Not only that, this job even paid most of my tuition as I finished the degree I should have gotten 20 years ago.
Of course it was not perfect. I had vowed to be less interpersonal, less ebullient, less... me. I had also vowed to never, ever again make reference to how fat or ugly I am or to refer to myself as “the lard”. Again, all adding up to being less “me”.
Things started off rather well. Working in a university setting is quite good camouflage in and of itself. My idiosyncrasies seemed rather small and insignificant to those around me and my job as a tech manager allowed me to bury myself in my work. I had some university students working for me, as well as one full time person for those times when I had no students upon which to call; but I made sure to get my hands dirty as much as possible.
Evidently, this was well noticed by the powers that be. I, however, was clueless. Between classes and making sure that everything tech was in the best of shape, I was in early and out late, often spending 80 hours a week or more on campus. So, when I was called into the Accounting office, I was very nervous.
The woman that called me in seemed very self-possessed and professional. She let me sit in the chair across from her desk for what seemed like hours, though I doubt it was really even 2 minutes. Determined to not wilt, I sat as still as possible and focused on her face with laser-beam directness. Which was quite hard, since she was wearing gorgeous shoes. I coveted them for myself, but since this was business, so was I.
When she finally turned to me, she squinted mildly and even gave me a bit of a once-over. I masked my surprise, as well as I could, with that same laser-beam directness and waited patiently. When she finally spoke, her voice was the silky smooth tones associated with 50s female film stars. “I suppose you know why you are here, don't you?”
This time, my mask wavered ever so slightly for just a moment. I refocused and answered “Ma'am, I have not a clue.”
The corners of her lips turned up minutely as she responded, “Mr. Thompson, your work here has been phenomenal, just to be brief. Complaints that have run for years have been solved. People who spoke most evilly of your department before now sing your praises. In fact, from what I have been able to piece together from your paperwork, not only are you responding to work orders, you have a proactive system of preventative measures in place to reduce the number of problems ever reported.”
She stopped and the silence became pregnant. I silently reviewed what she had told me so far and realized there was something left to tell. I could wait, thereby elongating the pause, or I could prod her along as gently as possible; “I sense 'but' coming in our conversation”.
The tiny quirk of her lips returned and she might have even been fighting an urge to have a real smile as she said, “So my research is true. I checked just a bit on your background. Everything I found said you are intelligent, funny, even bubbly. I also heard you described as more than capable, and probably a genius in your own right.” I started to sputter but before I could really get started, she waved me down. “I also heard you are painfully modest and have a pretty detractive self perception. Not only that, but somehow, you always made the people around you feel more empowered, more intelligent, and less threatened. The word trustworthy was used about you so many times it became a cliché.”
“What is bothering me now is that apparently, you have stopped relating to people and don't really seem to talk anymore. Your permanent staff person, Marty, and your student techs all think you can almost walk on water. Marty said you single handedly outwork the rest of the department combined, including himself. I checked the timestamps on some of your reports. Last week you worked almost 90 hours, less your meal and class times. I also checked your grades. You started the semester with over a 3.7 and if you keep going the way you are, that will improve. But, why don't you talk anymore?”
I thought for a moment before I replied, “I don't trust myself not to screw up a good thing so I keep my mouth shut, Ms. Spears. As much as possible, I try to let the results speak for themselves. After all, nothing means success like success.”
Her carefully shaped eyebrows rose in a manner of surprise as she said, “I do not understand at all. Your instructors think you are gifted. One of your former employers called you scary smart. Your student techs told me that more than once you answered the phone with the answer to the question they were calling you with before you even heard the question. One of our instructors told me that you fixed a projector for her so she could finish class and you corrected part of her lecture for her, though you did it by passing her a note rather than embarrassing her in front of her class.”
She seemed to be waiting for an answer so I shrugged and said, “I just thought I could help, but I did not want to disrupt her lecture any more than the projector had already done.”
All pretense of composure left her face. “She was lecturing on marketing. I checked and you have had no education in marketing. What's more, your point was entirely correct. How did you do that?”
I just managed to stifle a chuckle. “Ma'am, I have worked in retail off and on since I was 16. I have a degree from the school of hard work. What I gave her in there was not something from a book, it was from my life.”
She appeared to be mollified, if for the moment. “Well, we still need to get to the part where you start to relate to people. You evidently do pretty well in your classes overall but your instructors report you seem pretty stressed when you are put into groups for group work. You participate and contribute, but you are stiff and uncertain and somewhat withdrawn, from what I hear.”
I shrugged again. “I did not realize I put forth that appearance.”
She did not seem happy with that answer, or maybe that it was my only answer. “You deal fine with the team that works under you in your department. What is the difference?”
I collected my thoughts for a moment and replied, “I just tell them which job orders to do, and most of that is by text message. I give them the easiest ones, Marty the medium ones, and I take all the real problems. It does not work out like that 100% of the time, but that is my general approach.”
This time her eyebrows lowered. “So what you are telling me is you do not need to really communicate with your crew. I have looked over your reports and they are works of art. I heard you also started a knowledge base and that all fixes, problems, and procedures are entered into it religiously. Your crew also said you manage to check on each of them several times per day.”
She stopped and steepled her fingers and looked across her desk at me. “You obviously have some kind of inferiority complex. However, I have only the briefest education in counseling and psych so I am not going to try to hammer this out any further. I am directing you to see Marge Benson over at the Health Sciences Campus twice per week. Do not worry about how long it takes you away from your duties, this is deemed necessary for your continued sterling performance. Also, from now on, I want you to limit yourself to 45 hours per week on campus, besides what you need for classes and class related activities. You are too valuable a resource to burn you out with this 80 and 90 hours nonsense.”
She handed me a card. The front was a business card for Marge Benson. The back was an appointment blank that was already filled in with a date and time. Looking more closely, I realized I had less than two hours to make the appointment. I looked up to see Ms. Spears shooing me from her office. “I expect you to make all her scheduled appointments. Also, I will be calling you in from time to time to check on you myself. Now go, so you have time to button things down and get a good lunch before your appointment. I know you are too anal about your department to leave without making sure it is in the best shape possible before leaving the campus.” She shooed me again and I was gone.
Here is part 2 of NEW LONGER! Working Relations for your perusal:
From this peep into my past, you can well imagine that I am not a happy camper at the prospect of visiting Marge Bensen, regardless of her skill, talent, or magical ability to fix my life-long issues.
Ms. Spears had underestimated me. I had the department squared away before I ever went to visit her, so I was able to leave immediately.
I had estimated the drive across to the other campus at that time of day to be in the neighborhood of 15-20 minutes. However, I knew of a hole in the wall TexMex place just around the corner that had good food for real TexMex lovers, not the gussied up chain stuff in the big name restaurants. (Read that as FRESH, and hand-prepared, and did I mention FRESH?) They also had tea that would have been the best in town, were it not for Chicken Express. Since I did not have time for retail-therapy, I indulged in TexMex preventative medicine. I knew where the fair trade coffee house the university operated was on the Health campus and got an extra large mocha with extra whip for dessert.
I purposely strolled into Marge Bensen's office 2 minutes late. I nodded at the receptionist and sipped at my half-consumed mocha. The receptionist looked up and almost hyperventilated. In a panicked voice, she just managed not to scream, “You can't have that in here!”
I deadpanned the blankest expression to her I could manage, complete with blond blinks (a good trick for a brunette!), and paused long enough for veins to pulse on her neck and forehead then replied, “Sure I can. Whether I am allowed, though, is an entirely different subject.” I tilted the cup back and slugged down, easily, a third of the wondrous elixir in a long, delighted pull. I slowly straightened, look directly at her, and gasped that really good gasp you make in such circumstances. Somehow, she managed to pale even further.
“Who are you?! Why are you here?!” She was strident and coming ever closer to the shouting she trying so dearly to avoid.
I repeated the previous slugging maneuver held up the cup in a mock salute, and gave it a back-spin flip into the small trash receptacle in the corner so that it rebounded neatly off the wall and into the can.
I think the only reason she did not fall down at the point was the white knuckled grip she had on the edge of her desk.
“I can leave, if you like, wouldn't be a problem at all!” I offered. I produced my overly large shades, settled them on my face and was turning for the door when a much more collected voice destroyed my glee with a “No, I would not like. Come into my office. Now.”
I turned about as slowly as I could manage, removing my sun shades as I did, and viewed the owner of the new voice. She appeared to be a marginally older clone of Ms. Spears. I looked as disdainfully over the top of my glasses at her. “Ma'am, I do not appreciate your tone, nor your demanding attitude. I will be back when you have had time to consider that.” I slipped on my shades and purposely turned my back on her, silently counting as I reached for the door handle.
“Wait, wait, please do not be hasty. You are correct, I do need to respond with more decorum. May I assume that you are Mr. Thompson?” She seemed to be stressed and trying to cover it.
I left my shades on and turned back around, noting she had made it 4, while I had really only expected 2. “Yes, I am.” I shut my mouth and waited.
She managed not to goggle at me, but only barely. The receptionist was simply trying to maintain consciousness. Evidently I had managed a coup. Something was definitely up. Marge took a deep breath and finally coughed out what I had been awaiting. “Mr. Thompson, please allow me to invite you into my office.”
I managed a surreptitious glance at a small clock on the receptionist's desk and realized my theatrics had managed to shave only about 4 minutes off what I assumed would be either 30 minutes or an hour.
Entering her office was like being granted an audience with the queen of estrogen. Flowers and candles were everywhere, as were carefully arranged displays of porcelain dolls, mountainous frills of lace, and artfully included mirrors. The air smelled of perfume and Yanni played softly in the background. It was no surprise that as she re-entered her office her imperiousness returned, and quickly.
“Sit there, so can get to know you”, she demanded.
I raised on eyebrow, as slowly and theatrically as possible, then leaned back against the door frame and crossed my arms. Then I lowered both eyebrows below the frames of my sun shades, which I had never removed. I worked on otherwise blanking my expression into the blandest poker face I had never before been able to manage.
“Young man!” she growled, “I simply cannot make this work unless you cooperate with me!”
I did not even twitch.
“This is simply impossible. I suppose I will have to call your Ms. Spears”, shaking her head like she was actually going to make something happen.
“No, you will not.” I even managed to get a semi-threatening tone with my lips not even really moving. Yea me!
“Of course I will, so what makes you think I will not?” She seemed to be genuinely puzzled.
“Because that would be a violation of patient confidence and I would make sure to have your license over that. I agreed to show up. I never agreed to participate. And, if you so much as breathe a word of complaint to her, I will know that you violated state law and I will have you before the state medical board. On the other hand, if you were to tell her that we are simply incompatible, but did not explain why, I would be amenable to that outcome.” I had raised my shades and stared her down during my speech, the lowered them again.
The queen of estrogen was visibly shaken in her own throne room. “I've never been talked to like that before in my entire professional career! What makes you think you can get away with this?” Beads of perspiration were beginning to show on her brow.
“The fact that you view me as 'getting away' with anything, when I am supposed to be here for my betterment, is very disturbing. Are you certain that you are suited for this job?” The effort to not grin voraciously was tremendous. To this day, I am not sure how I managed it.
She stuttered for a moment and slowly fainted into a puddle at the base of the chair she had been intending to use as her throne while she interrogated me.
I shrugged and went back out to the receptionist's office. “She needs you.”
I grinned as I drove away from her building, sipping a fresh mocha.
Ms. Spears seemed to be taken aback. “What is wrong with Marge? She has always been wonderful in the past. Also, I really did not mean for you to think you have shortcomings. What I had hoped to accomplish was to draw you from your shell and let you feel safe enough to interact with the people here on campus like you did in your old job.”
I carefully considered how much rope I should use to hang myself, “In our first consultation, she snapped at me, then fainted and fell out of her chair. I left her in the care of her receptionist. Personally, I do not wish to be under the care of any psych pros, much less one that badgers me and snaps at me. I am not impressed, at all, with her talent, skill, or professionalism.”
Ms. Spears pondered my word for a moment then picked up the phone. “Hi Trina, I heard that Marge fainted and I wanted to check on her.” She wrote furiously for a moment, muttering “ummhmm”, “oh no”, and “oh dear” each several times.
After a bit she hung up. “Marge seems to feel that you and she have a basic conflict in personalities and urges me to refer you to someone on the list of providers her receptionist is faxing me now. Do you have any idea why that might be something she would recommend?”
I kept my face as blank as possible as I responded with, “I have no idea what was driving her today. As I said before, I am completely uncomfortable with the idea of being in counseling and I see no need for me to be referred to anyone.”
Ms. Spears sighed. “Ok, let me be frank with you. While I was doing my background check on you, it came to my attention that you are possibly either a transvestite, transsexual, or transgendered in some other way. The university has strict rules of not interfering in such lifestyles, nor discriminating for them or against them. I felt that a lot of your withdrawl was that you felt you could not be who you feel you should be and I was hoping that Marge could slowly urge you out of your shell.”
I think I kept my expression blank but the complete lack of blood in my face pretty much gave me away. “Oh. That.”
Evidently she does not deal well with people who are whiter than her laser touched teeth. “Mr. Thompson, you look terrible, are you ok?”
She hustled around her desk and felt my face, then my neck. “You feel so cold and clammy and your pulse is pounding. Should I call for a nurse?”
I smiled weakly, “No thanks, just a glass of water and maybe a few minutes to collect myself would be nice, though.”
My world was crashing around my ears inside of my head. I had been exposed as a freak. I could see everything I had worked for crumbling into ashes and dust. I had no idea what to do. I guess I zoned out for a moment because suddenly I felt something cool and moist pressed to my forehead. I realized it was a cold compress and I murmured my thanks and gently touched the hand holding it to my head.
I blinked a few times then looked up as best I could around the hand. It belonged to Ms. Spears. She looked very concerned and there were two other women behind her with that same look on their faces. One of them realized I was back from the zone and pressed a cup of water into my hand. I sipped it slowly.
When the water was gone, I smile and asked if I could get up and get some more water. Ms. Spears and one of the other women practically sat on me as the third woman ran for more water.
“Whoa, I am not a china doll, getting up will not kill me.” I refrained from giggling but did allow myself a small smirk.
The women gingerly stepped back and allowed me to stand. It was pretty anticlimactic. I stood easily and smoothly and nodded my thanks to each woman in turn, accepting another cup of water from the third woman as she returned from the water fountain. I realized the cold compress was still on my forehead and peeled it away. It was only a few paper towels folded and moistened in the water fountain.
As I leaned over Ms. Spears desk and dropped the compress into the trash can, she spoke up, “So, you are ok? Ladies, thanks so much for your help but Mr. Thompson and I have some things to discuss.”
She paused as they hugged her and left quietly.
“Mr. Thompson, you scared the, umm... the sense out of me! What was that all about?” She slide back onto the edge of her desk and crossed her legs as she sat and almost glared at me.
“Ms. Spears, I had never been accused, point blank, like that before, even though I have been to my old place of employment in a dress and heels and makeup. I also never thought that it would haunt me at a really good job like this one.” I ran my hand through my tortuously short hair, missing when it was long enough for me to easily hide behind it.
She relaxed and sat up straighter and looked at me in a curious way. “I need you to understand, I am not here to find fault with you, or to call you names, or to threaten you or to tell you what to do. Really, it amazes me that you are performing so well when your life is obviously a pressure cooker. Is there anything that you would feel comfortable telling me? I mean that. I do not want you to leave your comfort zone.”
I took a cleansing breath to fortify myself and said, “Ms. Spears....”
She interrupted me with, “No, never again, please call me Elise. Is there a name, masculine or feminine, you would prefer to Mr. Thompson?”
This struck me as odd since the plaques on both her desk and door simply said 'Ms. Spears, Human Resource Accounting'. I had also sneaked a peek at her business cards, but they said the same thing. I had the distinct feeling that I had been given a rare gift. “Ok, Elise, but only in private. I would like to maintain a nice degree of professionalism outside these walls.”
She shot me a look of respect. “Yes, I suppose that is for the best. However, you still did not tell me if there is a name that you prefered or not.”
At this point, had I been less fully clothed, I would have demonstrated the concept of the full body blush, because I am quite sure mine went to my toes. “Well, if you don't mind, I really like the name Artemis. I sometimes use Misty as a nickname.” I was not sure why revealing my feminine name was so embarrassing to me, but I felt very exposed at that moment.
I did not realize I was hugging myself until Elise gently took one of my hands and guided me into a gentle hug with her, instead.
Then she stepped back and held me lightly by each shoulder and said, “Misty, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. And, to be honest, I hope I get to meet the real you sometime. From what I understand, you are quite a cute lady.” She smiled and winked and waved me into a chair as she returned to her own.
“Misty, Artemis, you must realize, you are a fantastic asset to the university, even though you have basically lopped off a major part of yourself. I have no idea what a treasure you must be when you are not hiding yourself and in pain from how you have constricted your ego and basically denied your super-ego. And, only the most powerful personality could devastate Marge Bensen the way you did. She admires you, by the way. She cannot help but respect the only person to beat her at her own game.” This time, the smirk was on Elise's face.
I stood, and motioned for her to do the same, as I reached for my cell phone. With some quick gestures on the touch screen, I sent status checks to all my department. Almost instantaneous responses showed that all was well, probably thanks to my exhaustive efforts earlier in the day to prepare for Ms. Sp... errr.. Elise's visit. I smiled and winked at Elise and opened the door for her.
As we went downstairs, I used more gestures to prepare our way. When we arrived at the front door, a small university electric golf cart was waiting on us, empty.
We soon arrived at my car, where I abandoned the golf cart, knowing its recovery was already arranged. We got in and I drove us to the interstate and up a few miles to the next city where I knew was a nice coffee house that was far enough from campus that would should be reasonably safe from prying eyes.
At this point, she surprised me by asking my preference and ordering for us both. We sat in the darkest corner booth farthest from the door and each took measure of the other.
We were interrupted from our reverie by our orders arriving and both giggled simultaneously. This causes us both to break into open laughter. Fortunately for us, the place as pretty empty and no one really noticed.
I noticed her lips kept moving in tiny, tiny quirks and I realized she was forming words over and over but rejecting them in her mind. I hid my grin behind my cup and sipped my mocha as she worked it within herself.
Twice, I thought she was going to speak, and after the second time, I decided to mitigate her misery. “I think, at this point, unless you are incredibly crude, which I doubt, that you are going to hurt my feelings. I know you want to ask me something, so why don't you give it a shot and see how well I respond?”
She obviously thought that she was a better with a poker face than she really was. She slumped a bit in defeat then straightened and looked me in the eye. “I want to see pictures. I am sorry, but my curiousity is far, far getting the better of me.”
I giggled and held up a finger, “Hold that thought!” I dashed out to my car and got my laptop from my trunk. I trotted back into the coffee house and slid the backpack holding it and my assorted accessories into the seat beside me. As I zipped it out, I realized that I could make this easier.
She was sitting with her back to the wall and I indulged my paranoia and slid in beside her as I opened up the lid and powered it on. Ubuntu was soon percolating on my screen and I popped up several local and web folders. “Some of these are ooooooold. Some are merely not current.”
I watched her face as she marveled at the differences between the screen me and the current me. “You look great! What happened? Why are there no newer pictures of you?”
I stared at the screen for a while, finally breaking the stillness by sipping my mocha, then finally turned to her. “Because one day I realized I would die ugly.”
I am pretty sure my expression broke when I saw a giant tear suddenly slide down her cheek.
Considering that, I could either continue my paranoia, or I could take a chance and form a confidence with Elise. My instincts for people were amazingly accurate, but certainly not 100%. Eventually, paranoia would cause me to burn up like old grass in a Texas summer. Equally, opening up could leave me vulnerable to any number of threats and attacks. My mind was racing as I watched her only in my peripheral vision as I stared at my cup.
She swallowed nervously several times and then sipped her latte. Removing a compact from her purse, she checked her face and realized that there had been no real damage from the one tear. As she put it away, she cleared her throat as if she was putting an old farm tractor into gear.
She took one more sip, for whatever moral support it offered, I suppose, then spoke, “Misty, I do not know if this will make any difference to you about anything at all, but I think I should explain myself. My mom came from a really large family. She has, umm, had 5 brothers and 7 sisters. I guess my grandmother was really prone to multiple births. My Aunt Sybil and Uncle David were the oldest. My Aunt Elizabeth was next, only 14 months later. My Aunt Joan, Aunt Lydia, and Aunt Sophia were next, missing have the same birthday, 3 years later by only being a week later than Aunt Elizabeth's. Uncle Joe was not quite 2 years later. Grandfather was called back to the Navy for some secret work for 18 months so the next babies were over 5 years later, when Aunt Lisa, Uncle Robert, and Aunt Ruth were born. Mom was born next, with Uncle Tommy, and finally Uncle William and Uncle Ted were born.”
She took a small sip of her latte, then impulsively drained the cup and focused on the top of my head, as I was still looking downward. “Uncle Tommy was not like the other boys. He had asthma when he was born, and was pretty sickly. Later he put on weight and by the time he could crawl, he was nearly as big as mom. In the pictures I have seen, they look like they are 3 months apart in age because she was that much larger. He walked before mom, though, and talked, too. And he was potty trained before he was 18 months old. My grandmother did not do a thing. Uncle Tommy just hated diapers so he trained himself. By the time he was three, he was reading as well or better than Aunt Lisa, Uncle Robert, and Aunt Ruth.”
I waved her down and went and got us refills and a biscotti apiece. I sat back down, passing her share to her and stared at my cup again, still not willing to commit one way or the other.
She started stirring her latte with her biscotti as she resumed her tale. “Grandmother knew he was special and went and, umm... convinced the local school administration that they were going to enroll Tommy at age 4. Now this was a long time ago. Before pre-school, before kindergarten, before HeadStart. He was obviously the smartest kid in his first grade class. The only reason he was not promoted directly to the third grade was because they just could not bring themselves to have a 5 year old in with a bunch of 7 and 8 year olds. He should have been really bored in the second grade, but the teacher gave him a lot of various art projects to do to keep him busy. He could draw like anything! He could also sculpt and carve and even tried macramé, which was no challenge for him. She also had him reading on the sixth grade level. If the school administration had known, they might have had coronaries. When it came time to promote, she showed them all the special tests and evaluations she had given him and basically pitched a royal fit until the put him in the fifth grade. She really thought he should be in high school, but the school was, reasonably, worried about bullies and maybe Tommy being completely ostracized.”
I risked a quick blink her direction but she stopped and took a nibble of her biscotti. I decided she was onto something and started soaking mine, too.
She resumed her story, “What they did not bank on, was that Tommy was a natural helper. When one kid was going to give him problems, Tommy negotiated with him. He explained some shortcuts for math class and suddenly he had a dedicated protector. It did not take long for word to get around that Tommy could help anyone with any subject. Not only would you have correct homework to turn in, you would usually do much better on tests, too. The teachers were concerned, at first, then realized he was not doing their work for them. He was actually tutoring them and helping them grasp the material. He went through the fifth grade at ages 6 and 7, ages normally seen in the second grade. He was as tall as Mom, now, but stick thin. He still had a lot of health issues but was far, far, too stubborn to let them keep him from school.”
She stopped for another bite of biscotti and a couple sips of latte. She was really, really into the story, but I could tell she was having to fight for every word. I was pretty sure I would not like the ending.
She ate the last nibble of biscotti and continued, “By now, the state had found out about him. Some people from the capitol came and tested him and realized he could easily do the high school math his fifth grade teacher had been slipping him, and was reading on a college level. He had not had any formal science or history classes, but scored college level in knowledge for both, from the extensive reading he had been encouraged to do. This was all at the end of his fifth grade year. He was 7. He started at the state university that fall. This was the first time he was really challenged, but he was in all honors classes. He has to really work for it, but he finished his freshman year with a 4.0 GPA. By now, Mom, his sister was really worried about him. My grandparents were too busy being proud he was doing so well, they did not think about the psychological aspects of a 7 year old being away from his parents so much and being with adults almost constantly, instead of children his age. But Mom did.”
I wasn't sure, because I was still only watching peripherally, but I think she shuddered then. She took a sip of latte, I think, to hide it, but the lid kept me from seeing if the surface was rippled.
She went back to talking like she had never stopped, “She kept asking to go see him or for him to come see her. Everyone just kept telling her that her brother was too important now and that she need to work on her studies so she could be smart, too. Honestly, she was nearly as gifted as Tommy, but she was no slouch, either. Right then, she was in the second grade. She put her entire life energy into impressing her teacher enough to skip a year. And it worked, too! People were only mildly surprised, after all, she was Tommy's twin.”
“Tommy went onto his sophomore year and took 20 hours both semesters. He still had not declared a major but every college at the university was courting him. The reason he took so many hours was not because he was in a hurry or because he was gung ho, he just wanted to figure out which field of study really appealed to him. Mom was so persistent, she got to see him a few times during this year. She still managed to go skip to the sixth grade. While she was visiting the university, she talked to one of Tommy's counselors and found out that Grandfather might could get a job on campus. He was ex-Navy and did many secret things. She kept pushing until he applied for work. Because of his security clearance, he was instantly hired and put to work in a defense related project. The family moved over the summer. By now, Aunt Sybil and Uncle David were seniors in high school. They were not exactly thrilled about moving from our old home town. The other siblings were at various levels of enthusiasm over the idea, but generally, the younger the happier because of the adventure factor. Overall, it as viewed as a good thing. Aunt Sybil and Uncle David had no problems having grades good enough to take advantage of the employees scholarship program, so they would be going to State the next fall. Grandfather was making almost three times the money he had been at the mill, plus he had state benefits. They had a much nicer house and the schools were all geared to offer the opportunity of accelerated learning because of the proximity of the university. This worked in mom's favor, as she went from the sixth grade to the ninth. Uncle Tommy finally declared a major in human biology. He was especially enthralled by the endocrine system.”
By now, Elise had been talking non-stop for a while and was getting pretty dry. It was getting to be almost 6 in the evening and the coffee house as beginning to get busy. I decided that we needed to continue this somewhere else. I normally did not get home until after 10PM so I had a while and because of the title she chose to use, and the lack of a wedding band, I was betting that Elise was not married. As she sipped her latte, I quietly suggested, “I have you a long way from your car, how about if I give you a ride back to campus, and you can continue to regale me with your very interesting saga of the days of yore in the car?”
We both nodded and I finished the last bite of biscotti and bussed our table as we left. I bought us each a bottle of water on the way out.
Once in the car, she resumed her story, “He took 18 hours both of his junior semesters, plus he had taken a few odd summer courses. By the end of his junior year, he had enough credits for a degree in general studies, and was only a few credits from a degree in Human Biology. That summer, he took Latin and German. I found out that a lot of chemistry texts are in German. He only took Latin because he thought it would make things easier to name if he ever made some kind of wonderful discovery.” She giggled nervously. “Mom didn't try to skip the tenth grade, after all, she was only 9. She was tired from trying to catch Tommy. At least now, she saw him almost everyday. He had quarters in a special dormitory on campus for younger and special needs students, but she rode her bicycle to see him most everyday. On Sundays, Tommy came home for Sunday lunch. He had a hard time fitting in with everyone but Mom. I suspect he really on did it to make her happy. Of course, at age 9, they were both still children. Mom was aware enough of the world to know that would not last much longer.”
We entered the freeway and she watched me work the manual transmission, then looked ahead and spoke again, “By the time she finished her tenth grade year, and he finished his senior year at the university, they were 10. She had started her growth spurt. He had been slightly taller than her at the beginning of the year, but she was easily an inch and a half taller at the end. He accepted another degree, this time the Human Biology degree he had really wanted. He immediately began making plans to simultaneously work on another degree in Chemistry, and also to enter Med school. The state intervened and encouraged him to get the degree in Chemistry. They wanted him to have a just a bit more life experience before he entered the special hell of med school. He agreed, but also got a degree in Italian, just to tweak a few noses. At the end of the school year, Mom was just over 2 inches taller than Tommy. They were 11. Grandmother had already started telling Mom about the birds and the bees, but Mom ended up giving Grandmother an anatomically explicit lecture, complete with back-of-napkin illustrations. She had audited some of Tommy's Human Biology classes and read a lot of his endocrinology texts.”
I laughed out loud at that mental picture and Elise grinned wryly as she sipped her bottle of water. I took a chance on entering the conversation. “I take it your mom was a bit of a... character?”
She was the one to laugh this time. “Anyone who could converse with Tommy was either a genius or a character, or both. I always thought Mom was both.”
I took another chance, “Judging by her daughter, I would have to wager in your favor.”
She colored mildly, which surprised me, actually. She covered her flush by continuing her story, “Mom turned out to be an early bloomer. She was no Dolly Parton, but she did have a nice figure. Her junior year in high school, which she finished at age 12, she definitely went from girl to young woman. What surprised everyone was that Tommy became just as curvaceous and feminine. By the time he accepted his 3rd and 4th degrees, he as almost the same height and size as his twin sister, right down to their bra sizes. There was an investigation, but no one was ever able to prove he did it to himself. He proclaimed, loudly, that it was all natural. Because of the furor, Mom's senior year in high school, while she was 12 and 13, the state again refused him entry into medical school. He gave in but warned them that if they refused him again, he would go elsewhere. Instead, he worked on a bachelors in Russian and a Masters in Chemistry. What was odd was he started looking for reasons to spend time with Mom. He began dressing like her and got her to cut her hair into a shorter style so they could look more alike. He asked to be called Tammy instead of Tommy.”
I coasted off of the freeway and downshifted my way onto the surface streets of home. She paused as I did until we got on the primary street to the campus.
“The crazy thing was, his ability to learn and absorb information and to theorize seemed to grow as he became more Mom's identical twin instead of her fraternal one. The second semester he started another degree plan for a Masters in Math. He, or by now everyone referred to her as she, did not even struggle. Three degrees at once, two of the graduate, and she was happy as a clam.”
“When Mom started as a freshman at State, studying economics, she and Tammy roomed together, as they were both 13. Tammy and Mom usually liked to dress as mirror images of each other. They moved exactly alike, sounded just alike, and looked so much alike there was no telling them apart if they had clothes on. Just to keep everyone guessing, the usually swapped clothes at least once per day. I am pretty sure they swapped classes, too. Mom was pretty sharp when she wanted to be. My grandparents were completely shattered that there genius son had gone girl on them. Mom, though, somehow made them understand that doing anything about it would destroy Tammy. By now the State had come to grips with the fact that Tammy had replaced Tommy, and, if anything, was a superior intellect.”
She stopped as I smoothly pulled into the parking slot next to her car. Her lips quirked again, “But can you handle that clutch as well in heels as you can in those Nike Airs?” (My work meant I walked a lot! The dress code was pretty liberal, as might be expected for a university, so I wore my Airs with the Shox heels.)
I decided modesty was in order, “Well, I think so, but I haven't tried in years.” I almost said “because I realized I was going to die ugly” but reconsidered in time to finish my phrase smoothly.
She seemed to go empathic on my for a moment, enough to realize what I did not say, and why, but let it pass. “I have broken more rules today and tonight than I have in my entire career. I am quite aware of the cast iron cupcake reputation I have in the office, though you might not have heard since you usually have your head buried in a computer or projector. I keep all my relations here strictly work, strictly professional. I still have no idea why I was, and am, worried about you. I just felt I had to make sure you were ok. Then, I found out about your little... hobby.”
She stopped again as a tear, then another dribbled down each cheek. I quickly produced a couple of fast food napkins from my stash in my car.
As she pulled down the visor to use the mirror to dab her face, she said in a quavering voice, “When Tammy was 14, while mom was in class and Tammy was in their room, for some reason, she went to the room of the dorm building and jumped off. A grounds crew saw the entire thing and all 5 of them swear she was alone. And she is still a vegetable in the State Hospital. No one knows why she decided to try to kill herself. She missed the concrete when a freak gust of wind blew her backwards and her head landed on the grass. Mom thinks my grandparents had tried to shame her into becoming Tommy, again. I do not know why I connected to you so easily and quickly, but if the same kind of thing happened with you, I would be a basket case. I know that is no excuse for me butting in, but there it is.”
At this point, my eyebrows were doing some kind of weird ballet as I was desperately trying to absorb not just the information but also the nuances of how she felt and meant it, as well as if she was sincere.
After a moment, I pulled the keys from the ignition and climbed out, going around to help her from my little sedan. As she alighted, I looked directly in her eyes to say, “Elise, I am honored you have taken an interest in me. I am not a machine, but that is how I often try to model my behavior and thought patterns. The more I ignore the touchy and the feely and the more I only monitor the data and the logic, the more I could be that machine. To help me along that path, you're correct, I buried myself in my studies and my work. I used to be oh so trusting. I was burned badly, more than once. So, now, I tend to be paranoid. I watch who is watching me. I take devious routes to see if anyone if following me. I vary my routine often. I do the unexpected as much as I can, just to see who is surprised, but, to my way of thinking, not to many people should even notice my activities to begin with, much less, notice a change.”
I shut the door behind her and walked with her around our cars to her drivers door and watched her unlock it. “I do not know why I do it, because when I, umm... had a change of... vision, I really had nothing to hide. I cut my hair, and well, purged. I gave away my makeup and clothes, threw away what I could not give away. I just saw no reason to try anymore and I gave up my vow to myself, please pardon me for putting it this way, but this is how I felt, that I would not die ugly.”
She gripped my hand so tightly, I actually heard some knuckles pop!
As I spoke I gently put my other hand over hers, and tugged my trapped hand gently. She seemed to snap back to the present and said, “Oh! I am so so so sorry!”
She quickly released my hand, only to catch me by the wrist. She lifted my hand to her lips and kissed and then looked at me with giant puppy dog eyes and said, “Please forgive me, I am dealing with some issues here and I should not have put them onto you.”
“Not a problem, Ms. Sp... err, Elise, not a problem,” I said, though I managed to find various ways to keep my hands busy, lest they suffer the same treatment.
She also idly searched for and found her keys, then turned and asked me, “Why did you show me your pictures?”
I ever so smoothly replied, “Huh?”
“Your pictures,” she said, “ as paranoid as you claim to be, and probably are, from what I have been able to see, that seems out of character for you to have shown them to me so easily.”
I am sure my face was in that typical 'I've been an giant idiot!' expression as I pondered for a moment then finally said, “I guess I knew the jig was up. At that point, I guess I was worn out from hiding and pretending I was normal, as if there was, is such thing. I dunno. I may have said before, I have pretty decent instincts about people. I decided that maybe it was time to trust someone and maybe that someone was you. Besides, you had the entire story already laid out except for actually seeing the photos.”
“Fair enough,” she said, “however tentative your answer is.” Which also earned me a momentary scowl. “I'll be in touch after I have had lunch with Marge and find out just how she perceived your, umm, encounter. What set you off, anyway? You normally come across as such a sweetheart.”
“She was trying to do some kind of drill instructor routine, set up a dominance hierarchy. I do not go for the entire dom/sub thing and it puts me on edge when people try to play it on me. With all the extra background I have now that I did not have before, I would suspect that she wanted me to associate living in a male persona as regimented BS so that she could present me transitioning as some kind of... I dunno... umm... improvement of circumstances.” I sighed. “I did the military thing. I have a bit of law enforcement in my background, too, but you may have missed it because I did not put it on my resume because it was not technical.”
I stopped the pacing I had not realized I had started while I was considering my answer and looked her in the eyes as I said, “I have been though and over and around and to a lot. And made it back. I've seen people die. I been thought dead once or twice myself. I've nursed people through some pretty tragic events. I've been bullied a time or three and I dealt with it. Now, when people try that kind of thing, I generally make sure I am more than they can handle. I guess I overdid it with her, but I do not regret my actions. People who think they can push others around for their own good have lost perspective.” I looked away and put my hands in my pockets. “And, I can pretty much be a butthead if you strike me the wrong way.”
She giggled and shook her head and then folded into her car like a ballerina folding down onto a stage to close a performance.
I made a note to hit the university provided gym tomorrow before class, rather than my normal routine of checking the work orders generated overnight. I had been getting too regular in my habits, anyway and now I wanted to work on loosing some more weight and also on my flexibililty.
I waved as she backed her car out and drove away. I got into my own car and drove to my normal parking place. I went to my office and checked the days notes. The guys had taken my absence as an opportunity to show what the could do and had really performed well. There were no work orders left to finish, no negative notes of things they could not solve, and I saw that all the data entry for the knowledge base was already keyed and that all the filing was done.
I individually made notations in the files of each member of my crew stating my pleasure with their initiative and skill. I especially praised Marty. I could see his hand in a couple of the more difficult fixes that had been done, though he had not taken credit. I also fired off an email requesting he get a merit raise. The student crew was on a different kind of payscale I could not effect, but the commendations I gave them would be something they could put into their resumes.
Confident that I was caught up at work, I left a full two hours earlier than I often did. I picked up some grilled chicken salads on the way home and wondered what I would walk into, tonight.
So ends Day 1.
Day 2 saw me in the gym bright and early. I did a spin class, pilates, yoga, and finished off with a swim. I was so tired I could barely move. It was great! A shower and fresh clothes, later, I came stumbling out. Having the foresight to know I would probably overdo, I had parked in my normal place and driven a golf cart to the gym. I returned the golf cart and went into my office to check for overnight work orders. There was only one and it did not look too bad. I put it in the “first student crew to arrive” basket and checked my email, of which, nothing was significant. I gathered up my books and headed to class. Such glamor, right?
I was still tired from my workout so I took the department golf cart the quarter mile to the building that housed my first class, Chinese I. I was really enjoying learning the language and the culture that was its foundation. Which did not make it any easier!
From there, I drove the golf cart back and took my car to the Engineering campus for my next class, microprocessor design. I found this class just as interesting but in a different way. Where Chinese allowed me to communicate and express, and to see the beauty of a culture new to me, the design class showed me the elegance of industrial art in both the hardware and the microcode of the processors I was studying. A lot of people did not understand how I can be so happy in both classes, but it made perfect sense to me.
When I got out of my micro class, I went to a facility work station and logged into to my department account remotely. It was a slow day for work orders so I drove back to the main campus and got to work on a list of preventative measures I had developed. I knew the more time I invested in this type activity, the fewer work orders we would see, but I also knew the more uptime would mean better class productivity and as I needed smaller and smaller crews, more would be invested in infrastructure hardware and we would be needed for more equipment meaning more problems meaning larger crews again.
There would obviously never be an end to the cycle, but I was doing all I could to be a positive force by maximizing production and usability, minimizing frustration, maintaining campus morale, and negating problems before they could even happen.
I was doing all the hard work for several reasons. Two of them were selfish and at either end of the priority list: I wanted to bury myself in work so completely I had no life and no time for other thoughts, except class and homework; and I wanted to make a name for myself for later advancement. Believe it or not, advancement was last on my list of priorities.
There were others, such as work ethic; helping my student crew; advancing my alma mater; and even just to be able to attend class in properly equipped rooms.
But, when I was really, totally honest with myself, I did not want to be at home and I did not want to think. My car was my private space. My office represented my own personal work of art. My classes were my catch-all excuse for anything my work did not cover. I could always have homework to catch up. Chinese was especially good for that!
I had seen shirts and bumper stickers that said no brain, no pain. That was my basic strategy and I had any number of tactics to act on that strategy. As far as I was concerned, if my brain was so busy it had no time to think of the negative, then that was the same has having no brain. Somewhere in there is having your cake and eating it, too... but that makes me think of prions and mad cow and too many unsettling thoughts. You can tackle that one on your own!
I was midway done taking a apart a CPU and cleaning it thoroughly to keep the dust build up under control when Elise appeared from nowhere. Somehow my perception kicked in before my reflexes got me in trouble. Still, I had already dropped to one knee and was only an inch from an elbow strike to the outside of her near knee when I stopped myself. The resulting blow would have dropped the intruder dramatically at my feet but my paranoia had almost caused me to attack Elise.
I drew my arm back so quickly, she never saw it under the tray she was carrying. If I did not already feel like a heel before, now I was pretty much doomed.
I stood back up and looked at the tray she was carrying and managed an only slightly strangled “Hi”. I am pretty sure my eyes only a little larger than coffee saucers.
Do not get me wrong, I was surprised she was there and I was surprised she had food, but that was not all that was going on in my head. However, she thought I was really surprised about her and the food. Oh my goodness, I am beginning to think this woman sees me as some kind of paranoid lunatic that needs to be nursed back into society. I wonder what would cause her to think something like that?
I smiled and said, “Umm... I am covered in dust and grime and you manage to come in looking like a magazine ad for the latest new look at Dillards **and** you are carrying food. I love you and hate you and love you all at the same time!”
She gave me exactly the look I expected. “Why would you hate me?” Her lip trembled microscopically.
I grinned in a kind-of devilish fashion as I said, “I love you because you are so stylish and trendy and put-together, but I hate you because you look so great and I am so ugly but I love you for thinking of me to the point you would track me down with food!” I only gushed a little bit as I said it.
From the appraising expression I got in return, she obviously thought I was full of BS but for some reason she was good with that.
“Whatever,” she replied, but I have two of the best grilled chicken salads ever prepared by human hands. Interested?”
My hands flew into a blurr reassembling the computer I had finished disassembling and cleaning as she and I had spoken. “I am 5 to 7 minutes from finishing this machine, which must be complete in under 20 minutes to make the next class in this room.”
She thought for a moment. “What if we met in the faculty lounge in the next building over in 8 minutes and by then I'll have some fresh ranch dressing for the salads and maybe even some Cinnamon Dolce for me and a mocha for you!”
I responded with a resounding “Deal!”
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I knew it would take her a couple of minutes to get the Union building and back next door with the coffee drinks but it had also taken me a bit to finish up. What I had in mind was dangerous, foolish, and something I had been considering for months.
I ran across the roof and checked what I had suspected from the ground. Ah, the branches were just right! I kicked out every erg of speed I had in my overweight but still impressively quick body and leaped from the edge of the roof and caught a sturdy branch oh a few feet from the roof. That was actually the easy part. Letting my feet swing up and land on a large, strong bough, I spun and stood up straight, balanced with my grip on the first branch.
The ancient oak upon which I stood was so old it towered over the three, four, and five story buildings near it. The buildings had been, originally, spaced to not threaten its living and growing space, but the tree and thrived and now had a thick branch running in the direction I needed and it had enough clearance over it to walk (or run) upright.
I easily walked in towards the trunk of the tree and laddered up a few levels to the branch I wanted, working in a half circle around the tree, ascertaining everything was strong and healthy as I went. I know all this sounds time consuming, but the tree was so large, it was a virtual sidewalk in the sky. In less time than I could have walked downstairs, I was on the branch I had selected and walking quickly towards the other building.
I could see Elise coming, already half way back from the Union, but she had not noticed me in the tree. When I was about 8 feet from the other roof, but still above it, I took four running steps, like a tight rope walker finishing a dangerous show, and jumped for all I was worth. I landed neatly on the roof, about a foot over the low parapet and let my landing run carry me right to the roof entrance.
By the time Elise entered the lounge, I had arranged a table, scrounged and washed silverware, furnished glasses of water, and was sitting back languidly, waiting on her like I had been there forever.
She was mildly surprised but did a good job of not letting it show. I only had a microsecond to notice it, but I had been watching.
Elise strolled over, her eyes appraising me and the table I had set. “How did you manage to get the room for just us?” she asked. She picked up a fork and examined it closely.
“I washed those, already, to answer the unasked, and we just lucked out, to answer the asked,” I said, as I watched her fight the rise of her eyebrows. “I abhor dirty silverware.”
I stood up and began arranging the bounty she had brought to the table, causing her to step back and watch in curiousity as I fussed things into place. Once it all met my satisfaction, I pulled out her chair and held my other arm in a welcoming arc, indicating she should sit. I helped her with her chair and sat myself. I took my own chair, bowed my head, and gave thanks for our food. I kept my voice low and soft in case she might be offended, but I did not sacrifice my faith, either. When I was done, I took my napkin and arranged it in my lap and looked over at her to see how she had taken it.
As she smoothed her own napkin into her lap, she looked back over at me. “You work like a man possessed. You find answers in minutes to problems that have lasted for years. You arrange the table like a woman. You pray thanks for your food in a considerate manner but with absolutely no hesitation. You have a sense of danger to you but make people feel very safe around you. You literally fix things before they break. You can talk to almost everyone on campus.” She paused for breath as I delicately dressed my salad and speared a bite on my fork. “Look, you didn't fill your fork or smother your salad in dressing. How you put the dressing on salad is even pretty!”
I nibbled the bite of salad off of my fork and chewed it thoughtfully. I put my fork back down on my plate as chewed. As I finished chewing I dabbed my mouth with my napkin and then took an evaluating sip of my mocha. It was very good, as is always true of the mochas from the Union. She still had not spoken farther so I asked, “Those were all statements, so why do I feel like I am supposed to answer you? I am just slightly confused.”
“Oh, don't you dare try to turn blond on me! I will not stand for it!” she intoned.
I decided to tweak her a just a bit, “I've been blond several times. I have also been redheaded. I like being blond, it suits my personality, but I like being redheaded, too. I get to be almost as ditzy and I get to have a firey temper.” I managed a pretty decent rendition of a coed giggle and cracked the facade of her supercilious expression in two.
She shook her head, grinning. “You? As a ditzy redhead with a redheaded temper? Ok, to be honest, it is the temper part I find hard to believe.”
I waited until she was taking a sip of her latte before I said, “It's simple, I just fake PMS.”
She only sprayed latte into her cup, causing me to have a very high degree of respect for her level of self control. “If you do that to me ever again, I'll make sure I get latte **all** over you! She tried to scowl at me but I was pretty much seeing though all of her fake expressions, now.
I crossed my eyes and waggled my eyebrows at her independently in response, causing her to choke on her salad. Now I felt bad. I beat feet to her side of the table and helped her sit up straight. She sipped her water for a moment then held up her hand. “It's ok, it's ok, I am fine, now. How did you do that?”
I pretended to be blond. “Do what?” This time I rolled my eyes independently as I also waggled my eyebrows independently. “What do you mean?”
She squealed and swatted at me with her napkin. I'm not sure why. A direct swat would have been too ineffective to even deal misery to a house fly. I patently ignored her efforts and ate my salad while she pummeled (?) me with her napkin. I was pretty sure that unless she wrapped that napkin around her fist, or maybe the leg of her chair, I could eat through the entire episode, more or less unfazed.
She was less than amused. I decided I would assist her in locating her priorities. “Your salad is getting warm and your latte is getting cold.” Just to make sure she was paying attention, I rolled my eyes, waved my eyebrows, and, for good measure, wiggled my ears. She sat in stony silence surveying me with a glare and crossed arms as I finished my salad.
Sometimes my weird personality and my cesspool of useless talents get in the way of me relating on a human level. Now you see why I text so much.
Just when I thought we were going to sit out the rest of our meal silently, she machine guns me with, “What was all that? I guess I have heard of people wiggling their ears, and even the eyebrow thing was kind of... umm... interesting, but how on this green earth did you make your eyes move independently of each other?”
I carefully chewed my last bite of salad while making the most thoughtful face I could muster on short notice. Just to stretch out my response as long as possible, I held up one finger and sipped my water, then my mocha when I completed that bite. “Practice.”
I had my mocha back up to my lips before she could sputter in protest.
“Waaaaaaait, wait wait wait!” she cried. “You can't get away with that! Normal humans cannot roll their eyes around in opposite directions from each other!”
“That's not exactly what I do. But yes, I can move my eyes around in somewhat different directions for a brief period of time. It is the same idea as some women being able to make their breasts twitch on one side on demand. I just had to learn to separate the motor impulses. The hard part isn't doing it separately, it's doing it at the same time.”
She just sighed as we ate the rest of our meal in companionable silence.
Finally, she broke the silence to ask, “Ok, let me try to recap here: you can fix pretty much anything. You know about makeup and fashion, you can drive about anything with wheels, you speak bits of pieces of several languages and now you are learning Chinese and a little bird has informed me that you are registered to take Spanish next semester; I know you can sing; and I also know you write poetry and some of it is pretty amazing, however dark. So, let me ask this: what can you **not** do?”
I had known she was working to speak on the way down, and had surmised it would probably be a question but this one flabergasted me. “Umm, you make me sound like some kind of... like... I dunno, something special. I am am barely human, much less special. I really cannot see why all the fuss.”
I noticed about then that she had stopped walking with me almost as soon as I had started talking. I turned back to face her and drifted slowly back towards her.
Her face was blotchy, like she could not decide whether to be pale or flushed. Her mouth was also hanging open and her eyes were squinted a bit, and she was blinking rapidly. I was trying to decide on how to address all this when she said, “Are you for fucking **real**? I checked your IQ. It averages in the 140s with a high mark of 157. I already knew you had a really good GPA. I also found out that you passed Honors Calculus II your first semester back in school after 21 years, 22 years after you took Calc I, but you weren't happy with the grade so you retook it. Your poetry is moving and well written. Some of the recipes you posted are fantastic. I love your singing voice, though I think you sound best when you think no one can hear you and you are singing for yourself. I have heard stories of all the things you have fixed, all the questions you have answered, all the people you have helped, and that only accounts for the stories that people are telling. I am forced to think there are quite a few that are not being told or have not made it back to me. You are kind and considerate and tolerant. I also heard about the student that was silly enough to mess with you over wanting to borrow a lighter that you didn't have. I know you can take care of yourself. I am just amazed that you let him back away instead of putting him in the hospital.”
She broke for a moment to catch her breath and to consider. Now it was me that had stopped walking and was standing and gazing in surprise. (In my defense, my mouth was closed!)
She looked up and gave me a laser beam stare. “It bothers me that you think so little of yourself. It bothers me a lot. You have so much to give and so much to share and so much to teach and so so so much to appreciate. I am beginning to think you are completely clueless about all that. Oh, and I talked to Marge. She routinely videotapes her entire office suite. She and several of her associates. Reviewed you from the time you entered her reception area until you left her office. Why did you go in there so determined to not be counseled? You were obviously prepared to torpedo anything that was going to happen in that office that day, but you never told me that you did not want to participate.”
“Umm..., “ I began, “you did not present any kind of appearance of being amenable to me not going into counseling. In fact, as much as I do not want to say this to the first real peer and friend I have made on campus, you railroaded me into Marge's office. About the only step you did not take was driving me there yourself. I must say, torpedoed is a good word. I will not lie to you and say that I went in there with any intention other than causing as much mayhem as possible until that entire debacle was deemed not worth the time and cost and trouble. I just did not realize how easily and quickly I would achieve my goal.”
“Well, “ as she hung her head, “I guess I was a party to that disaster. But my comment about you having an inferiority complex was as right as it was wrong. You obviously believe in yourself to some degree. A lesser mind of lesser fortitude would not have been able to mount such a stern front from such a reasoned position nor been able to manipulate Marge was quickly and as well as you did. She and her associates said you are a natural people reader and said that if there was ever any evidence of anyone being empathic it would be the tapes of you. They are all marveling over how quickly you found the weakness in Marge's strategy and psyche and how well you exploited it on the fly.” The longer she talked, the more she stopped hanging her head and focusing on me, examining me minutely. I could almost see the energy she was trying to push to my body from hers. “You rock. I do not know any other way to say it. I know that this conversation is an variation of hundreds of others you have had with many people because I talked to a lot of them. Why does this never sink in with you.”
“Because I feel like I am living a lie and I feel so disgusting and wrong. Because to me, regardless of what anyone, what **everyone** else in the world sees, men are ugly. What that boils down to is, if people see me as a man, I am ugly. I hate the feeling. I hate that feeling so intently, I often consider using explosives to vaporize myself in one final ultimate conclusion. I am pretty sure, too, I could construct a containment vessel and shape and focus the charges to the point that I could do just that, too, or come so darned close it would not matter. I just know that I would have to run some tests first and I would get caught before I could get the setup and focus tight enough to depend on it, and that would get me caught. Then I would either end up in jail or the looney bin or the looney bin for people who should be in jail. None of those possibilities appeal to me.” I held up a finger so I could catch my breath before I continued. “Because I may have an ugly body, no no no, no arguing until I finish my little speech, I may have an ugly body, but in my head is an average woman screaming to get out, to interact, to express herself, to just live. She is very, very frustrated. That much frustration over that kind of time period is shattering. And that is why I cannot accept what people see and feel and think, because they have no idea of the madness inside of me and the pain and all the blackness and loss of hope I feel everyday, knowing I will... “
And she tripped me.
Author's Note:Please pardon the short episodes. School, work, and life are all ganging up to keep me on a short leash.
Thanks,
DD
We often must suffer to be beautiful and love can hurt, but fun is fun!
“Hey!” I proclaimed, as I picked myself from the ground. What the fudge bunnies was that all about?” I dusted myself off and straightened my clothing as well as I was able. Then I looked up and noticed the intensity of her scowl. Rut roh, Reorge.
“Don't you ever, ever say that to me again!” I thought the stamping of her foot in emphasis was just a bit melodramatic but I decided to keep my theatrical reviews to myself. “I can accept that you are distressed by your body image conflict. I can accept that all that is exaccerbated by your circumstances. What I cannot handle is that you are giving up and throwing yourself a pity party in advance.”
“Hmm.” I finally had things adjusted and tugged back into place about as well as I could hope. “Well, I think I can see how you would mischaracterize things in your head that way. Personally, I think of it as chosing my battles. I weigh close to 300 pounds and I do not look like I used to look. I cannot find a doctor to prescribe my hormones anymore. And every time I start getting my hair out to an attractive length, something happens that I end up needing to cut it. For all this, yes, I decided to accept fate and be ugly. If you want to label me as giving up, I do not have the time to argue with you.”
She picked at my clothes, further straightening here and there. “When is the last time you weighed?”
Thinking back, I had been working out regularly for 3 weeks, and before that, I had been working out for a few months, but not regularly or as strenuously. I had not been to the doctor in a while, so, “I would guess maybe four or five months ago, maybe more.”
As luck would have it, we were not far from the gym. She took me by the arm and towed me at a steady clip. She took me to one of the coaching office areas and lead me to an upright scale like what is still in most doctor's offices. Taking my various equipment, she made a small stack in a nearby chair, then waved me onto the scale. She flipped counterweights back and forth until it settled out at 266.
“Wow, that's 20 pounds less than what I last remember and that is with all my gear, too!” I was pretty excited.
“Gear!” she exclaimed, “I stacked all your gear in that chair. What do you mean, 'gear'?”
In response, I took off the vest I generally wore anytime I left home and handed it to her. She only gasped a bit and I tweaked the counterweights down 13 more pounds. Before she could chastise, I held up a finger and emptied out my pockets and cargo pockets from my pants. I pushed the counterweights down 6 more pounds. “I could probably get another pound or three if I took off my Nike Airs, but it would feel so good I would not be able to force them back on my feet and I need them for work.”
“So,” she paused a fraction of a heartbeat, “you are telling me that you have taken off 39 pounds in 4 or 5 months?”
“Umm,” I hedged, “I guess that is correct. I guess that is why all my clothes are so baggy, now.”
“Well... grrrrrrr... the words coming to mind are less than professional. Why did you not just buy new clothes?” She was only patting her foot this time, instead of stamping it.
“Why bother? I never replace ugly clothes until they are so worn I have no excuse to wear them a single day more.” I shrugged. “Buying clothes depresses me and I have been trying really hard to be calm and postive on the job.”
Her eye roll was world class. “Well, duh. Easy answer. Just buy pretty clothes.”
My eye roll was in semi-independently different directions. “Well duh, I have to pretend to be a man. That means I have to wear ugly clothes.”
She just shook her head and said, “We are really going to have to work on your outlook.”
I snorted in a fashion that was probably not very ladylike. “My opinion of men will never change. Familiarity breeds contempt and I am way too familiar with the lot of them. I used to be really militant about it, now I just do not give away energy that easily over things I know I will never be able to change.”
“Oh, you!” She helped me get my gear squared away and then helped me get all my equipment arranged so I could easily carry it, again. “I have to get back to the office. I want you to take the rest of the week off from work. Take your family camping or something. Get away from the grind. Ideally, you would be where there are no phones or anything.”
“Thanks, but that does not undo my commitment to my classes and my son would crack open like the tread off of a cheap tire if I kept him off of xBox Live too long.” I thought for a minute. “I'll take the week off from work if you like, and try to relax over the weekend, but I am not sure that I'll be able to, because I'll be worried about the mess that will be waiting for me when I get back.”
This time, her eye roll was epic. “Don't you even give me that! I am NOT hearing it. Ok, then, do this: work short hours until you get out of class on Friday, then I do not want you even looking at the work orders until after you get of class on Monday. And if you respect me, you will go do something fun and enjoyable this weekend and blow all of this off.”
I glared at her. “That's dirty pool.” My glare slipped into a stubborn pout.
What came next was just down right mean. She **laughed** at me. “That is the most adorable pout I hae seen in I do not know when!”
Knowing if she broke me now I'd be broken forever, I gave her another glare then stalked off with, “I have work to do.”
She let me go, trying not to giggle.
I did not see her for the next three days, which were a blur of work-outs, class, work, and homework. I still did not have a clue what I was going to do over the weekend. My family, as usual, was being less than cooperative about planning a family activity. I had finally decided that I was going to go to a state park in the next state over. The park was about a 4 hour drive but was in a nice set of low mountains. The scenery was beautiful and the location convenient and the cabin was quiet. Oh, I had better call and make sure I could get a cabin! I decided to wait until I got home and offer the family a chance to go or be left behind. That way, I would know what size accommodations to seek.
As I stumbled out of class, my skull full of mush on low simmer with both class concepts and also my weekend plans, Elise was down the hall speaking with an instructor. Oddly, it was the instructor that called me over, not Elise. He questioned me on some finer points of World War II firearms and some of the typical pieces of equipment that soldiers from both side carried as standard gear. I had been slowly building my collection, after lucking onto a Russian carbine that was still new in the box. When he found out about my collection, I thought he was going to melt into a puddle. Somehow, before the conversation was over, I was roped into doing non-credit class for next semester that though would be non-credit for students, would earn me credit to replace a presentations class I had put off taking. It would also look good on my resume. If the results were good (and I passed some test), I would be added as a graduate student instructor the following semester.
There were a list of pros and cons over the entire thing: more pay (pro), resume bonus(es) (pro), opportunities to teach other classes or subjects (pro, kind of), and just generally being higher on the food chain (pro), less hands-on and more managerial in my current department (both pro and con), more prep work (big big con), and I assumed the list would grow quite speedily in both columns.
At least this first semester would be about things I found really interesting. If nothing else, I would tweak some noses by just having firearms on campus legitimately. [Insert evil laugh here.] Of course, I would not be so foolish as to bring firearms in the same trip as I brought matching ammo. Some of these university students were not very... umm... how do I put this... well... they seemed to be inexperienced in applying what common sense they might possess.
Well, what a way to start my mandatory 'fun' weekend! I got in my car and drove to the mall for some light retail therapy, hoping to distract myself from trying to figure out how to distract myself. Just inside was a gathering of people in one of the courts and someone on a loudspeaker saying something about last chance to sign up. I went to a small stand set up with entry forms for a sweepstakes and read enough to realize it was a drawing for a spa weekend that would leave at 4 that afternoon and return at 4 on Sunday afternoon. It was billed as a Moms Getaway, but nowhere seemed to limit gender, so I signed up and dropped my entry. It was only a few minutes after 11, and the drawing was at 11:45. Killing a half hour in a mall would **not** be a problem! In fact, Books-A-Million and B. Dalton both had locations just a few doors from where I was standing. Suddenly, 37 minutes seemed too short! I wandered into the Books-A-Million and got a mocha at J. Muggs to sip while I shopped. I had looked through the selections by authors A-K when the alarm I had set to remind me to be present for the drawing (required) went off on my cell phone.
I sipped down the last of my mocha and slipped the cup into a trash can as I stood in the back of the court and waited the last few minutes for the drawing. By then, the barker on the loudspeaker was in full rant. As the court filled, I was glad I was in a good spot where I was out of the way but could still see easily and hear clearly. I was not sure why I was even waiting, as I figured the odds against me winning were astronomical, but the thought of being petted and pampered for an entire weekend was too delicious an idea to not fantasize over it at least for a few minutes.
A woman straining to see over the various heads between us and the low stage where the barker was standing accidentally bumped into me as she wobbled too and fro on her tip toes. Being only a half inch short of 6 feet, and her more like a half inch over 5 feet, I suppose what was an easy view for me was a bit more challenging for her.
She blushed and apologized for bumping me then realized I was waiting on the drawing, too. She asked, “Did you sign up for your wife or your girlfriend or yourself? Oh! Oh! I am so rude and nosy, just ignore me. I get curious and my mouth runs away with me.” She was blushing again. “I hope we both win, though! If I read the rules correctly, there will be 4 winners for one person and a grand prize for a woman and her closest 4 friends. Of course, everyone will be bothered to death with discounts for memberships and services and such, no matter if they win anything or not. I am thinking a lot of people will 'win' what sounds like fabulous discounts, but 40% off of way too much is still way too much!” She tittered nervously. “By the way, I am Rhonda, maybe we will both win and we can stick together for the weekend. I think I am more nervous about winning and having to go alone than not winning at all!”
I had just nodded and smiled throughout the entire monologue. “I am flattered that you could find me such a comforting presence in such a short amount of time. However, if we both win, which would be outrageously against the odds, and if you feel safer with me, I would be fine with that. I just really doubt that we would both win.”
“Actually, because of the short notice nature of the contest, there have not been so many entrants.” Somehow, she managed to blush again. “Oh, I was near the people who were holding the contest and overheard them say they were disappointed about the low number of entries. They were testing to see if this was a good way to advertise. They think it is either this area or that this mall is too small or too out of the way because it has worked in other locations they have tried.”
I began to worry that should suffer brain damage if she blushed much harder or much more often. “Oh, I had no idea. I figured that every woman in the mall would be clamoring for this deal and calling all her friends in hopes of hitting the jackpot and having a moms' weekend for five in hopes of improving their odds.”
“There was probably some of that,” Rhonda said, “but not nearly so much as in some better locations. Evidently too many women here do not have the financial or scheduling freedom, or both, for short notice weekend vacations. My ex has the kids this weekend and I had so much vacation saved up, my boss said I could have today off to come and register after one of my friends called me. If I win, I do not have to be back at work until Monday. If I don't, he is just going to treat it like a long lunch and I will work the rest of the afternoon.”
The barker had finally shut up and as a very pretty woman in a business suit, heels, and elaborate makeup flowed from a chair at the back of the stage towards the microphone, a hush had conquered the entire court. Her honeyed voice alerted every ear and she quickly commanded every eye. “Let me announce that we did not have nearly so many entries as we had hoped so what we had hoped to be at least an annual visit to this location probably will not happen again. At first, we had thought of curtailing the number of winners, but we have decided to go ahead and honor our original plans. Also, everyone who has an entry stub is eligible for a 40% discount if you call the number of the back of the stub and speak with one of our agents and give them the stub number.” I mentally gave Rhonda a bow for her prescience at the discount program. “Now, we we will announce the 4 single winners: entries 40144, 40155, 40128, and 40111, please step up to the stage and speak with Taleejah.” She indicated a stunning black woman at one end of the stage who was holding a clipboard. “As soon as our four lucky ladies present themselves, we will announce the winner of our fabulous grand prize!”
I halfheartedly glanced down at my stub and noticed I was number 40155. I was about to throw it away when I realized I was number 40155. Just before I nudged Rhonda to ask if she remembered the numbers, the barker placed a sign up on an easel stand that listed them. I had won!
Rhonda also noticed the easel stand just as **she** was about to nudge me and fainted dead away, blushing roughly the same shade as a typical stop sign. On a hunch, I checked the form she so tightly clenched in her hands to see it was 40128. I carefully picked her up, making sure I put her purse in her lap, and carried her down towards the stage.
As I made my way down, the crowd parted before me, though the curiosity on the faces, mostly womens faces, was almost comical. When I reached the stage, I managed to stand Rhonda on her feet without ruffling her too much. I handed Taleejah my stub then tried to give her Rhonda's but it was clenched so tightly in her fists, I was forced, instead, to pat her on the face. “Rhonda, Rhonda dear, please give the nice lady your stub so that you can claim your prize.” I paused for a moment and tested her grip. “Rhonda, dollin, turn loose of the paper so that she write down your stub number.” This time the paper came loose and I gave it to Taleejah.
Rhonda suddenly sputtered and gasped deeply and then her eyes popped open almost audibly. She looked around and then gently disengaged herself from me where I had been supporting her. As I released her, she almost fell, but she grabbed my arm and steadied herself.
“Did I really win?” The rapid blinking of her eyes was as dramatic as when they popped open and also almost audible.
Taleejah matched our stubs with the entry blanks and said, “As soon as I seen some picture ID from your ladies, err, nice people, then yes, you have both won.
The other two winners had arrived by then and we all four were digging for ID as Serena, as turned out to be the beautiful announcer's name, waited through a canned orchestra flourish, followed by a low drum roll. “Ladies and gentlemen, our grand prize winning number is...” The drum roll got louder. “Number 40192!”
Five women off to one side suddenly went hysterical laughing and crying and hugging and jumping up and down. One particularly large busted woman who was wearing a low-cut scoop neck was in danger of overpowering her support undergarments but her friends came to her aid and they all calmed themselves as they came down together. As it turned out, it was the busty woman who had actually won, the other four were the friends she was designating to accompany her for the weekend.
After the nine of us had shown picture ID and verified that we were free for the weekend, we were asked what was the earliest we could meet back here to be taken to the airport. That was when I found out that the spa was in the U.S. Virgin Islands. I think Elise was going to be happier than I had anticipated!
Taleejah was still wanting to know when I would be ready to leave, so I asked her what I would need in the way of clothes, toileties, and so forth. She told me that really, the spa preferred we came with the clothes on our backs, plus a toothbrush and enough underwear for 3 days plus a formal dinner.
My eyebrows rose at the thought of a formal dinner, but I decided to roll with the flow. After all, I was in a reasonably appointed mall, however small and out of the way. I informed Taleejah that I would be ready in one half to three quarters of an hour, with not much more than she had just mentioned.
Of course, my first stop was B. Daltons. Six fantasy paperbacks and six manazine heavier, I visited a lingerie shop and bought a half dozen low rise bikini panties, with matching bras, two job bras with matching panties, and two strapless bras with matching thongs. I also bought two sets of 'enhancers'.
A trip across the street to the big box drug store netted me a small zippered tote, shaving supplies (just in case!) and a toothbrush and toothpaste. I also picked up my favorite antiperspirant and some Tommy Girl perfume.
I parked my car in the specially provided area and made back in to Taleejah only 47 minutes after I had left her. I was remarkably unfazed to see Rhonda only a minute or two behind me. She huffed and puffed up and wrapped me in a hug.
“I am so so so glad you did not back out! I am not nearly so nervous since you are here!” She squeezed me quite tightly and turned to Taleejah. “Please take good care of...” She stopped and looked me in the face. “Here I am hugging you like a long lost sister and I do not even know your name!” Oddly, she relaxed and leaned on me rather than blushing.
“Dollin,” I began, “I think for the weekend, you can call me Misty.” I winked at her as I added, “because I think I am going for a long swim in the Estrogen Ocean.”
I managed to revive Taleejah without need to resort to CPR.
Rhonda turned out to be solid gold. She almost viciously monopolized the conversation like a mother lion protecting her cub. The other women quickly decided that they had better be kind and respectful or face Rhonda's wrath. I did let it be known, in the most it's-all-natural-and-matter-of-fact way that I was going to enjoy all the services offered me to the hilt.
Intercepting the coming gender preference questions before they could be asked, I preemptively replied, “There is a woman living in my head, not a man. She is kind of weird, due to the wrong hormones she was forced to accept for most of her life. I do not care for men, at all, in fact, I am married to a woman. I am not here for sex, I am here for the pampering and petting. If I make any of you uncomfortable, I am sorry that you feel that way, but I will do my best to not crowd you.” I took a deep breath and surveyed the group with gently probing glances, looking for dissenters. “Anyway, for the weekend, you can call me Misty and I hope that you all have fun, either with me, or in spite of me.”
That seemed to break the ice and they all seemed good with me after that. Rhonda was able to relax and we all chatted amiably.
Because we had almost no luggage, we were through security in an astonishingly short amount of time. It made me nervous, but I had put my vest into my tote, along with practically everything I had in all my pockets except for ID and checked my tote as baggage rather than carry-on. I had carried some of that gear for years and I felt naked without it, but not having it all weekend was more than I could bear.
The flight was several hours and I had both a Zune and my phone with me, and both had hours worth of music. I finished two paperbacks on the plane and started a third. Rhonda read one of my magazines, as we were seated adjacently. We were met by associates of Serena and Taleejah, both of whom had flown with us. We all boarded a small private bus and left for the spa.
Arriving, I decided it was more of a villa cum tropical palace than a spa. It contained a bungalow style hotel, gymnasiums, poolhouses, stables, riding paths, a private stretch of beach, lounges, nail and beauty salons, dining areas, both inside and out, and a water park.
As we arrived, what I thought of as the triage team greeted us, having already gotten preliminary notes from the ladies that had met us at the airport. Several women were directed to nail and beauty salons, some to mud baths, Rhonda to a body wrap salon, and me to the laser salon.
YiKeS!
But who is the mystery woman???? ~DD
Now, though, I wondered about the skin irritation and whether or not I would be in pain enough that I would not enjoy my spa weekend. I also was thrilled with the idea of not needing to shave (as much?), again. I wondered how well they would do, because I knew that typically several treatments were required to complete the removal.
As we were each escorted away, Rhonda hopped over and hugged me tightly. “Girlfriend! This is going to be so much fun! I have always wondered if those body wrap commercials were all hype or not. I guess I am going to find out!”
I gently hugged her back and kissed the top of her head and wished her a “Have fun, dollin, I'll be the tall lobster!” as I giggled softly.
The woman escorting me looked at me, her head tilted slightly to one side. “Ma'am, err, sir, err... umm... anyway, our lasers are advanced experimental models. They use a different waveform sequence and new frequencies. The outer skin is barely effected and we have a 95% follicle kill rate.”
Being very puzzled, I asked, “That seems a bit... optimistic. How can you be so gentle to the skin and yet have such a high kill rate?”
She smiled and I knew I had found a geek girl who really enjoyed her work. “We found some scientists who viewed the entire laser removal procedures and realized that it did not just start with the light of the laser. The procedures must be viewed from the skin preparation point, instead. They developed a series of creams and ointments for different skin and hair types along with some preparatory laser reaction tests. Also, before, the follicle would only react properly during anagen, the growing phase, but our scientists have so perfected their technique that now it works during all phases.”
I was blinking rapidly as I thought over the information just given me. “So, when I leave, 95% of my beard, mustache, and body hair will be gone? Permanently? What about the 5% left over? Where is it mostly likely to be? I mean will it be in once concentrated area or just an odd stray hair here and there? And will it still be the coarse, gross ugly dark curse that I have currently?”
My (new favorite) geek girl was giggling and waving her hands trying to slow me down enough to answer me. “My dear girl, umm... please pardon me but I have never had the opportunity to interact with someone in your position. In fact, I am not even sure what your position is. Your ladyfriend that hugged you called you “girlfriend” and you seeme quite comfortable with that, yet you are wearing mens clothes and a mans haircut. Are you a transvestite or a transsexual? Also, what name would you like us to use? We have very efficient communications here and I can make sure the entire spa staff knows your preferences in a few moments.”
“Sweetie,” I began, “you are a peach. You may call me Misty. I am a transsexual dealing with some very difficult circumstances and I am in a very stalled transition. When this weekend is over, I am going to have to go back to being Mr. Thompson and hating every minute of it. Until then, I am going to 'girl it up' as much as I can.”
“Well then, Misty, my dear girl, I am Sasha, and as I was going to explain earlier, before I sidetracked myself,” she said, as she patted my arm, “you are correct in your guess that the remaining 5% is just an odd stray hair here and there. Please be aware that the 95/5 numbers are averages and not hard figures, but the small amount left is barely more than peach fuzz. Even as dark as your beard and body hair is, what is left should be much, much finer and very much lighter. Oh look, there is the laser salon.”
She ushered me into a low, modern building and introduced me to Ramona, a raven-haired lady with a gigawatt smile. They conducted me into a treatment room and Sasha said, “Ok, Misty doll, please take off your clothes. You may hand them on this rack. They will be cleaned and stored in your room and we will provide you fresh garments to wear when your treatment is over.”
I shrugged to myself and stripped to my (male) bikini briefs and began neatly hanging my clothes and storing my shoes on the bottom of the rack. When I finished, I asked, “Ok, where do you want me?”
Romona tittered and asked in a very rich, musical contralto, “Misty, Misty, how are we to treat you if you are not undressed? Please remove all of your clothes, sweetie.”
The glow of my full body blush lit the room as I slid off the last scrap of fabric covering my body. This bit, though, went into the wastebasket, and not onto the rolling rack.
“Now, now dear,” Romona intoned in that lyrical flow of tones, “it is just us girls here, no need to blush so furiously, so please lay down here, face down,” as she and Sasha helped me to lay down on what appeared to be massage table.
Once I was down, they begin assaulting me with various creams and ointments and lotions. In only a few minutes, I passed out from being so relaxed. When I next awoke, it had been almost 2 hours and they had treated my backside and were turning me over.
I finished turning over for them and they brought in two more women to help them with the front. Being already so relaxed, I was out again almost immediately.
Four women, working with skill and experience, can laser off someone in a short amount of time. In under 90 minutes, they were waking me to escort me to a shower. Sasha and Romona helped me scrub all signs of their work from my skin and then helped me dress in my strapless bra and a matching pair of panties that had been brought from my room, which they then covered in a long silk kimono-style robe with the spa's logo on it.
I was taken to a nearby glamor salon that did wonders with my hair and did my makeup. With my enhancers inserted into my bra, I was able to wear a simple pink spaghetti-strap top with a straight black skirt with two side slits. They were going to put me into flats but I asked for some kind of nice sling-back with a 3 or 4 inch heel. I even managed to keep myself from smirking as Sasha led me away to find Rhonda for a late supper with the other ladies, walking like I had spent my life in heels.
On the way, we stopped and Sasha found me some jewelry, taking advantage of my triple-pierced ears. I wished to myself that my nails had been done, but the glamour salon had only been given a few minutes to tend me, so I contented myself that I was still looking far better than I had in years.
When Sasha presented me to Rhonda, Rhonda was about to introduce herself when she realized who I was. “OH MY GOD! MISTY!! Is that really you in there? You look so damn good! I am insanely jealous of how good you look!” She hugged me like we were two pieces of velcro.
I finally managed to detach us from each other long enough to hold her at arms length and look at her. I guess the body wrap stuff really worked because she was visibly slimmer and she was dressed similar to me, except for her top was cheetah print and she was wearing a gauzy, transparent gold blouse over that the same color as the gold in the cheetah print. Her makeup was perfect and her hair had been trimmed just enough to put it back into shape and had both low-lights and high-lights added. She had also been graced with a tasteful amount of subdued black-and-gold jewelry. She had gone from mousy to chic and her much increased self-confidence and comfort in strange, even intimidating surroundings was obvious. She was wearing black pumps with 2” heels but she stood as tall in spirit as any woman there. I had a feeling that whoever was waiting for her back home was in for a surprise.
The other women that had flown in with us were all as amazed at my transformation as Rhonda had been. None of them had been as frumpy or mousy as Rhonda had been, so their makeovers were less pronounced, but really, I think Rhonda was as pretty as any of them, and prettier than most. The busty woman, though, would have been the guy magnet at any club. I was pretty sure she was wearing a corset, or something with similar properties, and the top she had on took full advantage of her assets.
As we were led into the dining room, we all sat around a large, round table and related the days highlights to each other. None of them could believe I slept through full-body laser hair removal. They also marveled at the softness and smoothness of my skin. The creams, ointments, and lotions pumped into me by Sasha and Ramona had certainly done wonders.
When the busty woman realized that I was even smooth in my nether regions, she demanded to see. I found out her name was Beth. Rhonda was about to come to my rescue when I patted her thigh under the table and took up for myself. “Beth, dollin, I tell you what: you show me yours and I'll show you mine. I am sure we can find a dressing room and we'll both strip to nothing but makeup and jewelry. You first.”
She finished choking before anyone was forced to give her the Heimlich. As she recovered, she gazed at me a moment and finally replied, “Misty, I can't help it. I like you. And hell yes, I want to see, even it means that I'm wearing nothing but makeup and jewelry!”
There were a couple of astonished gasps, but there were also a few “not without me, too, you don't” comments. In the end, only the two other women who had won single prizes, Shirley and Sheila (they hit it right off, too, when they found out each others' names) decided not to participate. The wait staff, of course, had heard the entire thing. They were already prepared for us and had a locker room cleared for us at a pool area that was almost adjacent to the dining area.
In the end, it turned out that I was the shyest one. The group of 5 women, lead by Beth the busty, and Karen, the original winner, worked out and swam and shopped together often and were naked together often, were out of their clothes almost as soon as the door was closed. Rhonda was not much behind them. They all stood chatting, dress only in heels, makeup, and jewelry as they watched me blushingly slowly undress.
They were all impressed that I was only wearing enhancers to fill my bra. Beth asked one of the pool area staff to have someone bring by a corset like hers. Tara, another one of the group of five, murmured that if I lost some weight and got a manicure and pedicure, I could go swimming with them and no one one even notice.
I laughed and said that is because everyone would be watching Beth's boobs. Up until now, I had been so embarrassed that I had not had any problems with erections, but now Beth smiled a certain kind of smile at me and kind of flowed to where I was standing and I started reacting. She leaned forward licked my lips teasingly and then whispered in my ear, “I could be convinced to buy you a pair of boobs like mine, if you could stand the attention.”
I was blushing so hard my skin hurt. Rhonda had been close enough to guess what Beth had said and looked like the cat who ate the canary. She cleared her throat and said, “Show and tell has been fun, but don't you think we should finish our supper so we can get some rest and see what we are doing tomorrow?”
We all agreed that was an excellent idea and were soon, once again, properly dressed and eating. Well, I was pretending to eat. The corset I was wearing now instead of my strapless bra had me bound up pretty tightly. The shape it gave me, though, was to die for. I had foregone the enhancers, but the extra effect of the corset was sufficient to give me as much volume as I had in the bra with them. Between having boobs and not being ugly and being constricted by the corset, I was pretty distracted. I ate a little salad and few bites of grilled chicken and I was done. I mostly sipped ice water and watched everyone else eat.
When supper was over, Serena, Taleejah, Sasha, Ramona, and 5 other women appeared to show us to our bungalows. Of course, Rhonda was to be accommodated in my bungalow but would have her own room and bathroom. Sheila and Shirley elected the same. Karen and Tara paired off, and so did Misha and Nicole, the last two members of the group of five. When someone pointed out that Beth was left all alone, she said that she would be fine because she lives alone, anyway.
We were all soon settled in our rooms, Rhonda having hugged me good night very tightly, over and over again, when a soft noise startled me. I leaned up in bed, but did not not see anything, or hear anything else and was soon out again, snoring I am sure.
I heard someone breathing deeply and moaning softly and realized it was me. Then I realized I was tied spread-eagle on the bed and I was gagged and blindfolded with something silky. Then I realized that I was getting serious oral sex. Oh my.
After I had orgasmed, my captor began licking, sucking, kneading and caressing me, silently doing all in her(?) power to bring me back to an erection as quickly as possible. That much effort was too much to fail and soon she(?) me back like she(?) wanted me. A rubber was seductively rolled over me. In a moment, I knew for sure my captor was a woman as she took me inside of her, leaning forward and letting her nipples dangle to touch mine. Her breathing turned to panting and even soft whimpers until she orgasmed. She kept pumping me, orgasming, until I finally arched my back, filling the rubber, pumping out my seed, however involuntarily.
She finally relented and carefully and quickly cleaned me. In the morning, when I woke up, I was neither tied nor gagged and blindfolded. I could still smell her scent, though. Deciding she was probably Beth, but that accusing anyone would only ruin the weekend, I determined I would let things play out since there was only more night in our prize package. We were all taken for a morning swim in the surf, followed by a hearty breakfast then we split up again. This time I was taken to the mud baths, along with Shirley and Sheila. Rhonda went to the laser salon. The rest went to targeted workouts, fashion makeovers, or one of the salons they had not yet visited.
By lunch time, my skin felt like I had been a pampered princess all my life. The staff packed me back into my corset and a sun dress and I picked at my lunch with the other women, again. Rhonda was walking on clouds again, as were the other women.
My afternoon was occupied with a fashion makeover as I learned all the best ways to accent my femininity, play down any masculinity, and how to use my strengths to balance my flaws. Rhonda was in targeted workouts. Beth was in the laser salon. Shirley and Sheila were with me, again. The other four were all at the mud baths.
That night was formal dinner night. We all showed up in designer gowns like we were going to the Oscars. The glamour salon had outfitted me with hair extensions and I was dripping in jewelry and my makeup was patented screen star. I was actually starting to have doubts about dying ugly! The other women were all flying high, too. Again, though, it was Beth and Rhonda who stole the show. By now, I was just “one of the girls” and I was neither the most nor least pretty, just the tallest, edging Beth by about ½ an inch.
After supper, we went dancing in an open air pavilion with a live orchestra. Because I had never ball-room danced, nor had I ever danced in heels at all, I refused to participate in the actual dancing. Instead, I spend the entire time in one corner with Vera, a very nice lady who tried to show me how to dance. Poor Vera! This tactic prevented me from being forced to deal with the men who had been brought in as dance partners.
Oddly, Rhonda was a dancing whiz! The men managed to make swapping partners sound like it was for the benefit of the women, but in reality, they all wanted to enjoy Rhonda's grace and aplomb on the dance floor. Of course Beth was sexy and attractive, and was competent on the dance floor, but Rhonda was the night's attraction.
Towards the end of the night, I finally let Beth coax me out on the dance floor as her partner. With her natural grace and effervescence, she soon had me moving and grooving, though not nearly with her skill or beauty of motion.
During one slow number, while we were cheek-to-cheek, she said, “I could just imagine us in matching dresses, doing this after you have boobs like mine. That is, if you want boobs like mine. All the men would be watching us. Staring. Wondering what would come later. Maybe you would be in pink and me in black. Or maybe you would be in white and I would be in red. All of the men and all of the women would be jealous. Everyone there would want us both.”
Soon the band signaled they were done for the night and starting breaking up. I took Rhonda's arm in my own and we hugged all the other women good night and I thanked Beth for the dancing. Rhonda and I went back to our bungalow and I had a sudden thought. Rhonda and Beth wore similar scents.
By the way, do you know the address of the lion's den? ~DD
I realized I was entertaining paranoia. I had no real hope of determining who had been the woman to tie me up and have sex with me. Smell is a powerful sense but I was no bloodhound. Also, the realty was that it did not have to be one of the clients.
Another thought hit me. If both women smelled so similar, it could have been a service they had received that used some product that caused them to smell alike. Argh! My mind was going in looping circles and I was tired of being suspicious.
As we reached the bungalow, I hugged Rhonda good night. Tomorrow as our last day on the island. In fact, we were going to have a breakfast and a going-away hair and face makeup session, take photos, and leave.
I would be home in time to get grilled for supper. Oh joy. I went into my room and stared thoughtfully at the door. I locked it, then I blockaded it with a chair stuffed under the door knob. Then I went to my luggage and got out a flashlight from my gear. I carefully searched each and every closet, alcove, nook and cranny in the entire bed & bath area. I even picked up the mattress and box springs and made sure no one was hiding in the platform area under the bed. On a lark, I checked for floor and ceiling access, too, but found no trapdoors. I checked the windows but they were permanently sealed due to their non-opening design.
Finally satisfied that I was alone and unlikely to be disturbed for the night, I set an alarm and went to bed, though only after a thorough facial cleansing and a shower.
The next morning, I rose early and showered. I had realized by now that the hair extensions were fused to my real hair, so now I was dealing with long, slightly wavy hair to the bottoms of my shoulder blades. I played with it briefly, then noticed an assortment of hair management items in a vanity drawer. I twirled it into a bun, as I had been shown the day before, and poked a pair of chopsticks through it. I put on shorts and a t-shirt that the spa had supplied in my size, and slipped my feet into a pair of thong flip-flops.
By the time the standard wake up call came, I was dressed and packed and had made some coffee in the little kitchenette between the rooms and was reading. I found out from the woman giving the wakeup calls that I could get an early breakfast while everyone else got ready for the day.
I thoroughly horrified the entire staff by showing up at the dining pavilion carrying my own luggage (not like there was enough to even notice! I told them that if they let me keep the shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops, I would let them cart my things around all they liked!
Assured that I could keep the outfit, I ordered a western omelet and wheat toast with their breakfast blend coffee and let them put my belongings away for the trip home. I made sure to hang on to a tote bag with my valuables, phone, and reading materials.
When I was done eating, I was offered a trip to the nail salon, something no one else would get, due to time constraints. I went ahead and took the opportunity, though I restricted them to no extensions and only clear polish. The pouting I encountered, though, continued until I relented enough for them to give me American nails instead of plain.
My nails finished drying about the time everyone else finished eating and I joined them for the hair and face treatments. Once again, I faced concentrated pouting over not allowing them to do their finest work on my face, but I was remaining resolute... until Rhonda and Beth both ganged up on me with them, promising to give me a place to undo the damge before I went home.
My hair was attacked while my face was being discussed. Oddly enough, the extensions were removed. As it turned out, they were worried that I would not keep them up enough so they did some trimming here and there while I was distracted by the argument concerning my face. When they sensed I was wavering (and realized what the hair team was doing) they told me they would let me think and come back to me. The hair team began washing my hair “to remove the trimmings”. They put earbuds in my ears playing soft music and massaged my scalp and when I woke up, they were drying my new perm with foil color and highlights. When they let me use a mirror, I saw the face team had had their way with me.
Now while I appreciated how un-ugly I was now, and how much talent had been expended on me, I had pretty much given up on ever transitioning and now I was going home, literally, looking like a woman.
I got up from the chair very miffed, but trying to hide it. Rhonda appeared from nowhere, traveling at about mach 1.3, and slammed into me from one side, hugging me like crazy. Beth, not to be outdone, pounced from the other side, at only mach 1.1, but with greater mass. Rhonda piped up first with, “You look so great! I think you might be the prettiest one of us all!”
Beth just leaned in and nibbled and kissed me behind the ear then whispered, “All you need is that magic corset to be done. That is, until you get your boob job that I'm buying you, then you will really be “done”.
My carefully shaped eyebrows rose into the stratosphere. Just then, the other girls came up to me, ohing and ahing, though I heard the corset mentioned again. To my dismay, so did Rhonda. Now that the subject was out in the open, called one of the attendants over and called for my “magic corset”. In only a few minutes, she and Rhonda had my t-shirt off and the corset on, and the hair team was repairing my hair as the t-shirt went back on.
[SIGH!]
With my hairless body, new-found curves, feminine hair style, and screen-star makeup, I was pretty much unable to be anyone but Misty. Not to mention that they had the corset tight enough that I felt dizzy from lack of air.
I sighed again. Since they were both hugging me again, Rhonda and Beth started asking me what was wrong. I shook my head. “It's complicated. The person in my head has been a woman all her life. But she has had to make a lot of decisions counter to that in order to have what appeared to be a normal life according to the male body in which she lived. It has taken several years , but now she is within reach of having the body she has needed and wanted all her life. But, a lot of people close to her will be hurt. None of them will not understand, even if they do try to overlook it. Most will take it as a personal attack, even though it has nothing to do with them. I may not have a place to sleep tonight. I don't think it will knock me out of a job, but I wonder if I have killed any chances I have for advancement? How do I deal with the estrangement of my family and friends? I feel like such a fake and a failure because I have wanted this all my life and I don't know if I can do it now that it is almost mine.”
Of course, the limo drove up just then. All the other women put me in the limo and surrounded me on the way to the airport. I guess I don't need to mention that Rhonda was pressed to me on one side, and Beth on the other. Things were suggested all the way to the airport. The ideas ranged from: fake my own death to immediately getting on a plane for Thailand as soon as we landed, to Rhonda's and Beth's firm insistence that I simply present myself as is and weather the storm as best I could. If that didn't work, Beth was single and very happy with the idea of me staying with her. I knew why Beth was pressuring me, but Rhonda made it clear that she felt that what other people thought should not keep me from being me.
Beth also made it clear that not only did she support me emotionally, but would help me transition in any way she could. When the other women heard this, they chimed in with like sentiments. It only took them a few minutes to decide that they would all accompany me to my house and help present the new me. I was starting to wonder with friends like them....? I sent a text to Elise mentioning I was in the midst of a small crisis and wondered if she could meet me at the mall later.
The other women obviously all felt that the matter was settled. Therefore, they immediately began forming contingency plans. They even included me to the point of asking where I wanted to go to celebrate if I was thrown out of my own house. Oh joy.
I could only hope that Elise could help me hold together though the coming storm.
Eventually, we made it to the airport. The spa had attendants to make sure we were enplaned as quickly and smoothly as possible. I never saw my luggage from the time I sat down to breakfast until I got to the baggage carousel back home. The flight was long and thankfully smooth and uneventful. My mind was too absorbed for me to be able to enjoy the movies or my books or magazines or to even nap, though I tried all that.
What did happen was that Rhonda sat on one side of me, and Beth the other. Rhonda, bless her heart, slept all the way back. Beth, on the other hand, craned her neck the entire 6 hours and whispered all the things she wanted to do to my body. And not in the bedroom. Evidently her settlement from her divorce was sizable. What was also evident was that she was at least bi, if not completely lesbian. I also suspected she was fairly horny.
I was forced to believe she was infatuated with me. The question was what to do about it? I could relax and enjoy it. Being asexual did not mean I was unable to appreciate the act, just that I did not seek actively seek sex. I suppose that would be OK so long as I made it clear that it was meaningless. For some reason, that felt wrong. I could reject her outright, but then, if I discovered later that we had “chemistry”, she might reject me out of a sense of revenge. That was also wrong. What I wanted was for her to give me some breathing room until I had my head fixed, but I had no idea how to tell her that without making her feel like I was rejecting her [see above].
I sighed a truly massive sigh, but as much as possible, I stifled it from being noticed. Life as a woman would not be any easier as a women. I could only hope it would be more rewarding
PART II — The End of the Beginning
As the wheels of the wide-body jet touched down with only a minor bounce, Beth and Rhonda both lifted their heads from my shoulders. I had been too worried to sleep.
Everyone else on the plane was crazy getting ready to get off the plane. I knew better. I convinced Rhonda and Beth to wait quietly with me. 20 minutes later, we were almost done taxiing to the gates. The people who had been in a hurry were flustered and frustrated while the three of us were calm. Most of the rest of the group of us from the spa had also followed my lead. I had reminded them that the spa company had flown 2 attendants back with us and they were to give us a limo ride back to the mall to get our vehicles. I also informed them that we most likely did not even need to worry with luggage until the mall, but that we could ask on the concourse.
Rhonda laid her head back down on my chest and then popped back up like a Jack-in-the-box. “Misty! Why is your heart pounding so loudly and quickly?”
I managed to shush her gently as I explained, “I am very, very nervous and anxious about leaving as a man and returning as a woman. I had no plans or ideas that such a thing would happen. I have wished for this since I was four, but now that it is happening, I am not prepared. I mean, I love the fact that I am not ugly any more [insert booing and hissing here] but I guess I am still suffering some system shock.”
“Oh darling!,” Beth exclaimed, “I'll take care of you!” The other women all chimed in to one degree or another.
Finally, the plane docked at the gate and the flight attendants cranked open the door. By now, people were lined up in both aisles from one end of the plane to the other. The nine of use had our tiny bits of carry-on items in our laps, and our two spa attendants, were sitting together, waiting with smiles on our faces. The grumpy people in line were mystified, for the most part, though a few professional people and other frequent travelers had chosen the same approach.
When the line had thinned out, as the people waiting were scurrying around to different overhead bins to get the last of their carry-ons, we joined the line and strutted out in all our glory. Elise was waiting on the concourse for us. I recognized her but she didn't recognize me. I slipped over and asked if she thought I could keep my job as I was. She blinked then gasped then squealed and then practically jumped into my arms and hugged me.
The other women were curious by then. Elise and I between us managed to explain our relationships. Elise was quickly made our groups 10th member and came with us.
The attendants with us conducted us to a luxurious private lounge to keep us in comfort until our luggage was tended. Once they received that notice, they took us back to the concourse where where electric carts carried us to a waiting limo. We were reassured all our parcels had been successfully recovered and were already on the way to the mall to be sorted. Elise had taken a taxi to the airport as I had suggested in my text so she was able to ride with us.
The limo efficiently transported us to the mall and the appointed parking area. Several men stood by waiting to load our respective goods into our respective vehicles.
As I had taken almost nothing, that is what I had expected to bring back, too. The small mountain of parcels stacked near my trunk was surprising. When I asked the porter why all those things were by my car, he nodded to one of the attendants that had flown back with us, who then waved the other women over to us.
Her name turned out to be Zaida. When she spoke, it was with a soft, lyrical Hispanic accent and an amused tone, “Ladies, when the spa first found out about Misty, not much was really thought of it because women have been duping their husbands into coming out for years, sometimes getting almost as much of a makeover as Misty did. However, none of them have been the ringing success of our dear Misty. She quietly became a favorite of ours for her quiet, unassuming grace and winning personality. She was cordial to the staff in a personal way and seemed to go out of her way to treat both guests and staff as well as she could in any given circumstance. Then we found out that she was going home to a possibly hostile environment. In response, the spa has given her everything she wore on site, as we did for the rest of you, but also, we have included for her small but complete wardrobe and a set of makeup.”
From out of nowhere, Taleejah, Serena, and Sasha appeared. Serena cleared her throat to say, “Misty has set a high standard for how we will measure graciousness in the future. In view of that, if she finds her circumstances to be overly negative, we are prepared to offer her a place on staff at the spa. The ladies here with me tonight are all her fans and she is welcome to visit us at any time with no reservation.”
Beth quickly stepped up beside Serena, blurting, “She has a place with me anyway I can get her, anytime I can get her!”
Elise just giggled softly and started clapping, which was quickly echoed by the other women. Wearing shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops, I aptly demonstrated the concept of the full-body blush once again.
Rhonda put in her two-cents worth with, “OK ladies, get your things loaded, we have to gather up and go with Misty to confront her family and find out if she still has a family or if she is starting completely over in her new life. I think we should just meet back here in an hour. Can everyone do that?”
There was a low-key riot as things were loaded into vehicles (thanks guys!) and the time was changed to an hour and a half. Elise was with me and I was not going anywhere, yet, so we went back in the mall to kill 90 minutes. This was my first chance to relate the weekend to her, and how it all came about.
We spent 45 minutes in a food-court coffee house with me just trying to fill her in and her asking an occasional clarifying question to catch her up from when she saw me last on Friday of the previous week to when I saw her at the airport earlier that afternoon. When I finally finished, she took me back out to the car and had me find the clothes I had worn to the formal on Friday night. She also found the roll-around with my new collection of makeup. Once we had everything in hand, we went back to a ladies room in the mall and once I was in the dress and shoes, she repaired my hair and makeup.
One look in the mirrors was all it took to convince me that I looked as good as I was going to get. Thanks to the corset and the careful cut of the dress, anyone who didn't know me (and quite a few people who did!) would just assume I was a woman dressed up for a nice night. However, I made the mistake of saying, “wow, I am quite a bit less ugly, now!” in front of Elise.
She rounded on me with a glare that could melt steel. Rut roh, Reoge!
“How can you look at yourself in the mirror and say 'less ugly'? Do you realize how beautiful you are? I hope you have some practice dealing with horny men because that is what you are going to get, looking like that!”
My vision began going slightly cloudy at the point.
“I'm sure you will attract some gentlemen, too. And if you treat them all the same, I'll beat you with your own high heeled shoe!” Her expression was livid, but now she'd pushed one of my buttons.
“Of blarging course I'll treat them all the same. They. Are. Men. As much as possible I will ignore them and otherwise I'll pay them the minimum attention I can and not get myself killed. Period. I am here as a woman for me not for anyone else and fudge bunnies on anyone who doesn't like that.”
She smirked. “If you think you can pull that off, you are a better woman than me. Better than most, in fact. You may be picking yourself apart in that mirror. You may think you are 'less ugly' or... what words would you use? 'Semi-cute'? Something like that? Well, a lot of men are going to think you are just plain pretty. Some will think you are just plain beautiful. And yes, you will have to deal with that. You will have to deal with them. And if you are really as gracious and sweet as all those other women think, and really, so do I, then you are going to have to deal with them just as graciously and sweetly as you do anyone else. And if you don't eventually, the guilt will hit and it will eat you like an alligator eats a chicken. If that is what you want, then you do whatever you like.”
I did my best to picture the chicken and the alligator, but it was no good. Not only had she exactly predicted my words, 'semi-cute', but she knew I had a strong guilt factor and had guessed exactly how it would affect me. “This is no blarging fair. Why the fudge bunnies should I even give them the time of day? And I'm not nearly so cute or pretty or beautiful as you or Beth or Rhonda or my other seven spa friends that are all due back in ACK!” A quick glance at my cell phone from my purse showed they should be pulling up right now. “Come one girlfriend, we have to get out to the parking lot.” We grabbed the roll-arounds and started back to the car.
And fudge bunnies if I didn't get 12 feet from the ladies room when Elise's prediction began coming true. Two guys that had been coming out of the mens room trotted up and tried to take the handles of our roll-arounds, trying to play the gentleman card. I could see Elise in the midst of a Herculean effort to not laugh out loud at my predicament. At that point, I knew I was on my own.
“Hi guys,” I began, hoping my voice wouldn't get me killed, “thanks for the offer, but these thing not only are light, they are on wheels and we're doing just fine. Thanks, again and have a nice night.”
With brilliant replies like “But ma'am”, “Are you sure?”, and “We really don't mind!”, I almost gave in and let them pull the luggage for us. NOT! I smiled and I waved and I kept walking. They finally got the message and let us go as we got to the exit doors of the mall.
We rolled outside just as a couple of cars drove up. Beth and Rhonda were already back (surprise surprise!) and the last two cars carried the other ladies. Right behind them came the limo with Serena, Taleejah, and Sasha. The driver and his two accompanying footmen were quite burly and I had the idea that Serena had made sure to be prepared in case things got out of hand.
Everyone present agreed with Elise that I needed to look my best. What surprised me was more use of words like 'beautiful' and 'gorgeous' and even 'stunning'. Obviously, the driver noticed my puzzled looks and spoke up, “Ms. Misty, I have had a bit of your background related to me. I must admit, I would not have guessed had I not been told, and I am still looking for Candid Camera in case you are really a uhm, genetic woman and this is all a hoax because you look incredible. What makes me believe what I have been told is the looks you have on your face that you doubt what the other women are saying your looks. You may not appreciate yourself as a man, but ma'am, you make a beautiful and most excellent woman.”
I just swallowed and fanned myself. He laughed and suggested we board the limo and asked for the address where he needed to take us.
My only real thought was, “The lion's den.”