The summer I turned thirteen, my parents thought it would be great if I spent all summer with my cousins in a lakeside cabin.
The summer I turned thirteen, my parents went to Europe on an extended business trip with a vacation added. They thought it would be great if I spent all summer with my cousins in a lakeside cabin. This had happened the previous year as well; they always said it was good to get to know Family.
My uncle Jack Henderson was a loud, cigar-smoking “man’s man”, all about ‘huntin’ ‘n fishin’. He was a big man, over six feet, and had played football in college. He’d had an insurance job for years but had moved into some kind of sales. Even last year, he’d changed and gotten more macho, somehow. He’d raised his oldest boy, Chuck, in the same mold. Chuck looked like a smaller version of his father with the same dark wiry hair but was already bulking up, and he was already full of the same macho swagger at seventeen. His brother Larry was fourteen, and wasn’t as bad, but probably would wind up the same as Chuck. His hair was darker and straighter and he wasn’t as overall big as the other men in his family.
The youngest child, Cynthia, was thirteen. She was a blonde girl that had kept to herself each summer; I really didn’t know a lot about her because the circumstances didn’t allow conversation between us, in the confines of the cabin–but I’d always liked her and wished we could have hung out more. Her mother was my aunt Margaret, my father’s sister, who suffered her macho men in silence. Margaret was the graceful version of my father, with the blonde hair that she’d passed on to Cindy, and happy blue eyes. She’d been a sociologist and had left a business to marry and start a family. I wondered sometimes if she regretted it; but she had smarts and humor, and had raised Cindy to be her own person. Although both females appeared to the men to be models of feminine submissiveness, I’d always had the feeling there was iron in them, and liked them both immensely because of it.
I was the opposite of a macho man. I was thin and kind of short. My skin was clear–acne was not a problem–and I’d grown my dirty blond hair long like a lot of kids, almost down to my shoulders, but I guess nobody thought I was cool enough to hang out with. My father, Steven Thornton, traveled so much on business that he was rarely home; he was some type of international troubleshooter for his company. Mom was sort of famous for a business book she’d written when she was still Elizabeth Harriman, and now worked very hard at a corporate job as well–although we didn’t seem to need the money–so it seemed like I was raising myself. My parents were all about becoming independent and ‘one’s own person; so they had no problem that I was what they call ‘a latch-key kid’, getting myself up in the morning for school, and coming home to an empty house. We were pretty well-to-do, and it was a nice, big house, but it was still an empty house. I had very few friends. I didn’t really fit in with the other boys in my class; they seemed like a different species sometimes. I had a couple of girls in my class that I talked with and we got along, but we never did anything together because it wasn’t considered cool for boys and girls to hang out yet. I didn’t fit in anywhere. So mostly I stayed home and read. I felt like I was in some sort of holding pattern; I hadn’t started the teenage years quite yet, and everything felt possible but was too far away to grasp.
I do know that I dreaded the summer. The thought of two months with those macho jerks turned my stomach. The year before I’d only spent two weeks there, and it was full of cruelty to animals–catching and gutting fish was pretty normal, but Chuck liked to shoot, so he and Larry proceeded to wipe out every life form around the cabin. One time Chuck shot a bird, then drove a nail through its skull into a tree and used it for target practice until the body separated from the neck and fell to earth. Larry laughed until he choked. Sick stuff.
My cousins picked me up at our house; Mom and Dad were catching a cab for the airport later that day. I sat on my bags on the front porch, awaiting my doom. My uncle’s big dirty station wagon pulled up and my heart sank; up to the last moment I was hoping for a last-minute reprieve. With the usual family bustle my stuff was loaded in and we set off. Chuck immediately commented that I looked like a faggot with my long hair. My uncle haw-hawed his agreement. I noticed that Larry’s hair was kind of long, but that went unnoticed. My aunt said that lots of boys wore long hair, and Cindy pointed out that Chuck’s best friend had hair even longer than mine. Right away the lines were drawn, and I knew who my allies were.
It was a typical long, dusty drive; with a fast food stop and later a ‘piss stop’ as my uncle called it. Larry got carsick about fifteen minutes from the cabin; he’d been grumbling for nearly an hour but my uncle kept telling him to ‘Be a man’ and refused to pull over, even when Larry finally made a strangled sound and clapped his hands over his mouth. My aunt rolled her window down and Larry spewed out the window and down the side of the car. My uncle cursed him and commanded him to wash the car when we arrived. So we were off to a great start.
The cabin was a large A-frame; quite beautiful actually against the pines. It was truly lakeside, with a dock and a small motorboat tied up. My uncle had some good years awhile back and bought it as the first step up towards joining the Country Club across the lake, but his business soured and nothing came of it. The cabin was fully equipped: phone, TV with a satellite dish, laundry, garage; everything a normal house would have, but no computer. I liked the cabin; I just hated the guys in it. I dragged my bags upstairs as Larry began washing the car.
As a guest they put me in the top bedroom; it was a very small loft, actually, and it felt like exile. Cindy and my aunt had a bedroom, the two boys and my uncle another. I didn’t really need to change, so I went down to check out how things had changed since last year. I could hear Chuck and my uncle planning a hunting trip. My aunt and Cindy were puttering around in the kitchen, the radio playing some soft jazz, which surprised me. My uncle called down to “Turn that shit off!” and I saw the look that passed between the females as they obeyed. I chuckled to myself; I knew that as soon as the menfolk left the music would come back on.
I walked down to the dock, looked across the lake. I walked back around the cabin and came to Larry still washing the car. He was grumbling and cursing about how he was going to tell them where to stuff it, and so on. I knew that Chuck generally made his life miserable, as I’m sure my uncle had made Chuck’s life awful, until the boys would turn as ‘tough’ as my uncle. Chuck bragged and swaggered; Larry was surly and sulked. Inwardly I sighed; if I couldn’t get some time to myself to read, it was going to be a long, miserable summer.
The next few days were spent getting the cabin and surrounding area cleared for the summer. We all pitched in and raked, cut weeds, and cleared the roof. It was hot and dirty work, and we’d look forward to a cool plunge in the lake at the end of the day. Chuck laughed at me the first time he saw my bathing suit; my mom had bought me a pair of Speedos in Europe and they were tight, like bikini briefs. Combined with my long hair, small thin frame, and white skin (I hadn’t had a chance to tan yet), I probably looked girlish. Chuck shouted out, “Where’s your bikini top, honey?” and guffawed, and my uncle and Larry joined in. I ignored them (something I was learning from my aunt and Cindy) and went swimming anyway.
The guys also spent time getting things ready for an extended hunting/camping trip; ‘the menfolk’ would leave at the end of the week for ten days or so. I was dreading going along with them; I just remembered last year’s trip as full of wet sleeping bags, runny noses, sex jokes, burping and farting, and macho bonding crap. Apparently my uncle had forgotten something, or it was missing from the cabin, because we had to take a run into the bigger town for some provisions. It was almost an hour each way, so we all went. We dropped off Cindy and her mom before heading to the sporting goods store. My uncle was buying ammo when Chuck and Larry came up behind me.
“Well, which one are you?” Larry said laughing, shoving two photos of deer at me. One was a doe and one was a buck. I knew what they meant and was mad, but also felt very cold somehow. I remembered how Cindy handled her brothers; she dismissed them.
“Chuck, Larry’s confused. Maybe you can help him,” I said, and turned to check out the swimming gear. I was thinking maybe if I found a sufficiently macho swim suit they wouldn’t bug me so much at the lake. I thought I overheard Chuck say “She don’t know”, but maybe it was my imagination.
I never found a decent suit before we left, with Chuck pushing a shopping cart filled with shooting and fishing supplies, heaters, and who knew what else. I tagged along behind; even Larry didn’t hang with me as he had last year. We piled everything into the station wagon, stopped to pick up my aunt and Cindy who had several bags with them.
“Figures. Women just can’t control themselves in a store. They got to buy, buy, buy,” groused my uncle, completely ignoring the fact that he’d just spent hundreds of dollars at the sporting goods store.
“Hey,” I started to say; I was angry on behalf of my aunt. “What about–” and I caught her eye; somehow I knew her meaning–leave it be.
“What about what?” asked Chuck with a sneer; he’d known what I was about to say.
“What about getting something to drink for the road?” I said.
Everyone relaxed–I got a tiny approving nod from my aunt–and my uncle pulled into a 7-11. Even though it was turning chilly, we got various drinks and headed home. Just as we pulled onto the main road, Larry opened his can of Coke and it sprayed all over me. I’d noticed him quietly shaking it, and I know he’d planned the whole thing, but everyone began shouting at once. My aunt calmly reached over, took the can, and dropped it into a plastic bag. Larry had pointed the can at me so nothing had hit him; I was soaked, my shirt almost dripping. We pulled over to the shoulder and I got out–now my uncle was yelling at me not to drip–and they began cleaning up the spill with some old towels. I peeled my shirt off and Cindy handed me a face cloth to dry myself; it was the only clean towel in the car. Finally we started off again, me shirtless.
After a half an hour, I was cold. I’d been feeling like a cold was coming on, but either the heater was broken or my uncle just wouldn’t use it, and I stayed cold.
“Daddy, Stuart’s cold,” Cindy said.
“He should be a man. This isn’t anything compared to what we’re gonna have on the camping trip; this’ll just get him ready, toughen him up,” said my uncle. I noticed that he didn’t talk directly to me.
“Jack, he’s shivering,” my aunt said.
“Oh, hell. Tell him to put something on, then.” It became obvious there weren’t any coats, so I continued to huddle in my misery.
“I’ve got a sweater,” Cindy said, coming to my rescue. “Only maybe ...”
“For God’s sake, give it to him. Case closed,” said my uncle. It was one of his favorite expressions when he didn’t want to deal with anything.
Cindy reached in one of the shopping bags and pulled out a yellow sweater, with the tags still on. She was a little embarrassed. “It’s new ...” her voice trailed off.
“That’s okay, Cindy. Thanks, but I don’t want to ruin it. I’m still kind of sticky,” I said.
“Sticky is better than you freezing. If you don’t mind wearing it ...maybe you can wrap it around you.”
I thanked her and took the sweater. I saw Larry staring at me intently. The hell with it, I thought, and pulled the sweater over my head. It had long sleeves and was kind of short; the kind that would expose the midriff. I pulled my hair out of the neck hole and caught Larry’s eyes. Something came over me, and defiantly I stared right back at him as I brazenly fluffed my hair.
“Dad, dad, you gotta see this,” cried Larry, pointing to me.
“What the hell?” my uncle said, and checked me out in the rear view mirror. I don’t know what he could see in the twilight, but it was enough. “Well, isn’t she lovely?”
Chuck said, “Who?” and turned around. His face went odd when he saw me; I glared back at him like I had at Larry. It was only a sweater, for God’s sake. Still, it was too much for Chuck. “Looks like Susie’s finally come out!”
He and my uncle laughed, and Larry joined in. My stomach churned coldly with shame and fury; I could tell that it had been no mistake I’d heard in the store–they’d already started calling me ‘she’ and obviously had already named me Susie.
My uncle began to sing, joined in by Chuck and then Larry. “If you knew Susie, like I know Susie oh–oh–oh what a gal!” Chuck pointed at me at each ‘oh’ and they dissolved in laughter.
My aunt forcefully said, “That’s enough. Now!”
“Ah, honey, we’re just having a little fun. I mean, look at her. No, I mean him. No, I mean her. No, I mean–” my uncle began laughing again. He was having way too much fun.
“Now,” my aunt said quietly but with amazing force. It had the desired effect; they stifled themselves. A few minutes later, inevitably, they burst out again with an impromptu chorus of the Stevie Wonder song ‘Isn’t She Lovely’.
“Jack!” my aunt said warningly.
“Come on, Marge, you should be happy; it looks like you got another daughter!”
“That’s okay, Aunt Margaret,” I said before she could answer. I knew what I was going to say would forever change things. I didn’t know how, but I just didn’t care. “That’s alright. They’re just frightened about being evenly matched, three against three.”
It couldn’t have had a more immediate impact if I’d thrown a light switch. Everyone shut up instantly and froze in place. That was it. The lines were drawn. I’d firmly placed myself on the side of my aunt and Cindy, and I was no longer a member of the boy’s club. My aunt gave me the strangest look, a combination of surprise, caution …and approval? She made a silent ‘shh’ with her lips, and we rode on home in silence. As we entered the cabin, we all went to our various rooms. I undressed and got into bed. I was still mad, and feeling shaky, and probably coming down with something. Either way, I was dreading the morning.
I woke up to silence. It was odd; with Chuck and Larry around, things were never silent. I crawled out of bed and realized that I did have a cold or flu–I felt wretched. Maybe I should go down and apologize, I thought; get it out of the way.
I had been sleeping in boxers and a t-shirt; I started shivering before I reached the door so I pulled on a robe, picked up the yellow sweater that I’d folded the night before, and walked downstairs. I found Aunt Margaret in the kitchen, planning some meals, judging by the cookbooks and notepad. She looked up.
“Good morning, dear,” she said brightly.
“Morning. I brought down the sweater to be cleaned. Or maybe we can return it ...”
“Ah, yes, the famous yellow sweater that did so much. Maybe we’ll just wash it and you can keep it.”
What she said didn’t quite register; I looked around. “Where is everybody?”
“Oh, gone. Long gone. Do you want breakfast?” She seemed completely relaxed.
“What do you mean ‘gone’? What about the hunting trip?”
“What about it? You didn’t really want to go, did you?” I shook my head slowly. She smiled. “I didn’t think so. And believe me, after yesterday, you’re better off not being alone with them. Honey, you should get a good look at yourself. You’re not well, are you?”
“No, I think I’ve got a flu thing. I feel crummy. But I also feel crummy about yesterday–”
“Why? Because you stood up for yourself? Because you put some macho bozos in their place? Or because you allied yourself with Cindy and me?”
This speech blew me away. Macho bozos? She said it so matter-of-factly, but I could tell she thought it was for the best. I didn’t know what to say, so I said something else.
“Where’s Cindy?”
“She was reading out on the dock, last I saw. She didn’t want to wake you, so she thought she’d catch up on the newest Stephen King. You’re really looking pale, honey, do you want to sit down?”
I nodded and sat dumbly at the table. She got some orange juice and some medicine, handed the pills to me, and sat down again. Slowly I realized she’d never called me ‘honey’ or ‘dear’ before, and the whole way she was relating to me was like–well, it was like she acted with Cindy. Maybe we really had turned a corner of some sort yesterday; I found that I didn’t mind it a bit.
“What they did was unforgivable. I’m sorry I didn’t put a stop to it before, but I never dreamed they’d go that far. You must have been so angry!”
I nodded. “And humiliated. Yeah. But you know what? They were right.”
“About what?” she leaned toward me.
“About ...being more comfortable being ...like a girl.” It was really hard to say it, and I was amazed that I’d blurted it out.
“Being like a girl ...or being a girl?” she asked gently.
“I don’t know. I never really thought about it before. I mean, unless this is a magic sweater ...” I reached out to touch it and we both laughed. “Aunt Margaret, I don’t know what I mean. But I do know I feel crummy.”
“Well, we’ll just call that the flu and not because of yesterday. We’ll call yesterday a blow for freedom, maybe, for all of us. I’m just sorry they were calling you names–”
“What, ‘Susie’?”
“Yes. That must have been horrible for you.”
I smiled ruefully. “I don’t know. I always kind of liked the name Susan. There are worse names; Harriet maybe.”
She laughed. “Or Blanche!”
“Or Hortense!”
“Or Margaret!” She doubled over laughing at her own name.
“No! Margaret’s a great name! And you could be Marge, or Margie, or Maggie–”
“Thank you, honey. Well, if you’d been born a girl, you would have been Susan.”
“You’re making that up!”
“No, I was there at your birth, remember? Your dad and mom were going to name you Susan if you were a girl. Jack knew that, so that’s why he started calling you ‘Susie’ behind your back. I should have stopped it; I’m sorry.”
I stared at her, stunned with this revelation of my own history. I shook my head. “Please don’t beat yourself up about it. You know, some things are getting clearer ...Uh, is it okay if I go back to bed? I hate to waste a great day, but I feel–”
“I know–‘crummy’. Of course, dear. But change those shorts and shirt; you’ve sweated them out. You must have had a fever in the night.”
She rose and accompanied me upstairs. I really was woozy and didn’t really want to change. I had nothing clean to wear, so my aunt handed me an oversized t-shirt and said I could use that. I took off the sweaty clothes and pulled the shirt over my head while she discreetly turned her back, then flopped down and was asleep before she even left the room.
I woke up in the early afternoon, feeling a lot better than I had. Through the small window I could see the blue sky and feel a cool breeze. I got out of bed, momentarily surprised to find myself in the sleep shirt; then I remembered. The way the shirt fell down around my knees reminded me of a dress. I looked down at my legs and wondered what it would be like to wear a dress or skirt. As I walked, I could feel the hem of the sleep shirt against my legs, imagining it to be a skirt, and tried taking smaller steps. I walked downstairs to the bathroom, which was next to the laundry room off the kitchen. I couldn’t see or hear anybody, but the radio was still playing soft, cool jazz, perfectly matching the breeze.
I stepped into the shower and washed. Strange new thoughts went through my mind as I soaped myself; I thought about the body I was washing, and wondered how I would feel–how I would feel–if the body was female. I found to my surprise that it didn’t bother me; if anything, it made me feel more comfortable. I gently rubbed the soap on my chest and around my nipples, and the nipples responded by getting a little hard and slightly pointy. Suddenly I wished I had breasts. I had never, ever had such a thought before, but I thought, ‘If I had breasts, then I wouldn’t be a boy, would I? So my uncle and the guys wouldn’t expect me to be a boy, right?’ Then I soaped down my tummy and between my legs, and I thought, ‘Oh, yeah, except for that thing. Even more than not having breasts, that thing keeps me from being a girl.’ I had never thought about my penis before like this, but I knew immediately and without any hesitation that I wanted it off of me. I wanted it gone. It symbolized all the obnoxious macho posturing of my cousins. Maybe the emptiness of my life, too. But if it were gone, then I’d be like Cindy and Aunt Margaret, and that didn’t seem so bad at all ...
After washing my hair twice, I rinsed and stepped out. I toweled off and used the hair dryer over all of my body as well as my hair. I felt really fresh and clean and new. Then I realized I hadn’t brought any clothes with me to the bathroom, and I had nothing to change in. Some spray had accidentally hit the sleep shirt, so it was wet. I opened the door to see if I could grab something from the laundry room, and my aunt came in with a basket of laundry.
“Oh! Hi, I thought you were still sleeping. How are you feeling?” she asked cheerfully as she put down the basket.
“Much better, thanks. Uh, Aunt Margaret, I forgot to bring down any clothes to change into.”
“Oh dear; I thought you were still sleeping so I grabbed all your things to wash. And we’re mostly line drying, so it’ll be awhile. I just finished folding a load of Cindy’s ...” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the basket and we both thought the same thing.
“Well ...is there anything there I could wear? I mean, if it’s alright with you? I mean, with Cindy?” I was starting to stammer.
She smiled warmly; I could tell she knew exactly what I meant. “Let me see,” she said as she removed stacks from the basket. “Yes, there are some shorts and tops and other things here. I’m sure it’ll be fine with her. Why don’t you take your pick? I’ll go tell her I okayed it. Then when you’re dressed, come out to the deck; I made some lemonade. You’ll need to replenish your liquids after that fever.” She filled the basket with my wet clothes from the washer and headed out to the clothesline.
I stared at the stacks of Cindy’s clothes. I knew I could try to find the most male or unisex clothing there, like jeans and a white t-shirt, but I realized that Aunt Margaret had given me a sort of test–gently and kindly, but a test nevertheless. And the weird thing was, I wouldn’t know if I passed the test until much, much later. I settled on a pair of bright green shorts and a green-and-white striped short-sleeve top. When I put it on, I found that it had a scooped neck–I think they call it a boat-neck–that showed more of my shoulders than I’d ever worn before, but it was kind of nice. The short sleeves were shorter than a boy’s shirt; I think they were called ‘cap’ sleeves. I didn’t have any muscles, and I thought my arms looked nice in the shorter sleeves.
I realized that I needed underwear, and of course there were no boys’ underclothes in the stacks. I remembered that my aunt had said ‘shorts and tops and other things’, and realized that I knew what the ‘other things’ were, and so I picked up some yellow bikini panties and put them on. They felt very cool and soft and very pleasant except for the front, of course. My penis was a problem, so I tucked it back between my legs. It wasn’t very big, anyway, and my balls weren’t very big, but they popped out a little from between my legs, so I got an idea. I sat down on the toilet seat and spread my legs, and relaxed as much as I could. In a few minutes of deep breathing and gentle probing, I found I could push my balls back into my body. I’d read about this in an article on sumo wrestling, and was amazed at how easily it worked! Then I tucked my little penis back and pulled on the panties. They fit snugly and held me in place. Looking down at the smoothness between my legs, I got a sudden thrill, like some kind of psychic ‘push’. I knew I was on the right track.
I pulled the shorts on and I had to admit that my legs looked great, and that surprised me. Since I didn’t look like the other boys my age, I never really spent time looking at myself in mirrors or even considered my body objectively. Now I looked in the mirror and saw that my hair was clean but all fly-away–I hadn’t put on any conditioner. I brushed and brushed, but I guess there was some static, because it never lay down. It was just to my shoulders now, and pretty thick. I noticed that on a peg by the mirror were a several headbands and those ‘scrunchie’ things girls used for ponytails. So I brushed all my hair back, gathered it, and got a white scrunchie around the ponytail. Looking in the mirror, I saw that I’d put it on kind of low, so it looked like a guy’s ponytail, although I’d never pulled my hair back before. I pulled the scrunchie off and brushed it all back again, then pulled the hair up high to the back of my head and put on the scrunchie. As I reached my arms up and back, I was a little stunned by how girlish I looked in the mirror. I turned my head to the left and right, watching the ponytail swing. I liked it a lot.
Although we were usually barefoot at the lake, we always had a standing rule that shoes be worn around the yard. I had no shoes nearby, but near the door of the laundry room I noticed a pair of plastic Nike slip-on sandals. I don’t know who they belonged to, but what the heck–I slipped them on. I walked out onto the deck; Cindy sat reading, her feet up on one of the deck chairs, soft jazz coming from a small boom box next to her. Her mother was leaning over filling Cindy’s glass with pink lemonade when she saw me. She actually splashed some on Cindy’s hand because she was staring so hard at me.
“Cindy ...uh, Cin, we have company,” Aunt Margaret said with a smile.
Cindy started turning as she said, “Who?” Then she saw me; I swear that her mouth stayed open, then she mouthed the word “whoa”. I suddenly got nervous and I don’t know why, but I did a pirouette.
“Yep. ‘S me.” I stood still.
My aunt pulled out another deck chair and pointed to it. I saw she already had an empty glass for me, which she started filling.
“Come on, honey, the lemonade’s just right.”
I don’t know why I was doing the things I was doing, but without any hesitation I sat and crossed my legs at the ankles, knees together. I thanked her as I took the glass. The pink lemonade was delicious; part of my mind said, ‘Of course it has to be pink, for girls.’
Cindy still stared at me, then a big grin spread from ear to ear and she said with an atrocious cowboy accent, “Hey there, little lady–new in town? Why don’t you set yoreself down and sit a spell?”
We all laughed at her line, then awkwardly grew silent as we thought about the ‘little lady’ part. I realized that I didn’t mind a bit, and decided to play along.
“Thanks for the borry of your clothes, missy!” I said, my accent as bad and broad as hers.
We all laughed again at this, then in her normal voice Cindy said, “Anytime, cuz.” That quieted us some more.
My aunt looked out at the lake. “You know, we’re going to have ten lovely, quiet days with the men gone. We can swim when we want to, go shopping when we want to, watch our shows and listen to our music and read our books and sleep as late as we want to. Now, that’s heaven!” Cindy and I agreed, and she went on, looking at me now. “I hope you’ll want to share that with us; just ...just us girls. ”
It was apparent that she was inviting me to be a girl the whole time, but she didn’t know what to call me. Without thinking, I came up with the answer.
“I’d be pleased and honored to be ...one of the girls, Aunt Margaret. And that would make me your niece, Susan. Right?” I looked at her anxiously; I realized I was holding my breath waiting for her response. Suddenly, so much future depended on her answer.
She was thinking, and unconsciously bit her lower lip. Then she smiled. “And I’d be honored to welcome you to the family, Susan. Or Sue. Or Susie!”
“That goes for me, too, Mom,” Cindy said as she reached her glass over to clink a toast. Cindy said clearly and slowly, “If you knew Susie, like I know Susie, oh–” we clinked our glasses, “oh–” clink, “oh, what a girl!”
We all drank, looking eye to eye, and that settled that.
End of Part 1
It was apparent that she was inviting me to be a girl the whole time, but she didn’t know what to call me. Without thinking, I came up with the answer.
“I’d be pleased and honored to be ...one of the girls, Aunt Margaret. And that would make me your niece, Susan. Right?”
We sat on the deck, sipping lemonade. Cindy told us what she’d learned about the neighbors. Part of returning to a cabin each summer was catching up on what your neighbors have been doing; since they’re usually seasonal, too. She also told us about the country club dance coming up at the end of the summer, and that Julie DeMarini, the girl three cabins down, was now old enough to go along with Cindy (you had to be 13 and over). My aunt told what she’d learned from some of the other mothers. Soon it wound up in a discussion of bathing suits, hair, makeup, and so on. All in all, it was a pleasant chat. Actually, it was girl talk, and although I didn’t really know enough to contribute, at least I began to feel accepted as ‘one of the girls’, and it pleased me immensely. I felt more relaxed and, well, normal—like I fit in—than I ever did listening to the guys talk.
My aunt turned her attention to me. “You know ...uh, Susan ...we’ll need to get you some clothes so you’re not borrowing Cindy’s.”
Cindy jumped to the occasion. “Oh, that’s okay, Mom; then I can get some new stuff!”
My aunt laughed. “No, seriously, we’ll have to figure out what to get. And how much ...Susan, have you given any thought to ...well, what you’re doing? Or going to do?”
“No, not really,” I said. “I just know it feels right. I mean, I feel better, somehow. More ...real and more me than ever, and I don’t want to go back to what I felt like yesterday or the days before. But I know what you mean.”
“Mom, can she stay the whole summer? I mean—” Cindy looked at me quizzically. “—if Susan wants to. Anyway, I’ve got a lot of clothes, you know that, and we can have fun putting together some outfits for her.” Then she stopped, rolled her eyes and said, “God, I can’t believe it! I just said ‘she’ and ‘her’ without thinking. You’re right, Sue, it’s so much easier relating to you this way!”
“Whoa—there’s an ‘80s word, ‘relating’. After all, Cin, aren’t we relatives already?”
My aunt nodded. “Yes we are, my new niece, but there’s a problem. Three of them, actually. Well, we don’t have to deal with them for another nine days. Right now, I’ve got some calls to make, then we’ll talk some more. In the meantime,” she said with a smile, “what do you girls have planned for the rest of the day?”
Cindy looked at me and burst out laughing. “Nothing! I just met Susan, and we don’t really know each other yet. So what do you want to do, Susan?” My aunt headed into the house.
“I don’t know, Cindy, because ‘I just got here, myself’. You know, I saw you reading out on the dock when I first woke up, and I thought: God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to do that. Now, for a while anyway, I can. But right now, I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Listen to us! We sound like we’re right out of that old movie Marty—you ever see that? I saw it with Mom. ‘What do you wanna do? I dunno, what do you wanna do?’ Geez! Okay, let’s start getting some clothes for you for tonight and tomorrow.”
We went to the laundry room and retrieved her clothes; I helped carry them up to her room. We laid them on the bed, and she began opening drawers, pulling more clothes out and stacking them on the bed. I looked around; I’d never been in my aunt’s room before. Last year, Cindy was in the attic, my aunt and uncle shared this bedroom, and the boys and I were in the other bedroom. I had to marvel at how things had changed in just one year.
I looked at Cindy’s work in progress; she had separated shorts, skirts, tops, sweaters, and then stopped. She looked at me and was obviously embarrassed. I asked her, “What?” and she pulled out another drawer.
“What about undies?” she said.
I blushed. “Uh, I’ve got a confession to make, Cindy. I’m wearing one of yours right now.” I didn’t know how she’d take it, but I never would have guessed the answer.
“Cool! Which ones?”
“Yellow bikini—”
“Cool! I like those, but you can keep them. I think I got a set of three or something. Whew! Well, that makes things easier. Give me a second; I’ll pull out my favorite things, and then you choose whatever you want from what’s left.” She sorted through and quickly built a pile of lingerie that she put back in the drawer.
Cindy grinned at me. “Okay, go to it, girl!”
I never dreamed I would be standing there, wearing her panties, sorting through things that would become my panties! I was kind of at a loss where to begin; seeing my predicament, she began pulling out several items and giving a running commentary on how cool they were. Then she stopped and blushed. I followed her eyes and saw her looking at bras. She’d only begun developing since last summer, but I knew she was already wearing a bra full time, and had a variety of types and colors.
“Tell you what,” she said thoughtfully. “You’ve gotta have something, so here’s a couple of camisoles and—oh, here it is!—a great first bra.” She added a shiny blue wisp to the pile. “Look, it’s silly to separate the sets. So take the bra that matches each of the panties. And what else do you need, umm—I know; swimsuits! What kind do you like, one-piece or two-piece? Oh, geez!” She burst out laughing. “Duh! You wouldn’t know! Okay, I’ve got tons of swimsuits. Here, take this one and these two. Try them on and we’ll see.” She handed me the brightly colored nylon suits and went back to sorting. I didn’t know where to go, then realized that she meant to try them on right there.
“Uh, Cindy? You want me to go to the bathroom, right?”
“No, silly, right here—oh, I see what you mean. I forgot already. Well, no need running up and down stairs. I’ll turn my back. I just was thinking we’re all girls here! Girls change clothes in front of each other all the time. But I’ll turn around—this time!” she grinned.
She turned around, and I pulled off the top I was wearing and then pulled the shorts down. I decided to keep the panties on because of modesty, and because I didn’t know if my penis would stay put. I pulled the first suit on; it was a green racing tank style with abstract splashes of Day-Glo color. It felt very strange to even think of trying on a girl’s suit; that is, it felt strange in my head but right in my heart. I mean, maybe it was society or my twelve years of hearing what boys do and don’t do that was saying, ‘Don’t try it on’, but my heart—my soul—said, ‘Yes, it’s right for you.’ So I listened to my heart.
“Okay. First subject,” I said.
Cindy turned around and nodded her head ‘pretty good’, then turned around again. I quickly stripped the suit off and next found a dark blue two-piece, which I momentarily thought would be ridiculous. Oh well, I thought, even tiny little girls wear these. I pulled on the two pieces but the panties showed over the top of the bottom, so I rolled the panties under. But try as I could, I couldn’t get the top tied.
“Cindy? You gotta help me here. I’m lost!” I laughed.
Cindy chuckled and turned around; I turned my back to her, held my hair up, and she tied the suit. I turned around again, and she gave a much more enthusiastic nod.
“Definitely cool. Blue is a great color for you. Of course, green was, too! Okay, I’ll untie you, then try the last one.”
This time she didn’t really turn away, so I didn’t, either. She didn’t stare, exactly, as much as give me a critical looking-over.
“You know, Sue, you’ve got a kind of cute figure. No, really, I mean it! I mean, for a twelve-year old!”
“Almost thirteen—two more weeks, and you know it!” I felt kind of strange entering my teenaged years as a girl, but suddenly I knew I wanted to do it. It was like I wanted to put the lonely boy behind and start fresh and new as a teenage girl. I don’t know where this feeling came from, or how it kept growing, but it was certain. Of course, everything depended on whether my male cousins would kill me or not ...
I tried on the last suit, which had a halter top. Cindy immediately made a face and shook her head, so it looked like the blue bikini. A blue bikini, for me? This was all going really fast, maybe too fast. I started to get dressed again in the shorts and top. Cindy stared at my—her—panties.
“Um, I don’t know how to ask this ...” she began.
I knew exactly what she wanted to know, and decided to play with her. “Well, ask, silly. We’re all girls here,” I said, tossing my hair back.
She laughed. “Okay, what did you do with it?”
“With what?” I asked innocently.
“You know, your ...thing, your penis! Ew, that’s so weird to say when you look like you do! Come on, what’s going on?”
I took pity on her and described to her how it was tucked neatly away. She marveled at how natural I looked, and asked if it would pop out accidentally. I sincerely hoped not. She let me continue getting dressed. As I was pulling my hair out of the neckline, my aunt appeared in the doorway.
“My goodness your hair is thick, Susan! Maybe it’s time for a trim. Anyway, did you find some things?”
We showed her the stack of things, even the two-piece. She stared at me silently for a moment, then asked about dresses.
“Mom! It’s summer! Mellow out!” cried Cindy.
My aunt smiled. “Of course it’s summer, and time for shorts and little tops and things, but we will be wearing a dress or two, sundresses, and some skirts. Besides, we don’t even know if Susan likes dresses or not.” She looked at me questioningly.
“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never worn one. Of either.”
“Never ever?” Aunt Margaret asked probingly. I shook my head. “Well, I’m amazed. You seem perfectly suited to girl’s clothes, I must say. And I mean that as a compliment. Well, let’s see what we’ve got in the way of skirts.” She opened a closet, rummaged around and pulled out a denim miniskirt.
“Here, try this one with the top you’ve got on,” she said, handing it to me. I looked at Cindy, who nodded encouragingly. I stripped off the shorts and began to turn the skirt around, trying to figure out how it fit, when I noticed my aunt staring at the panties with an odd look.
“Aunt Margaret ...I’m sorry, I, uh ...down in the laundry room you said I should help myself to Cindy’s things ...” I felt guilty and blushing and awful.
My aunt snapped out of her stare. “No, no, that’s not why I’m staring. Yes, I did mean find some undies if you could. I just never ...I just never expected you to look so good in them, so ...natural!”
Cindy grinned and bounced enthusiastically. “Me either, Mom! I already told her she’s got a cute figure. She, um, told me she ...‘tucked’ herself ...her ‘boy’ thing ...” Cindy trailed off, embarrassed and realizing how silly it all sounded; we were getting in pronoun difficulties.
“I understand, honey. Okay, look, everybody, we need a serious talk. Susan, are you going to try the skirt on?”
I stepped in, pulled it on and they laughed. I looked down, and had put the zipper in the front. Aunt Margaret walked to me, unzipped it slightly and turned it around to the back. It immediately fit better and the front looked smooth and my legs looked great. It was like looking down at a normal girl’s legs. My aunt nodded her approval, Cindy gave me a thumbs up, and we went downstairs to the kitchen. The skirt felt better than the sleep shirt had, more real somehow, and I really liked the feeling. Cindy got mugs and my aunt had tea ready; I realized that by sleeping most of the day it was almost night.
We sat with our tea and my aunt began talking. While I had been trying on clothes with Cindy, my aunt had put in a call to my father. Because of the time difference and his schedule, they would be talking in about four more hours. She asked me what I wanted her to say. I had no idea.
“Tell him ...oh, geez, can’t you tell him I drowned in the lake?” I said ruefully.
She chuckled. “I don’t think that would get you off the hook. I think you should talk to both of your parents, but let me do the initial ice-breaking. But here’s what we need to know right now: what do you think is going on? Is wearing Cindy’s clothes just a lark? Is it just a summer play-thing, something that you can stop and never do again? Because if it is, you should change right now and never again put on girl’s clothes.”
The kitchen fell silent as they stared at me. I had already been thinking about it all day; even though it was only a few hours old, the feeling was certain.
“Aunt Margaret, Cindy ...I have never worn girl’s clothes in my life. You’ve got to believe me. I’m not sure if I ever thought about what it would be like to be a girl, or to dress as a girl, at any rate. I do know that I’ve been mostly unhappy the last couple of years. I don’t really know why, but I never really got happy; I just had these long periods of unhappiness or … just feeling nothing. I don’t seem to fit in with the kids in school, or in the neighborhood, or anywhere. I just don’t ...fit anywhere. Now I think I know why.”
My aunt reached out and put her hand on mine. I smiled weakly and took a sip of tea.
“Being a teenager, or almost a teenager, is tough, honey,” she said sympathetically.
“I know, but it’s more than that. Okay, I’ve got to say something really harsh and it may hurt your feelings, but I want you to know up-front that I don’t mean to hurt.” I got their approval and went on. “Okay, looking at Uncle Jack, and Chuck, and Larry—and for the most part, other guys at school—I don’t ...I don’t want any part of them! I mean, they’re all in a club that I don’t want to be a member of! Last year it was kind of rough, but this year, what a bunch of macho, jerky—” I stopped myself, thinking I’d gone too far.
“—pigs!” Cindy finished for me.
We all burst out laughing. Thank God Cindy had rescued the moment!
My aunt nodded sadly. “Yes, they are macho, jerky pigs. And I feel terrible about it. Jack wasn’t always like that, you know that; but when he got into sales his whole personality changed. The guys he works with, and now at the golf club, I blame them. Of course, they probably have other guys to blame. And now Jack’s carrying it to an extreme with his macho stuff, and of course Chuck wants to be ‘just like Dad’, and Larry wants to be ‘just like Chuck’, and on and on. There are good guys out there, of course, even if it takes some looking to find one. Meanwhile I’ve got three macho, jerky pigs. I try to rein them back when they get too extreme, but lately even that doesn’t help. It’s the way Chuck is, now; he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. I really fear that Larry will go the way of Chuck, although I think Larry has more compassion.” It was her turn to stare sadly at her tea.
Cindy said, “It’s okay, Mom; remember what parents always say—‘it’s just a phase’? Let’s hope so. Anyway, it’s really good training for me to see what not to look for in a boyfriend!”
We chuckled a bit, but it was a sad moment.
“So, Aunt Margaret, you’re saying I could be one of the ‘compassionate’ males to balance the macho pigs. Yeah, but you know, that only feels like half a solution. I’ve always admired you and Cindy, and the …quiet strength you’ve shown, and the special relationship you have between you. Last night, when I took sides with you against the guys, I really wanted to be part of that relationship, and I still do! But I also think maybe it’s recognizing the girl in me. I just never realized how much girl I may have in me.”
Aunt Margaret tilted her head and paused before saying, “Okay, forget about the three guys for a moment. Right now, if you could spend time this summer as a boy or a girl, which would you choose?”
I didn’t really need to think about it. “Girl. Absolutely. Maybe part of it’s because it’s all new and exciting, but mostly because I really think that may be where my future lies. I know it’s tough; I’ve seen enough talk shows on TV, but maybe I’m one of those people who should have been born a girl.”
“Direct question that I asked before: Do you want to be a girl, or just be like a girl?”
I surprised myself by how quickly and fiercely I answered. “I want to be a girl! Not a boy pretending to be like a girl. Be a girl. But I know it probably can’t happen.”
The strangest smile crossed my aunt’s face. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps we can work things so it can happen”
My heart raced. “Please let me spend the summer—and maybe beyond—as a girl, Aunt Margaret.”
“Fair enough. Knees together, dear.”
I quickly did so and blushed.
Cindy burst out laughing. “I’ve heard that often enough; now I get to see somebody else put up with it! Welcome to the downside of girlhood, Sue—you’ll see it’s not all a bed of roses!”
Since the men had taken the station wagon, we were technically stranded at the house, but my aunt and Mrs. Doyle, in the cabin next door, had worked out an arrangement with their car. Since it was now dark, and my aunt didn’t feel like cooking, she suggested we see if the car was available and go out for dinner; nothing fancy, just a burger joint across the lake. She recommended we dress warmly because it was cooling off, and suggested I wear ‘my new yellow sweater’ that she’d already washed and dried. She went off to phone next door while Cindy and I pulled sweaters on. I started downstairs, but Cindy stopped me and selected two fine gold chains from her dresser. She put the necklace around my neck and fastened it behind, then attached the little bracelet to my wrist. She told me to keep my hand out, and spritzed something, telling me to rub my wrists together. She sprayed herself, nodded to me, and we went downstairs.
Aunt Margaret met us at the door, ready to go, and we were halfway across to the Doyle’s cabin when I realized I was walking around in girl’s clothes—and in a skirt, too! I started thinking about the cologne, and the gold chains, as well. I started to freak and turn back to our cabin, but Cindy playfully pushed against my back in the direction of the neighbors. So, trusting in the darkness, I continued on to their cabin, but I was very conscious of my naked legs and the swish of my skirt.
Mrs. Doyle met my aunt at the door and handed her the keys; I vaguely remembered they’d done this last year, too. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever met the family, though, and it looked like I wouldn’t have time now, because my aunt was already opening the car, a little hatchback. We crowded in and set off. My aunt said we’d pick up some groceries for the neighbors as a ‘thank you’ for using their car. We drove along the shoreline, and it was a beautiful night, with the lakeside cabins’ windows reflecting across the lake. There was a delicious scent in the air, of equal parts lake, clean air, and summer close by.
We went to the burger joint, a mom ‘n pop place with patio tables, and my aunt gave them our order. Cindy and I chose an outdoor table near a space heater, and just before we sat, Cindy leaned next to me and quietly said, “Remember to smooth your skirt behind you”, and I did so, as I’d seen girls do. I also remembered to keep my knees together; it wasn’t so hard because it was a little chilly and I was warmer that way. I found that I had pulled my sweater sleeves over my palms, with just my fingertips showing, curled over and holding the sleeve, and Cindy had done the same with her sweater. We both noticed and laughed, and she said, “See? A natural!” and I relaxed a little. My aunt called from the counter and Cindy told me to stay put, and went to help with the drinks. They brought the food to the table and we began eating.
As we chatted, I realized that I felt totally at peace. A little chilled from the night air, perhaps, but I felt really good. The burger was the first real food I’d had since last night, and I was suddenly ravenous, but also fighting myself to take small bites like Cindy did, and wipe my mouth with the napkin frequently. Inside I chuckled; being a girl meant a whole lot more than wearing a skirt—it was a whole new way of being! I remembered Jack Lemmon’s line from the great old movie Some Like It Hot: “It’s a whole other sex!” and it was true. Well, I liked it a lot better than my old sex, and was going to do my best to do justice to my new sex.
After finishing, we tossed our trash and got back in the car. On the way home we stopped at a little market and Aunt Margaret gave us each a couple of items to find. Walking down the aisles of food, all alone for the first time, I caught sight of a pretty blonde girl in the convex mirror hanging on the wall. Of course, it was me, but there was also no way that it looked like a boy. I tried to move naturally, like I wasn’t studying myself in the mirror, and I had to admit my aunt and Cindy were right—I looked like a perfectly normal girl, at least from a distance. Up close, I don’t know; I’d have to check that out when we got home. We all rendezvoused at the counter, then took the bags to the car and headed home. We all stood on our neighbor’s porch as we handed over the bags and the car keys. My aunt introduced me as ‘and this is Susan’ with no explanation; I said a small ‘hi’ and leaned back into the darkness. We walked back to our cabin with a contented sigh. Once the lights came on, I realized how tired I was.
“Wash up, girls; let’s get ready for bed. Sue, your father will be calling soon, but I think you should still try to get some sleep before we talk.”
Cindy told me to wash first, so I removed the sweater and green top, but wasn’t sure about the necklace. Finally I spun it around and got it unclasped, as well as the bracelet, and set them aside. I washed and dried thoroughly, and Cindy knocked at the door. I opened it, and she handed me a white nightgown and some panties. Well, that answered that question, I thought. I stripped and went to the bathroom, sitting. When I was done, I wiped and tucked myself carefully—in fact, I’d never really popped out of the tuck, which I found encouraging. I pulled on the nightgown panties, then had an idea. I pulled them back down again and dusted myself with some perfumed talc, then pulled them up. As I pulled the nightgown over my head, I thought maybe this is what it would be like from now on—and the thought gladdened me. Every minute I spent as Susan seemed to reinforce how right it was. I knew there’d be all sorts of questions and problems—and maybe a big ‘no’ from my parents—but somehow, some way, I wanted to start living as a girl.
I cleaned up, left the bathroom and called for Cindy. She told me ‘good night, Sue’ and hugged me, and I trudged up the stairs to my attic room. When I got there, I found some subtle changes in the place. My aunt or Cindy had put some fresh flowers in a vase, and my sweaty sheets had been replaced by fresh new ones in a soft yellow with embroidery. There was even a throw pillow and an old teddy bear. I started to get tears; I was beginning to see how much the other two were behind me, and I could cry with gratitude. I sat on the bed, swung my legs under the covers—knees together!—and was asleep instantly.
My aunt gently shook me awake; my parents were calling from France. She handed me a chenille robe and pointed to slippers by the bed, and we quietly went downstairs. She had a pot of tea going, and poured us each a cup. I could tell that she hadn’t been asleep yet, and as we got to the kitchen phone I saw that she’d been making notes on a legal pad. About me? We’d already agreed that she should talk to them first, and I was surprised to discover that they’d already been talking and it was now my turn. I was acutely conscious of standing in a pretty nightgown and chenille robe as I picked up the phone.
“How are you, uh ...honey?” my mom said, slightly scratchy from the distance.
“Fine, Mom. How’s the trip?”
“Delightful! Of course, with all your father’s meetings, I have a lot of time on my hands, so that means—”
“Shopping!” we both said simultaneously, and laughed. We’d always had an easy relationship. It was my dad that was the most distant—and not just because he was in Europe so much.
My mom’s laugh quieted. “Margaret had some ...very interesting news for us, honey. Do you want to tell us about it?”
I didn’t really know where or how to begin; it turned out that my aunt had told them quite a bit already, so I just had to answer questions, mostly. I spoke with my mom for about ten minutes, very easy and gentle, then braced myself to talk with my father. Since he traveled so much, we hadn’t really established a relationship for the last few years; after the initial ‘hello’, we felt like strangers. He asked me some direct, no-nonsense questions: ‘Do you feel like a boy or a girl? Did your aunt or uncle say or do anything to make you think this way? Do you think it’s just for fun for the summer, or is this a down-deep sort of thing?’ and so on. I was quietly shocked that neither of them were freaking out, and that neither of them told me ‘no, you can’t do this’. Both seemed to be clear on the same point—that whatever I was doing was not forced and was acceptable to me. Maybe it was because I was wearing a nightgown, looking down at my bare legs, and playing with the gold necklace Cindy gave me; but my feelings of being a girl intensified. No, I think a better way to put it is ‘they solidified’, like in Physics, from kind of free-floating gas to a solid, definite certainty. And sitting there with the nightgown occasionally slipping off my shoulders, keeping my knees together, and slightly chilly, I began—for the first time—to feel the first touches of femininity. I actually began to feel more girlish talking to my folks.
I think it even began to affect the way I was speaking; my dad asked me if I ‘talked that way’ around my uncle. I noticed my aunt had been looking at me strangely, as well, so I kind of ‘butched it up’ without being too overt about it—but it had surprised all of us how easily I’d slipped into ‘girl-speak’, sounding just like Cindy. My mom came back on the phone and surprised the hell out of me by asking what I was wearing now, which of course sounded like a line from a man’s obscene phone call. We laughed a bit, and then I quietly told her ‘a nightgown’ and she asked me to describe it and how I felt about wearing it, and I didn’t hesitate to tell her how pretty it was and how wonderful it felt. Then she asked what I’d worn during the day; same thing of describe and how did I feel. When I told her about the skirt, she even asked if I’d remembered to keep my knees together! Feeling a little braver, I told her about the swim suit, and I could tell the fact that it was a two piece bothered her, because she began to talk about normal teenage girl breast development! I was shocked and blushed but somehow it felt really nice between us. She gently asked me how I felt about boys; I told her I hadn’t really thought about it—everything was really about how I felt in the world and about the world, and boys or girls would come later. Just before we said goodbye she actually suggested that maybe we’d have a fun shopping trip when she returned—and I knew she meant for girl’s clothing!
My dad came back on the line and asked to speak with my aunt; before we said goodbye he asked if I was sure this was what I wanted to do. I told him it was, and I handed the phone over to Aunt Margaret. I watched as she listened intently, nodding and looking at me. She listened for a long time, with only a ‘yes, no, or maybe’, then hung up. I glanced at the clock; we’d actually talked an hour and a half!
My aunt hung up the phone and looked at me quietly for a moment. I said nothing; finally she said, “You know they love you very much?”
I nodded.
She smiled sadly. “Good, because sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to.”
I got a cold chill of fear that I was going to have to go back to being a boy.
“I mean, your father never intended to travel as much as he does, and your mom’s been working so hard so she’ll get promoted to where she doesn’t have to work so hard. Then they can both spend more time with you. I’ll be honest, they blame themselves, although they shouldn’t. Nobody knows why these things happen. Scientists think they’ve found a gene for homosexuality in men, but nothing similar in lesbians. Nobody’s found anything that definitely proves someone is transgender, but it is an undeniable, unalterable condition.”
In the rough-and-tumble domestic life with Uncle Jack and the boys, it was easy to forget that my aunt had been a sociologist and kept up on the world; her life wasn’t all just making bacon and eggs for her family. She obviously knew a lot more about this than I did, so I asked her about ‘my condition’.
She looked at the phone for a moment. “Well, your dad’s going to check the internet for everything he can find about ...‘your condition,’” she chuckled. “He’s going to find a lot! And I’m not crazy about the word ‘condition’; I know I just used it, but it makes no sense if you think of me being a woman is a condition, or Jack being a man is a condition. Identity’s a better word. Anyway, the procedure is pretty well documented.”
“What procedure?”
“Oh, I’m sorry; the testing procedure for transsexuals, although now ‘transgender’ is the more acceptable term. Makes more sense, too. You see, gender identity—and that’s what we’re talking about here, about how you feel about yourself, not homosexuality—has a large body of documented cases, and the leading research facilities have procedures to test individuals. Now, I don’t have any Rorschach ink blots laying around here, and I don’t remember all the specific analytical paperwork used, but I can hazard a pretty good guess that, psychologically, you’d test pretty far into the female range. The reason I say that is how easily you assimilated the feminine role without any ‘camp’ quality.”
I was amazed at how learned she was, and how she talked to me like an adult. I asked her, “But I’ve never thought about it before. I’ve seen transsexuals on talk shows; don’t they have life-long desires to change sex?”
“Again, honey, we’re talking ‘gender identity’ here, not sex-changes per se. Some talk show guests are genuinely transgender, but many are drag queens brought on for the controversy, just to stir up ratings. The majority of transgender people just want to get on with their lives in their ‘proper’ gender, while the drag artistes over-emphasize elements of femininity, often outrageously. You see, you don’t exhibit any drag tendencies; you never viewed the world from a specifically feminine viewpoint before, but not from a typical masculine one, either. I mean, let’s face it—you’re not like Chuck and Larry!”
We laughed at that, then both quieted as we realized that they’d be returning in a few days. My aunt refreshed her tea.
“Okay, to business. Your father’s surfing the net for transgender info right now; your mom and dad will read the downloads and write some letters. They’ll email or maybe FedEx us something as soon as they have something. I just hope it arrives before Jack gets home ...Well, we have at least four more days before they return. In the past, their ‘ten-day’ trips somehow never quite go that long; I think they lose their taste for the great outdoors.”
“Or they’re afraid of losing their taste for your bacon and eggs!” I laughed.
“That could be true, too! Anyway, if you want to, let’s continue our ‘experiment’ with you as Susan. Or have you had enough girlhood?”
“Not at all! Oh, God, Aunt Margaret—I’m just getting started! Did you notice the way I was talking to my folks?” She nodded, and pointed out that I was still talking that way. “I wasn’t doing that on purpose; it just happened! Maybe from spending all day with Cindy, I don’t know, but the important thing is, it feels natural. Normal. Whatever!”
“Well, to get serious for a moment, I think it’s important that when Jack and the boys return, you be dressed as a boy and act as a boy.” She saw my face fall. “No, think about it; there’s enough rampant testosterone among them that they could seriously hurt you just as a knee-jerk reaction. And I do mean ‘jerk’! Give me time to talk to Jack about you, and we’ll see what we can do about the rest of the summer. Your dad said they’re still looking at coming back around Labor Day; depends on some business negotiations. Your news might change things—we’ll have to see what the FedEx holds—but if that’s still the case, then you could have a long, miserable, black-n-blue summer unless we play this just right.”
“I’m not afraid of them anymore.” It was true; somehow, knowing what my future could be freed me of the misery I felt around them.
“Fear has nothing to do with it. I imagine Joan of Arc didn’t fear the English, but that didn’t stop them from torching her, right?” Chastened, I nodded. She smiled and patted my hand. “We’ll do our best to get to know Susan—and help Susan get to know herself—and then hide her away when they get back. Hopefully, you’ll have to lay low for only a few days until Jack and I get it talked out. I’ve got some ideas how to bring him around. Anyway, it’s late—to bed, young lady!”
I almost burst inside with happiness hearing her call me that, and feeling deep-down that it was true! I hugged her, then kissed her cheek, cleared the table of the tea things, and went upstairs. Just before turning out the light and getting in bed, I looked in the mirror on the small dresser. Looking back at me was a happy—but tired—pretty girl.
End of Part 2
Just before turning out the light and getting in bed, I looked in the mirror on the small dresser. Looking back at me was a happy–but tired–pretty girl.
Cindy shook me awake the next morning.
“Come on, sleepyhead. You’re going to miss summer!”
I was groggy because we’d gone to bed so late after the phone call with my parents; for a moment I wasn’t sure where I was. I slipped my legs out of bed and suddenly remembered: I have a nightgown on. Oh, right, and my parents approved! Suddenly I felt awake and a lot better than I would have imagined.
“Mom said you guys were up late, and to let you sleep to 10. It’s 10:01, so let’s go! It’s really great out already, so get washed, grab a bite, and let’s ride bikes around the lake!”
She bounced off the bed; I had to chuckle because she was still in her nightie, too. I grabbed the robe and padded downstairs to the bathroom, stripped, peed, and took a shower. After washing my hair and applying conditioner, I noticed a pink razor on the shelf. Even though I had almost no hair at all on my legs, and none under my arms, I didn’t even stop to question what I was doing; I turned off the water, stepped onto the bath mat and leaned across to the medicine chest and found a pack of disposables. I took one, got back in the shower and turned the water on. Then I soaped up under my arms and all over my legs, and stroke by stroke, I shaved my underarms and legs. The whole time I was careful to keep my penis between my legs; if I had my way it wouldn’t ever see the light of day again! Still, I had to soap myself down there, but before I did, I admired my ‘mound’ and wished it were real. As I soaped my chest, I cupped my nipples and wished that breasts would form. As I soaped my hair, I wished that it was cut in an attractive, feminine and girlish style.
I had it bad!
I stepped out and dried off, then used the hair dryer on my hair and all over me, carefully tucking myself back in when dry. My now-hairless legs felt fantastic! I used some talc with a lovely scent, and began brushing my hair. Putting down the brush, I picked up my hair and tried different styles, and wished yet again: this time, I wished that I was a normal girl going to the hair salon and having my hair and nails done.
Boy, did I have it bad!
Pulling my robe around me, I headed back upstairs. I really did have to start bringing clothes down with me! Someone had laid out fresh panties and bra in a wine-dark color. The panties slipped on easily and then I almost trembled when I picked up the bra. It was obviously a ‘first bra’, almost more like the top half of a tank top, but it was a bra and I was going to wear it! There was no clasp to deal with; I pulled it over my hair and then pulled my hair out from under it, and tugged it into place. It felt snug and secure and there was this sudden rush of desperate wanting. I wanted my breasts to develop. I absolutely wanted them! I wanted to look down at my mounds, I wanted to see the round tops of my breasts peeking out of tops, I wanted breasts. Mine. I sighed.
Finally I pulled on the dark blue shorts and a sleeveless blue-green plaid shirt that tied at the waist, I discovered. Walking barefoot, I headed down to get something to eat. Cindy was at the table working on a cantaloupe. She was wearing a yellow halter top and khaki shorts. She said my aunt was next door; didn’t that woman ever sleep? At first I was thinking about the typical bacon and eggs, but then thought I should follow Cindy’s example–after all, a girl’s got to watch her figure! I got a piece of melon and found a yogurt to go with it. I was careful to take small scoops and small bites. So that was my simple and healthy breakfast.
I told Cindy about the conversation with my parents, and she was overjoyed with the prospect of a girl cousin. We’d never really had much to say to each other before, but I was finding out that she was an intelligent, funny, and lively girl, and I liked her a lot. I thought that between Cindy and my aunt, I couldn’t find two better role models. I loved being with them, but not so much the men in their family ...
My aunt had told Cindy some of the news as well, and said that because the men were returning and we didn’t know how things would turn out, we couldn’t do anything feminine that was permanent, like piercing my ears, but that day would come. In the meantime, Cindy said that before we went on our ride we could certainly take the time to do my nails. I chuckled inside; I’d had the salon fantasy in the shower, and now minutes later she was going to do it!
We cleaned up and went to her room. I sat on the edge of the bed while she rooted around the jars and bottles on the vanity, before finding what she needed. She wrapped some cotton between my toes and then applied a dark burgundy polish to the first toe. Then she changed her mind, used the remover to strip the polish, got another bottle and started again, this time with a shimmery clear polish that looked almost like mother-of-pearl when it dried. It was subtle and at the same time caught the light, and left no doubt I had nail polish on. I loved it! She used some tools on my cuticles and nail ends, then applied the same polish to my hands. She had a plug-in gadget to stick my fingers in that dried the polish quickly, while my toes continued to dry. Then she commanded me to sit at the vanity, while still not touching anything.
Cindy fussed with my hair, grumbling that it really needed a good style and cut, then finally did a modified French braid. I thanked the stars that my hair was long and thick enough to pull off the style; I always had liked it and thought it very feminine. Then Cindy told me to close my eyes, and she applied a light makeup. I wondered if she was putting a heavy foundation on, but she said it was an SPF-30 sun block. I’d have to apply it to the rest of my body, but at least the face was done. She said ‘hold still’, and suddenly she plucked my eyebrows a little and I pulled back.
“Cindy, I thought you said we wouldn’t do anything permanent?”
“Relax, silly, just a few stray hairs. I’m not shaping them or anything; just getting some stragglers out of the way. Although you really do need shaping, Sue!”
“It’ll come, Cin. I think that’s something we’re all sure of, now–it’ll come!”
My nails were dry, so I applied the sun block to the rest of me. Cindy handed me what looked like lipstick but was a sun block lipgloss with a little shimmer to it as well. Then we spritzed some cologne she called Sunwater and headed downstairs. I actually skipped on the way down–I felt wonderful!
There were a couple of mountain bikes stashed in the garage; we had to pump air in the tires and shoot some WD-40 (wearing gloves so our hands didn’t get dirty) before they were ready. For a moment I wished they were real girls’ bikes, without the horizontal bar, but mountain bikes were standard for everyone these days.
I followed Cindy out to the side of the lakeside road; I was a little wobbly at first, getting used to the bike, but got steady quickly. The only real problem was that my penis, tucked between my legs, was getting mashed on the seat. Actually, I kind of welcomed the mashing; if only I could grind it down to nothing! I knew, of course, that soon it would get sore, so I modified the way I was sitting and pedaling, with a little sway–and I think it probably wound up looking more girlish that way!
Cindy was in the lead and other than occasionally calling out over her shoulder, usually to show me a landmark, we pedaled in silence. There was one incident that made a big impression on me: a red convertible Volkswagen went past us, in the opposite direction, with three guys in it. They darn near got a whiplash watching us as we passed, and they tooted the horn and called out, “Hello, girls!” with a playful, Animaniacs-type of sound. They meant both of us, obviously, and although my rational mind tried to minimize the impact–thinking, ‘they probably meant her and didn’t get a good look at me’–my heart seemed to beat faster. I knew that they had thought I was a pretty girl, and that made me feel fantastic. Obviously, I was going to have to deal with boys a lot sooner than I’d told my mom.
We’d gone about halfway around the lake when we came to a public beach I vaguely remembered from past years. At the side of the parking lot was a diner called The Ice House, with a window on the side where you could get drinks, hot dogs, snow-cones, and snacks to eat outside. We leaned the bikes against a pillar and locked them, and went to the window.
Cindy was reaching into her shorts. “Come on, let’s get a snow-cone. My treat!” She pulled out some folded bills, and we went to the window to see a short old guy with a stained T-shirt.
“What’ll it be, ladies?” he said with a bored raspy voice. My heart skipped a beat again; we were up close and he saw me as a girl. Well, he’s bored and old and probably doesn’t care, I rationalized again.
Cindy said, “Cherry okay?” I nodded, and she made the purchase, handing my cone to me. We took that first icy, sweet mouthful and began walking to some benches in the sun, overlooking the beach.
“Did you see those guys?” she asked excitedly.
“Which guys? In the VW?”
“‘Which guys’ she says! Yes, silly, did you see them–or better yet, did you hear them?”
“I heard ...something.” I took another bite; I was unwilling to admit the truth about the encounter.
“Oh God, don’t get weird on me now! The guys, silly, the guys! This lake is going to jump this summer, and we’re finally old enough to jump right along with it! Oh man, did you see the driver?”
I had to stop her for a moment. “Cindy, do you think ...do you think I look okay?”
“Okay? You look great! What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you think I look like a real girl?”
“Yes! Duh! Earth to Susie! Those guys sure did! Relax, you really do look great, you know. If I didn’t know you were my boy cousin–or used to be–I’d never know that you weren’t born a girl. And I really do mean this, Sue–don’t know how because Stuart was kind of a dweeb–but you’re actually pretty, and I think with a little work and some confidence, you could be a babe! So relax and enjoy it.” She took a bite and dribbled the juice down her chin, catching it with her hand and giggling.
I laughed, too. No, that’s not true–I giggled, too, just like I was her girlfriend. I also noticed with surprise that I was sitting with my legs crossed at the knees and my arm across my lap. I also noticed that I was eating my snow-cone exactly like Cindy, too; holding the cup in one hand and delicately holding the straw with the thumb and two straight fingers. It all felt so natural, and maybe I should just relax and enjoy the day, like Cindy said. We looked out over the beach; there were mostly families at this time. Later in the day and evening there would be an older crowd, getting increasingly older and bolder as darkness fell. It was an old summertime ritual, and I knew we’d be spending a lot of time here if Cindy had her way.
We finished the snow-cones and washed our sticky hands and faces at a drinking fountain, then debated whether to sit on the beach, ride further on, or ride back. The matter was settled when I suddenly noticed that Cindy’s bike seat had left a dirty brown stain on the bottom of her khaki shorts. I discreetly pointed it out, although she couldn’t really see it unless she had a mirror. We’d put air in the tires but forgot that the seats had gotten kind of moldy over the year of storage. I spun and she checked my butt, and I had the same stain although not as noticeable since my shorts were dark blue. We edged to one of the Ice House windows, and standing in the sun, she could see the reflection of her stained butt. Now we had no choice–we had to ride back home and change.
The ride home was quiet and hurried, and mercifully no cute guys in cars passed. That I’d even had that thought shocked me–cute guys? What was happening to me? I pedaled behind Cindy and thought about what might be happening. I’d never really thought about girls one way or another; I’d also never really thought about guys one way or another, either. The two sexes were part of the world that I felt distant from, and after all, I was only twelve–almost a teenager, but not really one, yet. Most of my childhood had been taken with books, TV, and movies, but not even those I pursued like a fan, except for the books. Why was I so cut off from everything?
Obviously, I was discovering things about myself this summer. The most amazing thing was discovering that I wanted to be a girl. I’d never really wanted anything before, that I could remember, and that in itself was odd. I also found it odd that I couldn’t remember more than a few years back. For instance, if someone had asked me what my sixth birthday was like, I couldn’t recall. That was coldly shocking. I cast back for my most distant memory. I had a flash of banging cooking pots together. I had a flash of a new family car my father bought; it was gray. I had a flash of one of the girls in school–kindergarten? First Grade?–being mean to me and me crying; something about eggs. And that was about it! Not very impressive after twelve years on earth.
Now, for the first time, I’d found something I wanted that made me feel alive. Maybe everything up to now was just dormancy, like a cocoon. Cool–did that mean I would turn into a beautiful butterfly? I certainly hoped so! All I knew for certain was that I felt completely natural acting like a girl. Maybe it wasn’t ‘acting’, but I felt fully alive and on full sensor alert, Captain, as they said on Star Trek. I decided then and there–pedaling along behind my cousin–that I would fully explore this discovery of girlhood, and try not to be ruled by my mind too much. My mind was telling me, ‘what you’re doing is wrong’. My mind was telling me, ‘everyone can see you’re a boy’. My mind was telling me, ‘don’t even think about boys’. And, in thinking that, my mind was telling me, ‘don’t be a queer!’ But my heart and soul was telling me, ‘you’re a pretty girl and you’re going to have a fantastic summer!’ So I would listen to my heart.
We reached our garage, stashed the bikes, and I followed Cindy into the house and into her room. She nearly tore the shorts off, she was so angry.
“Ruined my day and my shorts! I forgot about covering the damned seat, especially after a long winter! My bike at home has a seat cover and I just forgot!” She was wearing very tiny yellow bikini panties, and I was momentarily startled by our casual intimacy. But then, we were just a couple of girl cousins, right?
Cindy must have suddenly remembered otherwise, because she let out an ‘oh!’ and grabbed the shorts in front of her, then, she laughed loosely and threw the shorts at the hamper.
“Oh, man, I don’t believe I did that! Oh, geez, I’m sorry Sue! Wow, that was weird!” She collapsed on her bed, legs flung wide, and covered her face with her hands. The bed bounced with her laughter.
I was truly puzzled. “What’s so funny, Cindy?”
“Oh, geez,” she gasped, then took her hands away from her face, starting to calm but still shaking with laughter. “I pulled off the shorts without thinking, then I thought ‘omigod, he’s a boy’, and got all prudish. Then I thought, ‘what, are you stupid? She’s a girl! There are no boys here!’ and oh, Sue, I’m sorry, I’m sorry ...”
“What are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry I let ...oh, society get the better of me. I know you’re a girl. I mean, I’m absolutely sure you’re a girl, now that I’ve spent more time with you. But society says ‘you’re my boy cousin’ and that’s just bullshit! I must have hurt your feelings there, but it all felt so ridiculous–” she started laughing again.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and thought for a moment before I spoke. “Cindy, when we were riding back, I had some time to think, and what I came up with was this: My mind–and what you called ‘society’–is saying, ‘you’re a boy, so act like one’. But my heart is saying ‘you’re a girl, so act like one’. I was having the exact same argument between my mind and my heart that you just had when you stripped in front of me.”
She got instantly serious, looked at me, and sat up. “Wow, that’s so cool! Like we’re on the same wavelength or something!”
“Like we’re cousins!” I grinned.
“Exactamundo! Look, I’ll do my best not to ever think of you as a boy if you do your best to do the same. I mean, don’t think you’re a boy. That make sense?”
I nodded. “And you’ll just have to bear with me for not knowing girl things. Like clothes and makeup and ...and boys.” I said shyly. “Sort of like I’ve been at some weird religious commune where they don’t let you do anything feminine.”
“And thee wishes to discover thy girlish self?” She started giggling.
“I dost! Dost–is that right? Anyway, is it a deal?”
“You bet! But I’ve got to admit, I’m still discovering some things myself. I mean, I’m only thirteen!”
“And you both are exploring where no man has gone before,” said my aunt from the doorway, startling us so much we jumped and gasped. I noticed that we’d both put our hands on our chest in the identical feminine response, and we laughed a little and stopped. We didn’t know how much my aunt had heard, or how she’d take it all. She walked in and sat on the other corner of the bed, and Cindy sat up fully.
“Cindy and ...Susan,” she said slowly, as if hesitant to say my name, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but inadvertently heard quite a bit of your conversation. I don’t really know what we’ve got here. I’ve got to ask a few questions of you, Susan. Isn’t this all really just a lot of fun for you? Some dress-up that you can take off, fold up and put away?”
“No, Aunt Margaret; I thought we already talked about that ...”
“Let me put it this way: Think about everything you can do as a boy and a man. Basically, anything you want. What can you do as a girl and woman–and I’m going to be brutal here–if this continues? You can’t possibly fully let yourself go in case somebody discovers your secret–your penis. If you have any relations with boys, it will be as a homosexual and will be illegal. If you decide to undergo counseling, hormone therapy, and sexual reassignment surgery–all lengthy, costly, and very, very painful–you will probably seem like a normal female to outward appearances. If the surgeon is very good, your genitalia will look female, and you’ll have some degree of sexual response–and I’m talking to you two like you’re grownups, now. Of course, you’ll never menstruate, which might be considered a plus, but you’ll never be able to give birth, which is a minus. Women with hysterectomies or past menopause can’t conceive either, but that doesn’t make them any less women. But you’ll always be wondering ‘is this all there is?’ because you’ll never be sure that you’re fully a woman.”
I looked her in the eyes. “Aunt Margaret, first of all, thank you for speaking to us like adults. Okay, I don’t really know what’s in store for me as a girl–but then I don’t know what’s in store as a boy, either. I might be a miserable, friendless guy because I don’t fit in anywhere. I might be gay, I don’t know. What I do know is that I would spend every moment of every day of my life wishing I was female. And as I grew hair on my body and got bigger and my voice changed and I got farther and farther away from any possibility of looking female, I would get sadder and angrier and more unhappy. Okay?”
She was startled. “Well, that’s a bit harsh, maybe, but I’ll go along with you that that is one possible future.”
“So here’s the alternative. I experiment. We experiment, I mean, this summer. I know this all just happened and would seem too early to make any decision, but I know. I’m already convinced my future should be female, but we need to explore everything. I don’t know how, but we deal with the guys when they come back. Somehow, God willing, I can continue to be Susan the rest of the summer. Then we have a really, really long talk with my parents this fall, and they and I take it from there. I’ve decided that I want and need counseling, hormones, surgery, the works–it’s not fantasy land, it’s correcting a mistake of nature, so I’m ready and willing and prepared for the pain. Because at least it’ll be my own pain, like ‘being alive’ pain! I think the reason I’ve drifted through my life so far is that I was cut off from who I really am, and who I am is Susan.”
I stopped, gasping a bit. My voice had risen towards the end and I was sorry about that but not sorry for what I’d said.
My aunt stared at me.
“Mom, can I say something?” Cindy asked shyly. Her mother nodded. “I know a lot of kids, boys and girls. I can tell the difference no matter what they’re wearing. I mean, in the dark. If you had a totally dark room, just talking to them one by one, I’d know who was a boy and who was a girl.” Pointing to me, she said, “That’s a girl sitting there. I’ve no doubt of it. It’s only what was between her legs when she was born that made society tell her she’s a boy, and that’s what’s been messing her up.”
“An interesting way of putting things, Cindy,” Aunt Margaret said. She stood up. “Well, lunch is ready.” Cindy pulled on some new shorts and we followed her mom downstairs, looking at each other and wondering how things stood.
There were sandwiches laid out, and glasses of juice. My aunt had a stack of today’s mail, and there were new Seventeen and J-14 magazines. Cindy grabbed the J-14 and handed me the other, and we looked through them as we ate. I’d never paid these magazines any attention before; in fact I thought it was kind of silly that there were so many at the newsstands, but I looked at them with new eyes now.
The Seventeen had articles on everything from makeup (I hadn’t thought about it but would probably need to learn), to choosing clothes (needed it), to menstrual cramps (didn’t need it). Then I thought about that; although I would never experience menstruation or cramps, I better be familiar with the subject when I was talking with other girls. Other girls? Was I really thinking of myself that way already? I must be starting to, because I suddenly realized I was looking at a picture of a couple on a date, and I was thinking about what that dress would feel like, and what it would be like to have a boy’s arm around me ...
Very, very strange. I didn’t know if this made me gay, or what; maybe it would be straight–but only if I was a girl. I flipped through the magazine some more; I studied the ads and the clothes the girls were wearing.
“Cindy, how do you dress at school? I’ve only really seen you on summer vacation.”
Cindy swallowed her juice. “Well, I dress like ...well, no style with a name. Bummer! Now you’ve got me bummed that I don’t have a ‘Style’!”
I laughed. “No, that’s probably a good thing! Who wants to dress in a style that already has a name and looks like everybody else that dresses that way? ‘I’m preppy. I’m a Goth. I’m a nerd. I’m a jock.’ Whatever!”
“Whoa, Susie, you said that like you’ve been saying it at the mall for years! Better watch out, or you’ll be a Valley Girl.”
“Fer sure! Gag me! Whatever! Whew! I can’t keep it up,” and we both cracked up.
Cindy started flipping through her magazine again. “Why did you want to know my style?”
“Well, I guess I might have to find my style this fall. If I live that long!”
“If you live …? Oh, you mean the guys. Yeah; that’ll be rough. Hang in there, and you’ll–oh, here!” She spun her magazine around and showed me an article with several girlfriends running around a carnival. “See here?” She pointed out a girl with a short white T-shirt that exposed her midriff, and a denim skirt and platform sandals. “I’m like this a lot. And here,” she said, pointed to a blue slip-dress. “And–here.” This time pointing to a tight gray long sleeved top, scoop necked, with tightly flared burgundy pants.
“Cool. No, I mean it! Those are all very cool. A significant lack of dog collars and tattoos!”
Cindy leaned forward and stage-whispered so her mom would hear. “Don’t think I’m not planning on tattoos! A rose on my ankle, a spider on my butt, and a big sunflower around my belly button!”
We both cracked up and my aunt stuck her head in the kitchen and said, “Don’t forget to have them tattoo the hospital phone number so they’ll know where to take the body after your father kills you!”
“Oh, Mom!” Cindy said. “I’m just kidding; you know that.”
“I know, honey. Just talk it over with us before you do something permanent.”
I got quiet; Cindy asked me what was the matter. I said, “I’m just thinking about doing permanent things. I mean, I’m thinking about doing, uh, permanent things.”
My aunt looked at me sympathetically. “I know, honey, you want to jump all the way into girlhood. I can see that. But first things first. We have to see what your parents say after they’ve discussed it, and we have to deal with the boys’ return.”
The sandwich lost its taste and became a lump in my throat. I closed the magazine and stared at the table.
“Come on, lighten up! We’ve still got a couple of days before the testosterone cases get back!” Cindy laughed. We all chuckled at that. “We’re burnin’ daylight. It’s bikini time! Case closed.” We all burst out laughing at her impersonation of her father.
We cleaned the dishes and I followed Cindy upstairs to her room. She already had laid out the two-piece for me, and pulled her bottoms on. She was holding her bikini top out in front of her, trying to untangle the straps. I got my first full look at her chest–or rather, I should say her breasts. She’d developed enough so she had two swelling mounds, milky-white against the darker skin of her lightly tanned skin. Her nipples were a dark rose, and puckered slightly. I thought Cindy’s breasts were beautiful and I was immediately envious. I wanted breasts! I wanted that swelling on my chest, and even though I knew some girls complained they hurt while growing, I wanted that hurt! Maybe in time, I thought, if I’m a good girl ...
“Well get dressed, silly, don’t stand there gawking,” she said with a smile as she finally fastened her top. I was relieved that she wasn’t angry with my staring.
“I’m sorry, it was just ...I want to …”
“I think I know. You want to develop, too, don’t you?” I nodded, and she grinned. “I sure remember that feeling, seeing other girls at school develop before I did. Well, Sue, I have a hunch that your day will come. Really! In the meantime, there’s a big bright sun out there, and we need to get out in it. So get dressed! I’ll help.”
I removed the necklace and bracelet she’d given me, and stripped all the way, determined to be as unselfconscious as she was. Fortunately my penis still stayed where it was, and I pulled the bottoms up. I loved how snugly they held me. Then I picked up the top and had to do the same sort of untangling that Cindy had. Finally it made sense and I got it on; she stepped behind me and fastened the back. After pulling the top a little down and around, it felt comfortable. Alien and strange and wonderful, but comfortable. I decided to unbraid my hair, so I asked Cindy for a bit of help, then brushed it out. The whole time, I kept checking myself out in the mirror. It was hard to believe it was really me; all I saw was a cute girl. No great shakes in the chest department, of course, but a cute face.
As I brushed I turned slightly, raising up on one foot. I think I had a cute butt; maybe that was wishful thinking. It felt good to see the slight flash of light from the polish on my fingernails as I held the brush. As I turned a little more, I noticed the polish on my toes, and felt even better.
We headed downstairs; Cindy grabbed the magazines from the kitchen table; a couple of towels and sunglasses by the bathroom, and we padded outside in our sandals. My aunt called out not to swim before an hour was up–the old ‘cramps’ thing. We walked down the dock and spread our towels out on the boards, already hot from the sun. We lay down on our backs, took off our sunglasses, and started soaking up some rays.
“You know, Sue, you’ve got a pretty cool thing going,” Cindy said, eyes closed, face pointed skyward.
“What cool thing?”
“If you get to go all the way, I mean as a girl–no, I don’t mean ‘all the way’ with a boy–” she giggled. “Okay, I’ll try it again! If you get to be a girl all summer, and your parents let you go to school as a girl, then you can be anybody you want to be! I mean, think about it: I’m going to school with kids who’ve known me all my life, and they expect me to dress and act a certain way. I couldn’t go ‘Goth’ if I wanted to, because they’d laugh and know it wasn’t ‘the real me’. But you! You get to go to school–whether it’s your old one or a new one–and create a whole new Susan. They’ve never met you before, so you can be any style you want! That’s what’s cool!”
“I never thought about it. No, really; I mean, Cin, come on, it’s only been a couple of days. Yeah, I’m sure this is what I want to do, but it’s not like I’ve thought it all out. Right now I’m not thinking about anything except what my parents will decide, and really dreading the guys’ return at the end of the week. But you’re right; if I get to stay the way I want to be, I’m going to have to learn what kind of girl I am.”
Cindy began singing ‘What kind of girl am I’ to the tune of ‘What Kind of Fool Am I’ and we both cracked up.
“Well,” Cindy said finally, “at least we’ve got time–and the right magazines!–to figure it out.”
After that we got quiet and lay there, soaking up the hot sun. The next thing I knew, Cindy was shaking me.
“Wake up, Sue! You’re dozing off!”
I was hot and sweaty and groggy; I turned over and looked at her. She motioned with her head to the water. I nodded, rolled over and stiffly got up. I felt hot all over and prayed I hadn’t burned. She took two steps and leaped into the lake with a whoop. I took a breath and followed in next to her. The water was colder than I expected, but that was probably because my body was so hot. After the initial shock, and we bobbed to the surface, Cindy began swimming out to a nearby float. I followed her. My suit top felt strange, but after awhile I paid no attention to it. Cindy reached the float and pulled herself up on it, sleekly like a seal. I followed: I don’t think I was as sleek as her but I got up alright. I used both hands to press the water out of my hair, and felt like a pinup.
In fact, Cindy was primping like a pinup, pushing her hair up and posing, laughing. I matched her; I crossed my legs at the knee, threw my head back so my hair fell between my arms, and thrust my non-existent chest skyward. She egged me on. I pulled one arm up and pushed my hair up from beyond and gave her a pouty kiss. This time she cracked up.
“Oh God, you’re too good at this! Are you sure you were ever a boy?”
“A boy ...a boy ...Hmm. Don’t seem to remember!”
“Well, top this, girly girl!” Cindy stood up on the float and struck a pose with one hand on her knee and one on her hip, leaning forward.
“Okay, how’s this?” I countered, standing too, and put both knees together and to the side, pushing up the hair and kind of squatting, like an old photo of Marilyn Monroe. Cindy started laughing so much she lost her balance. As she tried to correct, the float started tipping. I reached out to help her, and we steadied each other, both a lot more serious now.
“Whoa! We almost went over!” I said as we slowly let go of each other, balancing carefully.
“Yeah; I don’t mind falling in the lake but I don’t want this thing on top of me–hey, there’s Mom.” I turned and looked to the shore. My aunt was waving us in. Cindy and I looked at each other, shrugged and dove in, swimming evenly back to the dock.
My aunt leaned down as we climbed out. “Water looks great! How’s the float?”
“Okay,” Cindy said. “A bit tipsy. Or we were!” She and I giggled slightly.
“The reason I came out is the sun. I mean, I didn’t think about it before you went out, but I realized that Susan shouldn’t tan in the suit, because it’ll leave marks that might be ...awkward when the boys return.”
“Too late, Mom. We put on sun block, but we fell asleep before the swim. And look at Susie.” She pointed to my chest; I looked down and couldn’t see anything. My aunt reached out and gently moved one of the top’s straps, and the expression on her face let me know.
“Did I burn?” I asked.
My aunt shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, but you’ve got the start of a definite tan line. Did you do your back?” We shook our head. “If you want to stay out here any longer, I think you ought to only lay on your tummies. Susan, well ...I guess you’ll have to wear shirts the whole time until it fades.”
“Or until it’s okay again, right, Aunt Margaret? You did say that’s a possibility?”
She nodded. “Yes, but we’ll see. Anyway, you can spend up to one hour more in the sun–but be sure to undo your straps so there are no lines. Then come on in, shower and get changed.”
“What for?” Cindy asked. “I mean, what’s the plan for later?”
“The Doyles next door have invited us to dinner, and it relieves me from having to cook anything.” She turned to me. “Of course, Susan, I’ve got to start teaching you some feminine skills like cooking and sewing. It might sound pre-feminist, but they’re things you need to know–and every boy and girl should know them, for that matter. But one more night without cooking is fine with me.”
“Actually, I look forward to learning. I don’t know about tonight, though; do I go as a boy or a girl? And if I’m Susan, won’t they talk to Uncle Jack and the boys?”
“You don’t know Monica Doyle, Susan! She’s not too crazy about Jack, or any man, after her divorce. Bonnie is nineteen or twenty now, and could care less about Chuck and Larry.”
“Have I met her daughter?” I asked.
“Daughters. And no, I don’t think so; I think Bonnie was somewhere else last summer, and Hannah was just three or four, I think.”
“Sixteen years’ age difference? Wow! Is there anyone else?”
“No; Monica, Bonnie, and Hannah. And no man, if Monica has anything to say about it.”
“Chuck might have something to say about Bonnie if he hasn’t seen her in two years,” Cindy said. “I always thought she was pretty. I’m curious to see what she looks like now.”
I thought for a moment. “Well, I guess that settles it. We can’t have any men over there tonight, can we?’
“Right, Sue! Well, you girls catch your last sun and come on in.” Aunt Margaret turned back to the cabin.
Just hearing her say ‘you girls’ gave me a warm glow. I felt like an idiot grin was spreading across my face, and looked at Cindy, who had a smirk.
“You liked that, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“I thought so! Well, get used to it. It fits. Come on, Sue, I just thought of something I want to show you.”
We went back to lay down on our tummies and undid the straps of our tops. It was odd holding the top against my chest with one hand; I felt a strange sense of being on display, like the world shouldn’t see me with my top off. Maybe that was the beginning of feminine modesty? We lay down with the magazines spread open. Cindy showed me some more outfits, and I flipped through my magazine and showed her some that I liked–my new ‘style’ coming out, maybe. We kept chatting like that until it was time to go in–just a couple of normal teenaged girls. I wanted to explore that new sense of myself, but felt doomed by the return of the men. Oh well, I thought, enjoy it while you can because it may be over at any minute.
End of Part 3
We kept chatting until it was time to go in–just a couple of normal teenaged girls. I wanted to explore that new sense of myself, but felt doomed by the return of the men. Oh well, I thought, enjoy it while you can because it may be over at any minute.
We didn’t last a full hour on the dock; the sun started going behind clouds and a cool breeze came across the lake. At first it felt wonderful, but then it got too cold, so we packed up and went in. Cindy showered first while I got a drink of water in the kitchen. My aunt was peeling some carrots and smiled at me.
“I thought I’d bring a salad over. Do you know how to peel carrots?”
I nodded, reached over to wash my hands, and reached for the peeler. She smiled even more and handed it to me and began shredding lettuce.
“I keep forgetting that you spend most of your days alone, right?”
“Yeah; it’s not too bad. I mean, I don’t really know otherwise, except when I go over to someone’s house.”
“Do you have many friends?”
I thought for a moment. “Not really. I know that sounds awful, but I just never really got excited about anything anyone else was into. Baseball, Nintendo, whatever. And it seems like nobody reads anymore!”
“I know; isn’t it awful? But when you’re a grownup, everyday things keep you from having the time. But when I was a little girl, one of my favorite things was to read and then daydream about what I’d read.”
“‘When I was a little girl’ ...I wish I could say that.” She looked at me quizzically, and I chuckled with some embarrassment. “I mean, I never really felt part of anything or anybody before. Even Mom and Dad ...they’re always working or studying. And I don’t mean anything bad about that; it’s their jobs and what they do that lets us live, but …yeah, I spend a lot of time on my own. There were a couple of guys I was sort of friends with …kinda, but I usually only played with them once and didn’t get asked back. Didn’t do Little League or Cub Scouts–” I reached for more carrots. “–really didn’t do any of those things. Some movies. Lot of TV–I love old movies!–and mostly books.” I shrugged my shoulders. “So not much of a boyhood at all. Now I’m thinking my problem and my lack of feelings was because I didn’t know I should have been a girl.”
“Well, girls have just as many problems growing up as boys do. Maybe more, I think sometimes. Different problems, certainly, but just as many. And they can be lonely and not have friends, too. I think it’s rough growing up no matter who you are!”
“I agree, but think how it must be if you don’t know what you are?”
She nodded sadly. “I see your point. Well, we’re going to have a little soap opera here in a few days when the boys return; that’ll just make everything even harder for you. Are you up to it?”
I finished the carrots, rinsed the peeler, dried my hands, and turned to look my aunt in the eye. She turned to face me; she knew it was important. I frowned, took a breath, and spoke with some determination.
“Aunt Margaret, for the first time in my life, I want something. I know what I want. Even more important, I know who I am. Or, at least I know who I’m capable of becoming. And I know that it’s only been a few hours, really, but …” I sighed. “It’s right. Everything just makes sense. And I don’t just mean what you and Cindy can see; I mean a lot of the thoughts I’ve had and my life so far …knowing about being a girl just makes everything click.”
“Your life so far?” she asked, neutrally.
“My relations with my parents, the few friends I have …well, don’t really have any. Um …what I think about at school–and that’s another thing. Five minutes of conversation with my uncle and his sons versus five minutes of conversation with you and your daughter? Absolutely no contest. I don’t get how guys talk and relate–if they actually do relate; they’re always so busy topping each other. But just listening to you and Cindy …I understand. I think and feel the same way. So in my head, I’ve been going over my life, things I’ve heard or seen boys and girls do, and I feel like such an idiot. I want to slap myself–it’s such a duh!”
“Duh?” she asked, her mouth crinkling in a smile.
“Duh,” I nodded. “I’m not saying that if I’d been born a girl everything would be easier; easy is not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about making sense. I’m talking about knowing who you are and how you fit in the world. Because …” I sighed deeply. “I’m Susan. The instant I heard it, I knew. Deep down. It makes sense. And now I know that I’ve got to live as Susan. And I will put up with any amount of sh–” I caught myself in time. “Excuse me; any amount of hassle and pain it takes, as long as I can begin living my life as a girl.” We held our locked eyes for a silent moment. She nodded seriously, and I hugged her. “And thank you for any help you can give me.”
“You’re welcome, Susan my darling niece,” she said quietly as she hugged back. “I just thought of something: you can have a girlhood. I mean, when you meet people for the first time, you can make one up and be anything you want! You can say, “When I was a little girl ...and we lived in the castle ...” We both laughed.
“No, I think it’s best to avoid any discussion about it at this point. Wait a minute–what about tonight? What do I say to the Doyles?”
She smiled again. “Relax. Monica already put two and two together–now don’t go all long-faced on me. She’s sharp and a great lady. She’s known you from a distance for the past couple of summers and she saw you the other night. She said it didn’t surprise her at all, and she hopes you’re happy.”
“Whew! But what about Bonnie?”
“Bonnie’s cool. She’s just finished her first year of college and I think she’ll be open-minded enough, or I wouldn’t risk your feelings by taking you over there. There’s one thing about Monica Doyle, though ...she hates men because of her divorce, and so she kind of views the battle of the sexes as ‘The Battle Of The Sexes’, a real war. She might think that you becoming a girl is a victory for ‘our side’; ‘one less male’ and so on. But she might also have some gloomy thoughts about women being second-class citizens in our society. So take everything she says with a pinch of salt, and maybe more than a pinch, okay?”
I nodded. Cindy called out from the bathroom that she’d finished her shower, would change and come back down to help. I hugged my aunt again, a single tight squeeze, and went to the bathroom. I stripped my suit off, and was glad to see that I hadn’t really burned, but I was a little dismayed by the white marks from the top. Even the untanned area at the bottom was shaped like a girl’s suit, so there was no way I could let the boys see me until things were resolved. At the same time, I felt a little thrill–my first girl’s tan line! I had an irrational desire to get a skimpy bikini and tan dark, dark, dark.
I showered, washed and conditioned my hair, and rubbed aloe vera on my skin after toweling off. I brushed my hair out, and looked at my face in the mirror–I mean, really studied it–for the first time in days. I began thinking about some of the girls’ faces I’d seen in Seventeen, comparing them to mine. It certainly didn’t look like a boy’s face; it looked like a girl’s face without makeup, or was I imagining that because I wanted it so much? I began wondering how I should make up my eyes; how my eyebrows should be shaped; what color lipstick–oh my God, I thought, lipstick! And makeup! What a whole new world I would have to explore!
I wrapped the towel around my chest, the way I’d seen girls do in movies, and walked upstairs. Cindy was straightening her room, and was already dressed in a green and yellow plaid sundress. I had that now-familiar rush of envy–I wanted a dress like that of my very own.
“Cin? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Sue, what’s up?” She turned to look at me. She’d applied some makeup and looked older than 13.
“Do you think I’m crazy?”
She stared at me for a beat. “Yes,” she said seriously and turned back to her drawers.
I was shocked and stunned and unable to respond. Then I heard her snicker.
“Yes. Oh, yes, you’re crazy!” Suddenly she exploded with laughter. She’d been joking!
I felt immediately better, but a little mad at her for freaking me, so I grabbed a rolled-up pair of socks and threw it at her. “Oh ...you! Freaked me out!” She ducked the socks and kept laughing. “That was mean!” I sat down on the chair at the vanity.
“Geez, what did you expect me to say? Give me an opening like that ...” She shook her head, still chuckling. Then she sat on the edge of her bed. “Actually, to be serious, yes, I do think you’re crazy–now let me finish!” She held up her hand to my protest. “You’ve got to admit that anybody changing their sex or gender or whatever is asking for a whole heap of problems, right?”
I nodded.
“Okay, I know from personal experience how hard it can be growing up as a girl and growing up as a boy. I know that because I’ve got brothers, and they don’t seem to be doing so well.” We both smiled sadly at that. “Fine, so it’s tough growing up, we’ve established that. But then to do it twice? In the opposite sex, halfway through without any idea what’s involved? And how freaked out everybody gets when you even mention sex–let alone changing it? Hell yes, you’re crazy.”
I must have appeared saddened.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t support you 110%, girlfriend. Because I really do think you are a girl. I meant it when I told Mom that. If ever anybody was trapped in the wrong body, it’s you. And I owe it to you–after all, you are my cousin–to help you be the girl you are. Or want to be. Or ...well, excuse me if it gets confusing. You know what I mean! Anyway, not just because you’re family, or because it’s ‘one for our side’, but because I really like you, Sue. When you were a boy, I couldn’t really care less, because after Chuck and Larry I don’t have a lot of interest in male family members. But just spending time with you, I think you’re a real good girlfriend. And can you believe it’s only been two days?”
I nodded, sobering a bit at that thought. Was I rushing it? One thing I did know was that I had a real friend in my cousin Cindy. I stood up and went to hug her; she did the same, but jumped back suddenly.
“Ooo, that towel’s still wet!”
We chuckled at that, and I sat back down on the vanity seat, then turned and looked into the mirror.
“I don’t know, Cindy. I was looking at my face in the bathroom mirror, and I can’t tell what I am. I mean, am I imagining all this? Does my face look like a girl’s? Would a stranger think ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ or ‘funny boy’?”
I’d meant this as a small joke, but Cindy had turned serious. She came up behind me, standing over me, and pulled my hair back tightly so it wasn’t much visible in the mirror.
“Okay,” she said, “here’s a short-haired ...what?” She let the hair out, fluffing it around my shoulders. “And here’s a long-haired ...what? Tell me what you see.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. “I don’t know; what do you mean? I see me.”
“Okay, that’s a good start. And understandable, since you know ‘you’. But here, try this. Turn your back to the mirror, spin around on the seat and look in the mirror.”
I looked at her like she was crazy, but did it. I spun around, locked eyes with myself. “Okay, what?”
“No, no; try it again. Wait, this seat doesn’t work right. Stand up, close your eyes, and I’ll spin you around in place three times. Then open your eyes.”
She pulled the seat out of the way as I stood, reluctantly. I closed my eyes after giving her an ‘are you nuts?’ look. She spun me around with her hands on my upper arms. Once, twice, three times, four–hey! She said three times! I’d lost count, and didn’t even know where I was pointing. Suddenly she stopped me and told me to open my eyes.
Whether I was disoriented from the spin, I don’t know, but when I opened my eyes I saw a pretty girl with shoulder-length, messy hair, wrapped in a white towel. Whoa! It was me! I realized as my eyes found my own eyes in the mirror. There was no doubt at all that I had a girl’s face. Cindy had certainly proven her point!
“Wow! I can’t ...I don’t ...wow!” I slowly sat on the seat that Cindy had replaced. Now I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl in the mirror.
“See, silly? Now do you believe me? And it’s not just the mirror. If you could have seen yourself in your swimsuit today, the way you moved ...And the way you talk? Do you realize that you’re kind of talking like me? I mean, like a teenaged girl? I guess you’re just unconsciously matching me. Whatever. But the whole thing is, everything says ‘girl’. Face it, Susie, the only thing about you that says ‘boy’ is your birth certificate!”
I was stunned. She was right; I’d just been so uninvolved with myself and the world that I hadn’t noticed. Had everyone else noticed? Aunt Margaret said Monica Doyle had noticed, and that was from a distance away. Judging from the trip to the sporting goods store, I guess my male cousins had noticed. What about my school? Maybe that was why I didn’t have many–okay, to be honest; I had no friends. Just classmates. Did they notice? Did Mom and Dad notice?
“You know, Sue, the way you look and move and talk and everything, I don’t think anybody could think you were a boy. But we’ve got to build up your own self-confidence as a girl. And I know the perfect thing, because even if anybody had any question about you–and they won’t!–they’d still think ‘girl’. And that perfect thing is …makeup!”
I was amazed at how much Cindy and I were on the same wavelength. Not half an hour before, I was looking in the bathroom mirror thinking about makeup, and here she was bringing up the subject! I saw that she was rooting around among the things on the vanity.
“Mom says we can’t do anything permanent. Or at least, not yet!” she said with a mischievous grin, as she selected a large brush and small tray of items. “So that means no cool hairdo, no pierced ears, and no eyebrow plucking, although I know it’s only a matter of time! So we do what we can do. We can have lots of fun experimenting, but because we’re going to dinner soon and we’re all girls there anyway, there won’t be much to start. Maybe that’s best. Close your eyes.”
I did so obediently, and she began brushing over my eyes; then a pause, then a brush at my cheek bones; then a pause and she did my lips, this time with a small brush. She told me to blot, having inserted a tissue between my lips, then told me to open my eyes.
Even locking eyes with myself immediately, there was absolutely no doubt that I was a pretty girl. A light brown dusting on my eyelids, a slight blush on each cheek, and matte burgundy lipstick and my God! I was so pretty! I felt lightheaded and she noticed.
“Careful there!” She admired her handiwork in the mirror. “Damn, I’m good! And damn, you’re good, too! That was only a slight quickie; imagine what you’ll look like when we really go to town. Oh! Go to town–that’s it; we’ll have to get Mom to take us to town to the mall!”
That was a delicious and frightening thought. I could see the reflection of the clock in the mirror, and tore my eyes from the mirror to look at Cindy.
“Thank you, Cin! You did a great job! Now, uh ...what do I do?”
“First thing is forget that you have any makeup on. Just go about things normally. You’ll get a special buzz when you see your reflection the first few times, though. Okay, second thing is, you’ve got to get dressed. No, that’s the third thing. Second thing is this.”
To my surprise, she leaned close to my face and tweezed out some eyebrow hairs.
I said, “Ow! I thought you just said no eyebrow plucking!”
“Did I?” she asked innocently and spoiled it by giggling. “First of all, plucking your eyebrows is not what I meant–I meant a really pretty shaping. That’ll have to wait. And second of all, it was just a few strays but makes all the difference. Third of all–back to my original third of all: Time to get dressed.”
“Is there anything in my room up in the attic?”
“Probably, but I’ve got something I think would look great on you.” She turned to her closet and pulled out a short faded-rose colored gingham dress. It had puffy little short sleeves, a square neckline, and was an ‘empire’ style bodice, as I later learned. It was gorgeous, and I wanted it even more than I wanted the dress Cindy had on, and I would get to wear this one!
I stood up and started to unwrap the towel. “Uh ...” I said, and Cindy knew immediately.
“Undies. Not to worry; just panties. You don’t need a bra with this one.”
“Not that I really need a bra anyway.”
“Don’t worry, you will; you will,” she said with that mischievous grin again.
She handed me a pair of panties that were rose with white lace at the top. I let the towel fall; mercifully my penis stayed in place. Cindy gave me a warm smile at how I looked ‘down there’. I pulled the panties on, then took the dress, raised my arms and let it fall over me. I pulled it down; there was some elastic at the bodice so I gave a slight tug, and there I was, neatly dressed and feeling slightly naked as well.
Cindy said, “See? A great color for you. And what I like about this dress is you can put the sleeves up or down.” She demonstrated by pulling them down around my shoulders, so I had a horizontal neckline all across. I loved the look. “Or wear ‘em up for a casual farm girl kind of thing.” She popped them back up.
I was going to pull them back down but she stopped me. “For boys, down. For girls, up. Right?”
I knew she didn’t mean ‘boys wearing dresses’; she meant ‘boys looking at girls (me!) wearing dresses like this’. Whew! Pretty soon I’d have to start dealing with boys, too! This was going to be complicated. So I left the sleeves up (I liked that look, too) and saw how well Cindy had matched my makeup to the dress–she’d obviously been planning this all along.
“You know what’s weird, Cin? There I was, prancing around in almost a bikini and I didn’t feel naked. But for some reason I feel really exposed in this dress. But I think I love it!”
“I know what you mean. That’s one of the great things about sundresses, and especially some little dresses for hot dates: you feel like you’re totally naked and vulnerable. Some women hate it; I kind of like it. Occasionally. Other times I want to be a strong grrl who doesn’t take shit from anybody.”
“Yeah; that’s all part of finding your own personal style. Well, I’ve got a great teacher in you, and a great start here. I really, really like what I see in the mirror. So let’s go help your mom.”
“Okay–wait! Almost forgot!” She picked up the necklace and bracelet I’d worn before and quickly reattached them for me.
I picked up the hair brush and gave my hair several vigorous strokes until it flowed like it was supposed to. Cindy obviously wanted more, so she reached over and fluffed my hair out over my shoulders. Finally, she spritzed us with a little more Sunwater and we started to leave the room.
“Oops! Forgot again!” She stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “Shoes.” We walked back to her closet and she handed me a pair of white sandals. They had a little heel and wrapped around the ankle. I tried them on while she put on a brown pair of flats. I was feeling a little vain; I couldn’t help but admire my pretty toenail polish in the sandals. The sandals were actually a little big, or maybe I hadn’t tightened them enough, but they stayed on fine as we walked downstairs to help my aunt.
Aunt Margaret had already packed up the salad bowl and condiments; she raised her eyebrow at our makeup and dresses and said, “Aren’t we a little gussied up for this? We’re just going over for dinner.”
Cindy looked at me and blushed a little. “Yeah, I guess we got a little carried away. But doesn’t she look great, Mom? I mean, check her out! She’s a babe!”
I did a little self-conscious pirouette, holding my skirt out, which pulled the hem up even further, showing more leg. I finished the pirouette with a really bad curtsy.
My aunt laughed. “We’ll have to work on the curtsy! I really think you two ought to quickly remove the makeup–yours is too old for you, anyway, Cindy–and you might want to dress warmer, too. We’re not really due any special time, so ten more minutes isn’t going to hurt.”
Cindy’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, alright, Mother. Bummer. But, Mom–” she brightened, “I really mean it–doesn’t Sue look fantastic?”
My aunt studied me critically and nodded. “Yes; a bit too old for twelve, maybe, but a good choice of colors. Who did it?”
I nodded to Cindy. “Don’t blame her; I was kind of wondering ...”
“Oh, don’t worry, Sue; it’s perfectly natural for teenaged girls to experiment with makeup. Or almost teenaged girls!” Aunt Margaret laughed, referring to my upcoming thirteenth birthday. “Anyway, you girls get ready.”
Cindy and I looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to her room. I really hated taking off the makeup already; I could tell Cindy did, too. She had some moist wipes so it took next to no time. And I really loved the sundress, but besides not being quite right for the dinner, it probably would be too chilly as well. Cindy stripped off her dress, hung it up and pulled out a big blue sweater. She pulled some gray leggings from a drawer, sat on the bed and pulled them on, then pulled on the sweater and fluffed out her hair, and slipped on a pair of flats. I stood around, not knowing what to do, since I didn’t have a closet full of clothes.
Cindy looked at me. “What are you waiting for?”
“I, uh ...don’t know what to wear.”
“What do you mean ...oh! Silly me; of course you don’t! You don’t have any clothes yet–but you will, you will!–so feel free to borrow any of mine. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that.”
She jumped up and started flipping through her closet, then said, “I’ve got something great for you. Here.” She handed me a blue denim overall dress, then a white sweater. She went to a drawer and threw something white at me.
“Tights,” she said. “Pull ‘em on, then the top, then the dress over. You’ll look great.”
I stripped off the sundress and reluctantly handed it to her. It felt strange standing there in only the panties. I sat on the bed and pulled on the tights. They felt wonderfully cool, and I loved the way they slinked up my legs and held them firmly. I did a little straight-legged flutter kick, and realized that without thinking, I’d crossed my arms in front of my chest, like a modest girl. Cindy noticed, too, and handed me a stretchy bra from her lingerie drawer. It felt reassuring once it was on; oh God, I thought, this is going to be weird when the boys get back, if I feel naked without a bra ...I just wished I had something to fill it with ...
Got the sweater on and standing, I flipped the dress over my head, arms up, and it slithered down and I pulled my hair out. Cindy was right; it was a good look and I felt both feminine and warmly dressed. I slipped on some brown flats she pointed out, and we were ready.
We went back down to the kitchen, grabbed the salad stuff, got an approving nod from Aunt Margaret, locked the doors and walked through the trees to the Doyle cabin.
Mrs. Doyle saw us coming and stood at the screen door, holding it open as we entered. She welcomed us and took the salad bowl. My aunt followed her, and I just followed Cindy’s lead. We dropped the bag of stuff in the kitchen, which already had a wonderful smell–chicken Dijon, Mrs. Doyle informed us. Since the entree wasn’t quite ready, we decided to sit on their back patio for a bit, where we found Bonnie and Hannah.
I knew instantly that I’d never met Bonnie, because her beauty was so striking that I was sure I’d remember. She had blonde hair cut just above her shoulder, kind of cute squinty eyes, and reminded me of the actress Renee Zellweger. She wore a blue v-neck chenille sweater and white slacks, and looked happily at ease, holding and rocking her dozing four-year old sister. Hannah was a cutie-pie, with curly blonde hair and rosy cheeks. Bonnie made a ‘shush’ motion to us, and we stood quietly while she stood and walked with Hannah into the house. The four of us sat in plastic patio chairs, leaving Bonnie’s seat vacant. We were just admiring the different view of the lake when Bonnie returned.
It was a very interesting night for a couple of reasons. First of all, I was totally accepted by these women as another female. I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything really bone-headed that shouted ‘boy’; I knew enough to shut up. When they talked briefly of mammograms, I listened but of course had nothing to contribute. No reference was ever made to me being a boy, other than Mrs. Doyle’s one statement that ‘I always knew you’d be pretty’. Apparently my, uh, ...blossoming femininity came as no surprise to her. I wondered yet again how evident it had been to other people the last few years.
We’d chatted for about twenty minutes, then went into the kitchen and everybody pitched in doing something–I set the table–and sat down to a truly delicious meal. I thought it was restaurant quality, and said so, and my aunt told me that Mrs. Doyle had owned a restaurant, and cooked there, too. I realized that she’d lost it in the divorce, and could begin to understand how hard it had hit her, although she didn’t seem bitter–maybe because there were no men around?
The other interesting thing happened after dinner. After the meal and cleanup, we sat in the living room with a small fire in the fireplace. Cindy was starting to zone out, and the two mothers were chatting about more grown-up things, and I found myself talking with Bonnie. She had to check on Hannah and asked if I wanted to accompany her. We got up–Cindy just yawned and waved us on–and went to Hannah’s bedroom, which would be the little girl’s bedroom of my dreams. It was like a catalog for a children’s furniture store, it was so perfect. Hannah lay sleeping quietly, but had thrown her covers off. Bonnie covered her again, and we sat there looking at the child.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking this,” Bonnie said quietly. “It might be embarrassing for you, and I apologize up front, okay?”
I had a good idea what she wanted to talk about. “Okay,” I said. We moved into the hall and quietly closed Hannah’s door, but Bonnie didn’t start back to the living room. Instead, she leaned against the door.
“I know that you aren’t a genetic female. Right up front, that’s fine with me.”
I was surprised that she used the scientific term. This ‘talk’ might be interesting. I nodded to her. “It’s okay. What do you want to know?”
She chuckled. “Everything! Actually, I do have a bunch of questions, but let me explain why. Okay, you know my folks divorced.”
Confused at the turn of conversation, I nodded.
“It was ...pretty ugly. Really. Anyway, I had just finished my first year at State majoring in psychology, and I’d already decided to specialize in gender studies. I couldn’t help but see that a lot of the problems my mom and dad were having were because of the different ways women and men view the world and interact. Right? Okay. Well, a lot of the literature on gender studies, tied up with a revival of feminism, concerns the nature of ‘femaleness’. Being female is different from being feminine; I think you might know something about that?”
It was my turn to chuckle. “Yes, well, I’m learning about that every day!”
“That’s what I mean. Over the last few months, a lot of things I read got me to thinking about gender roles, societal pressure, nature versus nurture, the whole nine yards.”
I understood her; even though I wasn’t in college–or even high school–I did a lot of reading and had run across these terms. I had a growing interest in what Bonnie might be thinking, so I decided to make it easier for her.
“Bonnie, please. Don’t worry about anything being embarrassing, okay? Ask me anything. Or is there anything you want me to do?”
She let out a ‘whew’ sound and grinned. “Fantastic! Okay, can I ...can we collaborate on a gender study?”
“I’m up for it, but I don’t know what you mean, since I’m not at State.”
“No, no. Here’s the situation: One of my classmates is a male-to-female transsexual. But it’s been pretty rough; she’s got a lot of horror stories about her treatment, and the surgery, and boy troubles. Anyway, she’s attractive enough to pass most of the time, but still gets hassled occasionally because sometimes she looks like a guy in drag. Now, you, on the other hand ...”
I felt a chill clenching my stomach. “What about me?”
“You are a normal, pretty girl …who isn’t. Right? I mean, I’ve spent the evening watching you and talking with you, and I see a pretty neighbor girl. Absolutely no hint of boy. Absolutely no trace of male whatsoever. In fact, if I didn’t know the real situation, I would never believe that you’re a genetic male.”
I was deeply flattered, and relieved that I passed so well. “Thank you. It’s only been a few days, and I wasn’t sure–I mean I’m not sure, moment to moment.”
“That’s what I mean, and I–wait; do you mean that it’s only been a couple of days that you’ve been dressing here at the lake? Or …you can’t mean it’s only been a couple of days that you’ve been dressing as a female?”
“Bonnie, as God is my witness, before last week I had never even thought of dressing like a girl, much less being one.”
“That’s incredible! Actually, you might mess up our study because you’re so well-adjusted!”
We chuckled a bit, then I got serious. “Bonnie, I don’t know if this is a problem. First of all, yes, I’m interested in answering your questions and letting you study me. I think it’ll help me as well as you. But here’s the problem. I don’t know how much you know about all this. I talked to my folks in Paris two days ago, and they know about this but we still don’t know what they’ll decide for me. Whether it’s okay, I mean. They might just say, ‘Young man, you will cut your hair, put on pants and never go near a girl’s closet again’, although I don’t think they will. But the big problem is my uncle and cousins are coming back at the end of the week, and my aunt and I think I’d better be dressing and acting like I was–like a boy, I mean–when they get back. My aunt has some plan or some lever that she thinks might get my uncle to overlook things, but my macho jerk cousins are still a problem.”
She gave a nasty grin. “Ah, yes, Chuck and Larry. The last time I saw Chuck, he was shaping up to be a real shithead–or what did you call him? ‘A macho jerk’. Very true. And very much a female comment about a male, I might add.” Her grin had turned friendly.
I affected a bad W.C. Fields impersonation. “Stick around, my little chickadee, I gotta lotta female comments.”
We burst out laughing and immediately covered our mouths with our hands so we didn’t wake up Hannah. We started down the hall, and Bonnie turned to me.
“Okay, if you’re willing to answer questions–and I’ll have a lot of ‘em–and help me with my studies, what can I do to help you?”
“You mean besides sticking Chuck in a tutu? I don’t know–yes, I do. Okay, Cindy’s been incredibly helpful and supportive. But, she’s my cousin and I love her and there are some questions of my own that I can’t comfortably ask her or Aunt Margaret. You know, about being a girl and stuff.”
“Ask me anything. Total honesty, okay?”
I nodded.
She nodded as well. “On both sides. We can both learn from this. Done. Great! Um ...do you have a question right now? I’ll answer it, free, on the house.”
“Not a question, but some directed research.”
“Ooo, we know the big college terms, do we?” She was laughing. “Gonna play hardball, psych-style?”
I laughed. “No, just some things to look up. I want to know about hormones. If I can get my parents to allow it, God willing, I want to begin developing normally, as a girl my age should. I want my own breasts! And I want to know about the surgery. All the options. Actually, if you can just point me in the right direction, I can do the reading for myself.”
“Whew! I’ve got a tiger by the tail! Well, the easiest way to do that’s on the Net.”
“I don’t want to wait until fall to–”
“What ‘wait until fall’? I’ve got internet access here.”
“You’ve got a computer here?” She nodded. “That’s the one thing missing next door. I thought I’d go insane without one all summer. Oh, please Bonnie, can I spend some time online looking this stuff up? And emailing my folks! Please Bonnie? I promise not to get in your way!”
“Relax; it won’t be a problem. What are you doing tomorrow morning?”
“I don’t know; we haven’t discussed it yet.”
“Well, you’re welcome any time to come over and log on. I’ll show you how tomorrow; the dish network thing’s a little weird. Let’s tell the moms.”
We returned to find Cindy asleep by the fire, and the moms hunched over some legal papers. They looked up at our arrival, and we explained the computer situation. It was fine all around, and we realized the lateness, so we roused Cindy, said our goodbyes–Bonnie and I had a special hug–and gathering our stuff, headed back home.
Cindy walked like a zombie, said ‘good night’ and gave me a weak hug before disappearing into her room. I helped my aunt put the salad things away, and she told me she thought Cindy was coming down with something, so she said to let her sleep in and go over to Bonnie Doyle’s if I wanted. I hugged her good night and went upstairs. I hadn’t realized how sleepy I was until I undressed, got my nightgown on, and remembered I had to wash. So I trudged downstairs to wash my face. I pulled my hair back and studied my face. Now, for the first time, I thought I was beginning to see a girl looking back at me, and not a boy pretending to be a girl. I loved it.
End of Part 4
I hadn’t realized how sleepy I was until I undressed, got my nightgown on, and remembered I had to wash. So I trudged downstairs to wash my face. I pulled my hair back and studied my face. Now, for the first time, I thought I was beginning to see a girl looking back at me, and not a boy pretending to be a girl. I loved it.
The next morning I woke up early, got out of bed and had taken a few steps before I realized that I was wearing a nightgown. That was interesting; the other times it had felt strange immediately, so maybe I was getting used to it at last. It was definitely a comfortable feeling, although I knew in really hot weather I’d miss just wearing light boxers. Hmm; maybe I could still wear the boxers and a little something up top. I found it interesting that already I was thinking of keeping my top covered. Feminine modesty already?
I padded downstairs to pee and wash up. I also sat down to pee without thinking. Or maybe my mind was working quietly in the background and priming me to think like a girl. Sitting there, I realized how much it made sense to pee sitting down, anyway. No missing the toilet, no loud sounds …and, I realized, I could read! So that was an easy decision–unless stuck without a toilet somewhere, I’d always sit to pee.
After a quick wash and brush of my hair, I entered the kitchen. My aunt was having a melon, smiled at me with a mouthful, and pointed the spoon at the fridge. I got a yogurt and a smaller piece of melon, grabbed another spoon, and started to eat. If nothing else, I thought, this girl thing was making me eat healthy!
“Cindy’s not feeling too good, so she’s still in bed. Too much sun, maybe,” Aunt Margaret told me.
“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that. My fault. Whatever I had, I must have passed on. Is she awake now?”
“I think so, if you want to look in. And don’t feel guilty; you both probably got the same thing at the same time but yours hit first. And if it’s the same thing, she should be okay in a day like you were. What are you up to, if you’re flying solo?”
“Last night, Bonnie invited me over to use her computer, remember? They have internet access, and she’ll let me get on so I can email my folks.”
“You’re right; I’d forgotten. We’re supposed to get it here but he never got around …Well, the timing couldn’t be more right, with Cindy laid low. I’ll see you for lunch?”
I told her yes, got up and cleaned my place. On the way upstairs I stopped in at Cindy’s bedroom. I couldn’t tell at first if she was awake or not, and turned to go, but she called out to me so I went in and sat on the bed.
She smiled weakly and groaned. “Can you believe this? Summer vacation and I feel like shit.”
I grinned. “Bet you didn’t say that to your mom!”
“No, of course not. I’m gonna take it easy; I don’t know if I’m just tired or got the flu or whatever. If it’s your flu I’m gonna knock your block off …as soon as I’m strong enough! What’re you gonna do?”
“I’m going next door–”
“Oh, got a new girlfriend?” she said playfully but weakly. “You girls are so fickle!”
I could see how sick she was. I didn’t want to tell her all the details of my deal with Bonnie, but enough to explain.
“Yeah, right. Like she’s gonna hang with a kid? No, believe it or not, she wants to ask me some questions for a thing she was studying in college. You know, about the difference between boys and girls. She said I have the unique perspective from both sides. Although I really don’t know that much about being a girl, yet.”
“She wants to use you for a guinea pig? Yuck! So what do you get out of it?”
I brightened. “Ah, that’s the really cool part! They’ve got a computer with internet access, and she’s promised to let me come over and email my folks!”
Cindy laughed weakly. “Now that makes sense!”
“Do you want to come?” I asked, figuring the answer would be negative.
“No, you go be cyber chicks. I’m going to hang here. Dying …” She flopped back dramatically.
“I’ll probably be back before lunch. Hope you feel better. Love ya, Cin!”
I went up to my attic room, rooted around in the drawers and found a pair of jean cutoffs and a blue and gray striped sleeveless top. My aunt had stuck some panties and things in a corner of one of the drawers, and so I dressed myself in my own room just like any other girl, although I was still aware that I was wearing Cindy’s clothes. I did take the time to reapply the pearly nail polish that I liked so much, and spritzed on some cologne.
I said ‘bye’ to my aunt and headed next door, knocked, and Mrs. Doyle opened it, holding Hannah’s hand, and called for Bonnie. Bonnie came out and looked great. She was wearing yellow shorts and a green and yellow string bikini top. There was a lot of her breasts exposed, and I was struck with a hot stab of envy. Not lust, I realized, but envy! I wanted a body like hers. I was in momentary turmoil with these thoughts when she came up.
“Ready to hit the Net?” she said with a big grin.
“Sure. Cindy’s not feeling well and is taking it easy, so my time is your time.”
Bonnie understood what I meant and gave me a secret wink. I followed her into the back of their cabin, where a small room had been set up as a study or business office. I don’t know what kind of work Mrs. Doyle did, but apparently she could do it online and at the lake. Not bad!
Bonnie asked me if I wanted to go online and email immediately, or talk a bit about what we’d discussed the night before. I said we could do both. She started the logon procedure and turned to me.
“You’re lucky this isn’t last year, when I still had to use a modem; it was slower than molasses. Mom put in a dish as soon as possible and we just got a high speed connection. Still a little kludgy, though.”
She typed a group of commands at prompts, got on and arrived at the page she wanted. Hands on the keyboard, she looked at me and said, “Remember, we said total honesty? Okay, I won’t beat around the bush. I’ll start with a ‘brute force’ question. Are you a boy or a girl?”
“Well, ma’am, to answer scientifically,” I said with a professorial air, and she laughed. I went back to my normal voice, but noticed how much I sounded like a girl. “Genetically, I’m male. XY, I mean. I haven’t had a test or anything but I’m pretty sure that’s what it’ll say. But my mind seems to be in XX mode.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re, what–thirteen? And you know something about genetics?”
I nodded. “I read a lot. The truth is I’ve had a very lonely life. I mean, I’m not bummed out about it, but …I spend a lot of time by myself. Both my parents work or are away on business like now. I’m an only child and I can’t seem to make any real friends. So I read a lot. By the way, I’m almost thirteen.”
“I can’t believe you can’t make friends. I mean, we’re friends–or getting to be–right?”
“That’s part of the answer to your first question. Actually, to back up, I read everything I can get my hands on. Between a novel and a non-fiction book, like science or biography, I read the non-fiction. Anyway, I never felt male or female. Just …neuter, I guess, or neutral, maybe. I never thought about my gender or other kids’ genders; all my classmates were just other bodies in the room.”
“Did you identify with one or the other?”
“That’s just it–no. I didn’t identify with boys, or even as a boy. Or with girls, either. I’ve read some things about transsexuals, and I didn’t have that feeling that I should have been born a girl, or was ‘trapped in the wrong body’. That’s the way I feel now, but back then, growing up …At that point, I just wished I’d been born …more human, I guess.”
“That sounds ...so lonely.” She did an involuntary shiver.
“It was. Anyway, I was dreading this summer with my macho Neanderthal cousins. I’d never really known my aunt or Cindy, because I was always lumped in with the guys, you know? But on the way up here, there was an argument and I found myself suddenly siding with the females, and against the males. And I realized I was siding against their whole concept of maleness. It was like I was rebelling against who they said I was supposed to be, because I just didn’t feel like one of them! And I don’t think I’m just rebelling temporarily. I think for the first time I’m getting to know who I am. And I am female, despite what’s between my legs.”
Bonnie blinked at that, then blushed slightly. “Wow! You really took my rules about honesty to heart! Great. Okay, how do you think or know you’re female?”
“I’ve discovered that it’s a lot more than just what clothes you’re wearing. That was easy. You know about Einstein and ‘thought experiments’?”
She startled for a moment. “Yeah. I didn’t think a thir–twelve-year-old would, though.”
I shrugged. “So the thing about clothes; it’s an easy thought experiment. Put my Uncle Jack in a dress, or Chuck or Larry. Would they be female? Would they feel the least bit feminine? No and no.”
She shuddered theatrically. “Thanks, Susan! Now I’ve got that image in my brain!”
I laughed with her. “So it’s not clothes. Clothes do not make the woman. But they do signal to the world how to treat you. But internally? It’s not the clothes. It’s a whole mind set thing. I’ve been watching the relationship between Cindy and her mom and then with your family and it just feels comfortable–no, that’s not quite right. Yeah, it’s comfortable, but in the sense that it makes sense; it’s a feeling of relating, a familiar feeling, like I belong ...I mean, I haven’t had much exposure to males the last few days, but maybe that’s what it took.”
“You mean you’re just going with whatever’s around you, sort of like a chameleon?”
I chuckled at the image. “No, I mean that without having to uphold the male image to other males, I could relax and find out who I was, what kind of image came from inside of me–not a reflection of what’s around me. Chameleon in reverse, maybe? Without having to do the protective coloration thing–reflecting the boy that the males expect to see–I could be myself. And myself is not the boy reflection. Does that make sense?”
She nodded and began to say something but I interrupted her and held up a hand. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
“I just thought of something,” I said. “I was reading something recently about communication theory, and the signal getting distorted by noise. If the signal is the real me, and the noise is having males around and having to maintain the …the mask that I’m a boy, too …” I nodded, sure of my idea. “Then when the noise was removed–when my uncle and cousins took off–then maybe for the first time I could hear the original signal, strong and clear. And it’s female. Does that explain it better?”
“Actually, it does. And I think you’re really twenty-two!” she chuckled. “But now, the clothes help, right?”
“Yes, to focus my thoughts, perhaps. And to signal to others how to treat me, to treat me as a girl, and that just focuses my thoughts even more. There’s no secret thrill wearing them, for instance; nothing sexual. It just feels right. It’s funny–you can ask Cindy–the first time I tried on a skirt, I was most concerned about how nice my legs looked. I don’t think that’s a male response.”
Bonnie chuckled.
I smiled back. “That’s about the best way to put it. It feels perfectly normal and natural to do these things that are associated with female–the clothes, hair, makeup, whatever. Just the way I move, the way I talk now, I guess …it’s all because I relaxed. Not forced or some kind of acting or anything; it just feels natural. It doesn’t feel natural to be hunting with the guys. That’s forced and completely unnatural. And repulsive.”
“And smelly, after a few days!”
We both laughed at that; then I got serious again while Bonnie punched some keys on the computer. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I really believe that if you put me in total boy’s clothes right now–jockey shorts, jeans, t-shirt, jacket, boots–I would still feel female. But that’s a vast improvement over not feeling anything at all.”
“My God what you’ve been going through,” she said with some wonder. “This …non-feeling you’ve had …is like the flip side of the agony that some transsexuals report. But I’m sure it’s equally valid. Wow.” She studied the screen for a moment and turned to me. “Okay. Pick your screen name. Don’t pick ‘Susan’ because they’ve got a lot of them.”
I told her I knew that; I had a Gmail account already and entered my screen name and password. I quickly typed a message to my dad telling him the situation with emailing from Bonnie’s cabin, and that I was available if they wanted to talk, on- or off-line. Bonnie checked something in a book while I typed. I sent the message and thanked Bonnie.
“You know, Susie–” she looked startled. “Ooo–is it okay if I call you that?”
I nodded. “Or Sue or Susan. I don’t really know which one I am, yet. Do you know what I mean?”
“Sure. I’ve got a friend that’s bouncing from Michelle to Shelly to Mickie and back again. Anyway, do you want to surf some TG websites? I’ve got some addresses here.”
“Sounds great! Some of my questions might be–”
We were interrupted by Mrs. Doyle calling me. Apparently my aunt was calling for me across the lot; she wanted to show me something. Bonnie and I agreed to meet again when we could; in the meantime she’d start exploring the Net.
I had no idea what my aunt had that was so urgent. I said my goodbyes and headed back home. When I entered the kitchen, I saw that Federal Express had made a delivery while I was next door. My aunt had the large envelope open and its contents stacked on the table and was reading a letter. There were several regular-size envelopes. I got a glass of cold juice and sat down. I sipped and kept quiet until she finished reading.
“Your father must have been burning up the Net something fierce after we talked,” my aunt said. “He’s been a very busy guy. Okay, he’s got letters for you, for me, for Jack, and some other documents.” She picked through the stack of envelopes and handed me one. “Here’s yours; from what he says in his letter to me, you should read yours before we go on.”
I opened the letter; it had my name written on it in my father’s writing, although the very long letter had been laser printed. Good old Dad! It didn’t matter where he was in the world; he was a combination website and traveling Kinko’s! I decided to read the letter aloud to my aunt; I felt that nothing should be kept from her.
The letter told me how moved my dad and mom were by our talk the other night. They talked a very long time after we’d hung up, and did some netsurfing on related topics, and discussed everything for hours and hours. Finally, they had come to a decision. It was based partly on our talk, as well as what my aunt had told them before she woke me to take the call.
In a nutshell, they loved me, and they apologized for being so out of touch. They blamed themselves in part for my development, but stressed that they loved me no matter what. After talking with us, they felt that my decision was not a lark, and not to be casually dismissed. They really felt I should explore it fully; only then could I discover whether it was a passing fancy or something deeply rooted. I felt sure it was deeply rooted, but I could understand their concern. Anyway, it all meant that they supported my decision to try living as a girl. Whether a boy or girl, straight or gay, it was not a big concern to them–what really mattered was what kind of person I grew up to be, and that I would be happy.
I felt a tremendous burden lifting. It was like letting out my breath without realizing that I’d been holding it in. I could be a girl, and it was okay with my parents! I read on, excitedly. They had written a letter to my Uncle Jack that my Dad felt would keep him from bothering me. My aunt raised an eyebrow at that line, but shrugged; it meant ‘well, we’ll see …’ They did caution me that there was no guarantee I wouldn’t have problems with Chuck and Larry, though.
My aunt had received her letter giving her further instructions, as well as a document giving her temporary legal guardianship, with the ability to make medical decisions for me should the need arise. If there was a pressing need or emergency, one or the other of my parents would be here within 24 hours. Otherwise, I was to entrust myself to my aunt and get to know myself. They were looking forward to meeting the new me after Labor Day, whatever my choice would be. We’d see how things were then before we talked about the fall.
I couldn’t believe it! It was okay with them! My dad’s letter ended with some uncharacteristic mushy stuff; he’d never been a close parent and this kind of personal discussion made him uncomfortable. I could easily forgive him, because he was trying so hard. At the end of his letter, my mom handwrote a paragraph telling me that she loved me, and looked forward to shopping for my fall wardrobe together. It was a pretty safe guess that she already knew–or hoped–that I would choose to live as a girl, and I didn’t intend to disappoint her! I looked at my aunt, and she beamed back at me.
“I know, honey, I’m so happy for you! I thought this might be what they’d decide, but I never thought they’d act so quickly and fully.”
“Fully?”
“You know; letters for you, me, Jack, and other stuff. He included a letter for a doctor, if you want somebody professional to talk with–and you should talk to a professional. By the way, I’m still holding you to your promise to dress and try to act like a boy when the guys get back. Remember? It’s very important if this is to work right. I figured it might be pretty tough to convince Jack, but your dad’s thought of that with his letter to Jack. But you remember your promise?”
I frowned. “Yes, I remember. And I’ll honor it. But does it matter now? I mean, my folks said it’s okay for me to be a girl, so you really think I still have to dress like a boy?”
“Yes, more than ever if we’re to make the rest of the summer together peaceful. This macho thing is fairly recent with Jack, and he’s actually not very good at it. He tries too hard to be something that was never him, deep down. Let’s face it; if he was that kind of a macho jerk, deep down, I’d never have married him! I don’t think he’ll be a problem coming around. But Chuck ...it’s a terrible thing for a mother to say, but Chuck scares me sometimes. Chuck ...could hurt you real bad. And Larry would probably help because he doesn’t know any better. He really idolizes Chuck and would follow his lead. No, let’s stick to the plan, but now with the letters, we’ve got extra ammunition. Heavy ammunition! Okay?”
“Okay. I understand. But it’s going to be hard!”
“I know that, honey, so I’ve got a great carrot for you. First, a time limit: it should take no more than a few days after they return for this to get sorted out. So let’s say no more than a week in boy clothes, okay? If it takes longer than that, then something’s gone very wrong. But that will also give you a chance to go back to being a boy to see if you can learn to like it again.”
“But that’s the point! I never really did like it!”
“I understand. But you do need to test that, and if and when you’re meeting with doctors, they’re going to want that kind of a test done, anyway. This way, you won’t waste any time because you’ll have already done your ‘gone-back-to Boy’ test, and I’ll tell ‘em all about it. Anyway, at the end of the few days or week, if you decide to be a girl, I’ll take you shopping for your own clothes so you won’t have to borrow Cindy’s.”
“Oh, Aunt Margaret! Thank you! I can tell you right now there’s no way I’ll ever go back to being a boy. But I understand the reasons why, and I’ll do my best not to be whiny about it. It’ll be a week of hell, but it’ll be worth it for my own clothes! But you shouldn’t spend your money on me ...”
She grinned broadly. “Your dad’s already thought of that. I’ve got a clothing allowance for you, so now you have something to look forward to.”
I got up and hugged her. Holding my letter, I went upstairs, checking on Cindy on the way up. She was still asleep, so I went up and sat on my bed, rereading my father’s letter. I felt humbled by how much they loved me and was blinking back tears. Downstairs I heard the phone ring, and strange noises from my aunt–at first shocked, then angry. I went back down to the kitchen in a hurry to see her standing bent over the table, writing furiously on a notepad.
“What is it, Aunt Margaret?”
“Stupid, stupid, stupid sons-of–” she slammed the pen down and flopped into a chair and put her face in her hands. I was really worried now. What had happened?
“That was Jack. Calling from the Pine Ridge Hospital. Larry’s been shot–”
“Oh my God!” My hand flew to my mouth.
She paused for strength. “They were hiking along single file and Chuck was bringing up the rear. Somehow or other his shotgun went off and he shot Larry! Oh, God!” Her lips trembled and she pulled herself together. “Jack says it’s not life-threatening; they got him to the hospital in time. They’re in Pine Ridge Hospital–oh, I said that already.”
I could see she was trying her best to keep together. “What can I do for you, Aunt Margaret?”
She turned and looked at me, smiled sadly and said, “Thank you, Susie. But you’ll have to stop being Susie sooner than we planned. Okay, here’s what we do. I’ve got to borrow Monica’s car to go to Pine Ridge–"
“You shouldn’t be driving,” I warned her.
“You’re right. I’ll see if she or Bonnie ...anyway, with Cindy sick, you’ll have to hold the fort. Stay with Cindy, okay? Her temperature’s up and she’s really foggy.”
“I will, just like she’s my own sister.”
She smiled sadly again. “That would have been so lovely ...” She shook herself. “Okay, I’m going to see Monica. In the meantime, you’ll have to get ready to be a boy again, I’m afraid. I’ll call you from the hospital as soon as I know something. There’s plenty to eat here, although I don’t think Cindy’s going to be hungry. Oh, thank you, Susie, for being here!” She got up quickly, gave me a tight hug and a kiss on the top of my head, and dashed next door.
Needless to say, I was not looking forward to dressing like a boy again. I fixed myself something to eat and heard the roar of the Doyles’ car as Aunt Margaret sped off to the hospital. After cleaning up, I went upstairs and checked on Cindy. She was still asleep but seemed cooler; maybe the fever had broken. I went all the way up to my room and began checking the drawers and small closet for girl’s clothes. There wasn’t too much, because I’d mostly been using clothes from Cindy’s room. I was able to consolidate them all in one drawer, which I put at the bottom of the dresser. If the boys discovered it, it would be easy to pass off as Cindy’s since she’d had the room last summer.
I unhappily grabbed a plaid shirt and jeans, jockey shorts and socks, and headed down for a shower. I made sure I washed any feminine traces away, and left my hair to air dry after I’d brushed it once. That was the way I’d done it before, and though it was a familiar routine, my new-found sense of feminine grooming screamed out against being so lazy. Once I was dry, I dressed and looked at myself in the mirror, with a sinking feeling. I had just started looking like a normal girl in the mirror, and to me, I still looked that way–would the guys be able to tell what had happened just by looking at me?
I heard Cindy calling from the kitchen and went in to find her sitting at the table, arms wrapped around her, staring at a glass of juice.
“Cindy, hi! How’re ya feeling?”
“Like death. Or maybe just this side of death. Where’s Mom?” She hadn’t moved much.
I got a glass and poured myself some juice. “She’s ...out. Um, Cindy, I’ve got some news for you–”
She had looked up. “I’ll say! What happened to you?” She had noticed my clothes.
I was embarrassed for some reason. “Oh, uh ...this. Well, that’s part of the news ...”
“Was this a game for you, Susie? Or shouldn’t I call you that anymore?” She seemed cross.
“Why are you upset, Cin? What did I do?”
She looked back at the juice. “I’m sorry. I just feel like shit. And now I find you don’t want to be a girl anymore, not my girlfriend anymore–”
“But I do, Cindy! Wait, wait–let me tell you what happened.”
First, I told her about my aunt’s request that I revert to boyhood when the guys came home. I told Cindy how upset I was, and how just ten minutes of thinking of myself as a boy was enough to convince me ‘never again’. I was firm in my mind that I wanted to go on living as a girl as soon as possible. I told her about my FedEx package, and begged her to go along with the boy thing when the guys had returned. She promised and actually smiled; I think she felt a lot better knowing that–hopefully–I’d be her girlfriend again soon.
And of course she saw the omission. “But they’re not coming back for another week. Are you just …I don’t know …road-testing the boy thing?”
Sadly, I shook my head.”No, Cindy. This is the other thing I’ve got to tell you with, and it’s really way more important than me or what I wear but you had a valid question and there were two answers and …” I ran my hand through my hair with frustration. “Cindy, I told you why I’ve agreed to dress as a boy to answer you because I know that everything changes with the other information.”
I sat, heavily, and told her what little we knew about the gunshot accident, and then rushed to hug her as she burst into tears. She said things in the depths of her misery that, well, I knew she wouldn’t want me to hear but she needed my comfort so I had to hear. She loved Larry, as a little sister does, but she was also disgusted by Larry–and much more disgusted of Chuck–and the macho posturing. She echoed her mother that she was a little afraid of Chuck, too, and she even started to voice something that had already formed in my mind–if I had gone on the trip, it might have been me that was shot …was that Chuck’s intention, gone horribly wrong? It was too chilling to contemplate, and I concerned myself with comforting her.
Finally she calmed somewhat–being powerless to help in any way will do that, on top of being sick–so I fixed her a sandwich while we talked; she nibbled a bit, said she felt shaky and I helped her return to bed.
I grabbed a book to read and went on the porch to read, but didn’t even notice what the book was; I just stared at the lake and thought about things. There were a lot of ‘what ifs’. I don’t know how long I was out there, but when the phone rang and I looked at the lake again, several hours had passed. I ran into the cabin to answer. It was my aunt calling from the hospital with an update. Larry had been shot in the right side and was in very serious condition but would live, although his recovery would take awhile. The police were involved; apparently everyone in the hunting party had been drinking, including Chuck and Larry, who were minors. Chuck had been following Larry along a trail; apparently he’d drunkenly tripped and his gun discharged into Larry. Uncle Jack had been arrested for contributing to the delinquency of minors, and Chuck was being held in detention. After checking on Larry, who was still unconscious and between surgeries, Aunt Margaret had bailed out Uncle Jack and was coming home with him. Chuck would have to remain a bit longer in detention; she didn’t say why. They would be home in about an hour.
After I hung up I shivered, and the vague idea that I’d suppressed when I was with Cindy rose to the front of my thinking. What would have happened if I’d gone along on the trip? Would it be me in the hospital right now? Or the morgue? Would Chuck have shot me on purpose–omigod, did Chuck shoot Larry on purpose, thinking it was me? No, that was too paranoid and weird. But even Chuck’s own sister thought of it …
Well, nothing to do but see what the future brought. I went from room to room neatening things up, ran the dishwasher, and generally made things as clean as possible for my aunt when she got back. I poured another glass of juice and sat down to wait.
The cars pulled up in the drive, and two doors slammed. My uncle walked in the door and looked at me with the strangest expression. He looked like a puppy that had pooped on the rug and knew he was in trouble. My aunt had run back from next door after returning the Doyles’ car.
My uncle quietly said, “Hello. Guess you heard what happened.”
“Something about it.” I didn’t feel sorry for him, and wasn’t going to give him an inch.
“You’re lucky you didn’t come along. Things just ...got out of hand.”
“Yeah. Aunt Margaret said Larry’s going to be okay, right?”
“Well, he’s not going to die, but it’ll be awhile before the doctors will know if he’ll …be okay. There was some damage ...” He trailed off and walked past me and into the living room, as in a trance, sat down and stared at the carpet. My aunt came in from the Doyles right after that.
“Aunt Margaret? Uncle Jack said there might be some problem with Larry ...?”
She nodded sadly and looked into the living room at her husband, then sat at the kitchen table. She told me that there were extensive internal injuries from all the buckshot, and the doctors didn’t know yet if his liver or kidneys would be affected, because they’d been severely damaged. Chuck was being held because he’d made some comments to the police that made them suspicious. She’d seen Chuck at the police station; he’d told her he was sorry and it was just macho bragging trying to cover up for the terrible thing he’d accidentally done, but her own feeling was that he needed to be taught a lesson. Unfortunately it was at Larry’s expense.
I didn’t know what to say. The summer that had started out so beautifully looked to be going down in flames. I sat with my fingers curled around the juice and watched her face. She reached out and grabbed my shoulder.
“Hey, don’t look so glum. Just be glad that you weren’t on that trip.”
“I am, believe me. Even if nothing had happened–which I wish–but I’d rather have been here with you. It’s just ...it feels like the family got fragmented so quickly. I hope you can all pull back together again. I mean, we talked about Chuck already. But I feel really bad about Larry. And about Uncle Jack; I can really see he’s hurting.”
She looked into the living room. “And well he should be. But you’re right; it feels like we’ve been suddenly shot into the air and don’t know how long we’re going to be falling, or where we’re going to fall ...or if we’re going to be together when we land. But I just realized that affects you, too,” and she quietly said, “Susan.”
I smiled weakly at her. “That’s the least of your worries right now. The main thing is to get the family sorted out. Please, Aunt Margaret; they need you.”
She gave my shoulder a shake and let go, leaning back. “That’s what’s wonderful about you, honey. You care about the family, and it isn’t really yours. Well, it is and it isn’t; you know what I mean. But I promise you, we’ll move forward on this–”
She was interrupted by Jack entering the kitchen. “What the hell is that?”
We both looked at him, mystified. He was looking at the middle of the kitchen table. We looked at the table and couldn’t see anything. Just my aunt’s hands folded, and my glass of juice with my hands around it–omigod! I’d forgotten to remove the nail polish!
“What the hell do you have on your fingers?”
My aunt and I shared a quick guilty look. I tried to make light of it. “Just ...just tried something to keep from biting my nails ...”
My aunt looked at me with a mix of gratitude and exasperation. “Jack–”
“You some kind of fruit?” He asked me directly. My aunt darn near exploded.
“That is it! You will not come in here and try to get around your own guilt for your asinine behavior this week. We have one son in the hospital and one in jail, thanks to your ‘manly’ parenting skills. No more! And now you’re just trying to ease your own pain by bellowing at somebody else. Well, pick on somebody your own size. Pick on me–if you dare!”
I was amazed at her strength; she wasn’t out of control. She was strong and decisive. She was beautiful.
My uncle just stared. “Margaret ...”
She stood up and pointed to the living room. “In there. We need to talk.” She turned to me and her voice was quiet and kind. “Would you …would you mind leaving the cabin for awhile? I really think we need to talk in private. I’ll call you. I’m sorry, honey.”
I smiled at her and agreed, washed my glass at the sink and went outdoors.
End of Part 5
Aunt Margaret stood up and pointed to the living room. “In there. We need to talk.” She turned to me and her voice was quiet and kind. “Susie, would you …would you mind leaving the cabin for awhile? I really think we need to talk in private. I’ll call you. I’m sorry, honey.”
I smiled at her and agreed, washed my glass at the sink and went outdoors.
I wandered down to the dock. I could hear Uncle Jack’s bellows, muffled by the cabin, grow less and less. I never heard my aunt; I had no doubt she was calm, cool, and collected. And probably winning.
Bonnie Doyle came out of her cabin and looked at ours, then saw me on the dock, came down and sat beside me. I could tell she was confused by my clothes.
“What’s going on? I mean, if you want to tell me. And you …”
“You know my uncle and cousins were on a hunting trip, right? Two things, one little and one big. I made a deal with my aunt that I’d dress as a boy when my uncle and cousins got back, to ease him into accepting me as Susan. So that’s the little thing, why I’m dressed like this. But the big thing …” I sighed. “Somehow they were all drunk and Chuck shot Larry. He’s in the hospital with a lot of internal damage. Chuck’s in jail for some reason, my uncle’s out on bail and I think my aunt is putting him through the wringer.”
“Wow. That’s ...wow! I can’t …” Bonnie shook her head, then frowned. “They’ve got hunting accidents all the time around here. Mom gets the local paper when we’re here, and they …” She shook her head again. “They’re so casual about it.”
“Casual?”
“Guys accidentally shooting each other. Don’t even know what they’re hunting, what’s in season, whatever.” She sighed. “I’m so sorry about your family.”
“Thank you, Bonnie. It’s Aunt Margaret that I’m really feeling for,” I nodded sadly.
Bonnie looked to our cabin. “She’s a cool lady. She’ll deal.”
“I love her so much!” I said, and surprised myself by how fiercely it came out.
“Yeah, I know,” Bonnie said softly. Then she chuckled. “So that’s the big thing. As to the …little thing …” she grinned, using air quotes. “How ya doing’–dude?” She knew the joke was weak.
I turned and looked at her. “Do you really think I look like a dude now? Seriously; I mean, really truly, unmistakably a boy? I want an honest answer.”
She chuckled a little and bumped my shoulder with her own. “I don’t know if you’ll like the answer. No, I don’t think so. I mean your nails, for one thing–”
I stared at my fingers and then rolled my eyes. “Aw, geez, I had to act quickly and got everything else right and forgot about the nails and that’s what set Uncle Jack off! Okay, forget about the nails. What about the rest of me?”
“Touchy, aren’t we? Don’t worry; I understand. Okay, here’s the honest answer: no. You look like a girl who’s wearing her brother’s clothes. At least, to me. Maybe from a distance a stranger might think you’re a guy. But up close, no way. And you know you don’t move like a guy. So maybe the stranger in the distance would see a girl, too.”
“Damn! And I thought I was so butch!” We both laughed. “Seriously, though, I’ll have to butch it up for a little bit. I promised my aunt that I’d dress and act like a boy until she could talk to my uncle, but after this hunting trip disaster, I’d guess that’s pretty well out the window.”
“Poor Sue! I mean that! That would be weird if I had to pretend to be a boy until I could go back to being a girl. Because that’s how I think of you, you know–my new girlfriend Susan.”
I gave her a hug and we could hear my aunt calling me from the porch. Bonnie wished me luck and I walked up to my aunt.
“I’m sorry about the nail polish, Aunt Margaret. I didn’t do it on purpose; I just got so used to wearing it–”
She smiled at me and I was relieved. “That’s alright. I could tell by the expression on your face that you hadn’t planned that. It actually worked out for the best, because it let me bring up the subject a lot sooner than I would have, and I think now is the time to discuss it. Come on into the living room.”
She held the door open for me; I let her pass me and followed her in. Uncle Jack sat in ‘his’ chair, with the letter from my folks on the table next to him. My aunt motioned to a spot on the couch and sat down in another chair. I sort of felt like I was going to be interrogated.
My uncle looked at me with a strange expression, mostly confusion. “This says ...your aunt says that you ...well, forget what they say. I see the polish on your fingers. Tell me what you say: Do you want to be a girl?”
Here it was; the moment of truth. I looked briefly over at my aunt. I think she was trying to keep a neutral face, but there was some encouragement. I knew I had to tell the truth; the alternative was too awful to think about. Oddly, knowing that I had to tell the truth made it easier, and hopefully made me stronger.
“No, Uncle Jack, I do not want to be a girl.”
I could see my aunt slump in her chair; clearly she was disappointed in me, but I knew she hadn’t heard it all. I went on.
“What I ‘want’ really doesn’t enter into it; I really don’t have any choice in the matter. As far as I can tell, I am a girl–”
“What?! How can you–” Uncle Jack started yelling.
My aunt rallied quickly and cut him off. “Jack! No yelling, remember? There’s been quite enough of that already.” She turned to me with a warm smile, now that she knew where I was headed. “Go ahead, honey, say what you have to say.”
Encouraged, I went on. “Okay, I have the physical body of a male. I know it’s no great shakes in that department, but it was enough so doctors called me a boy when I was born. But in my mind, in my heart, in my soul, I’m a girl. I’m female. Talking with other girls and women, there’s no doubt that I think and feel like they do. You’ve got to admit that I’ve never thought and felt the way you and Chuck and Larry do, right?”
He nodded slowly. “But how do you ...how do you know?”
“All I can say is …well, first let me give you this test, and I’m not trying to be rude or insolent, okay? Please, Uncle Jack, just try to answer my questions because they will answer your question, I think. So, Uncle Jack, how do you know you’re male?”
“That’s obvious. Because I am!”
“I know you are, I know; but how do you know? I mean to say, how do you know? If you were floating in darkness, like in the middle of a big black pool–”
“That’s silly!”
“Please let me finish; it’ll make sense. If you were floating like in one of those tanks where you can’t see, hear, speak, or feel anything, how would you know you were male?”
“Because I just am!”
“Yes, but how? And it’s more than ‘I am’. What do you think that makes you male? What do you feel that makes you male?”
He frowned. “Well, I …my whole life has been a male’s life.”
“Good, good,” I said, nodding, which threw him a bit. “I want you to think of your life in two ways, okay? External and internal. External is how the world views you, and internal is how you view the world.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my aunt’s eyes widen and a smile start.
I continued, “So, how the world views you. It’s the name you were given–Jack, a boy’s name–and your mother and father dressing you a certain way–pants and t-shirts and things–and talking to you a certain way. They told you which public bathroom to use, for example, right?”
“Right. Because I was a little boy.” He frowned. “This is stupid–”
“Simple, perhaps,” Aunt Margaret said sternly, “but not stupid! Listen carefully.” She eyed him to make sure he was done spouting, and then nodded to me. “Go ahead, honey.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “So that was the external stuff, all the things that were done to you. Now, the internal stuff, your thoughts and feelings. If there was a truck and a doll, which one would you reach for?”
“The truck, of course,” he said with a small grin. “Because I’m a boy.”
“You didn’t need your mom and dad to point out which one to take?”
“Of course not. Why would I want to play with a doll?”
“Okay,” I nodded again. “And if you saw a group of boys and a group of girls, which would you want to play with, play their games, talk with them, all that?”
“Boys, of course.”
“Weren’t you curious about the girls?”
He chuckled slightly. “Not till later!”
I realized it was a macho brag but let it go. “Okay, but maybe five, six years old, no curiosity?”
“Naw. Why? They were girls. Not as cool as being little boys.”
I caught my aunt’s jaw tighten and her eyes squint slightly.
My uncle said, “So that proves I’m a male.”
“No argument there,” I smiled as nicely as I could. “Okay; I’m almost done. Now, I want you to imagine something. You know how you think and feel, and you remember how you thought and felt when you were little, then my age, and growing up.”
“Right.”
“Okay. Hold onto those thoughts and feelings you had as Little Jack, alright? So, hypothetically, what if your mother and father had named you Sally, and your only clothes were dresses and hair ribbons, and you slept in a lacy bedroom with dolls, and were told to use the Ladies’ Room and to play with the girls and the girl games? But thinking and feeling the way you remember you did? Would that make you a little girl?”
He gave a scoffing laugh of a bark. “I’d like to see them try! I’d be one pretty pissed-off little boy, I can tell you!”
“Yep,” I grinned and nodded. “But don’t you think that, over time, you’d be persuaded to become a girl, to become feminine? Or if your parents threatened to punish you if you didn’t put down the truck, put on a dress and play with dolls like a good little girl?”
“Of course not! I’m male. And there’s no way that I’d …”
Suddenly, he got it. A shock first, then a dawning knowledge. His eyes widened and he spoke slowly, almost with stunned awe.
“I think I’m beginning to see what you mean. Because I was born and raised male, my …sense of myself is a man. I don’t have to reach down and feel that I’ve got a …what’s, uh …between my legs …or have to look at what kind of clothes I’m wearing; I’m a man–but wait, you were raised male, too.”
“Yes, but incorrectly. In your case, your mind and your body match. But what if they didn’t? Like I said, what if you’d been raised female with pretty dresses and dolls? How would you feel?”
“I’d still feel like a man, of course, but… I’d also be confused as hell, I guess. You mean it’s the same? Only backwards, I mean? Your sense of yourself is female, despite being born and raised male?”
“Exactly! This is great! Thank you for getting it, because it’s really hard to understand.”
“Your …internal …what’d you call it? Your view of the world?” I nodded and he went on. “Your internal feeling is female, but you were given a boy’s name and treated as a boy? But all the time you felt female? How long have you felt this way?”
I looked at my aunt and knew that on this question I’d have to lie. “All of my life. You probably know that I don’t have many friends. I don’t feel like ‘one of the guys’ and I was never allowed to be ‘one of the girls’, although that’s how I feel. I’m sort of like a girl letter inside a boy envelope. But I can’t stand it anymore; I want a girl’s envelope to match the girl letter inside.”
I could sense my aunt’s relief as my uncle slowly nodded agreement with this. If I’d said that I’d only just discovered the feeling, he might blame her for ‘perverting me’ or some nonsense. But maybe it wasn’t that much of a lie; maybe it had been true all along and I only just now discovered it. Like being nearsighted and thinking everybody saw the world that way–until the day somebody handed you a pair of glasses. The fact that you didn’t know you were nearsighted didn’t mean you weren’t nearsighted since birth.
My uncle started asking me questions about how it felt, about my feelings about girls and boys, about clothes, what I wanted to do with my life. Apparently my aunt’s talk and my dad’s letter had forced him to treat this seriously. I began thinking this actually relieved him of some responsibility about me. I was no longer his concern as much as I was Aunt Margaret’s. I knew he had a macho revulsion to the idea of any male even wanting to be a girl, but it was okay for real girls. In his macho brain I was being pulled from the ‘boy’ category and placed in the ‘girl’ category–a mental reassignment. This was a major shift for him; although I thought his macho stuff, the way he wanted his boys to act, was disgusting, but he’d always been courteous and kindly with his daughter Cindy. While he didn’t fawn over ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’, you could tell that he loved her and wanted her. He just didn’t seem to want the responsibility of being her instructor–or maybe he didn’t know how–so he was more than willing to let her spend her time learning ‘women’s things’ from her mother. Like many macho types, maybe he just didn’t understand females. Like many macho types, maybe he was afraid of females because of that.
My aunt joined the discussion. She’d been letting Uncle Jack sort things out in his own way, at his own pace. She added helpful comments and suggestions, and to my growing joy, we hashed out an arrangement. The initial idea was that I would present myself to my uncle fully dressed as a girl. We’d see how he took it; if it was too weird for him, I’d wear less feminine clothes, like shorts, jeans, and t-shirts, but could be treated as a girl, just like Cindy. At some point when he was used to the idea, I could gradually add more feminine clothes. In the meantime, I would be called Susan and treated as a girl cousin. I would continue to live in the attic room and begin buying girls’ clothes. We’d deal with my two cousins later.
As we were discussing this, Cindy came downstairs, still in her nightgown. She was woozy and still a little sick, but she gave her dad a loving hug and I got a chance to study how he reacted to her. It was totally different than the way he was with the boys. Even setting aside her being sick, he treated her gently, like she was a delicate treasure. We briefly told Cindy of our plan, and my aunt announced that she’d make lunch while Cindy and I got dressed. I started to point out that I was dressed, then realized what she meant. Surprisingly, Cindy reacted the most.
“Oh, this is great! Susan’s back! Thank you, Daddy, you’ll see what a great girl she is! Come on, Sue, let’s get ready for lunch.”
I could tell by the looks on her parents’ faces that they were amazed and happy that my ‘girlhood’ had had this affect on her. I followed Cindy up and we kicked into high gear. If my uncle freaked, this would be the last chance for awhile that I’d have to wear pretty things. I’d already had the shower, but sprayed some stuff in my hair that Cindy handed me, and began brushing it into shape. I still had the polish on my nails, so that was a time saver. I put on the shimmery lip gloss, thinking that the burgundy lipstick would be too much, and dusted my face with the matte power. Cindy picked up some brushes and did a quick splash of color across my eyelids and cheekbones, and said I just needed a pretty dress. Cindy pulled out a darling sundress, yellow with red flowers, with two thin shoulder straps. It was quite short and I wondered about that, but I might as well go all the way–my legs were shaved, anyway! She tossed me some panties, too, and white strappy sandals with a small heel. I darn near ripped the boy clothes off and jumped into the panties, pulled the dress over my head, and put on the sandals. And I felt immediately better!
Cindy had already put on a somewhat similar sundress, dark blue with hibiscus; she turned her back and I automatically reached over and zipped her up. She then zipped me up, and pointed out her jewelry box; I selected another small gold necklace. Cindy laughed and shook her head at me, then added a pair of small gold clip-on earrings, a gold charm bracelet and several thin rings. I’d never worn so much jewelry before! She played with my hair for a minute, then pulled my hair back from the sides and held it with combs. She spritzed both of us and we stood shoulder to shoulder to check ourselves out in the mirror. As objectively as possible, we were two pretty girls, two very pretty girls. We both struck girly poses, giggled, hugged, and went downstairs.
We walked downstairs; as we rounded the corner into the kitchen, Cindy reached out and gave my hand a quick squeeze of support. What a great cousin; what a great girlfriend!
My uncle’s expression was worth every minute of agony and doubt that I’d had. It was obvious that when he turned and saw us in the kitchen, he thought a friend of Cindy’s had stopped over. It was also obvious that he’d been expecting an awkward boy in a skirt. His face kept trying to equate the dull, unhappy little boy he knew with the pretty young girl in front of him.
“Well, Daddy? What do you think of my girlfriend Susan?”
“Susan ...omigod. I can’t believe ...you look ...” Uncle Jack sat down, rather hard.
I couldn’t resist playing with him. Innocently, I asked, “Uncle Jack, do I look too much like a boy?”
He shook his head emphatically. “No! Are you crazy? You’re really quite ...pretty!”
I knew how much that word had cost him. “Thank you, Uncle Jack.” I don’t know what possessed me, but I walked up and hugged him. Or rather, I started to. He received the hug like he would from Cindy, then, some last gasp of macho made him pull back and hold me at arm’s length, staring hard into my eyes.
“Is this what you want? Prancing around like a goddamn fairy?”
“Jack!” Aunt Margaret shouted.
“Daddy, please!” Cindy said at the same instant.
Before I could answer, my uncle’s grip on me softened. I guess he couldn’t reconcile what he saw with what he knew me to be. My aunt spoke quietly.
“Not ‘like a goddamn fairy’. Like a girl, Jack, a girl. Take your hands off her.”
“Her?” he said wonderingly.
“Yes, Daddy, her! Let Susan go!” Cindy said.
Startled and, I think, ashamed, Uncle Jack let me go. Now it was my turn to speak.
“I understand your reaction, Uncle Jack; really, I do. But remember what we talked about, and think about this, too: If things had worked out the way they should have when I was born, I would have been your niece Susan. For twelve years now. And I am now. You know that now, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“I’m not a gay boy. I’m not a fairy or a fruit or a faggot or a pansy or a queer or a fag. I’m a girl.”
My aunt had sucked in her breath at the hurtful words, but kept quiet when she realized that I’d been using his own macho code words to shock him–and to show that they had no affect on me. Cindy nodded, then broke the tension.
“Okay, then can we girls join you for lunch, Daddy?”
It was the perfect thing to say. Caught between his disgust for homosexuals and his courtliness to women, my uncle’s aggression fizzled out and he even managed a slight chuckle.
“Well, sure ...three very attractive girls, too, might I add.”
He looked at me while he said this, and I saw the beginning of acceptance. I smiled back, but didn’t try to hug him again–no sense pushing it!
My aunt had made sandwiches and a salad, and we all drank juice. Amazingly, my uncle adapted quickly to my situation; in fact, he asked me, ‘Please pass the dressing, Susan’ as if it was perfectly natural. My aunt and Cindy and I glanced at each other when this occurred, and smiled the second time it happened. We had to revise our plan a little; since my uncle seemed to think it was okay that I fully dress as a girl, it was agreed that I could start living as Susan full time immediately. That was a huge relief! As far as the boys, they would be told that it had long been a medical secret and only now was coming into the open. Lame as it was, if they thought for even one minute that I was a boy who wanted to be a girl, my life–and our summer–would be hell. It was much better that they think I was a girl who’d been masquerading as a boy. After all, their macho mind would tell them, what girl wouldn’t want to be a boy, because weren’t boys so much better than girls?
My father’s letter had also contained the name of a doctor to see in town, and my aunt told me that she’d seen his name on the hospital register where Larry was, so we could set an appointment as soon as possible. As for Chuck, he would be charged or released by the end of the day. Everyone assured me that he would be in such deep trouble that my situation wouldn’t affect him–as long as he didn’t think of me as a boy. For this reason alone, my uncle said–with some difficulty–that I must be absolutely full-time feminine and girly but not ‘faggy’. That didn’t seem to be a problem, he was told by my aunt; she said I was no more ‘faggy’ than Cindy was ‘faggy’. He looked at me hard, then nodded his understanding.
That settled, he told us with great shame how the shooting had occurred. It was pretty much as we’d expected; first some whiskey to keep warm, then it got into a manly ‘how much can you drink’ thing, a ‘here’s how to hold your liquor like a real man’ thing; then the hike back to camp and Chuck tripped, shooting Larry.
My uncle’s face went through so many emotions and I realized just how deeply he was ashamed. He’d been so proud and puffed up and full of his macho bluster when they’d left on the trip, and now he was mortified for what he’d set in motion.
I could feel the difference in the …I guess it was the ‘balance of power’ at the table. I already respected my aunt’s quiet strength and now I loved the fact that she didn’t gloat. She didn’t seize the opportunity to lord it over him. I realized that she knew he was deeply ashamed, and worried about Larry; but as intensely angry as she was at what had happened–and so disappointed in him–she knew he was suffering, too. She loved him and her family and she knew it was time to grow stronger together, not fracture.
Aunt Margaret had us join hands and say a quiet prayer for Larry. At first I was ashamed of myself because I had the fleeting thought of thankfulness that I was seated between my aunt and cousin so my uncle wouldn’t have to hold my hand. I thought this prayer was for Larry and shouldn’t involved any …squeamishness if my uncle didn’t want to touch me. Then I gave myself up to the prayer.
We were all silent even after we raised our heads. Uncle Jack was clearly thinking about Larry; his face was of a worried father. Aunt Margaret may have noticed, and added, “We should pray for Chuck, too.”
Yet we didn’t; the three of them just nodded slowly and the silence continued. Maybe it was the thought that counted, but I realized that they didn’t feel right adding Chuck to Larry’s prayer, like a last minute add-on. He had been, though; I could feel it. I had my own problems with Chuck so maybe I was biased.
Slowly, my uncle picked up where he left off in the telling. He had several charges hanging over his head but having Larry in the hospital mitigated the situation and he was allowed bail. However, Chuck was a different story. What had the police concerned was that Chuck had tried to be a tough guy, and said something like ‘The little faggot had it coming’. He might have drunkenly meant me, or he might have been overcompensating in the macho department, covering his sorrow at shooting his brother, but the police were required by law to treat it as a ‘hate crime’ and were questioning him to see if there was some premeditation. Since there wasn’t any reason for him to shoot his brother–and if by ‘the little faggot’ he meant me and I wasn’t there–there was no premeditation and he should be soon be released back to the family.
Everything in their lives was suspended.
After lunch, we cleaned up, and Cindy decided to lay down again–she still was sort of sick but had been running along on excitement. Her folks needed to talk some more, so I decided to go over to the Doyles. Bonnie answered the door and laughed when she saw me.
“You’ve really got to stop this butch dressing and try something a little more feminine!”
I laughed too; I felt great. “How’s this?” I said, executing a little curtsey. I still wasn’t very good at it.
“Ooo, needs work. Well, we’re finishing lunch but come on in and tell us about it.”
I sat at the table with them and began filling them in. As I did so, I couldn’t help but notice the fact that there were four females at the table, and I felt perfectly at ease with that. Like I told Bonnie, I felt great. I helped with the dishes, and we went to surf the Net. Bonnie had downloaded a bunch of stuff for me to read, and so we didn’t read too much online. She’d been smart enough to bookmark every spot she’d been to, as well, and made a folder named ‘Sue’ of all the files and bookmarks. I checked email and found a short letter from my mom, with some hyperlinks that I’d have to explore. As I began typing an email to my folks, Bonnie giggled. I turned and looked at her.
“What’s so funny? Did I misspell something?”
“No, no, relax. I just noticed–have you noticed the way you’re sitting?”
I hadn’t thought about it at all. I looked down and saw that I had adopted a perfect secretary’s posture, with feet and ankles together. What Bonnie had been laughing at was that my knees were together and apparently I’d unconsciously pulled down my skirt hem.
“What can I say, Bonnie?”
“Nothing. Except you can never say that you’re a guy!”
I laughed and went back to my typing. I told them everything that had happened, right up to Bonnie laughing at my feminine poise. I told them I would read the material, check out the hyperlinks, and that I loved them. Taking a leap off a cliff of faith, I swallowed hard and wrote, ‘I can’t wait for you to see me. Have a wonderful time until then and don’t worry. Your loving daughter, Susan.’
After sending the email, I began checking out the hyperlinks in my mom’s mail, and my eyes began to tear up. She’d sent me websites about cosmetics and deportment for transsexuals, and other sites unrelated to transgender people, but that wasn’t the real reason I got teary. It was because she’d bookmarked girl sites, like sites for Seventeen and CosmoGirl magazines, as well as other sites a normal teenaged girl would want to visit, like clothing sites. I took this to mean she was accepting me as her daughter, and telling me it was okay to explore my new gender–my proper gender. I was so grateful that finally the tears got the better of me; I logged off, put my head into my hands and wept. Bonnie understood, placed a box of tissues next to the keyboard and found something to take her out of the room.
Once I’d gotten under control, I went out into the living room a little sheepishly. Bonnie was reading a Time magazine, looked up and smiled.
“You’ve got some great folks, Sue. I was going to get a Coke; you want a drink?”
I nodded and followed her to the kitchen. Drinking our Cokes, we chatted for a bit about my family’s acceptance, my plans for the future, and so on. She reminded me that we still had a deal, and I told her I’d like to repay her for using the email; what would she like to know?
“Okay, for starters–and Mom and Hannah are next door, by the way, so we can talk–what do you do with your penis and testicles?”
I told her, and with more detail than she was prepared for, I think. She asked whether I’d ever had homosexual thoughts about other boys? Thoughts about girls? And so on. It was funny; she almost seemed disappointed that I hadn’t had any sexual thoughts about boys or girls. Then I pointed out the ‘neuter’ state that I’d been sort of floating in, and she got excited about that angle, because it was relatively unaddressed in the information she’d found so far. She thought it might earn her project extra notice, and I was happy to help her.
We talked for about an hour, moving from the kitchen out to the patio and continuing. Then Bonnie said I’d more than fulfilled my part of the bargain; did I have any questions for her? I told her that I really didn’t at that time; any questions I’d ask were about things I hoped to find out about myself, such as ‘what did it feel like when your breasts started growing?’ With luck, I’d learn these things and she’d have a lot more for her research!
It turned cool; we got up and went inside, but I noticed the hour and headed back home. I passed Mrs. Doyle and Hannah on the way, so the timing was right. In the kitchen, my aunt told me that she and Uncle Jack were going to go pick up Chuck. There’d be papers to fill out, a lecture to give, they’d visit Larry, then have dinner in town before starting back. They’d be back quite late and since Cindy was still sick, I would stay and nurse her. They told me to make sure I went to bed by 9:00 so that Cindy wouldn’t stay up late, and for me not to stay up. I’d see Chuck in the morning after he’d been told about me and had been disciplined. I was nervous about what tomorrow would bring; with Larry still hospitalized it was the last hurdle–would I clear it?
After they left, Cindy came down and I fixed us a dinner. We watched TV for awhile, curled up on the couch with our legs under us. Cindy had changed her sleep shirt and was wrapped in a blanket, sipping a hot buttered rum I’d made for her–but without the rum, of course; she just liked the mix. I’d gone up and taken off the sundress and put on leggings that Cindy had loaned me, along with an oversized sweater. Even though I didn’t need a bra–yet!–I put one on because I loved seeing the bra strap when the sweater fell off my shoulder. Besides, I needed to get used to wearing a bra. At 9:00 we turned off everything except for a few lights and went upstairs. I more or less tucked Cindy in; I was getting worried that she’d stayed sick and weak for so long because I’d kind of bounced back pretty quickly. Hopefully a full night’s sleep would finally cure her. I washed, went upstairs, and pulled on a longer nightgown that I found in the drawer. I lay awake for awhile, thinking about everything that had happened so far, and hoped for the best tomorrow.
End of Part 6
I was getting worried that Cindy stayed sick and weak for so long because I’d kind of bounced back pretty quickly. Hopefully a full night’s sleep would finally cure her. I washed, went upstairs, and pulled on a longer nightgown that I found in the drawer. I lay awake for awhile, thinking about everything that had happened so far, and hoped for the best tomorrow.
The moment I woke the next day I could tell it would be a hot one. I loved the airy feeling of the nightgown swishing around my legs, and thought about sleeping in an old tee-shirt and shorts. Never again, if I could help it! Well, maybe a cute camisole and tap pants, I giggled to myself. I went to the bottom drawer where all my girl clothes had been stashed, and selected a pair of yellow panties, yellow shorts, and a cute green and yellow short-sleeved top with a scoop neck. I brushed my hair back and used the combs that Cindy had loaned me, then added my jewelry. A little blush and lipgloss and spray of Sunwater and I was ready to go.
I figured that my aunt and uncle had gotten back late and would sleep in, so I quietly went down to Cindy’s room. Her mother was sleeping soundly, and Cindy was still asleep but looked a thousand percent better. I took a quick shower, got dressed, then went into the kitchen to have breakfast.
Chuck was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. Staring at me. I couldn’t read his expression; it seemed to be equal parts wonder, disgust, anger, surprise–and who knew what else.
I figured it was now or never, although I didn’t know if they’d told him about me yet …
“Good morning, Chuck,” I said coolly. After the way he’d treated me and especially after what he’d done to Larry, I didn’t think he deserved a warm welcome.
“My dad told me ...if I didn’t see it I wouldn’t believe it. You are a sissy!”
I fought my anger to calmly say, “No, actually I’m not–”
“Fairy! Queer! Pansy! Fruit! Faggot!” he said without shouting but with rising emotion. He spit some of his cereal out on some of the words, and the milk dribbling down his chin made him ridiculous as well as repulsive.
I waited until he ran out of words. “Are you done? Good. Is there any more cereal?”
The fact that I’d calmly taken his abuse shocked him. I was afraid he might react with rage–maybe even try to attack me–and I’d kept my hand on a chair to shove at him if he charged me and I needed to run. But after spewing those words, he sort of deflated. I released the chair and passed him to go to the cupboard, and got a bowl and some cereal, then opened a drawer and got a spoon. Every second, I was terribly conscious of his eyes boring a hole in my back, but I also knew that he’d smelled the Sunwater on me, the same scent as his sister. I had also felt his eyes on me when I reached up to get the bowl; my top rode up a little showing my tummy. And both Cindy and Bonnie had told me I had a cute little butt. I also got a placemat, something he’d forgotten to do. I think it was the placemat that somehow turned him around.
“Is what Dad said true? You’ve really been a girl all along only pretending to be a boy?”
Inwardly I cheered; his parents had been right about the cover story. It was far easier for him to accept than the truth. So I replied very matter-of-factly.
“Yes, it’s true. I tried but I just wasn’t very good at trying to be a boy.”
“I’ll say! I always thought you were a homo!”
“Chuck, could you do us both a favor and not use those words? They’re mean and they’re not even true.”
“Yeah, well ...okay. But they would be true if you were a real guy!”
“Right, but if I were a real guy we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? But it doesn’t make the words any nicer.”
He took another scoop of cereal and thought. I imagined I could actually hear rusty gears turning. I’d been careful to modulate my voice like Cindy’s, and to use proper English because it would sound ‘girlier’ to Chuck.
After a time, he struggled with his questions. “What was it like? Trying to be a boy all these years? Did the doctors make a mistake? Do your parents know? Man, that would be weird!”
I didn’t know the story his parents had told him, so I didn’t want to go into things too deeply until I’d checked with them. I said, “Yeah, it was weird, but I can’t go on trying to be something I’m not. And my girl’s puberty is kind of blowing the whole ‘boy’ thing. So we all decided I could relax and stop trying, and just be myself, while everything sorts itself out. Medically. And, yeah, my parents know and are glad and finally stopped calling me Stuart.” I rolled my eyes like girls do.
I didn’t want to go further but didn’t have to because there was a soft knock at the back door. Chuck went to the door and saw Bonnie. I still had enough knowledge of being male to recognize him kick into high ‘stud’ gear. And inwardly I both cringed and laughed at him.
“Bonnie, hey, long time no see. Looking good, Bonnie! How ya been?”
If he thought this would work, he was even more delusional than I thought he was. Bonnie hadn’t seen me at the table, and was obviously on her guard about saying too much now that Chuck was around.
“Is ...your cousin awake?” Bonnie phrased it exactly right. No name, no pronoun. Smart girl!
I stood up, put my things away and walked up behind Chuck. “I’m here, Bonnie. What’s up?”
She visibly relaxed. “Oh, hi, Sue! I brought–”
“Sue?” Chuck turned and looked at me.
“Yes, Susan. Didn’t your folks tell you that?” I said with some exasperation, trying to make it seem like it was an everyday, trivial matter; like everybody knew I was Susan.
“No, they never said–wait a minute, when we sang ‘If you knew Susie’–”
I nodded my head. “That’s right, didn’t your dad tell you that was my real name? Why do you think he chose Susie? Sorry, Bonnie,” I said to her to excuse the wait. Chuck was processing things pretty slowly.
“But Dad said that’s what you would have been named if you were a girl–”
“Right. That was the cover story.”
The carefully-constructed cover story kicked in; realization finally dawned on him that this had been going on since I was born, and he did a big, slow take. “Ohhh, I get it!”
Through the screen door, I could see Bonnie roll her eyes.
Chuck explained it to the kitchen, pointing out details with his finger. “He just said that while you were pretending to be a boy, but he let it slip! I get it!”
“Great. Now could we please let our guest in?” I said it just like an annoyed girl, like his sister spoke to him, as I moved past him to open the door for Bonnie, who nodded to Chuck as she quickly passed. I think she was trying to keep from laughing out loud.
“Why didn’t I see it before? You even talk and act like a girl.” He was still working it out.
“It’s actually a pretty easy thing to do because she is a girl, Chuck,” Bonnie said. “And you know what? I don’t have any problem talking and acting like a girl, either!”
Bonnie and I could see him grapple with this. In the strange macho wilderness between his ears, he ranked females as second-place to males–yet he’d also been raised to treat females with some degree of courtesy. It was gay males that were the target of his hatred, disgust, and probably fear. But if I was female, his brain laboriously worked out, there was nothing gay about it.
That seemed to clinch it for Chuck–I was a girl, I’d always been a girl, and I couldn’t be blamed for trying to be a boy because after all, he reasoned, boys were the best thing to be, right?
I’d seen the same process with his father–only much quicker with Uncle Jack–where I was removed from one mental pigeonhole and placed in another. Now I was in the same category as his little sister Cindy, and I held no threat and little interest for him. And believe me, that was exactly the way I wanted it. He did a couple of slow nods to himself and went back to his cereal.
Bonnie and I went into the living room. “Thanks for coming, Bonnie. What’s up?”
She’d come to tell me that I had email; she’d been too polite to download it. She also had found some more websites she thought I might like to surf. And speaking of surf, she said it was going to be a hot day and did I want to go swimming later with her and Hannah. And how was Cindy? And how was Larry?
We chatted for a bit, then she headed back home and I went into the kitchen to actually start my breakfast. Chuck was finishing up and started to get up, leaving his things on the table.
“Chuck, are you finished?” I was referring to him leaving his things, and put just the right spin into it for him to recognize his mother’s tone.
“Yeah,” he said, putting his bowl and spoon in the sink. “Geez, you sound just like Mom,” he grumbled as he went out.
I knew at that instant that I’d won! His mom and Cindy constantly reminded him to clean his own place. From a male, he might resist being told to clean up, but his mother had subtly trained him well. He’d responded to me exactly right; just as he would to any other female. The funny thing was, although he considered females to be second-class, he had no idea how well he was trained to obey. Hopefully that could be nurtured into respect, as well. For now, I was glad that I wouldn’t have to worry about Chuck trying to kill me.
I’d just finished my cereal when Cindy came down. She looked much better and said she felt better, too. The proof was how well she attacked a melon. She asked for an update; I’d heard Chuck go into the garage so I could brief Cindy quickly. She relaxed a little, and I realized again just how much Chuck’s anger and macho swagger had put this family on edge. I told her Bonnie asked about swimming, but I’d rather spend time with Cindy if she was feeling better. She gave me a warm smile; I knew she considered Bonnie a competitor, although she needn’t.
Aunt Margaret came in at that point, dressed but looking sleepy, kissed us both and poured herself some cereal. She told us that the police had finally dropped any thoughts of charges for Chuck but would be keeping an eye on him. Uncle Jack still had charges of contributing to the delinquency of minors and would have to answer for them, but the shooting was being declared an unhappy accident brought about by alcohol.
Larry was stable, but the doctors still didn’t know how much function he would have from some of his internal organs. That made us somber as we considered poor Larry. My aunt and uncle had talked about packing up and leaving for the city right away, transferring Larry to a big city hospital, but decided to stay. The transfer would be dangerous at this point, and they were satisfied that he was getting excellent care, as good or better than he would receive in the city. And they actually lived farther away from the big hospital; the cabin was much closer to Larry.
I double-checked that Chuck was still in the garage–we could hear him tinkering with something–so I briefed Aunt Margaret on my encounter with Chuck. She, too, was relieved and couldn’t help but smile at the way he’d obeyed me about cleaning up. She was also glad that Cindy was better. Since it was going to be a hot day, and now that my situation was out in the open and resolved, she suggested a trip into town to check on Larry, followed by an all-girl shopping spree for my own clothes. I was overjoyed; I think I actually hopped in my chair with excitement. Cindy wanted to come, too, and her mother said it would be wonderful as long as she didn’t overdo it.
Aunt Margaret told Cindy to get dressed; she told me my shorts were fine and the top was cute, but I might want to wear a blouse with buttons so I wouldn’t be pulling it over my head all the time when I was trying things on. Trying things on! That sounded so simple but so wonderful; I was going to get my very own girl’s clothes–ones that belonged only to me! I loved Cindy, and I’m sure as girlfriends we’d share clothes now and again, but there was something odd about always wearing her panties, shorts, whatever. I wanted my own!
I hugged my aunt and dashed upstairs with Cindy. She handed me a sleeveless lime-green camp shirt that nicely matched the yellow shorts, and some sandals. I still got a kick out of seeing nail polish on my toes, I thought as I got dressed. After brushing my hair, I pulled it back loosely and held it with a white scrunchie. Cindy wore one of her sundresses, fluffed her hair, and we headed back down. We must have taken longer than we thought–well, we did try on a few other outfits–because my aunt had finished breakfast, and was waiting for us in the garage while she talked with Chuck. Seeing all three of us together, it was obvious that he now considered me to be ‘one of the girls’, and I couldn’t be happier.
“Tell your father we’ll be back before dinner, and we’ll either bring something back or we’ll eat out,” Aunt Margaret called over her shoulder to Chuck. “And clean up the garage like you promised.”
“See ya, jerk face,” Cindy absent-mindedly said to Chuck as she walked past him. It had been one of their ‘pet’ names when they were younger.
“See ya, lizard breath,” Chuck responded.
As I passed Chuck, I simply said, “Bye, Chuck.”
He looked surprised that I hadn’t taken a shot at him. “Bye, Susie.” Then he took a good look at me and shook his head. “Man, how could I ever have thought you were a guy!?”
I smiled warmly inside; this was confirmation that he’d been defused. I wasn’t even going to attempt to educate him any further, though–he might be treating me like another girl in the family now, but I knew there was still something twisted inside him. Defused was the best I could hope for.
We three got in the car and took off. Aunt Margaret told me that she’d explained things to Bonnie, who’d said I could check the email later and to ‘have fun’. We’d start by not having fun: The plan was to see Larry first, and there was no telling how long that would take. My aunt gently suggested that in his weakened condition, it might not be a good idea for Larry to see me. That was okay with me; I could always read some magazines. Then my aunt thought that we might try to drop in at the office of the doctor mentioned in my father’s letter; she’d noticed the name at the hospital. That sounded even better to me.
We pulled into a gas station; it was old-fashioned in that a guy actually came out and pumped the gas. Cindy and I bought Cokes while he worked, and we couldn’t help but notice that he was checking us out. On purpose, Cindy stood with her back to him, then raised on tiptoe and leaned over a counter; he darn near yanked the hose out of the car he was trying so hard to see up her dress. I gently slapped her forearm and we both giggled. Then Cindy shocked me.
“Okay, kiddo, it’s your turn.”
I had no idea what she meant.
“You know, silly. Pose. Flirt. Come on, Susie! Get him excited. Wrap him around your little finger.”
“Cindy! I can’t do that!”
“Yes, you can! A hot babe like you–” Cindy noticed that I was genuinely shocked, not just pretending. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sue. Forget it, okay? I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It’s okay, Cin, it’s just ...it’s just that I haven’t thought about, well, guys that way.”
“Well, start thinking, girl! As good as you look, they’re sure as heck going to be thinking about you!”
I thought about Cindy’s words as we pulled out of the station. I hadn’t thought about boys. Or sex. I was having such a good time so far, just dressing and being with other females that I hadn’t thought about how I would be expected to be around boys my own age. Well, maybe older; some of the boys my age were so immature ...
Whoa–there I was thinking about ‘us and them’, with me squarely on the girls’ side. While I didn’t have any strong feelings about boys yet, I already identified so strongly as a girl that maybe that would come. Then I thought that I hadn’t had any strong feelings about anything before I became Susan, so maybe my feelings for boys would become clearer later. If I let them ...
The thing was, I didn’t want to be thought gay, but if I was truly a girl, then I would be thinking romantically about boys–and sexually, too. And it wouldn’t be gay; it would be a girl thinking about boys, which would make me straight. Whew! I decided that I’d cross that bridge when I came to it, but more importantly, I wouldn’t have any preconceived notions. I would discover my true feelings as I experienced them. Maybe I’d like them; maybe not. And if I turned into a boy-crazy flirt like Cindy, then so be it.
Cindy fell asleep right after the gas station, and my aunt said to let her sleep. My aunt and I talked quietly for a little bit; she complimented me for how well I’d handled Chuck; she’d said the way I’d done it was instinctively female. But I could tell her mind was on Larry so I fell quiet, too. I’d been enjoying feeling the breeze from the open windows on my sleeveless arms, and had dozed a bit myself, coming awake when we got to the hospital. We woke up Cindy, and we all headed to the front desk and then on to Larry’s floor. I sat and started looking through the old magazines while Aunt Margaret and Cindy talked with a nurse. Then they walked back to me.
“Larry’s sleeping but due to be wakened in about fifteen minutes. Want to go find that doctor?” Aunt Margaret said as Cindy slumped in the chair next to me.
“Sure,” I said, getting up. Cindy waved us away and moved to a larger, padded chair and curled up to doze. My aunt decided to leave her there; she’d be right back anyway.
We took the elevator to the doctor’s floor and then to his receptionist. On the wall a sign said ‘Dr. Lee Janssen’ but with no description of specialty. I figured that he dealt with gender problems but not much beyond that. As luck would have it, the doctor was free to meet us because of a cancellation, and we were ushered into his office. Or rather, her office; it turned out ‘Lee’ was an attractive woman in her early fifties with beautifully sculpted short blonde hair and a classic Scandinavian face.
My father had already briefed her somehow, and once again I marveled at how thorough–and fast–he’d been. The doctor asked to see the documents my aunt had received in the FedEx package, and had her receptionist make copies while she asked some basic contact information. I briefly wondered if the thick file she held was about me, but dismissed the thought; after all, we had just dropped in so I figured it was somebody else’s file and she was just using it to write on. Aunt Margaret mentioned the sleeping Cindy and wakening Larry, so Dr. Jansen asked if I could give fluid samples while she spoke with my aunt.
Her receptionist was also a nurse; she directed me to a tiny bathroom where I gave urine. The container was left on a little shelf, I washed up and I came back out. The nurse nodded to a chair; I sat and she drew blood, swabbed my cheek, and even clipped a bit of hair that she put in a tube. She smiled and told me to wait until the doctor was ready for me.
Once again, I found myself reading hospital magazines, but these at least were hipper–there was even an old Glamour among them. It took nearly twenty minutes, but my aunt came out with the doctor and told me she was heading up to see Larry. When Dr. Janssen was finished, her receptionist would call the nurse where Larry was and we’d all meet. I told my aunt I loved her and I hoped Larry was doing great, then followed Dr. Janssen into her office.
And then there was the typical physical exam. Dr. Jansen said it was best to get the awkwardness out of the way first and I supposed it made sense. There was a small examination room next to her office and I undressed. I was a little embarrassed to be seen in girl’s underclothes, but wanted to slap myself for that silly thought–what else should I be wearing? It was only when my penis swung free into her hands that I nearly shivered with humiliation. She dispassionately examined it and felt around between my legs, then told me to get dressed and we washed up and went back into her main office.
Her nurse had brought in my fluid results, and Dr. Jansen said I could ‘get composed’ while she checked them and murmured something about ‘great new gadgets’ so I guess the process used to take longer; I had no way of knowing. She flipped some pages, nodded, flipped, nodded, made some quick notes and then sat back and smiled at me.
So we began the personal interview. Many of the questions she asked were about things I’d been asking myself, and her responses to my responses were surprisingly similar to the thoughts and conclusions I’d been coming to on my own. I was surprised that we did some word games, and some ‘describe the picture’ type things, then the doctor and I discussed her preliminary conclusions.
What it boiled down to was that she thought we were pursuing the right course: letting me spend some time in the female gender–she was careful to separate ‘sex’ and ‘gender’, explaining her definitions–and then have a major evaluation at the end of summer. I was initially surprised that things had moved so quickly–and without an appointment, no less!–until she reminded me that my parents had already contacted her directly, and a lot of information had already been passed for her to study, as well as medical and insurance information. The large file was mine, of course; I was staggered–until I remembered how incredibly efficient my father and mother are. Dr. Jansen and I would have met in the next week anyway, apparently; she was going to phone me for an appointment but our drop-in had forestalled that. She was very interested to meet me at last and also with Aunt Margaret, and had pleasantly surprised me with her knowledge of my situation. Dr. Janssen, I discovered, was full of surprises.
“If you are willing, I would like to take the next step that usually wouldn’t occur until many months of study,” she said while she studied my eyes.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. I mean, we just dropped in today to schedule an appointment. And thank you again for seeing us.”
“Of course, but we were going to meet sooner or later; it just happened sooner. I’ve actually been studying you for awhile now,” she said, indicating the file. “Now that I’ve finally met you, I think we should proceed. Susan, you’re a very unusual case. The literature has only a very few case studies of someone as young as you who assimilated so quickly. Amazingly quickly, actually, and amazingly fully, as far as I can determine. And the … ‘neuter’ state, as you called it, is also extremely interesting and little-researched. To the casual observer, you’re a normal girl, in every way.”
“Thank you, ma’am, and I hope that’s what I become!”
She laughed good-naturedly. “That may very well be. Well, what I propose is this: I’d like to start you out on hormone replacement therapy right away to see how you adapt, physically as well as emotionally. I must explain that I have already spoken with your parents about this, and I have informed the hospital as well. It is rather radical but there are …factors in your case that will allow us to proceed.”
Dr. Jensen looked at my file as I wondered what the ‘factors’ were; judging from the thickness of my file, there must be reports from my regular doctors, maybe school information as well. Suddenly it struck me that my parents couldn’t possibly have collected and transmitted all that information in the short time since I first told them about becoming Susan. The only explanation was that they’d already been gathering it–maybe for years–and had copied the files over to Dr. Jansen; which meant that they’d known, or suspected …and never said anything to me?
But all I said was a polite, “Yes, doctor.”
Dr. Jansen folded her arms and gave me a direct look. “I said ‘hormone replacement’ but that’s a misnomer, particularly in your case. We are considering this approach: First, a shot we call an ‘androgen blocker’, that will put any further male puberty in suspension. Stop any masculine development in its tracks.”
“That sounds …really good, doctor!” I smiled. “I’ve actually, uh, been reading about this.” On her look, I explained, “Our neighbor at the lake has an internet connection. She’s a psychology major and has helped me find information on being transgender.”
She nodded, but there was still a frown. “I would caution you to …not necessarily believe everything you read on the subject, especially on the internet.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said automatically. “I mean, no, doctor. I mean …”
She chuckled at my confusion. “Let me tell you about Nebraska.” She waited.
I frowned, totally confused.
Once she knew she had my complete attention–although completely lost–she chuckled. “One article on the internet about Nebraska may be completely factual. Population, square miles, major crops, and so on. Another article about Nebraska may have been copied from the first and is mostly correct but spells Omaha wrong. Several other articles, copied from the second article, all continue to spell Omaha wrong. And then there’s the article written by somebody that hates Nebraska and slants everything negatively.”
“Why would they hate Nebraska?” I asked without thinking.
She shrugged. “Maybe they got a speeding ticket there; who knows? The point is that among the internet you can find objective, factually correct information …but how do you know which is which?” She chuckled. “All of which is my long-winded way to tell you to beware of info on the net. It’s good that you have an older guide, your neighbor, but I will provide you with a list of sites that have the correct information you need.”
“Thank you, Dr. Jansen. And …am I right in thinking that you’ve spoken in detail with my parents already? They seemed to get awfully knowledgeable awfully fast.”
“Yes, I have, and with your aunt as well,” she nodded towards the door. “So this is a first face-to-face for you and I, but I have already begun the evaluation. Which allows me to proceed quickly. Ordinarily you would receive the androgen blocker and then there’d be months of evaluation before the next step. But as studies of youthful transgender patients have indicated, we can perhaps be a bit more proactive. And I’ve received authorization from the hospital to follow this path. So I am proposing that you receive the blocker, and then we will begin trying different …I’ll just say flavors of hormones. Different mixes, too.”
I thought my smile couldn’t be any wider. “Yes, doctor! Thank you!”
Dr. Jansen raised a cautionary finger. “However, you must understand three conditions: First of all, you must specifically request in writing that we proceed with this course of action, and that you accept all the conditions.”
I nodded, but felt the warmth building up inside of me; a warmth of happiness at a new hope.
“The second condition is that it will be a blind test. You will not know when you are receiving hormones and when you are receiving a placebo, and you will not know the dosage, which will vary. And at some point we may discontinue medication for a period of evaluation. Understood?”
I said, “Yes, but we are talking about female hormones, right?”
“Yes, for the most part. We may also try some male hormones as well.”
“I don’t know if I’d like that. Besides, don’t I already have male hormones?”
“That’s part of what we need to check out; it may be that your hormones–specifically, how your body processes the hormones your body manufactures–are lacking in one or more areas. I can verify that through the blood work up to some extent, but I may want to try some synthetic male hormones. But don’t worry that it’ll turn you into a macho man; remember that every human–every human, male and female–has a mix of both male and female hormones. And many women receive controlled doses of testosterone and other male hormones to even out their chemical balance, and are completely feminine, normal women. Okay?”
“Well, I agree, but kind of nervously, you understand.”
“I do. And the third condition is that you keep a journal, and you must be absolutely truthful with me regarding the effects on you. This is vital. Don’t think, ‘Oh, I’ll just tell her feminine things and I’ll get to be a girl’ because you’ll never know what medication you’re receiving, and I have to know exactly what you’re thinking and feeling to adjust your dosage properly. You may in fact be injuring yourself and your hopes by reporting false or nonexistent data. So if you’re feeling feminine and vulnerable, I need to know. If you’re feeling clumsy and stupid, I need to know. If you feel attracted to boys, I need to know, as well as if you feel attracted to girls. That means I’ll need to know your fantasies and dreams. Now this next part can get very embarrassing for you. If you masturbate, I need to know precisely what you’re thinking. And the results. Do you understand?”
“Actually, I do. I mean, I understand!” I blushed. “Dr. Janssen, I don’t masturbate. I never have. And I’m not lying about this because I know everybody lies about it, but I’m not everybody! I know what it is, and what wet dreams are, but I’ve never, ever done it. Or had a wet dream. I think it might be …well, because it’s a sexual thing, and I haven’t sexual thoughts. I’ve never thought about sex with either boys or girls …but that may change; hopefully, I’m growing up. And if it does change, I’ll tell you, I promise. And I promise to be truthful always. That means I can tell you that right now, I don’t really know how I feel about some things; I can feel this little war inside me between what I feel and what I think I’m supposed to feel. I’ll try to make them both clear to you, okay?
She agreed with a smile, and we set up a loose schedule for follow-up appointments. She had an email address so I could contact her through Bonnie’s computer; that would probably work out better than trying to get her on the phone. Her receptionist brought in forms and witnessed while we signed, then left to make copies. I wasn’t surprised that Aunt Margaret had already signed her approval, and in my file they already had the letters from my father and the one granting Aunt Margaret my medical supervision. To my further surprise, Dr. Janssen asked me to pull down my shorts; she prepared a whopping big syringe and shot me in the hip, then a second shot in the other hip. I pulled my shorts up and she handed me a couple of prescription sheets, reminded me to start the journal, told me she’d see me again in a week, told me I might want some ibuprofen if my hips were sore tonight, shook my hand, smiled warmly, and it was over.
Aunt Margaret and Cindy were waiting for me; Dr. Janssen’s receptionist had been in touch and they were already done. My aunt smiled and hugged me; she knew what had been done even without me telling her. But then she apologized that we wouldn’t have time to do any serious shopping. I told her that was fine with me; I hadn’t expected to see the doctor and besides, I didn’t want Cindy to overdo it and get sick again. I was anxious to hear about Larry; she said he was doing better but the doctors said he would have to stay several more weeks, while they assessed his organs’ functions. Then they wanted to know all about me, and I told them a condensed version of everything that had gone on. I was still amazed at how quickly it had all happened, but was so excited I imagined I could feel my breasts start to tingle and grow already! Wishful thinking, I knew, but I was determined to stay on this course. And my parents knew all about it and approved!
We drove home tired, but I was excited about the shot and sat in the back seat thinking about breasts. I’d never really thought about them before as a boy; I mean, I had never been interested in girls. Basically, anything to do with girls had been blanked out–they just didn’t register. Of course, I now suspected it was because my mind was protecting me from contemplating my own gender. So now that I’d made the change to Susan, and had no doubts at all about my preferred gender, it was time to start thinking about breasts.
I’d already learned that there was so much more to being a woman than a pair of breasts; I’d read about teenage boys with gynecomastia that developed breasts and never for a moment stopped thinking and feeling that they were boys. I also figured out that women who’d lost their breasts through mastectomies were still fully female. Breasts alone didn’t make a woman, but, oh God! I wanted my own now!
Thinking about Cindy and other girls I knew back home, I remembered how thrilled they were when those bumps appeared in their t-shirts. The bumps were followed by curves and suddenly the tomboy bodies disappeared, replaced by curvy young women learning about womanhood. It was a definite threshold, a boundary between two ages. I’d taken a ballroom dancing class, like for a cotillion sort of thing–was dragged to it by my mother, actually–and remembered how the girls on either side of that threshold felt different. When I recalled those classes, I didn’t really remember what I’d worn beyond a dark suit and white shirt, and I couldn’t remember what any of the other boys wore; probably the same thing and they all blurred together. I couldn’t even remember any other boys’ names! But as I thought about the class, I could easily remember–and see–Debbie’s green dress, or Veronica’s cute white gloves, or the sprig of flowers in Jennifer’s hair that matched her blue dress. It seemed like even my memories were girlish–I’d just never registered them as such.
I knew that I would be just like them; that I would be excited and proud of my new bumps when they came–and I’d probably a pain in the neck about them, like other girls! They would make me a target for male eyes, too, and I still wasn’t sure where that thought was going, so I shelved it for the moment. I just knew that I was so looking forward to the first time I placed a snugly-fitting bra over my very own breasts!
End of Part 7
I knew that I would be just like the girls I knew, excited and proud of my new bumps when they came–and I’d probably a pain in the neck about them, like other girls. They would make me a target for male eyes, too, and I still wasn’t sure where that thought was going, so I shelved it for the moment. I just knew that I was so looking forward to the first time I placed a snugly-fitting bra over my very own breasts!
The next day was my thirteenth birthday. It had been in the back of my mind for awhile–especially once all the changes started–and decided that not only was it a bridge from ‘pre-teen’ to ‘teenage’, but from boy to girl. For some fuzzy reason, I decided to make the transition during the day so everyone could see and share the change. So, the night before I dug around and found some of my old clothes–Stuart’s old clothes–and wore an old t-shirt and shorts to sleep. Although I knew that many girls wore the same thing, I knew these were definitely boy’s clothes, and the clothes still felt rough and weird after my recent nights in a nightgown. I knew that I’d return to nighties from that next night on, and I felt better.
I went downstairs to see everybody already up and sitting around the table. They’d finished breakfast but were sitting around with coffee or juice. They turned towards me with smiles, which got kind of strained when they saw me. My aunt came up to me.
“Are you ...okay?” she asked hesitantly.
I smiled at her and touched her upper arm. “Of course, Aunt Margaret. You mean the way I’m dressed?”
“Yes, well ...are you ...I don’t know what to say. Uh, besides …‘happy birthday’, I guess.”
I hadn’t figured on such confusion. “Technically, my birthday will be around 1:34 this afternoon, when I was born. I thought I’d combine my last morning as a twelve-year old with my last morning as a ‘boy’,” I grinned, using ‘air quotes’ with my fingers.
Her face changed quickly to a smile, then a frown. “That’s wonderful, honey ...I mean, have you told anyone?”
“No. Truth be told, I didn’t think it up until late last night.”
“Well, be prepared for weirdness, then.” She gave me a knowing look and led the way to the breakfast table.
My uncle looked at me over the rim of his coffee cup. “Rejoining the superior race?”
Chuck looked over at him and slowly ‘got it’, following his father’s lead. “Yeah! Cool! Now you can cut that faggy hair!”
I glanced at my aunt; she was tight-lipped with anger. She placed a glass of orange juice in front of me, and I looked over at Cindy, who seemed anxious.
I took a sip of the juice, then broke the silence. “I didn’t think this would weird everybody out. I just thought I would …just spend my last morning as a twelve-year old and as a ‘boy’.” I did the air quote thing again.
There was a pause, then my uncle said, “Did you mean ...spend your last morning as a boy, too? Did I understand that correctly?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered him respectfully.
He stared at me for a moment.
I knew that it had gone horribly wrong. I sagged. “Gee, I thought it would be, kinda like …that was then, this is now, you know? I’ve just spent all the years leading up to being a teenager trying to–pretending to–be a boy. Now I don’t have to pretend, so at 1:34 this afternoon, I put the fake boy and tween years behind.”
Cindy said, “And you become a teenage girl. Makes sense to me!” She grinned her support.
I said, “I really didn’t want to weird everybody out. I thought you’d laugh, actually.”
My uncle said, “Not in the laughing mood.”
“I understand, sir,” I nodded, my head down in shame.
Cindy said, “Daddy, do you think she looks like a boy? I get what she was trying to do.”
He was still staring at me. “Last morning as a boy?” he repeated in a murmur. Then he nodded. “Fine,” and got up to go out.
Chuck looked from me to his dad, back to me, then to his mom, then got up and followed his dad, echoing, “Fine.”
My aunt let out a ‘whoosh’ of breath. “That was ...a different breakfast.”
Cindy burst out laughing. “Geez, Sue, what did you think they’d do?”
My aunt set down some melon and toast as I said, “I really thought it was obvious. But it was a really bad idea I had late at night. I just thought–”
“You just thought you needed a rite of passage, huh?” asked Aunt Margaret.
I nodded.
She smiled. Then her face changed and she looked off with a sigh. “So many societies, cultures …Like the, what were they, the Okiek, and, oh …in Papua, was it the Sambia? Oh dear; I’ve forgotten most of what I used to know.” She motioned to my food. “Eat your breakfast, honey, while I try to remember.”
She poured another cup of coffee and joined us at the table, and began a surprisingly detailed explanation of tribal rites of passage among Pacific Rim tribes, then among African tribesmen (and women), then among the Kwakiutl Indians of North America. Whew! If she truly had forgotten most of what she used to know, she must have been a mega-brain! Cindy zoned out the first time my aunt switched continents, so after she got up to rinse out her glass, she drifted out to the porch while I stayed glued to the table with my aunt. Listening to her was like I’d hit the anthropology web page jackpot on the Net!
My aunt paused to reheat her coffee–she’d only taken one sip before her lecture–and then switched to changes of sex or gender among North American Indians, talking about shamans and people called ‘berdaches’. Finally she wound down with, “And that brings us around full circle to you!” Then she took her second sip of coffee.
I stared at her for a moment, then said, “Good thing I didn’t wear the work shirt and jeans!”
She cracked up, reached out and patted my arm, and looked at me appraisingly for a moment. She said, “So you’re to be Susan, right? No looking back?”
“No looking back,” I said with a smile. “I’m Susan, now and forever. A girl.” Then I grinned hugely. “Like a girl puppy–I’ve got my shots and papers to prove it!”
Then my aunt said those three words every girl loves to hear: ‘Let’s go shopping!’
Actually, she said, “I think we’re all agreed that your rite of passage–at least the ‘boy’ portion–has made its point. Time to dress like you want, and maybe we’ll do a spot of shopping?”
What happened next was an absolute whirlwind, and I had never been so happy and excited for so long a time. My aunt had been planning it all out, and it went like clockwork. Cindy pretty much handed me what to wear, reminding me that the purpose was to make things easy to change while we shopped for my new clothes. Still, I was thrilled to be wearing a simple denim skirt and sandals with a pretty sleeveless yellow blouse with little sprigs of white flowers. Cindy dressed, quickly brushed my hair and we did jewelry and a bit of lipgloss and ran down to join my aunt.
The guys were happy in the garage, of course, so ‘we ladies’ went to Crescent Beach Mall, and to my surprise the first thing Aunt Margaret did was lead us into a Barnes Noble bookstore. We followed her to the magazine section and picked out the newest teen fashion magazines besides the ones Cindy got–and especially ones about hairstyles. I hadn’t even known they had whole magazines with nothing but hairstyles! Then we headed to the Food Court and got some smoothies–with some extra protein powder thrown in–and sat down. I was nearly itching with anticipation, but Aunt Margaret said we needed extra fuel for a good shopping spree, and we needed to look through the magazines picking out hair and clothing styles that might suit me.
When we were done, she took us to a salon and introduced me to Carol, the owner. Aunt Margaret had already talked to Carol about me and confirmed the appointment while she’d been waiting for Larry to wake up. I was amazed at her efficiency, but then I thought about how efficient my father was, and they were brother and sister–the anthropology lecture this morning should have reminded me of how sharp they were! Aunt Margaret and Cindy were going to do some shopping and would come back for me, so I was on my own. I was scared at first that Carol might discover that I wasn’t a real girl, but apparently she already knew or didn’t care–but she did tell me that I was very pretty, and my heart soared! Carol took me under her wing and introduced me to Kim, a pretty Japanese girl, who would attend to everything that Carol didn’t handle personally.
First we discussed the cut based on one of the magazine pictures we’d chosen, as they took strands of my hair and moved them this way and that. Kim opened a style portfolio on my lap, and we selected a fairly basic style that was similar to the magazine, and that would look great down, up, tied back, whatever. Our choices were somewhat limited because although my hair was down to my shoulders, it was really just a boy’s cut that had grown out, and there wasn’t enough overall hair to get really stylish. The cut we selected would trim a bit for split ends and evenness, and would grow out nicely and I would never again look like a long-haired boy.
Kim shampooed me and then it turned out they’d decided to lighten my hair; it was pretty much dirty blond, and now I would be a true blonde. I was excited and a bit apprehensive about that. While Carol did the coloring, Kim attended to my nails, tut-tutting at how amateurishly they’d been done. She worked on the cuticles while we discussed acrylic nails, but decided there was good strength and a bit of length in my own nails; they would be short but just needed shaping. I could always go with acrylics later; I was glad we delayed because it was summer and shorter nails seemed to make more sense. Also, I wasn’t sure I could use my fingers very well with long nails and wanted to ease into it. We talked about nail polish colors, and although Kim didn’t care for the brand of polish I’d used, she said it was a good color choice for my age and coloring. She put some fantastic professional polish on, with the same bluish shimmer that looked like expensive mother-of-pearl. I told her I wanted to buy a bottle, and she said I could, but only after she taught me how to apply it properly. So I studied her technique, and realized again just how little I knew about even basic things and how much I had to learn.
Carol brought up the subject of pierced ears; I told her they were almost more than I could wish for. She replied, “Wish away!” and pulled out a gadget. First she sterilized my lobes and then shot me with the gadget. There was a rubbery feeling and a ‘pop’ sound and that moment of pain was worth it–I had pierced ears! She told me about hygiene with my new gold studs, and gave me a pair of small hoops to put in later; it was a 2-for-1 package deal, she said. Next she studied my forehead and I realized she was analyzing my eyebrows. She spread some goop on them, and I startled and let out a little ‘yow!’ as she ripped and then tweezed and so my brows were shaped, too. I began wondering how much all this was costing Aunt Margaret, then remembered that my parents had sent money for all this, so I might as well relax and enjoy it!
The coloring was done, the cut proceeded, and I felt deliciously feminine and pampered. If this was what ‘going to the beauty parlor’ meant, then no wonder why it meant so much to so many women! What was frustrating was that Carol and Kim wouldn’t let me see the mirror; I could get a glimpse from shiny surfaces here and there but the two of them were working on me and moving around so I couldn’t see myself clearly.
After an eternity of comb-outs, snipping strays, patting and pushing and poufing, they stood back and looked at me. I figured they were pleased because they looked at each other and smiled, then spun my chair a bit and cleared the path to the mirror. I was shocked, stunned ...I didn’t have enough words to say it. I was pretty! Well, more than pretty, if I was honest about it–I looked great! My hair was sunny blonde now, and was in a simple style that swept up from a side part. But it flowed out and down toward my chin and had a nice clean line below the collar, and, and–it just looked great! My eyebrows …were a girl’s eyebrows; they started farther away from my nose and just flowed in a graceful thin arch and made my eyes look huge–and feminine. Since they didn’t do anything to my eyes, of course, I realized my eyes had always looked like that–like a girl’s eyes.
That thought made me pause for a moment, remembering Dr. Jansen’s thick file–just how feminine was Stuart, and why had I not known? I put the thought away and went back to staring at–the girl in the mirror.
The hair and nails and eyebrows were great, but best of all were the two gold studs winking at me from my newly pierced ears. As I moved my hands to my hair, the light caught the new nail polish and I just had to marvel at how pretty I was! I told them how pleased I was, and Carol pointed out that since I didn’t have a lick of makeup on, imagine how great I’d look once I was made up. That was almost too much to contemplate. The most important thing was that there was no way on earth anyone would see me and think I was a boy. Even if I wore the ‘work shirt and jeans’ that I’d teased Aunt Margaret about, I would look like a girl.
I heard gasps from behind me and Kim swung me around to see Aunt Margaret and Cindy, who loved my hair style and the whole job–Cindy was squealing with glee and bouncing up and down while my aunt just beamed. I could also detect a little sadness in her smile, and I think it was because this is how I should have been all along; I should have been born a girl and we all knew it.
My aunt settled up with Carol and Kim–and I couldn’t resist hugging them when I thanked them–and told me that they’d stuck their purchases in the car and now it was my turn. I felt so much more a real girl now, and I’m afraid I might have been too obvious checking out my reflection in anything shiny. Cindy punched my arm playfully and said, “Lots better than a regular boy’s cut, huh?” and we got a giggle attack.
My aunt smiled at us.“Susan, there’s no way–absolutely no way–that anyone will believe that you haven’t been a real girl all of your life, unless you tell them. And even then, they probably won’t believe you. So when we go into these stores, you can be totally confident that no one will suspect your secret, okay?”
I nodded and just had to hug her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m so happy right now I can’t believe there’s more to come!”
Cindy laughed. “Has to be! It’s your birthday, Sue! Girls share clothes, but you can’t go on wearing my things. Remember what we talked about having our own style? Well, yours starts today.”
We headed for a department store and decided to start with the ‘inner girl’ by a trip to the Juniors’ lingerie section. I was dazzled at the selection of bras, panties, nighties, camisoles, and everything else, and deferred to my aunt’s knowledge. We bought many pairs of panties in all colors; mostly bikini and some ‘boy-cut’. She bought a couple of training bras–which really excited me–in cotton but also in satin. Some undershirts, some camisoles, and some nighties completed the purchase; my aunt told the clerk an easy lie about ‘the airlines losing her niece’s luggage’. That’s right, I realized; I’m definitely a niece now! I’d have to get used to the pronoun changes, as well, like ‘she’ and ‘her’ and loved hearing them. So much to learn and remember!
Fortunately for us, Lingerie and the regular Juniors section were on two different areas on the same floor so we wouldn’t arouse suspicions by buying so many clothes at once, even with the luggage story. My aunt said she’d called the credit department ahead of time, informing them that there would be some major purchasing done. She didn’t miss a trick! She asked me what I’d like to wear while I was changing; I realized she meant I could wear some of my new lingerie. We chose a very light yellow pair of panties and Aunt Margaret handed me the cotton training bra. I looked at her guiltily but she smiled and said I might as well start getting used to it–I was a growing teenaged girl and I would be wearing bras. I went into a Ladies’ restroom to change and realized that I’d never been in one before. It was a lounge? With a couch? Great mirrors and shelves? Wow!
My aunt was amused at my awe, and handed me the packages with my new underthings. She’d even brought a bag for my current underclothes–which were Cindy’s, really. I went into a stall, found that I had to pee, then changed. To pull on panties that were brand new and totally mine was ecstasy, and putting on the bra was a whole new thrill. I’d worn the top of Cindy’s two-piece, but this was more intimate and feminine and mine! Then I pulled on my skirt and buttoned my blouse and came out, washed, checked my hair and once more marveled at Carol’s work. Then we headed off to the Juniors section.
Of course, I wanted absolutely everything, but we’d been talking about starting slowly with essentials and focusing on summer clothes–no velvet evening gowns yet!–and not try to do it all in one trip. My aunt joked that the car couldn’t hold much more, anyway. It seems like I did, in fact, try absolutely everything on. We bought a number of tops in a number of colors and styles; we bought shorts and some jeans; we bought a cute little white sweater; we bought denim skirts and some sun dresses–I had a special love for sun dresses already–and finally two swim suits of my very own. One was a hot pink racing-back suit, and the other was a blue Hawaiian print bikini that I was really excited about. Since I’d felt ‘numb’ most of my life, I couldn’t say ‘I’d wanted a bikini all of my life’ but the feeling was there, waiting to be discovered, and I wondered what else I’d discover was laying dormant in me.
We told them to hold everything–my aunt had done the same story about lost luggage–while we went to the shoe department. I got some low white sneakers; some sandals, including white strappies with a heel; some flats; a pair of mules; and some slippers. Whew!
I was swamped with all the variety, learning so many new words–like ‘strappies’–but also clothing concepts or subdivisions or whatever they were called, that I’d never dreamed of–like pretty, feminine panties that were actually called ‘boy-cut’? And ‘boardwalk, city, Bermuda, Hampton, Daisy Dukes, and walking’ were just some types of shorts–not to mention skorts and culottes!
By the end, it took all three of us two trips to the car to get it all in. Thank goodness my cousins had a station wagon or we’d never have gotten everything in there! We’d decided to do ‘one-stop shopping’ at the department store and maybe some time later come back to visit other stores and boutiques, but this was more than enough for one day and we were exhausted.
Once we were on our way, my aunt and Cindy surprised me yet again. I suddenly thought about, well, ‘girl’ things like soap and deodorant, as well as makeup, and mentioned that. It turned out that while Carol and Kim were working their magic, Cindy had helped my aunt pick up some basic toiletries, makeup, and a makeup brush kit, so I supposed I was ready. One other thing: Cindy had realized I’d need to take everything home with me and my aunt had found two flattened rolling duffel bags that should hold all of my new things at the end of summer. Their thoughtfulness overwhelmed me and I got teary while thanking them, and wished that I could do something for them in return. My aunt told me ‘just be the best girl you can be.’ I did get to do a cool thing: When I was trying on swim suits, Cindy fell in love with a green halter-top two-piece, and so I asked Aunt Margaret if we could add it to my bill. That earned me a smile and hug from my aunt and a big hug from Cindy. It felt nice to do it for her; besides, I thought, that’s what girlfriends do for each other.
We drove straight back home in the early evening, too tired to talk, and decided to take Uncle Jack and Chuck out to dinner if they’d clean up. I thought it was maybe a strategic move; Aunt Margaret reminded me it was my birthday, but then she told me it was also important to bond the family back together, as much as we could while poor Larry was still in the hospital. When we pulled into the driveway, neither my uncle or cousin were anywhere to be seen. We pulled the first load of bags into the cabin, and a note on the kitchen table said they were a couple of cabins away, ‘checking out a new outboard’. Cindy grinned and asked if I wanted to join them; I was too tired to punch her arm so I just grinned back and shook my head.
Aunt Margaret chuckled and said that it was for the best that they were away, so they couldn’t razz us about how many bags we had. We got all the bags in the cabin, and got them sorted by owner. Needless to say, I had a ton of new clothes to put away, and it was all casual clothes that folded neatly. I’d tried most of them on at the store, but my aunt told me to quickly try on the other and gave me a seam ripper to remove tags if they fit, and I had a whole bag of tags and stuffing from the clothes. It was while I was removing the tag from one of the nighties that it hit me–these were all mine! No scruffy jeans, sweaty t-shirts, heavy boots. No boy clothes; they were all girl clothes. Wow! If I hadn’t been sitting on my bed the thought would have floored me. There was a very small desk with a mirror over it that Cindy had used as a vanity last year. Looking in the mirror, I saw a pretty blonde girl holding up her lingerie. Amazing. After a few minutes, as the impact sunk in, I continued putting things away. I couldn’t believe it; I had a lingerie drawer! And a vanity–however small, it was a start.
I went through the bags of toiletries that my aunt and Cindy had gotten and put things away. I noticed that Cindy had picked up the same kind of makeup she’d used on me, so we each had our own set, in slightly different colors. That was cool. I arranged the brushes and makeup paraphernalia, and a little cosmetics bag that came with it all would do for holding my feminine toiletries–I wanted to say it over and over: ‘My Feminine Toiletries’–when I took a shower. Finally, I arranged the shoes, mostly sandals and flats, in the tiny closet and sat back on the bed, giddy but exhausted. But I had to see what was up, so I headed downstairs. My hips were a little sore from where I’d had the shots, and I thought about what the hormones might do to me. In the activity of the day I’d completely forgotten about my visit with the doctor.
I nearly made it to the kitchen before running into Aunt Margaret, who shooed me upstairs.
“Quick, Sue, don’t let them see you!”
“Why not?” I asked, worried, as I walked back upstairs.
“Not in casual clothes or they’ll use it as an excuse to not get dressed up! We’re going out to dinner at Malone’s for your birthday, not that they deserve it,” she mock-grumbled. “They’re hitting the shower now. Meanwhile, you get dressed in, um, how about that sundress with the big cabbage roses?”
She’d named the sundress that was my favorite of the day’s purchases; Malone’s was a steak house and you had to be a little dressy. I immediately began thinking about which shoes would match; probably the white strappy sandals, but I didn’t know if I trusted myself walking in low heels yet. I had to chuckle how quickly I’d gone into the feminine role, immediately thinking about matching shoes! I went into my room, sat at my vanity–that’s what I was going to call it–and used some astringent to clean my face. I didn’t need to do anything with my hair, and I didn’t really know how to apply makeup yet, so I took off my clothes, put them in the hamper and stood for a moment in my bedroom wearing only my bra and panties. It felt good. It felt more than good; it felt right. After not knowing who or what I was for so long, I finally knew who and what I was and was going to be from now on–Susan, a bright, pretty teenaged girl.
I pulled the sundress out of the closet and pulled it over my head, taking care not to ruffle my hair, although it was such a great style it would look good no matter what. I sat on the bed and tried on the white strappies, and began tentatively walking around my room when Cindy knocked. I told her to come in, and she stared at me.
“What are you doing? Practicing for Miss America?” she laughed.
“No, just practicing walking, thank you very much. It’s harder than I thought!”
She reached out to steady me as I tipped slightly. She was wearing a lovely rose shell with spaghetti straps under a darker rose sweater, and a dark gray skirt. I noticed she had low heels, too. She noticed my noticing.
“Yeah, I know, but you get used to it with practice. Tell you what, walk over there and face me.”
I followed her instructions, tipping and swaying a bit.
“Okay, now look right in my face, say the Pledge of Allegiance, and walk to me.”
“Are you nuts? Why the Pledge of Allegiance?”
“No, I’m not nuts and just do what I say.”
Feeling foolish, I looked her right in the eye and said the whole “I pledge allegiance ...” and walked right up to her without any problems whatsoever.
I stared at her. “Wow! Genius! Where’d you learn that?”
“Mom made me do a few months of modeling school until Daddy said it cost too much. But I learned some tricks; that was one of ‘em. You were just concentrating too hard. Nobody can look at their feet, think about each step, and walk naturally! The trick is to just forget about it, keep your eyes forward and keep good posture, and do it.”
I tried it a few more times back and forth, and she was right; it was far easier than I’d thought. Plus, I could feel the slight tightening in my calves from the low heel, and began dreaming about how high heels would really make my legs look great ...
Cindy had come to help me with makeup. Just minimal, some powder, blush, mascara and lipgloss. I didn’t look ‘made up’ but I did look even prettier, and wasn’t that the whole point? She’d found a bottle of Sunwater for me and I giggled when she sprayed me, telling me the best places to put scent.
“Why’d you giggle?” she asked as she added a dab to her locket spot.
“Just that …the first time Chuck saw me–when he came back, I mean–I had this on. I probably smelled like you.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Allowing for different body chemistry, yeah, I think you’re right. Probably weirded him out.”
“And that’s why I giggled,” I explained.
She gave me a wicked look. “Probably majorly scrambled some of his circuits–what circuits he has! Guys have no idea how powerful scent is.”
I nodded. “Might be partially why he seemed to accept me as Susan so quickly.”
“He accepted you as Susan so quickly because you are Susan,” Cindy said simply. Then she smiled at me and reached in her pocket and pulled out the gold chain necklace she’d loaned me.
“Here. I want you to have it.”
“Oh, Cindy, I couldn’t ...”
“Of course you can. Yeah, you can go to the mall and buy one of your own, but I wanted you to have this one, from me. It looked so good on you when you first put it on, and I just think you should have it.”
“Oh, Cindy ...” I reached out and hugged her. I’d probably done more hugging in the last few days than I’d done my entire life, but that’s what girls do, I thought. And I was glad to do it. And it felt right.
We could hear Aunt Margaret calling, ‘Cindy! Susie!’ from downstairs. It was such a thrill to hear my name called loudly and openly. I grabbed my little white sweater and we walked down, Cindy in the lead, to see the two guys in light sweaters and slacks, their hair still wet from their showers. Without any exaggeration, I can truthfully say they were speechless when they saw me. I mean, literally; their mouths opened and closed twice before they could say anything.
“Susie! You’re ...really pretty!” Uncle Jack said, shocked at himself. “It’s hard to believe you ever were a boy!”
“Jack!” Aunt Margaret said, reprovingly.
I clenched inwardly and wondered if Chuck had noticed the slip-up. Instead, my uncle corrected himself.
“Oh come on, you know what I mean! Hard to believe she ever tried to be a boy! Is that better?” he said, turning to my aunt. “Geez, grammar coach!”
She nodded. “Not only right, that’s the truth. Chuck, what’s the matter with you?”
Chuck was still staring.
I stood with my hands demurely folded together in front of my lap, and leaned forward slightly. “Chuck? You okay?” I asked as sweetly as I could.
Chuck kind of shook himself. “Oh ...yeah. I’m fine. Wow, Susie, ...wow!”
Uncle Jack, Aunt Margaret, and Cindy all looked at Chuck and then at each other and began to laugh.
“Okay, now that we’ve established that Susan is ‘wow’, can we eat?” Uncle Jack said between laughs.
We headed out to the car, and believe it or not, Chuck held the door open for me.
End of Part 8
“Chuck? You okay?” I asked as sweetly as I could.
Chuck kind of shook himself. “Oh ...yeah. I’m fine. Wow, Susie, ...wow!”
Uncle Jack, Aunt Margaret, and Cindy all looked at Chuck and then at each other and began to laugh. “Okay, now that we’ve established that Susan is ‘wow’, can we eat?” Uncle Jack said between laughs.
We headed out to the car, and believe it or not, Chuck held the door open for me.
Dinner was very strange. On one level it was an incredible experience, because it was the first time I was totally a girl in public with all of my cousins. Everything was different and new from what I’d experienced as a boy. Doors were held for me, chairs were held for me, the waiter took my order before my uncle’s, and so on. I remembered to order a small portion, with a salad, take small bites, and after dessert Cindy and I went to the Ladies’ room. While we were there, we talked about the cute waiter working two tables away from us.
All during dinner, in the back of my mind I’d been thinking about the new me; if I was going to be a girl outwardly–and I was beginning to think like a girl inwardly–I’d have to go the whole way, and that meant joining Cindy in her mooning about the waiter. Besides, he was kind of cute, now that I thought of it. I realized that I’d have to look at guys differently, and realized instantly that it was incorrect–I’d never really looked at any guys. All of a sudden I found myself looking at their bodies–their butts and arms, faces and hair–and very, very strange feelings started surfacing. Had they always been inside me?
‘Bikini thoughts’, I thought, like the realization that I’d always wanted a bikini even though I’d never known that I wanted a bikini. Thoughts that were buried, suppressed or never used, like gifts under a Christmas tree that had never been opened–but they’d been there for years.
We fixed our makeup; we both realized that, incredibly, in all our shopping we’d forgotten to get me any kind of purse or bag, but Cindy had hers and we shared the contents. We were just finishing when Aunt Margaret came in, used the facilities, and joined us at the mirror.
“My two lovely girls,” she said as she brushed her hair. She gave me a huge smile. “How does it feel, Sue?”
“Fantastic, Aunt Margaret. I can’t describe it very well. It’s all so new and exciting, and yet it also seems to make perfect sense and feel perfectly comfortable. Incredibly …normal. Does that make sense?”
“It does if this is what you were meant to be,” my aunt said with a sad look. “Poor Susan; not fitting in all these years. But at least you know where you belong now, right?”
“Right!” I hugged her.
“Mom, we forgot to get Sue her own purse,” Cindy said.
My aunt stared. “How did we for–” She smiled. “I know how we forgot! It’s because it was just so natural having Susan with us, she’s a girl, girls have purses, therefore, Susie had her purse and we never questioned it.” She chuckled and shook her head. “You’re right, Susan; it’s all so incredibly normal. Well, we’ll remedy the purse situation quickly.”
Cindy got serious for a moment. “Mom, there really isn’t any chance of Sue having to go back to being a boy, is there?”
“Well, it’s a long summer, and anything can happen, but I don’t really think that will happen. Judging from what I’ve seen and heard, I think she’s found her proper place in life.” She beamed at me.
We all agreed, and all freshened up, rejoined the guys, who stood when we walked up. That was, well, nice. We finished up the coffee, paid for dinner, and returned home. It was not that late, but we were exhausted from the day’s activities–I was, especially–and there was a knock at my door. I’d gotten out of my dress, panties and bra and into a new nightgown, a pretty lacy short one with matching panties, but hadn’t taken off my makeup or any jewelry. When I opened the door I was surprised to see my uncle. I blushed and suddenly felt naked in front of him, so I turned to hide my blush and grabbed a new yellow chenille robe we’d bought that day. I hurriedly tied it and sat on my vanity seat, my knees and ankles together, hands in my lap; he stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“I’ve, uh ...I came to say ‘good night’, uh ...” he said slowly, looking somewhere over me and to the right. He didn’t want to say my name.
“Oh, okay. Thanks! Good night, Uncle Jack,” I said with some hesitancy. I had no idea what was on his mind.
“The thing is–” he cleared his throat and started again decisively. “The thing is, I know what the real story is. I mean, about you. Chuck thinks it was all a medical mistake, and that’s okay, but I know the truth.”
“Isn’t ‘a medical mistake’ the truth?”
“You know what I mean. I’ve seen you as a baby; I know you’ve got a di–a penis. For the life of me, I don’t know how you’ve spent summers with us without the boys seeing it, but you’ve got it and that’s that.”
I was afraid that, after all this, he was going to pull the plug on my girlhood. “What do you mean, Uncle Jack?”
“I mean, well, I still don’t know if this is right and all, letting you prance around dressed like ...like that.” He looked at me for the first time and pointed to my robe.
“I’m sorry that you don’t like me–” I began.
“It’s not that I don’t like you, I mean …you’re family, but it just seems against the grain for me. I’m putting a good face on it in front of the others, but I just want you to know I’m having a hard time dealing with it.”
“I understand, Uncle Jack. You want to know something? I’m having a hard time dealing with it, myself.”
He was surprised. “You are?”
“You bet. You think it’s easy suddenly discovering that everything about you is wrong, and having to learn everything new from the other side? It’s really, really weird.”
“You mean you don’t want to dress and act like this?”
“Wanting doesn’t have anything to do with it, like I said. I just am this way. Believe me, it would be a lot simpler for me and everybody else if I wasn’t this way, and was just a regular guy. Or had been born a regular girl.”
He looked thoughtful and slowly said, “I never thought about it that way. All along, I thought you were maybe having a joke at our expense, putting one over on us. You know, gay-boy funny stuff.”
My anger flared up at his ‘gay-boy’ remark, but I kept it under control and decided to keep to the course I’d started. “This may sound weird, but I’m not gay.”
“What do you mean, ‘you’re not gay’? No real man would want to wear that frilly sissy stuff.”
“Right. And that means ...” I was hoping he’d make the connection himself.
“That you don’t want to wear it?” He was confused.
“It’s not wanting to or not. I’m just more comfortable in these clothes–female clothes. Even more than the clothes, I’m just more comfortable as a girl. Face it, I should have been born a girl. Let’s face it, Uncle Jack; I just am not ‘a real man’, am I?”
“No, I can see that. You look so much like a girl like Cindy.”
“So what’s the problem? You’ve got a wonderful daughter that will never be ‘a real man’ and you don’t have trouble with it.”
“But Cindy’s a girl!”
“And so am I! Okay, forget what’s between the legs.” I felt I was on dangerous ground talking this way, but kept going. “If you don’t think about what’s between the legs, how do you know if someone is a boy or a girl?”
“That’s easy. You’re a boy or a girl when you’re born. The doctors tell you.”
This was going to be even harder than I thought. And I thought he’d understood, already!
I took a breath. “Okay. How do they know?”
“Simple. They look between–” He stopped suddenly and stared at me with dawning comprehension. “Oh. I see what you mean. They can’t ask the baby something like, ‘trucks or dolls?’ can they? Like we talked about. Whoa. I never thought about it that way. Well, okay; they could put the baby in a room with toys and stuff and see what the baby goes for. How’s that?”
I nodded slowly, as if I was considering it. “Could work. Baby goes for trucks, it’s a boy. Goes for dolls, a girl. But what if the baby can’t make up its mind? Or doesn’t immediately go to either side?”
“I dunno. Try something else, I guess. Wait a bit.”
“How long? A day? A year? Twelve years?”
Please, I thought, please make the connection, you macho bozo.
“Oh boy. Oh boy.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “Oh boy. Uh ...so I guess that’s …you?”
I nodded. “I’m the little girl that finally wandered over to play with the dolls.” I rather liked the image.
He thought in silence for a long while, and I let him. I turned and picked up my brush and began brushing my hair. I’d seen Cindy and him have conversations like this before bedtime, so I didn’t think it was rude. I also thought it was distinctly feminine image and might help him–but it didn’t have the effect I’d thought.
He looked up. “Please stop that.”
“What?”
“Brushing your hair like that. I’m trying to work this out and there you are looking just like a real girl. Confuses me,” he said, with the start of a grin.
I stopped brushing and laid the brush down and put my hands in my lap. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Uncle Jack.” On purpose, I had used a docile, submissive–and to Uncle Jack, a feminine–tone.
“I know, I know. This is all so strange to me. I just know about men, women, and queers.”
“May I say something, please?” I was angry but cool.
“Go ahead,” he said, surprised I’d asked. I’d asked permission because it would allow me to say what he had to hear. And this was something that had been on my mind for some time–and especially after Cindy pointed out the cute waiters at dinner.
“First of all, ‘queers’ is not a nice word. You mean ‘homosexuals’. So you meant to say three things, ‘men, women, and homosexuals’, right?”
He nodded, thinking I was only correcting his grammar.
“But men who are attracted to women are heterosexual; straight, or ‘normal’ you’d say. Right?” He nodded again, so I went on. “And women who are attracted to men are ‘normal’, too? Straight?” Another nod. “Okay, and men who are attracted to other men are homosexual, and women who are attracted to other women are also homosexual.”
“Yeah, but there aren’t that many women like that.”
I was amazed at the depth of his ignorance. Amazed and dismayed. I was only thirteen and I think I knew more of the real world than my uncle. This might be harder than I’d hoped.
“Okay, Uncle Jack, have you ever heard the word ‘transsexual’?”
“Yeah, they’re the pansies on talk shows.”
Omigod, I thought. Damn you, Springer and Maury and all the rest of the afternoon panderers. No time to educate my uncle now; I’d best stick to the original direction I’d been going and end this gracefully. Maybe in time he’d learn. Tonight it didn’t look like it was going to happen.
“Uncle Jack, I’m not even going to go into talk shows; they’re faked and staged, anyway. Okay, forget about transsexuals. Back to what we were talking about. Men who are attracted to women are ‘normal’ by your definition, right?”
“Sure. Everybody knows that.”
“And ‘normal’ boys want to wear pants and shirts and play with trucks and guns and grow up to wear suits and ties and shave and be the protector and all that, right?”
“Sure. Any normal guy would. Except the shaving; I hate to shave.”
We both chuckled and I was glad he was open to a little humor. Maybe …
I started in again. “Okay, on the other hand, ‘normal’ girls are attracted to boys and want to wear dresses and makeup and play with dolls and lacy things and shop and look pretty and giggle and all that, right?”
I felt crummy, almost a traitor, reducing femininity down to these stereotypes, but I thought it was the only way to reach him–to speak to him in his own Neanderthal language.
“Right.” He wasn’t bothered in the least by the slander on womanhood.
I took the desperate leap. “Uncle Jack, that’s me!”
He stared at me. “But why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you want to wear that stuff and act that way?”
Omigod–we’re right back where we started! “Because I’m a normal girl, Uncle Jack!”
I crossed my arms under my breasts and sat there in frustration, glaring at him. There, it was said and done, and he’d have to think about it or not, accept it or not, but I was tired and he was stupid and it was a bad combination.
He stood there in stunned silence
I closed my eyes and tried one last thing. “Uncle Jack, you said something like ‘no real boy would want to wear pretty clothes and play with dolls and makeup and giggle’ and all that, right?”
He nodded and shrugged as if it were obvious.
“But girls do. And I do. It’s like a math problem. If A equals B and B equals C …”
“Then A equals C. Transitive law,” he said offhandedly.
“So if I–” I pointed to my chest. “–equal dresses, and dresses equals girls, then what?”
“Well, bad grammar aside, then you equal girls,” he said nodding, “but gay-boys wear dresses, too!”
“Uncle Jack, there are all sorts of gay-boys, including professional football players and cowboys, besides the ones you saw in dresses on Springer. The point is, they always know they’re male and want to stay male and don’t want to be female. They’re proud of being male with male minds.”
“Uh …right.” I realized he was struggling with the idea of gay professional football players.
Before he got too distracted, I said, “But I do want to be female–I am female! I saw a doctor who verified, medically, scientifically, that I have a female mind. And my body is about the least male body you’d ever find. It’s like I was supposed to be female but …” I had an idea; I just decided to wing it. “My father’s Y chromosome was just too strong. So I was born with a slightly male body.”
I could see him puff up at the idea of the big, strong, Y chromosome. I kept up with this new attack.
I said, “But I’m too much female; I’m not strong enough to withstand all the female inside of me. So I’m …letting go, and being the female that I truly am. And I’ve got proof.”
“Proof?” He was still mulling over the strong Y chromosome losing out to wussy X chromosomes.
“Proof. Not only the doctor–which should pretty much settle things–but the way you and Chuck treat me. The way you guys treated me tonight. Were you treating me like a gay-boy in a dress? No. You’re smart enough and man enough to recognize that I’m female, just like your wife and daughter. That’s your proof–you already know that I’m female by how you treated me!”
It was an idiotic argument, but considering my audience …
“Yeah, you’re right. We never got any gay vibe from you. You were just like Cindy.”
“That’s because I am just like Cindy, except for one tiny detail.” I took the next part in a rush. “And, oh, Uncle Jack! I’ve seen how you treat Cindy, so gentle and loving, and you know the difference between boys and girls!”
Again, idiotic, but I was throwing anything I could think of at him.
He looked at me for a long time, then nodded slowly.
“I think …maybe I get it. Well, I’ve got some thinking to do. And you’ve got to get to sleep, young–lady.” He grinned and I took this as the most hopeful sign of this silly conversation. “I’m going to talk with Margaret and think about this some more. See you in the morning.” He smiled, closed the door and left me wondering what the future would hold.
I picked up the brush and worked on my hair for many strokes, until I figured a decent amount of time had passed. I picked up my bag, put on my new slippers–they were so pretty, like ballet slippers–and went down to the bathroom. I removed the makeup, washed and moisturized my face. Looking in the mirror, I saw a pretty girl ready for bed. No trace of a boy.
I went back up to find my aunt sitting on the vanity seat. Oh boy, round two, I thought. I put my things down and she turned and smiled.
“Long day, huh, Sue? I won’t keep you long, but I wanted to say some things to you.” I sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded, waiting to be scolded. She shook her head with a laugh. “No, it’s not like that. Go ahead and get into bed.”
I relaxed a little, untied the robe, laid it on a bedpost, peeled off the slippers and got into bed, swinging my legs together under the sheets.
“My, Sue, that’s a pretty nightgown; much prettier on you than it looked in the store.”
I appreciated her compliment; maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
She crossed her legs and leaned toward me. “First of all, I know Jack talked to you. He’s one confused fella!” She chuckled sadly and I smiled. “It’ll take time for him to absorb it all, but he was wonderful at dinner so maybe there’s hope. Just give him time. I don’t know what you said to him just now, but it rocked him plenty! I think he’s reached the tipping point, you know?”
“Tipping point? You mean towards accepting me?”
“Well, accepting is more of an …intellectual concept. With Jack it has to be more visceral, more from the gut, as he’d say. What I meant about tipping point for him was probably not quite right …” She frowned. “One viewpoint would be that you are a boy. Another is that you are a girl. The idea of tipping from boyhood to girlhood is something that …well, I don’t think Jack’s mind works that way. I should have said, ‘switch point’, more like a railroad.” She grinned. “And we always joke about men having one-track minds!”
I laughed with her but I understood. “One set of tracks are boy-tracks, another are girl-tracks.”
“Exactly. Mentally, he’s got to have a little switchman inside that says, ‘Oh, no! The niece train is on the nephew track by mistake! Pull the lever, switch ‘er onto the right track!’” She laughed at herself. “Just one reason why men are so strange to us!” She sighed deeply. “I think we talked about changing categories, or a mental filing cabinet, that sort of thing. I like the railroad analogy better. Completely different tracks. He’ll never accept a boy on a girl’s track. A girl on a boy’s track, sure, that’s a mistake but understandable because–as we know they think–why wouldn’t they want to be a man? As long as we can get him around the two inconvenient facts of a penis and an ‘M’ on your birth certificate, he’ll make the switch.”
“Maybe we should say, ‘Hey, which are you going to believe: That old piece of paper or the evidence of your own eyes’?”
“Something like that,” she smiled. “Anyway, Jack’s just about made the switch of his mental railroad.” She sighed. “At least Chuck’s quieted down for awhile, thank God. He doesn’t know what to think anymore. And once Jack …gets it, Chuck and Larry won’t be a problem.” Her face clouded a bit at the mention of Larry. I reached out and put my hand on the back of hers.
“I meant to tell you ‘thank you’ for telling me how to handle him and setting it all up.”
“Well, that’s what we women do–help each other.” A big smile from her. “Anyway, Cindy and I are thrilled that you’re Susan to stay–or at least for summer–” She left it hanging, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.
“No, to stay. For summer, and the fall, and all the seasons forever.”
She reached out and covered my hand squeezing hers. “I know as a responsible adult, I’m supposed to say ‘we’ll see’ but I think so, too. And that was a very …poetic way of saying it, too; ‘for all the seasons forever’ …I rather liked it.” She let go of my hand and sat back. “I just wanted to say, take each day one day at a time. It works for the folks in AA but it’s good advice to everyone. One day at a time. Don’t try to learn everything about being a girl right away; believe me, you’ll learn soon enough. I know that you and Cindy were talking about the cute waiters at dinner–I heard you in the bathroom–and that’s fine with me. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I think so.” I was suddenly embarrassed that she’d heard us and I blushed.
She laughed and playfully swatted at me. “Oh, relax, silly! It was perfectly normal! And you were right–the dark-haired guy was way cuter!”
We laughed, just a couple of girls, and I loved her so much right then that I suddenly got teary.
“Oh, oh, what’s that? Here,” she handed me a tissue from the vanity. “Well, go ahead. Your mascara won’t run because you’ve already washed. Good time for a cry.”
I was pleased that she took my ‘typical female’ response in stride. I had no doubt that she had fully accepted me as a girl.
She turned serious. “Here’s the thing; until Jack’s had a chance to work this out, I seriously recommend you cool it talking about guys. Girls’ clothes are hard enough for him to accept without you being boy-crazy, too. I know it’ll be hard; I’ve talked with Cindy about this and she’ll try to soft-pedal things, too. You might ...” She was embarrassed to go on to the next subject. “You might want to not be really ‘girly’ around him for a few days. You’re not excessively girly, just very natural, but you’ll have to go easy on giggles and …you know, being flirty. Jack can’t handle it until he’s fully accepted you as a girl. We’ll know when he treats you just like Cindy. He was on his best behavior tonight; what counts will be the everyday stuff. So in the meantime, less is more. I think it was necessary that we hit him and Chuck over the head with your sundress and makeup; it really shocked them into seeing you as a girl. And by the way, you were lovely tonight.”
“Thank you. You think really feminine clothes might bother them? But Cindy wears them.” I thought about my uncle’s awkwardness with me in my nightie.
“Well, they’ve had years to get used to Cindy, and besides, being macho pigs, they don’t pay as much attention to the ladies.” She smiled, but there was a trace of bitterness there. “But it’s all so new with you; they’ve got to mentally move you from one side to the other.”
“But wouldn’t feminine clothes speed up the process?”
“Yes, of course ...I think I didn’t explain myself right. Your sundress, your nightie, that’s all fine. What I meant was, I know that you’re excited to try all sorts of clothing and styled. Just don’t start dressing like Scarlett O’Hara because you’ll look like, well ...do you know the phrase ‘drag queen’?”
“Of course I do,” I said with a laugh.
“Don’t do drag. That’ll make them think you’re a gay male. I know you’re longing to explore and find your own style, but for awhile, I think it’s better for you to follow Cindy’s lead. If she’s in shorts and a top, wear something similar. If she’s in jeans and a sweatshirt, wear something similar. You can learn about what works for you and gradually find your own style. I just don’t think it would be to your advantage if Cindy was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, and you’re wearing a prom dress with pearls.”
We both laughed at the image.
I really cracked her up when I pretended to pout, “She’s got a prom dress here and didn’t tell me?”
She had to wipe her eyes. “Oh, Susie; you’re too much!”
I got serious. “Don’t worry, Aunt Margaret. I fully intend to follow Cindy’s lead; I think she dresses great and as long as it doesn’t bug her, I’d love to use her as my fashion model.”
“Great! And it’s what girls do, you know. You walk through the mall and the groups of girls walking in twos and threes, most of the time they’re in the same basic outfits, maybe different colors.”
I realized she was right. In my mind’s eye I could see girls with three different pastel tops over white camis with jeans, or a couple of Goth girls in off-the-rack Hot Topics stuff, or three girls in flirty skirts and tops. “I know exactly what you mean, Aunt Margaret. I think I’d seem even more like a normal girl if I dressed similar to Cindy.”
She grinned. “Good girl. I’ll tell you what–next time we go to the mall, we’ll explore a bit more. Maybe visit Victoria’s Secret or even Frederick’s of Hollywood?”
It took me a moment to realize she was serious. I was amazed at how open she was. “I’d love it!” I hugged her again. “But I think I’m probably a J. Crew or Gap kind of girl. You know; Hollister, American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch?”
“I think you are, too, honey, but a girl can still have fun playing dress up! And we’ll get your purse, too. Well, you go to sleep, and sleep in; you’ll need it after today. I’m going to the drug store tomorrow for some odds and ends, and I’ll get your prescription filled. So, go to sleep, girl.”
The prescription! I’d almost forgotten about it, and my shot, and everything else besides fitting in with the family. I hugged and kissed Aunt Margaret good night; she turned my light out and I lay back there, my mind whirling, my five senses remembering. I saw the huge needle Dr. Janssen had used; felt the fabric of the first bra I could call my own; heard my uncle at dinner say, ‘After you, ladies’; tasted the lip gloss I’d applied in the rest room; smelled the Sunwater cologne; and thought about the eyes of that cute dark-haired waiter. And I slept.
It was after ten when I woke up; I lay in bed stretching and rolling from side to side. I felt great. Actually, my hips were still a little sore, probably from those shots; Dr. Janssen had said it might be awhile. I swung my legs out of bed and found my slippers, then stood up to go down to the bathroom. Suddenly I remembered what Aunt Margaret had said last night, and I wasn’t sure if I should go down in my nightgown–which would look pretty silly if everyone was already up–or get dressed. I decided to get dressed, and keeping in mind what she’d said about not being too feminine in my dress, I chose some sand-colored denim shortalls over a purple t-shirt. It had cap sleeves and was cropped, but the shortalls would cover my tummy so it wouldn’t be too girly. Underneath, of course, I was wearing my new panties (these were lavender) and a new bra. I figured it would be best not to wear any jewelry or makeup. I was worried about my newly pierced ears closing up, but I took the studs out anyway.
I headed downstairs to use the bathroom and eat; the place seemed deserted. After washing my face and brushing my hair (I decided not to use the scrunchie), I went to the kitchen to get a yogurt. While I was sitting there, Chuck came in and passed me without stopping, calling ‘Sleepyhead’ over his shoulder. Hmm! That was no big deal. As I was washing the spoon, Uncle Jack came in with gunk over his hands.
“Great! Uh ...Susan, could you get the water on and warm?”
“Sure,” I said, and thought that he’d only taken a second to remember my name.
As he washed, he said, “Margaret and Cindy are picking up things at the store; they should be back anytime. Do you have anything planned?”
“Not really. Aunt Margaret told me to sleep in today, although I feel guilty doing it. So until they get back I don’t have anything planned.”
“Wanna help with the carburetor?” he said with a chuckle and a raised eyebrow.
I didn’t know how much of a joke this was, or if it was a test. “Um, thanks, but I’ve got some cleaning to do before they get back.”
He nodded, looking at me as if he’d expected that answer. “S’okay. Didn’t think you’d ...aw, hell, this is awkward, you know?”
I nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. Maybe it won’t be awkward for long ...?”
“Hope so. Well, you’re the way you are and I’m the way I am ...I don’t know.” He’d finished washing; I handed him a towel. “Thanks. Well, looking at you in the light of day–”
“I hope it’s not too ‘girly’,” I said, looking down at my shortalls. “Aunt Margaret said I should take it easy–”
“Now why on earth would she say something like that? In for a penny, in for a pound, I’d say. Look, Susan, it’ll take me awhile to get used to this, but trying to dress half boy and half girl isn’t going to help things. Just dress like ...well, like a girl. You know, like Cindy, I guess. Unless you want to drop this whole thing?”
“It’s not something I can drop,” I said uneasily.
He nodded and smiled sadly. “I know. I shouldn’t try to test you. I think it’s fairly well established that this is the way you are.”
“Yeah. It’s not the easiest way to live, but it’s me. And knowing the problems it causes, I’d be nuts to choose this if I could avoid it. But I can’t. I’m a girl, and as awkward as it is, I’ve got to be me. You know, like the song?” I took the towel from him, folded it and put it on the rack next to the sink.
“Yeah, I know the song.” He pointed at the folded towel. “Now, see, that’s what I mean. A boy would never do that; you just naturally act like a girl.”
“It isn’t acting–”
He held up a hand and grinned sheepishly. “Poor choice of words on my part. I mean, I’m beginning to think it’s genuine with you.”
My spirits raised. “Oh, it is, Uncle Jack, it is!”
Chuck came back through with a magazine. “Got it. Here’s the specs we need,” he said, showing a page to his father. “Larry told me he’d found ...” his voice trailed off as he remembered what had happened.
His father’s voice was soft.“I know, Chuck. Don’t dwell on it. He’ll be okay.” Then, more normally, “So, what did he say?”
My uncle and cousin continued their conversation as they walked back out to the garage, ‘leaving the girl in the kitchen to clean up’. I could see how women resented the treatment, but at this point I was glad he’d accepted me a little more. Well, since he’d said there wasn’t a problem dressing, I went back up and put on my necklace and a ring that I’d liked. I also decided to be risky and put in the little gold hoops I’d received yesterday, rationalizing that I needed to clean the studs. I loved the hoops; they made my ears look so pretty, and every time they caught the light they reminded me that I was a pretty girl with pierced ears. I added some light makeup, a lick of lipgloss, a spritz of Sunwater and went back downstairs, then decided to see if Bonnie was around.
I found her in back of their cabin, playing with Hannah. They looked so pretty together, and I felt a flash of irritation that I hadn’t been born a genetic girl, but it passed quickly and just strengthened my resolve to continue forward with my life as a girl. I sat on a patio chair next to them and we just had some chitchat about Hannah, and Bonnie wanted to know how things were going with Uncle Jack and Chuck. She was surprised they seemed to be taking it so well, but told me that I looked so natural it was hard to think of me as anything else but a girl.
I asked if I could email my folks; she said it was okay and reminded me there was an email from last night. She said it was cool if I went to the computer alone. I read my parents’ email; it was actually pretty brief and was now old news–it was about talking with Dr. Janssen and ‘sending the materials’, referring to whatever was in my file. I smiled at how it had worked out so quickly, and didn’t mind the sore hips.
I wrote a pretty long email to my parents, trying to detail everything. I reread it and was on the verge of trashing it because I thought it sounded a little wishy-washy, then I realized that my writing had changed a bit and seemed more feminine. I was using more descriptive words like cute, and once even used darling to describe the buttons on a sundress. Was that too much like a drag queen, I wondered? But the dress was darling …I decided to keep the girlish tone–after all, that’s what I was, right?–and went back to edit just a little here and there–taking out a ‘fabulous’ and two ‘fantastics’–and then sent it off. I signed it as Susan, of course. I went back on the porch to find Cindy had joined Bonnie and Hannah; I hadn’t realized how close to lunch time it was so after a bit Cindy and I headed home for lunch.
Aunt Margaret was a little surprised at how I was dressed. “Sue, don’t you think it might cause problems when Jack or Chuck see you?”
“They already did, Aunt Margaret. I just wore the shortalls and top, no makeup or jewelry or anything else, but Uncle Jack said ‘dressing half-boy and half-girl’ would only be confusing, and if I was a girl I might as well dress like a girl–like Cindy, he said. He said go all the way so everyone could get used to things quicker.”
“He said that? Wow! Maybe he’s more evolved than we thought!” My aunt and I chuckled.
“I went back upstairs and added some jewelry and a little makeup but that’s about it. But I think you gave me great advice to follow Cindy’s lead.”
We both looked over at Cindy, who was ignoring us and reading a new teen magazine. She was wearing a short tie-dyed t-shirt and cut-offs. She looked up at us, confused.
“What? What did I do?”
“Nothing, dear,” her mother said. “Just that you’re a pretty good role model for Susan to follow.”
“Doan wanna be no role model; no, ma’am,” Cindy said with an exaggerated accent. “Jes’ wanna be myssef.”
We all laughed at how lousy her accent was, whatever it was. I got a drink of water and my aunt handed me two pill bottles.
“That water just reminded me. I picked up your prescription this morning. There’s a couple of pills you’ll have to take twice a day, so I hope you’re good at swallowing pills.”
“Never had a problem, thank goodness. Let’s see, what do I do?”
I read the labels, shook out two from one bottle and one from another, and washed them all down with another glass of water. I turned to see Aunt Margaret and Cindy both watching me. I was kind of embarrassed, so I made a joke. I looked down at my chest and gave a disappointed moan.
“Oh, darn it! They didn’t work! I’m still flat!”
Cindy whooped and Aunt Margaret hid an embarrassed laugh behind her hand and the weirdness of the moment was broken. We decided to keep the pills with me upstairs just in case my uncle or cousin had a change of heart and tossed them out; I’d take my dosage downstairs with me to the water. It was fine with me; just as long as I could take the pills. I had to completely put them out of my mind; I really didn’t know what they were or what they’d do because Dr. Janssen had said they’d be running a blind test. My aunt also gave me a new journal to keep notes in about how I felt day by day, because that would help with the test. But secretly I felt I was on my way!
End of Part 9
Everything was fine with me; just as long as I could take the pills. I had to completely put them out of my mind; I really didn’t know what they were or what they’d do because Dr. Janssen had said they’d be running a blind test. My aunt also gave me a new journal to keep notes in about how I felt day by day, because that would help with the test. But secretly I felt I was on my way!
Things settled down to a lazy routine after that. Every day either my aunt or uncle would drive to see Larry. Sometimes Chuck or Cindy would go. When Cindy went, I usually went too, but didn’t go in to see Larry because he was still so weak and they didn’t want him to have to deal with my change. I didn’t mind; these times gave me an hour or two to be on my own around people who had only known me as a girl. I got friendly with some of the nurses, the lady that ran the snack shop, and one of the candy stripers, a teenaged girl who had a pretty, young face, and by contrast had the older name of Dorothy. None of these people knew I had been born a boy, and it was incredibly reassuring how they accepted me as Susan. I had a shock one day when I was sitting in the coffee shop with Dorothy on her break, and one of the doctors was sitting nearby with his teenaged son. The son was a cute guy, with curly long hair and great eyes, I thought casually, then realized I’d been having typical girl’s thoughts. Dorothy’s next comment shook me.
“Yeah, he’s great, isn’t he? His dad’s an OB-GYN and I think he knows more than he should about us.”
“Us?” I was confused, thinking she meant the two of us.
“Women, silly! I think he knows more than a normal high school guy should. Or maybe it’s just his eyes,” she said dreamily, stirring her coffee. Then she licked the spoon and looked at me, wiggling an eyebrow. “You want to meet him?”
I was flustered and didn’t know what to say. “Sure, I guess ...no, it’d be too weird. I mean, if we meet ...”
“You’re so funny, Sue! You’ve got the hots for him already–it’s written all over your face!”
“I do not!” I said in a forced whisper. “I just think going up and meeting for no good reason is awkward. Too obvious.”
She was laughing at me good-naturedly. “You do! You do like him! Look, it’s cool; I think he’s great looking, too, but I’ve got my eyes set on another guy so I’ll help you meet him. Oh, by the way, his name’s Eric.”
“What is he, a soap opera guy with a name like that? How do you know his name?” I asked.
She smirked at me. “Field research! Okay, you don’t want to just walk over–although I like the direct approach–so you’ll have to meet ‘accidentally’. It’s going to be hard because I don’t know when he’ll be in; I’ll have to find that out somehow. Since his dad’s in OB and your cousin’s up on six, you won’t even be on the same floor when you do come in. Hmm; I’ll have to give this some thought. So that’s a project for me. But I’ll bet you’ll go to sleep dreaming of him!”
I was surprised at how natural the whole thing had seemed, and my own reaction to a cute boy sitting across the room, but I was truly shocked by how accurate Dorothy’s prediction was. That night, I had a dream where I was in a gauzy white dress with a breeze blowing gently as my hair swayed in the breeze. It was a scene like a travel brochure for the Caribbean, and I was kind of embarrassed about how clichéd it seemed–until I saw Eric walking towards me wearing a pair of jeans and a white shirt. He had a single red rose. Damn Bachelor TV show! We met without speaking. He held out the rose and I cupped it in my hand to smell it. He cupped my hand in his and our fingers intertwined. I looked at him and almost fell into the depth of his eyes. I just had to taste him and I leaned up to kiss him. His lips were smooth but strong, and he wrapped his arms around me as my arms reached around his neck. We held the kiss and seemed to float down to the soft, cool earth.
I suddenly woke up, sweaty and breathing hard, like from a nightmare but without any of the nightmare fear. There was an incredible flushed feeling from between my legs up to my hairline and I felt sort of twitchy all over. I rolled out of bed and walked around in my room a little to walk off the twitchiness. There was a soft breeze coming from the window that stirred the hem of my nightgown; it reminded me of the dream and I got all flushed again. I had to sit down then, knees and ankles together, crossed my arms around my knees holding my elbows and leaned on my legs. I felt a soft shudder and then a relaxing release, and I could feel the breeze more now. I had to write this down in my journal. As I wrote, I thought that on one level, the whole thing had been like a commercial, and, yeah, it was kind of clichéd, but that couldn’t explain why I’d felt the way I had. I decided I’d try to fall asleep thinking about something else, like going to Disneyland or flying or something. But I kept thinking about Eric’s eyes ...
During most days, Cindy and I would walk or ride bikes or lay around the lake if it was hot enough, and it usually was. If we were going to do some out-and-out swimming, I’d wear the one-piece racing suit, and as I got more tanned the hot pink looked even better against my skin. But I really loved the blue bikini, and wore it as often as possible. Cindy and I would goop up with suntan oil, and as we lay there I just felt fantastically girly. It was a little weird laying on my stomach and undoing the back so there were no tan lines, but Cindy said it’d look great with a backless dress, something I hadn’t had the pleasure of wearing, but couldn’t wait to try.
I really wanted serious bikini tan lines, and loved seeing them when I saw myself in the mirror after a shower, but Cindy said that so I could wear strapless tops and dresses without a visible tan line, I should pull the straps off and just cover the smallest part of my breasts. Okay, I didn’t really have any breasts–yet–but over the course of the next few weeks my nipples began to hurt a little and push out, like there were little marbles under each. I was so thrilled and like all young girls, wished they would grow faster. But at least I knew that some of the pills I was taking were female hormones. Cindy, on the other hand, had lovely milky-white mounds that promised a great shape, and I was so envious!
I loved the little irritation that I felt in my nipples when they were rubbed by a shirt or even a towel, and I knew that all too soon it would be a bother but the newness was exciting. Even more exciting was the fact that my nipples were proof that I was moving forward.
There were other things happening to me that I thought might be the result of the hormones. Maybe it was my imagination but it seemed like I saw more colors, or with greater clarity, or something. I even felt more of an interest about things like playing with Hannah, doing my hair, cooking with my aunt, and so on. I’d done these things initially because I was so glad to do girl’s things while dressed as a girl, but now I really felt them. I carefully wrote down everything in the journal.
After a month had passed I met again with Dr. Janssen for a long session. Two weeks after the shots I came in and gave fluids and turned in my journal to be copied, but we didn’t talk at length. Saving it up, I guess. I did the fluids and journal thing with her nurse, and finally sat with the doctor. She gave me a form, like a test, to fill out while she read my updated journal. I finished the test about the time the doctor finished reading my journal and making her notes. We discussed some of the entries–curiously, she didn’t comment on my dreams about Eric–and a little about the test. The nurse came in with my fluid results and Dr. Janssen read them, nodded, but said nothing. Then she examined between my legs, poked me here and there, and felt around my nipples, all without comment. She was all business that day. I did get a smile when I waved goodbye, though.
I went home and it was life as usual for three more days, then she called and talked to me and Aunt Margaret on the extension line. Dr. Janssen had decided the blind test was concluded; she’d passed around my journal, test, and other documents to other doctors, and the decision came back to move me fully off medication for a time. I was crushed, destroyed, wiped out! I could tell even Aunt Margaret was bummed. Dr. Janssen reminded me that we’d talked about this possibility, and reluctantly we agreed with her. She said I could still dress as I pleased, and we scheduled an appointment for two weeks later.
The next two weeks were very strange. After a few days things seemed ‘flatter’ to me; colors were washed out–although maybe it was the haze around the lake; smells were ‘off’–although maybe the lack of breeze had something to do with it, and I just felt cranky. And I had my first fight with Cindy. I still have no idea what set it off; I think it was something in a magazine. The next thing I knew we were going at it about me being a ‘little princess’ and ‘playacting’ and ‘she didn’t appreciate how good she had it’ and all sorts of stuff. She dragged in Eric; I dragged in her lack of boys, and it was just awful. The worst part of it is, almost everything Cindy said was dead-on right. I was acting like a little princess, and a cranky one at that. Even Bonnie steered clear of me. My aunt just looked at me with sad eyes and shook her head. Uncle Jack and Chuck, of course, didn’t seem to notice, although after one exchange between Cindy and me, Chuck made a ‘rowr’ cat-fight sound at us. However, through it all, I never once felt like going back to being a boy or dressing like one. And I followed my doctor’s advice and carefully wrote down everything as exactly as I could, without trying to color anything one way or the other.
At the follow-up with Dr. Janssen, which was a long one, she asked to meet privately with my aunt as well as with me, as well as the usual examination and test. We went home without speaking about it, just more depressed than ever. But the next day Dr. Janssen called and spoke with Aunt Margaret, who turned and looked at me with a growing smile. It turned out that I’d passed the final–and painful–hurdle, and Dr. Janssen had just called in a prescription for full-strength female hormones and I was going to proceed! Dr. Janssen had had a long talk with my parents in Europe–I had no idea how often they talked–and everyone was in agreement that, simply put, I had no business being a boy; it was extremely doubtful that it even could have been corrected years ago, and now at last it would be. ‘Corrected’ in the sense that I was a girl. There were all these new acronyms: HRT was hormone replacement therapy and that was what I was going into right now–even though the doctor said they weren’t really replacing but supplementing and adjusting. RLT was real-life test and that was what I was living right now; and the big one was SRS, sex reassignment surgery, which was where I was headed, God willing, as soon as I turned eighteen. I was overjoyed; if I knew how to do hand springs I would’ve done them!
It took a couple of days on the new prescription but very quickly things got back to normal and ever more so. Cindy and I patched things up with many hugs, a box of tissues and a massive cry together; Bonnie and I sat down at her computer to do a long interview; we four girls–me, Cindy, Aunt Margaret, and Bonnie–did a marathon shopping day and helped fill out my wardrobe, and life was good.
Things were not so good with Larry. There’d been complications and his condition was constantly changing from stable to serious and once it was critical. This was a sobering reality to my happiness. The only upside was I got to spend more time with Dorothy.
We were sitting in the cafeteria, at our usual table, when Dorothy asked me about a sleepover.
“C’mon, Sue, it’ll be great! Your aunt usually comes in on Fridays–and that’s my early shift–so next Friday, pack a bag and hang out until I’m off shift. We’ll go the movies then crash at my place. My parents should be out of town, so we’ll sleep late, do some shopping and I’ll drive you back home. Sound okay?”
It sounded great. Dorothy only knew me as a girl; I don’t think she was aware of my ‘other’ visits to the hospital, to see Dr. Janssen. As long as she didn’t see me naked, I just might get away with it, and I so wanted her to like me and treat me just like any other girl.
“Sounds fantastic, Dorothy!” I said with a big smile. “Just let me check with my aunt.”
Later, on the drive home, my aunt thought about it and decided that she’d use my sleepover as an excuse for the whole family–minus me–to talk and try to hash some things out. She said they were so busy not talking about Larry that they’d wound up in suspended animation, yet there were things they had to discuss. She’d been wanting to do it but would have had to ask me to leave, spend time next door, get lost for awhile, whatever …she just felt it was awkward and although Cindy might be jealous that she didn’t get a sleepover, she’d understand when Aunt Margaret told her the reason for my absence and the talk. Then she raised a topic that I hadn’t considered.
“I don’t really see anything wrong with a sleepover, honey. There’s a difference in your ages–you’re three years apart, and those are three big years–but you’re pretty mature already and you two seem to have hit it off well. And I know you’re going to be …discreet. But something occurred to me. Have you thought about telling Dorothy about yourself? Now, I know you want her to like you as a real girl, but just think about this: If, somehow, she finds out your, uh, original gender, she might freak out. Worse, you might lose her as a friend forever. If you don’t tell her, you won’t be able to relax around her, because you’ll always be sort of hiding, and wondering, ‘does she know?’ So it’s your choice.”
I thought long and hard about it, and finally decided that the true test of my girlhood would be whether Dorothy noticed anything wrong or not. Technically, I suppose I’d be lying by not telling her, and I’d have to out-and-out lie about things like my period if the subject came up, but I reasoned that Dorothy liked me, and that should be good enough. So I decided not to tell her, and just keep my fingers (and legs?) crossed.
The next Friday, after checking on Larry–he’d stabilized, thank goodness–and saying goodbye to Aunt Margaret, I sat in the cafeteria reading a Seventeen, waiting for Dorothy’s shift to end. Suddenly I noticed a shadow near my table and looked up into the deep blue eyes of Eric. I was speechless.
He motioned to the chair. “Is this seat taken?”
I shook my head, no.
“My name’s Eric. I’ve noticed you in here a lot. Do you work at the hospital?”
That made me laugh, which broke me out of my daze. “No, I’m waiting for a friend who works here. And my cousin’s in ICU upstairs. I mean, as a patient.”
“Oh, yeah; your friend is Dorothy, right?”
I nodded again. I was acutely conscious that I was not dressed the way I wanted to be …to meet Eric. I was just waiting for Dorothy, so I had on cutoffs with a rolled-up hem and a sleeveless green top. I had almost no makeup, just a little lipgloss, and my hair was loosely pulled back by a scrunchie. I wanted to rewind the moment, run home and change, and start up again.
“My dad said she’s a very good ‘Striper. I’ve never really met her, but my buddy likes her.”
There was an awkward moment; I didn’t really know where to go from here, so I realized that I hadn’t given him my name.
“Oh! I’m Susan,” I said, holding out my hand. He shook it, and was it my imagination or did he hold on just a little bit longer than necessary?
We released hands and there was another ‘moment’, then he asked, “Uh, could I get you another ...what are you drinking?”
“Just Diet Coke.”
“I’ll get you another one. Although you certainly aren’t drinking it for the ‘Diet’ part.”
He stood up and walked to the cafeteria line as I realized that he’d just complimented me! I’d never played the flirting game, and so I didn’t immediately recognize boys’ ‘lines’, or know the difference between a line and genuine compliment. Whew! This was going to be interesting!
While Eric waited in line, Dorothy came in and sat down across from me.
“Almost done; I’m technically off shift but I just want to finish some paperwork.”
I felt like grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Yes. I’ve heard you’re a great ‘Striper.”
“Who said that?” she asked, confused.
“Oh ...Eric’s dad.”
“Eric’s dad? How did you–did you talk to him?” Then she realized. “Did you talk to him? Eric?”
I nodded, Cheshire grin fully in place.
“Way cool, girl! When did you–”
She broke off because Eric reappeared at our table with my Coke and a drink for him. Dorothy’s mouth closed and she, too, began to grin.
He was suave. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. Dorothy, right? Would you like a Diet Coke?” He offered her his, with the straw still wrapped in paper.
She smiled. “No, but thanks! I was just telling Sue I’ve got to finish up some paperwork, and we’ll be out of here. She’s coming over tonight.”
Dorothy stood, and her smile suddenly got bigger. Oh, oh, what’s she got up her sleeve? I wondered, as she continued.
“We’re going to the Cineplex tonight. At seven. Then we’ll just hang out together. So I’d better get clocked out! See you in fifteen minutes, Sue!” Dorothy smiled at me and headed back into the hospital.
I may have been ignorant in the ways of flirting, but I knew she’d just told a cute boy where and when we’d be tonight. I wanted to chase after her, but nothing would have gotten me off that chair just then. Eric sat where Dorothy had, opened his straw and began drinking. I did the same, after thanking him for the Coke. We got to talking, and I told him my background–partly fictitious, of course–and found out a little about him. What I heard I liked a lot. I especially liked the next part.
“Susan–or Sue? Which do you prefer?”
“Either one is okay. You decide.” I smiled at him. Was I getting better at this, or what?
“Well, you’re a very poised lady.”
I was?
“And I think the more formal suits you. Okay, what I wanted to ask you, Susan, is if you’d like to get together sometime. You know, no pressure or anything, but I’ve really enjoyed talking to you, even this little bit right now, and I’d like to do it again. So, maybe grab a bite, or go skating, or go for a walk ...”
“Or go to the movies?” I asked with a twinkle. “You might be surprised to hear this, but I’m going to the movies this very night.”
“No!” He appeared shocked.
“Yes! Amazing coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely amazing. And you know what’s even more amazing, if such a thing is possible?”
“Dare I ask?”
“Dare away. My friend and I happen to be going to the movies this very same night.”
“No!”
“Yes! And you know the most amazing thing?”
“Even more amazing than the last two amazing things?”
“Even more so. My friend has a crush on your friend.”
“Well, perhaps we should chaperone them.”
“Perhaps. Yes, a splendid idea. Shall we say sevenish?”
“Sevenish it is!”
I reached out and we theatrically shook hands, but this time there was no mistaking it–we didn’t let go at all, and we just let our hands rest on the table while we looked in each other’s eyes.
Still holding my hand, and dropping the cute talk we’d been using, Eric said, “And the most amazing thing is this: I think my friend’s friend has a crush on your friend’s friend.”
As convoluted as the sentence was, I knew what he meant.
“And I think she does, too.”
Whoa! I thought, too far too fast, pull back! I released Eric’s hand and chuckled as I broke eye contact.
“At least, she might have the start of one.” I busied myself with my Coke.
He leaned back and smiled. “I think your friend’s back. Maybe ...” he trailed off as he stood. “Maybe we’ll meet again. Somewhere, sometime.” He smiled at me again and walked away as Dorothy came over.
“Oh man, oh man! You two were really goin’ at it! What are you, thirteen going on twenty-four?” she laughed.
“No, I just ...we just ...” I searched for a response but got momentarily sidetracked by how good ‘we’ had sounded. “We were just talking. And goofing around a little.” I couldn’t believe the things I’d said; they’d just …come out.
“Some goofing! Did he get the hint about the movies tonight?”
“Oh, I think he got the hint.” I didn’t tell her that I’d pretty much invited him, too. “He said he’s got a friend that likes you.”
“Ooo, did he mention a name or bank account?” She laughed as I shook my head no. “I hope it’s ...” she got serious. “I hope it’s Mike. I saw him here with Eric once. I hope it’s Mike.”
She grew uncharacteristically quiet for a bit, then she brightened as she stood up. “Well, we won’t find out here in the cafeteria! C’mon, we is outta heah, girl!”
On the drive to Dorothy’s house–she’d just turned sixteen and gotten her license–I wailed about how I was dressed when I talked with Eric. Dorothy just laughed.
“That proves it’s real, silly! Think about it–any guy will come on to you if you’re all dolled up, but if you’re just dressed everyday-casual, and they come on to you, it must be serious! This is a good thing that you’re dressed this way. Relax!”
I mumbled something or other, but felt better.
“Look, Sue, I bet you just packed casual stuff and jammies, right?”
I nodded.
“Okay, don’t worry about tonight. I’ve got some things that’ll knock Eric’s eyes out! You’ll have to fight him off–but I actually think he’s a gentleman, so maybe you’ll have to encourage him!”
When I had asked Aunt Margaret about this sleep over, the only question was about telling Dorothy about me. It was going to be ‘Just Us Girls’. Now, there was a huge new factor in the equation–how did I feel about boys, and especially Eric? I realized that it only strengthened my decision to not tell Dorothy about me. First of all, I reasoned, if Cindy and I went out with boys, I think she’d be watching me to see how I did, and how they reacted to me. Secondly, I know I’d be constantly checking myself in front of Cindy, going ‘is this too weird?’ the whole time. And, come to think of it, she’d be going ‘this is too weird!’ and would mess up her chances with Mike, if he was the guy that showed up. A third reason was that any ignorance I showed about how to conduct myself could be attributed to being three years younger and new at dealing with boys.
I felt firmer in my decision to not tell Dorothy, and to truly see how well I functioned not only on a girl-to-girl basis, but also around …boys. Dorothy just knew me as a girl, and so she knew that, naturally, I’d be interested in boys, and I could find out–naturally–how I really felt about them. I’d had that dream about Eric kissing me, and I knew that deep down I wanted that dream to be real. So I decided to just relax–as much as possible–and see how things went.
When we got to Dorothy’s house, her folks were just leaving. It was a good opportunity for me to meet new people as a girl, and I seemed to do okay. We told them about an early movie or maybe a run to Blockbuster, and they seemed satisfied, telling Dorothy they’d be back tomorrow evening. We got some Cokes from the kitchen and immediately bent down to study the movie section of the newspaper. Dorothy said we wanted to be prepared for any eventuality, and knowing what was playing where could give us some options. I knew that the main purpose of the evening now was to meet Eric and his friend at seven; everything else would follow.
“Forewarned is forearmed, or something like that. Or four-armed is foreplay ...I don’t know,” she waved away her little joke. “Let’s go exploring and see what we can find for you tonight.”
I followed Dorothy into her room and she began moving through her well-stocked closet, flipping clothes hangers past her, stopping momentarily to consider an outfit, and flipping on. She mentioned that before she was a Candy Striper, she worked at a boutique at the mall and used her employee discount liberally. Now, since she was working at the hospital and still living at home–and continuing a good relationship with her old boutique–she’d been able to build a sizable trendy wardrobe. I realized with a start that I’d never seen her in anything other than her uniform.
She must have read my mind, because she pulled out several outfits, laid them on the bed, sat down and began removing her uniform.
“From Candy Striper to Candy Stripper ...” she said with a chuckle.
I had to laugh, too, and it covered my sudden embarrassment at seeing her in her underwear, which consisted of white cotton stuff an old lady would wear. A very large bra, high briefs, and white opaque stockings, which she removed and rubbed the red marks on her tummy.
“Ah, God, I think I live for this moment from the very beginning of each shift.”
She unhooked the back of her bra and dropped it on the floor. She spun on her butt and flopped out full-length on the bed. I didn’t think staring was in order, but I couldn’t help notice she had surprisingly full breasts that had been strapped down under the regulation bra. She rubbed the red marks under her breasts, sat up, grabbed her glass and took a big swig of Coke, replaced the glass and flopped down again.
“Do me a favor and turn the fan on over there, will you? I forgot. Ah ...” she relaxed further as the first wave of cool air hit her. “I forgot to tell you about my little ritual here. I’ve just got to get out of that nurse-y crap.”
I started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” She sat up on her elbows.
“Just when you said ‘nurse-y crap’ I was thinking ‘I didn’t know she wore old lady undies’.”
She drew herself up haughtily. “We old ladies never refer to them as ‘undies’. They are our ‘underthings’!”
I played along. “And in polite society–” I pronounced it ‘societah’, “–a proper lady refers to them–if at all–as ‘unmentionables’.”
Dorothy whooped with laughter. “Oh, Jesus, you’re right! Whew! Thank God we live now, right?”
She sat up fully and spun on her butt again, stripped off the briefs–I quickly looked down to study the outfits on the bed–and grabbed all her white ‘unmentionables’ and stuffed them in a hamper.
“Shower. Fast one,” she said and disappeared into her bathroom. I heard the water start and so I started to actually check out the outfits, which were pretty skimpy and ultra-feminine. I got up and studied some of the outfits in her closet; not really snooping but just looking for alternatives, but it felt too personal so I picked up a Teen Vogue she had on her night stand.
Dorothy came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, grabbed some lingerie from a drawer and disappeared back into the bathroom. She came back out much later after using the blow dryer, in a light blue lingerie set that looked like Victoria’s Secret. With her hair fluffed out from the dryer and skimpy lingerie, she sure didn’t look like a Candy Striper anymore!
“Damn period,” she muttered. “Shit! Just when I might meet a new guy!”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you look great,” I said. I’d learned from my aunt and Cindy that women felt especially vulnerable about their looks when they had a period.
“Thanks, Sue. Shit, shit, shit. Oh well, can’t be helped.” She seemed to throw off the bad mood quickly and reasonably; that was one of the things I liked about her.
“I mean it, Dorothy. You look like a Victoria’s Secret model. Or maybe you look like Candy, the Stripper.”
She genuinely laughed at this–after all, it was her own joke.
“What about you, Sue, don’t you feel like crud when it’s your period?”
Here it was, I thought, time to lie. Or maybe there was a way to slip sideways with the truth ...
“Actually, I’ve found that there are plenty of days when I don’t have a period–and I still feel like crud!”
Fortunately, she whooped with laughter. “Yeah, and then there’s that one day–the one day where you’re slim and your hair looks great and your skin’s clear and you feel fantastic–and that’s the day you don’t meet a living soul!”
“Yeah, I know; you’ll be in your foxiest dress or skimpiest bikini and nobody but your family around!” Sure, like that happened to me all the time …but Dorothy was nodding enthusiastically.
“That’s the day! Shit! Why is life like that?”
And so we passed the subject of my periods, and I didn’t really have to lie. We got down to the serious business of choosing clothes.
End of Part 10
“What about you, Sue, don’t you feel like crud when it’s your period?” Dorothy asked.
Here it was, I thought, time to lie. Or maybe there was a way to slip sideways with the truth ...
“Actually, I’ve found that there are plenty of days when I don’t have a period–and I still feel like crud!”
Fortunately, she whooped with laughter. And so we passed the subject of my periods, and I didn’t really have to lie. We got down to the serious business of choosing clothes.
Thanks to Dorothy’s great closet, I settled on an ivory camisole top with a lacy short-sleeve cover, tight black low-cut jeans–I had to lay back on the bed and slither them on–and black strappy sandals with a higher heel than I’d ever handled before. I could relax a bit knowing that my ‘secret’ was safely tucked away under the slacks without a tell-tale bulge; but still, the outfit felt sexier than anything I’d worn up to now. And it was nothing compared to Dorothy! She chose a black glittery tube top, short black skirt, black stockings and boots, and a denim jacket. She looked tough and yet totally girly. What a change from the candy striper!
Next, of course, came the accessories, and I settled on some gold bracelets, a necklace, and some wonderful earrings. They were soft curlicues of gold and I loved them; I made the mistake of ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ too much and Dorothy said I could have them. I felt so much in her debt already, but she laughed and said not to worry; they’d been a present and looked better on me than her, so she was just passing the present along, sort of ‘re-gifting’. After a spritz of her cologne–something very sexy by Calvin Klein–we headed out to her car.
We got to the theater and sure enough, there were Eric and, yes, Mike–as well as a million other kids! This was obviously the place to be on weekends. The boys were out front, trying to look casual. We parked and walked past them, then turned as if we’d just noticed them. We paired off immediately, with small talk. Dorothy and Mike did most of the talking while Eric and I just looked at each other and smiled. It turned out that Dorothy and Mike knew many of the same people, and I could tell they were getting friendlier by the minute.
As we got to the ticket window, the boys offered to pay, but Dorothy shut them down and paid for the two of us. She leaned over to me and whispered that it was so they couldn’t think we owed them. However, she did let them buy us all Cokes. We went inside the crowded theater and unfortunately there were no longer four seats together. Dorothy and Mike took off down towards the screen.
“Where do you like to sit?” Eric asked me.
It was suddenly apparent to me that despite all the kids in the theater, I felt all alone without Dorothy. Of course, I was with Eric …which was exciting and terrifying at the same time.
“Uh ...back a bit so I can see the whole screen,” I stammered my answer.
Fortunately, he didn’t pick up on my terror. He was nodding, “Me, too. When I was younger I used to sit way down there and get all bleary-eyed; I thought it was part of the fun. Now I like to watch what I’ve paid for.”
We found two seats a decent distance from the screen. Eric was a gentleman, wiping popcorn off my seat before I sat down, then sat to my right. I sat sipping my Coke and watched the movie, but this voice in my head kept going, “You’re a girl on a date. You’re a girl on a date. But you’re a boy! Decide!”
I was a little freaked. No, I was a lot freaked. Eric didn’t try to put his hands anywhere they didn’t belong, to my relief, and yet I found myself having this strange disappointment and frustration with him that he didn’t try. So when a scary part came–and there were many–I recoiled and leaned into Eric. Automatically; I certainly didn’t plan it! He chuckled and put his arm around me during the scary part. When it was over, he started to pull his arm away–after all, he was a gentleman–and I surprised myself again by reaching up with my hand, finding his hand and pulling it back down around my shoulder, our fingers interlocked.
I didn’t really concentrate on the movie much after that, because that voice in my head was working overtime. I found that I wanted Eric to hug me and protect me, and I loved the feeling of being protected by him. But I didn’t even know him, really! All I knew is that I didn’t want the movie to end; I was perfectly content sitting here with him in the dark. Of course, the movie did end, and we stood up reluctantly. He was gentlemanly and didn’t assume any further contact; we kept our hands to ourselves when we rendezvoused with Dorothy and Mike. They apparently had gotten to be very friendly during the movie, and when we decided to walk to a nearby Starbucks, I felt Eric’s hand brush my own. I didn’t know if it was an accident, but I decided to take it as an opening, and I reached down and our hands met. It was ...electric. I felt connected again. I felt a warm thrill in my tummy, and somewhat lower, too. We walked to the Starbucks hand in hand. Me! With Eric! I was blissed out.
Sitting and talking, the four of us had a great time. We talked about movies, books, schools, and so on. At some point I realized I had stopped thinking that I was a boy–and suddenly I had to remember what I’d told Dorothy about myself so it all fit with what I talked about. Mike obviously wanted to spend longer with Dorothy, and I know she was torn about it, but being the good friend that she was, we decided to call it a night around eleven. We walked back to her car, two and two, with Eric and I in the rear. At her car door, Dorothy turned, put her arms around Mike’s neck and gave him a deep kiss. Eric and I stopped a discreet distance away and faced each other awkwardly. I could tell that he was going to be a gentleman and not press for a kiss. I surprised myself once more by leaning up on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. As my feet came back down, he smiled and took my chin in one hand. ‘Here it comes!’ I thought. ‘What do I do?’ Finally the voice in my head yelled, ‘You kiss him, dummy!’ So when Eric leaned down to kiss my lips softly, I was ready. I reached my hand up to his cheek and gently made him hold the kiss longer. Oh, God, the feelings! I was tingling from my lips to the tip of my hair to my toes to my tummy to my ...
The kiss ended softly and sweetly. I smiled up at Eric.
“Thank you, Eric. I had a great time.”
“Me, too, Susan. From talking with you at the hospital I knew you were special, but I didn’t know you’d be so ...great!” He laughed, sheepishly. “Can I see you again?”
My thoughts struggled back and forth; this was dangerous territory. Finally I said, “I’d like that. But I’ll have to call you when I know my family’s schedule.”
“Oh, that’s right, I keep forgetting you’re not local! I keep wishing you were, though,” he smiled as he pulled a card from his wallet and a pen, wrote down his number, and handed it to me. I folded it up in my hand and held it up to my chest to show how precious it was.
“I’ll call you. Bye, Eric,” I said, and leaned up for a quick kiss on his lips. They were so soft and yet so masculine and I wanted so much more than just the kiss. I turned and ran to the car before Eric could do anything. Dorothy reluctantly ended her necking with Mike and both boys waved as Dorothy started the car and we backed out to head home.
Dorothy let out a whoop. “Woo! What a night! What a guy! And you and Eric–woo!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yep. Woo. That about says it all!”
Needless to say, we talked about the boys the whole drive back to her place. She got some more Diet Cokes and we undressed, giggling as we speculated on what else we’d like to do with the boys. As girlish as I was becoming, I still had to keep from staring as Dorothy put on a sheer set of babydoll pajamas. I had a sleep shirt, but Dorothy made a ‘pew’ face at it and tossed me a bit of lilac gauze that turned out to be a babydoll set for me. I blushed for some reason and began to worry about between my legs. Fortunately, she ran off to pee and I changed quickly. I found that the panties would hold me in place, so I relaxed. It felt strange to feel my small developing nipples rubbing against the soft fabric, and I had this fierce stab of frustration that my breasts weren’t developed. Once again I was amazed at all the new feelings I was learning.
Dorothy had an airbed and used the vacuum to set it up. “Had a lot of sleepovers when I was younger, girls on my soccer team, you know,” she explained over the vacuum. “Got the system down.”
She was right; she even had a smooth nylon sleeping bag for me. In my ignorance, I hadn’t asked about the sleeping arrangements, and only after we’d washed and gotten under our covers did I realize that without the airbed, I might have been sharing her bed and I wasn’t ready for that. I couldn’t stand to have my secret found out. So I snuggled down and enjoyed the feeling of a slippery nylon babydoll in a nylon bag.
We talked about an hour into the dark, but finally the yawns got us and we slept. The next morning I awoke to the smell of French toast. I padded out into the kitchen, the strange-but-wonderful babydoll floating about me, and Dorothy was already in a pink tank top and shorts set and standing at the stove. For some reason I felt dreadfully exposed, but decided to tough it out. I sat down and immediately leapt up.
“Woo! Cold!”
“Of course, silly, don’t you know enough not to sit in sheers?” she laughed, but looked at me curiously.
“Wanna know the truth?” I asked sheepishly. “This is the first time I’ve ever worn babydolls. I always wanted a pair, but my parents never got me any.” That much was true. “I also wanted a harem set but never got that.” Okay, that wasn’t, but seemed like it would be. God, I hated lying.
“Just nightgowns?”
“Yep. Or sleep shirts. Oversized tees, you know.” I sat back down slowly, crossed my legs at the knees and crossed my arms in my lap. What I’d said that time was true, at least.
“Well, those are okay for regular stuff, but when I have a friend over, I like to kind of ‘dress up’–especially after a great night with the guys!”
“That was great, wasn’t it?” I blushed, remembering.
“And going to get better, unless they blow it somehow!”
We grinned at each other, sharing A Moment, and there was a brief lapse in the conversation. I decided to ask a tough question.
“Dorothy? Why do you ...why are you my friend? I mean, I’m so much younger than you.”
“Only three years.”
“Yeah, but they’re teenage years. It’s not like you’re thirty-five and I’m thirty-two.”
“Thirty-five? Yow–not yet! But I know what you mean. I don’t usually hang with younger kids; usually my age or a year or two older. But you’re different, somehow. I noticed right away when you first came to the hospital. You seem ...I don’t know, like you’re ‘an old soul’ like some people say. You’re much more mature than any thirteen-year old I know. And some of the sixteen-year-olds!” She grinned.
“Thanks. But everything reminds me of the age difference. I mean, your car, your clothes, even ...hell, even your body! I’m a few years from developing like you already are! I know that sounds weird–”
She burst out laughing, holding a hand over her mouth to keep her food in. “Shit, yeah! But it’s okay, I know exactly what you mean. When I was thirteen I had no body at all. Zero. I had an older sister and I’d stare at her for hours–”
“I don’t stare!”
“No, no, I know you don’t; in fact, that’s part of it.” She stopped laughing and turned serious. “My sister was five years older and had no time or interest in me at all. I wanted to share things with her and do things with her, but she just wanted me to drop dead.”
“Have you two gotten closer as you got older?”
“No. She dropped dead.”
I was stunned; I didn’t know if this was weird humor or what it was.
She shrugged. “Really. At eighteen. Valedictorian, Most Likely To Succeed, track star, all that. And one day dropped dead of undiagnosed heart failure while running a10k.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” I reached out and put my hand on hers. My eyes burned with tears.
“Yeah. It’s okay. I’ve had some time to deal with it. But I know I’ll never get a chance to show her that I’m okay, that I’m not a bratty little kid anymore, you know?” She said she was okay, but her eyes were clouded.
I nodded. I didn’t know what to say. She seemed to pull herself together a bit.
“Anyway, when I noticed you ...I don’t know, maybe it started out as therapy, you know? You were all alone there in the nurses’ station, and about the same age I was when Molly died. So maybe it started out that way, but over the times we’ve met, that therapy thing went right out the window. I like you as a friend. I like you. So what if you’re ‘just a kid’? That’s just a calendar thing, anyway. You’re very cool and I’m glad you’re my friend. At least, if you still are my friend ...?”
I gave her hand a squeeze, released it and picked up my fork. “Of course, dummy! No, no–the truth is, I’m just using you to meet cute guys!”
We laughed and ate and talked some more; she said she was sorry we couldn’t spend more time together and it was a shame that I lived so far away from the hospital. We talked a little about the town and hospital, but I think we were both aware that I didn’t really live there but was just visiting for the summer.
I dressed in a scoop-neck t-shirt and khaki shorts, washed, put on a dab of makeup and brushed my hair. I helped clean up, then we got in her car and she took me back to the cabin. It all felt so natural, but of course ‘spending the night with a girlfriend’ now had a very different meaning than before this summer!
Dorothy and I had chatted about movies, music, boys, clothes, and so on during the drive back, and I was amazed at how quickly I was back at the cabin. I was surprised to find nobody home, but had a key and went in. Dorothy couldn’t stay, but I gave her a really quick tour–she thought an attic bedroom was ‘pretty cool!’ and got her a Diet Coke for the drive home, and she took off after a hug.
I realized that I hadn’t been alone in the cabin before, and when I went to my room, I was surprised at how homey it felt. And Dorothy liked the room! I thought then that this was the only room I’d known in my ‘new’ life; I could only vaguely remember my room–my boy’s room–back in the city. As I thought of it, I realized it was pretty stark–did I really not have any posters on the wall? More to think about …
I unpacked, tossed dirties into the hamper, and went down to make a tuna fish sandwich.
I was just finishing lunch when the station wagon pulled in and my cousins entered. My stomach clenched when I saw their faces. I just knew that it had to be about Larry. I ran to the door.
“Uncle Jack ...what is it?” I asked.
He just looked at me, or kind of past me, and said nothing. He walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. My aunt was next.
“Aunt Margaret ...?” I asked, my voice growing high with worry.
She looked at me without recognizing me for a moment, then focused on me. “Hello ...dear. It’s Larry. He’s ...gone.”
“Oh, my God! No!” My hand flew to my mouth and I stood, speechless. She walked past me, put her purse on the table and went to the fridge. She took out orange juice, some glasses from the cupboard, and poured for herself and Jack. The ordinariness of it–the triviality of it–hit her and she crumpled into her chair, weeping. Jack reached his hand to her shoulder and they sat like that, unmoving except for her shoulders. I guessed she’d managed to keep it all in the drive home, then lost it.
I looked through the door and saw Chuck standing at the edge of the yard, staring at the lake. Cindy still sat in the car with the door open, on the edge of the car seat with her feet on the ground. She was slowly rolling her window closed, then got up and walked across the yard to Chuck. She looked up at him and may have said something to him, then looked out across the lake as he did and put her arm around him. In their everyday routine, sniping at each other, it was easy to forget they were big brother and little sister. Now I could see the strength of their family as they comforted each other.
Turning back to my aunt and uncle, I quietly asked, “What …oh, God–what happened?”
Uncle Jack just waved his hand at me slowly; he didn’t want to speak. Aunt Margaret sat up slowly, reached across for her purse and took out a tissue. Dabbing at her eyes and nose, she began haltingly.
“They said ...his kidneys ...um–” She shook visibly and went on stronger. “They said that there was a sudden breakdown of his kidney function and it went toxic all of a sudden. There’d been so much damage ...they had so many things to monitor at once–”
“Should have caught it.” Uncle Jack said quietly.
“Well, they didn’t–”
“Better hospital, maybe. They would have caught it.”
“You don’t know that, Jack. Oh God, I want to believe he got the best care possible. They seemed to know what they were doing–”
“They didn’t do enough. I think I need to talk to a lawyer.”
He got up from the table and went into the living room. Aunt Margaret stared after him; I didn’t move. We heard him rooting around for the phonebook, then making a call.
Aunt Margaret sighed a little. “All he can think of is finding someone to blame.”
I was scared to say anything, and scared not to, so I tried to help. “I think maybe he feels the need to be doing something–anything–for his family.”
She looked at me strangely, and after a moment she said, “Yes, dear, I think you’re right. You have this knack for knowing ...things ...you shouldn’t at your age.”
I wasn’t quite sure how she meant this, or if she meant other things as well. I said, “I’m so sorry, Aunt Margaret. God, I’m …I’m just so sorry! Is there anything I can do? Anything to help out?”
She smiled weakly. “No, dear. Just ...please take this the right way: Just stay out of the way. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think I do. I’ll keep quiet and do everything and anything I can for you. Okay?”
“Thank you, dear.” Then she seemed to look at me–really look at me–for the first time. “You seem changed, somehow. You really are becoming attractive, Susan. I think ...I’m not supposed to say anything, but to hell with it–I’m going to. I’m too …just too tired to think about what’s right and proper anymore, so I’m just going to tell you the absolute truth. I think you are a much better person as a girl than you were as a boy–smarter, kinder, just ...better. You certainly seem much happier as a girl, too. I think you prefer being a girl and I will tell you now that I loved you as my nephew, but you know how it is; you kinda sorta have to love family. But truth be told, I love you more as my niece. Genuinely love you, as a person and not just as family. Understand?”
Despite the circumstances I felt this warm glow of happiness and had to suppress a smile. “Yes, Aunt Margaret. Thank you. And you’re right. About …well, everything.”
“I know, dear. But here’s the bad part: I don’t know how Larry’s ...death–” She gulped a bit and went on. “–How Larry’s death is going to affect how the family feels about your change. Right now Jack blames the hospital, but before things get ugly–and they will, they will …before blame gets thrown around and cruel things are said, I wanted you to know how I really felt. Keep that tight to you.”
She was telling me that I might somehow be blamed for Larry’s death. After all, if I’d gone on the hunting trip, it might have been me that was shot. While no comfort to me, of course, it would mean their son would still be alive. Sure, they’d mourn me, as a distant, troubled cousin. Or maybe if I’d been there, the dynamics of the whole trip would have been different, and nobody would have been shot. Who knew? All I knew was that my uncle blamed himself for letting the boys drink; Chuck blamed himself for …well, for killing his brother; my aunt blamed herself for letting them go off hunting without a sterner warning, perhaps. Cindy? I don’t know if she had any blame for anyone, but I suddenly realized that my transition to Susan might seem like some way to escape the hunting trip and the shooting. I would be a constant reminder of ‘the one who didn’t go hunting’. Maybe Cindy would feel that I should have gone on the trip so she’d still have her brother. No matter what, it was going to be ugly, as Aunt Margaret said, and I would hold her touching confession tight to my heart through the painful times ahead.
I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, then turned to go out to my cousins. They had moved; Chuck was skipping stones at the lakeside and Cindy was sitting with her knees pulled up tight against her chest, arms wrapped around her knees. At first I was shocked at what seemed like Chuck’s ‘playing’; then I realized he was not skipping but hurling the rocks in as viciously hard as he could, grunting with each throw. He’d worked up a sweat, and by the looks of him, he’d keep skipping until the beach was empty of rocks. I walked up into Cindy’s vision. She looked up at me.
“God, Cindy, your mom just told me.”
“Yeah,” she said looking back at Chuck.
We stayed like that for a bit, as I tried to sense her feelings.
“Can I sit down?” I asked.
“Suit yourself.”
I sat next to her, at a loss what to say. “Cindy, I–”
She interrupted with a cold tone. “Have a fun sleepover?” The emphasis on the last word was cruel.
I was shocked. “What?”
“With your new friend? Away from the family?”
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.“Cindy, that’s not what it was. I mean, yes, she’s a new friend, but not the way you mean. And I didn’t do it to get away from the family. It was just ...a sleepover. You’ve had them before.”
She turned to me. “Face it–you do whatever you want. No matter who gets hurt–” Her eyes teared up suddenly and her voice broke. Furious with herself, she knuckled her tears away, then wrapped her arms around her and looked back at Chuck.
I would have responded hotly, defending myself and probably making things worse, but I’d had that warning from Aunt Margaret about blame and could deal with it better. Forewarned is forearmed. So, instead of fighting, I just dropped it. I turned away from her and looked at Chuck, too.
The only thing I could think of was to utter a short prayer. “Dear God, please take care of Larry.” I felt her tension, her seething hatred, ease a bit. And we sat there, listening to the rocks smash into the lake.
It was apparent that my cousins needed time to deal with the loss of Larry; not just the immediate details of burial, but the grief and all that went with it. I sensed that I would only be in the way, and my personal happiness at each day I spent as a girl would be in stark contrast to their misery. They would soon start to blame each other, as my aunt warned me, and they would need to be alone to deal with the realignment of their family.
I walked back from the lake and went next door. Bonnie was in, thank goodness, and I asked to use her computer. She could tell from my face that something was wrong, and I told her about Larry and the situation. I sent an email to my folks telling them of Larry’s death and that it would probably be best if I quietly ended my summer with my cousins as soon as possible. I knew it would screw things up with my parents’ schedule, but it was best for my aunt, uncle, and cousins while they grieved for Larry. Bonnie had called her mom in, and they immediately began cooking things to take over so my aunt wouldn’t have to worry about cooking. I once again learned the strength of women; how they supported each other in the face of sorrow. I thought that if I were allowed to continue on my road to being a woman, I had a long way to go before I automatically responded with such compassion. I was humbled.
I helped with the cooking for a bit, then excused myself to go next door. The cabin was still; Cindy and Chuck had come back from the lake but each member of the family was alone with their grief. I found Aunt Margaret in the kitchen, standing at the sink and slowly wiping a glass. I told her that food was coming from next door; she choked slightly and nodded. We sat at the table and I told her that I had emailed my folks. She protested at first that I didn’t need to bother them, but then she reached across the table, squeezed my hand and smiled sadly.
“Oh, Susan, this’ll be hard for you,” she said as she gripped my hand.
“No, no; you guys have the hard part; are you kidding? I want to help you anyway I can. I don’t want to leave; I mean, I don’t want you to think I ditched you. It just seems ...”
“I know, honey. It just seems better that we be alone. I understand, and I love you for thinking about us. But you’re going to lose the rest of your summer here, and I don’t know if your folks will let you continue–you know, it’s strange for me to think of you as a boy any more. You’re so ...so Susan, you know?”
I nodded and smiled, feeling wonderful and a little guilty.
She looked at me sadly.“But there’s a possibility they might not let Susan continue. Remember, this was only a sort of experiment to see if you liked it and how you did. They might end it. And Dr. Janssen might turn thumbs down, too. But it’s been so great getting to know Susan ...”
She trailed off as her smile faded; I knew that something had reminded her of Larry and his loss came rushing back. She let go of my hand, then continued talking.
“And it’s such an inconvenience for your parents! I don’t know when they’ll be able to get back to take you, so in the meantime you’d better enjoy being Susan. But you’re right; stay out of the way–especially away from Jack and Chuck–and help out on the edges of things until we find out about your folks.”
“Should I stay somewhere else? Bonnie and her mom already said I can stay next door if I need to.”
“That shouldn’t be necessary, but it’s good to know that safety net’s there. You see, Susan ...I know how ugly things can get. You never knew my oldest brother Jeff. He would have been your uncle but he was killed in Viet Nam before you were born.”
“I remember. I mean; I’ve seen pictures of him and heard stories.”
“What your dad probably never told you was how it affected us when we got the news. Mom and Dad–your grandparents–”
“Nonnie and Grampa,” I said.
She smiled weakly. “Right, Nonnie and Grampa. Well, things got ...strained between us all. What I remember most of all was each of us blaming somebody for some trivial thing that could have caused Jeff to be there, as if any of us could have prevented him from going to Viet Nam. And it was crazy. And painful. Especially because the war was just about over. But the blame thing got …crazy. I mean, the week Jeff was supposed to ship out, I was hit by a car and was in the hospital. The Army gave Jeff one extra week so he could be with me, then he had to leave. So after he was killed, I even got blamed that if I hadn’t been hit by the car, he would’ve left a week earlier and maybe would’ve been someplace else that week instead of where he was when he was killed. So it was my fault?”
I could tell the memory still burned fresh. “You’re right, Aunt Margaret, that’s not fair. And it really must’ve hurt.”
“More than anything. Because I got to wondering, ‘Am I to blame?’ And I got to feeling guilty for being so careless so that car hit me. I also learned first-hand about what’s called ‘survivor’s guilt’. Your father was the only one of us that …well, he just kept quiet; no blame or anything, just …quiet. Anyway, we all calmed down eventually. The whole thing was just because we were hurting so bad with Jeff gone, you know? So we tried to hurt each other more–spreading the hurt around–kind of like it might thin out our own pain, make it less. And it didn’t work; I think we hurt even more because deep down we knew it wouldn’t help. And we hurt because we knew we were hurting the ones who loved us. And I want to spare you that. That’s why I warned you; because if I didn’t, you’d get caught up in the blame for what happened to Larry.”
“I really appreciate that. And I love you so much, Aunt Margaret. I only hope I can be as strong and as … caring as you when I grow up.” I got up and went to her, put my hands on her shoulders and hugged her. She hugged me hard and patted my back.
“I love you too, Susan, and thank you for that.” She let up from the hug and I sat back down. “Now, I want you to get a couple of things straight. First, you’re not ‘ditching’ us, you’re doing the right thing, okay?”
I nodded.
“Because, sure as shootin’, someone will accuse you of running away. Don’t listen to it; just know it’s coming from a need to hurt. Got it?”
I nodded again and squeezed my agreement.
“Second. If at all possible, I think you and your parents should try to work out this ...Susan thing, any way you can. Because I, for one, truly believe that your future–your best future–is as a pretty girl named Susan.”
I nodded, feeling warm and happy.
She set her jaw. “I promise you that if they ask, I will tell them that I think you’re better off as a girl. And that’s a solemn promise. But only on one condition–that you be a full, productive woman. Be the best woman you can be. And somehow, find a way to give back to the world. If you get your dream, help other people’s dreams. Okay?”
I was touched beyond words. All I could do was nod and hug her more. I was so fortunate to have such a wise, compassionate aunt!
There was a knock at the door; Monica Doyle was holding a tray with a casserole dish and some Tupperware bowls.
“I just thought I’d ...you know,” she said with an embarrassed little smile. Then the smile disappeared. “Oh, Margaret, I’m so sorry!”
I reached out and took the tray from Mrs. Doyle, who stood uncertainly for a moment. Then my aunt leaned forward and the two women hugged; Mrs. Doyle started to cry a little and it seemed like my aunt was comforting her. Then I realized my aunt was sobbing silently; I could tell by her shoulders. I put the food down and got things ready, set the table, and so on, thinking again about the power of women to help each other.
My aunt and Mrs. Doyle talked quietly on the porch for a bit, then Mrs. Doyle went back home. My aunt came in, saw my handiwork, smiled weakly, and we called the family to eat. Everyone was reluctant, surly, and quietly miserable. We ate in silence, with the exception of the standard ‘pass the butter’ type of thing. Then they wandered back to their rooms and their thoughts, and I cleaned up.
End of Part 11
I reached through the doorway and took the tray of food from Mrs. Doyle, who stood uncertainly for a moment. Then my aunt leaned forward and the two women hugged; Mrs. Doyle started to cry a little and it seemed like my aunt was comforting her. Then I realized my aunt was sobbing silently; I could tell by her shoulders. I put the food down and got things ready, set the table, and so on, thinking again about the power of women to help each other.
The next two days were much the same. I worked closely with the Doyles to get my cousins fed and clothed. I learned everything that we had and didn’t have in our kitchen, went to the store with Mrs. Doyle to get more, and did more cooking than I ever had before. Mrs. Doyle said that even though nobody wanted to eat, they had to so they could keep up their strength. Otherwise they would just get more and more miserable. They also needed the familiarity and regular schedule of eating to anchor themselves to. The worst thing was to sit and brood. So I helped out as much as possible. Same thing with laundry; once my aunt realized that I’d be helping so much, she showed me the ropes and then concentrated on healing her family.
I found out what every wife and mother discovers–just how much work it can be to keep a household going. Of course, I didn’t have to worry about getting anybody off to school or work, since my cousins mostly stayed where they were. Cindy might move from her room to the dock and then back to her room; Chuck threw enough rocks in the lake to raise the water level, or else he was in the garage. My uncle was in the garage when Chuck wasn’t, or else he was in the living room with the TV on and sound off, not even really watching. My aunt moved between them all, talking softly with them or standing mute, until she was so fatigued she’d sleep in her room.
I had a ‘working uniform’ of shorts, a v-neck t-shirt, denim shorts and tennis shoes, and if I wasn’t washing or chopping or cooking food, I was collecting, washing, and folding laundry. My mind went on a kind of vacation; I didn’t think about being a girl or a boy. I didn’t think about my parents; I didn’t think about the future. I just did the work for all of us that needed to be done, chatted with the Doyles a little if I got the chance, and crawled into bed and slept until the next morning. The only thing I did that was even remotely ‘for me’ was to call Dorothy; she hadn’t been on shift yet and hadn’t heard about Larry. She fully understood what we were going through because of her own sister’s death. She said she knew enough to give me space and time, and told me to call her when I was ready. I loved her so much for her compassion and understanding.
On the fourth day my cousins thought they could do their own cooking. For seven or eight meals, they had eaten whatever I put in front of them. By the fourth day they wanted to start making their own individual meals, which meant being together in the kitchen at the same time, which meant–anger. I wished I was invisible as their hurt and misery poured out at each other, touched off by simple things like running low on sugar or having wheat bread instead of white.
I knew they’d turn on me soon and I wanted to be out of there, so I asked my aunt if I could go over to the Doyles’ for a bit. My aunt gave me a knowing look and told me to take a well-deserved rest and spend the afternoon, if it was okay with them. I had some flour on my shirt so I went up to change into another shirt, then thought, “the heck with it”. I’d been in working-girl mode for three days, and I wanted to relax and feel good about myself. If the Doyles were busy, I’d take a walk. So I changed into a new yellow and red sundress, put on my necklace and rings, took out my studs and put in hoops, some blush and lipgloss, brushed my hair full and spritzed on some Sunwater.
My cousins had quieted down and moved to the living room; I slipped through the kitchen and ran lightly over to Bonnie’s. Not only were they in, but without me asking, Mrs. Doyle invited me to spend the day with them if I could! We sat on their patio and had a cool salad and fresh bread she’d made with her new bread maker, and it was wonderful to eat at someone else’s for a change. Bonnie told me I had some email, but since the day was so nice I decided to wait until later to go inside and download it. It was probably my folks’ response to my mail, and I was half-dreading reading it because my aunt had warned me they might want me to stop being Susan. I wanted to put off any heavy real-world stuff as long as I could.
After lunch, Bonnie and I took Hannah to walk along the beach. She had a pail and was collecting special rocks, she told us. So while she scampered down by the water, we kept an eye on her and chatted.
“You’ve been fantastic helping out,” Bonnie said.
“They’re my family, of course I would,” I said with a sigh. “And I’d help you guys if something terrible happened, God forbid.”
“I know you would, Sue. You’re such a good person …The past few days have been rough on you, haven’t they?” Bonnie asked.
I watched Hannah for a moment before answering. “Yeah. Of course, they’ve been rougher on them. I feel guilty because, well ...”
“Do you feel guilty because you weren’t on that hunting trip?” Bonnie asked softly.
I glanced at her and back to Hannah. “It sounds stupid when you say it out loud, doesn’t it? But, yeah, I do. And you know what? I didn’t even really like Larry. He was such a little ...a little ...”
“Chuck. He was such a little Chuck, right?”
I nodded.
“And–he was such a little boy, right? Didn’t you look at him and say to yourself, ‘that’s what they want me to be’? Didn’t you think it–at least a little?”
I stared at her and then burst out, “At least a lot! Omigod, that’s exactly right, Bonnie; I never quite put it together like that, but that’s it! Maybe that’s why I didn’t like him.” I’d never even thought like this, but now that I turned it around in my mind I realized that Bonnie was right; she was very insightful. “But I still feel really bad that he’s gone.”
She nodded and then, to lighten the mood, adopted a teacher’s tones. “So your gender dissatisfaction manifested itself in antipathy to your cousin’s masculinity.”
I laughed and responded with a dumb tone. “Yeah. Right. Whut yew said, miz professuh.”
We both chuckled and watched Hannah try to sneak up on a bird.
Bonnie blew out a breath. “I think that wasn’t an accurate diagnosis, actually. It goes far deeper. Not a reaction to anything; more of …an expression. You know, Susan, you ...” She tried a different approach. “Do you know what you’re going to do now?”
“Not really. When we get back, I’ll check that email. It’s probably from my folks; then I might have a better idea.”
“I meant about the whole gender thing.”
“So do I. Bonnie, there’s something that I haven’t really told you about–and I will–but I want to ask you something before I do. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, and I know it puts you in an awkward space, but Bonnie, what do you think I should do?”
She thought for a moment and said, “I’ll answer that, but you need to phrase the question more specifically.”
I got my thoughts together and said, “Do you think I should continue as Susan? I don’t know what my folks will think, but do you think I should?”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’ll be mad at myself later if I don’t tell you. I think … No, I’m convinced that there’s absolutely no way you can even pretend to be a boy now. You are female, Susan. I’m one, my mom’s one, and my sister’s one, so I know what being female is all about. And you’re one, too, to the absolute core of your being. Of course, your chromosomes would disagree and you’ve got some plumbing differences, but mentally, socially, emotionally, you’re female. Absolutely no doubt about it. So whatever’s between your legs is insignificant compared to what’s between your ears. Continue as Susan? It’s a meaningless question, because you are Susan.”
“Whew!” was all I could say. I reached out and squeezed her hand.
“I know, I know,” she smiled. She chuckled. “But you already knew the answer, didn’t you? I mean, my answer, and–most importantly–your own answer.”
I nodded. “Pretty much.”
She grinned and bumped shoulders with me. “Knew it. So, can you tell me whatever it is, now?”
“Well, you know I’ve been seeing this doctor at the hospital, right?”
“I know you did, and then I heard more about your new friend and …Eric …”
She’d said it all breathy and giggled. I bumped her shoulder right back.
“Yeah. Um …” I sighed.
Bonnie said, “Actually, I wasn’t sure how many times you went to see the doctor. I know you were there for Larry, too.”
I felt a twist of guilt. “You know what? I never saw him. Not once. They thought it would be too …I don’t know …disturbing or something. The thing is, from what my aunt said, he was almost never conscious.” I felt a shiver, despite the warm day. “God, I hope he wasn’t suffering. I hope he was unconscious and not in pain …right through to …to the end.”
“Hope so, too,” Bonnie said, putting her arm around me and giving me a hug.
There was a quiet moment, broken only by Hannah’s squeals and giggles as she scampered around.
I cleared my throat. “The very first day I saw the doctor–oh, about every two weeks was when I saw her–um …we walked in and she had this thick file on her desk.” I held my fingers about four inches apart. “Couldn’t be mine, right? But it was. My parents had …years of stuff about me–I mean they had it with them or could download from their computers back home. Years and years of doctors’ reports, things from my school counselors and …” I swallowed. “They’ve always known something was wrong with me–”
Bonnie held up a finger. “Incorrect. ‘Wrong’ like incorrect; not ‘wrong’ like something bad.”
“Guess so …”
“No, Sue, know so!” Bonnie declared. “Be clear on that. Your parents were collecting data that something was incorrect about you, that an error had been made somehow.”
I shook my head. “God, I’m going to miss you, Bonnie …” My throat caught.
“Hey, I’m just a few keystrokes away!” she grinned. Then she chuckled. “Ah. That’s why you had me tell you what I thought before you told me about your medical file. Because I’m coming from the purely psychological angle.”
I nodded. “Dr. Janssen seems to say that, medically, I should be a girl.”
“And Dr. Doyle says that, psychologically, you are a girl!”
We both bumped shoulders again, grinning.
Hannah ran up to us and had to go potty, so with each of us holding her hands and swinging her between us, we walked back to the cabin. In front of my cousins’ cabin was a black Lincoln Town Car. Bonnie and I gave each other a look; then my mother and father came out of the front door of the cabin. The look on my father’s face was undecipherable; my mother had the strangest smile I’d ever seen.
Bonnie turned to me and said, “Whoa–looks like you’ve got company. I’ll be waiting for you if you need me. Good luck, Susan! Come on, Hannah.”
Hannah was reluctant to let go of my hand. “No, come, Susan!”
I bent at the knees to put me on her eye level, folding my dress behind my knees. “Can’t, Hannah. That’s my mommy, and I want to say hi to her. And you’ve got to go potty, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Bye-bye, Susan. I love you!” she said, waving as Bonnie led her next door. Then Hannah yelled, “Bye-bye, Susan’s mommy!”
I cringed; Bonnie shot me a sheepish look as she waved to my folks. I stood and turned to face my parents. My dad was lagging behind, saying something to Aunt Margaret, so my mother reached me first.
“Well. I’ve never been called that before!” she gave a forced chuckle.
I opened my mouth to apologize, but she continued.
“But I have a feeling it won’t be the last time.”
I didn’t know what to do. Hug them? I wanted to, but wearing a dress? The indecision showed on my face, I guess, because Mom reached out and pulled me to her, giving me the most special hug I could remember.
“How are you, honey?” she said softly, with so much gentleness and compassion, that my eyes welled up. She reached up and put her hands on my cheeks. “Now, now, what’s that? Aren’t you glad to see us?”
My dad had reached us. “We sent an email. Didn’t it download?”
“No, I’ve been busy helping out, and then Aunt Margaret told me to take the rest of the day off and Hannah wanted to go to the water so we left right away. Bonnie told me about your email just now and we were going to read it when we got back from the lake,” I said, looking at him with some reluctance.
While I looked at Dad, my mom reached up and pushed my hair back. “Such pretty hair. But I don’t care for the style too much.”
“Mom!”
I didn’t know whether to be outraged or flattered; I was mostly embarrassed. I realized instantly that I’d said ‘Mom!’ like every teenaged girl did. I’d loved my trip to the salon and loved my hair, but if my mom didn’t like it, maybe I could get another trip to the salon–if they let me be Susan.
Before anybody could say anything more a car pulled up; Eric got out and I wished the earth would open up and swallow me. I also wished Eric would hold me and kiss me, and he looked so good, but I realized the massive embarrassment potential, so I quickly spoke up.
“Eric, these are my folks. Dad, Mom, this is Eric. His father’s a doctor at the hospital.”
Eric had a concerned look. “I just heard about your cousin; I’m very sorry. I just came out to see if there was something I could do, if you needed anything …” Then remembering his manners, “An honor to meet you, sir, ma’am,” as he shook their hands. “I’m Eric Arlington, a friend of Susan’s.”
My dad seemed to shake Eric’s hand like he was sleepwalking; my mother shook Eric’s hand and turned to give me a very strange smile.
I said, “Thank you, Eric, for coming out here. I guess Dorothy told you?”
He nodded.
I winced. “I’ve got to call her again. I’m sorry; I’ve been so busy here taking care of my cousins. This is the first moment I’ve had a chance to breathe, and just now my folks showed up.”
I hoped the conversation would end there, but Eric shocked me by turning to my folks and saying, “I know you’ve just arrived and want to visit with your daughter, and I know you might want to spend time with your sister and her family, but when and if it’s convenient for you, sir, ma’am …I’d like to ask Susan out. That is, if it’s acceptable to you.”
Again, I wanted the earth to swallow me; I felt beet-red with embarrassment, but I also knew that this was a crucial moment. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could do about it; the ball was squarely in their court. I looked at both of them, wondering which way it was going to go.
I was blown away by what happened next. My dad said, “I think that could be arranged; thank you for your courtesy in asking.” He turned to look at me with a face I’d never seen before. “I think my daughter would be free this evening …”
He had a question in his tone as he looked at Mom, who jumped in next with a firm nod. “Yes, of course she will; I think that’d be lovely. Right now, we’ve got to see how our family is doing, you understand.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” Eric said seriously. “And the hospital has very good grief counselors; your family might want to look into them.” He turned to me. “They helped Dorothy when her sister died.”
My dad gave him a more appraising, man-to-man look. “Thank you, Eric. That was very thoughtful.” He looked at Eric a bit longer and I could feel him decide. “I may look into the counselors myself this afternoon. We’re staying at the Sheraton, room 1401. We’ve a lot to do today, but perhaps if you come by at seven, Susan will be ready?”
Omigod! My father had just approved my first real date! And just as suddenly I fully realized that I was leaving the cabin today, leaving my cousins, leaving the Doyles …
Eric thanked them, gave me a warm smile, nodded to me, and left. Oh God, I thought, here comes the weird part.
My mom said, “He seems like a very nice young man, Susan.”
My dad said, “You’ve got excellent taste, young lady.”
Then he startled the hell out of me by looking at me, tilting his head a little to the side, smiling and holding both arms out wide. I think I actually flew into his arms, my arms around his waist, hugging. God, I’d missed them so much more than I thought!
“I think ...” my dad cleared his throat and started over again. “I think maybe it’s good you didn’t get to our email yet.”
“Why?”
Even my mom looked at him quizzically. He held me at arm’s length.
“So the first time we saw you, you didn’t have the pressure of preparation, or warning your friends. I think your mom and I got a chance to see you for what you really are.”
‘…for what you really are …’
The world stopped. My stomach started to tighten; I sagged and I wished I could die right then. Here it comes, I thought. Here comes the disgust and hatred and–
“Our beautiful daughter.”
Huh?
“And we love you.”
Did I hear that right?
“We love you, Susan!”
I was in shock. I was speechless. My mom came up and hugged me from the side, I could see my aunt in the doorway smiling at me, her hands at her mouth, and suddenly everything got blurry. I don’t know where the next words came from.
“Oh, Daddy!” I cried and hugged him tight, so tight.
We rocked back and forth a few times. I had never called him Daddy before, but the way it came out just seemed so right. Then I thought about getting his suit wet from my tears, and broke off the hug. My mom produced a tissue from wherever mothers kept them, and I dabbed at my eyes and my nose.
“Oh God, you guys ...I love you so much. I’ve been going through so much, and I was so scared ...”
“We know, honey,” my mom said. “We’ve …known.”
“My file,” I nodded, sniffing and dabbing. “Dr. Janssen’s, I mean. You already had all that information about me.”
Mom said, “Susan–look at me, honey.” I looked up as she said, “We have a lot to talk about. We don’t have to do it here on the beach, do we?” I shook my head. She smiled, “So it can wait, okay? But we will talk.”
My dad put his hand lightly on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Susan, we’ve been …Let me put it this way: We’ve been aware of you, for years. Even when you–even when Stuart wasn’t aware–we were fairly certain that …well, let’s say ‘that our daughter would make her appearance’. And here you are.” His smile was wonderful!
Mom’s smile was, too. “We might have been thousands of miles away, sweetheart; but we had no way of knowing when Susan might join us. The timing with our work was unfortunate, but we’re all together now. But even while we were away, your aunt was on top of things so we knew what was happening, what you were doing, what you were going through. What we didn’t know was how well you’re doing!” I knew she meant Eric. “We didn’t know how … natural you are as a girl. Or how pretty you are!”
I blushed and got the warmest feeling, head to toe! “Oh, Mom!”
Dad joined in. “Why don’t we get out of the road, here?” He called to my aunt in the doorway. “Margaret? Got some tea?”
“You know I always do!” she called back, with a sad but happy smile.
“Then my wife and daughter and I would love to share a pot with you!”
And we went into the cabin; my mother, my father, and me–their daughter.
The End