

I pulled over a half full laundry basket opened the dryer. I reached in and hung up another shirt, but was surprised when the next thing to come to hand was a pair of flowery blue panties. Panties? Yup, there were more of them in the dryer, along with a slip and a couple more shirts. I looked at Martha.

"This is weird. Could he be doing a girlfriend's wash?"

"Not likely, Sherry, with the divorce he's certainly not dating other women yet. Besides, look at the size. We could both fit in there! Haven't you figured out that Pop is a crossdresser?"

No, I hadn't figured it out.

"You don't think it's me leaving black hairs in the tub when I shave my legs, so you? Not that he doesn't try to clean up but there's always a few hairs that escape. Haven't you noticed the panty and bra lines under his pajamas?"

"Martha!"

"Honestly Sherry, you are a complete innocent!

An innocent? Me? This from a kid who had just finished college.

"Go on — check the washer, oh innocent and naive maiden."

I opened the lid and sure enough it was full. A nightgown, stockings, bras; all big enough that they could only fit Richard. I started to laugh as I pictured bushy bearded Richard wearing a slip. I took out a tiger striped bra big enough to wrap around both me and Martha together and stared at it. He certainly had good taste, the damn thing was prettier than most of mine! Suddenly I heard footsteps and before I could think he was standing there stunned, looking at me with his bra in my hands. His mouth worked but no sound came out.

"Thank you for taking care of my clothes, Richard." I handed him the bra. "Here, hang this up, will you?"

He took it like a zombie and I turned back to the washer for another handful, but mostly I needed a pause to get a grip on myself. This was one of the strangest situations I had ever been in. I had to say something, I was the landlady, the authority figure in the household. The only problem was I didn't have a clue what to say. He started to stammer something at my back but I turned and put my finger to his lips.

"Not now, Richard. Take ten deep breaths, help us take care of this laundry, then take ten more deep breaths. Then we go upstairs and talk when we all have had some time to stop being surprised."

Just what my shrink advised: when you don't know what to do, do the necessary and wait for enlightenment. Sort, hang, set the timer, push the button, walk, climb stairs, make tea. Everyday physical actions done by rote while the brain tries to recover. At last we were seated at the kitchen table with mugs in our hands.

"Richard, it's got to be 90 degrees outside, why in the hell did I just make tea?"

"Sherry, I don't even drink tea! Why the hell did I take a cup from you?"

Release! Relief! God, it felt good to laugh.

"Because we both don't have a clue what to do next. Those are your clothes, aren't they?

"Yes, ma'am. Back to type under stress.

"Sherry!" I said it automatically. "Martha tells me she's known you are a crossdresser for a while now, but I'm afraid I just figured it out.

"You knew?" He stared hard at Martha. "I was trying to be careful, really I was!"

"Your red pajamas are pretty thin, Pop. You should wear a robe if you want to hide the lingerie."

His ears turned red again.

"Martha, Sherry — I'm sorry. I truly hadn't intended to make you cope with my problems. I thought I would be able to dress up in my motel while I was on the road and that would be sufficient. I guess I was wrong and I'm sorry. I'll be leaving as soon as I can find a place somewhere else."

"Who said anything about having to leave? Richard, I'm not mad at you, just confused. My grandmother always told me that nothing is ever purely perfect or completely awful. Can you trust us to talk about it now or do you need some time?"

Talk he did, like a dam that finally burst after a month of steady rain. He told us of his childhood and how he had become attracted to women's clothes.

"I was just plain scared of girls, really I was. I couldn't get the nerve to ask one for a date, I got all tongue tied. The other guys would boast about how they were feeling up their girlfriends and I lied with the best of them, but I never even got close to touching a girl. It was driving me crazy but I still couldn't figure out how to ask a girl out. One night I saw my sister's bra in the hamper when I finished my bath and I picked it up just to see what it felt like. I really don't know what made me do it, I wrapped it around my chest just to see what it felt like and I was hooked."

"I was afraid to wear it out of the bathroom in case someone came along (I guess that doesn't bother me any more, does it Martha?) so I wrapped it in my bath towel and took it to my room. I'd hide under the bedclothes, then secretly wiggle into the bra at night and sleep in it until dawn. I had to be up early enough to tiptoe into the bathroom put it back in the hamper. Sometimes I was able to stay home alone and I tried on all her clothes. I was starting to play the guitar and I'd sit around in my sister's clothes and pretend I was Connie Francis. I loved the feel of the guitar pressing against my padded breasts, I sang my heart out and the audience would cheer back.

"That didn't last too long because I kept growing and my sister didn't. I was having a hard time getting the hooks to snap around me when I realized that the Sears catalog had bras in it. I figured out my size from the instructions in the catalog, spent hours deciding which one I wanted and filled out the order form. I got a money order from the bank and sent the whole thing off. Since we lived in a very small town we had to pick up our mail at a box in the Post office, so I made damn sure I was the first one there to pick up the mail for the next two weeks. It finally came and I was in heaven! It took just about all my underwear to stuff it because naturally I ordered a D cup, I really wanted big tits! Hell, they were so big it was hard to hold my guitar — I sometimes wonder how Dolly Parton manages."

"I could still wear my sister's skirts, what with her bigger hips, but I eventually outgrew them. I was lucky and found some of my grandmother's old clothes in the attic. She was a big woman and some of the stuff fit me. I still remember that old, green skirt. It made me feel like a beauty queen. It was tight and on my much taller body it was just above my knees. I had a sweater that almost matched it and I spent hours in that outfit when I was alone at home. I got so I could play every song Connie Francis had ever recorded, I idolized her and I really practiced hard!"

"I was really upset when my voice broke, Connie's songs just didn't sound the same in a squeaking tenor. Besides, I wanted to do Connie for the school talent contest but my voice changed too soon."

"Anyway, ladies, that's how I started dressing."

About the only thing I knew about crossdressing before that afternoon was watching an interview with RuPaul once. It was not a subject I had ever really thought about. I won't say I became an expert on the subject but I was starting to understand. He talked of having his father find out, how he tried to hide it from his wife and how he eventually found the strength to tell her.

"We had our troubles, but Emily never had a problem with my crossdressing. She even made me clothes. She and the kids gave me one day alone each month. They went out to a movie or something and I got to dress up. Both the kids and their husbands know and it doesn't bother them."

"Pop," Martha asked, "I don't get it. If everyone knows you dress up and are OK with it, and you obviously still want to do it, then how come you have a beard?"

"I hate to shave!"

"Bullshit! C'mon big guy, it ain't that simple."

"Yes, ma'am.

"Sherry!" I growled. "I am not a ma'am! So answer the question, already."

"Sherry, look at me! I'm 6'2", weigh 270 and have a major league pot belly. The only way I could ever really look like a woman is in my dreams. If I tried to go anywhere but a Halloween party I'd cause a riot. Besides, it was my way of promising Emily that she was more important to me than the need I felt to dress. As long as we were married I would be her husband and would be a man for her."

His wistful tone of voice spoke volumes.

"So now what?" Martha asked. "You're living with us now. Does it really matter if your body isn't going to win any beauty contests? Don't be practical Pop, tell us your dreams! Do you want to become a woman?"

"No, Martha, that's one thing I'm sure of. I think if I had a choice I would rather have been born a woman, but I wasn't. I enjoy being able to let the feminine side of me out sometimes, but my life has been pretty good and I really don't want to make any radical changes."

I didn't know about Martha, but I have to admit I was relieved. I had come to be very fond of Richard but I hadn't even considered the possibility of a sex change until Martha brought it into the open. For that matter it had been less than an hour since I realized Richard was anything but the nice guy he appeared to be. I was relieved that all he wanted to do was wear women's clothes sometimes. I surprised even myself when I spoke.

"Richard, you have no obligations to your old life and I don't really give a damn what clothes you wear around the house as long as you're decently covered. Any objections from you, Martha?"

"Of course not! Pop, you're sweet, I wish you were my father — or mother if you want to be. How can a feminist object to a man who wants to explore his feminine side?"

Indeed! I felt the need to try and lower the emotional level a bit so we all could all recover our composure.

"So Martha," I asked, "what's the proper Postmodernist Feminist take on the subject?"

"Actually, I don't think the Postmodernists have really considered the subject, they're too busy with debunking Western Culture and all. I suppose that most Postmodernists would consider that 'Men Are Scum!' to be sufficient even if the man was in a dress. That's one reason I'm not a Postmodernist. That's also why I got straight C- in my Womyn's History course."

Such cynicism in one so young! See why I like her so much?

"Actually, feminists seem to ignore us by and large." Richard replied "About the only thing we have in common is a preoccupation with the word 'gender', and we use it in startlingly different contexts. I think most feminist thought tends to center around the power and control aspects of gender in a societal sense, with an emphasis on the differences between men and women. Transgender types are more apt to see gender as a continuum, a bridge between the sexes and a defining personal quality. I suspect this is one of those words like 'Love' that the English language imbues with multiple and unenlightening meanings."

"But Richard," Martha responded, "I'm sure you realize that defining gender roles is one of the most crucial aspects of a society. If you blur the lines it causes all kinds of problems. Just look at what happened in the business world when women started to hold management positions. It's been 20 years but we are still arguing and trying to understand what effects it has on business and society!"

What had I started? I was beginning to feel like I was holding a symposium in my kitchen! In this case I was literally saved by the bell, the doorbell that is. I left the two of them to the more esoteric reaches of gender identification and opened the door. I was greeted by a head of blond curls with wide eyes and a beaming smile.

"Hi Aunt Sherry. Where Papa?!"

The grandkids were here, no more deep discussions, just a lot of excitement and hugs. Martha and I got our share, but Papa Bear was the true center of attention.

---

One of the nicest parts of having Richard for a housemate was the family visits. Both of his daughters were lovely people, and I really enjoyed having the children around the house, even if it meant having to hastily remove small, breakable things from the lower shelves. It was times like these I regretted never having children. Oh, I realize it would have been a disaster with a drunk for a husband, but still… I guess being Aunt Sherry will have to do.

I quickly grew fond of Richard's daughters. Camille was not all that much younger than me and I really liked her. If we had grown up together she would have been definite best friend material. In fact, she and the family had come over a couple of times while Richard was gone because we enjoyed each other's company. Rose, his younger daughter, lived quite a ways away so I didn't see her as much, but I liked her too.

One day Camille confided in me "I'm so glad Dad found you and Martha to live with. When he moved in I thought he was crazy! I was so scared that you would freak out if you found out about his dressing. He may look like something out of a monsters-r-us movie but he's really sensitive about how people will react when they find out."

"Rose and I practically had to drag the secret out of him with hot tongs when I was about 15. We knew something was going on with that locked closet in the basement when we were kids. It wasn't too hard to find where he hid the key and see what was in the closet. Ugh, he had horrible taste! Ugly fat lady dresses and jumpers and stuff like that! It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on, anyone who watches TV knows about crossdressing. Besides, he had a stack of magazines in the closet and he had even written a biography. It was odd reading that, but even talking about dressing in women's clothes he sounded just like Dad. I suppose we kind of crossed the line reading his personal stuff, but there was no way we could NOT read it when we found it."

"I have to admit that I was a pretty rebellious kid back then and I really got off on shocking my folks. Problem was they were both so liberal and understanding it was pretty hard to do. Even bringing home Biker Boyfriends didn't work, they just treated them like normal people. You can't imagine how frustrating it was!

"I thought this would be a sure fire, guaranteed way to cause trouble. It was just before school started and we were talking about shopping for new school clothes. I said something like "When we go Pop, Rose and I want to help you pick out a pretty dress so you won't have to wear those ugly things you have downstairs."

"He was so funny, he had no idea we had figured it out, not a clue! Mom was trying real hard not to laugh. I love him dearly but he does have some big blind spots. He blustered and tried to deny the whole thing but we wouldn't let him get away with it. I'm glad now I had the sense not to quote some of his biography at him, that would have been too much, but I came damned close! Anyway, he finally talked about it a little, but not very much. What we didn't expect was that he gave us a book about the subject and told us we had to read it before we talked any more. I guess he was trying to find a way to tell us or he wouldn't have had that book, but by the time we got done we never again considered trying to stir up trouble like that again!"

"Anyway, Rose and I had a great time shopping for school, it was the first time dad wasn't looking at his watch and rolling his eyes while we tried to find something that wasn't totally ugly! We got him a real nice dress, too. Royal blue crepe with a high waist (you've noticed his tummy) slit skirt, high neckline and long sleeves. He kept arguing with us but we wouldn't give in — but he just wouldn't wear it around us."

"After that it wasn't hard to convince Daddy to go shopping with us as long as we helped him pick out something pretty for himself. It took a while but he started to show some interest in fashion and he threw out those ugly dresses. Mom even made him some stuff, but he still wouldn't let us see him wearing any of it. It wasn't until years later, after Mom left, that I got to see him dressed up. Rose was away at school and I had moved in with Finian by then, so he had the house to himself. I have to admit I deliberately didn't warn him I was coming to visit and timed it knowing he would be dressed up. Hell, that wasn't that hard because I knew he would be dressed up every solid minute while he was alone! I still had the key so I just opened the door and walked in. You ever notice how his ears turn red?"

I heartily agreed!

"Well they practically burned off his head. It was sneaky but someone had to convince Dad we could love him no matter what he was wearing, especially with Mom gone. Besides, I was very curious to see what he looked like, So that's just what I did, I wouldn't let him into the bedroom to change and made him sit down and talk to me. Damned if he didn't scoop his skirt and sit gently with his legs together, he must have been practicing. I told him I wasn't leaving until he told me all about why he likes to dress up. It took a little work but I finally got him talking and we spent the whole afternoon together."

I think that's when we started treating each other as adults. It's hard to get your parents to realize you've grown up, some people I know have folks who still treat them as babies and they just let them get away with it. Not that Mom or Dad were all that bad but now that I have kids I know how hard it is to let go, and my oldest is just starting day care. We really talked, not only about crossdressing, but about everything. We were both surprised at how differently we felt about some of the incidents growing up. I told him some of the things he never found out about, like the party when he and Mom went away for the weekend. He wasn't as naive as I thought, though. He knew damn well when I started smoking, and when I got smart and stopped, too. I thought I had hidden that perfectly!"

"Anyway, he didn't hide and change clothes when we came over after that. When Finian and I got pregnant and had to move back in with Dad he just dressed any way he wanted to and everything was cool. He was working 2nd shift when the baby was born and he would happily entertain Erin all night while we slept. It wasn't until she started getting aware of the world around her that he stopped dressing up around her, but by then he started working days about then so we never really talked about whether Erin should see Papa in a dress."

"Sherry, I'm not really sure how I feel about Erin seeing Pop dressed up! I don't want her to grow up prejudiced, but you know what he looks like in a dress, what's a little kid going to think?"

"I don't know what Erin would think, but I've never seen a dress on him. I don't think Richard trusts me that far yet."

"You haven't? The silly old bugger! He trusts you Sherry, believe me he thinks the world of you. I feel like you could be my sister. I guess it's that Southern aw-shucks upbringing he can't seem to get rid of. He hates to do anything to hurt anyone and sometimes he goes overboard"

"Well, I'm happy to wait and let him do what he wants when he wants to. I made a vow when I started renting rooms I would stay out of my housemate's personal life, but that was before I realized that having housemates means you are each other's personal lives. Besides, I'm not so sure I wouldn't get the giggles seeing that beard over a dress!"

"Yeah, it is pretty funny. He did shave once when I was a kid and he looked so strange! I actually cried when I saw him and refused to be seen in public with him at first. That was before we knew about the dressing. I don't know why he refuses to shave it off. I mean, he'd still be the world's ugliest woman but at least he would have a chance! I guess Dad's just weird."

"It's more than that, Camille. He once told me it was his way of letting your mother know he wouldn't hurt her with his dressing."

"That sounds like Dad. I wonder what he'll do when the divorce is final?"

"I don't know, he's still pretty broken up about the whole thing."

"I guess. He and Mom are wonderful parents, but they just couldn't live together. They've been cool about not running each other down and Rose and I try to do the same. I'm glad they can at least be together at the kid's birthdays and such."

"Yeah, I never would have believed it after my divorce. You mom seems to be pretty nice from the couple of times I've met her. I couldn't spend more than five minutes alone with my ex without screaming but your folks are downright civilized about it! Too bad they couldn't have worked it out."

"Don't I wish, but it was brewing for years. Rose and I knew Mom was going to split long before she could admit it to herself. They both tried but there was just too much to get past. Well, I have to get home or the babysitter will start screaming. It's been a great afternoon, Sherry. You're the greatest!

---

Things really didn't change very much for a while. We did talk about his crossdressing sometimes, and it provided wonderful opportunities for secretly shared jokes. Then one night about 1 AM I was down in the kitchen satisfying a sudden craving for bagels and lox. I was really hoping to fall asleep soon so I hadn't turned on the lights, the little nightlight was enough. As I sat at the kitchen table I heard footsteps on the stairs. The kitchen light blazed and there was Richard, wearing a very pretty blue flowered nightgown and bunny slippers. Naturally his ears turned red when he realized I was in the kitchen, they always do when he's embarrassed. Having heard him coming I was ready and determined to be accepting.

"Hi Richard." I said blinking in the sudden light. "Want to join me for some lox and bagels?"

"Oh — Sherry!"

"Well, don't just stand there, silly, sit! You must be hungry or you wouldn't have come down. I like the nightgown, it's very pretty."

"Uh, thanks."

Well, at least I wasn't being ma'amed! That was progress of a sort.

It was a bit odd at first to be sitting at the kitchen with a bear in a nightgown, but I soon stopped noticing. This was just my buddy Richard after all. He still flew about the country like always, came home with culinary goodies and was the perfect housemate. We talked a bit, noticed that the food was gone so he toasted a couple more bagels. I watched as he moved around the kitchen. He reminded me of my grandmother, who had been a rotund woman with a pot belly much like his. Unlike Gram, who was blessed/cursed with massive breasts that spilled out of the largest bras she could find, Richard was nicely proportioned.

There was something odd about his breasts, however. I could remember being a small child and watching Gram jiggle and wiggle whenever she moved. Richard's were too still, they didn't move properly. We nibbled our bagels and talked some more. I noticed a bit of cream cheese had fallen off his bagel and was resting on his breast. I tried hard not to stare, I really did, but I couldn't help it. Damn! I was getting as bad as the jerks who think my breasts were put there for ogling. Stop staring, girl! I couldn't help it, I reached out with my napkin and brushed it off.

"One of the hazards of being a woman, Richard."

There went the ears again.

"Richard? Uh, how do you… I mean what do you use to…" I trailed off, feeling more awkward than I've felt in years.

"They're fiberfill, quilt stuffing from the fabric store. During the day I use a pair of mastectomy inserts, but they're too heavy for sleeping; they keep falling out."

"Oh. You actually like to wear a bra when you sleep?"

"Yeah, Emily couldn't figure it out either. By the time we went to bed she was always happy to take her bra off. Not that I wore mine when we were together, we both agreed my crossdressing would stop at the bedroom door. But yeah, I really like to wake up and feel a bra around me. I'm not getting too personal for you, am I?"

"Silly man, of course not. Richard, I like you, you're a good friend and a wonderful person. I said it before and I mean it, I don't care what you wear around the house. If you're comfortable wearing a dress with us around we don't mind. You have very good taste in clothing, by the way. If I could fit into them I'd love to borrow some of your outfits. You must spend a lot of time shopping.

"Well, I do have a lot of time when I'm on the road. What better way to use it than finding a good bargain? I have my favorite shops in most of the big cities where I can find nice clothes big enough for me. It's been kind of a tradeoff. Years ago there were lots of little places run by independents but the designers only made things in my size out of black or ugly floral prints. These days I can walk into just about anyplace and find a colorful plus size dress, but all those little independents are gone and the cities have lost most of their regional flavor. Big malls and chain stores just aren't as much fun for shopping!"

"A man who likes shopping? Richard, you are a gem!"

"Aww, Sherry…"

"Aww nothing. Martha and I both think you have great fashion sense, it's a shame to leave those pretty clothes hanging in the laundry room. This weekend you can show me how that red number with the vest and pleated skirt looks. I'll loan you my ruby earrings to go with it. Deal?"

"I just don't know…."

"Richard, you are the most exasperating man. Rose and Camille and their families tell me you're cool about dressing up around them, and I consider them the sisters I never had." I picked up the knife and wiped the cream cheese off it. "I hereby anoint thee Sir-Rogate Daddy to all in the Royal Household of Queen Sherry." I touched his left shoulder. "You are enjoined by the Queen to treat her as you would your natural daughters, hiding nothing from her royal self." I touched the other shoulder. "You are commanded by the Queen to appear in proper court attire or suffer the consequences!"

"I quake in fear at your majesty, oh Queen. May this humble servant inquire what the consequences might be?"

"I'll smash this damn bagel into your beard if you don't do it!"

Do queens giggle? I couldn't help myself. So much for the haughty Queen Sherry.

"I'm going to bed, Sir-rogate Daddy, see you tomorrow!"

---

My little bit of impromptu theater worked. Saturday he wore the red dress. Martha and I were simultaneously pleased and just a little bit amused. We had asked for this but he really did look funny. We were careful to compliment him and tried hard not to make a big deal out of it. Funny thing was, by the time evening arrived it seemed almost normal. Granny always said you could adjust to anything given time, but I was amazed at how little time it took. I wonder what she would have thought of Richard.

He was always considerate of our needs, tactfully being sure he wouldn't upset any of our plans, and we made sure he knew if we were going to have anyone over to the house. Not much different from before, we just had another reason to talk to each other and keep the communication flowing. We went shopping together sometimes and we always got a kick out of helping him pick out something new. We both grew to value his advice as well, he did have very good taste. We settled into a nice routine and the months passed quite amiably.

---

The letter came while he was away.

It was very thick and had the return address of his lawyers on it. I knew it had to be the divorce papers, it wasn't that long ago when I got an envelope like that myself. When my divorce was final I threw a party, but I knew Richard wasn't going to be happy when he got the news, even though he was expecting it. His family meant the world to him, and my first thought was to call Camille. He was going to need all the support he could get when he got the news.

It wasn't until Camille answered the phone that I realized it was their mother who was the other half of the divorce and this might not be the best idea, but I plowed on. I told her about the letter and she confirmed it, Emily had gotten her copy yesterday. We couldn't decide what to do either, but she promised she and Rose would be over Saturday. Martha came home and found me moping at the kitchen table.

"Why the long face?"

I pointed to the letter.

"The divorce is final. God, I never thought I could feel so sad about a divorce! Poor Richard, he's going to be miserable."

"Well Sherry, it's up to us to help him through this, isn't it."

Not a question, just a statement. What else are friends for?

"What can we do, Martha?"

She made face.

"Sherry, how does Richard cope with stress? He's been here almost a year now, you know?"

"He has, hasn't he? Well, he gets kind of quiet and pulls into his shell for a while until he works it out. He cooks up a storm. Sometimes lately he even talks to us about it."

"And…"

"OK, OK, he gets dressed up!"

"Bingo. So what is he going to want to do when he reads the letter?"

"Cry when he thinks we can't see, then get dressed? Right?"

"Right! But this time is different. Something very dear to him is over and won't ever come back. He's going to look at it as the end of things. I think we need to help him see this is a start. A rebirth, not an ending. He just needs a little push to do what he really wants to do."

"So what do we do - rent a bulldozer? He's still the most stubborn guy I know when he sets his mind to it."

"What we do is make damn sure he knows we're his friends and we care about him. We treat him like a king when he comes home, show him that he is a wonderful person and make sure he has the support he needs to keep going."

"Martha, we don't treat him like a king, though. We treat him like a queen, or better a debutante. If this is the start of a new life then we need to do it right."

"Of course!, why didn't I think of that?"

"Martha, would you ever have dreamed of not only living with a man old enough to be your father but conspiring with your landlady to help him be a woman for a little while? Would any sane person think of that?"

"I repeat - why didn't I think of that? However, I can think of something else we need to do."

I waited.

"If we're going to stage a coming out for him then he's going to need a party dress. I say we should find him something special and do this up right. And we buy him a razor and make it clear it's time to use it. Deal?"

"Deal!"

---

So we went shopping. Sizes were no problem, do you really think I hadn't looked at the tags in his clothes? Size 3X dresses, 48C bra, panties size 9, pantyhose 4X. The numbers boggled my mind. The difference between 36 and 48 doesn't seem all that much until you hang my bra next to his, when the bigger one looks like it is three times the size of the smaller. It was a good thing Richard had mentioned his favorite stores for bargains because, while we wanted to do something special for our friend, money was still tight for both of us. I did have the fleeting thought that I had rented my rooms to make money, not to spend it on dressing up their occupants. Having friends can lead to some funny contradictions, can't it?

We found a perfectly lovely, very feminine two piece at Dots. It was light summer outfit in cream and light brown with an ivy and floral pattern. (No, it wasn't even remotely like those silver on black fat lady prints he had talked about!) The fabric was sheer with a satin lining, ruffles at the sleeves, neck and hemline. The skirt was ankle length and it had a loose, full fit that suited a mature figure. Of course we both found omething for ourselves, with Dot's prices it's hard to get out of there without both arms loaded with goodies. Mine was pale green which sets off the red highlights in my hair and Martha chose blue. These clothes just shouted "Garden Party!" so that's what we planned for Richard's homecoming.

We hit the mall next. When you need expertise you go to the experts, so we hit the cosmetics counter at the big department store. Have you ever tried to buy cosmetics for a friend? It's not as easy as it sounds. Descriptions are chancy — black hair, skin tone somewhere between her and me — not much help here.

It was painful. As a liberated woman I'm not sure Martha even uses mascara, let alone the array of powders and potions behind the counter. I use makeup sometimes, but not too often. Not that I was a novice, as a teenager I used a year's supply every week, but with maturity comes a modicum of good sense. I look pretty good in just my skin and I damn well know it. I'm not going to get painted up to catch a man (Mom's taken over from Grandma on that score) because that would only mean I'd catch a man who wants a painted women. I already got rid of one of those, thank you.

Do you perhaps have a picture? The saleswoman stared as we both broke up. What the hell — I pulled out Richard's picture and showed it to her.

"He's shaved since this was taken." I hoped I had a straight face.

To my everlasting surprise she simply started giving us advice. We left with a package of war paint of suitable strength and the address of a firm that sold a cover especially made to hide men's beards. Who would have thought such a thing would even exist? They had even more advice on how to turn Richard into the woman of his dreams.

The next stop was a small artisan's mall. This was one of my favorite places. It was an old factory that had been converted into small shops with an astonishing array of handcrafted merchandise, none of which would be found at a chain store. When I had gotten married the wonderful jeweler there had made our rings. I still wore mine (on the right hand, silly!) because it was just too beautiful to leave in a drawer. We found a superb pair of amber colored earrings with matching necklace to go with Richard's dress. They dangled and swung, catching the light and sparkling.

As we left I had to laugh, it struck me as supremely hilarious. Here we were, two women who wore skirts once in a blue moon buying ultra feminine dresses so we would not clash with a bejeweled man in a dress. I wondered if Grandma would have any words of wisdom for this situation, but her voice remained silent in my head!

---

On one hand we couldn't wait for Richard to come home so we could show him our surprise, but every once in a while we remembered we were doing this because he was going to be hurt. The days dragged, that damned letter just sat there on the table in the front hall and it stared at us each time we passed by. Grandma's voice was quoting platitudes like "Don't borrow trouble" and "Waiting for ice cream is much more pleasant than waiting for the jury" in my head. It was distracting.

We knew his plane was arriving at early Saturday morning, so Martha and I found excuses to be waiting in the living room when he arrived. At last there came the sound of a key in the door and he was home! We heard the thud of his suitcase, the rustle of paper as he picked up the mail. Martha and I silently rose and went to join him.

There were no words, they weren't necessary. His eyes were shining, close to tears. For the first time since he moved in I hugged him and Martha was right there with me. I felt very small next to this bear of a man, but between us Martha and I let him know he wasn't alone. His friends were with him, to share his pain and be with him. I felt his arms move around us as he accepted our offer of love and support.

Finally the moment ended, as all things must.

"Richard, we know it won't make up for what you've lost, but today we want to treat you to something special. You're our family now and we intend to pamper you like you've never been pampered before."

Martha removed the letter from his hands. "There's a present from us upstairs. Just this once don't argue and let us be nice to you, please?"

"Yes ma'am!"

She gave him a little push and the went up the stairs shaking his head. Just this once I didn't mind being called ma'am at all. We followed him up and steered him toward the bathroom. The shade was drawn, the scented candles were burning, filling the bathroom with the aroma of strawberries. In the glow of the candles I turned on the water and poured in the bubble bath. Martha handed Richard a small, gaily wrapped box, complete with bow on top.

Take a nice long bath, we want you to be totally relaxed and peaceful so you can enjoy the evening to the fullest. It's our turn to treat you to a garden party in the back yard and it's going to be formal so we expect you to dress for the occasion! If you use this present we have another waiting for you when you're done, but that's up to you and we love you no matter what you decide."

We closed the door and left him to take his bath.

"Will he do it?"

"I hope so, Martha. We couldn't have hinted harder if we tried. If giving him that fancy razor and shaving cream doesn't work then nothing will."

There was nothing to do but wait, so we changed into our party dresses and waited, but we did so in the kitchen. Since we had planned a picnic there was no time pressure. Martha and I chopped salad veggies, the chicken was marinating for the grill. We had searched Richard's cookbooks with determination. Serbian potato salad with ham and beets and aromatic spices, curried garbanzo beans, a pasta and vegetable salad with homemade dressing and baklava for dessert. The wine was chilled, the grill ready for a match.

He didn't have to call us, as soon as I heard the bathroom door open (it squeaks rather loudly) we practically flew up the stairs. Would he or wouldn't he?

He was waiting for us with a silly smile on his face, which we could see clearly for the first time.

"All right you two, you win. Maybe we all win this one. I've wanted to do this for quite a while now but just couldn't break my word. You'll have to forgive me if I scare the local critters or the neighbors but here I am."

"Richard, you couldn't scare a flea!" replied Martha, giving him an impulsive hug. "We want you to be happy, and this is your day to start a new life. We handed him the box with the dress in it."

"Yeah, right. Even if I found a princess to kiss me I'd still be a frog. I am never going to be beautiful or even feminine, no matter what I do."

I couldn't let this pass. "Richard, let's get one thing straight right now. Beauty is a concept that comes from within. It has very little to do with how your body is made. It isn't defined by fashion or your hairstyle or your waistline. Beauty is spiritual, and you have more beauty in you soul than anyone I know. You may be old enough to be my father, but I want you to listen when I tell you that the woman in your soul is a beautiful part of you and we cherish and love all of you. Right now we intend to help that woman come out and be free, but you have to be willing to let her out."

Martha continued when I ran out of words.

"Sherry's right you know. Being feminine isn't all about looks. You've heard me go on about beauty contests and the screwed up fools that run them, don't let that sick sense of fashion make you feel unworthy! Richard, if wearing women's clothes helps you feel beautiful then we want you to cherish that beauty. This is all about what you feel, not about what anyone else will think."

"Now open the box, already!"

He did and the tears began to leak from his eyes.

"Stop that." I gently chided. "If you're crying you'll mess up your makeup. Now get changed and come into my room, we need work on the exterior beauty for a few minutes."

I guess Richard has some things to learn about being a woman, he was dressed and ready far to quickly; I had barely finished Martha's face. She had conceded that just this one time some makeup would be appropriate. He knocked on the open door. I was pleased, the dress suited him well.

"Come in and sit down, Richard." He did "It seems funny calling you Richard right now, you know."

"I go by Rachel when I'm on line or writing letters."

"Well Rachel, let's see if I can do a credible job on your face." I ran my fingers over his now hairless cheeks. "Nice close shave there, but you're a bit irritated."

You try shaving for the first time in 15 years and see if you don't get a bit testy yourself!"

"Smartass! Well, no makeup would ruin our plans for your debut so I'll try to be gentle. I think you had better let your face get used to shaving before using it regularly, though."

I spread moisturizer on her cheeks and rubbed it in.

"Let that sink in and we'll do your hair. What do you think, Martha, shall we tease it up and puff it out, or should we do a perm and give Rachel some nice, tight ringlets?"

OK, I was being nasty, but Rachel was so much fun to tease. It only took her a few seconds to realize I was joking but that newly bare face was quite expressive! We settled on adding a bit of body and wave with the curling iron and sweeping her hair back so the new earrings would be displayed nicely.

So much for the romantic part. To put it bluntly I was glad I had my teenage experience with heavy makeup to guide me, because beard cover or no that dark blue beard shadow did not want to be concealed. I practically had to use a trowel to layer on the foundation. I was beginning to see why some fantasies are best left unrealized.

I persevered, blending and brushing until I was satisfied at last. Rachel watched wide eyed in the mirror as if trying to memorize each and every step and nuance of what I was doing. She could hardly sit still when I had her close her eyes to do the eye makeup. Martha was standing by with the last of our little presents and when I finished she handed the package to her.

"No tears, Rich - Rachel, remember your makeup. We wanted you to have this to go with the new you."

Like a kid at Christmas she flung the wrapping paper into the air as she opened the box. The amber jewelry glowed as she deftly removed her own earrings and installed the new ones in their place. She stood and clipped the necklace around her and examined herself in the mirror. What she saw in her heart of hearts I don't know, but what I saw was an unusually ample but nicely dressed matron. The illusion was far from undetectable, but the bear who had showed up at my doorstep so long ago was nowhere in evidence.

"Sherry, Martha, I simply can't thank you enough. You're the best friends I have ever had. I've wanted to do this for almost 40 years but there was never the opportunity to indulge myself without hurting those I loved. If I believed in God I would have to believe he had sent me to you, and it's in moments like this I can understand the power of believing in the deity."

She hugged each of us, an experience that made me recall being a child in my grandmother's ample arms. Grandma was smiling approval somewhere in the back of my brain. "No opportunity to do a kindness is ever wasted, Sherry. Even if it's ignored you still profit from doing it."

"Rachel, let me fix my face before I start blubbering. Lunch will be ready as soon as we get downstairs.

---

For once everything went flawlessly. Martha grilled the chicken while I brought out the rest of the picnic. Have you ever seen pictures of those grand social events from the 1920s, the ones filled with women in flowing dresses and outrageous hats? That's what I felt like as I strode between the kitchen and the porch laden with dishes. Somehow, in helping Rachel to get in touch with her femininity I was rediscovering my own. I couldn't help but wonder how Martha felt, I would have to ask her later, but it felt remarkably good to be a woman at this moment. In the hustle of everyday living you forget just how nice it feels to get all dressed up in frills and frippery. I truly hoped my companions were feeling the same euphoria!

Not much was said at the table, at least while any of the food remained uneaten. Sated at last, we both basked in Rachel's flattery, praise from an expert has a certain extra something to it.

"Rachel, I would love to hear something from Connie Francis. Could you get your guitar and play for us?"

As if I had to ask! We spent a marvelous time singing with Rachel, three ladies enjoying the perfect summer afternoon. In the silence after the latest song I heard the gate creak and the patter of fast running feet.

"Papa!" piped a small voice.

In our whirl of planning I had completely forgotten that Camille and Rose were coming over to be with their father. A bouncing ball of energy shot across the yard and landed in Rachel's lap, the guitar barely having been removed in time. Two year old Charlie, completely oblivious to any change in his Papa, snuggled down happily and proceeded to tell everyone about the cows they saw on the trip here.

At a more sedate pace the rest of the family arrived. Did the girls warn their husbands that their father in law might be a changed person? In any case they didn't raise an eyebrow and willingly hugged Rachel along with the rest of the women in our household. It's traditional at this point in the story to say "When things calmed down…" but those storytellers did not have three young children in their cast of characters. Since Rachel's lap was still occupied Erin (the three year old) brought over her book and we read about Clifford the Big Red Dog while Martha made faces and noises at the baby. That's Erin's younger sister if you're trying to keep things straight, which isn't easy. When reading palled the lawn sprinkler kept them amused for quite some time.

Perhaps my gaffe was the best thing I could have done. Rachel didn't have any time to get nervous about what her children would think. I was worried at first that the presence of two outsiders might be unwanted while they worked out how Rachel fit into their family, but I needn't have been concerned. Like I said before, Camille had become the sister I never had, and in a strange way Martha and I were Rachel's new family. We were welcomed without reservation.

When we noticed we were again getting hungry Finian joined Martha and me in the kitchen to see what we could put together. He was as handy in the kitchen as Richard; we companionably scrounged the cupboards for pasta and whatnot. We danced around each other like it was choreographed, stopping every once in a while to see what caused the latest squeal of glee in the back yard. This usually involved a youngster chasing or being chased by Rachel. I tasted the sauce Finian had whipped up approvingly.

"As good as anything Richard has ever produced! Camille is one lucky woman, Finian." I paused and couldn't help adding "You don't share any of Rachel's other proclivities, do you?"

"Quite a few, in fact, but I'm not going to be accompanying her to the ladies room if that's what you mean. I'll leave that particular quirk to her."

We all laughed at the sardonic tone and deadpan delivery.

"Isn't it amazing how the kids totally ignore the way Papa looks?"

"No more so than what you two have done for Rachel. I had to come to terms with her, we were broke and about to have a baby and had nowhere else to live. Pop was as considerate of us as possible but after all, it was his house and we really couldn't ask him to change to accommodate us, could we? But you two didn't have to."

"I don't think that's exactly true." Martha replied. "By the time we realized he was a crossdresser, Richard was family. He's more my dad than the man I never met. I know Sherry well enough to know she wouldn't hurt a friend, and Richard is our friend!"

"She's right Finian. Somehow I can't imagine living without these two in my life anymore. Maybe from the outside it seems perverse but, Richard or Rachel, they're the same person once you get used to it."

"Yeah, it's funny. It didn't take long to get used to seeing him dressed up, and on those nights he let us sleep while he took care of the baby he could have been completely naked for all I cared. I do have to say, though, while Rachel isn't going to win any beauty contests, she looks a lot better than Richard in a dress. I was starting to think he would never shave that beard off!"

"You and me both!" replied Martha.

The discussion stopped as two tiny whirlwinds burst into the kitchen, followed at a more sedate pace by Rachel.

"Just in time! Erin, you can carry out the salad dressing and Charlie can carry the napkins. Rachel, you get the pasta pot." Sergeant Sherry ordered troops about with authority, bringing up the rear with the drinks.

Rachel was the center of attention throughout the meal, tying to keep up with Charlie's demands to be fed while holding little Morrina and occasionally getting a chance to put something in her mouth. Fortunately, Charlie lost his interest in dinner as fast as he had found it and she had a chance to eat for herself. I will hold that picture of Morrina soundly sleeping in her newfound grandmother's arms dear in my heart for the rest of my life. There was a glow on Rachel's face that spoke of a deep inner peace that I hope to find for myself someday. I couldn't help thinking that my grandmother would approve, no matter how unusual the circumstances.

So that's about all there is to tell, but it's far from the end of the story. It's been a few months since her debut and Rachel is becoming more confident in herself when she is home for weekends. She still won't venture out much, but she's gone to the store with me or Martha a couple of times. We are a happy three generation family that just happens not to be related, which makes about as much sense as a bear in a dress.

Me, I could care less if it makes sense, it works and we're happy!

Sister and the Bear

By Ricky

Just who is this Rachel and why am I wearing her nightgown? Will all of you stop grinning and tell me!

Vicky…

The phone was ringing.

Again.

I had shut the ringer off on the phone by my bed but the one on the living room kept up that annoying bleep-bleep-bleep. Why couldn’t phones go ding-a-ling like they used to? Why didn’t the air conditioner drown out the foolish thing? I just plain didn’t care enough to pick up the receiver. That would mean rolling over in bed and I didn’t want to move.

Eventually the thing stopped nagging me but sleep won’t come. It's too bright in the bedroom, the sun must be out. Not too surprising for Phoenix. I considered looking at the clock, but why bother? There was nothing to do and I didn’t give a damn about doing it. Just let me sleep, won’t you God? I crave oblivion and sleep is my ferryman.

Damn! Why did I have to think of rivers, now I have to pee. Piss on it, it’s too much trouble. I’m old, why should anyone care if I piss on myself in bed. Old farts do it all the time, why not me? Nobody here to care, not even me. Fucking Larry isn’t here any more to piss on me so why shouldn’t I do it myself. He’s probably pissing on that bimbo he ran off with. I wonder if she likes those movies where the guy pisses on the whore before he fucks her? Larry sure did.

Christ! There goes the phone again. Go away! Just let me rot here by myself, I don’t want to talk to you. Probably some telemarketer trying to sell me something. Life insurance? That would be a joke. Who would care about my life? No kids to inherit anything, no husband, no friends, no nothing. I suppose someone would like the pot of money the lawyers got out of Larry when he dumped me, but I really don’t care. It takes too much effort to care.

Why can’t they just hook me up to a bunch of tubes so I don’t have to get up to pee? Then I could just lay here until I died. Nothing worth living for, except maybe to empty my bladder before it burst. It hurts. I wouldn’t mind dying but I didn’t want to hurt while I do it.

So I get up. I stumble to the bathroom and dribble into my panties on the way. Disgusting. Disgusting old broad who can’t hold her own piss. Never going to get another man smelling like a toilet, unless you want another one like Larry. I stand up and flush, then kick my panties somewhere near the hamper. Not too close, though, too much shit on the floor around the hamper. Who cares?

So what do I do now? I’m up. I’m not dead yet, so I guess that means I need coffee. I stare at the drip pot but the gooey crud in the bottom of the thing is too much to think about. I find a sort of clean cup, rinse it out and put it in the microwave and try to find a spoon that isn’t some color besides silver while wait. I don’t remember the last time I washed the dishes.

God, that’s awful! I stare at the cup but it doesn’t get better, so I stare at the table. What am I going to do today? TV sucks, the only VCR tapes are the stash of porn Larry forgot, I don’t have anything worth reading. If I drink enough of this godforsaken coffee I might have to piss again in an hour or so. The highlight of my day.

The light on the answering machine is blinking like a demented stoplight, that means the thing is full. Who the hell is stupid enough to want to talk to an old broad like me? Do I care enough to find out? I don’t have the energy to get up and push the button. They have remote controls for everything these days, why doesn’t the damned answering machine have one?

Eventually I have to pee again. How has it come to this? The only thing that motivates me is pissing. I find the strength to push the button on the way to the toilet and listen while I sit. Telemarketers, mostly, but Sherry keeps bugging me to call her. Maybe I should, but why would she care if I was alive or dead? All I could tell her is that life is hell and I'm just waiting to die. She’d probably quote something Grandma said to her to try and cheer me up. Who the hell wants to get cheered up?

Not me.

I'm glad the old broad isn’t around to see me this way. Back when I was a kid, when there was something to live for and I didn’t know life was a bitch, I loved visiting her. She’d stuff me and Sherry with cookies and candy and make us promise not to tell mom. As if we would. Those were the kind of secrets that were fun to keep, not like the kind that you have to keep in real life when you grow up. Too bad she isn’t around any longer, I could use a cookie or two and a good hug.

Maudlin old broad, that’s what I’ve become. Good thing I don’t have any grandkids or they’d run screaming or have my cookies analyzed for poison before they took them.

My ass hurts. I realize I'm still sitting on the pot, so I wipe myself and stand up. What the hell am I going to do? I don’t have a clue, so I just stand there for a while. I'm still standing there when the doorbell rings. Who the hell would be at the door? I didn’t want to see anyone, anyway.

The damn fool keeps ringing the bell and pounding on the door, kind of like those stupid cop shows. Could it be the cops? Can they arrest you for being an old broad with no life? Alright, already, keep your pants on, I’m coming. I throw open the door and stare at this huge guy with long hair and hairy arms who is standing there.

“You’ve got to be Vicky, you look just like your sister. Sherry asked me to stop by and see if you were OK.”

What the hell? This is too much. I just close my eyes and give up.

---

Richard…

Don’t tell anyone, but when I’m on the road I like to watch Jeopardy. There’s not that much to do in a hotel room once I’ve gotten dressed up, so I usually read or play with my computer. If I’m lucky the local cable outfit will have two or three shows in a row. I like to prop myself up on the pillow, spread out my skirt and match wits with the contestants. Give me some peanuts and a little diet soda and I’m set for the evening.

I had just put on the dress I bought this afternoon and it fit pretty well, as well as any dress will fit my 3X body. It had a angel sleeves, a calf length hem and a pattern of brown swirls on a gauzy material over an inner sheath of off white. Pretty sexy, or it would have been on someone who weighed 150 pounds less than I did. I had just popped a peanut in my mouth when the cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Richard, it’s Sherry. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“No bother at all, ma’am. Just sitting here enjoying my new dress and rotting my mind with television.”

“Rachel, you already have enough dresses. Your closet’s full already.”

“There is no such thing as too many dresses, Sherry.”

“Too bad my ex didn’t think that way. Anyway. Could I ask you a big favor, Rachel?”

“One can always ask.”

“You need to get one of those cell phones with a camera so I can stick my tongue out at you when you say things like that. Anyway, I’m worried about my sister. She hasn’t answered her phone in weeks.”

“And since I’m conveniently in Phoenix for the next few days you’d like me to look in on her. No problem.”

“You’re a dear, Rachel.”

“Not Rachel any more, I’ll have to take off my dress before I go see your sister. No big deal, though”

“Then you’re a dear, Richard. She hasn’t been right since the divorce, but lately she sounds so depressed and now I can’t even get her on the phone. I’m worried.”

“What is ‘You’re making a mountain out of a molehill’?”

“Huh?”

“I’m watching Jeopardy, the phrasing gets to be automatic after two or three shows in a row.”

“You’re crazy. Let me give you her address.” I wrote it down on a one of those convenient pads you find in hotel rooms.

“Thanks Richard, and I want to see your new dress when you get home.”

“You’ve got a deal.” I hung up.

Well, so much for an evening dressed up with nowhere to go. Reluctantly I rose and shrugged off my dress. Could I get away with wearing just my bra without the forms? No, better not. It was still hot outside and I wouldn’t want to wear anything heavy enough to hide the bra lines. I left my pantyhose on, though, no one was going to notice them beneath my jeans.

I consulted the map and made my way over the 110 to Deer Valley, then wound my way through the twisty streets to find her place. Sherry must have really been worried, this was the first time she had called me while I was in the field. Not that I minded, she and Martha had become family, my daughters and grandchildren adored them. For that matter, so did I. I had never met Sherry’s sister, but I was happy to look in on her even if I had to take off my dress to do it. The sacrifices we make for family!

I found the place with only two wrong turns (not bad) and pulled into the drive. I rang the bell, but no one answered. I could hear the hum of the AC in a bedroom window so I figured she must be home but maybe couldn’t hear the bell. I kept ringing and knocked on the door just for good luck. Finally the handle turned and the door opened.

The woman standing there was undoubtedly related to Sherry, one glance was enough to tell me that. However, she looked more like Sherry’s mother than her sister. She was haggard, her stringy hair gray and knotted. A nascent pot belly protruded beneath the stained and faded blue nightgown she wore. A good deal of her left breast was exposed by an old and frayed tear in the fabric. Not that it inspired any feelings of lust in me, the poor woman looked like she was about to collapse.

“You’ve got to be Vicky, you look just like your sister. Sherry asked me to stop by and see if you were OK.”

I had never seen someone faint before, but I saw it now. Her eyes rolled up and she deflated like a someone had pulled a plug. I tried to grab her but I was too far away. What the hell, I’m used to people reacting badly based on my sheer size, but I had never made anyone faint before. I’m not even sporting a beard any more, but Sherry still calls me a bear at times. What the hell was I going to do?

Well, pick her up off the floor for one. I found a grip and raised her. She was surprisingly heavy for someone who looked so thin and wan. I set her on the couch and pulled the hem of her nightgown down. Yes, I noticed she wasn’t wearing any panties, but the way she smelled drove any lascivious thoughts from my mind. Now that I was inside the whole place had an odor of neglect about it. There were piles of stuff all over and the housekeeper had obviously been on vacation for several years.

On TV they throw cold water on you or slap your face when you faint, but I wasn’t up to anything like that. I figured she would come around when she was ready, so I pulled up a dining room chair near her and waited. Once I made it past her obvious distress I realized she was a fine figure of a woman. She was almost as tall as I was, but I had been fooled at first by her slumped posture. There was a certain beauty in her face in it’s unguarded state, even a hint of mischief. What had happened to her?

About ten minutes later she started to stir. I spoke softly, not wanting to frighten her as she revived. “Wake up, Vicky. I’m a friend of Sherry’s. You‘re going to be all right, just take it easy.” I continued babbling softly until her eyes opened.

“Sherry?”

“I live with Sherry and Martha. My name’s Richard.”

“Richard.”

“Right. Sherry’s worried about you but I’m here now and you’re going to be all right.”

“Fat chance. I’m a fat old broad and I’m all fucked up.” She mumbled. More to herself than to me, I think.

Fat? That little pot belly looked more like the start of malnutrition than gluttony. “Have you eaten anything today, Vicky?”

“Coffee. Lousy. Instant. Just got up, y’know.”

“Vicky, it’s 7:30 at night. You just got up?”

“Yeah, so what? Nobody cares if I’m awake or asleep.”

“Sherry does, and I do. Let me get you something to eat.”

“Sherry ain’t here. Nobody’s here. I’m all alone.”

“I’m here now, Vicky, and things are going to get better.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Can you stand up yet. You won’t fall over on me again?”

“Yeah, I can do it. Just give me a minute.”

“Take your time. Vicky, I want you to take a shower before you eat.”

“Don’t work, tub’s plugged up.”

“Oh. Well, just sit here a minute while I go to the kitchen.”

“Your funeral.”

---

“My God!” I mumbled. “I don’t believe in you, but one look at this kitchen is enough to convince me there is a Hell.” If there was a single clean dish I couldn’t find it, and lord knows each and every one was piled up on the counters. Opening the refrigerator was akin to opening the gates to Hell after it had frozen over. There was no way I was going to find anything edible here. The bathroom was just as bad. It was a damned good thing Sherry had asked me to check on her sister, she was in deep trouble.

There was only one thing to do: evacuate! Vicky was still sitting patiently in the living room. Ignoring genteel manners and propriety, I entered her bedroom. I have never pawed through a strange woman’s lingerie drawers before, but I felt justified in doing so. She had to have some clothes to wear before I took her out of this house. I had very limited pawing, however, the drawers were mostly empty. Not a single clean bra or pair of panties. One lone pair of mismatched socks, some shredded pantyhose and an ancient sanitary belt were the fruits of my labor. I hadn’t seen a sanitary belt, let alone a sanitary napkin, since I was a kid snooping through my mother’s dresser. Some people don’t throw anything out!

At least I found a pair of shorts and a clean but thoroughly disreputable tank top, along with some sneakers. I returned to the living room and placed this meager pile in her lap.

“Vicky? You need to get dressed, Vicky. Put these on while I pack you some clothes.” She just stared at them. “Please get dressed, Vicky. I left the room an hoped for the best.

How is it that at work I can get up to my elbows (and frequently beyond ) in oil and grease and crud and it didn’t bother me half as much as sorting through her dirty laundry? I love sorting through bras and panties and such, I love wearing them, but I treat them with respect and wash them regularly. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that I was dealing with a major case of clinical depression here.

I could deal with her directly, I was completely ready to get her the help she needed. Sherry was family; she had helped me recover from the devastating breakup of my marriage, and accepted and embraced my need to crossdress. Could I do any less when her sister needed help? Of course not, but what really got to me was the pile of filthy clothes in her bedroom. I guess we all have our hot buttons, don’t we. Anyway, I found a suitcase in the closet and filed it full of lingerie and things I found on her dresser. I filled another with what clothing I could find until both were full.

Why was I doing this? Without thinking about it I had decided to bring her home with me. You don’t recover from depression without support, and her family was back East. Right now the important thing was to get her out of this house and into a clean environment, even if that environment was my hotel room. I can tell you I was very thankful the only room available had twin beds, I’m not sure I could have been generous enough to share my bed with her in her present state.

I started to laugh at that thought. For the first time in my life on the road I was bringing a woman to my hotel room and the furthest thing from my mind was sex. Go figure!

I was relieved that I had penetrated her funk far enough that she did change into the clothes. I helped her with the socks and sneakers and we were ready.

“Vicky? I’m going to take you with me to Sherry’s place. We’re going to see your sister. OK?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s been a while.”

At least she was compliant. I hoped there wouldn’t be a problem when I brought her into the hotel, either from the staff or from her. Well, cross that bridge when we come to it.

“Where’s your purse, Vicky?”

“In the kitchen.”

Great. I was relieved to find it on top of the mess on the kitchen table. I chivvied her and the suitcases out the door and locked it behind us. She was silent as we rode to my hotel, and simply followed me to the room. Once there I sent her into the bath with instructions to take a long soak and enjoy herself. I put my nightgown on the hook for her and while she bathed I went to the laundry room and filled the washers with her clothes and a tremendous pile of quarters. She was still in the bathroom when I returned, so I ordered from room service, hoping she would eat something once she was clean.

That taken care of, I called Sherry. “Hi sweetheart. Is it OK if I shack up with your sister?” I couldn’t resist.

“Say what?”

“I just brought Vicky back to my hotel room and she’s staying the night.”

“Hey — I wasn’t sending you on a blind date, Richard! What’s going on?”

“Well, I’m afraid you were right to worry about her. We have some big problems…”

So I filled her in on what had happened. She was one very unhappy lady by the time I was done.”

“Sherry, I’m going to bring her back with me, she needs family in a big way right now, not to mention some professional counseling. I’ll cut short the job as much as I can, I don’t want to leave her alone any longer than necessary. If what I gather is correct, she’ll probably sleep most of the day anyway.”

“Richard?” She paused. “Why are you doing all this?”

“Because it needs to be done. Because she’s family. Because you and Martha made my life whole. Because despite what I’ve seen I think there’s a good person hiding behind the walls in your sister’s head.”

“Thank you, Richard.”

“No problem, ma'am. We’ll be home tomorrow night.”

There, that was over. Now just what the devil was I going to do next? I only had one nightgown to sleep in, I wasn’t planning on guests. I couldn’t even resort to shorts, I had long ago given them up in favor of panties. I supposed I could make it through the night in T-shirt and shorts but, dammit, I wanted my nightgown!

---

Sherry…

I didn’t sleep last night. I was completely useless at work today, I had been worried about Vicky, but I had been certain it was just a case of nerves — my nerves. I really didn’t think there would be anything serious, but now my big sister was hurting and I didn’t know what to do.

She had been the one who always took care of me. She's 10 years older than I am, I was a surprise to my parents. Ten years is a lifetime when you’re a kid, by the time I was old enough to think about her much she was away at school, then she was married and living across the country. Really, Vicky and I were more pals than traditional sisters. With the miles between us we saw each other rarely, but I loved her dearly and she loved me.

I tried to be practical while I bit my nails. Where was she going to stay? I had a spare room, but no spare bed. Richard and Martha might be close friends, but they still paid me every month to live here and that was that. I supposed I was going to have to get used to sharing a bed again. At least this time I wouldn’t have to worry about a drunken husband.

I guess we have a lot in common after all, we both picked losers as husbands. When her marriage fell apart last year I spent a lot of time on the phone with her. I think we talked more during the divorce than we did growing up. I know she felt very isolated out there. I know from experience how life changes when you go from ‘we’ to ‘me’. “We’s” socialize in couples, and “me’s” can spell trouble if half a couple is looking for it. My social circles have changed tremendously. But this is home and I still had old friends to carry me through.

Vicky didn’t have that. When she and Larry broke up she was left on her own. The divorce was nasty, Larry didn’t much like alimony or leaving her with something to live on. Vicky was no dummy, but for a lot of years she had been pretty much Larry’s Wife as a full time occupation. I suppose I might not have coped too well if I were in her situation. My musings were cut short by the front door opening. Somehow I hadn't expected them in the afternoon, but I had forgotten the time difference, not to mention airport delays. It was dark by the time they got home.

“Vicky!” My God, she looks old!

“Hiya, sis. Got room for a homeless waif?”

“I’ve always got a place for you, big sister. Welcome home.”

We stopped for a hug. “Where did you find this hairy monster you sent after me? He comes on strong but he’s really a pussycat.”

“I just put an ad in the paper, it’s amazing what you can find in the classifieds.”

“I just pays mah rent and does what I’m told, ma’am. Loyal as a dog, that’s me. Y’all tell me ‘fetch mah sister’ and I bring her home like a good puppy.”

“Well, you do look a little chewed up around the edges, Vicky.”

”You should have seen me last night. I still feel like shit but at least I don’t smell like it any more.”

“I’ll leave you ladies to get reacquainted.” Richard knows when to make himself scarce.

"What have you been doing, Vicky? How are you?"

"Just like I said — I feel like shit, I look like Hell and I just don't give a damn."

Reading that, it might look like she was being emphatic, but her tone was so flat and lifeless it scared me. The tone matched the drawn look of her face. When you don't see someone for a while, they remain fixed in your mind, unchanged from the last time you saw them. I had unconsciously kept that picture despite Richard's warning, and the reality was shocking.

I tried to draw her out, but she wasn't going to cooperate. Our conversation remained on the surface of things, she wasn't ready to let me go any deeper yet. I did most of the talking and she was content to listen until it was time for bed. It was telling that she went to the bathroom to change for bed, the Vicky of old would not have hidden her body from me. Lord knows we had seen each other naked more times than we could count.

I almost lost it when she came to bed in Richard's nightgown. Just how were we going to tell her about Rachel?

---

Martha

I awoke to the smell of something delicious, Rachel must be cooking. Saturdays when she was home always presented a problem. I had gotten in sometime about 3:00 AM, after a night out with Scott and had fallen instantly asleep. I wanted to continue sleeping, but my nose had alerted my stomach and they wanted to get up, even if the rest of me didn't. Why did she have to be such an early riser? 10 AM is still early on a Saturday, isn't it?

I finally gave in and headed for the kitchen where, to my surprise, I found Richard.

"My, but you're looking masculine this morning, Pop." I had long since gotten used to Rachel on the weekends, but today Richard was there in blue jeans, a blue flannel shirt and a bright blue chief's cap perched on his head.

"Ah! The party animal has emerged from her den. Whilst you were out dancing and flirting I brought Sherry's sister home, so Rachel will be on vacation while there are strangers in the house. Pancakes?"

"Certainly." He flipped several on a plate and brought it to the table. "So I get to meet Sherry's sister. What's she like?"

"Depressed. Heartsick. Pale. You don't want to know her place looked like when I found her, but she's going to need a lot of help from us. You remember her husband left her last year? I don't think she recovered from that."

"Yeah, Sherry was on the phone constantly. I just kind of figured she was OK when the calls stopped.

"Yeah, so did I. Now it looks like you two have another divorce casualty to nurse through recovery, but this time I can help. I hope."

I was going to ask more, but just then Sherry and Vicky came in. One look told me Richard was right, Vicky looked worn out. As she sat listlessly at the table I hastily turned my laugh into a coughing fit. She was wearing Rachel's nightgown!

"Welcome, ladies." Richard greeted them. "Today we are serving Richard's Secret Recipe multigrain chocolate applesauce pancakes with your choice of maple or homemade white grape syrup." He was ladling a thick, dark batter on to the skillet as he spoke. I brought the coffee pot over to the table and poured for the both of them. Soon there were steaming plates of pancakes in front of the newcomers.

"With homemade applesauce." I added. "We made it ourselves last fall. You should have seen us — Sherry and I chopping apples and Rachel stirring this huge pot. She looked like the Wicked Witch of the West, all she needed was a pointy hat!

"Who's Rachel?" Vicky asked. Me and my big mouth!

"A close friend of Richard's." Replied Sherry. "You'll get to meet her sometime, I hope."

There was silence once more, but it was the silence that accompanies a good meal. Sherry cleaned her plate but Vicky barely made it through a single pancake. Did a smile cross her face when she tasted? I wasn't sure.

"Thank you, Richard." Vicky spoke at last. "They were delicious, but I'm afraid my appetite is a bit off these days. So why the blue hat?"

"A long story, sit back and I'll tell it." He came to the table with his own stack of pancakes and sat down. "I have the most beautiful grandchildren in the world, as I'm sure Sherry and Martha will confirm, and I hold the world's record for doting grandfathers. Their slightest wish is my command. Have you ever seen Blue's Clues?"

I didn't think Vicky could look any more bewildered than she already was, but she managed it when Richard asked his question.

"That's the three year old's favorite show, and every day they solve a mystery on it. Blue is a puppy that would make Sherlock Holmes jealous, because he leaves big blue paw prints wherever there's a clue to be found. You might notice the paw print over on the kitchen cupboard there, and one on the front hall closet. Anyway, in the show Joe wanders around with Blue, writing the clues in his notebook until the mystery is solved.

"What happened was a couple of weeks ago I put a paw print on my chief's hat when the kids were over and Charlie, using the logic known only to three year olds, was convinced the hat had to be blue. So I dyed it just for her. I trust I rinsed the washer sufficiently that your clothes didn't change color, Sherry?"

"No problem."

"Good. Vicky, I ought to warn you that the thundering herd will be arriving at any moment, you might want to be dressed before the invasion. If I'm remembering correctly there was a blue blouse and skirt in the clothes I washed. Not only would you look charming in them, but you would be forever in my granddaughter's good graces if you wore blue when you met her. I bet if you asked nice, Sherry would let you wear her blue earrings, too."

"Of course you can wear them, Sherry responded. "You'll find that Richard is something of an expert in women's clothes."

Darned if I didn't have a coughing fit again.

---

Richard

At first it was like living with a ghost, or maybe a zombie. I had this fantasy that if I took off Vicky's dress I'd find a little windup handle sticking out of her back. I had a toy like that when I was a kid. You wound it up and it marched stiff-legged until it hit a wall, where it just kept marching, oblivious to the fact it wasn't going anywhere. Vicky reminds me of that doll, She walks, she talks, she feeds herself, but she isn't engaged. Push her in one direction and she keeps going until you push her again.

I suspect it's rather what Martha and Sherry went through when I moved in. When my marriage broke up I was sure there was nothing left to live for, no reason to care about anything. It turned out I was wrong, my family was not broken, just reconfigured. Emily and I were no longer married, but my family was not just her, but her and the children. The marriage broke up about the same time the kids left home and I had a hard time separating the two events. I'm still working on the loss of the 'till death do we part' promise, but my family is still together. Even if Emily and I had stayed together, my children would still be on their own.

Now I have a new family. Sherry and Martha have become as close as my own daughters in many ways. Emily would say God guided me to them. I can't quite go that far, but it is indeed miraculous how the three of us have filled each other's needs and become a family. Finding Vicky was kind of finding a long lost relative. Where I come from, you help when family needs it and you don't stop to ask questions. I wasn't all too sure where Vicky belonged on the family tree, though. Martha is of an age with my own two and I think of Sherry as almost a daughter, even if I would have had to have been very precocious to have fathered Sherry. Twelve year old Baptist boys don't do such things where I came from. Maybe she could be a "Kissing Cousin".

That's a term I haven't heard in quite a long time. I never could figure it out when I was a kid, but then all my cousins were boys. It wasn't until Aunt Alice caught me and my 2nd cousin Cindy Lou smooching at a family reunion that anyone explained it to me. I was embarrassed, but Cindy Lou sure could kiss. Somehow I doubt I'm going to be doing much kissing with Vicky. Not that she doesn't look kissable enough, but in her current state it would be like kissing the dummy they use to teach you CPR.

I called in some IOUs and threatened mayhem on my boss, which resulted in me taking two weeks of my vacation on short notice. It was obvious that Vicky couldn't be left alone for a while. She slept a lot, not too surprising, but I still had plenty of time to work on her.

Just why was I so determined to play angel of mercy to this woman? I really didn't think of it that way, but I suppose that's what I was doing. Frankly, when I saw her I saw myself after my divorce. I simply couldn't let anyone else to live with that kind of pain without trying to help. That might have been enough, but from the moment I met her I was strongly drawn to her. It seems silly; she was a complete wreck when we met, but under all the pain and torment I saw something that moved me.

So I sang to her, cooked for her, took her for long walks along the river path in the park, talked to her even when she didn't talk back. She started to improve physically, regular meals and the exercise of walking saw to that; for that matter my pot belly improved along with hers. Her personality took longer to surface. It was the music that seemed to help the most. We spent most afternoons that first week in the garden, where I pulled out my trusty guitar and played for her. She wasn't ready to talk yet, but music has a power that transcends words.

I think I have some idea what it's like for a dedicated musician to play in a bar now. As an audience, she sucked; completely passive, disengaged, uninterested. I kept playing, until one afternoon I caught her tapping her toe to "Norwegian Wood". I was thrilled when she spoke at the end of the song.

"At least you didn't have to sleep in the tub that night you found me."

"I should hope not. Especially the first time I've ever brought a woman back to my motel room."

"You're kidding!"

"The absolute, unvarnished truth! I have never slept with a woman other than my wife. You can pin a gold star on my chest and tell the world I'm a good boy."

"Then where did the nightgown I woke up wearing come from?"

"So you weren't as out of it as you seemed. Would you believe I always travel with a nightgown so I can rescue damsels in distress?"

"Why would they need a nightgown if you never bring them back to your room after you rescue them?"

"I was a Boy Scout, I'm always prepared."

"Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave clean and reverent. Not one word about being a bullshitter, so I guess you're safe. I withdraw the question. I found out long ago it wasn't too useful to ask my husband where the occasional bra or panty came from."

"Vicky! It's not like that!"

"Yeah. It never is."

Did I say I was glad she had started talking? Just goes to show you how much I know.

"Vicky, the nightgown was mine. You are the first woman who has ever worn it."

I could have saved my breath, she got up and went inside, leaving me there to worry and wait.

---

Sherry…

I need another bedroom in this house. I love my big sister, but she hogs the bed. Since she is so much older than me we never slept in the same bed when I was a kid, for which I am appropriately grateful. At least I don't have to worry about her waking up at three in the morning and getting amorous, like my drunken sot of a husband. At least I hope I don't.

She's finally showing some signs of animation. The woman who Richard brought home with him was a pale imitation of the sister I knew. Sometimes it seems like we traded in Rachel for Vicky and got the short end of the deal. No, that's not fair. I'm sure Richard is having his own problems being unable to express his feminine self like he has been free to do since the divorce. She's going to have to find out sometime, but not yet.

I suppose Richard must have felt like this, afraid to let someone he was growing close to know he was a crossdresser. Now here I am worrying what Vicky will do if she finds out. Especially since I seem to detect some interest in her on Richard's part. Not that he realizes it, he can be very good at hiding himself from himself. Is that something all crossdressers have in common?

"Hi, sis!"

"You sound cheery this evening, Vicky."

"Well, you can't keep up the gloom and doom forever, you know. I hate to admit it but all those long walks by the river that Richard takes me on have made me feel a whole lot better."

"Richard's specialty is making other people feel better. I honestly don't know what Martha and I would do without him in our lives."

"I think it goes both ways. You know Sherry, I never could believe that there was such a thing as a Platonic relationship. Even the nice guys I know still think about what it would be like to get you in bed with them."

"Well, we both married the same kind of men, didn't we sis?"

"You got that right. But Richard's different. You and Martha live with him as if none of you had ever heard of sex in your lives."

"You can say that after listening to Martha and Scott going at it last night? I'm not sure what he was doing but he sure was doing it with enthusiasm! It was almost enough to make me wish I had a man in my bed and not you, sister mine!"

"You know, I had similar thoughts myself. Too bad I'm too old to feel comfortable with being a lesbian."

"Well, if you want to stick your finger in a Dyke you're going to have to get your hair cut into a Dutch Boy."

"That's despicable! But that's just what I mean. Even when you guys make with the dirty jokes at the dinner table I can see you're just having fun and not trying to get anyone else into the sack."

"He is pretty special, isn't he? The first time I saw him he looked like a bear escaped from the forest. Who would have thought someone so big could be so gentle and kind. You've seen him playing with his grandchildren."

"They are cute, aren't they. I think the little one really likes me."

"Little kids know how to cut through the bullshit, big sister. You can be a pretty likable person when you set your mind to it."

"To think I'd live to see the day…. Too bad you didn't realize that when you were a puking little brat that mom made me take care of."

"Serves you right, you weren't far from that stage when Richard found you."

"I know. Believe me I know. Sherry, I'm never going to let myself get like that again. Promise me you'll make me get help long before I get that bad again."

"None of us will let that happen, Vicky. You're family, and that means more than just being my sister, that means Richard and Martha too."

"How can you speak for them?"

"Because we are a family. We understand each other about as well as any people can. You saw how both of them went out of their way when you needed help. Martha and I did the same for Richard when he needed it and if someone else landed on our door step tomorrow I hope you would be right there with us to help them.

"Still 'picking up strays', eh? It used to drive Gram wild when you took strangers into your house. She never could understand it."

"I'm sure she had a saying for the situation, but she was wise enough to keep from telling me. It was good practice for when you arrived."

"I know." I was suddenly enveloped in my sister's embrace and kissed soundly."

"Hey, watch it, sis, or I'm gonna start worrying about where your fingers are going."

"Just don't tell Richard."

---

Martha

"Ugh!"

"That can't be a comment on Richard's cooking." Responded Vicky. "I haven't eaten lamb in years! There must have been three pounds of garlic in it."

"Which is why we aren't bothered by the vampires any more. My God! Every time I think he can't come up with anything better than the last meal he served, Pops proves me wrong! I love the food but look at this kitchen!

"He does seem to use every pot and pan in the place, doesn't he?

"Sometimes the 'She who Cooks Does Not Clean' rule could be a curse. Speaking of curses, if I keep eating like this I'm going to have to borrow one of Rachel's skirts."

"When am I going to get to meet this mysterious Rachel?" asked Vicky

"Well, she's someone who isn't very comfortable around strangers, so it may be a while." I drained a large pot full of greenish water. To forestall any more questions about Rachel I handed Vicky the pot.

"That gives us something in common." She replied. "I haven't exactly been running the social circuit since Richard kidnapped me, have I Martha?

"You do what you need to do, Vicky. Right now it's your time for healing. When your time comes to party Scott and I will take you out and treat you to a few beers."

"Maybe you ought to open a couple of them right now. It may help us get through this mess." She began scraping the dishes and handing them to me while she spoke.

"Where would you find room to fit anything more in your stomach?"

"I have a bigger stomach than you, child. I'm old enough I don't care about my figure any more."

"You aren't any older that Pops, and he's the youngest old fart on the planet. Besides, haven't you noticed how Pops drools over you when you aren't looking?

"Child, you're out of your mind! Richard isn't going to be drooling over an old woman like me. Besides he's got his friend Rachel. Hand me that platter, will you?"

"Vicky, you need to have your eyes examined. Pops hasn't so much as looked at a woman since his divorce. In his own way he was probably as depressed as you were when he moved in, but he's found his inner strength and centered himself since then."

"You're starting to sound like one of those New Age fruitcakes, Martha."

"Must you keep talking about food? That strawberry whatever-it-was was incredible!"

"I noticed you didn't turn down the ice cream on top of it. Child, the three of you and the little pills the shrink has me taking are what's bringing me back. I already did all the centering I intend to years ago when I was into gymnastics. I wouldn't dare wear the outfit I did back then any more."

"You put on one of those spandex leotards and Pop's eyes are gonna be rolling around on the floor. It's not too late to go shopping, I could take you to the place I get my dance outfits. We can do some aerobics together to work off that meal. In the living room - I want to be there when Pops tries to hide the fact you turn him on!"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"You'd rather wash dishes than shop? I'd say you were the one who's out of your mind."

"But…"

"The dishwasher's full. The rest will be here when we get back."

"But…"

Oh, hell. Sometimes words won't do. I just took her arm and dragged her with me.

---

Richard…

"Pappa!!!!"

The joyous cry split the heretofore quiet Saturday morning air asunder, announcing the arrival of a herd of small children. I know there's only three of them, but is sure felt like more. I had the pancakes ready for pouring, the coffee brewed and the table set.

"Erin, you and Charlie go upstairs and tell Aunt Sherry and Aunt Vicky and Aunt Martha that breakfast is ready." I instructed. Better a cute kid break the news it's time to get up than a grumpy old crossdresser, especially when Vicky didn't know about Rachel. They wouldn't growl so much at a cute kid.

"That's mean, Daddy!" Camille observed.

"Self preservation, my dear. Learned it from your mother when she sent you to wake me up." Faint knocking floated down the stairway along with an insufferably perky child's voice. My housemates stumbled downstairs one at a time and joined us for breakfast.

"Finian, my son, the fair colleen will be needin' a cuppa to shake the cobwebs loose!" I observed, waving my hand at Vicky.

"Daddy, people who speak with a drawl should NOT try to do an Irish accent." Camille chided.

"Children should be seen and not heard." I have my own store of advice.

"Don't talk, Mommy. Pappa spank!"

From the mouths of babes…

"Now Charlie, you know I wouldn't spank your mother. That's not polite. Let Aunt Vicky wipe the syrup off your nose, will you."

Charlie swarmed up her lap and settled himself down. "You go Museum An' Vicky?" The kid must have read my mind, that was the whole idea, to get Vicky out with me and the kids. "See Big Bird!"

"Well Charlie, I'm not sure…"

"I take it you've never been to the Strong Museum?" I cut in before she could say no. "It's the answer to a grandparent's prayer, a whole building full of things that make kids happy. I discovered it when I was babysitting Erin when she was about 18 months old. We got there about nine in the morning and she was enthralled for the entire day. I practically had to drag her bodily away to get her to eat and she never took a nap. When the place closed at five she still hadn't had enough.

"No arguments now, you'll enjoy it — besides it's a lot easier to have someone else there when the kids want to split up. Pick one and she's yours for the day."

"Please An' Vicky!" my secret weapon cried.

"OK, darling, I'll come."

Success!

---

Vicky…

I tried to be depressed, I really did. I wanted to be depressed. I wanted to lay in bed all day and ignore the world. I wanted to hate my pig-of-an-ex-husband, along with the rest of the world. If I had realized just how my life was going to change when Richard appeared at my door I would have slammed it in his face and gone back to bed. The only problem with being depressed is you just don't give a damn about the future, so you end up in places you never expected. Like in a kid's museum with a three year old whirlwind dragging you along behind her.

Naturally we didn't make it past the carousel by the front door without going for a ride. Just why a sweet, little three year old girl would demand to ride in the whirling teacup instead of on a nice, sedate, up-and-down horse is beyond comprehension, but I was happy to let her spin while my stomach stayed in it's proper place.

Once we got into the museum proper, Charlie wanted to visit Big Bird while Erin headed for the play tables to draw and color her newest work of art, so we split up. Richard helped Erin color while I gamely tried to play checkers (by Charlie's rather eccentric rules) on the Sesame Street playground. I didn't know you could jump a queen in checkers. Fortunately she lost interest before I lost patience and off we went. We counted with the Count, played a video game (the little darling uses a computer better than I do!), then stopped for a while to shop at the grocery store (5 items in the cart and put them back when you're done!) before finding the Victorian Parlor.

I lost all possibility of being depressed when I saw Richard and Erin seated at a child size table (his knees were practically in his nose) partaking of tea. Despite her incipient tomboyhood, Erin appears to have the firm conviction that you must dress properly when you have tea in the Victorian Parlor. She had obviously delved into the big trunk and found a dress and a suitable floppy hat. Typical kid's behavior, but what nearly made me double over with laughter was Richard. On his head was a ludicrously small bonnet. A child's dress was draped from his neck to his ample stomach and three skirts were tied around his waist. In his hand was a teacup about an inch in diameter and before him was a full sized muffin. The muffins looked real, but I assumed they were plastic like the food in the grocery store.

We were promptly invited to tea, I was already wearing a skirt so I did not have to change but Erin happily found another dress in the trunk.

"Richard, you look divine. I didn't know they had such creative fashion designers in the Victorian period..

"My attire is the artistic result of this fine young woman to my right. One must dress properly for Tea, you know. I rely on her fashion sense for all my dresses."

"Oh? Then did she pick out the nightgown?"

"That was a present from her mother."

"I shouldn't have asked… Yes dear, I would like more tea." She held her cup out to Erin.

"I helped mommy pick out Grandma Rachel's nightgown, Aunt Vicky. It was a Christmas present!"

Wait a minute. Had the tea party migrated from the Victorian Parlor to Wonderland? I could see Alice and her mushrooms out the parlor window, but this was ridiculous!.

"Richard, isn't your ex's name Emily? Just what is this Rachel person to you, anyway?"

"A rather close friend you've yet to meet. Emily, I think Aunt Vicky needs some more tea."

"Pretty dam... uh, darn close if you're running around the country with her nightgown! Thank you, dear, I think my cup is full."

"Closer than you would guess. I'll certainly introduce you when the time is right."

"Well, if I'm wearing her nightgown I think that would be nice."

"That's silly!" piped up Morinna. "You know Grandma Rachel!"

"Ladies!", Richard exclaimed, "I think it's time to go dancing!"

He was greeted with a chorus of glad cries and in no time the Victorian garb had been removed in favor of 20th century kid grunge. Just why did I get the feeling I had been manipulated?

---

The dancing turned out to be high tech dancing. Our small charges burst upon the dance floor and pushed one of several large buttons, filling the area with disco. There must have been a camera somewhere, because as they danced energetically, their images appeared on a large screen. Computer rendering made them fantastic, ever changing swirls of color as their bodies gyrated to the music.

"Pretty neat, huh?" Richard commented.

"The fancy display or the dancers?"

"Both. You may have noticed I'm a gadget freak — this is a great way to mix electronics and art."

"Well, they're certainly having fun. Where do they get the energy? I'm ready for a nap and they're boogying to disco, for heaven's sake!"

He reached over and pushed a different button, in a few seconds the music switched to a waltz.

"Pappa!" came the stereophonic wail. "That's too slow! Yuck!"

"On the contrary, it's just right for me and Aunt Vicky. Care to join me for a turn around the floor?"

I was swept up in his arms and, as corny as it sounds, time stopped.

I knew I was very stiff in Richard's arms and had to fight a vague feeling of unease. Thinking back about it, I realize it was the first time a man had touched me since I split with Larry. I had never wanted to touch another man for the rest of my life.

By then I had no doubt he appreciated me as a woman, even if I was unable to appreciate myself. When four people are sharing a single bathroom it's only a matter of time until you see or are seen less than completely covered. That had happened a few weeks back when I was feeling sorry for myself and lay in bed all day. Just before supper my bladder was ready to burst and I didn't have time to make myself decent, I just ran for the toilet.

I had made it to the head of the stairway when Richard came around the bend in the stairs and there was no way he could miss the fact my boobs were hanging out of my untied robe. (Thank heaven I was wearing panties!) We stared at each other for a fraction of a second; I had just enough time to notice the flush begin to creep up his face before I bolted for the bathroom, there to take care of a flush of my own. Neither of us had ever mentioned the incident.

In all the months I had been living in the same house as Richard he had always behaved as a perfect gentleman. I had spent hours in his bedroom listening to him make music, we had walked together for mile upon mile along the river. We had grown quite intimate with words. I had told him things I couldn't even share with Sherry and he spoken about his own divorce. When we had made it past the pain there was room to share other aspects of our lives, the small, intimate details one would share with a lover. Perhaps my body language had posted a "No Trespassing" sign, maybe it was his innate Southern manners, but never once had he physically touched me — at least as a man touches a woman.

Yet here I was waltzing to Strauss while his grandchildren complained about our musical taste. Watching our images repeat our every move on the screen something inside me let go and I relaxed into his arms and lay my head against his shoulder as we waltzed. I haven't danced in so many years I couldn't count them. I wasn't sure I even remembered how, but it came back without thought. For a few moments we were together as one despite the people who surrounded us. His hand pressed gently into the small of my back, our hands clasped and our feet swayed and life was beautiful.

That is until the music shifted from Strauss to Techno in mid beat. One of the little darlings had pressed another button and the mood was broken. Well, not completely; I surprised myself, and probably Richard, by keeping his hand in mine as we sat on the bench and watched the kids dance.

It was like a dam had burst, I couldn't get enough of touching Richard and he obviously enjoyed touching me.
The rest of the day we strolled (or ran — we were taking care of the kids!) hand in hand, stood side by side with our arms around each other's waists as we watched them play. We couldn't talk much as we were surrounded by hundreds of other children and their parents and we annoyed our charges because we wouldn't split up and let them go off separately. Adults can be hard hearted, can't they?

We were standing arm in arm by the sandbox (actually it was filled with small plastic pellets — much easier to clean up than sand) watching the kids play when their parents came. Finian has truly expressive eyebrows, with one of them raised above his impish grin it was a clear he approved of our sudden closeness.

"Well now, which of ye was it that finally realized ye were in love?" His brogue was as broad as his smile. "We've been speculatin' how long it would take to pass through that great thick skull of yours, Richard me lad! Did she have to use a hammer to drive it through or did your southern charm melt the lassie's shell? Don't answer me now — I won't be the one to be giving ye a reason for your first fight"

Was it that obvious? I hadn't noticed. Had Richard? I didn't care and neither did he.

The PA system was urging us to leave as the museum was closing in a few minutes, so we said goodbye to the kids and made use of the nearby restrooms before leaving. We emerged simultaneously and, in the deserted back of the museum fell into each other's arms and kissed passionately. I had never thought I would experience desire again, but as our lips met and our tongues entwined I was once again excited to be in the arms of a man. My hands idly stroked his back as we kissed, until I distractedly found myself playing with a small lump over his backbone.

I felt him stiffen in my arms as my fingers traced this small bulge under his sweatshirt.

"What's the matter, Richard?"

"We'd better go before someone throws us out." He grasped my hands firmly.

"Not until you kiss me again. Once isn't enough!"

He did.

---

Richard…

I have got to be out of my everlovin' mind. Why in sweet heaven did I wear a bra today? Yeah, it's been months since I could dress up with Vicky living here. Yeah, I am just about to go crazy with the need, but why did I have to wear a bra under my sweatshirt today, of all days? Dammit, a guy should not realize he's in love when he's wearing a bra.

Did she figure it out? When she started playing with the clasp of my bra I just about lost it. I mean, one second I'm kissing the sweetest woman I've known in a long time and she's kissing back and the next second she's about to find out I'm wearing a bra. My heart can't take that kind of stuff - and I'm not talking Cupid, I'm talking cardiology! I'm gonna need a pacemaker if I don't tell her.

I have to wonder why I haven't told her about Rachel. I've told her just about everything else there is to know about me short of what Emily and I did together in bed. We've been kind of skittish around the subject of sex, I guess. She's still hurting from that slob Larry and — well, talking about sex doesn't come easy to me. Damn Baptists still got a hold on me even if I haven't been to church in years.

As we walked out of the museum, hand in hand, my brain was spinning. I was sixteen again, scared silly of girls and ecstatic that one of these untouchable creatures would deign to hold my hand. I suddenly realized I had walled off my growing attraction to Vicky over the past months, telling myself she wasn't ready for romance. Yeah — that kiss pretty well proved I had been lying to myself, just like I did when I was sixteen and stupid. "Selfless Hero Quenches Desire for Good of Woman" would not headline my memoirs if I ever got around to writing them. More like "Damn Fool Hides From Himself Again".

"Hey Richard! You still in there?"

I realized my hand was empty. We were in the coatroom and Vicky was standing there holding my coat. I didn't remember anything between THE KISS and right then.

"Richard. I don't want to go home right now."

"Neither do I. Are you hungry? The India House is right down the street. Lovely décor and food to die for."

"How large are the tablecloths?"

"Huh?"

"I intend to play footsie with you during dinner and I just wondered if anyone would notice."

Boy was I glad I had decided to wear socks instead of pantyhose!

---

Vicky…

Dinner was lovely, you could trust Richard to know where the best food was to be found. We didn't say much during dinner, I think the both of us were a little overwhelmed by what had just happened and it's hard to hold a serious conversation with your mouth full.

I was starting to realize I had been in love with Richard for some time, but it was the love you have for a brother. As I had begun to feel better I realized just how much he and Sherry had done for me, but I wasn't sure just what I should do. That is until we kissed. Like the ancient alchemists, we had transmuted platonic love into the gold of erotic love. I had to wonder just what those antiquated graybeards would have done if their spells and potions had actually worked. Would they have known what to do next? I certainly didn't! While I was deciding I kept my promise to play footsie with Richard. How he got those clunky shoes off his feet I'll never know, but he managed it.

"How would you like to see another of Rochester's prettier spots?" Richard broke into my reverie. "I happen to know there will be a concert starting just about the time we get there."

"Delightful!"

We drove the few blocks until I saw a sign proudly announcing the High Falls District. When Richard took his guitar out of the trunk I realized why he was so sure when the concert would start. We walked between some beautiful, old buildings out onto a pedestrian bridge over the Genesee River until we could see the waterfall. We settled on a park bench and I watched the water while Richard tuned his guitar and began to fill the warm evening air with notes as liquid as the water coursing over the falls before us.

We were not alone, other people were enjoying the evening and would stop for a while to listen, then move on. As it was getting dark a bearded man with a huge backpack and and feathered alpine hat approached. He stopped for a little while, then shrugged out of his backpack and pulled out a tin whistle. Settling on his well stuffed pack he caught Richard's eye and was rewarded with a smile and an unmistakable invitation. The light faded and the music went on. I was amazed at how well they played together, how could two people who had never met do that? As they skirmished to the end of a particularly lively tune the young man spoke. "That's a lovely guitar, very sweet. I've never seen a back like that with the scalloping and the inlay is remarkable."

"Made by Bernie Lehmann right here in Rochester. The man is a genius. I'm Richard and this is Vicky." He introduced us.

"Mike Laughlin, musician, dreamer, wanderer, and modern day Nomad at your service. He swept the hat from his head in the manner of an old time troubadour.

"Nomad?" I inquired. "No camels, no flock of sheep, no burnoose?"

"Nope, just me, my truck and what fits in it. Been on the road for twenty six years, three months and four days. Used to be I could tell you how many hours but I gave that up some time back."

"Twenty six years?" Don't you ever go home?"

"No home to go to. I tried to settle down but it just didn't work. Few weeks and I get this itch I can't scratch. No matter how nice a place is, I just have to keep moving so's I can see the next place. Been a long time since I hit the Northeast, so I'm spending the summer up here. Got to see Maine while the weather is good. I may have the wanderlust, but I wander in the south during the winter. Never was too fond of cold weather camping." His grin was visible by the spotlights on the falls.

"So what do you do in the cities?"

"The big cities have hostels. Smaller places I find a park or a bridge, which is why I'm carrying the pack tonight. Looks to be plenty of places to settle down for the night nearby without attracting attention. If I'm flush I might rent a campsite and take a shower. Used to be I'd pick up a girl or two and stay with them but that seems a little too cynical for me these days.

"Out west you can live off the land in a lot of places," he continued, "if you're not too worried about 'No Trespassing' signs. I pick up some temp work now and then to pay for gas and insurance, but mostly I do flea markets and such. You can always find something one person hates that another person will pay money for."

"Somehow," Richard drawled, "I get the feeling you've stood around a subway or two with that whistle in your mouth an your hat on the floor."

"Might have happened a time or two. Not so easy these days with all the competition. Besides, flea markets pay better - crazy collectors will open their wallets and pour cash all over you if you know the market. Did pretty good at one outside Buffalo last weekend so I'm sitting pretty right now."

"But isn't it lonely, just wandering around all the time? " I asked.

"You pay a price for everything, Vicky. I learned long ago that I have a need to wander, and that need is stronger than anything else in my life. I tried to settle down once and it cost both me and a fine woman more grief than either of us deserved. I held on for two years with her, but it was no good. Love wasn't enough, and we truly loved each other. By the end we were both wrecks. She needed me home an I couldn't do it, so we split. Still see each other once in a while when I'm passing through; she has a good man and three kids who consider me their Crazy Uncle Mike."

"How sad." I replied.

"Not sad, Vicky." Richard replied. "Bittersweet maybe, but the right decision for the situation. There are some things that can't be reconciled despite the best intentions of both people involved. Better to realize it before it tears you both apart."

"Amen to that, brother!" our wanderer exclaimed. "Living a lie wears at you and grinds you down. It robs your life of joy, and why would anyone want to live that way? Sure I get lonely sometimes, but who doesn't? I have friends all over the country, just because I only see them once every few years doesn't harm the friendship. Every so often someone comes along and we hook up for a month or year and travel together. New folks come on, old friends settle down and I get one more place to stop for a week or two that I didn’t have before."

"I guess." I couldn't imagine living like that, but obviously Mike the Wanderer enjoyed it.

"Who knows? In twenty years you could be at the wheel of a Granny Wagon yourself, spending your retirement cruising the country in a camper. You'd be amazed at how many women do that, 'specially the widows. Campgrounds are full of 'em!"

"I guess I'm safe then. I don't have children so I can't be a Granny, I don't have a job to retire from and no husband to leave me widowed."

"We'll see about that." muttered Richard.

"What did you say, dear?" Oh my! Did I really call him 'dear'?

"We'll talk about it later." He replied.

"Well folks, I ought to be off and settling in for the night. A true pleasure to play with you, my friend. May you and Vicky have a long and happy life together!"

He shouldered his pack and strode across the bridge. During the conversation Richard had put his guitar down and placed his arm around my shoulders. The warmth of his body next to mine was welcome as the evening cooled and I gladly snuggled into his embrace.

"Richard?" I asked, "How is it that only a few hours after we kissed for the first time a total stranger knows we are going to spend the rest of our lives together?"

"Are we?"

"I vote yes. Do we need a tie breaker? I just realized I love you, you know."

"I never thought I'd be able to say this after Emily and I broke up, but I love you too, Vicky."

"Well, when the Handsome Prince kisses the Sleeping Damsel they're supposed to live happily ever after, aren't they? Being depressed isn't exactly sleeping, but you brought me out from where I had buried myself. Can we live happily ever after, even knowing I could get sick again? "

"Do you need to ask? Remember how I met you? That's a part of you that I know exists, but it doesn't matter to me because I know the whole of you. "

"Thank you, Richard."

"Don't thank me yet. I'm going to switch metaphors on you, darling. What happens when the Fair Princess kisses the Ugly Frog and he keeps his warts even after he changes?"

"Maybe he should try a good concealer or some zit cream."

"That just hides the warts from view but they're still there. You need to know about my warts, Vicky."

"So tell me. I'm listening."

We had gotten very serious. I couldn't imagine what he could tell me that would make me change my mind, but I was suddenly very nervous.

"Vicky, I want to get this right, so please just listen. I'm very afraid of hurting you and I don't want to. Remember talking about the nightgown you wore the day we met?"

I nodded, but didn't say anything.

"I let you keep a very wrong impression, knowing it would hurt you, because I didn't want you to know that nightgown belonged to me, not a woman who I had taken into my bed. Until you put it on it had never been worn by a woman. I had to go out and buy some men's pajamas when you came to stay with us because I didn't own any. I don't own any men's underwear and the only reason I wear socks is because they show between my shoes and my pants. I'm a crossdresser, Vicky; I love to wear women's clothes despite how foolish I look. It's a thing I can control but I can't stop, it's part of me and I hope I haven't just destroyed what we were starting to find together, but you have to know."

I think my jaw dropped, but there was so much going on in my mind when he finished speaking I really don't remember too clearly. Uppermost was "His nightgown!" I got so pissed off at him and it was HIS nightgown? He wasn't like Larry, kicking women out of his life half dressed to hide them from me.

For the second time that day things magically fell into place. In a revelation as blinding as that first kiss I realized who Rachel had to be, why there were earrings in both of Richard's ears, why Sherry practically doubled over with laughter the first time she saw me in Rachel's — no, Richard's — nightgown. I knew why there were pictures missing here and there around the house. (Holes in the dust!) I knew why Richard had stiffened when I played with the lump under his sweatshirt. I knew what the lump had to be. Most of all, those three-way intimate looks between my housemates that left me out made perfect sense now.

I must have been thinking longer than I realized, for Richard took both my arms into his hands and spoke urgently.

"This is just like what Mike was talking about. I need to wear women's clothes as badly as Mike needs to keep moving. It's part of my soul, Vicky. Could you stand to see me wearing a dress? Can you love me knowing I'm a bit nuts?"

"Rachel, you should try depression sometime and then tell me if you wearing women's clothes is all that bad." I paused. "That's really what you've been hiding from me all this time?"

Now it was his turn to look bewildered. "Not exactly hiding…" he trailed off.

"Yeah hiding! The three of you have been hiding something since I moved in. Just 'cause I was an old broad who was so fucked up I almost killed myself, you didn't want to tell me you were a little kinky? Christ! I told you what Larry was into, didn't I?"

"Vicky, the only thing I could ever do is cherish you, never humiliate you. You will always be free to make your own decisions, I will never force you to do something you dislike just to please me. We may not always agree, there may be times we do things separately, but when we are together what we do will be by mutual consent and love. You have to know about Rachel, but if you are not comfortable with her you won't have to see her. I'll do my best not to force my crossdressing on you if you're not ready."

"I've been waiting a long time to meet Rachel, and I firmly intend to make her acquaintance."

I was suddenly overwhelmed in his embrace. The warmth was wonderful in the cool evening air and I put my arms around his great body as far as I could. Our lips met passionately. His fingers kneaded my back as I gently stroked his, oblivious to being prominently on display in a public place.

It simply didn't matter. After a long and delicious time I realized just what my fingers had been tracing under his sweatshirt. I insinuated one of my hands under the loose fabric and made my way slowly up his back until I felt the clasp on the bra he was wearing. My conversation with Sherry came flooding back to me and I started to giggle.

"I told you I was a crossdresser, so what's so funny about me wearing a bra, love."

"Sherry told me the other day I had to get a Page Boy cut before I stuck my finger in a Dyke. Does that count with you?"

---

Sherry…

I looked up from my book when Vicky came in to our bedroom.

"My, my, sister dear. You look like the cat who ate the canary. I'm surprised you cleaned up the feathers so well."

She stepped out of her skirt and flung her blouse onto a pile in the corner of the bedroom as she spoke. "I want you to know, dear little sister, that you will now have your bed to yourself." There went her bra and panties. She wiggled into the nightgown she had arrived in, then bent down to kiss my cheek.

"I still love you, but I'm moving in with Rachel." She announced. "As Mr. Twain once said, 'Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do.' "

She was gone in a swirl of her nightgown' hem before I could say anything.

---

Richard…

There was a quiet knock at my door.

"Come on in, I'm decent."

"You may be the most decent man I've ever met, Richard." Vicky spoke quietly. I've come to return your nightgown."

She skinned it over her head and it landed on the bedcovers.

"Slide over, darling. Sherry tells me I'm a bed hog. You can give me your opinion in the morning.