I was nervous when I walked into the church that morning. My dress was smart, hat on neat, makeup correct. But it still felt like a dream.   Samantha's Story part 1 By Maid Joy

---

 
This is a story unlike any other I've done. Just one of those items that had to get out. Maybe we T-girls can't have babies of our bodies, but we can give birth to stories. Anyhow, here it is.
 
Easter Sunday
 

I was nervous when I walked into the church that morning. My dress was smart, hat on neat, makeup correct. But it still felt like a dream.

Every year for the last 20 I had waited for this day. From my earliest memories I always wanted to be one of those ladies who got to show off on this day of all days. Easter Sunday was for hearing about how Jesus was resurrected and the miracle, but it was also for preening.

Oh, I know that pride is a sin, even more envy, but that didn't seem to matter on this one day. On THIS day you could strut into the Sanctuary in a new dress, a new matching hat, pretty purse and everyone would look at you. Everyone would see how beautiful you were. The only thing that could come even close was a wedding.

I had envied my sisters and mother when they went shopping three weeks before Easter to pick a nice white or yellow dress, spring colors, bright colors. They would spend a day for each of them shopping for just the right outfit. Then came the shoes to match, the new underwear, the tights, the gloves and purses.

This ritual made this day a special day in my mind. Just when the mind and soul should be focused on things not of this Earth, the ritual of shopping made it so that you did nothing but focus on that day.

I remember when I asked my mother where my new dress was. She was frazzled and distracted and took me over to get a new suit. But a new suit on Easter wasn't nearly the same. There are only so many ways you can cut a suit and none of them look nice when you get down to it, not like a pretty dress.

When I asked for a dress, not a suit, she finally focused on me and said "Hon, you are a boy, not a girl. You wear suits and ties, not dresses. Don't be silly now, here's a lovely striped tie to go with that outfit."

I remember how much I wanted to take that tie and use it to make myself a girl.

I can't count the times that I contemplated self mutilation to correct the defect. Apparently some of my troubles got through the careful mask of indifference I had created, because my mother freaked once when I was removing a long hair from around my male parts and told her that it was there. I swear that she thought I was trying to cut things off.

But today, today I was here in the Church. No one knew me. I had never attended here before. I was only in this area because of the college I was attending nearby. But I could be beautiful on this day.

I prayed silently that I wouldn't be spotted and known for a transvestite. I had seen all the stories and all the rumors of what happened to those of us who were different.

And I was different.

Contrary to all the tales available, I had no secret stash of clothes stolen from my mother or my sisters. I didn't know how to walk in high heels. I didn't have makeup practice. This was the first time I had ever really done this.

Oh, I had pulled on a swimsuit sometimes when everyone was gone. I had lingered in the girls department pretending to be bored with the shopping those of the distaff side were doing, but I was really devouring it all. This might be my last chance to learn this stuff.

I watched my sisters. I watched my girlfriends. I had bought some of those kits from the makeup counters for my female friends, but I kept the "instructional video" and played them till they were worn out. But I was always too scared to keep anything in my own room.

At the hair salon, I never went to a barber shop, I would read the fashion magazines while waiting. They might be years out of date, but it was more current than a lot of stuff I knew. So I learned about fashion, how to put outfits together, how to apply the makeup correctly, hair styles and on, but I had no personal knowledge.

A month ago I bought some things to hide in my room off-campus. But I lost my girlfriend over it. She found it in one of her cleaning fits (she was wonderful like that) and confronted me with the panties and bra. She didn't believe me when I told her they were mine. Sometimes I still smelled her perfume.

I took a deep breath. I stepped into the Sanctuary. I walked to the front pew and sat. I sat my purse down next to me and extracted the small Bible out of there so I could follow along with the sermon. I found a hymnal and kept it near me.

I folded my glove covered hands in my lap and tried to keep them from shaking. I could feel my heart going a mile a minute and my breath coming in short gasps as the adrenaline hit my system.

The hardest part was getting the underthings that fit me. I made the measurements a while ago and carefully noted them down. I had called a couple dress makers in town and given them those measurements and told them that I was buying an Easter Dress for my girlfriend and would they be so kind as to tell me what size these measurements would fit? Then I called another to get the shoe size. So on with the hat, and so on with the breast size.

Once that was done, it was time to shop.

The ladies who helped me out were so nice. They wanted the sales, as is understandable. So they showed me the required garments and helped me pick out tones and so on. I was able to ask some questions that I had for years in the back of my head, and I got answers that made sense.

It took some time, but I was able to order the breast forms online. I had all the other things already, my dress, my beautiful dress.

When I was in the Salvation Army store I knew that this was the dress for my debut. Emerald green, velvet and cut in such a way that it started off lighter green up top and darkened as it went down. Sheath-cut with a kick-pleat in the back, it was as prim as a dress for a librarian would be. Short sleeved, cut in a sweetheart neckline exposing my neck for all to see. A black choker completed the look. Black gloves coming to mid forearm made it look sophisticated without being slutty. Black two inch heels snugged on my feet and made walking a new dream. Black hose rounded it out. Anklet, bracelet, woman's watch, ring on my right hand. Clip on earrings that fell to my shoulders.

I had spent some time last night doing all the things I wanted to do but never did. I shaved everything, twice. I didn't want any hair to be showing. I even waxed my face, just to get all that annoying peach fuzz off. The more I worked, the more feminine I looked and felt. Arched eyebrows, thick lashes accented with just enough eyeliner to give me a smoky eye instead of a bruised one.

My hat. That took some doing. I must have shopped every hat store in the nearest three counties. I finally had to commission one from a nice lady who wanted to see my girlfriend's dress to make a hat to match. The jade green cartwheel hat she made could have been in Ascot on "My Fair Lady". It was the perfect accent.

I had managed to take a look around at the other peahens in the church. Some of those hats were absolute terrors, and it seemed that "taste" wasn't anything they were familiar with.

I tried really hard to ignore everyone and pay attention to the sermon.

"'For God so loved the world, as to give his only begotten Son; that whosoever believeth in him, may not perish, but may have life everlasting.' So states John 3:16 and it is the best news we humans have ever had." The preacher had a good speaking voice.

I took the flier that was given to me as I came in and used it to fan myself. Five hundred bodies in a room certainly makes it warm. I felt my hair being moved by the slight breeze.

I stood to sing, I sat to listen. I knelt to pray. I could feel eyes boring into my head.

Once the service was over I didn't know if I should bolt back to my car and run, or sit still and do nothing, or just try to melt. My inaction made my mind up for me and I sat there as the Sanctuary emptied to do the socializing in the foyer. I knew that there were several people who would want me to join them, so they could preen at me or so they could dis me to my face. And if they found out....

"Honey, are you okay?" The voice came from the other side of the choir area. I looked up and saw the Choir director looking at me. I nodded and tried to let the encounter go at that.

She came down from where she was putting up music stands. "If you don't mind me saying, you probably should go. Everyone else is gone and it might look odd if you stay here overnight. People will think that you are after my husband." She sat down. She held out her hand. "I'm Millie Porter, the Preacher's wife," she said. There was a playful spark in her eyes waiting for me to say something. So I obliged her.

"Funny, you don't look much like Whitney Houston." I shook her hand as I had seen my sisters do over and over.

That was apparently the right thing to say because her face broke into a smile that lit the room. "I guess that's better than Loretta Young, although it does date you." Her head turned sideways somewhat. "I'd guess 22, probably a student at the college. Not a cheerleader, but a kind girl. No boyfriend." She stated the last like a Physical Law.

I smiled at her accuracy. "Right on all counts. But how did you know that I wasn't a cheerleader?"

Now it was her turn to smile even more. "There's a game today and the cheerleaders are off yelling in support of the team. No Church for them. No boyfriend because you would be here with him to keep the dogs off you." She stopped for a bit. "I must say, you are brave."

I started getting very uncomfortable. "No more than anyone else I guess."

"No, I mean it. Someone as pretty as you here alone. Well...." She smiled again. "I have to go finish up. Nice to meet you." She stood somewhat abruptly and went off to finish her chore.

I stood and followed her to help. She looked a bit nervous and smiled at me again. "Honey, you don't have to do that. I can get it. If you want to go show off, I won't be offended."

My lips compressed. "No, I'm not quite ready to face that."

She nodded. "I'm going to be unbearably rude here, but do you attend school as a girl or a boy?"

---

To be continued....

I was silent with shock for a bit. Millie didn't say anything, much to her credit. "How did you know?" I asked in a quiet voice. Her lips compressed in sympathy. "A lot of little things. Your brows aren't shaped right, your hair is too short for the style you have it in, and the dress, while it is certainly beautiful, is more appropriate for an Advent service than an Easter one." She looked at me sympathetically. "I'm guessing that you've never actually done this before, just read and learned what you could on your own?"   Samantha's Story part 2 By Maid Joy

---

 
Okay, you wanted it, you got it. This is a continuation of the previous part, and I'm not sure if it will continue after this. Let me know what you think.
 
Easter Sunday part 2

 

I was silent with shock for a bit. Millie didn't say anything, much to her credit.

"How did you know?" I asked in a quiet voice.

Her lips compressed in sympathy. "A lot of little things. Your brows aren't shaped right, your hair is too short for the style you have it in, and the dress, while it is certainly beautiful, is more appropriate for an Advent service than an Easter one." She looked at me sympathetically. "I'm guessing that you've never actually done this before, just read and learned what you could on your own?"

I nodded my head. I couldn't speak. She had spotted me the first time out. My worst fear was now realized and I was about to be humiliated.

I found myself sitting on one of the chairs and crying into my hands. I couldn't seem to stop it. All my hopes and fears dashed in one day.

I felt her weight settle near me. Her arms were around me soon after that. "Honey, don't cry. I'm not going to say anything and you don't have to be embarrassed. I've seen transvestites and crossdressers before, so you are no shock to me. It's okay." She held me to her like a mother would while I cried.

It was an odd cry. I wasn't happy or sad. I felt humiliated, but also relieved. I couldn't believe that she would keep my secret, or that she wouldn't care that I was an aberrant freak.

She just rocked me and tried to get me to calm down. She didn't really say much other than the normal motherly sounds that get a hysterical child to calm down. It worked too, because I found myself relaxing and not crying as much. Finally I took some shuddering breaths and stopped.

Millie let me go and said, "There, feel better?" I nodded my head a bit. She continued, "Except now you eyes and nose hurts and you can't breathe and pretty soon you will have a headache. Come on, we'll go 'backstage' to get you cleaned up."

In a Catholic church the area she led me to would be called a "vestry". It was a series of offices, storage and changing areas for the church personnel which allowed them to do their thing without opening up the chapel all the time. There were practice rooms for the choir, changing areas for the pastor and rooms for the Sunday School people.

She led me to her husband's office and grabbed a fat wad of tissues for me. I was beyond caring about my makeup now, I just blew my nose until nothing else came out. I scrubbed at my eyes to get the tears off and then looked for a place to toss the bundle.

She took them from me and tossed them into a trash can. "Now, I think we need to start over. I'm Millie Porter. Pastor Kenneth Porter is my husband and I am also the Choir director here. I've been married to Ken since I can remember, although it's only 30 years instead of the 12 or so weeks that it feels like. We've been here for the last 8 years and I think that Ken's going to retire in this church. I've sent three children off to various schools in my time, seen my two girls married and my boy into the Marines as a Chaplain. I have four grandchildren, and another on the way, and I have more room in my heart for other children that show up. Just about everyone here calls me 'Mom' Porter, and I want you to feel free to do that as well. No obligation, no need to be baptized or anything, no pressure. Just a friend and a person to confide in and who can help you with life, if you want me in that capacity."

I had watched her while she spoke. I couldn't tell if she was lying, but everything inside my heart told me to trust her as I would any of my closest friends. I opened my mouth to respond to her, but the door suddenly opened and Paster Porter walked in.

Have you ever seen two people who were absolutely meant to be together in the same room before? Light seems to bloom out of the very air around them and you can almost see the ties of love and respect between them as if they were a physical thing.

I glanced at Millie and I saw her smile grow even brighter, if that was possible. Her eyes lit up with an inner fire that told me that they were very much in love. Incredibly when I looked back at the Pastor, I saw the exact same things in his eyes.

"Ah, here's my love. I had been looking for you, and now I have you trapped." He absently noticed me at that point. "Oh, I'm sorry. I seem to be interrupting something." He came over and held out his hand. "Pastor Porter. The luckiest man in the world, doing a job he loves with the woman that makes life Heaven on Earth." We shook hands.

"Sam Fraizer." I introduced myself.

"Sam, surely that's short for Samantha?" Pastor Porter questioned.

"Er, yes. Sorry, everyone calls me Sam."

"I think Samantha is a perfectly lovely name and it suits you more than Sam." His attention turned off me and back to his wife. "I stopped in to find out what happened to the choir loft and if you needed me to finish up." He stepped up to his wife and took her in his arms and kissed her soundly on the forehead.

"Oh, thank you Ken. I got involved with Samantha here and didn't manage to finish up. Could you do that for me?" She looked in his eyes and seemed to melt.

"Absolutely no problem Millicent. I'll get it done directly and go to the BBQ and egg hunt out back. Can't have a good old-fashioned service without food, now can we? Feed their souls and their bodies." He kissed her again.

"It was a pleasure meeting you Samantha. I hope you decide to keep coming back here." A few seconds later he was gone and the door was shut firmly behind him.

She sighed happily and turned back to me still looking a bit floaty. "A more wonderful man you may never find, but I truly hope you do hon. Now, you were about to say...?" she prompted.

"My name really is Sam Fraizer. As you guessed I am a student at the college, majoring in video production. I've never really been a joiner in anything, and as you guessed I'm not a real girl. As you also guessed, this is my first time out en femme, as it were, and I wanted to show off here. I had hoped that I could blend in and not be noticed other than as a beautiful woman in her Easter Dress."

"Well, honey, as I said before, the dress you have on is much more appropriate for a Christmas season service instead of an Easter service. What prompted you to choose that dress?"

"It was the most appropriate thing in the Salvation Army store I could find."

Millie nodded. "Ah, I see. All the Easter dresses would have been bought out already and the only things left are what was donated after Christmas season ended. So you had to make do. Thrifty of you, but I think that you might have been better served with buying a new gown directly."

"I would have but I don't have the money, truth to tell. I'm on a student's stipend that barely covers my expenses, and there are days when all I have to eat all day are 50 ¢ biscuits and $1.00 cheese on them which gives me three meals. It's one reason I'm so skinny."

That candid answer didn't seem to sit well with Millie. "Sam, if you had your absolute top choice, what would you be? I mean sex-wise."

"A girl," I said without hesitation. "I've wanted to be one as long as I can remember. That impulse to talk about it got beaten out of me when I was young, but the need never went away." I stopped talking for a little bit while I got my emotions under control. "I tried this once before. I took one of my sister's old gowns and dressed up in it and tried to go out. Mom thought it was funny at first, but as I persisted she got more and more frightened. Finally my father stepped in and that was it. I'm probably going to have a flashback tonight." I thought it would be a small price to pay for today.

She looked angry now. Even the therapist that I went to "cure" me who thought it was just over the top. He had said that while those impulses were unnatural, beating never drove a demon out, only God did that. So I was prayed over for quite some time and I pretended to be cured, just to get it to stop.

But once I was out from under their thumb, I thought it safe to indulge. Silly me.

I looked up. "I guess I will go home now and just try to forget that this ever happened. Thank you for being so nice to me. I won't forget it."

I stood, but not before Millie got one of the church business cards in my hands. "Please, Samantha, call me or Ken if you need any help. We know a lot of people around here. It would be a shame if you gave up your dreams because of today."

I nodded and put the card in my purse. I'd empty it out when I got back to the apartment.

---

To be continued...

The next few days were drab and depressing. Those few hours I spent at the church and with Millie would be treasured forever. Each time I looked in my closet and saw the dress, I felt some part of me expand just a bit.   Samantha's Story part 3 By Maid Joy

---

 

The Next Week

The next few days were drab and depressing. Those few hours I spent at the church and with Millie would be treasured forever. Each time I looked in my closet and saw the dress, I felt some part of me expand just a bit.

From looking at the dress, it was a short step to pulling it out and putting it on again. I couldn't go to class in the dress, but at least I could study and do homework in it.

I wasn't too scared of being caught by anyone I knew, I was pretty much a loner. I had acquaintances in class, people I sometimes had lunch with, but no real friends no one I wanted to hang out with. I was part of no clubs, no groups, no sports boosters or fraternities. I didn't really want to do anything social. I had been told by my therapists that I was "self contained".

But that time at the church, it touched something in me. There was a loneliness that I hadn't realized existed in me. I found I wanted a social network now. I didn't understand why but I felt like I belonged to something there.

I had never been deeply religious. What kind of a real true God would mess up and put me in this body that felt so alien and then allow all that had happened when I tried to simply be myself? I couldn't ask that kind of God for anything, and I sure didn't believe that a God of that nature could save me.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't bitter about it, I was simply neutral about it. I felt that there was an intelligence out there, be it God, Jesus, G_d, YHVH, what ever you want to call it, but I didn't believe that it cared squit about me personally, nor did I feel that it could do anything much to help me directly.

So it was always up to me to make my life better or worse.

I grabbed my wallet and used my computer to see how much I had in the bank. Okay, I just got my "paycheck" from mom. I have a grand total of $200 for the next two weeks. Using my meal plan, I could eat at the cafeteria once a day, I could get by on just that for a meal, so that saves that money. Rent is paid. Water bill... how much was that? Forty bucks. Okay, I can do this, if I'm cheap.

I decided that I would go back to church Sunday, if only to see Millie again. But first I would need a wardrobe.

I spent my time in the Salvation Army store. Jeans for 50 cents, full outfits for $1.50 or less made sure I'd really get my moneys worth. I had budgeted $40 for this splurge, but every cent I could hang on to would be a bonus.

Dresses first. I saw that the Easter Dresses had come in now that the big day was over, and I mentally smacked myself for not realizing that the fabric was a problem when I bought my first dress. I felt really self conscious looking around in the store and the female section.

If this was a story, I'd look up and see Millie in here to help me shop. I did look around, but I didn't spot spot her. I sighed and carried on.

I kept looking around and found a few dresses, light and airy things, pastel colors and very nicely cut. One was like a sundress, but it had more decoration. I saw it would need a slip if I didn't want to be embarrassed. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it. Thankfully it was one of those that used a belt to size it, so I would fit it easily, once I cinched the belt on.

The other dress I bought was an A-line shift dress with a handkerchief hem. It was a beautiful shade of Periwinkle, and it looked as though it were made out of a cloud. The hemline was low enough that I felt it was modest, even though there were no sleeves. I knew that it would feel wonderful once I had it on.

The price was right too, these two dresses cost only $5 with the accessories I would need, belts, purses and shoes. Not a terrible deal.

I looked around and bought a couple scarves, some blouses and two pairs of jeans and a pair of shorts. I figured if I would be doing my homework in "drag", I needed something more than Sunday dresses.

I went to the underwear area and looked at what they had to offer. I got four pair of socks, a couple pairs of panties and three bras. I hated buying used underwear, but I couldn't afford much choice.

For what I got, I thought the money I budgeted was right on. I wanted to save at least half of it to get some makeup, but I realized that I only needed a few things in that area.

I was a bit embarrassed and nervous as I went to to pay for it all. The person behind the register didn't bat an eyelash, just greeted me and asked me to give my best to my sister when I gave her the stuff. I promised I would and took my new wardrobe home.

As soon as I got there I stripped off the clothes I had to wear and like any girl with new clothes, tried everything on. I realized I would have to get a full length mirror soon. Right now I was just happy that my guesses and mental conversions of men's clothes to dress sizes were accurate enough that I could wear everything without looking ridiculous. I admit that I sighed deeply when it was all hung up in my closet and out of view.

I went back out to the local Claire's in the mall. I tried very hard to act like a typical male and just walk in and buy what I was after, but I couldn't help looking at the various jewelry and bangles, finally winding up buying a whole bunch of cheap thin metal bangles that were 12 for a dollar. I picked out a pair of piercing studs, and a bottle of sanitizer. The clerk asked me to wait for a few. I couldn't understand why until she gestured to a bar stool. "If you'll just sit down I can get started piercing you ears."

I was stunned. The blank look on my face must have tipped her off because she grinned and and recited, "At Claire's we value you as a customer, and offer free piercing when you buy a pair of earrings from us." She smiled again this time it was genuine. That I was a guy didn't bother her a bit, apparently so many guys had so many piercings my two little holes were unusual only because it was just two.

I got home again and reflected on the irony of having a very good time while shopping, just like a typical girl.

I had gone out a couple more times to get things like hose and ankle socks. I wanted to find a decent pair of female athletic shoes, but since they were about $50 for the most inexpensive pair I wanted, It would go on the list of soon but not now until I could save up more money.

Every day when I got home from class and I changed into a set of girl clothes. Panties, bra, blouse, jeans, low socks and my shoes, some light makeup and I felt ready to watch TV or do my work or whatever. I never forgot to turn the earrings and clean them twice a day. I worked hard on making my hair look nice, and I shaved every other day.

I noticed that when I shaved my face, the moisturizer and skin care routine really freaking hurt. The best I could do was to shave before bed and then to do my skincare routine in the morning.

Saturday morning I shaved my legs every where twice and ironed my dress so it would be ready to go. I nervously check the panties, bra and stockings to make sure they were clean and ready. I thought about ironing the panties and parts of the bra, but I realized I needed to polish my heels of choice. I found the day had gone pretty much into getting ready for Sunday. I wanted to just be able to bathe get dressed and get out to the Church tomorrow.

I called Millie. She and I spent a few moments and I let her know that I was going to church tomorrow. We made arrangements to meet a couple hours before church so I would already be there when everyone else arrived. I promised to help her get everything ready for the service.

I had started studying more and I understood now why my eyebrows were misshapen. Apparently I had them peaking over my pupil instead on the outside of the iris like I should have. I carefully began to reshaped my brows. When they looked decent, I practised adding pencil to fill in the gaps. A quick trip to the Library to get some books I needed, and then home to dress up and be comfortable.

Morning came and I made myself ready. Shower, shaving the little bits of hair that's left on my body, drying and doing the whole moisturizing skincare thing. I loved the way I smelled.

I pulled on my panties and my bra. I grabbed the inserts I bought so long ago and inserted them carefully in my bra. I pulled on a pair of hose and made sure they were on correctly, no sense letting them bind up.

Finally I got out my new periwinkle dress. I pulled it on and zipped it up and put a white belt on over top. Feeling the hem of the dress around my legs was such a wonderful feeling. I did my hair up as best as I could, and it looked nice enough. I moved into the bathroom and tucked some tissues in around the neck of my dress.

Makeup was next, starting with the foundation. Then all the rest of the makeup was done in a few minutes. Looking in the mirror I really did look much better.

I carefully pulled out the piercing studs in my ears, even though I wasn't supposed to for at least another week. I got the dangly earrings I wore last week and cleaned them then slid them into the now empty holes. I had used one of the "turn pierced earrings into clip on" things I found in a five and dime, which was cool, but it really didn't look good.

I checked my appearance in the mirror again. I needed a necklace and some jewelry.

I dug into the bag of jewelry I had and selected some of the bangles I got. I clipped an anklet around my left ankle and then put a ring on my right hand again. I slid "Sam's" watch into the purse I was going to take and finally removed the pendant from the necklace I normally wore. Now it was just a plain silver chain. When it was on, it looked marvelous.

Shoes on and then grabbing my purse, I made my way out of the apartment and to my car to go to church.

When I got there, the parking lot was mostly empty. There were a couple scattered cars around for those whose duties mandated that they show up early. I found an open door and made my way to the vestry again looking for Millie.

When I found her in her husband's office she let out a little squeak.

"Samantha! You look absolutely wonderful dear!" She and I hugged and she kissed me on the cheek. None of that air kissing that I despised when I saw it, but a real peck showing me just how glad she was to see me.

I kissed and hugged her right back. "Millie, it's wonderful to see you again. What can I do to help?"

"Please, Samantha, call me Mom Porter like everyone else does. Or just Mom. About the only person that calls me Milly is my husband."

"Yes ma'am." I said solemnly. I found a place for my purse and then we both started setting up things for the day.

I enjoyed the chores, setting out hymnals, printing up the program for the day, opening and unlocking things so that people could get in, answering phones and setting out the offering envelopes on the table.

It was odd, but while I was there, I had absolutely no self consciousness. I wasn't scared, I wasn't really conscious of being out of place. I was just me, clothed elegantly (if on a budget) and I smelled nice. I liked being here dressed like the girl I wanted to be.

Millie must have seen something in my attitude because when I saw her she had a smile on her face as she looked at me. At least I think it was because of me, but I guess her husband could have seen her again.

Finally it was time for the service to start and Millie handed me a stack of programs to give to the kids who normally gave them out. I found the girl quickly enough and handed her the half she was supposed to get, but when the boy showed up he had a broken arm. He and his parents were very apologetic and the boy was embarrassed for having let the church down, but I told him that it was okay and that I would take care of it.

Little Sally and I stood in the doorway to the Sanctuary and handed the programs out to those who came in. Just that simple action had me remembering things from when I was young and when I felt safe in the Church.

When the last program was handed out I moved quickly back to get my purse. As I went back to the Sanctuary I noticed a little boy in the playroom without anyone. I pushed open the door and went in to find him quietly playing on his own in the room.

"Honey? Why aren't you with your Mommy?" I asked.

"She sends me in here to play because I'm too loud. It's okay, I do this all the time."

I believed him, but it still made me a bit concerned that a child would be left alone. "How about I sit in here with you and listen to the service? Would you mind the company?"

He indicated that he wouldn't so I found a chair just as the service started over the loudspeakers. Pastor Porter was a good speaker and it was apparent in the timing and timbre of his voice as he delivered today's sermon on "rendering unto Caesar what was Caesar's and unto the Lord what was the Lord's". He pointed out that just because we were saved in the Kingdom of Heaven that didn't mean we were saved from Jail. "Jesus died for your sins, but he won't do your time," was pointed out once.

Meanwhile Billy played with the cars and the blocks, fairly quietly, just very energetically. He didn't yell or jump around, but he didn't sit still too much. Over the course of the sermon, other mothers came in and out with their babies or their small children to keep them from disrupting the service. We would nod in greeting to each other and I would just rock and enjoy the sermon. Occasionally I had to remind Billy to put things back where he found them.

It was almost a shock to hear the closing prayer and to know that this outing was over. I was sad that I would be home soon.

Millie found me in the chaos of the departing church members. "Samantha, I didn't see you once the service started. Where did you go?"

"It's okay, I was back in the playroom where the nursing mothers go watching a little boy named Billy who was playing in there. He didn't have an adult with him so I thought I would keep him company."

"Oh, that's so sweet of you honey. Billy is a little dear and his mother has four other littles to keep track of. He tends to instigate things with his sisters so we gave him and his family permission to let Billy play while the service was going on to keep him from being really disruptive. He entertains himself in there and everyone is happy."

I nodded. "Well, I didn't want anything to happen to him or for someone to take him, so I stayed to keep an eye on him. It was no big deal."

She grinned at me. "You have a true mother's heart. You'll make a good one someday."

I must have hesitated a bit while cleaning up. Soon I felt Millie hugging me again. "Dear, I didn't mean it like that. Anyone who loves children and who is patient with them will make a good parent. I have no doubt you will too.

"Oh, that reminds me, I need your help Wednesday night if you can. We are having a clothing drive for the less fortunate that night, and anyone who has extra stuff is encouraged to bring it. It's not for sale, it's for give out when there is a problem like a fire or flood or something. Wednesday there's a lot of people who will be bringing things to us and I need some help in the taking it in and sorting. Do you think you could help us that night? Free food for the volunteers."

I thought about it. I had class that morning, but I didn't think I would have much homework. I said I would be there by 7 PM to help out. She smiled at me like a mother whose was pleased her girl gave the right answer.

I stuck around several more hours and helped clean and put things up. It wasn't really any big deal and I didn't feel tired or anything, it was just part the normal maintenance that needs to be done to keep a large church running. Every time I saw Millie or Pastor Porter they smiled at me, and I had a chance to make the acquaintance of many more members of the Church.

It was beginning to feel like home to me.
 

---

To be continued....

All day I had been looking forward to the clothing drive. It was another one of those times when you anticipate something so long that just thinking about it makes your heart beat faster.   Samantha's Story part 4 By Maid Joy

---

 
All day I had been looking forward to the clothing drive. It was another one of those times when you anticipate something so long that just thinking about it makes your heart beat faster.

Once again I wanted things to be perfect, so when I got home I did my best to look good. I found a skirt that some co-ed had tossed into the trash. I felt like the lowest of the low, pulling used clothing out of the dumpster, but you have to make do when you don’t have a lot.

It was a short jean skirt, designed to be worn over a pair of leggings. I could see why it had been tossed; a pen had broken and red ink had splattered all over a faded denim skirt. I took some creative license and broke open a black pen and scattered that ink over the skirt too. Then I took a cotton swab and bleach and used it to fade other areas to white. In the end I had something like a tie-dyed skirt.

I thought one of my tank tops and a pair of thin tights would look wonderful to complete the outfit, so I prepared carefully. All my toiletries done, I put my hair in a short ponytail, finished my makeup and powder on so that I looked and smelled nice.

I looked forward to tonight since I would get to see Millie again; but I have to admit, free food for doing a bit of work was a big part of the incentive. I guess the stereotype of a starving student was alive and well with me as the exemplar.

Focusing on English Literature from the 15th century was kind of hard to do, but I managed. I had a paper to turn in, and if I wanted to keep getting the ‘paychecks’ from the folks, I had to pass my classes.

I found it fascinating that in Shakespeare’s time it was accepted for a man to play female parts. I had no clue why that was common then, but apparently women didn’t go into being actresses. So they had to use the men who were already in the troop to play any female roles. I could only imagine what Juliet looked like kissing Romeo on the balcony.

I drifted a few minutes thinking of that, kissing Leonardo DeCaprio in the balcony scene in Romeo + Juliet. Oh, I bet his lips were soft. He was cute enough to set any girl’s heart on fire.

Then I remembered that I wasn’t a girl.

Studying made the time pass, so I was startled when my alarm went off reminding me it was time to go. I had about 8 minutes to make myself look presentable and a half an hour to walk over to the church before I was supposed to be there.

I had decided to go as I was dressed, the skirt and a T-shirt, some short heels and short socks. I wasn’t dressing up to go out and tease, I was going to work.

But I was still going as a girl, which was fantastic as far as I was concerned.

I had underestimated the time and it took me a bit longer to get there. I walked into the recreation room of the church at 7:15 instead of 7 as I had planned. Everyone was already there and working hard. I pitched in where it looked like they needed help.

Eventually, I wound up on the sorting line. There were four other ladies besides me sorting them first into Male and Female, and then by type (pants, shirt, skirt, jacket and so on) then by size. Somehow I wound up sorting the size 8 women’s clothes, just what I was wearing.

Tina, one of the other girls laughed when she saw me checking out some of the clothes to see if it would fit me. “Don’t worry about it Sam, we all do it. I think it’s in the genes.” I blushed any way but I nodded and smiled.

“More like in the jeans,” Tom stated. He was over sorting into male/female fashions. “I swear you girls come here just to see what was fashionable last year, you spend so much time looking at the clothes.”

Susan, one of the plus-sized ladies, said “Of course, how will we know what to bring back INTO fashion next year, if we don’t know what was fashionable from a couple years ago?”

All the girls and some of the guys chuckled at that; I just tried to hide my embarrassment. Tina leaned over and whispered to me, “Really, don’t worry about looking for size and how it would look on you. Experimentation is part of the whole thing. I know I’ve gotten an outfit or two from here in the past. Mom Porter doesn’t mind if you take an outfit or two, so long as there is more to give out than you take. Just let her know when you get done what you are taking, and she’ll just give you a kiss and let you take it.”

I smiled and thanked her and proceeded to sort the clothing even more. Folding the shirts and skirts, hanging dresses and underthings for others, that’s what was important right now.

I kept seeing ladies and some men coming in with bags of clothing. I thought it was odd when one man brought in a rack of clothes, all with “JC Penny’s” on the clothing covers and bags.

Tina nudged me. “This is the one that makes this work worth it. That rack has a lot of outfits from JC Penny that they can’t sell and that the warehouse doesn’t want back, so instead of throwing them out, they donate them here. There are a couple other stores from the mall that do it too.”

I noticed that no one else was anxious to get to the racks of clothes, so I ignored them as well. The guy took the extra clothes back to the store room and hung them up on the poles, since they were all hung and folded, sorted and ready to go. He then took his rolling clothes rack and left.

The night passed with work and gossip. I got to know a couple of the people around me pretty well. Susan had a gaggle of children and she was very proud of them and what they did. She spent the night bragging on their grades and how smart they were. Tina was a student at the college I was going to, and she had started pledging to Beta Sigma Phi because they had the BEST parties. Tom was in a jazz ensemble which played regular gigs on the weekends at a nearby jazz club. From the expression on his face as he talked, I could tell he had a passion for music.

“So what instrument do you play Tom?” I asked shyly.

He seemed to perk up at that. “Bass Guitar. Someone has to keep everyone on time. Part of the rhythm section, and with only four of us, that’s easy enough. Mostly we play because we like to, not for the money. The Back Alley lets us come in and play as much as we want, lets us keep any of the tips we earn and doesn’t hassle us much. They’re good people.”

Tina said “Sam and I should come out sometime and listen to you guys sometime.”

“Great! That would be fantastic. We play from 7 PM to 12 AM Thursday, 6 to 2 Friday and Saturday. We generally practice in there at least one night like Monday or Tuesday. Wednesdays I’m here and Sunday I stay at home. Just drop in, you don’t need tickets or anything, just come by and listen for an hour or two.”

Tina got really enthused and I could see that she was attracted to him. I smiled while I moved clothes around and made sure that things were neat. I listened to the chatter around me with only half my attention. I wanted to make sure that none of the clothes I took in and folded would get ruined by storage.

At 9 when the pot luck dinner was ready, I stopped long enough to go get a hot meal. There was a lot of food and I dug in like any other starving student and chowed down. I couldn’t tell you honestly what I ate, but I know there was a meat casserole of some kind, a salad and some field vegetables. There was a stew, I didn’t think it was cold enough for a stew, but the yeast rolls, oh, those melted in my mouth.

Finally, we all pitched in to clean the dishes take the trash out, clean up and leave. Millie was everywhere it seemed, encouraging and talking, showing people what to do, where to put things and just generally being the vibrating rock that everyone circled around.

I tried hard not to bother her, but inevitably she came over and gave me a hug and a kiss to welcome me and thank me for coming tonight. I tried to downplay my participation, but she insisted on attributing a lot of help to my presence.

I stayed as long as I could, and I looked through the storage rooms and the clothes the stores brought in. I did wind up with two more outfits, a silk skirt and blouse set in pale lavender that made my heart sing and my body lust to put it on. I wound up with another set of pants and two more blouses, to round out my wardrobe.

Toward the end of the night there was the inevitable time where everyone was running around confused. I used that time to pack up, let Millie know what I had and to take a final look around.

I found that I desperately needed to use the bathroom, so I headed off down one corridor to go. My business done, I made my way back to the recreation room.

Unfortunately I made a wrong turn and I found myself in the chapel.

I don’t know what happened next. I found myself moving to the front of the chapel, to where the altar was. There were the normal trappings, the Bible, the crucifix above at the end of the chapel, candles and incense. But a feeling of peace came over me.

Oh, don’t make that face, it’s what I felt. I read those stories too, where the hero or heroine winds up in a holy place and a profound sense of peace comes on them and they have visions and so on and all that magical and religious crap. I didn’t believe it either.

But I did feel peaceful, quiet, buoyant and calm all at the same time. It’s very hard to describe, but I know that I hadn’t felt like this in years. I felt like there was part of me which felt a homecoming, or a part that recognized myself and welcomed me. I felt naked and revealed at the same time I felt this joy that surpassed everything. I was dizzy.

I opened my eyes and saw that I was kneeling at the altar. I felt my tears splash on my hand and I wondered why I was crying.

It felt so right for me to be there, I didn’t know where else I could belong.

“God, You and I don’t talk much. I never really believed in You. But, please, if You do exist, please hear me.

“I’ve been a good person. I’ve helped others; I’ve done the least I could to harm. I want to be happy. The only time I’ve been happy is when I’ve been here. My parents could care less about what I truly need and I need something. I don’t know what.

“I’ll admit that I don’t want to worship You. You haven’t done much for me in the past. So while I acknowledge You, I’m not losing my mind and turning into a fervent convert.

“I’ll keep coming here, and maybe You and I can get to be friends. I don’t know yet since You ignored me when I begged for a better life. That’s why You and I stopped talking. But here, right now, I feel loved. Maybe that’s You. If it is, Thank You very much.

“Amen.”

I knelt there for a little while. I smelled old incense and I basked for a little while. I was here and I knew that while I was here things would be okay. I wasn’t being judged for anything except how good a me I could be.

It was a few minutes later that I heard the doors open. “Oh, Samantha, you’re in here. Good thing I didn’t lock up yet.” I stood up and saw Millie near the door. She was smiling at me and looked somewhat concerned. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Yes, Mom Porter, just spending a few minutes by myself.”

She nodded sagely. “It’s good to bask in the Lord’s regard for a while. But now it’s time to lock up. Come and grab your things and we can get going.”

She led me back to the recreation room, which apparently was across the hall. I moved to gather up my things and take my leave when she stopped me.

“Samantha, Sam. I know you don’t have very many girl’s clothes and going by the general state of wear on the clothes you DO have, I want you to come with me and we’re going to pick out a better wardrobe for you. Come on.”

She led me back to the store room again and we started going through the clothes that I would fit. She started pulling down skirts, pants, blouses, shirts, jackets, purses, shoes, belts and dresses that she thought would fit and started shoving them at me. She would hold something up to me, checking that it fit in the waist or through the chest, checking the color against my skin, then she either put it back or she put it in a growing pile of things for me.

Dresses, oh, she got some of the new dresses from the store donations. Beautiful diaphanous things that were nylon or silk or rayon, textures that I had never felt before on my skin. It was all heaven to hold and touch the sensuous slips and underthings, sheer blouses that were lined so I didn’t embarrass myself.

Before too long she had picked out twenty complete outfits, not just for Sundays, but every day as well. She really went like a dose of Salts through the jeans and t-shirts, the shorts and short skirts mixing and matching to get the most out of less. I didn’t know how I was going to get it all home.

“Millie, I walked here tonight, how am I going to get this home?”

“Don’t worry hon; I’ll take you home with the church van. Now, how does this belt strike you? I think it would go with the box pleated skirt over there.”

And so it went.

Finally, an hour later, I had a full wardrobe of clothes. I wouldn’t have to go out and try to buy something for some time given what Millie had given to me.

“Mom Porter, why did you do all this? Don’t others need these?”

“Sam, the clothes are for anyone who needs them. I had a feeling you need them more than most. I saw you eating, and I’d bet that you have been going on fewer meals a day than you should have. So you need to almost gorge yourself when you do eat to make up for not eating the rest of the time.”

My burning face must have told her that she was right. She put her hand on my arm. “Samantha, I’m not going to say anything to anyone. What you do is entirely up to you, and I’m not going to embarrass you either with your chosen gender preference or the state of your wallet. Your secrets are safe.

“I have adopted you because I think you need a friend and someone who can be there for you. Think of me as your Aunt or your Grandma if that makes you feel better. And ‘kin do for each other.”

Her statement shook me to the core. I don’t know why someone would be this kind to me, but here she was. My eyes started tearing up, and she turned away and started packing me up. A few moments later, I had my emotions under control and I was able to help her.

 

---

To be continued...

I don’t know how many people come home with a brand new wardrobe after only a few hours of being out, but I ran into a problem that was new for me. I ran out of space in my single tiny closet.   Samantha's Story part 5 By Maid Joy

---

 

I don’t know how many people come home with a brand new wardrobe after only a few hours of being out, but I ran into a problem that was new for me. I ran out of space in my single tiny closet.

I now had two full wardrobes to deal with, my Sam self’s clothes and now Samantha’s wardrobe. Integrating them was going to be interesting. I still didn’t know if I wanted to attend school as Sam or Samantha, and that was a question that needed to be answered soon.

I started by pulling out all the clothes in the closet. I had about 15 outfits of various types thanks to Mom Porter’s generosity. I had everything a girl could want, from suits to comfortable skirts, to hot pants and tank tops. She had taught me, while selecting clothes, how to mix and match the different tops and bottoms to make different outfits.

She was also thoughtful enough to provide the lingerie I would need. Slips and camisoles, a couple bras and some panties too (new in the package) were handed to me at the same time that I was getting the outerwear. The only thing we couldn’t find were shoes in the right size.

I pulled everything out of my closet and spread it on the bed. I had one Sam suit complete with shirt, tie and belt that I wore if needed. Ten pairs of jeans and a dozen t-shirts along with underwear and socks were all Sam needed for college once coats for winter were added. I never realized before how colorless and boring it was.

However, the rainbow of colors Mom Porter and the kind strangers had gifted me with were eye opening. I had two pairs of jeans, three skirts (two long and one mini), two pairs of shorts and three pairs of slacks. There were three dresses (not including what I already had) and three sets of skirt and blouses. She blessed me with five tops, three tanks, and four things she called “shells”. It seemed to be a combination pullover top and t-shirt, just made a lot nicer.

I did notice that a couple of my student t-shirts would go with these outfits. That was good since it would allow me to expand my wardrobe even more.

I spent some time trying on various outfits, making mental notes for what would be nice together and what felt right. I couldn’t really see much in the bathroom mirror, and I resolved again to get a full size mirror if I could.

Finally, I was done. I had three outfits that I felt I could wear at a moment’s notice, and I put them in the front of my closet. The T’s and tanks I put in my drawer, along with the under clothes. The dresses I lovingly put up in the closet, arranged by color, and then the blouses, shells and long skirts. I neatly folded the minis and put them in the drawers too.

I was left with about 3 Sam-self outfits that I didn’t want to get rid of, but that I also didn’t want to wear much longer. I couldn’t figure out whether to put them in the closet or into the trash bin.

Sam, don’t waste. Put them in the closet and wear them as you can. If nothing else you can wear them to clean in. I mentally nodded to myself and put the rest of the clothes away.

That left me with my suit. I folded it and put it in the suitcase that I used when I arrived at school. It would be fine, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to pull it out again.

So many things were happening so fast I wasn’t really sure what I should do with my life next. Once again I was confronted with the decision, go to class as Samantha or Sam. I knew I would have to make a choice and soon.

I spent the rest of Thursday night doing the homework I had been putting off. I fought through it and got it out of the way.

Checking my planner I saw a project coming up for my video production course. While it wasn’t due for several weeks, I would still need to start laying out the shots along side the music for the first rough cut.

I grabbed my things and took off for a long night at the studio.

I was almost at the studio door when I glanced in a large store window and realized that Samantha was looking back at me, not Sam. In my impulsive haste, it hadn’t occurred to me to look down and then change from she Sam to he Sam and wash my face.

I don’t know what imp of the perverse kept me going toward the studio, but I did. I was definitely excited and hoping that since it was nighttime very few people would see me or care what I was wearing.

When I got to the production studio, I saw a couple classmates in there. They were getting some preproduction and filming for their projects done. I slipped into the editing studio and closed the door.

I got my tape out and started putting it all together. It took focus and concentration to pull the scenes I wanted and to splice them into the beauty in my mind. I made notes on my clipboard about those scenes I had to reshoot or scenes that were missing, but I had a pretty good rough-cut when I finished.

I ran it back through and was pleased with my work. That’s when I heard someone say “That looks pretty okay for a rough cut, Sam.”

I turned around and saw the Teacher’s Assistant standing behind me, he probably slipped in while I was concentrating and was now standing behind me having watched the play through.

I smiled shyly and said “Thank you.”

He came over and sat down in the chair next to me. He glanced at my clipboard and noted what I was thinking, and he began talking to me about the production and what I was missing. He asked questions about the stock footage I’d used, and suggested a couple re-cuts that would make the overall video better.

I have to admit that I was shaking inside. I was nervous about the right hand of the Professor being in here with me and giving me a critique, but also because I had a skirt and blouse on and couldn’t hide the fact that I was dressed as a girl. Sure it was somewhat darker in the editing room, but not that dark.

He finished going over the whole thing and never mentioned how I was dressed. He was winding down and getting ready to leave. Then he stood and said “You look very nice tonight. I never liked the grunge look on girls. Maybe you should think about dressing up more? Just a thought, no offense intended.”

He gathered his stuff and left.

I nearly fainted. Once the door was closed I did start shaking, so bad I almost wasn’t able to retrieve my tapes and box them up.

My emotions were in turmoil. I didn’t know whether to cry, shake, faint or laugh hysterically. After a few minutes, confusion won and I just packed up and left.

That night I had some very strange dreams. I mean, they were normal dreams, just the scenes were nothing like I had ever experienced before.

In them, I was a girl, fully. I had my own boobs, I wasn’t a half girl or passing as a girl I was all girl and I looked good. I found myself on a date with Tom (of all people) and we went to a fast food place that was nearby.

We laughed and talked, we held hands and at the end of the night, I kissed him.

I’m not gay, but I had one of those dreams where the horny factor goes off the scale. I found myself rubbing my hands all over my body and it felt good, very good. I woke up thinking that it was Tom touching me.

At that point I was long past confused. Apparently my subconscious was trying to tell me something. I just wasn’t ready to listen. I had given myself a bad case of freak out.

I did what was natural at that point, I pleasured myself. I realize that I probably shouldn’t have, but if something didn’t happen, I was going to be up for several more hours.

Most often I had no trouble with this, but tonight I wasn’t getting anywhere except chaffed. But when I started seeing myself as a girl, suddenly I couldn’t stop my orgasm.

I cleaned up and I didn’t know what to think.

Sunday was rapidly becoming my favorite day of the week. Normally I enjoyed Saturday, but now that I had a home, Sunday was much better.

I left the question of Sam or Samantha at class up in the air, not really thinking about it or trying to resolve it. I knew that I wanted to talk to Mom Porter about what I was feeling and dreaming; I really needed help.

I helped pass out the fliers again since the boy’s arm was going to be in a cast for at least 5 more weeks. I had arrived early, and I had my seat up near the front. There were more people who said “hello” to me and took a few moments to talk to me, which made me feel very welcome.

This time I was sitting next to a senior citizen. She had to be 90 if she was a day. Her mental faculties were clear enough, but it was apparent that she was having trouble participating in the service. Standing for the hymns and kneeling for the prayers was taking a toll on her, so I offered a helping hand. I helped her up, helped her kneel and helped her back to her seat.

I saw Pastor Porter give me a smile when he noticed my effort. It made me feel warm to my toes.

Once the service was over, I did some more socializing in the vestibule as the congregation normally did. It was a time to just chitchat and gossip, to compliment dresses and to see friends.

I saw Tom and Tina, then stopped and chatted with Susan and her children. They were the cutest little kids and I was happy to meet them. Tina reconfirmed her desire to go to the club and see Tom play. Apparently she felt it was critical that she insure my attendance for moral support or something.

I have to say that I was looking at Tom in a different light given my dreams, and I wasn’t that comfortable with him right there. He was one of many pressing unresolved issues.

Finally the mandatory socialization was over with, and the party moved out back to the Baseball games and the picnic. Apparently, like the Baptists, there was to be a celebration every Sunday with a Pot Luck dinner and sports. I couldn’t object that much since it meant a meal I didn’t have to pay for.

But first, I wanted to talk to Millie.

I found her in the chapel again, tidying up the music from the choir. She didn’t have much left to do, so I helped her with getting it back to the offices. She smiled at me and I felt well-rewarded for my efforts.

Once our hands were empty, she gave me a big hug and a peck on the cheek. I hugged her back and said “Thank you for everything. If you have a few minutes, I need to talk to you if I can.”

She led me back to the Pastor’s office again and we had a seat in the chairs. She had waylaid one of the children in passing and had them fetch some big glasses of tea and some small snacks for us.

Once we were alone again, I started in on my problems.

“Mom Porter, here it is. I feel happiest when I’m being Samantha, but that’s going to cause me all kinds of grief if I attend school as her. Not only do most of my classmates know me as male, but if my parents found out I’d be cut off totally.

“Then there are boys. I’m not gay, I’m attracted to girls, but I find myself dreaming about some boys and feeling really special when they notice me and compliment me as Samatha.

“I like being Samantha. I feel comfortable as her. But I can’t give up being Sam either. So I’m lost and getting confused. I need your help and counsel.”

She sat there for a while. I could tell she was thinking since she had a far away look in her eyes. I sat quietly and ate and drank my drink while she thought.

“Samantha,” she finally said, “I don’t pretend to understand the impulses that motivate someone to put on the clothes of the opposite sex, so I can’t tell you how to make these decisions. I can tell you, however, that if this is how you truly feel, deep down inside, then God has made you that way and it is how it is supposed to be.

“I can’t say that He made a mistake, because there’s a reason you are in a boy’s body even though you feel like a girl. But I do know that if you are feeling like this, and attracted to girls, you should do all this without guilt. It is how He wanted you to be. He has also given you the tools to make the changes you want in your life.

“It may be that at this point you have to do some serious introspection. That may be part of what you are here to do. It may be that you have some message for others. I can only tell you that none of this is wrong, evil or a sin, since God made you like this. I have never been one to believe that God makes our lives harder for his amusement or to test us, there’s tests a-plenty just living life. It is not a burden to be carried alone until you collapse, it is one to be shared by people who love you and who care about you.

“Personally I will support you no matter what you choose to do. But to my old eyes, it looks like you have already chosen, you just have to get past the guilt you feel about it.

“Finally, about your parents.” She sighed deeply. “I’m not going to tell you to cut them off or to leave them. But you are over the age of adulthood in almost every way possible. It is up to you to decide how you wish to live your life. They can influence you, they can tell you what they want, and they can put pressure on you to be who they think you should be, but ultimately you make the decisions now and you are going to be the one answering to Him about how you lived your life.”

She fell silent for a while and I was left to mull over what she had said. She was right on every count. It was up to me how to live my life. I was the one who would be living that life, after all. It was up to me to make those choices.

She spoke up again. “I can tell you this, if it were up to me, I’d tell you to do what makes you happy. Life is too short to live someone else’s life.”

That simple statement hit me like a wiffle bat between the eyes. There was this bright flash of light behind my eyes and I felt like my world had been shaken up, stirred around, turned inside out, examined and then put back. Everything was different now, and I could make decisions for myself knowing this simple truth.

My heart started filling up and soon all that emotion started pouring out my eyes. I felt reborn and made new almost. Things were different now and I could continue without my limbo.

I wasn’t crying, I was just having an overflow of emotions. I realized that I now had permission to live as I wanted to do, exactly as I wanted. I didn’t have to justify my desires and what made me happy to anyone else.

I sat there and thought about this with tears running down my face again. I had wanted a sign and I had looked for someone to say “it’s all right” and now I had it.

I dabbed at my tears with the tissues that Millie handed to me while she snacked. She let the flood happen since she was wise enough to realize that it was good for me.

Pastor Porter, who had come in unnoticed while we were talking spoke up. “If I was your parents, I’d be proud to have a daughter like you. If they cut you off, feel free to come to our family.”

That was it. I started crying in earnest now. This was the most open-handed generous offer I had ever been given. I sat and cried my heart out and tissues weren’t going to be enough.

Millie scooched her chair closer and held me while I cried. She pulled me close to her shoulder and patted me on the back and let my tears soak into her dress. I knew I was going to have to fix my face in a bit, and I didn’t care.

Then the absurdity of the whole situation hit me. Here I was worrying about my makeup while making life-changing decisions and being offered a LOT of love and understanding by people I barely knew. I started giggling and that lead to laughter and finally a total emotional release.

I managed to calm down and get myself under control again. I kissed Mom Porter on the cheek hard while hugging her and then I went and kissed the Pastor too. His face broke into that big grin all men get when a pretty girl does that.

I knew that the road ahead would be long, but at least now I had hope of happiness at the end.

Maybe God did look out for me the day I found this church.

Samantha had a routine now. She would get up in the morning, put on light makeup, do her general grooming and get dressed in her he-self's clothes for school. Sometimes she would substitute some of the girl's jeans for the boy's stuff figuring that no one would notice.   Samantha's Story Part 6 By Maid Joy

---

 
 
Samantha had a routine now. She would get up in the morning, put on light makeup, do her general grooming and get dressed in her he-self's clothes for school. Sometimes she would substitute some of the girl's jeans for the boy's stuff figuring that no one would notice.

After class she would run errands, sometimes to the grocery store, sometimes to see if there were any insane deals at the Salvation Army Store or at Goodwill. She would occasionally come back with a dress, a skirt or a blouse. It depended really what she had the money for. She wouldn't spend over $2.00 for the outfit, simply because she couldn't spare the money from her account.

She did odd jobs for various popular hangouts around town. She knew the places that students hung out at, where the "cool" places were, and she would sweep the parking lot for dinner, or pick up the property and get all the disposable cups and wrappers for a couple dollars in cash. It helped her make ends meet and gave her a bit of variety to her diet.

The managers all knew her on sight and a few made it a regular thing, $20.00 for a good pickup of the area, or a night of dishwashing for $30.00. They would let some of the chores go and have her do them for about an hour or so and she was able to get back to her studies.

Every day her route took her past a certain dress shop. It was one of the older downtown stores that catered to ladies for proms, weddings and other formal affairs and every day she would stop and look at the dresses in the window.

There were three that she fell in love with. They were all formals; one was a halter-neck gold sheath that was open to the navel, just held closed by a couple bands of cloth just over the abdomen. The way it was displayed showed that it was for a full-busted woman, one with a nearly Barbie-like wasp waist. It was not a huge stretch of the imagination to see Mae West descending a staircase in this outfit. It also went to the floor and needed heels to keep it from dragging and was slit on the left leg to the top of the thigh.

Next to it was a blue satin one. It had a mandarin collar and fake frogs on the right hand side to look like a sleeveless cheongsam. The blue of the dress was a deep rich blue; about four shades lighter than Navy, and when the sun hit it just right, the dress shimmered. It had elbow length gloves to go with it and they were displayed with the dress.

Last was an emerald green satin sheath, high-collared neck, but cut down to just below the very small of the back. The sides were open so it was possible that it wouldn't cover the breasts correctly, but apparently there was something that would make sure that the lady wearing it wasn't embarrassed. It was also slit up to the thigh, and there were three gloriously wrought frog closures to make it a bit more modest. The front went all the way up to a collar that encircled the neck, snapping in back.

Samantha thought they were three of the most beautiful dresses she had ever seen. She didn't bother going into the store to look at the prices even if they were $30, they were out of her reach. Besides she had no place to store them nor did she have anyplace to wear them.

But every day as her path took her past that store, she would stop and look at the dresses and dream about dancing at a formal with someone.

About halfway through the summer semester, she was very pleased to find that her grades had earned her a "bonus" check from her parents. It was $100 that she hadn't counted on, and that she hadn't earmarked for anything. She immediately thought of using it to buy those dresses in the window, but was still stymied as to where she would wear them.

You only live once, I can get them and if I need them, then I have them to use. No sooner thought than done. She deposited the check and resolved to replace the money as soon as she could in her bank account with some of her extra chores.

It was nearly impossible to get a paying job in town since most of the students living around campus had all jobs locked up and were working for all they were worth. It was a bit easier in the Summer time, but the High School kids from the community would flood the job market at that point and it made competition fierce. It was definitely an employer's market year round. There were too many kids, and not enough work.

She went to the dress store and was stunned to see that the dresses were no longer in the window. In their places there was some sort of creation of frills and lace, that while beautiful in its own right, just wasn't the dresses she wanted.

She opened the door to the shop and went in.

It took a few minutes to find someone, but she finally found a nice oriental looking girl. "Excuse me, but what happened to the dresses that were in the window?"

"Oh, we changed those out they were there for nearly six months and no one bought them so the manager decided to change it for something else."

Samantha nodded her head. "Do you still have them?"

The lady pointed her to the discount rack. "They had been up so long that they’re over there. The owner was worried that there might be sun damage. If we still have them, that’s where you’ll find them."

Samantha thanked the saleslady and went to the discount rack.

It took her some time, but she did find the dresses. All three of them had been hung in the "deeply discounted" section, and Sam was pleased to see that they had been marked down as well.

She pulled out the gold dress, the blue dress and the green dress and hung them where she could get at them. She inspected the dresses themselves for damage, looked for the sun fading that might have happened, and finally dug down into the dresses themselves to find the sizes. Thankfully they were in a size that would fit her. She snatched the dresses up and went to the changing room to try them on.

Fate must have been helping her since the blue and green dresses fit like they were made for her. The gold dress would require padding, lots of padding but oh it was too perfect to discard.

Long and sleek, hugging the curves of her body, displaying her legs like they were tailored to her. All the dresses were slightly stretchy so that she could move easily she looked wonderful in them, and she knew it.

After getting out of the formal wear, she redressed, and began shopping for shoes and purses to go with the outfits. It didn't take long to find the required accessories and add them to the pile. She grabbed all of her purchases and made her way to the counter.

"That will be $130.80." Samantha's lips compressed a bit knowing she didn't have that much money. "May I speak to the Manager, please?"

The girl smiled. "I'm the manager currently, what can I do for you?"

"I got a bonus check, and I don't have all the money for the total bill. Can I offer you $100 for all of it? That's the total sum of my check. If you won't take that, I'll have to put some things back." She looked pathetic and tried to portray a starving student.

The lady looked her over a bit. "I've seen you looking at those dresses every day. Give me the $100, I'll take it for all of this."

Samantha felt like squealing and hugging her, instead she helped wrap the dresses and accessories so they wouldn't be damaged. She thanked the lady and left before she could change her mind about the price.

Samantha carefully hung her prizes in her closet when she got home. She had stopped by a dry cleaner and gotten the protective bags for them and had all three dresses covered in plastic before she put them away. She had no idea what to use these dresses for, but she was sure that at one time or another, a party would let her pull them out and show off, to be a Princess for the night.

Life continued on normally. Few of her classmates said anything about her changing appearance. A couple commented that she looked nice and that she didn't look so good in the grunge she had been wearing. It seemed that her class had assumed her to be a girl all along.

She attended church regularly, and was growing very close to the Porters, spending time with them, helping around their home and the church. She had gone out with Tina and her friends occasionally, and despite having some extra equipment, she never thought about herself as her he-self, Sam.

She started looking around for female hormones she could purchase on a budget, and finally determined that without some medical advice and tests to determine what, how much, and to monitor for side effects she would be making a huge mistake.

Mom Porter never judged her, never made a disparaging remark or tried to guilt her with "what would your parents or God think?" She accepted Sam as one of her family, and family didn't do that to each other. There were times in the dark of the night that Sam fervently wished that Millie WAS her mother.

Sam's grades stayed high and she had taken to studying in the main library of the school, instead of alone in isolation in her room. As part of that, she wore skirts and blouses more often and rarely agonized over "male or female" like she had been. She had met several nice girls and a couple nice boys too while studying, and there was an impromptu unofficial study group of about ten kids now. They would request and get one of the small conference rooms so they could make noise and talk over each other, but they did actually study.

Sam's social life was taking off, much to her surprise. As a loner, she was painfully shy, but when given the opportunity to socialize with peers, she began to blossom. While she would never be the social butterfly that Tina was, she wasn't a wallflower anymore. She did stay in the background, remaining a shrinking violet in some ways, but she did make a decision to be more active and outgoing. So while she shyly would smile and blush at anything, she did talk to others and initiate conversation.

She found out that her parent's health plan allowed her to go see a counselor and therapist as often as they determined that she needed it.

She arrived in the office of her new therapist about twenty minutes early so that she could fill out the forms that would be demanded. She had on a nice jean skirt and a pretty blouse, light makeup and some short heeled shoes. She had her school bag which doubled as her purse. Once the paperwork was out of the way, she went back to studying geometry.

Soon her name was called and the butterflies decided to migrate from her stomach to her throat. There was a bit of confusion since her insurance said “Samuel Fraizer” and she was trying to go by “Samantha Fraizer”, but soon it was straightened out.

She followed the pretty nurse back to see the doctor.

The session wasn't nearly as bad as she had feared. She had seen therapists and psychologists before, so seeing another wasn't a huge deal. She knew what to expect. The initial session was "getting to know you" for both of them. She didn't reveal a lot about herself, and the therapist strove to answer all her questions. Samantha was up front as to what she was there for and why. A diagnosis of "gender dysphoria" wasn't something that she wanted on her record, but it needed to be talked about with someone who might be able to help her.

She spoke to the doctor about the questions she had in relation to who she was, and how confused she was regarding her gender and how people were responding to her. That was the most confusing, when she was out as a guy, people ignored her, walked by her as if she didn't exist. But if she was out as a girl, people went out of their way to interact with her. It was all very confusing to her.

The doctor finally prescribed some medication for her depression and advised her to think long and hard about if she wanted to be a girl permanently. He wasn't going to recommend a course of hormones until she had made that decision.

Samantha promised that she would think about it. Appointments were made and schedules exchanged. She left feeling better about this course of therapy.

Any Wednesday night you could find Sam at the Church, volunteering for whatever was going on. She would cook meals for the basketball game, help with concessions, sort clothes from donations, serve in the nursery so that parents could go to the Bible Study class without having to worry about their kids or whatever was needed.

The Porters never forgot to thank her and include her when they were doing something. Pastor Porter became like a father to Sam, just as Mom Porter was more than a mother now. She was thinking more about things that would make them smile or what would please them. The bouquet she bought the Pastor on Father's Day made him grin from ear to ear for several hours.

There were long talks with both of them about her gender confusion. She wasn't fearful that God would hate her for wanting to be a girl, but the emotional part of her still needed to be comforted. One night she was in a discussion with both the Porters and finally Mom lost her patience with Sam.

"Sam, close your eyes. Just close your eyes and relax. I know you have been going around and around with this for months, talking to us and to the counselor about it, but you need to figure something out.

"I want you to build a vision of yourself. I want you to see yourself internally, in your perfect form. I want you to look, deeply into your soul, and figure out if you are a girl or a guy. Don't look to me for answers; don't look to the Pastor for answers, or to the counselor. All we can do is lead you to the answers you need.

"It's time for you to confront the true Sam. Look at the person who inhabits your body." When Sam tried to speak, Mom Porter cut her off. "No talking. This is a time for communion with yourself. Just sit there and ignore us, look inside yourself for your answers."

As Millie spoke, Sam consciously looked deep inside herself. She tried to see herself detached from her body, to see her body sitting in the kitchen of the Porter's home and to see herself, her perfect self, outside of that body.

She looked deeply into her mind and soul and saw that she was a beautiful young woman. That she was slender with nice breasts, shapely legs and wearing a pretty dress on. Her hair was long and flowed around her as if blown by a breeze. She had a small heart shaped face and a cute, pert nose. While her looks were not going to be supermodel level, she had quite a bit of personality and emotion in her eyes, and that made her very pretty.

She stepped up to herself and shook the proffered hand gently. : Hello, you must be me.

: Yes, I am. You and I are one. I've been waiting for you to look for me for a long time.

: I’m sorry it took so long.

: It’s understandable. You were scared for us and you have had too many memories of past times that hurt you. But it's time to let go of that pain and accept who you are. You have not really ever been Samuel Fraizer; you have always been Samantha in your heart. You always knew this even while you tried to deny it. It's time to stop denying and to begin your life as yourself.

: But I'm so scared.

: Of course you are. Only a fool wouldn't be scared of the change you are contemplating, it's a life changing, life altering decision. But you have a chance now to correct a mistake that has been made for many, many. It is a mistake that you have fought against, even if you didn't know it. Tell me, do you remember any of your prayers from when you were little and still prayed to God?

: No, not really. She couldn't help remembering one prayer she had uttered several times and she felt herself flush with embarrassment.

: Ah, I see that you do remember that prayer. 'Please, God, let me wake up as a girl.' You said that every night for several years. You truly believed in Him and you tried your best to convince Him to create a miracle and let you be the girl you knew you were. And like all children, when He didn't answer you as you thought He should, you turned away. That's why you have not had a spiritual life of any kind for so long. And now you have made your way to this place. How do you feel now?

: Happy for the first time in my life. I have friends and I'm accepted. I guess being a girl really is how my life should have been.

: Wrong. It is not that you should be a girl; it is that you are accepting yourself AS a girl, and that acceptance is reflected in your spirit, your aura, your eyes and your emotions. It calls to others; it demands that they accept you as well. It reaches out to those who are lost and foundering, without a spiritual guide or an emotional rudder, and you are helping them to find their way, by accepting yourself.

: But He didn't answer my prayers, ever! she almost yelled in her grief.

: He didn't? the apparition answered quietly. What do you think this period of your life is?

Sam opened her mouth to yell back at the spirit form of herself, but stopped. She knew that God worked in His own way, in His own time. A child of 4 or 5 might not understand what they wanted, but an adult would, and would be capable of making the decisions and taking the consequences of her own actions. Maybe that is why it happened now so that she could cope without the hysteria of others around her. It was a fact that she was capable of being Samantha now without a lot of the distractions that she might have had if it happened 5 or so years ago during High School.

This realization stopped her cold. She couldn't be mad anymore, and she felt tears on her cheeks. : Why did he torture me like this for so long? she asked.

: It wasn't torture; it was you having to figure out what you wanted. You didn't know and you didn't know the steps you needed to take to become the person you are. He didn't torture you, you did. You were convinced that it was 'bad' and 'evil' and 'deviant', that no one could possibly love you if you felt like this, and He simply let you continue to feel that way, since feeling that way or not is your decision, not His.

The apparition came close and touched her. : Dear one, God doesn't hurt any of us. It is our actions or lack of them that cause suffering. You couldn't make a decision, you were told a lot of horse crap, and you decided to believe it. God couldn't change that because you have the freedom to believe that if you want. He grieved for your sorrow and wanted to help, but He couldn't. YOU had to decide that you wanted something different. And now His Daughter is getting her life right. He is so happy and wants you to be content and joyful. That's all He ever wants for any of us, for us to have our highest joy. So don't be sad, go into this time of your life without guilt. Take the gifts the Porters are offering you, without thought of some hidden agenda. They are both true Christians and He is very pleased with all three of you.

Samantha knelt in this no-place with herself. She was crying but it wasn't from sorrow anymore, it was as though a great weight had been lifted from her heart. She reached over and hugged the form that was her tightly. : Thank you, she whispered.

: Thanks are not due to me, but thanks are for yourself, for FINALLY letting yourself be who you are. Go and be happy as who you are.

Samantha nodded slightly, and soon she was opening her eyes in the kitchen again. Her cheeks were wet with tears and Mom Porter was sitting there sipping some tea.

As soon as Sam opened her eyes, Mom Porter slid another cup of chamomile tea over to where she could grasp it. The tea had cooled quite a bit, but it was still delicious.

She noticed that two hours had passed and Pastor Porter wasn't there anymore.

She didn't feel like saying anything for a while, and she thought back over what had happened. When she remembered it, she wound up crying again.

Slowly, she started sharing the events with Mom Porter who listened without comment. She prompted occasionally, but there were no opinions offered or judgments made.

When the emotional storm was over with Sam, she realized that it was nearly Midnight and she needed to get home. She kissed Mom Porter and left with due haste.

On the drive home she thought about what the time with herself meant. It showed her clearly that she was definitely a girl, and nothing else.

She would let the therapist know that she was ready to start hormones.

Just how gullible were most people? I had been coming to class as a boy nearly my entire freshman year, but when I decided to start wearing female clothes, and apparently everyone thought I was a grunge-babe who decided to start dressing nicer.   Samantha's Story part 7 By Maid Joy

---

I mean, I hadn’t told anyone that I was not a boy, and I hadn’t lied about being a girl either. Everyone assumed that they knew what was going on and invariably the verdict was that I was female. It made me wonder about a lot of things.

Granted, I hadn’t had many - ok any - sexual relations with females so there wasn’t anyone who knew for a fact that I was male. No one had seen my "equipment" as it were. But still you would think that someone would wonder why I was in dresses instead of simply accepting the change without a problem.

I had read about groups like Fred Phelps’ "church", if you could call that group of hate mongers that. I knew their attitude toward those who didn’t fit into their idea of the Judeo-Christian mold was not uncommon, and in many cases it was a standard attitude among society. Mom Porter and the Church I was attending were the odd ducks in the pond and I knew it.

Still, I would have expected SOMEONE to have called me on my cross-dressing.

I didn’t know if I wanted to go all the way and get a sex change or not. I did want my own breasts, so with my parent’s health insurance, I went to the doctor and started talking.

I had looked up the process on the Internet. First would be a LOT of counseling with the head shrinks, a process I had started a couple weeks ago. While doing that I was being judged on my suitability to change over to being female full time. None of the steps to reassign myself to being female would be possible without that counseling.

I wished that the counseling I was going through with the Porters could count, so I could skip that step. But clergy weren’t certified by the State to be able to shrink heads.

Finally, after nearly a month of appointments with the psychologist, she recommended that I go to an endocrinologist, or a hormone doctor, so I could get started on female hormones.

The appointment was pretty anti-climactic. I went in, talked to the receptionist, and filled out the paperwork. Blood was drawn, tests conducted and I talked to the doctor again. I was told that starting a regimen of hormones wouldn’t cause a significant problem to my metabolism, since I didn’t have a lot of male hormones in the first place.

I was given a couple shots and I was prescribed maintenance pills that would boost the effects of the shots for the next few months. The liquid was thick and painful and slow to penetrate my thigh.

He explained very clearly that there would be numerous effects of these pills, the primary effect would be that I would lose my sex drive and start to grow breasts. "Secondary sex characteristics", like growing hair on my face and the musky odor in my armpits, would vanish, and I would start to look more feminine.

Some things like my voice couldn’t be changed without surgery or vocal training, but in most ways someone wouldn’t be able to tell I hadn’t been born female.

The doctor told me that one of the shots was a testosterone blocker and the other was an estrogen booster. The pills were equivalent to what a young girl would get hormone-wise in her body as she went through puberty. It would redistribute the fat in my body to my hips and eventually to the layer under my skin, making it softer and more feminine. It would cause me to grow breasts and my hips would widen. Starting on this regimen would mean I was irrevocably beginning a journey to womanhood.

Once I got back to my room, I looked at the pill bottles I had. It was enough for one month with three refills to keep me going for the next four months. I had my next appointment to return and be checked, it was important to make sure I was adjusting to the hormones since some males couldn’t tolerate them and got ill. Taking them consistently would change my physiology permanently.

I wanted that. I took my first dose of pills and smiled when I had swallowed them.

Summer break continued and I didn’t go back home. I didn’t think I was wanted there particularly and I had gotten used to taking care of myself. Mom and Dad usually traveled to Europe during the summer and generally took their time exploring things they had already seen.

I wasn’t interested in travel there, because I had several memories of going to the Tower of Pisa and the Louvre. There are only so many times you can see something like that before it gets boring.

Someone might ask why I live in near poverty here on campus if my parents had the money to travel the world. It’s a good question, one that I’ve asked myself many times before. When I asked my mother that she directed me to my father, and when I asked him that, I got some sort of responsibility lecture. What I took away from that speech was that I needed to learn to be a responsible person, frugal with a dollar. I wasn’t given access to all that I needed or wanted in an attempt to teach me good money management.

I could understand that to a point, but making me live in near starvation wasn’t very fair in my opinion.

I tried not to dwell on where my parents were and simply focus on my life. If I was going to be living this, it behooved me to pay attention to my life and do the best I could with it. Learning my chosen profession was a good first step in removing the burden of me from my parents.

I may not have been fair or Christian in a lot of ways. I don’t think they actively didn’t want me, but there was almost no emotional connection to them. It was like my sisters were more involved in my parent’s life than I was. Being the youngest was a disadvantage in that regard. It didn’t help that my parents didn’t seem to know how to raise a boy. That they were older when I was born probably meant I was a surprise child. In fact my oldest sister was married and had a child before I was born.

I did love my parents, but putting me in the local Pee-Wee football league when I was 5 just wasn’t the right thing to do. I didn’t like sports, but apparently that never seemed to penetrate the world my parents had created for themselves. It might have made a difference in how I saw myself if I had been listened to when I was little.

While Soccer was okay, I really didn’t like team sports. Tennis, running, things were the only person I was competing against was myself, I liked. Games where I had to count on others to do their part would invariably leave me with having put forth all my effort and someone else taking credit for the successes.

I really learned not to trust others to hold their end up. I did learn that given a chance, others would take the glory of accomplishment for themselves and leave me with very little. In defeat, the blame however seemed to be all mine.

When my parents didn’t believe me when I told them of my preferences in my own life, I gave up trying to convince them at all.

School gave me an opportunity to shine for myself. No one else could claim credit for my grades, which were above average if not stellar. In college no one could take credit for my being home and not out partying except me. I was determined to not let the "college lifestyle", where kids were suddenly without their parents and ran wild, ruin my future. I stayed away from parties, alcohol and drugs. Let others waste four years of their lives and their parent’s money, I wasn’t going to.

So I passed up a lot of the social aspects of college, but I managed to remain in the "good" column with my teachers. I wasn’t a pet, and I didn’t suck up to them, but I had my work done, it was done completely, and I worked my backside off to make sure I understood the material.

Toward the end of the Summer Term, I managed to land a part time job working in the Campus Library. I happened to be in there one day and one of the senior girls told the head librarian that she wouldn’t be back next semester. Overhearing this I went to the Librarian and asked if I could apply for her job.

I didn’t expect to be hired on the spot, but apparently I had the "look" of a hard working library assistant. Part time, not even $12 per hour, but I was happy since any money would be more than I had now.

Most of my boy clothes had migrated to far corner of my micro-closet, and when I helped out down at the Church, I could grab another outfit or two thanks to Mom Porter’s generosity. I still had to be careful so that they weren’t short for others that needed those clothes, but it was nice to know that the clothes were there if I really needed them.

Soon the seasons had changed again and it was time for Homecoming. True to my nature I had not been paying much attention to the Football Team, the Cheerleaders, or anything else sports related. I had been working too hard at the Library and at the Church to have time left over for mere sports. I didn’t care about our school’s standings in the Final Four, I didn’t care that we were AAA Ball club or any of those esoteric things. I was more worried about getting the proper sized under things with the correct size dress, or making sure that the Biographies were properly shelved in the Biography section, not the Natural History section as some students seemed to enjoy hiding books they needed for a particular class, ensuring it would be available for their exclusive use.

So it was a shock to me that one of the regulars at the library asked me to a formal event at his Fraternity. Apparently they were planning on having their own dance in protest of the whole Homecoming thing and needed people to attend. He had put out fliers earlier in the week and a few were still on the table, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to be invited to it.

I babbled for a bit. Me, on a date? With a boy? What imp of the perverse had decided that I needed this complication in my life?

But Ben was sweet, shy and kind. He was one of those nerdish boys that you know will run the world through computers and the software, so being nice to the Future Masters of Reality is always a good thing. I didn’t say ‘no’, but I also didn’t accept. I deferred my answer until after I could talk to my "privy counsel". That’s what I had taken to calling those whose advice I treasured, who knew my secrets, but who didn’t really talk to each other much, in other words, Mom and Pastor Porter and my Counselor.

Doctor McNair simply turned the question around on me. She asked if I wanted to go out with him. I think she was attempting to find out if I was attracted to boys yet or not, although I couldn’t be sure.

Honestly, I didn’t know. Ben was cute and sweet, but I wasn’t attracted to him. I couldn’t name on male that I was attracted to in that way. I knew men that I thought were good looking, ones that were cute enough and ones that were nice, but not ones that I could see myself settling down with and having children with. As I thought about the possibility of actually kissing another man, I realized that I really wasn’t attracted to males.

She turned that statement around and asked me if there were any girls I was attracted to. I had to admit that I wasn’t attracted to them either. Last year, before all this started, I would have answered differently, I would have answered that I found Dr. McNair attractive and that I found Tina attractive as well. Now I found myself looking at them and wondering if what they were wearing would look good on me.

For some apparent reason, I had become a neuter.

I realized that I hadn’t wanted to do anything sexual in months, not with a partner and not with myself or with "adult" toys. I tried thinking of things that used to excite me, things that I would dream of in my fantasies. I got no reaction.

I wound up crying.

It took some time to get me calmed down, and when I finally spilled my emotions to her, I told her that I was afraid that I was becoming something that was a freak.

It took her some time, but she finally managed to convince me that it was normal to feel this way while on hormones. They had blocked most of the male hormones which would have made me attracted to females, and there weren’t enough female hormones in my body yet to make me attracted to males. That confusion was the reason I had no desires right now.

I immediately became embarrassed since I forgot that one of the effects of those pills was no sex drive. I apologized for crying all over the place, and told her that I was doing that too much too. She pointed out, again, that it was going to happen as a side effect of the hormones.

I confessed to the doctor that there were many times I felt like a fraud. *I* knew what was between my legs, what I had missing internally, and there were days that I felt that I was lying.

I told her about the invitation to the party. Ben thought I was a girl, and was probably hoping to get lucky at the end of the night. I knew that and I had a bit of an advantage in that I knew what was on a guy’s mind. So I felt bad, lying to him like that.

Then there were people like Tina, who was rapidly becoming my best friend. SHE thought I was a girl and was sharing secrets with me that she would never share with anyone who wasn’t a girl. I felt bad about lying to her too.

Dr. McNair was quiet for some time while she thought. I kept babbling in the silence, trying to fill it up with words. I think I said a lot more than I intended to.

"Samantha, let me ask this; do you feel bad because of a perceived lie, or is it because you don’t know who you are yet? Put another way, if you had grown up as Samantha, would you feel that you were lying to Bob and Tina, even if you had the extra equipment you have, or would you feel that you were Samantha with some extra body parts?"

I had to think about that question for a few minutes. I understood why she asked it while at the same time not knowing how to answer it. "I think I might be okay if I had grown up as Samantha. But I’ll never know that now will I?" I could feel some tears starting to build up again.

She patted me on the hand. "Samantha, you need to think of yourself as a girl. I want you to go out and buy yourself something like a journal. You probably have access to several notebooks from your school supply store, don’t you? Then get some and start writing out a journal like you were always Samantha. Start as far back as you would like to and write events of your life as though you were a girl."

I nodded. I understood what she was suggesting and I could get a composition notebook easily enough. I thanked her for our session and left to go home and start on my new homework.

The exercise in creating a back story for 'Samantha' was a real stretch for her creative abilities. Most things she grew up with could be tweaked to a girl's perspective, but some things just couldn't. Writing birthday parties she wore a dress to instead of pants and t-shirt she had been in was an interesting exercise in fantasy. The journal of Samantha's life became something of an obsession. She found herself thinking about scenes from her life as a girl, skinned knees, climbing through drainage pipes as though they were a super-secret tunnel with friends, and all the other normal activities of a child. The thoughts constantly revolved in her mind, no matter where she was or what she was doing. She kept finding her mind drifting to real memories and more and more found it easy to see the same scene as a girl. She even invented tea parties and dance classes that she never attended. Samantha's Story part 8 By Maid Joy

---

It was with surprise that she found her first journal filled with thoughts and memories. She started a second, and when that filled, a third. Once she got into the teen years, the journal entries slowed since they were longer. By that time Samantha had no problem writing as a girl, and staying in that mindset all the time.

She had come to the belief that she was born a girl, and that the male bits between her legs were just a birth defect, nothing more than that. The exercise had a profound effect on her psyche too, allowing her to remember a life that never existed. After a while, she forgot about Sam and only thought of herself as Samantha.

She spent time seriously thinking about going to the dance with Ben. She finally decided to do it.

She sent him a short note accepting his invitation and told him that she would be wearing sapphire blue. She wanted him to match her dress, and if he got her a corsage, the flower maker would have to know that.

She couldn't wait to go out in her new dress. She had spent hours researching what she should wear, from the skin out. Once assembled after many careful shopping trips and yard sale hunts; she double-checked that everything making sure the lingerie, the little clutch purse and the jewelry was exactly what she wanted to wear and fit perfectly. There would be no awkward and uncomfortable clothing for her!

Finally the day of the party came. She had an appointment with a salon and was very prompt in keeping it. She brought pictures of the dress she would wear, having read that the stylist and manicurist should have the colors of the dress to match the wares they had.

Soon Samantha was enveloped in people getting her ready. Her hair was frosted with silver and little bundles of Forget-me-nots were braided into it very carefully. Her nails were painted a beautiful shade of blue, and then washed in some sort of topcoat that made them shimmer like a starry night.

She was surprised to see that the same thing had been done to her toes.

The waxing wasn't pleasant, but it was over quickly and she was none the worse for wear. She thanked the ladies of the salon profusely and promised to come back in a couple days to do some more odd jobs to help pay for the extravagance of their attention. Then she hurried home to change.

It took her a few more hours to finish getting ready, but in the end she looked as beautiful as she hoped she would. A couple quick snapshots of herself to show to Tina and she was out the door.

Ben was as good as his word. He said that he would pick her up at 5 PM in front of the torch tower on the campus, and he was there on time. He seemed to forget to breathe when he saw her.

He offered his arm like a gentleman and escorted her to his car to take her to the Kappa Lambda Nu fraternity house. He explained that all the pledges had been invited to a "get to know you" ball and since the fraternity and the affiliated sorority of Alpha Delta Rho were not into the whole sports/homecoming thing, they had scheduled their event for the same time as Homecoming. This was apparently a test to see if the pledge's loyalties were to the House or to the football team.

They arrived and he led her into the Fraternity House on his arm. Samantha felt like a princess as she mounted the stairs, delicately holding her hem up so she didn't trip. The stopped at the coat check and then Ben guided her to a very large room where a lot of the socializing seemed to be taking place. He excused himself and went and to get them both drinks.

Servers had been hired for the evening, and one came to offer her a selection of hors d'oeuvres. It was all very flattering and certainly a novelty in her experience.

Although her parents had hosted parties like this, normally the children would be banished to another place in the house to play until bedtime. Sometimes her sisters and she would pretend that they were having the party. But this was the first time she had actually been to a real one.

She did, however, know the etiquette. First drinks and finger-foods would be served along with some light conversation and milling around. Then came the call to dinner and she would be eating with Ben. After dinner dancing and music, as well as more mingling and socializing would occur. Finally she would be escorted home by her date and that would be it.

Since she had never been in the girl's role it was an enchanting and new experience. She hoped that she remembered how to do everything, particularly dancing backwards.

As Ben arrived with their drinks some of his friends and their dates drifted over. They engaged Samantha in small talk and tried to find out more about her. What did she do, was she a student, did she have any plans for which sorority she would pledge to and more. She talked about her work in the library and explained she was too busy studying to really devote time to a sorority at the moment.

She did wonder for a minute just how badly the sorority, both local and national chapters, would freak if they found out what genetic sex she was.

Finally the call to dinner came. Ben offered his arm and escorted her most properly to the table they had been assigned. She nearly blew it all by taking her seat as any male would. At the last second she remembered that Ben was supposed to hold her chair for her. When he did, she sat gracefully down and helped him adjust it to her liking. She then took her napkin and placed it in her lap, the proceeded to remove her long gloves so that she could eat.

She waited quietly as everyone else was seated and the salad course was served. She was surprised to discover she was hungry, given the state of her nerves.

Samantha decided to follow through on an intention she had formed earlier in the week. She was unsure about the exact etiquette required, but the way she planed it seemed logical.

Once salad had been placed before her, she stilled her mind. As the last dish was set on the table of eight guests, she lowered her head and closed her eyes. She thanked him for the gift of this evening with Ben. She spent a few moments thanking God for His abundance on this day and confirmed that she would always thank Him for His gifts to her.

She finished and raised her head and saw most of the table had waited to start eating, until she finished. While one boy across the table from her had started eating, Samantha refused to ignore him as he had ignored her. She saw him wince slightly apparently his date had stepped on his toes for being rude. She couldn’t help a small smile as she realized what had just happened.

As she picked up the butter knife and started preparing her roll, everyone else started to eat as well.

The conversation over dinner included more of the same question she had been asked at the reception. She answered them and made innocuous appropriate comments, not wanting to get in a controversial debate with anyone. During the desert course someone finally asked her about why she said a prayer before the meal.

Samantha didn't feel qualified to answer as a pastor might, so she simply stated "Doesn't it make sense to be grateful to whomever you worship for the miracles They produced? It’s let us share the bounty of the Earth tonight."

One table-mate objected, "But the food comes from the farmer’s fields, the ranchers who raised the cattle for the steaks, and so on. What's miraculous about that?"

Samantha looked at him. She could feel the incredulity wafting off her like a fine perfume. "What's miraculous about that? What isn't? Here you have a seed, just a tiny kernel yet it contains all the information that tells it to grow into a corn plant and not something else, which produces more of its reproductive organs for you to eat. Plant a seed, any seed, and soon you’ll have a new plant growing. How does it happen? What processes occur in the seed to make it do that? I don't know, you don't know, most scientists can't explain it either. We can't take the raw genetic material and assemble them into a seed, nor will it create a growing plant. Same for the cattle, the chickens, the fish, the birds and other animals we eat. The sperm of the male and the egg of the female join together, and something happens, some magic, and suddenly what were two little cells invisible to the naked eye become a whole bunch of cells, dividing and growing, and eventually becoming a full animal for you to eat.

"What's NOT miraculous about that? Could you do it?" she challenged. "No, you couldn't, because you don't know that magic, miracle component that makes it happen.

"What about the life that was taken to put that food on the table? The animal's life was cut off to become food for you. Who knows if it might have been the Einstein of the Bovine world, or the Archimedes of the Fishes, or the Pythagoras of the Birds? I certainly don't. So it seems only courteous to me to thank the spirit of the animal you eat, and even the spirit of the plant you are eating and thank it for its sacrifice to make you live.

"Yes, I sat here and prayed all that. I thanked God for allowing me to live another day, for showing me that I am a reasonable and healthy person, for giving me a brain to think with, and for giving me the food to sustain my life. I thanked the animals and plants for their sacrifice, and I did it in public. I think that is only fair and right, to remember all that before 'digging in'. And I don’t think it should matter where I am when I do so."

She had been leaning forward emphatically while she spoke and finishing she leaned back. She felt a bit drained and she smiled at the people at the table.

They all looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and some embarrassment, possibly because they hadn’t thought about the points she raised before.

The dancing later was glorious. Ben was a better dancer than he thought he was, and she felt like she was flying as he swept her around the Ritual Room.

She had an opportunity to actually use the dance lessons that she had taken as a child, although it took her some time to make the mental leap from "leading" to "following". She worked hard to make sure she was dancing correctly when Ben tried to push her in the wrong direction, and they both managed to not step on each other's toes.

The night passed quickly, and before they knew it, the clock said it was 1:20 in the morning. Most of the others had given up long ago, but she and Ben kept going. Though she didn't want this magic night to end eventually it did.

He escorted her back to his car, and they left. He took her home and dropped her off in front of her apartment building, helping her out of the car and into the building lobby itself. They said their goodnight pleasantries. And now she was faced with the Goodnight Kiss. Would she let him kiss her, or would it just be a friend-hug? She wasn't going to invite him upstairs for a 'nightcap' no matter how hard he dropped those hints. But when Ben started leaning in, she did allow a short peck on the cheek from him to her, and from her to him.

She told him what a wonderful time she had with him and firmly told him goodnight.

She floated to her room, her head swimming from the alcohol in the punch of the reception and the wine with dinner. It took her a second to find her keys in the clutch, and opened the door.

Strange, I don't remember leaving the lights on. She dropped her wrap over a chair in the entry and laid her purse on the coffee table. She vowed to work diligently on her papers tomorrow and Sunday evening to make up for tonight.

She turned in the direction of her bedroom, and froze with shock.

There in the doorway of her room was a man, behind him sitting on her bed was a woman.

"Dad," she gasped in shock "Mom, what are you doing here?"

"A better question, young lady, might be what are you doing in my son's apartment?" With my mouth gaping wide, my brain seemed frozen, only able to focus on the minutia of the cataclysm about to unfold. I couldn't believe that he didn't recognize me. Apparently he didn't realize I was Sam. Samantha's Story part 9 By Maid Joy

---

I watched Mom's face pale to an ashen hue beneath her makeup, her hands flew to her mouth and I knew she had realized the truth. Her eyes welled full of tears. Finally able to speak, "Stephen, that is Sam. He's in a dress." Her voice was a hollow croak, a cracked broken travesty of her normal voice.

My father looked even closer at me and said with more asperity than I had ever heard, "Shit."

I won't go through the blow by blow of the argument I can’t recount it, my brain just locks up. The gist of his harangue follows:

1. They had their own key to get in. Since he was paying the bills, he had demanded a key and I had complied, never thinking that they would use it to enter uninvited.

2. They had arrived about the time I was sitting down to my lovely dinner. Apparently they were passing through town as they were taking a leisurely drive home from their European trip and thought they would surprise me with a visit.

3. They had been incredibly nosy and gone through everything in my apartment. They found not only all my clothes, but the journals I had been writing. They believed that Samantha was Sam's girlfriend and lived in the apartment with him. It was a logical assumption, two sets of clothes, decor that was male yet there was makeup on the desk, pink razors and “girlie” skincare products in the bathroom. I didn't have any pictures of Samantha around, so they thought it was a short term relationship so far. They were going to grill Sam on the expected wedding date.

4. As the night went on they got more and more worried. They both assumed that Sam was out drinking with friends (which wasn't far from the truth).

5. Upon seeing a strange girl come into their son's apartment, Dad had made the mental leap to "this is Samantha" and was baffled about Sam’s absence.

6. My shocked "Mom, Dad" statement blew by Dad, but Mom caught it.

7. I was a deviant.

8. Because of my cross dressing, I'm a little faggot as well.

9. I'm the worst child that a parent could ever have.

10. They apparently didn't realize the hormones were Sam's when they saw the prescription on the kitchen counter. The prescription was in the name of Samantha. They had quickly made the connection once 'Samantha' was revealed to be Sam. Now it was obvious just how sick, deluded, demented and twisted I really was.

11. Dad couldn't understand where he went wrong with me. Mom just cried.

12. Dad was disgusted and they were both disappointed in me.

13. Dad was furious.

I dissolved into tears at some point in the argument. I couldn't take it. He was so mad and I heard words like "sissy", "pansy", "faggot", "corrupted", "failure" “freak” so often that the words stopped having any meaning, they were just strings of sounds, some foreign language I didn’t understand.

I was ordered out of my dress, which I shed rapidly in the bathroom. I pulled jeans and a t-shirt out of the hamper just so I had something on, but that turned out to be just as bad since the jeans were girl-cut and the T-Shirt said "I'm too SEXAY for you".

Incredibly he started yelling louder. Somewhere around 2:15, the police began pounding on the door. I answered it, still in makeup and very close to a breakdown from crying. They were called by neighbors who heard the fight and thought someone was beating on me. They were also fed up with the noise.

The police finally separated us. Dad could be mad all he wanted as long as he stayed in the hall, Mom had barricaded herself in the bathroom when I left it, and I was on the couch trying to explain what happened. Thankfully the cops were very sympathetic — at least to my parents. The police offered to escort them to their hotel room instead of pressing charges, as long as the fight ended now.

When they left, I fell apart. I admit that it was nice being called "miss" by the cops initially, but I couldn't take their sarcasm after a few moments. I flooded the couch pillows with my tears, unable to stop, I sobbed hysterically for an eternity. My brain going over and over the hateful words my father had called me.

Finally I had no more tears left and I couldn't breathe; my sinuses were totally closed up. My makeup was a wreck, and so was my hair. I had to talk to someone, so I used the business card that Dr. McNair had given me and I called the emergency number.

I could tell that she’d been asleep when the phone rang, I felt guilty about bothering her but I knew that this was definitely an emergency she’d anticipated. I just hoped she could help get my emotions settled so I might be able to sleep for at least a few hours.

She and I talked and I could hear alarm creeping into her voice. She told to me that she was worried that I might think of killing myself, and she wanted me to promise not to do anything rash until she had seen me in her office later today. It took everything in me to promise that, but I did.

She also wanted me to have someone with me for the rest of the night. I didn't know who to ask to come over and stay with me. Tina didn't know about my secret, and the Porters would need their sleep since they had Saturday and Sunday to prepare for. I couldn't think of anyone else to call except Ben and that wasn’t going to happen no matter what! I lied and said I would get someone over and we hung up, 35 minutes after I’d called her.

I looked around my apartment. I could see the open closet and some of my girl clothes showing. At that moment I hated the sight of those clothes. Wildly I thought about cutting them up, but I had promised "nothing rash".

Instead I draped a big blanket over them and closed the closet door. I shoved my beautiful gown that I now despised into the hamper and closed the lid; my father's tirade had insured I could never wear it again. I would always associate it with the horrors of tonight.

Everywhere I looked I saw signs of Samantha. I gathered all of “her” things and shoved them into her side of the closet. Finally I pulled off all my clothes, stripped the makeup and polish on my nails off, and lay down on the couch only to cry myself to sleep.

The next several days were a blur. I didn't go to classes when the week began again, I think I remember that. I didn't go to Church that Sunday, but I kept my promised appointment with Dr. McNair on Saturday, the day after that horrible night. We talked for two hours, and I confessed just how torn up I was. I cried, she comforted, I used an entire box of Kleenex, and finally I went home, just as depressed as when I’d arrived.

I didn't see my parents again. Neither of them came by or called; not anything. I could understand Dad’s silence, but I thought Mom would have tried to say SOMETHING, even if it was how disappointed she was. Yet I heard nothing, from either of them; just nothing but a deafening silence.

I DID hear from my sisters, all three of them. I got emails asking me what in the hell I thought I was doing. Apparently they were against me too. I would read the first line or two, see that it contained "How could you" (sometimes in so many words) and deleted the whole thing. I didn't bother answering. There was no point. Each harangue was sure to have been a repeat of everything my father had already said. They couldn’t and wouldn’t hear anything I had to say and I couldn’t bear any more of the vitriol they kept throwing at me.

I wrote a lot. I wrote about how I felt, what was going on, how miserable I was. I know I left a bunch of tear splotches on each page as I wrote all this down. My pillow got soaked by my tears regularly.

Ben emailed me the next day to thank me for a wonderful date and then he asked me out again sometime. I wrote back and said that a number of family problems had come up and I wouldn't be available for any dates for the foreseeable future. I asked him to understand. He responded that he was saddened, since we had had fun, but he understood and if I wanted to get together just to talk he was ready to listen anytime.

I'm ashamed to say it, but I mostly sat in my apartment and ate ice cream.

Then the real blows started.

First was notice from my landlord that the lease was being terminated by my father, effective as soon as possible. He let me know I had thirty days to vacate the premises before eviction proceedings would be started. Then I discovered the phone had been turned off. The electricity and water were part of the lease and the landlord forgave those debts, so at least I wouldn't be sitting in a dark, cold box for the next month. Apparently my father had to pay the full amount of the remaining lease but refused to allow my stay, even thought he had pay for it. My Internet access had been shut off as well.

The hardest blow was discovering my meal card no longer worked and that the money had been refunded, just as if I had dropped out. I fled the cafeteria in tears. My numb mine repeated again and again, “He wants me to starve; he wants me to die.”

I knew what was going to come next; he would stop paying for school. I freaked out. I didn't know what to do. I tried calling Mom on my cell phone (I had pre-paid for it), but when I connected to her cell phone number I heard "The subscriber you are trying to reach has blocked this number. Thank you for calling." and then the phone disconnected.

I knew that my father would block me, but Mom? Why?

I gathered some things I needed and ran over to the Student Center. They had computers for student use and phones I could call on.

The email came up and I didn't see anything from anyone. I wrote a long email to my father begging him to not do this. I was still his child and I was still in college and I wanted desperately to finish my education, and I needed his help. I told him that I wouldn't bother him again after that if he didn't want to talk to or see me I would respect his wishes even if they caused me more pain. I sent it to his work and home email addresses, as well as his PDA and Cell phone, to make sure he got it.

I then called Mom from the campus phones. She actually answered the phone and when I told her it was me, she started crying. She told me my father had blocked my number on all the phones and had decided to stop funding "your perverted lifestyle". I was crying too, and I tried to be reasonable with her, but she was unable to hear anything I said.

At least she didn't browbeat me about everything again. Yet the emotions were far more devastating.

I finally hung up with Mom; she kept saying she couldn't take anymore. She can't take it anymore? What about me? I went to see if my father had answered my emails.

There was an answer, my heart started pounding as I opened it. "I have no son named Samuel. Please do not contact me again whoever you are."

I stared at the message for fifteen minutes. I know it was that long because the computer shut down once the time limit had been reached.

I slunk back to my apartment and made myself a hermit.

The following Wednesday was the first time I ventured out of my apartment and faced the world. I had on jeans and a t-shirt, from my male collection. I was going to work at the Church again. Just as importantly if I didn’t get out of the apartment, I would go crazy. The ache from the rejection hadn't left, but I was no longer weeping hysterically every time I thought about it.

I saw Dr. McNair several times during that week, at her insistence. She was relieved that I wasn’t actively suicidal, but she was worried about how depressed I was. I told her everything as it happened, and she tried to help me with "what to do now" ideas. The truth was, I didn't want to go anyplace or do anything, and I just wanted to withdraw totally. I couldn’t think about finding another place to live getting a full time job and I was stretching the little food I had in my apartment as far as I could. It felt like too much to be bothered with, there just wasn’t any point.

She finally convinced me that human beings were social creatures, and that hiding would only make things worse. She pointed out that I had to find a new place to live; time was flying by and the end of the month would see me and my possessions on the street. The landlord would do nothing. He wanted the money from my father and that was the condition for getting it. I couldn’t manage to feel gratitude that I had a month instead of being thrown out immediately; I couldn’t stand to think anymore.

So on Wednesday I finally started re-entry into society. I didn't feel like dressing up and truth be told, I really didn’t want to go. Finally, I just brushed my hair, pulled on the first clothes that came to hand and left to walk and think for a while.

I might be able sign a new lease with my landlord instead of having to move out if my father didn’t know about it. That way, I reasoned, I will have a renter's credit history and it will make things easier on me later in life. I was going to have to try to continue with my studies and my life somehow, I wasn't going to just be able to isolate myself and wish the world away. No matter how much I wanted that to happen.

My father had disowned me. That meant all the support and all the financial assistance I was getting from him was gone. Since he had such control over my mother, she would probably not talk to me on his orders, except when she could do it without him knowing about it. I still had my email account, but without Internet access, it was going to be increasingly inconvenient to access it.

I could apply for scholarships. I certainly qualified for a hardship scholarship if they had them. But I had no idea how to apply, what to apply for or how long it would take to find out if I was accepted. Then there was the question how long it would take to get the money. I might have to leave school for a semester to get everything in order.

Could I pledge a sorority and see what resources they might have to help me out? It was a real long shot and not one that I was willing to take, since pledge week was long gone. Plus I just couldn’t bring myself to use them like that. It had to be a place I felt comfortable. Even if I did get in, when my birth gender inevitably came out, I would be asked to leave. No matter what the beautiful internet fantasy stories said about sororities, real life was infinitely crueler.

Every option I thought of was bleaker than the last, and I had nearly convinced myself that my life was over by the time I arrived at the church.

Tina had apparently missed me; she squealed when she saw me and ran at me for a tackle-hug, nearly knocking me off my feet. For a few moments I couldn't be depressed I was too busy concentrating on keeping my feet. It was like being greeted by an over exuberant puppy, a BIG over exuberant puppy, Tina was my size.

Once the enthusiastic greeting was over, she stepped back and looked at me. "Sam, you look like shit."

That was so direct it got a tired smile out of me. She continued, "No, really. You look horrible. Have you done anything with your hair or face in the last few days?" She looked closer "You haven't even put on any makeup today." With just a few breaths, she had gone from 'missing you desperately' to 'concerned best friend'.

She took me by the hand and led me into the basement room where we normally worked. She found Mom Porter and said, "Mom, look at her. Something is wrong. I'm going to take her someplace and get the story. I wanted to let you know that we were both here and not think we had abandoned you."

I could see out of the corner of my eye that most everyone was looking in our direction. I stood straighter and tried to bring a smile to my face, but I couldn't maintain it.

Mom Porter looked me up and down and said "Yes, dear, I think you need to get her into the kitchen and start pumping her for information. Unless I miss my guess, she's been crying for days. I'll be there soon."

As Tina dragged me out, I could hear the chatter start to pick up. I knew I was going to be the subject of the next week’s cycle of rumors and gossip. Oh what a week this was turning into.

Great, this is all I needed. Now I'm also going to be the tale du jour for a bunch of people with nothing more to do. Still, I followed Tina into the kitchen area and sat down. Tina started making tea and soon as she had two steaming mugs full of sweet tea, she sat down and started the interrogation.

The first few questions were easy enough. "What happened?" "Why are you so upset?" What I found hard was that I wasn't able to her tell the truth.

Finally I thought You know what, fuck it. I'll be a laughing stock anyhow, I'm going to have to find another place to go to school why shouldn't she know the truth?

So I started over at the beginning and told her everything.

Sometime during my recitation, Mom Porter came in quietly and put her hands on my shoulders. I was in the middle of my recital, and I had run out of tears - again. I was all dry sobs and sup-sups. I had nothing left to cry. I tried really hard not to look at Tina, I couldn’t bear to see the disgust in her eyes.

"That rat bastard," she said when I had finished. I looked up at her because of the venom in her voice. "I can't BELIEVE that your father would do that to you. He's a real fucking bastard. And your bitch SISTERS! Sisters are supposed to stick together no matter what." Her eyes narrowed in anger.

"Well, don't you worry about anything Sam. Tina's here and I'll help you. You can stay with me since your losing your apartment. I have one near campus, and you can sleep in my bed with me if we need to do that to make enough room. We'll try to keep that from happening, keep you in the place you are used to, but if push comes to shove..."

"No," Mom Porter finally spoke up. "Pastor and I have an extra room since our children went off. Samantha can stay there. We've come to think of her as a daughter, so it's only right that she stay in my daughter's room."

I couldn't believe my ears. First Tina offering help and now Mom Porter? They were standing by me? Why? They had nothing to gain for this.

I must have said something out loud because Tina said. "Sam, you are a good person. You are my best friend and you are helpful and kind. You do more for everyone around here than most. Heck, you do more than I do, and that's a lot.

"Now, what do we need to do immediately and what can wait until tomorrow?"

Tina and Mom started deciding the order of precedence without me. Once they started making plans I was as good as moved in to the Porter's house. I couldn't believe it. They made plans for researching available grants and scholarships, completely ignoring my feeble attempts to enter the whirlwind they had become. They seemed to have it all decided without me.

A week later, I was ensconced in the “daughters” bedroom of Pastor and Mom Porter's house. Apparently she had two girls and one son. Daniel was grown and moved out before Pastor got his post here, and the girls slept in the same room -- this room -- my room now. It felt so strange to think that, I had a home, a room of my own, just when I knew I would be on the streets. I could only keep whispering “Thank you God, thank you for all of them.”

I helped as much as possible as Tina and the Porters packed up all of the stuff from their daughters and move it to the attic while packing my things up and getting them to my home. It was hard and took a lot of time. I packed up my life as Samuel choosing to put his belongings in the same place. All I had left was Samantha's and it was all I wanted. Now I had room to put my things out. Tina had bought me a huge stuffed Pikachu, and it sat on the bed in a place of honor.

For reasons unknown to all but God I still had my part-time job at the College library, and I'm not sure why. I had taken nearly two weeks off without telling anyone anything, but it was ignored. I thought for sure that I would be fired. Yet when I signed in, I was told by the head librarian that everything was fine. Then she asked if I was feeling better. When I told her that I was, she smiled, patted my hand and let me get to work.

Ben had tried contacting me a few times, but without internet access he couldn't reach me. I had about five emails from him, each getting more worried. I finally was able to answer him from one of the library computers. He answered instantly, relieved to hear that I was okay and that I hadn't started hating him. He was also afraid that I didn’t want to go out with him and this was how I was breaking our friendship off, ignoring his emails.

I was stunned he would think that I could hate him, but apparently some other tramps that had gone out with him then avoided him or flat out ignored him afterwards. I could feel my temper flare as I read his words. How could anyone be that mean to a sweet guy like him? Sure he was a nerd, but then again, so was I.

I finished the semester's classes, but I couldn't sign up for the next semester until I could pay for it. I spent many days not only with my advisor but in the library as well researching grants and scholarships. I discovered something I hadn't known, there seemed to be more private scholarships out there than there were people applying for them. Things like the Pell Grant and various lottery scholarships were well known, but there were private endowments that you could apply for as well. While most were not very large, I hoped they were easier to get since a lot of people didn't know they existed.

I applied for everything and anything we found. I printed labels out at the library so I wasn't typing my name and address over and over again, but each application had to be filled out by hand. That was nearly a full time job in and of itself. I printed out multiple copies of my school transcripts, and sent those along with letters of recommendation from teachers, my advisor and my saviors the Porters.

I was trying for scholarships based on need or academics. Good grades and no money were what I had in spades, but little else. I must have sent off thirty or forty scholarship applications, nearly twice what I actually needed just to be on the safe side. I figured that many of them would be turned down for one reason or another, so I hedged my bets. The fewer things I had to repay, the better my finances would be once I graduated.

Mom and Pastor Porter as well as Tina were gems. They did everything they could to keep me focused on the goal. I would fall into despair and one of the three of them would pull me out. They would talk to me, or take me shopping, or let me meditate wherever, and they gently kept encouraging me to keep going.

I printed up the email from my father, the one that denied my existence. I made sure to print it large and then I framed it. I wanted to remind myself never to be like him, ever.

I cut off all ties to my sisters; they only wanted to keep castigating me. I would get several emails a week from them about how evil I was, how mean I was being to my father how disrespectful by not being the son he wanted, so I stopped reading them. It got to the point where just seeing their name on the email "from" line would put me into tears. I did the only thing I could think of, I sent their emails to trash automatically.

Tina’s reaction actually made me smile when I told her what I’d done. “Good those stuck up bitches belong in the trash! I still wish you’d let ME answer just one of their emails!”

That was the last thing I wanted, I just wanted them to go away and stop hurting me.

I had one huge problem, however. I had no way to continue to pay for my hormones. If I went off them, there could be massive side effects. But the Doctor was able to find some money, some kind of charitable endowment, to allow me to keep seeing her and to keep paying for the hormones. I have no idea where she found it, but if someone was willing to pay to help me out, all I could offer was gratitude and my silent thanks to them.

My other big fear was I would be driven from the Church. I knew that people were people, and would have differing opinions about transsexuals. I was prepared to face a lot of hate and anger from the people in the Church. Surprisingly, the negative voices were a lot quieter than I’d expected. I was sure Pastor and Mom Porter had a lot to do with that. There were a lot of people who were concerned about me, who seemed to want to help, and there were even more who simply offered the support they could. So with surprise and humility I accepted their emotional support whole heartedly.

I asked Tina about it, and she told me that they had a lot of love and compassion for someone going through a tough time. It was hard when parents cut you off, she told me. We kept talking and I discovered that she had not told anyone my secret. It was mine to share, she said, not hers.

The rumor mill simply latched on to "parents cut her off" and didn't ask questions after that. I was so grateful that’s where it stopped.

Every time I thought about what had happened, the insults he hurled at me, and how my mother just sat there and didn't do anything, I got melancholy again and came near to tears. That's when I would grab Pikachu and hold it tight, just letting the tears flow into its fur.

I learned pretty rapidly to wear waterproof makeup, unless I wanted to look like Tammy Fae Baker. I didn't like raccoon eyes that much, however.

I did my best to pay everyone back for their concern and consideration. I worked extra hard at church, pitching in to help wherever I could. I spent an entire day putting decorations around the Church for Christmas, and I did what I could to sew costumes for the Christmas Pageant and play. I can sew a straight seam; I just can't make clothes come out right if there are curves and angles involved.

Keeping busy did help me forget my troubles; immersing myself in helping others was like a soothing balm for my soul. I couldn't be sad when I saw how people's faces lit up with the work I did.

I had to miss the Winter Semester. I hadn't heard back from most of the scholarships I had applied for. The three I did hear back from had accepted me, and I had enough money to pay for food for the upcoming year. I got applications in the acceptance packages so I knew I would have to re-apply when the Spring Semester was over. I filled the forms out in anticipation of sending them in immediately.

On the 21st of December, Tina grabbed me after the Pageant had finished. She pulled me along and asked Mom Porter for someplace private to talk to me. Mom Porter gave her the key to one of the activity rooms, now locked up for the night. We got to the room and went in.

"Sam, get the lights while I make sure that we aren't disturbed." I was a bit confused as to what she wanted, but I complied with her wishes.

When we were done, she pulled a chair out from one of the tables and shoved it toward me, and then pulled another out and which she sat upon. I took the offered chair, feeling ridiculous since it was a child's chair, no more than a foot off the ground. Tina grinned and dug into her bag. She pulled out a huge folder of papers.

I was being eaten alive with curiosity. I knew that it would do no good to rush her she would reveal everything her in her own time. Finally she seemed to be ready.

"Sam, I've been looking around for stuff to help you. I don't know if you know about the resources that are available, but I found a TON of information that will help." She shoved the stack of papers at me.

On top was a list of websites, the URLs in plain text so I could see where they were going. If the URL was too long, she had used a shortening service called cli.gs. It would be easy to follow those links from the printed page. The heading on the page caught my eye.

"Transgender Resources"

I looked at Tina. She was grinning like a fiend. "I started researching transgenderism and I found a TON of stuff. All these links lead to scholarship programs for transgender applicants. Some pay for school, some for housing, some for supplies, and some for counseling and medicine. Almost all of them are grants, but some require you to be actively undergoing 'transition' into the opposite sex. I guess, from the fact that you stated your father expected you to be a boy, that’s what you’re doing.

"The next page is a list of organizations that support transgender people, students and more. They fight for their rights and if you have problems with discrimination, they are the people you want to go to.

"The last page I think is the most important. It's information about Gamma Rho Lambda Sorority. It's a sorority that actively supports Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender ladies. Their membership is made up of those groups, and while it's a small sorority now, it's growing fast. There seems to be more and more GLBT students than ever.

"I looked it up and they don't have a chapter anywhere near us right now, but that doesn't mean that we can't start one."

I looked sharply at Tina. "We?"

She nodded. "They don't discriminate against straight women, so there's nothing stopping me from being part of that sorority. In fact, I want to help you set it up here on campus. It would give you a group of women who know what it's like to go through what you are going through and a better support structure than you have now."

"But I have a wonderful support structure," I protested.

"Not really. You have me, the Porters, and that's about it. You have sympathy from the Church, but there's a couple things hindering their full acceptance of you. You aren't a member yet, and they don't know about your secret."

I thought about that one. It was true I had kept that from them. I didn't want there to be misunderstandings and I didn't want anyone to hate me. If I didn’t tell the Church I couldn’t ask for their help and support. The problem? I wasn't ready to "come out" yet to them.

I looked at Tina. "Why did you do all this?"

She looked at me, incredulous. "Because I'm your friend dummy. You and I are a lot alike, and I don't care that you have a penis; you are as much girl as me or Mom Porter. I can't imagine you as anyone else. I saw how much you were hurting, how much this affected you, and now you need help. Getting grants and scholarships are one thing, but you also need support from others who have similar experiences. You need to be able to talk to them and to be able to vent with them as well. They may know about more things you can do. I mean I can tell you about make up, but I can't really help you with putting your John Thomas away. I don't have one."

What she said made sense. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just stood up and hugged her. I couldn't see because of the tears in my eyes.

Have I said how much I love Mom and Pastor Porter lately? There is no way I can say it enough. They have taken a relative stranger into their lives, and home. Most especially they make me feel welcome. They never seem to regret the decision because they took me into their hearts first. I feel closer to them that I have ever felt with any other human beings. Sitting here, thinking about all of their love and care, everything they have done to help me, my eyes tear up and I get a huge lump in my throat. Samantha's Story part 10 By Maid Joy

---

My cynical side won't shut up! It keeps asking what they’re getting out of this. They don't really ask me to do much of anything, just to keep my messes cleaned up. They didn't ask me to do extra chores, don't try to convert me or anything else my little cynic suggested would happen. I was not their instant maid of all work, I usually wish they’d let me do more.

I could almost believe in totally altruistic impulses as every day miracles. But cynicism tells me that such an impulse doesn't exist anywhere in nature, much less in humans.

For now I’m telling Cynicism to take a hike. Mom and Pastor Porter are more than nice to me, and they were so openhanded I knew I wouldn't be able to pay them back.

The spring semester has come and gone. I wasn’t back in school since I didn't have enough funds yet. I was able to get enough in grants and scholarships to pay for the summer semester and I was thrilled. It would cover tuition, lab fees and my books. It even gave me enough that I could pay for my meals again. They did not, however, pay for the majority of my living arrangements. So I was beholden to the Porters again.

They said I am welcome at their table whenever I want to come home, and I feel very guilty. I am resolved to live as frugally as I can so as not to be a burden. But oh the way they said come home made me know they felt it is my home too. Any time I want to be there for as long as I live I can come home. By the way, have I mentioned I love Mom and Pastor Pop?

Before I could breathe it was Easter again and I found myself in a new Easter Dress, complete with hat and gloves. I had come a full circle. On Easter last year I walked into this Church and been spotted by Mom Porter who came to the rescue of a lost stranger.

The church wasn’t the only part of my life that made a difference to me. Ben and I continue to see each other off and on as our schedules permit. I try to stay current with the goings-on at the College, so I won’t be too far behind when I returned to classes.

My job in the library was going well, and I was invited to work there full time instead of just part time as I had been doing. The money came in handy that was sure.

As if that wasn’t enough, Tina and I continued working hard talking to GRL about getting a chapter set up locally. In fact we were in almost daily communication with National. Thank goodness for 800 numbers and Tina’s unlimited cell phone plan. The list of “must have before starting a chapter” was long and thorough. It was a labor of love in many ways.

I continue my appointments with Dr. McNair and we talk about almost everything; sorority business is the only area we don’t discuss. I was quizzed about how I felt about Ben, how I felt about Tina and more. I explained that I felt that Tina was more of a sister now to me than anything else. She and I had grown very close over the time I was out of school.

I was still confused by Ben and being attracted to him, but also being mindful that technically we were still the same sex. I couldn't resolve that in my head. Dr. McNair helped a lot in defining the boundaries I had put up. Kissing Ben wasn't a problem, and we had done that often. I was feeling an impulse to something stronger, but I didn't want to push it.

My breasts were developing. I stopped wearing the breast forms since I had about a B cup now. They itched all the time. Why didn't any of the books about puberty talk about how much boobs itch when they’re growing? I had also learned a couple tricks to hiding myself, so it so much easier to wear little sexy items like a swimsuit.

I found out that I really had been disowned by my father, when I next tried to contact mom without him knowing. It was a disaster and I chose to follow mother’s lead acting as if I was the orphan she told me I now was. I told myself it was fine really. I had gotten over the whole “parents rejecting me” thing. I still cried occasionally knowing that I couldn't talk to my mother and sisters, but for the most part it had ceased to hurt. I saw pictures of myself and my family and I hurt with the pain missed them.

I was proud that my whole routine the waxing and shaving, the eyebrows, the makeup, the hair and nails and so on, had become just that, a routine, and not one that was very difficult. It was time consuming, but not terribly so since I stretched out the procedures to 3 days.

I think Ben was a bit confused by the fact that I was still with him and that we were a“steady” item. I learned that he had been so hurt by bitches that he was surprised a pretty girl wanted to be with him, just because he was himself. I wasn't after his money, or was I after the status of being “his girl”, I wasn't a bitch to him and I didn’t demand he change anything for me. I think it had him very confused and a little off balance.

When we could, I sat and talked with Mom and Pastor Pop. He kept insisting I could call him Pop since he thought of me as a daughter. I had worked my way down from Pastor Porter to Pastor P to Pastor Pop. I figured to go slow with that. I’d had and lost one father already. We literally talked about everything. They were the people that I could unburden myself with and think through my problems with out loud. One of the main topics was frequently God.

Please understand, I’m not down on God or Jesus, it was just that I didn't see why they love Them so much. How could they? I look at the world and saw all the hurt, all the pain, my personal pain about my family and I can't understand their attitude of “God is Love and God is with us.”

I work to understand that depth of conviction and faith. I go to church every Sunday, meditating and thinking about my relationship with Them, and I really try to become closer. I do feel awe when I think of the things that had been created and the miracles that happened every day. It was the contrast of an all-powerful deity who allowed people to hurt that was so difficult to accept.

The Porters' love of Them was testimony enough there was something I was missing. They have no need or desire to witness to me or try to convert me. The way they live is testimony enough. Mom and Pastor Pop know people must “get it” themselves. If they don’t, it’s only themselves that loose.

I don't know what I was reading or doing when I had my revelation. The problem is Choices. The root of all evil isn't money, it is choice. People choose to be who they are; they can choose to be someone who helps their fellows, or they can choose to be someone who takes advantage of others. That is what determines what life they live.

I decided to test my theory. I spent a week and a half watching other people, reading articles in the papers, magazines and on TV and seeing if I could walk back the chain of cause and effect to a choice that someone made at some point. I found that in many cases, I could. Most difficult was the trail that led to many choices. When I could walk it back most of the choices were not choosing, just letting things happen they way they always had.

I came to understand it wasn't who someone prayed to or whom they worshiped that determined who was good and who was bad, it was what they did themselves to honor that deity which defined them. Mom and Pastor Pop chose to be the best reflections of God that they could be, someone who reflected the highest ideals and constant work to illuminate the teachings of Jesus, trying to help those around themselves to raise themselves up instead of dragging them down with negativity.

And I finally understood why.

It seemed so silly when I realized why they acted this way, trying to be good people. It wasn't because they would be rewarded once they died; it was because it made them feel good to help others on their path to God.

That was it.

When that Revelation hit me, I was stunned again. Acting to help others simply made them feel good inside where it counted.
I understood that all the thanks in the world would be appreciated but unnecessary, for they already had the reward of knowing that they had helped someone in need. That was why they offered genuine help to me. That was why they organized so charitable activities for the members of the church, urging the congregation to give of themselves to the wider community. It was all because doing good made them feel closer to God and being closer to HIM made them feel good.
When I expressed this to Pastor Pop, he got very excited and told me that I had learned a lesson that was very profound and difficult. Then he asked me what I was going to do.

I hadn't yet considered what I would do with the understanding, then came a flash of light in my head. I would help others because it made me feel good too.

He got such a big smile on his face when he heard me say that. He nodded and touched me on the shoulder and said, “Welcome home, my child. You have arrived to a new life, and I am proud to call you my Sister, and my Daughter.”

I felt like I had been swamped by a wave. I was dizzy, my brain spinning in place. It felt as though I soared among the stars without ever leaving the chair. I expanded to fill the universe, but I was smaller than an atom at the same time. I became conscious of how little I knew, and how much I had grown at the same time. I felt at one with everything, all at once. It was so much, and there was so much more that I couldn't express.

I saw Pastor looking at me with an understanding in his eyes that spoke volumes. I saw compassion and understanding, a confident knowledge that I had just broken out of my chrysalis to the life of the evolved butterfly.

That Event let me know that I was doing what I needed to. The Baptism was just a public ceremony showing how serious I was now. I already knew what I had vowed to do, to try to leave the world better than I found it.