Summer's End Part 1 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.

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This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

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PART I: The Nightclub

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Mid August, Wednesday, 12:45.

I have some fond memories of driving that old car on hot summer days, with my long hair flowing back through the open T-top roof... and the drive out to the lake today had been another of those memorable experiences. By the time I had pulled into the beach parking lot, the combination of sun and wind had really relaxed me -- I was looking forward to sunbathing, and maybe a little cautious swimming... truly happy, perhaps for the first time in what felt like ages. Had it really only been a couple weeks, since my life had changed so dramatically?

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Chapter 1:

Late July, Friday, 17:00.

"Hey Crystal, what are you up to, tonight?"

"Oh, hi, Barb," I muttered, pinning my cell phone to my shoulder with my head, while trying to unlock my car door. "Nothing much. What's up?"

"I heard that there is a really good new dance club, that opened down on the south side a few weeks back. Supposed to be an excellent mix of music, and lots of people our age, or younger, there. Interested in checking it out?"

"Oh, fudge!" I barely refrained from swearing, as I felt the cell phone start to slip. Picking it up off the pavement, it seemed okay... so I continued, "You still there?"

She laughed. "Hey, if you don't want to go, you don't have to blow my eardrums out! What was THAT?"

I sighed. "Just me being a klutz, sorry. Anyway, I would love to come... do you want me to meet you there, or what?"

"Umm... how about if you pick me up around nine-ish, so that I can tell you how to get there? I don't exactly know the address, but I think I can find it from what a co-worker told me earlier."

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Friday, 22:12.

"You sure this is the right place, _this_ time?" I grinned as I tilted my head towards her, to take any sting out of my comment.

She rolled her eyes, with a sort of half-smirk. "Picky, picky. So that other place ended up being a country and western bar... but this one definitely looks more promising. Anyway, this way we're just fashionably late -- these places never really get rocking before ten, anyway..."

Locking up my old beater of a car, I wished yet again that I could afford something better... more reliable. Funds had been rather tight of late, what with my severely reduced hours, due to unexpectedly getting hurt at work a few months back... right after blowing all my savings on a boob job. A boob job that I neither really needed, what with having been a natural large 'C' cup, nor particularly wanted... but Alex, my significant other of the time, had been so insistent, for so long...

 «Forget that loser. Live and learn, girl. You are much better off without him, » I thought to myself. I was still getting by okay, though... enough that I could afford an occasional night out with friends... but only if I really watched what I spent.

"You coming, or are you planning on standing there all night?"

I smiled, slightly tossing my head... as if to throw away my errant thoughts. We walked towards the club entrance, joking around as we went... but then, that was what I liked most about Barb: her ability to pull me out of my too often, of late, introspective moods. Fortunately, the line at the door was still reasonably short... and while the moderately large cover charge was an unpleasant surprise, it was not long before we were inside.

Looking around, the general layout seemed to be almost like a high ceilinged, glitzy warehouse, with a large dance floor nearest the door, a central, long bar area dividing the huge room, and tables in the back half. After stopping at the bar, we soon were staking out a small table for ourselves. Not exactly a quiet corner table... but far enough from the dance floor, bar, pool tables, and other things, that conversation should be possible...

"So, what's happening with you and work?" Barb yelled over the music.

"Don't ask. Actually, part of why I came out tonight was to forget about that -- they said they would be happy to hire me back when I am able to work again, but for now, they were letting me go."

"What?! How can they *do* that, when it was the owner's kid that caused you to get hurt in the first place?!"

I just shrugged. "Legally, they can't. But... sometimes, it just is not worth the effort to fight something like that. I hated that job anyway, and if I fought some legal battle to force them to keep me on, I really doubt I would enjoy working there afterwards. It's a family business... and every time they see me having to put my arm back in my sling, it just stirs up fights between the family members. Seriously awkward to be around... plus there is the whole thing about how much a lawsuit costs -- which I can't afford -- and how long it takes..."

I shrugged, again. "Even if I found a lawyer willing to help 'on spec'... it would likely take ages to wind its way through the legal system, and the amount of money I would get after legal fees would make the whole thing an exercise in futility. I need money to pay the rent _today_, not some court ruling against them in a couple years..."

Taking a sip from my glass -- just ginger ale, since I was planning on driving later tonight -- I changed the subject. "Anyway, I made some inquiries... and what with it being a medical issue and all, they said I could apply for financial aid fairly easily. No penalty waiting period, and no having to look for work elsewhere, until I get a clean bill of health from my doctor. I really do _not_ like the idea of having to apply for 'Welfare'... but I suppose this time I am going to have to swallow my pride and just do it."

She made a sympathetic face, vaguely nodding her head. "Yeah, I guess. I know you have been fighting to avoid that for months now, but maybe it _is_ for the best. How is your shoulder doing, anyway? I noticed that you aren't wearing your sling, tonight..."

"Making progress, slowly. I am getting sick of the painful physio exercises, but it has reached the point where, so long as I don't move my right arm outside of some definite limits, or try to pick up anything over a couple kilo's in weight, the pain isn't too bad. Repetitive motions like typing also sets it off... which is why I can't even do light office work right now... but it is definitely getting better. A couple more months, and I should be clear to go back to 'light' work -- somewhere -- and able to get back on my feet, so to speak. If I was not already just about wiped out, I would just live on my savings till then... but as it is, things are just too tight. I guess I will apply next week. Actually, I already have an appointment to see a case worker on Wednesday."

"Why Welfare, anyway? I mean... shouldn't this be, like, Short Term Disability, or Employment Insurance, or... something?"

I shrugged, opening my eyes wide and rolling them, while tilting my head and gesturing with my free hand. "Who knows what madness lurks in what passes for the microscopic minds of Government? I know nada about this sort of thing, since I have never used it before... so I asked -- and this was the program that the helpline agent told me that I needed to apply for... and actually, it isn't really called 'Welfare'. I mean, *I* call it that, but I think the official term is something like 'Income Assistance', or some other silly, politically correct buzz phrase du jour. Whatever... I still feel the same about taking it, regardless of whatever they call it..."

"Well, good for you, girl! I mean, about actually making an appointment -- it is way passed time you just got out of that mess, no matter how you have to do it." She held up her glass in a sort of salute, then added, "Enough of that depressing crap. Let's have some fun!"

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Friday, 23:35.

"What do you think?" Barb asked, turning towards me in the crowded bathroom. Fixing her makeup, without having her elbow jostled, had been a challenge... and she had given up entirely on getting close enough to the mirror to really check herself out.

"Better than mortal man deserves!" I quipped back. From her pleased smile... but otherwise clueless expression... I gathered the old Terminator reference had gone completely over her head.  «Not a classic Sci-Fi fan, obviously, » I thought with an internal giggle.

I smiled again, as my thoughts strayed. Barb wasn't the most feminine of girls... actually, she was a bit on the butch side... but she did clean up well, when she dressed for a night out. Not beautiful... but at least fairly pretty, in a 'strong' sort of way. Which was a good thing, when a couple girls wanted a night out -- but were a little short on cash. The smile turned into a mild smirk, as I thought of the guys who had been buying us drinks.

 «Dream on, dudes. Unless I am reading her wrong, I suspect she is more likely to ask _me_ to go home with her tonight, than any of them. »

Not that that particular prospect bothered me in any way... I knew we were both bi... but part of me hoped it wouldn't come to that. From the few times we had gone out together since meeting, I knew she was fun to hang out with occasionally... but there was no real magic there. Sex just for sex's sake had always had little appeal for me... I suppose that makes me a little old-fashioned, but I have always preferred "making love", to "hooking up"...

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Friday, 23:48.

As the dance ended, I found myself looking deep into Barb's eyes, with our hips grinding together and our right legs intertwined.  «That girl really knows how to dirty dance! » I thought. Lost in the passion of the moment, slowly, oh so slowly, I leaned in towards her... ready to stop, if she even hinted resistant. Finding none, I gently pressed my moist lips against hers... eyes wide open. Her own eyes were smiling, as I felt her soft lips part and her tongue lightly dance across my own lips -- only to pull away, sharply, as some idiot guys started applauding from the dance floor beside us.

"Sorry," I mouthed quietly towards her, as we both rolled our eyes at the jerks, then slipped apart back to our table.

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Saturday, 00:15.

The small glass of white wine I had finally decided to indulge in, figuring I would still be safe to drive if I kept it to only one, sparkled as I held the glass up to the light. Still savouring the taste from a small sip, I glanced up as two young women... little more than teenagers, actually... came over to talk.

"Hi!" The shorter of the two, vaguely Goth looking girls, un-originally said. "We saw you two out on the floor earlier... and just wanted to say that we think it is great that you could do something like that, at a straight club like this."

Barb just shrugged, with a lazy grin... while I took advantage of being turned slightly away from them, to momentarily cross my eyes, then glance briefly upwards with a slight shake of my head. "Thank you," I said with a smile, as I turned towards them.

At first, I thought this was going to be just another mindless exchange of meaningless pleasantries... so to be honest, I did not pay much attention to what was said after that -- letting Barb carry the conversation. But somehow, things turned to one of the girls complementing Barb on her tattoo -- or what she could see of it. That lead to Barb glancing around for watching guys; then leaning in, so that, with our four bodies blocking the view of anyone else, she could slip her top off her shoulder completely, to give them a better view.

"Kewl. I don't have any tat's... but we both just did our nipples last weekend."

I blinked, as both girls took advantage of the short crop tops they were wearing, lifting the bottom edges up just enough to expose their (bra-less) nipples to us.  «Well, they definitely do have their nipples pierced... but jeez, I wonder what they think they are doing, exposing themselves like that? Seeing if they can get the "lesbians" wet, or what? From the way they did that in perfect sync, I'll bet they planned this... »

Glancing around, it seemed that they had gotten away with it, though. No one even seemed to have noticed anything unusual... which I suppose wasn't that unlikely, given that from outside the tight cluster of our bodies, it was doubtful anyone could have seen anything...

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Saturday, 00:22.

Luke was fairly cute, I must admit. Athletic looking, without being too muscle bound. Masculine, with rugged good looks, but not just a jock. A rather charming gentleman, in fact... as was his slightly taller friend Jeff, who Barb also seemed to be enjoying attention from. We drifted towards the dance floor, leaving the third, shorter and slightly overweight guy, Sid, to watch our drinks and purses, along with his buddy Rob... who made me feel vaguely uncomfortable, although I could not say exactly why. The fifth guy in the party, James, was already too wasted to care where he was... as Sid also seemed to be rapidly working on achieving. Jake was supposed to be around somewhere, but we had not seen him, yet.

All of them were technically too young for me... but what the heck. It is not every day that a 'hot young stud-muffin' comes on to me, so why pop his delusion about my age? Grin.  «Just a Cougar on the prowl... » I laughed to myself. Or maybe he knew... and just did not care. I might be a few years older than him... five? ten?... but I knew I looked years younger than my age... and it was not like I was ancient, or something. They all seemed to be about college grad age... mid to late twenties, at a guess... but said that they were actually a group of oil patch workers, who had flown into the city for a few days of R and R. I suppose that was why they all looked fairly muscular -- I did not know a lot about oil rigs, but I gathered it was fairly hard (and dangerous) work... at least, if these characters' stories could be believed, anyway.

"Does Jeff really have his own airplane, or was he pulling our legs about that?" I yelled into Luke's ear, as a slow dance brought us closer together on the floor.

"Yeah, although it's just a little seven-seater prop job, not a Lear jet or anything. I think he mostly keeps it out there because the company pays him extra to have it on standby at the rig, in case of emergencies... though it sure beats wasting a day driving back to civilization, when our rotation is up."

"Rotation?"

"We work three weeks in camp, then get a week off before we hafta go back."

"Kewl. So do you live here in the city, or are you just vacationing here?"

"A bit of both. I am actually from back East, but a bunch of us got together to rent a place here for our days off. How about you, are you from around here?"

I smiled, and gave him a mock serious wink. "Now that would be telling, wouldn't it? Sorry love, but I have already had one stalker in my life... and have already learned the hard way not to give hints about where I live to strangers... or at least, not on a first date."

"A stalker? I can believe it. You're absolutely gorgeous, you know that, right?"

I smiled politely, while demurely glancing down... but inside, I just dismissed his comment as outrageous flirting. Pretty, maybe... and I had worked very hard to give myself a dancer's slim, lithe body... but, "gorgeous"? Silly, I know. I have heard comments like that often enough that sometimes I wonder if they are right... but inside, I always doubt them. Too many years of hating my own body, while growing up, I suppose.

"Would you like another dance," he asked, as the current song faded out, "or are you ready for a break?"

"A break, please. My shoulder is bothering me a bit..."

As we walked up to our table, I started to reach for my glass... only to have Luke place his hand over it. Puzzled, I glanced up at him.

"Let me buy you a fresh drink," he said, with slightly uneasy body language.

With a shrug and a sunny smiled, I said, "Sure, why not. A ginger ale, please -- I'm driving tonight." At least my old drink wasn't going to waste. Behind Luke's back, I could see Barb already picking it up -- with a questioning look at me, to which I gave a tiny nod -- as we turned away.

Seeming much happier, Luke lead us off towards the bar. "No problem. Do you mind if I drink something stronger, though? We rented a stretch limo for the evening, so I don't need to worry about that."

I grinned up at him, tilting my head. "A stretch limo?! Are you serious? Must be nice to be rich..."

He laughed. "Not really... we earn pretty good wages out on the rig, but this was just a brainwave Rob came up with -- he had never ridden in one, and just wanted to do it."

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Saturday, 00:34.

I stopped, as I worked my way through the crowd outside the restroom. Why was Barb just standing there like that... blankly staring off into space... motionless? I started towards her through the crowd... but before I got there, Jeff intercepted me. "Hey beautiful, my turn for a dance, okay?"

"Err... okay."

With a last, puzzled look at Barb... who didn't seem to be in any danger, even if she was acting strangely... I turned away towards the floor, quickly losing sight of her in the crowd. Sometimes, it sucks being short... at least, compared to the guys around me. Actually I am a little over average height for a woman... but in a room with guys in it, most of what I see is just the person in front of me.

When a break in the crowd opened up a few minutes later, Barb was gone... so I just put the whole thing out of my mind, quickly losing myself in the flow of the music, and the rhythm of dancing.  «Heh, not just good looking... he dances pretty well, too... »

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Saturday, 00:47.

"Whew. I am exhausted... can we rest again for a while?" I asked, batting my eyes up at Jeff.

"Sure. Do you need a drink?"

"Yes please... just a bottled water, though."

With a nod, I followed as he lead us over to the bar. For some reason, ordering the drinks seemed to take a lot of conversation... although maybe they were just talking about something else... before I finally saw Jeff slip something (folded money?) to the bartender. It took a few minutes, as the bartender fiddled around half out of sight, opening a new case of bottles... but at least the new case had frost on it, so they were probably ice cold. Just from habit, I watched the bartender as he walked back with my beverage, noting with pleasure that he took the time to crack the seal open for me as he walked.  «Must be nice to be that strong, » I thought.  «I always have to fight to open those caps, but he just did that effortlessly... »

Thanking Jeff, who had also picked up a beer for himself, I walked back to our table. Being very thirsty, I took a rather unladylike, large first gulp of water... which I, almost, spat back out again, as I noticed a strange, vaguely salty... almost metallic... aftertaste.  «Odd... that is supposed to be pure water, but it sure doesn't taste like it. Mineral water, maybe? Whatever. If so, there are w-a-y too many minerals in there... »

Putting the rest of the drink down, deciding to not risk whatever was wrong with it, I slipped up onto the stool at our table, spinning back around to face out towards the dance floor... which was packed with people.

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Chapter 2:

AUTHOR WARNING: Some people may wish to skip ahead to the last sentence of this chapter... for reasons that should be clear after reading the first few sections, if it is not already obvious...

Saturday, 01:55.

"Last call for drinks, ladies and gentlemen. The bar closes in five minutes."

I blinked, staring at the dance floor... which was almost empty.  «That's odd... I could have sworn it was full of people a minute ago... »

I glanced around, noting that James and Sid were both totally out of it... and a dark haired stranger (Jake?) was helping Sid onto his feet.  «Where did the time go... I thought it was still over an hour till closing time... »

"Hey Crystal, did you want to come see the limo, before we go?" Jeff seemed unusually intense, as he asked. Or maybe it was just me... I seemed to be having trouble focusing.

"Sure, why not." I found myself saying... even though I had seen stretch limo's before, and normally could care less about any car. It just seemed... easier... to go along with what he was saying, than to try to make an excuse...

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Saturday, 02:05.

"I think she has had a bit too much to drink tonight," Jeff laughed to the door bouncer, as he guided me out the door with a firm hand on my shoulder.

I blinked, as the clock on the wall by the door caught my eye.  «Five after two? I thought they just did last call, a minute ago... »

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Saturday, 02:10.

"So, you want to come for a ride, Crystal? We have paid for the whole night... so the driver can drop you off back here later, and you really should see what this thing is like!"

"Umm... why not?" I muttered, just wanting to sit down, anywhere.  «I don't feel real good... »

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Saturday, 02:25.

"Anyone want anything from the store?" Rob asked, as he opened the passenger door and started to get out.

I started to shake my head... then paused. "Yes please. A water or something... my stomach feels a bit... off." I glanced around, noticing that I was inside the limo, and that it was in an "Open 24 hours" convenience store's parking lot.  «How did we get here? And is that the right time? » I thought, noting an illuminated digital clock at the front of the passenger compartment.

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Saturday, 02:42.

"Hey Crystal, do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay with the guys?"

"Huh?" Not my most intelligent moment, as I snapped back to awareness once again. Luke was standing outside the open limo door, which seemed to be in a hotel parking lot, somewhere... although I could not, quite, read the hotel's name from this angle. Sid and James were standing beside him... sort of. Actually, "leaning" might be a better word for what they were doing, as they seemed to be holding each other up.

"Do you want to come stay with me in my hotel room, or go with Jeff and the guys?" Luke patiently repeated... staring into my eyes with the oddest expression. Sort of a combination of pity... a hint of anger... and... something else. The anger was not directed at me... but, it made me vaguely uneasy... and I just did not seem to have the energy to get up... or even move.

"Go with the guys, I guess. I need to get back to my car, anyway..."

 «Odd. Had Luke really mouthed the words "I'm sorry," as he turned away? I wonder why? »

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Saturday, 02:57.

"Come on, Crystal, end of the line. Up and at 'em, girl."

I blinked my eyes open, then forced them wide open... trying to focus. We seemed to be in the middle of a new sub-division... with partially completely houses on some of the lots. The two story, large white house in front of me looked brand new, although I noted absently that the landscaping was not yet done... and for some reason, there did not seem to be a street number on the house. Actually, although I could easily see the nearest corner, lit up by a solitary street lamp... there did not seem to be a street intersection sign, either.  «I wonder where we are? »

Following sleepily along as Jeff tugged gently on my arm -- fortunately, my left arm rather than my painful right one -- I soon found myself standing by the front door. Behind me somewhere, I vaguely heard the limo drive off... which for some reason seemed important... but only briefly, before that thought faded away.

"Come on sleepy-head, let's go get you a bed to crash on. You really seem out of it."

I smiled, vaguely. "That sounds like a great idea..."

As Jeff lead me inside, supporting me briefly as I kicked off my heels, before leading me up a flight of stairs... I thought I heard Jake talking to Rob. "How much did you use, anyway, dude? She seems totally wasted..."

Their voices faded out, as we climbed the steps... which seemed to be taking all my concentration, just to manage. For some reason, what I had heard seemed important for a moment... but then, like so many things, it just seemed too hard to focus on...

"Here we go, " Jeff exclaimed, as he lead me into what seemed a sparsely furnished, but large room. Actually, there seemed to be little in it, other than a king sized bed mattress on the floor... still wrapped in plastic, although with some bedding spread out over it... and a solitary, big cardboard box next to it. The box seemed to be being used as a nightstand, as there was a cheap alarm clock on it. Strange... but then, I vaguely recalled that what I had glimpsed of the entrance and living room, while climbing the stairs, had also been nearly empty.

 «Must be still moving in, or something... » I fuzzily thought.

"Do you think you can get undressed yourself, or would you like a little help?"

I smiled, vaguely.  «That is nice of him... I have a hard enough time getting dressed or undressed, with this shoulder -- even when I am not as dizzy as I feel right now.... »

"I would like some help, please."  «Strange. Why does this somehow feel... wrong? Showing skin has never bothered me... but... still... »

He grinned, then moved behind me. A moment later, I felt his hands fumbling at my neck, untying the halter top of my dress... followed shortly by it sliding off -- as my panties seemed to be doing, too.

 «I should say something about that...I did not mean for him to take those off, too... »

But somehow, it all just seemed unimportant, as the room faded back out of focus...

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Saturday, 03:17.

I jerked back to awareness, as a sharp pain stabbed into my groin. "Too rough!" I moaned, wondering who the muscular man on top of me was. I tightened my thigh muscles against his hips, frantically trying to control his depth. "Not so deep, please..."

 «Why am I having sex with someone? And goddess, is he a big one... it almost feels like he is going to split me in two, inside... »

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Saturday, 04:38.

"Jeez, man, what did you do to her? She is bleeding from inside... and it is bright red, fresh blood. Not like she is having a period, or something."

Someone laughed, from over beside the room's door. "What, you an expert on periods, dude?"

Exasperated, the man on top of me... who for some reason, didn't seem to be the same one I vaguely remembered from earlier... snapped back. "Fuck off, Rob. You know what I mean... I had a kinky girlfriend last year, who actually wanted to have sex during her period -- and it was nothing like this..."

Laughter, again. "That's why they call me 'the Italian Stallion', little man. 'Cause I am hung like a horse. Seriously, though... don't worry about it. I heard somewhere that menstrual blood varies a lot in appearance... and even if she really is hurt, girls are used to bleeding down there. Anyway, a little blood will just make her slipperier for you -- I hadda use lube, at first. Ice bitch was stone cold dry..." More laughter. "Ya would almost think this slut wasn't begging for this...". More laughter, this time accompanied by a sort of thump... as if he had been laughing so hard, that he fell back against the wall...

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Saturday, 07:46.

I vaguely remembered fading in and out a few other times... heavy, sweaty, bodies moving on top of me... loud panting in my ear, as they individually strained away, jerking my whole body as they thrust painfully into me... more pain from my shoulder, as their arms forced my own arm tight against me, almost threatening to break my elbow as the awkward angle bent it the wrong way... the prickly, slightly scratchy feeling of short morning whiskers pressed against the smooth skin of my face... disgusting, slobbering kisses smeared onto my breasts, neck, and face... more slobber, as a slimy, foul tasting smoker's tongue forced itself into my mouth... occasional stabs of intense pain from parts of my scalp, as shifting weight threatened to pull out some of my long, strawberry-blonde hair... but I had not been facing the clock, those times.

Now, it's dimly glowing numbers were right in front of my eyes. I wondered, briefly, what had woken me... for no one seemed to be on top of me, at the moment... but then, I felt a man's hand slide along the gently rounded curve of my hip, from behind. I seemed to be on my side, and as I realized this, I felt his hard organ bumping up against my bottom.

"What are you doing?" I mumbled.

"Hey, beautiful dreamer. With us again, are you? Mind if we do anal?"

Protesting seemed almost like too much work... but somehow I managed, "Not without a condom."

 «Odd. Why did I say that? I think we have already had unprotected sex, many times, vaginally. » For some reason, that seemed to bother me intensely, for a moment... but then I was distracted by his reply.

"Afraid I ain't gotta rubber, but no problem." I felt him roll me back towards him, then his hand rubbing at my clit for a moment... almost as if he were attempting to excite me. If so, he gave up far too soon... instead rolling onto me, then plunging all too quickly inside of me. I stifled a scream by softly biting his shoulder... for that had really hurt.

 «Oh goddess, that feels like I am tearing apart inside... a little more, each time he thrusts... like a slowly splitting banana peel. » Sickened by that too graphic thought -- sometimes, I hate my vivid imagination -- I tried to focus on not saying anything.

 «Just go with it... get him to cum as fast as possible, so that he will stop... »

For some reason, that thought bothered me. Not the part about rhythmically contracting my vaginal muscles, from the outside inwards... 'milking' him, to 'hurry him up'. Intercourse was always of little interest for me, so it was not the first time I had done *that* little trick for a partner before. But... everything else.

 «How did I end up here, last night? I must have agreed to having sex, at some point... didn't I? But *why* without protection? That's *totally* unlike me... »

"God. You're so tight... it's fantastic..." He moaned in my ear with pleasure... while I felt a tear trickling slowly down the side of my face, into my hair.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 09:32.

I stumbled on the stairs, but managed to catch myself without falling. I had to use my right arm to do it, though. For a moment, the excruciating pain blinded me... and, almost, masked the pain between my legs. Biting my lip, I swayed quietly in place for an aeon-long minute... trying to catch my breath.

"Do you think she will get pregnant?" The faint voice drifted softly up the stairs, from somewhere below.

"Nah. She was pretty out of it, but at one point I think she babbled something about not being able to have kids..."

 «What _else_ did I talk about, last night?! Do they _know_?! I have *got* to get _out_ of here. If they clock me now, they will _kill_ me... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

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Chapter 3:

Saturday, 09:35.

With an effort, I managed to straighten up, painfully, from picking up my shoes... before stepping into the living room, with a faked sleepy smile on my face. "Umm, hey guys... good morning."

Moving slowly and cautiously, I drifted towards one of the few pieces of furniture -- a brand new couch, still wrapped in plastic. As I eased down, gently, onto it, Jeff came over from the equally bare kitchen... where he had been talking with Rob.

"Hey there, sleepy-head. Finally awake, eh? Do you want some breakfast, before you go? Or would you just like a ride back to your car?"

Feeling vaguely nauseated even from the thought of food, I gave him a wane smile. "Just a ride, please..."

"No problem. You really tied one on, last night... how much do you remember about what you did, anyway?" His eyes seemed strangely intense as he asked that last part... and I noticed the quiet background conversation in the kitchen ceased, awaiting my reply.

 «Tied one on? I may drink occasionally, but I have never been drunk in my life... and I only had one glass of wine. Or at least, I _think_ I did. Didn't I? »

An almost eerie sense of something very wrong invaded my confused thoughts... and rather than offering the whole truth, I found myself feeling oddly... reticent? Reluctant, to share everything. What little that was. "Not much, actually. Just bits and pieces, flashes of things that don't make much sense. How did I end up here, anyway? And where is 'here'?"

The almost... triumphant?... expression on his face, as he briefly turned towards his buddies, puzzled me... but then, everything seemed a puzzle at the moment. "Oh, you just seemed too wasted to drive yourself home, and since we didn't know where you lived, we let you crash at our place for the night."

"Umm, thanks, I think. Is this your house, then?"

"Nah, not really. It's a show home for a new sub-division... or at least, it'll be one when they finish it. I know a guy on the construction crew, who said we could stay here this weekend. We have to be out before work starts again on Monday... but hey, even that saves a couple hundred in hotel bills." He grinned. "All the more for partying!"

"Oh," was my brilliant reply. Or at least even that seemed brilliant to me, as hard as I was finding it to make my mind track anything.  «Don't let go, yet, girl. You have to keep it together, until you are safe. »

"Just give me a minute to get my coat, and I'll give you a ride..." His voice faded out as, despite my best efforts, I lost track of things for a minute. At least, I hope it was only a minute... but right now, time seemed... strange. Hard to hold on to.

"Ready to go?" A simple question, that snapped me back into focus.

"Sure," I smiled. Or at least I tried to. Somehow, I suspect that smile was not much more successful than my attempts to stay focused.

As we walked out the front door... or rather, he did, while I did my best to stumble after him -- unsteady on my feet, despite the fact I was carrying my heels, rather than even attempting to wear them -- the bright sunlight hit my optic nerves like a blow. Squinting through suddenly tearing eyes, I managed to make out a big, black, four wheel drive pickup.  «Of course. What else would a guy like this drive? » Fortunately, there was a chromed step on the side... as I doubt I could have managed to climb up inside without it, between the dreadful ache inside my groin, and the still throbbing pain from my recently aggravated bad shoulder. Looking around, I re-discovered yet again the complete lack of street signs.

 «I wonder where this is? Even if it's not his house, I should try to figure out where I was... »

Sinking into the soft leather seats, though, that thought proved to be futile... for we had not driven a block, before the gentle vibration from the engine soothed me back into unconsciousness.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 10:52.

A jolt, as the truck drove over something, jarred me back to awareness... although as I looked blearily out the window, I did not recognize where we were. Glancing over at Jeff, I got my first really good look at him in daylight... and it dawned on me that, despite the (prematurely?) receding hairline, his smooth skin texture and fine-pored morning beard stubble suggested someone younger than I had thought, last night.

"Umm, if you don't mind my asking, Jeff... how old are you, anyway?"

He started, obviously not aware that I had woken up. "Oh! Uh... sure, no problem. I turned twenty-one a couple months ago... why?"

I flinched, slightly.  «Oh goddess, *that* young?! » "Err, no reason, just curious. I never was all that good at guessing ages." I fibbed slightly, while tilting my head and pausing a bit. "How old would you say I look?"

He laughed. "Now that's a loaded question!" Glancing at me for a moment, before turning back to his driving, he continued. "Seriously? I dunno... twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? Something like that..."

 «Crap, girl. Talk about robbing the cradle... you are older than he thinks, and he is way younger than you thought, too. You could -- almost -- be this kid's mother. 'A cougar on the prowl', indeed. WHAT were you thinking, last night?! How could you *do* that?! »

Biting my lip, I turned back towards the side window... which slowly blurred back out of my fading awareness...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 10:15.

"You gonna be alright, to drive yourself home?"

My eyes opened, to see Jeff looking at me... and the truck parked, somewhere. Sitting up, I looked blearily around, vaguely recognizing the parking lot of the nightclub... nearly empty, other than my car and a few other strays here and there. "Umm, sure. No problem."  «No problem? Maybe... »

"Thanks for the ride, Jeff." I turned away, and fumbled open the door.  «Oh gods, that is a long ways down. Don't lose it yet. If you fall, the pain will only get _much_ worse. »

In a weird way, the agony from my shoulder -- as I reluctantly used both of my arms to support my descent -- was actually helpful. I felt the blanket of confusion clear from my mind, as the white-hot, burning pain drove away the cobwebs... at least, for the moment. My right arm was useless afterwards, but I managed a wane smile, as I turned back and gave Jeff a small wave good-bye with my left hand. Fumbling to pick up my purse... which somehow had been on the truck seat beside me, although I have not the _faintest_ idea how it got there... I managed to pull out my keys, and stagger over to open my car door. Gently, slowly, clenching my teeth and squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the tears, I painstakingly folded myself into the low driver's seat... vaguely aware of Jeff's truck engine fading away into the distance, while I did so. By the time it belatedly occurred to me to look, it was already far too late to make out his licence plate... which seemed to be curiously covered in dirt, anyway -- despite the rest of his truck being sparklingly clean.

 «Forget it, girl. Just focus on the important things... like how you are going to drive this thing home, without killing yourself -- or anyone else. » Biting my lip, hard, barely registered over the other pains... and yet, it did seem to help. Or at least, somehow, I made it home.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 10:48.

As the automatic garage door closed behind my car, I almost lost it... but not quite.  «Just a few more minutes, then you can rest. »

Getting out of the car wasn't -- quite -- as bad as getting in... but the new peak of agony served to renew my strength and focus. First up the steps into the house proper... then down the long single flight of stairs to my basement suite... each step seeming a new, insurmountable task. Yet somehow, I made it... and across my suite, to the bathroom. Shedding my rumpled dress, I started to pull away my blood soaked panties... then gave up. Starting the tub filling with hot water, I just eased into it still wearing them... figuring it might hurt less, if I softened the dried blood first.

It was a long time, before I got out of that tub. Over and over again, I found myself draining the tub, to get rid of the dirty water... then filling it again, to try once again to cleanse myself. But somehow, no matter how much I washed, I just could not feel clean...

 «Did I do that? What was I _thinking_, to do something like that? Goddess, girl, what the _frak_ were you thinking, to do something like that? With _three_ guys, that you just met? That is TOTALLY not like you...! »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Summer's End Part 2 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART II: Complications

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

It was a long time, before I got out of that tub. Over and over again, I found myself draining the tub, to get rid of the dirty water... then filling it again, to try once again to cleanse myself. But somehow, no matter how much I washed, I just could not feel clean...

 «Did I do that? What was I _thinking_, to do something like that? Goddess, girl, what the _frak_ were you thinking, to do something like that? With _three_ guys, that you just met? That is TOTALLY not like you...! »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Chapter 4:

Late July, Saturday, 20:17.

The phone just rang, then cut out rather than going to voicemail. The same way it had been doing all day...

 «I hope Barb is okay. She isn't answering her cell... and that is the only number I have for her. I know what high-rise building she lives in, but... not what unit number, nor is she listed on the building directory -- and that is a very large building. I guess I will just send her an email, asking her if she is okay... then hope she gets back to me... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 10:35.

"Hi Sara. Thanks for meeting with me."

"No problem, Crystal. From the way you sounded on the phone, I figured you really needed to talk this morning. Was there something in particular you wanted to ask?"

Sigh. That was Sara for you. Direct, and to the point... but she was also the head nurse of a local hospital Emergency centre, and right now I really needed to talk to her.

Or at least, I thought I did. Only now... at the moment of truth... I found myself strangely reluctant to start talking.

"Go ahead, Crys." Her voice was surprisingly gentile, as was the hand she placed on top of mine, on the coffee shop's table.

"Something happened Friday night... but I still am not sure what. I mean... no one forced me to do what I did... I think... but I just do NOT get how I could possibly have done that. I mean... some of it, maybe... although even those parts are kind of weird. But other things? No way would I have done those... except, that is what I seem to remember doing. Sort of... at least, what little I can remember, anyway."

"Whoa, girl. You're not making much sense. Can you just start at the beginning, and tell me everything you can remember?"

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 10:58.

I was shaking, rocking back and forth in my chair, as I got to the last part... about scrubbing myself, over and over again. At least the tears in my eyes were not alone... for Sara -- hard, practical, Sara -- was also crying, with me.

She bit her lip, staring off into space. "There is probably no way to prove this, now... as by now, the chemicals will have worked their way out of your system, mostly... and if it is what I think it is, they are too close a match for things your own body produces in small quantities, normally... but that sounds an awful lot like an overdose of GHB -- Gamma Hydroxybutyrate. It's one of a class of what are commonly known as 'date rape' drugs... drugs that lower your inhibitions, and make you highly susceptible to following suggestions. That particular drug has detailed instructions for making it somewhere out on the web, from what I have heard... but actually making it is a bit tricky, and mistakes are often made. From the sounds of it, whoever made the dose you received screwed up, badly -- you are lucky you are not dead, right now. You probably would be, if you had swallowed more than a single mouthful out of that water bottle... or if you had drunk even a little more alcohol that night."

She sighed, still staring off into the distance. "We see all too much of this in the E.R., lately. Sometimes just victims coming in... sometimes, people idiotic enough to have used this crap on themselves, as a way of getting high, believe it or not. Usually the effects of pure GHB wear off after just four to six hours... but if it is used to spike an alcoholic drink, or if you have had an alcoholic drink previously, as in your case... or if they screwed up, and it was not 'pure' GHB, but a mix of GHB and other chemicals... as several things suggest in your case... the effects can last for half a day, or sometimes even more. The nausea, dizziness, amnesia, and other things you have mentioned, all point to a major overdose -- bordering on lethal."

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "Despite your recent shoulder problems, you are basically a very healthy person -- a former athlete, with an athlete's very robust cardiovascular system. A detail I mention, as it is quite possibly the only reason you are alive right now. With the sort of symptoms you mentioned, there is another symptom that might very easily have happened -- often, with that kind of overdose, the victim simply stops breathing. Whoever did that to you should be locked up, and the key thrown away... even if you ignore the rape part."

She took a deep breath, then slowly let it out... finally turning her gaze, to look straight into my eyes. "And it was rape, Crystal. Chemically induced rape, where your ability to say 'no' was taken from you, with a drug. It's not your fault..."

It was my turn to stare off into space, before looking at her with tormented eyes. "Are you sure? I mean... you want to know something that is _really_ messed up? I remember thinking at one point, that I was actually *proud* to be doing some of those things... _pleased_ that, once again, I was having sex with guys who did not know -- and not being clocked..."

"Oh, Crystal... don't do this. You are human, like anyone else. Yes, you might have enjoyed some parts of this... that is normal, and doesn't mean anything. Keep in mind that besides being a powerful sedative and hypnotic agent, one of the *other* side effects of GHB is that it induces 'euphoria' -- making you enjoy whatever people talk you into doing. Humans are rationalizing animals, not rational ones... your mind only knows that it 'feels happy'... and so it comes up with reasons for *why* you feel happy. Reasons that might seem superficially real, or seem totally irrational... but regardless, they are just the drugs talking. Don't buy into the crap that 'she wanted it' -- rape is rape, whatever thoughts may have been going through your mind at the time. If you said no... or were too drugged to have a *choice* about saying no... then it is rape. Period. Nothing more, and nothing less. It's not your fault..."

I don't really remember a whole lot of the rest of that day, other than going home... and crying, for endless hours. Cursing myself, for my stupidity... and slowly, oh so slowly, starting to hate Jeff and his buddies, as my internal shame turned to external anger. Or at least, in part... for try as I might otherwise, part of me resisted shifting the blame to anyone other than myself.

 «Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea má¡xima culpa... through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. »

Odd, really. I am not even a Christian, let alone a Roman Catholic. And yet, that particular Latin phase just seemed so right, as I sat rocking back and forth, crying in a corner of my bedroom. Hiding in the dark, with my back safely to the walls...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 10:00.

"Good morning, Crystal. What can I do for you today?"

"Good morning, doctor. When I made this appointment, it was supposed to be just for a routine follow-up check-up, about that other problem I had... but... something else has come up this weekend, and..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 10:09.

"Do you want me to run a rape kit on you?"

"I... I'm sorry... but... no. I mean... I have already washed up repeatedly, and even douched -- there won't be any physical evidence to collect. And... I'm sorry... I just can't deal with the police. Not now...". I paused for a moment, staring down at my hands, which lay clenched together in my lap, before I felt the need to explain further.

"I mean, it's not like I have any proof or anything. I don't really know who they are, other than their first names... or where they really live... and even if they could be found, it would just be my word against theirs. Even if the police believed me, there isn't anything they could do to those guys -- it would never stand up in court."

"Okay", the doctor said softly. "I wish I could argue... but you are probably right about that. If you ever change your mind, though... you can go to see them later. And don't feel ashamed about not wanting to, right now... actually, less than ten percent of rapes are ever reported to the police. Most women never tell anyone...". She did not say anything more about that... but the haunted look in her own eyes spoke volumes.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 10:18.

I had to laugh, softly and painfully, at the way the nurse's expression changed... as she suddenly turned her gaze to stare at my exposed genitals. Although the OB/GYN "knew" about me, 'off the record'... there was nothing in my actual medical records about my somewhat unusual past -- and obviously the nurse had noticed nothing while helping me disrobe, or into the stirrups on the exam table. Nor had she noticed while staying with me, holding my hand, as we waited for the doctor to finish her preparations. It was not until the doctor had made several references, in fact, to necessary repairs to my "neovagina"... that I saw comprehension of the unusual phrase suddenly hit the nurse. Even then, I could see that she was not sure if she had heard right... and I was not in the mood to educate her. Perhaps the doctor would, later... but I doubted it. That was part of why I had selected this particular gynaecologist -- I had heard that she took patient confidentiality very seriously...

Unfortunately... there was a reason I was on my back, with my feet up in stirrups... and that reason interrupted my brief, fragile moment of amusement.

"Crystal, I think you already know that there is a great deal of damage inside you. Do you want me to schedule emergency surgery to fix this?"

"Can you just... I don't know... stitch together the pieces, today? If you can position them even close to the right spots, they should heal themselves in time, with the help of dilation exercises..."

"Well, maybe... but there would likely be significant internal scarring, that way. Are you sure you would not rather have it done properly, under full anaesthetic in a surgery?"

"But then... you would have to sedate me, right?" I think she saw the raw fear in my eyes, at the thought of that. An old nemesis of mine, reborn by recent experiences... right then, mere days after betrayal and abuse while under the influence of drugs, there was simply _no_ way I could bring myself to submit to that -- and she seemed to realize it.

"You do realize that the only way I can do this here, will be to use a speculum to stretch your vagina open as far as possible, then insert laparoscopic tools to make the actual stitches? I have the equipment to do that here, right now... but without anaesthetic, and with your vaginal tissue already torn, this will be incredibly painful..."

"I have been told by many doctors, on many different occasions, that I have an extremely high pain threshold, doctor. Please..."

You really do not want to know the details of the rest of that day. Trust me on that.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 09:45.

"Crystal, are you down here?" Her voice did not seem friendly, as my landlord's wife stalked into my basement suite.

"Oh, hi, Coral. I forgot you would be back this week. How was your trip?"

"Our trip was fine... until we drove into the driveway, and saw the yard. Your rental agreement with us stipulates that you are to keep the grass cut and the plants watered, in exchange for a lower rent -- or have you forgotten?" She seemed to be struggling to contain her obvious anger.

"I'm sorry, Coral. I had planned to cut the lawn on Sunday, as well as water the plants... but... well, something happened this weekend, that I guess you need to know about..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 10:35.

Uneasily, I watched Coral climb back up the stairs from my suite. She had accepted, reluctantly, that maybe I had a good reason for forgetting -- this one time. But then I had made the mistake of mentioning my appointment tomorrow, with a Welfare case worker... and that had lead to another lecture. How Coral and her husband prided themselves on their fiscal responsibility -- and how dim a view of Welfare they both had. You would think I had mentioned some sort of deadly sin, in admitting that I might have to draw Welfare for a couple months. I had never missed a rent payment, nor even been late a single time... never caused any problems... kept both my, and their part, of the house clean and well cared for -- other than this one time... but that did not seem to matter.

 «Just a hint that I might be struggling right now, and I can see how much it bothers her. Feel her drawing back... regretting ever suggesting to her husband that they ask me to move in... »

At the time, back when she was retiring from working for the same company where I had worked, it had probably seemed a great idea to them to ask me to rent their basement. Their retirement plans had included a great deal of travelling... and having someone that they trusted living in their basement, available to care for their house when they were away, had been entirely their idea. She had worked in human resources, at a time when I was not living completely stealth at work... and so, she had 'known' about me... but even so, years of working together had convinced her that I could be trusted. Or so I had thought. Although the speed at which she seemed to be turning on me, at the first small hint of trouble, definitely seemed ominous...

"Well, that could have gone better, I suppose," I muttered.

The last thing I needed right now was trouble with my landlord -- I had a very carefully budgeted recovery plan worked out, that would have me back on my feet financially in just a few months... but it all was predicated on my staying where I was right now, at my current rent. If I had to move, the extra expenses... damage deposits, renting a moving van, all the usual things... would probably wipe out my fragile cash reserve, and finish me off financially. If this had happened a few months ago... or in a month or two... it would not have mattered. But at the moment, I was financially vulnerable -- there was just *no* way I could risk moving, _right now_, even if it was obvious that she wanted me to...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 13:25.

I sat back, not sure whether to be hurt... or happy. Barb had finally replied to one of my emails and text messages... but the reply was not a good one. It seems she was *seriously* pissed with me, and never wanted to talk to me again. From what little she wrote, it seemed that she had made it home, more or less unharmed, "no thanks to you"... other than the side-effects of what she thought was being "massively drunk". A security guard had apparently recognized that there was a problem, and sent her home in a cab... but she was "majorly unhappy" that I had not been there for her, when she needed help.

For a few minutes, I thought about writing a reply (since she still wasn't accepting my phone calls)... trying to explain, yet again... but then I just gave up. Too many things had happened this week already... and I had already had to tell too many people. I just could not deal with doing it again -- being forced to re-live it once again. Not right now. Not when she had already said she didn't even want to *ever* see me again...

 «Just let her go... you did not know her that well, anyway... »

And then there was the really horrible thought, that had occurred to me. That it was distinctly possible... perhaps even probable... that it was *my* drink that had been spiked. *My* drink, that I had let her drink. That she was simply an innocent bystander, cut down in the crossfire, from an earlier attempt to drug me. That, indirectly, it actually _was_ *my* fault that she had been drugged. True, Jeff and her *had* been at the table when that drink was most likely spiked... and she *was* supposed to be watching it... but...

 «No. 'Take responsibility for your own actions'. That was *your* drink... and *you* let her drink from it..."

 «Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea má¡xima culpa... through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 10:15.

"Please have a seat. Do you have your forms with you?" The Social Services agent seemed to be all business, although she was at least attempting to smile. For a few minutes, we exchanged meaningless pleasantries, as she glanced over my paperwork, and pulled up my file on her computer... but then, I noticed her expression change to puzzlement. She wrote down some sort of code number on her pad, then more typing... making it seem as if she was looking something up. Then a rather startled look on her face, followed by a frank stare at me.

 «Oh, crap. » It suddenly dawned on me that, while I had never been on Welfare before... I *had* collected employment insurance once, w-a-y back before I transitioned. Which just might be somewhere in her computer system, linked to my social insurance number -- and listed under my birth name. A name that had been completely androgynous... so it might not be a problem by itself... but there was almost certainly a 'gender' field in there, too. If she was *just* looking at my current SIN profile, the gender would not be a problem... but the hand written code number suggested that she had stumbled across some sort of link, to archived, unchanged information. I sighed.

 «Not the first time this has happened to me... although, fortunately, it has been many years since the last time. But it _never_ is much fun, even if I *do* know how to fix it. I just hope she's not one of the few non-lawyers who actually _know_ what the federal Privacy Act *really* says. Lots of business types vaguely know _of_ that law... may even have read summaries of it... but very few people -- even government supervisors, in my experience -- have ever bothered to actually _read_ the whole thing... and even fewer can understand all the legalese well enough to be confident of their interpretation of it... »

She bit her lip for a moment, then hesitantly said, "Umm... I... uh... seem to found something _unusual_ about your case...?" Her raised eyebrows asked me for clarification.

"If it is what I think it is... I suggest you contact a supervisor, then look up the section of the Canadian Privacy Act, about government records that may potentially 'endanger' the person they are about. Am I correct in believing you have found some old data, containing 'dangerous' information that was _supposed_ to be sealed?"

She sat up straight, as the way I had worded that caused her eyes to get a lot bigger. "Yes..." She hesitated, then continued. "Should I assume from what you just said, that I am not supposed to have access to this information?"

"Pretty much. I am *not* saying it is illegal, or anything... or at least, it isn't so long as you do not violate the Privacy Act by disclosing what you have seen, to absolutely anyone... but while that old data may very well be _supposed_ to be in your computer -- since it is legally required that the government *keep* that sort of data -- as I understand it, there is *not* supposed to be any sort of link between that old data, and current data."

She nodded... seeming relieved that there might be a simple solution to her 'mistake'. "That makes sense, and seems straight forward enough. I don't think we actually need a supervisor -- I can't completely delete any transaction records without one, but as the reference is just in a comment field, I can edit it to delete the reference easy enough... and I *think* without exceeding my authority. There will still be a record of the original comment, and my edit transaction, *somewhere* in the system... but it won't be anywhere visible to a normal system user. Sort of 'effectively erased', even though technically not *really* erased..."

For a moment, she was busy typing, but after finishing that business, I noticed her eyes sparkle with interest as she glanced coyly up at me. "This is none of business, officially... but... were you *really* once a man? I mean... you just don't even remotely look like one... or act like one...?"

I hesitated a moment, searching her eyes... trying to discern her intent. As it just seemed to be genuine curiosity... with no malice, or discomfort from her discovery... and as it seemed highly unlikely that what I said would ever come back to haunt me... I decided to just go with it, letting a small secretive smile dance around my lips. "I prefer to think of it as having been a woman who had a birth defect, that was fixed years ago... but technically, yes."

"How... I mean, if you don't mind my asking... even your voice gives absolutely no clue. How...?"

With a careful glance around over both shoulders, confirming that no one else had a clear line of sight into her cubicle, I deliberately altered my body language, my posture... and forced my voice as deep as it would go, while consciously striving to change the inflections. "Practice. Lots and lots of prac...". At that point, I lost it... breaking up into a coughing fit. I let my body language and speech revert to its feminine normal. "Ouch. That actually hurts my throat, these days. Too many years of speaking only the other way..."

An excited grin spread on her face, as she too glanced around for anyone... obviously immensely pleased to be 'in on the secret', and regarding the whole thing as a hilarious joke. "Wow. You should be in Hollywood or something. That was amazing to watch... one moment, you were a woman... then a guy was talking to me... and then an obvious woman, once again. How on Earth did you ever learn to do that...?"

Rolling my eyes at the bizarre thought of doing a guy imitation in some movie...  «Hollywood? What, like I would ever want to do that, again... other than as a joke with someone who already knows...? ». I continued aloud. "As I said... just many years of practice." I shrugged, then glanced meaningfully at my file... after which, she became all business again. But you could tell from her body language that the little conversation had truly awakened her -- changed this from me being just another client, to where she genuinely cared about my case...

Which was pretty much exactly what I had expected to happen. After what I am starting to count in 'decades' of experience, very little surprises me anymore... although even now, there are still occasional moments when something happens, to remind me that 'once, things were different...'

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 12:51.

As I closed the door to the garage, turning to start down the stairs to my suite, I heard Coral's call out. "Hi Crystal. Do you have a moment?"

"Umm, sure. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really. I just thought I should tell you that my husband said that, from the way that the plants bounced right back again after being watered, that it was obvious that you had actually been taking care of them all along... and that it really was just an _isolated_ incident, about their being in poor condition when we got home." She gave a tight, almost painful looking smile. "I guess I owe you an apology, for what I said the other day."

I could only hope my own smile looked less forced. "Not a problem, Coral. I am just sorry there was an issue at all..."

When I had first moved in here, she had taken me under her wing, so to speak. Tried to treat me in much the same way that she treated her daughter... who was about my own age, I gathered. Or at least, she claimed to be treating me that way -- although on the rare occasions when we had met, I had noticed that her real daughter dressed rather differently than the 'old lady' clothes Coral was constantly encouraging me to wear, and acted far more like I did, than the way that Coral seemed to want me to behave. Sometimes, I wished I had never taken her up on her 'house-sitting' rental arrangement... even if it *was* a really nice place, with a fully furnished suite in an upper class neighbourhood. But that was all water under the bridge... and as the arrangement was due to expire in another four months, soon enough I would be able to pull my own furniture out of storage, and move back into a place of my own. Assuming, that is, that my financial plans worked out...

I would just have to hope that she meant her apology, and things between us would get back to normal...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 22:14.

I glanced up from my computer, as a cell phone rang. The different ring tone puzzled me for a moment, before I realized what it was. A couple years previously, I had bought a disposable phone -- an 'unregistered', pay-cash-as-you-go, cheap cell phone... that mostly just sat totally idle in the bottom of my purse, only being dug out to be re-charged once a week. A precaution I had invested in for 'questionable social contacts', back when I had still been dealing with my stalker... and maintained for no particular reason, mostly just because it cost me almost nothing to keep it, so long as I did not use it.... and you never know when something like that will come in handy again. I had even made up some 'social cards'... business cards printed using my home computer that had one of my many online aliases on it, along with a matching untraceable email account, and this cell phone number.

 «I wonder who would be calling *that* number, at this time of night? »

"Hello?" I cautiously answered it.

"Uh, hi. I'm not sure if you will remember me. My name is Michelle, and we met last spring. I'm sorry to bother you... but... I just didn't know who I could call, and then I noticed your card sitting on my dresser..."

"Michelle... oh! Now I remember... it was at that 'Gender Awareness Week' conference thingie's movie night, that I went to just to see the movie 'Boys Don't Cry'... which I was curious about for some reason, back then. Umm... anyway... it's nice to hear from you again, Michelle. What can I do for you?"

"I... need some help, but... I just don't know who I can trust, and... I remembered you, and how much you seemed to care about everyone. Even someone like me..."

Her voice sounded scared... and like she was choking back tears. Whatever was wrong, I sensed it was major... and for a moment, I forgot about my own issues as I focused on what she was saying -- and what she was _not_ saying.

Digging back in my memory, I remembered being introduced to her by her case worker... who had quietly asked me, before introducing us, if I was willing to talk with a prostitute who was trying to get 'clean', and off the streets. I had been told that the case worker had really had to work to even convince this woman to attend the conference... as she was convinced that no one would want to meet someone like her. That she was worthless... and not worth saving. I had, of course, immediately agreed to talking with her... and done my best to make her feel welcome. Make her feel a _valued_ part of one of the small group discussions that had been going on, during an intermission of the movie...

"Michelle, of course I care. I have met several prostitutes socially, at one time or another... and they were all interesting people, with unique stories about how they ended up doing that. It's mostly just a job, albeit an unusual one... why _wouldn't_ I care about you? Now, can you tell me what's wrong?"

I won't attempt to repeat that strange, fragmented conversation... as it took a long time to worm out of her what had happened. But slowly, painfully, it emerged that she had been on her way home from the library about ten in the evening last week... as she often did these days... and as usual, she had gotten off a bus that stopped a block over from her place. Rather than taking the long way around the block, she had taken her usual shortcut through an apartment building parking lot. Not something she would do after dark... but in July in northern Canada, the sun is still technically "up" at that time of evening -- although it is getting fairly low on the horizon. 'Dusk', rather than either 'daylight', or 'night'. Following the same route home, at the same time every day, can be a potentially risky mistake for a woman, sometimes... and this had turned out to be the case for her.

Basically, three men had been waiting for her, hiding behind a dumpster. Men that knew she was a former prostitute... and knew she was a pre-op transsexual... but just did not care. Rape is about power, not sex... and if she did not have a vagina, well, there are other ways to rape someone. As I recalled, she was a big girl... big, as in, 'tall and strong', not fat. Heavily muscled, broad shouldered... half thinking of herself as a 'male', even if she would _rather_ be 'female'... she had been convinced that she could take care of herself. Careless... in the sort of way those used to the protections of 'male privilege' can sometimes be, without thinking about it. At three on one odds, though, her attempt to fight had only resulted in her being severely beaten, before she was repeatedly sodomised. When it was finally over, they had let her go... but told her, "We know where you live, and if you tell *anyone* about this, we will kill you."

It is a classic terror gambit, used by many rapists to try to avoid prosecution... but she had believed them, totally, and had been hiding in her apartment since then. Afraid to go out... afraid to call anyone. She had run out of food three days earlier, and had been quietly starving ever since. Finally, she had seen my card... and decided to risk calling me. A chance-met person with virtually no connection to her usual life... and hence, hopefully not someone her assailants would realize was there to see her.

The coincidence of her being raped, almost the same day as I had been, was rather chilling for me... but there was absolutely no way I could refrain from helping her. As much as I was hurting myself... as reluctant as I was to leave my own little 'retreat from the world', where I had spent much of the last week brooding... I could not leave someone else alone, to face that terror unaided. And so it was that less than an hour later, I found myself buzzing her apartment -- while looking around extremely nervously, at the poorly lit, isolated building courtyard.

 «What am I doing out here? With that wooded ravine behind me... in this part of town... this is a seriously BAD place to be, at this time of night... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 23:35.

"Come on, Michelle. We have been over this already... and while I _do_ understand why you don't want to risk it, even if they weren't just messing with your mind with that threat, the odds that they would be watching at this time of night are pretty remote. There isn't a whole lot open right now, but I know a nice nightclub not far from here -- and the gay guy who works in the kitchen there makes a great burger. It's a really safe place -- lots of bouncers, cameras watching a well-lit parking lot, and all that. Come on... I know you're hungry. What do you say I take you there, my treat, and get you some food? We can talk some more, and hopefully you will feel a lot better, with some food in you..."

"But... look at me. I know I don't pass... people say I look like a man in a dress. Won't someone say something, in a nightclub?"

I sighed, giving a slight tilt of my head to acknowledge the possible validity of her argument. "That might be true at some clubs... but as I said, the guy in the kitchen for this particular place is flamingly gay -- and no one cares in the slightest. It's a pretty laid-back crowd... mostly straight, but with a high percentage of GLBT customers. On a Friday night like this, I would be willing to bet that there will be many lesbian and gay couples dancing together... possibly even an obvious Drag Queen or CD roaming around. No one will care, I promise."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 03:45.

I parked in the garage tiredly, more than ready to go to bed. It had been a long night, talking with Michelle... but I was pretty sure she was going to be okay, and would be able to go shopping for food tomorrow. Maybe she would call -- although I certainly hoped not before noon -- and if she did, I would go with her. But one way or another, I thought she would make it. One day at a time, as I was doing myself, right now.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 12:12.

Yawning, I fired up my computer, noting in passing that I had an email from Coral. Opening it, I felt my sleepiness drain instantly away.

"Sleep was difficult for me last night. Going out after 10 spelled danger to me, and whatever else, we don't want you to get hurt [again] by the sort of people you are hanging with. So I tossed around until I heard you come home and realized how stupid it is for a 66 year old woman to be casting herself into the Mother-of-a-young-daughter role again. Been there, done that."

There was more... a lot more. But the gist of it was, be gone by Monday night. Less than three days, in which to find a new home... at a time when I knew full well that most places wanted at least a week to check out your references, before they would rent anything to you. Even assuming I had the money to move right now -- which I did not. My case worker had said that it would likely take a few weeks before I would see the first payment... possibly, a month. In time, I would probably have a little money to work with... but that was then, and this was now.

As I read the email over and over again, I felt black despair crashing over me.

"I can't do this anymore. I just can't."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5:

Early August, Sunday, 19:37.

"Michelle? Hi... it's... umm, 'Sherry'."

I snorted softly, at using the alias she knew me by. I would probably have to come clean about that, soon... but not right now. Sometimes, my life is just plain strange...

I was dreadfully tired... and my shoulder ached fiercely, after an all night and day packing session. Boxing up everything of mine in the suite... deciding what little would fit in the left over space of the storage unit I had rented for my furniture. Painfully moving the few boxes I could keep over there, a few at a time in my car (fortunately, it was an 'Open 24/7' facility). Almost more painfully, saying good-bye to many old friends of mine... my extensive collection of old science fiction and fantasy novels. I just did not have enough room in my existing storage unit, nor enough money to rent a bigger one... so I had reluctantly taken them to a used book store, near where I used to work. Actually, I had bought and sold a few books there before... so I knew how much they paid per book, normally.

Bitterly, this was not "normally". Bulk purchases were different, the guy claimed... although I was utterly certain that what was really going on, was that he could sense I was in a hard spot -- and was taking full advantage of my diminished negotiating position. Instead of paying up to several dollars per book, depending on the condition and age of it... all he would offer was a flat ten cents a book, take it or leave it. Reluctantly, I took it... liquidating many thousands of dollars of books, for a pitiful couple hundred dollars cash. Enough to pay the rental fees on my furniture storage locker for a few months... and maybe buy a few tanks of gas for my car... but that was about it.

And so here I was, calling Michelle. Not this time to offer help to her... but rather, seeking it from her. I had never lived on the streets, before... (although I had once come very close to doing so, early in my transition)... but I knew that Michelle had. I just hoped she would be willing to share some of her hard-earned wisdom with me... for I knew that I was going to need it, badly, all too soon.

Then there was my other possible reason for calling her... but I wasn't, quite, ready to admit that. Not even to myself.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 20:05.

"Sherry, do you remember meeting Amber, my case worker, back at that conference? She's also the manager for the women's shelter that I live in... do you want me to talk to her, about arranging a place for you to stay?"

I blinked.  «That building is a _woman's_ shelter? » I hated to admit it... even just to myself... but Michelle is definitely *not* a very passable TS. The cold hard fact is, she was probably right when she said that most people who see her, think of her as a 'man in a dress'.  «Odd. I am sure I have read online about trans-women having trouble getting into women's shelters... I wonder how she managed that? »

She continued, "The shelter I'm in is only open to people who have already been entered into the system... transferring from another shelter... so I can't get you in here, at least not directly. But there's the Woman's Emergency Accommodation Residence, or 'WEAR' building, that I think might have beds available." She hesitated. "Umm... they only have one room that they'll let trans people stay in, though... and usually that's full. Unless... well, you said you're post op, right? I mean, legally female in every way, with all your documents?"

I smiled, slightly. "Yes, Michelle. And to answer the question you haven't asked... yes, I can bunk with, or even shower with, other women... without anyone noticing anything unusual. I take it that is important?"

She sighed. "Yeah, it is. I mean, you could risk telling the administrators the truth, if you want... they are pretty open-minded about stuff like that... but the only way they'll let you stay in the 'normal' part of the shelter, is if you pass completely. Even with the TG room... where they'll let not *just* TS, but even 'male' self-identifying CD's stay... they sort-of have that rule. A guy can stay there... but only if he stays in drag one hundred percent of the time, and only if he does his absolute best to act female. Even if he doesn't actually think of himself that way. They get a lot of women in that shelter who're on the run from sexual or physical abuse... and many of those would simply freak out completely, if they were around a regular guy, who was *acting* like a guy."

Suddenly, her voice cut off for a moment, then started again urgently. "I mean, please don't think that I'm saying you're a guy or anything. You definitely aren't -- when I first met you, I hadn't the slightest clue that you weren't genetic... and usually I'm pretty good at spotting trans-people. I just meant that, they hafta... you know... be really careful about anyone trans, in those shelters. They'll let you in, even if they know... but there are _definitely_ strings attached. If you tell them, you'll be watched... and at the slightest hint of a problem, whether it's your fault or not, you are *gone*..."

She hesitated again, then added, "I really hate to see you in that place, though. I stayed there for a couple months, before I was lucky enough to get in over here... and I know a lot of people there. Most of the women there are users, and quite a few turn tricks on the side. Many have criminal records for violent crimes. Actually, that's true here, too... but here, people are at least *trying* to get off the streets. There... well... it's sort of the last stop, on the slide down to oblivion. A lot of people that you meet there, will be dead by this time next year... and for someone like you to go there, well, I honestly don't think you will last a week."

I felt a cold chill prickling its way up my spine, at her ominous words. Words delivered in an even more chilling, matter-of-fact, tone of voice... as if she were utterly certain of what she was saying.

She sighed, again. "But you hafta go there, first. Places like this one, only allow you to apply for them *after* you're staying there..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 18:10.

Michelle had said to be here early, before the beds were all gone for the evening. There was no food kitchen in this shelter -- a church a couple blocks away took care of that need, so the program had not seen a need to duplicate services -- and Michelle had said that it might be best if I showed up while most of the regulars were still gone for supper. Not having any real ideas of my own, I was more than willing to follow her lead. Other than some vaguely remembered scenes from a movie, seen years previously, I had no real idea what to expect... and the characters in that movie had been male, staying in a men's shelter.

From what Michelle said, the different shelters varied a lot, anyway. Each one had it's own, distinct, personality... and it's own, equally distinct, cliental. This particular shelter had a bad rep... but it was the only game in town. Or at least, it was for a single woman, new to the system. There were other shelters, available to youths... or women with children... or even single women, already accepted into one of many different programs intended to get people off the streets... and some of those actually sounded pretty good. But not this particular one...

I was cold, from the walk to the shelter. Early August should still be a warm time of year... even in northern Canada... but the weather had tuned nasty this morning, with a storm front moving in. Blustery winds, with occasional spats of rain... and a damp chill that cut right through my light jacket. On Michelle's recommendation, I had ditched most of my possessions into my car... those that I had not consigned to long term storage... then locked my car up tight, in a neighbourhood far away from the shelter. Too many people around here could easily star in a re-make of "Gone in 60 seconds" -- a locked car nearby with things in it would be open as soon as my back was turned.

Even my purse was gone, deliberately left behind... as Michelle had lost hers, the first time she stayed here. She went to sleep using it for a pillow... then woke to find it simply gone, never to be seen again. It felt really strange, having a wallet stuffed into one my tiny pockets. Most women's clothing is really not designed for that... especially skirts... and while the particular A-line cut denim skirt I was wearing could sort of manage it -- having being sewn to mimic a pair of jeans around the waist, complete with pockets -- I had not used a wallet for many years, regardless. Having one in my back pocket again felt *really*... strange.

 «At least I doubt anyone could pick my pocket, » I smarted off to myself.  «I haven't worn this skirt in years. The hips already fit a bit too snug, now, even with the pockets empty -- getting *anything* out of that pocket won't be easy for anyone, me included. Especially since it's in my left pocket due to my bad right arm, and I usually sleep on my left side... ».

 «Sometimes I really wish I had injured my *left* shoulder, though. I wouldn't be half as crippled as I am, doing things, except I am right handed... and not terribly co-ordinated with my left. Even if I *am* slowly learning to use it for more things... »

I sighed, catching a glimpse of myself reflected off some glass.  «Not a particularly stylish skirt, or all that flattering to my figure, though. It's not completely bad... but... I doubt I would ever dress like this again, normally. Just something from deep in the back of my closet, that I don't care if it gets ruined. Of course, this is not even _close_ to 'normally', is it? I guess you are learning the hard way why street people sometimes look like 'fashion disasters' -- it's not that they don't *know* better... or, often at least, care... it's just *practical* considerations... »

The building itself was nothing much. From external appearances it was a very old, low-rise office building... maybe three or four floors high -- it was a bit hard to tell which, from where I was standing. The only indication of what was inside were the heavy curtains on all of the many small windows... and a tiny, neatly lettered, discreet sign beside the door. At first, I was puzzled by just how small that sign was... before it dawned on me that an emergency women's shelter probably was intended to be hard to find.

My mouth twitched.  «After all.. the women will ask someone for directions -- and any guys driving around looking for 'their' abused women will just drive on by, clueless. »

I grinned to myself at that silly thought -- I do know that stereotypes like that are not absolute... but it *is* surprising just how many of them actually have some basis in reality...

Flexing the fingers of my right hand, I tried to relieve some of the pain from my shoulder before heading inside. I had left my sling in my car -- not daring to be so visibly 'weak', when walking into shark infested waters -- and the long walk without support had left my shoulder and arm aching, badly. Fortunately, my injury is not something you can really see without fancy medical scanners... so as long as I did not make the mistake of visibly favouring that arm, no matter how much it hurt, no one *should* notice my vulnerability...

Signing in to the shelter was rather anti-climactic, actually. Show ID, print name there, sign here -- "Your bunk is on the third floor, second room on the left from the stairs. Take whatever bunk is open -- check the sign inside. Doors are locked at ten PM, and open at six AM. If you have a job that requires you to leave before that, check out with the night clerk...", yada, yada, yada. No real surprises... and no questions asked about my background -- nor did I volunteer anything. The rules were posted on the wall behind the intake clerk... and she rattled them off practically word for word. About the only surprise (for me, at least) was the mandatory health screening part... which a white-board sign said would be Tuesday, this week.

 «Oh, joy. More poking and prodding... »

Making my way up the worn stairs, I found my room easy enough. Four bunks to a room, with a bank of small lockers (no locks provided, although a small decal on each one said you could buy or rent a lock at the desk). A small whiteboard on the inside of the door had a chained on erasable marker... and spots for four names, no doubt matching the numbers painted on the wooden bed-frames. At first, the placement of the whiteboard puzzled me... until I reasoned that only people inside the room -- who had a genuine need to know -- would be able to casually read the names, there.

 «Confidentiality, of sorts... for women on the run. »

Printed neatly on the board were two names, already -- first names only, I noticed. I added my own name, then went to what was to be my new 'home', for who knew how long. Michelle had said she thought a bed at her transitional shelter was likely to be available next week... maybe... and that she would ask Amber about getting me in there... but no promises. Sigh.

Making up my bed, with the bedding the intake clerk had given me, took only a little time... after which I eased into it, exhausted. The last few days had worn me out, completely... and probably undone months of healing to my shoulder. Not that there had been any choice about that -- it was either grit my teeth and use my arm to pack things up, or else abandon them entirely. This way... I was homeless for the moment, but at least I had a faint hope that this was temporary. Not much of a hope... especially considering Michelle's pessimism about my survival odds... but even a *tiny* hope was better than none at all...

Glancing at my watch... which I also could only hope I would still have in the morning, even if it was only a cheap dollar store model... I figured that _if_ I was lucky (and Michelle was right about the timing), I might have a half an hour or so before people started getting back from their combination sermon and meal, over at the church. On Michelle's advice, I was wearing a skirt today... not because I am particularly fond of skirts, nor because they were all that practical for general life in the shelter... but rather, because we had talked about my 'medical situation'. The still healing tears in my vagina, which would require me to dilate again... not something I was particularly looking forward to, since I had not bothered with it in years. Not that I was a nymphomaniac or anything... but... I *had* usually managed to find a partner at least a couple times a year... and as far beyond surgery as I was, just having sex that often was more than enough to compensate for lack of regular dilation...

Usually, that is. My current 'injury' changed that equation, though... which is why I was trying to figure out how to do it 'discreetly', while in a shelter. A task that was further complicated by the fact I had not actually used my stents in years -- and had not a *clue* where they were packed, or if I still had them at all. If money had been no object, it would have been easy enough to substitute buying a vibrator or dildo or something -- anything with a smoothly rounded, hard surface, that could be cleaned easily. But then, if money had been no object, I would not be living in a homeless shelter, would I? Which is why I was actually about to do something even I considered a bit bizarre... but it had seemed the best idea, of the limited, inexpensive choices I could come up with.

A hard boiled egg, still in it's shell. Sterilized in boiling water, then put away inside a clean plastic bag. An egg I had absolutely no intention of ever eating... so I did not really care that it had been sitting -- un-refrigerated -- in my jacket pocket since I had cooked it the day before. And what was I going to do with it, you might ask? If you have to ask... it is probably better that you don't know...

But that was why I was wearing skirts. Amazing, some of the things you can do, while wearing a skirt -- even if someone else is in the room. Grin. At least, so long as you have a few minutes alone first, to get 'ready'. If that had failed, I suppose I could always have inserted it in a bathroom stall. One advantage it had over a real stent, was that you could walk around with it inside you... although that felt _truly_ strange. Not painful, but... weird.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 21:23.

"You want some coffee, Crystal?"

Anna seemed nice enough, despite the needle tracks on her arms... legs... pretty much anywhere she had a vein, actually. Of course, she had only been discharged from detox the day before... so I would probably have to "wait and see", to find out if she *stayed* that way. But for tonight, at least, she was friendly enough...

"No, thank you. I never drink that stuff..."

"What, are you serious? Never? Jeez, I practically live on it... and you *really* don't wanna talk to me, before I get my first cup in the morning."

I just smiled. "To each their own. I tried it a couple times in my teens... found it tasted worse than muddy water... also found out that it was an *expensive* 'acquired' taste... and just never saw the point in acquiring that particular taste." I shrugged, then continued. "I prefer hot chocolate, myself. But feel free to drink that 'poison' yourself... just do me a favour, and DON'T have your morning cuppa here in the room, 'kay? The smell of coffee in the morning literally turns my stomach... and I don't think anyone would appreciate starting their day by my throwing up on the floor..."

Sally grunted from her upper bunk. "Won't be the first time. The girl who had your bunk last week was in her first trimester... puking every morning at five AM, like clockwork."

"Err... thanks, I think. TMI... too much information..."

After Anna went off in search of her 'golden elixir of life', I decided to use the facilities one last time, before getting ready to sleep. Rumour had it that a local temp agency was hiring a female crew for an easy job at a plastic bottle factory, but I would have to be there at six AM sharp for that... which probably meant getting up at five. Assuming that I went there at all... I was still undecided about that. Medically, it would probably be smarter to just take a few days off, at least... but then, I would be hanging around the shelter during the day, which was frowned upon. I suppose that is why Michelle said that she was at the library most days...

Hanging on the hook outside of the floor's single washroom, I noticed a small "rainbow" sign... which I vaguely remembered from the shelter rules, as meaning one of the TG's was in the washroom. Pausing for just a moment, I shrugged, then continued inside. I had not met them yet, but I knew the building's one TG room was on this floor, at the other end of the hallway. Not even a full room, actually... I gathered it had originally been a broom closet, literally, and now had two bunks crammed into it along one wall.  «Glad I'm not in there... our room isn't much, but at least there is a little room to move around, and a window overlooking the valley... »

I grinned, as the... umm... 'person'... at the sinks virtually spazzed out, noticing the door open behind her. I gathered from 'her' reaction, that she was not used to people ignoring the little sign.  «Oh, well. Her problem, not mine... ». The rules had stated we *could* use the facilities when the sign was up -- it was only to let us know, for those who preferred not to...

 «Well, to give her credit, I can tell she *is* at least trying to comply with the rules... although she _seriously_ needs to shave that major five o'clock shadow, if she wants to not freak other women out... and don't even get me started on her makeup choices. I wonder if she is blind? NO ONE could be *that* bad at makeup, without some sort of cause... »

Giving her a casual finger wave to acknowledge her presence, I went on about my business... noting in passing that urinating burned a little.  «Yuck. I am not sure if I should hope I 'just' tore something again that was only half-healed, while moving... *and* hope it heals itself, if that is the case... or hope it is another UTI starting. » I sighed at that later thought, as I already had far too much experience with urinary tract infections...

With a shrug, I put the matter out of my mind, and turned my attention to the other matter I wanted to take care of... which was changing my pad. Not that I usually use pads... and never tampons... but as I had expected, the earlier 'dilation' had caused me to bleed a little. Nothing serious though, and the blood on the used pad was mostly dry... meaning a single fresh "light day" pantiliner should do me the night, no problem. Casually disposing of the old one in the receptacle, I smiled for a moment... amusedly wondering what the TG's thought about those little, paper bag lined, lidded metal containers bolted to the stall walls. It had been many years since I last gave them even a moment's thought... but seeing the 'woman' struggling to fix her makeup, had stirred up some old memories...

"Hi. Would you like some help with that?" I casually asked, while washing my hands.

From the grateful puppy dog look on her face, I gathered that was something else she did not get a lot of, from other women in the shelter.  «Oh, well. So much for 'blending in'... ». Not that I minded. There are some things I am willing to do, to assimilate into the woodwork... and others I simply won't. I wish I could say that ignoring a 'sister' was one of the things I wouldn't do... but while I don't mind helping people occasionally, as now... truthfully, I had done precisely that -- ignored people -- on many occasions. Particularly if I had 'read' someone, who was obviously attempting stealth.

Just courtesy, really. The *last* thing any stealth woman wants, is to have someone draw attention to them by approaching them in public about *any* sort of 'trans-issue'... and figuring out how to discreetly let them know, that *you* know, was often way more trouble than it was worth. Especially since they were usually 'hurt' to find out that someone had read them, in the first place. A no-win situation... which is why I usually tried not to get entangled in that sort of thing, mostly avoiding any trans people I spotted... but this particular encounter wasn't like that. This woman HAD to know that she stuck out like a sore thumb... and if her expression so far was any indication, she was a newbie enough to appreciate the help. Although if she didn't clock me, I probably wouldn't 'out' myself to her... what with being in the shelter "stealth", myself, at the moment. Way too much to potentially lose, and nothing really to gain... but that didn't mean I could not talk her, now, as a 'natal female'.

"Yes, please. I'm colour blind, and while I tried asking my mom to teach me how to do this, she's so against my transition that she just threw me outta the house..."

 «Ouch. Been there, done that... at least, the being disowned part. Seriously not fun. It's one of the few things I regret about my current life... and the day it happened, possibly the closest I ever came to suicide. » For a moment, I found myself lost in old thoughts...

 «Another fifteen minutes, and I would have been gone... just random luck it worked out that way, really. My plan should have worked. I wonder if it was good luck, or bad, the way things have turned out? » Giving my head a tiny shake to throw off that truly morbid thought, I forced myself to focus back on the present.

"I'm sorry, luv. No one deserves that." I sighed. "People talk about how they will always love their children, no matter what... but the reality is, it happens to people all too often, from what I have heard and seen..."

She just nodded, with a sad look on her face... almost, as if she were fighting back tears.  «Hasn't really accepted that tears are okay now, yet. Or maybe I am being unfair -- this *is* a shelter, where I have been warned to watch my back. Maybe she is just being smart, keeping her guard up. I don't intend to hurt her... but *she* doesn't know that... »

Changing the subject, she asked, "What should I do first?"

I sighed, again. "Wash your face, luv. I hate to say it... but that mess you have on now is pretty much unsalvageable. Then shave... and moisturize -- makeup goes on better, if your skin is not completely dried out from having just washed it....". Glancing at the products she had out on the countertop, I went on, "Is that all the makeup you have, or do you have anything else with you? And do you have pen and paper in that huge purse, by any chance?"

"Umm, yeah... just a minute, I have one here someplace... and yeah, I have some other stuff here too. Oh! My name is Andrea," she used the 'an DREY ah' variation for pronouncing it, I noticed. "But you can call me Andy".

Saying that, she virtually up-ended her purse... pouring out a whole lot of things. I suspected she had been virtually living out of that purse, for who knows how long...

 «I wonder if 'Andy' is her birth name... or if she actually chose an androgynous name like that, for herself? If the later... I hope she doesn't come to regret it. That sort of thing might appeal to someone, early in transition... when they are sort of in the 'gender twilight zone' -- halfway between genders. But... later on? My own birth name was very androgynous, bordering on feminine... but, in time, I was unhappy enough with continuing to use it that I changed it... »

Casually sorting through Andy's makeup collection, I found myself pushing much of it aside.  «Totally wrong colours for her. And these? How old are these, anyway? Is that *mould* growing on this eye shadow? Yikes! »

Finally, I had a small selection of what I considered 'usable' makeup... and an even smaller selection of tools, unfortunately.  «Dollar store sponges and brushes... yuck. Not the best way to do makeup, but I suppose it *is* possible, even if it _will_ probably take several times as long with this junk, as it would take to do it with the right brushes... »

Picking up her pen and small notepad, I turned to a blank page, then quickly sketched out a basic outline of her face. Nothing fancy... just a simple diagram, that I could use for a "paint by numbers" approach to makeup, for her. Then I demonstrated on her a fairly simple, easy to do makeup combination... carefully updating the diagram as I went, and being very careful to both brush some of the actual makeup onto the paper (as I would for a 'normal vision' woman), and to write down exactly what was on the label of the makeup, with the position in the tray noted for some of the 'quad' or 'triple' colour combination eye shadow compacts that she had.

I had no idea what those colours looked like to her, with her colour blind vision... so just in case some of them looked identical, I wanted her to know which one I was using, and where... which I also reinforced by doing only half of her face, while coaching her in doing the other half to match. Her first try wasn't all that successful... but by the third repeat, she seemed to have it figured out.

"So what do you think? I am afraid I am not really an aesthetician, but I like to think I am pretty good with makeup... and while it's not a sophisticated look, it *is* something that looks good, which you should be able to do yourself..."

"Thank you. You don't know how much this means to me..."

Then we had to scramble to find her a tissue... as her eyes started to tear up, and threatened to ruin her makeup.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

		Summer's End Part 3 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART III: The Shelter

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

"So what do you think? I am afraid I am not really an aesthetician, but I like to think I am pretty good with makeup... and while it's not a sophisticated look, it *is* something that looks good, which you should be able to do yourself..."

"Thank you. You don't know how much this means to me..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Chapter 6:

Early August, Tuesday, 02:12.

I have always been a light sleeper... something I suppose I can thank my father for, what with his terrifying night-time 'visits' to my bedroom as a young child. Whatever. But regardless of the reason, I wake very easily... which is not really a good thing, when you are sleeping with three strangers in a small room. Or maybe it is... for I woke even before the first faintest touch on my hip, just from the dim 'awareness' of someone being close by -- before whoever it was could even begin to extract my wallet. As I let my breathing patterns shift, and pretended to 'startle' awake, whoever they were, they fled the room... leaving me with little more than a vague impression of two female bodies clad in dark clothing. Or at least, clothing that _looked_ dark, in the limited light of the room. I have quite good night vision... but there were heavy curtains on the window, to block out the nearby street lamps. It was almost pitch black in here.

 «Crap. I guess Michelle was right about the thieves in this place. I'm just glad that they seem to be from another room... and *not* one of my current roommates. I wonder how they managed to get past the door's deadbolt... I thought only staff had a key for that? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 05:45.

I was about to join the line outside the washroom, when I noticed Andy sitting in the hallway down by her room... holding her head in her hands, with her elbows braced against her raised knees. She wasn't crying... I thought... but... _something_ definitely felt 'wrong' about her body language. Not having any particularly urgent need for the facilities, I decided to check on her... casually wandering down the hall, then sliding down the wall to sit beside her.

"Hey girl. What's up?" I enquired softly.

She raised her head, staring straight ahead of her... eyes focused somewhere far beyond the walls. In a dead, emotionless voice, she quietly said, "Someone stole my purse last night. It was all I had left, other than the clothes on my back. Everything is gone, now. My home... my family... my job... everything. There's nothing left. Nothing at all."

Her voice finally had a touch of emotion in it, as she said that last bit... a tiny catch in her voice, as if she were suppressing sobs through sheer willpower. She turned her head towards me, with eyes brimming from unshed tears. "Thank you for what you tried to do last night. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciated that... how much it meant to me, that you even tried to help me."

Tentatively, I extended my hand to place on hers... but she flinched away from even that gentle touch. Trust is a fragile thing in the shelters... and her's had obviously suffered a major blow this morning. Right now, she was just too hurt... a broken shell of shattered glass. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She turned away again, letting her head sag back against the wall. "Nothing. I am nobody, less than nothing... and there is nothing that anyone can do for me."

I started to protest, but a sharp turn of her head back towards me, with a hard glance into my eyes, silenced me before I had really even begun to speak. Her unshed tears glittering in her eyes, but with no further words, she rose and walked away from me towards the stairs... without looking back. My temptation to go after her died stillborn, as I regretfully concluded that you can not help someone unless they *want* your help... at least, not with a person who was basically a total stranger to you. It was not the first time I had faced that particular bitter pill of realization, over the years... and no doubt it would not be the last, although it never seems to get easier.

I never saw her again, and have no idea what happened to her. But sadly, I have read published statistics indicating, at least for the particular clinic reporting, that almost five times as many people walk into that gender clinic, to start transition, as eventually get surgery. No doubt many of those extra people simply decide surgery is not right for them... either de-transitioning, or living as a non-op... but the rest? No one knows what happens to them. They just disappear from the system... and what with the habit of the press to 'dis-respect' trans-people -- referring to them by their birth names and genders, using the wrong pronouns -- often, you can't even look for an obituary.

They are just gone...

Perhaps at another time, I might have gone after her anyway... tried, despite her attempts to refuse help. Told the shelter staff about her. Done any of a number of things, that quickly seemed obvious to me in retrospect... just a few minutes too late. I would like to think so, at least. But right then, when she walked away... like all too many in that shelter, I was in too much pain, myself... too lost in my own problems. I am only human. Far too close to the edge, myself, to have much left inside me for others.

 «Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea má¡xima culpa... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 17:55.

The line for the soup kitchen was moving, again, as a group of early diners exited. I had been a little concerned about going to a facility run by Catholic Social Services... since I am by no stretch of the imagination even remotely Christian... but Michelle had re-assured me that it was no big deal. People of all faiths... or no faith at all... were welcome. I would have to sit through a sermon, but then, that wasn't really a big deal. I shrugged to myself.

 «Strange, how Christians tend to make members of the Old Religion out to be villains... when in fact, the core values of many of us are actually so close together, that many are members of both faiths. The Craft is not exclusionary, and while Christianity technically *is*... most of the sort of people who follow the Path of Wisdom are not the sort to care about little details like that. »

Actually, I have been mistaken for a "devout Christian" many times in my life, what with rarely drinking, not smoking, et cetera. Something that never ceased to amuse me. I suppose it was going to be useful, now, though... as the shelter Michelle was in was also run by Catholic Social Services, and while my not being Christian was not, technically, a problem to acceptance there... Michelle *had* hinted that my "moral" lifestyle was a big plus in their overlooking that potential issue...

As the line finally reached the threshold of the church, a stray thought caused my mouth to quirk momentarily.  «Funny, how many stories seem to assume that people like me can't just enter a place like this anytime we want to. A church is just bricks and boards, steel and concrete. Just another building, despite what goes on inside. Maybe once upon a time, priests actually knew how to set up 'wards' around places like this... but these days, I rather doubt most of them would have the faintest idea how to do that. A harmless building... that affects me no more than crosses or 'holy water' does... which is to say, not at all. »

Truthfully, I *did* hesitate to step across that threshold. Not because of any supernatural, creepy-crawly reasons, though... merely, respect. If the Burning Times have taught followers of the Path anything, it is the importance of the right to religious freedom, as well as respect for others' beliefs. I may not be a Christian... but I *do* know that many Christians are uncomfortable with people like me -- and therefore I hesitate to dis-respect them in any way. Even in such a small thing as stepping into one of their places of worship, and even when invited...

I slight grin briefly twitched my lips.  «Well, normally. It's not my usual style... but, sometimes, it's just plain _fun_ to be evil... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 19:25.

"Next!" The public health nurse called, standing in the doorway of the basement office she was using.

I rose from my spot sitting on the floor against the hallway wall, to follow her inside. Glancing around, I was almost surprised to find a real -- albeit old looking -- exam table inside, against the wall... until I remembered that they did health checks on every woman here, at least once a week. Obviously, it was a problem they had long since found a solution to...

Still, it wasn't really like any exam I had ever had, in a regular clinic. Little in the way of paperwork... which I suppose is also not surprising, given how many homeless people do not have ID of any sort, let alone a health insurance card to show. She asked my name, my age... if I knew my healthcare number, although she didn't really even wait for a reply to that... and then got straight down to business, gesturing me up onto the table.

"Do you have any known medical conditions I should be aware of, before we start?"

I hesitated, taking a somewhat shaky, deep breath. "Umm... yes, I suppose there is. Are you planning a pelvic exam as part of this?" At her nod, I continued, "I was raped about ten days ago, and still have considerable vaginal damage. A doctor has already seen me... and treated the... the... 'problem'... but... please... no speculum exam, at this time. It would just be way too painful..."

To give her credit, her business-like attitude softened, at that. "Okay, dear. I am required to do tests for Sexually Transmitted Infections, though. Most of that can be done from a blood sample... but would it be okay if I attempt a vaginal swab -- at least from the outer part, without a speculum? Although they are part of the usual routine the first time I see someone, I will skip the cervical exam and Pap smear, under the circumstances... you *did* say you had seen a doctor recently, yes?"

I gave a tiny, sharp nod... then slipped off my panties, pivoting to raise my feet up into the stirrups... as the other women waiting with me in the hall had told me to do. No fancy paper gowns, surgical drapes, or discreetly leaving me alone to change, here. She had a long line of clients waiting outside, and little time to process them. At least she was as gentle as she had implied she would be...

"You do know that HIV takes roughly two to six weeks to be fully detectable, yes? I will still include that test in this lab requisition... ten days is enough that we might get a usable result, although it won't be even close to a hundred percent accurate -- and I imagine you probably would like to have even limited assurance about this, right now. But you will need a follow-up test about three months after the... 'incident'... though, just to be sure. If you are still at the shelter then, I will take care of it for you... but otherwise, here is a card for the Rape Clinic downtown -- they can do the second test for you for free, anytime in late October..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 11:05.

I spotted what looked like a good spot, and parked my car again. After wearing the same clothes for two days, I had wanted to get fresh items from the suitcases in my car... and wanted to move it, anyway. The last thing I needed right now, was to have someone call it in as an abandoned vehicle -- I could not afford to buy it back out of the impound yard, nor could I afford to replace the things inside. Not to mention the slight possibility that someone would follow me from the shelter, to see where I was getting clothes from. That wasn't likely to be a problem, at least this first time... but I had better get used to thinking like that. Which is why I had driven around for a few minutes, to thoroughly lose anyone following me on foot, before looking for a new parking spot.

This seemed like a good location, though. A quiet residential street, with houses that had driveways... and hence, neighbours that were less likely to need to park where I was. Near a low-rise apartment complex, though... so hopefully, the 'strange vehicle' would be dismissed as belonging to a renter in one of those buildings. It would have been nice to park somewhere closer to the shelter... but most of the streets around there were metered, or had "Permit Parking Only" signs.

Scrunching down in the seat, I painfully pulled my arms into my top, without taking it off. I smiled, as a stray thought reminded me of the first time I had seen someone pull this trick of changing in public, without completely undressing. She had been a classmate, back in grade six... on a school bus trip to the local swimming pool.  «Thank you, Betty, wherever you are... ». After swapping out my undergarments, I slipped a new skirt up under the one I was still wearing, then pulled a new top over my head, through the neck opening of my old top. A few minutes more of squirming around, and I was able to strip off the dirty outer layer... before stopping to use slow breathing exercises to control my pain.

 «The last time I did that, I did *not* have a nearly useless right shoulder. I may have to re-think this plan, if it keeps hurting _that_ bad... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 13:42.

I looked around for my purse, as I heard my cell phone ring... the 'unregistered' one, I noted from its distinctive ring tone. Then, with a wry smile, I looked instead in the zippered pocket of my light jacket.  «Still not used to carrying things around in my pockets... it's been a *long* time since I did that, regularly... »

Noting the number... the same one as Michelle had called me from, previously... I was not really surprised to hear her voice.

"Hi Sherry. Have you got a minute?"

"Hi Michelle. That I do... in fact, I have nothing *but* time, these days...". I made yet another mental note that sooner or later, I really needed to let Michelle know that my name wasn't actually 'Sherry'...

"I've some good news! Remember the woman I mentioned, who might be moving out from my shelter? I just heard confirmation that she is moving in with her boyfriend this weekend... and that her former roommate definitely needs to find a new roommate, to help her with the rent. Umm, you did say that you'd be getting Income Assistance soon, didn't you?"

"Yes. I spoke with my case worker yesterday, and she said that as I was now homeless, they were expediting my claim... and as soon as I had a permanent address, they would be sending my first cheque. Err... how much *is* the rent, at that shelter, anyway?"

I could practically hear her shrug, even if I couldn't see it. "That varies. It never is all that much, but if you can't afford it, they waive part or all of it. But it you can... and most us *can*, since you gotta be in some sort of program, or have a job, before they'll let you in here... they ask that you pay rent, so that they can afford to help more people. Sorta like a real apartment, 'cept on training wheels..."

She hesitated for a moment, before continuing. "Actually, that particular suite is a one bedroom, that the two women shared. I know they had applied for a two bedroom unit, the next time one becomes available... but right now, it's just a single. Are you okay with that?"

I winced, but knew that I didn't really have a choice. "Sure, why not? I have three other women in a single small room with me over here... and no private bathroom, or kitchen. Anything is a step up from there..."

"At least the good news about it being a single, is that the rent is a lot lower... your share would probably only be around three hundred..."

I bit my lip, softly. No wonder the other woman needed a roommate... unless you had children, benefits were currently only a bit over five hundred a month. Which left only a couple hundred dollars, for food, clothes, laundry... in short, everything else. Rent on a single was probably more than her entire cheque -- without getting a new roommate immediately, she would probably have to move out back out of the Madison Avenue Residence, onto the streets... or possibly worse, back to the WEAR building...

"Umm, Sherry? There's another catch, maybe. I know you seem to be okay with the fact I used to be a hooker... but... how would you feel about having one for a roommate? Angela is *mostly* a recovering crystal meth addict... but I know she turned tricks to pay for her habit, before. She's been clean for a couple months now, and even has a part-time job... but, well, I know how it is, for some people..."

"No problem, Michelle. I mostly take people as they are, at face value. If she goes back to that life... well, I'll have to think about it, then. But if she is seriously trying to go clean, I am not about to hold her past against her..."

"Kewl. Umm, can you come over here around five, to meet her? I know that'll probably mean you'll miss out on the main meal of the day at the soup kitchen, but... she works this evening... and she *really* wants to get this settled as soon as possible. If you can't make it... well, she'll likely talk to the manager, Amber, to have them pick her a new roommate out of your shelter. I mean, that _is_ the normal procedure, anyway -- it's just 'cause I've already put you on the waiting list as a resident there, that she even has the option of asking you directly..."

I forced a pained smile, thinking I could already practically count my ribs by sight, these days. "Oh, well. What woman can't stand to lose another kilo or two?"

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 7:

Early August, Monday, 02:12.

I woke in a cold sweat, barely suppressing a scream. Slipping from the bed, which we had decided to share -- the dilapidated "donated" couch in the living room was something that should be outlawed as "cruel and unusual punishment", so far as sleeping on it was concerned -- I tip-toed out of the room... not wanting to wake Angela. Ignoring the couch in the living room, I drifted over to the window before sliding down against the wall. Only then, did I let the tears silently stream down my face...

 «I can't do this any more... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 13:06.

Having gotten tired of the near total lack of furniture in the tiny suite, I had finally decided to invest some of my few remaining dollars in fuel for my car... which at least, this shelter had a parking lot for. Without a moving van... which neither of us could afford... most of my larger items had to be left in storage, but Angela and I had managed to retrieve a few smaller boxes of things, that were stored at the front of my storage unit. A unit that was only paid up until the end of October... which was another potential problem. Unless something changed drastically, I would not have any money left to renew that rental... and would probably lose everything still stored there.

But even if we couldn't retrieve any of the larger items, even the boxes of kitchen stuff were a windfall for Angela -- she had been making do with a single plate, carefully washed plastic cutlery, and a dollar store woefully small cheap pot. Not much to cook with... but then, she did not have much to cook, either. She was actually better off than most, what with having a part-time job... but she could only earn a couple hundred extra a month, before they started deducting her earnings from her benefit payments -- and at minimum wage, she did not even come close to earning enough there to do without those benefits.

On the other hand, there were several residents like myself... people with small "stashes" of items that they could draw on, kept at friends' houses or garages, in storage lockers, or wherever. Angela was not part of that group. She had lost absolutely everything but the clothes on her back, before going clean... and so each precious extra dollar had many demands on it. Many different "basic" items that she was currently doing without, that she needed to replace. It is really hard to hold down a job, when you look "poverty stricken"... leading to harsh decisions -- such as buying shampoo, or buying food. Usually, food lost. I don't think there was a single person in that shelter, who was not seriously underweight... even with the help of food banks. Donations of things like clothing or old household items helped... but there were never enough to go around.

Still, life was not all tears and grim starvation. People survive... and find ways to even have fun. Which was why we were currently digging through some old clothes of mine, looking for a spare bikini that I had not used in years. Angela was a petite woman, probably a decimetre shorter than I was... but with a string bikini, that would not matter. She could just tie bigger bows in the strings, to make it fit.

For those in more southern climates, the current "heat wave" (of temperatures climbing above thirty Celsius) would probably be nothing unusual -- but around here, it was *very* hot weather. Which is why the shelter had organized a chartered school bus for tomorrow, to take anyone who wanted to go out to a nearby lake. Carrie from down the hall said she might have something for Angela's children... but she was the wrong size to loan anything to Angela herself, and Angela certainly could not afford to run out and buy something in a retail store.

Angela's children? I had not met them yet, but their pictures looked adorable. A four year old girl, and a three year old boy. Currently in child protective services, but whom Angela was permitted occasional day visits with -- so long as she passed her weekly drug screenings. Normally, those visits were supervised by the children's case worker... but the MAR building manager was also a case worker, and had agreed to supervise the trip to the lake -- meaning, Angela could take them with her tomorrow. Which really had her excited, and hence our digging through my old junk.

 «I really should have just trashed some of this, when I was putting things in storage. There is simply NO way I am ever going to fit in that size 32A bra again, for instance. But it was already packed away in a box of clothing, and I simply had not had time -- so I just tossed it in. Just as well, though, or this old swimsuit would probably have been thrown away as well. »

"That blue looks really good on you, Angela, what with your blue eyes and platinum blonde hair. You're so pale that you need something bright like that, to add some colour to you..."

"Do you really think so?"

For such a pretty girl, Angela had a lot of insecurities about her looks... although I suppose the same could be said about me, so maybe that isn't so surprising. In her case, though, I guess I can see why she felt that way -- she had been slowly gaining back weight since leaving the detox centre a couple months back, but even now she still looked almost anorexic. Which I suppose is a sad commentary on current fashions -- that a twenty-ish, grown woman with two children, would actually be considered *more* attractive, when she was seriously underweight like that. Bizarre... but just reality...

Of course, who am I to talk? I don't think I have ever been heavier than ten percent "underweight" for a woman my height, since my early teens -- although in recent years, I had really had to watch my diet, to maintain that weight. Well, actually I *was* heavier than that once, for a short time... although I never quite reached my "medically recommended" weight. But when I gained that weight, I noticed that too much of it went to my waist, and not enough to my hips or breasts... a legacy of my birth genetics, I suppose. Whatever. It had just made me determined *not* to gain weight like that again -- and so far at least, knock on wood, I had managed to do that.

A knock on the door interrupted us, and turned out to be Carrie. She was holding a couple tiny suits... both for girls, since she only had three daughters, but the smaller one was a two piece, and the bottom was plain enough, in a gender neutral enough colour (black), that just *maybe* we could talk Angela's three year old boy into believing they were really boy's Speedos. Or at least, that was the plan...

A second knock at the door interrupted us again, only a couple minutes later. This time, it was Michelle coming to talk to me... which triggered a flurry of covering up, as Angela dove into her top again. I hate to admit it... but I was not far behind her in slipping an oversized blouse over the shorts I had been wearing -- although in my defence, I would add that I was mostly just following Angela's lead, without thinking about it.

Normally, that would not have even registered with me... and at first, I didn't think about it now. But after a moment, I blushed as it did slowly dawn on me what I had just done. The contrast, between how we had both had been wandering around the hot apartment semi-naked, and had not bothered to cover up when Carrie came over... versus the reaction when Michelle, a known transsexual, knocked on the door. I suppose it did not really surprise me -- I tend to get very 'conventional', when taken by surprise... as I suppose many women do -- but it was another sad commentary on stark reality.

 «And people wonder why so many TS go stealth, eventually. There is a world of difference between 'acceptance' as a 'woman' -- with quotation marks -- and how most people treat you when they simply do not know. If they know in advance that something is going to happen, sure, some can be 'open-minded', and 'accepting'... I am fairly certain that Angela would willingly share a change-room with Michelle, _if_ she thought about it. I *know* I would. But it is what we do when we are caught by surprise, that really shows you what is going on, deep inside people. Even me... who once was like Michelle. Well, sort of. Although that was a l-o-n-g time ago... and I never really looked, or acted, like she does... »

Strange, the things I see, sometimes. I am not "unclockable"... no one is, really. I have seen too many natal females mistakenly get "clocked" as TS, to think that it can not happen to me. But... how 'passable' you are, *does* make a huge difference, in my experience, to how people unconsciously act around you. Even if people "know"... as Angela vaguely "knew" about me, since Michelle had arranged all this... I have been told many times that I simply do not "vibe" as "trans" -- and hence, sometimes I find myself in rather peculiar positions. Like now, where I was, technically, (even if I almost never think of myself that way), a "trans-woman"... in the same room as a couple "natal females"... and watching them react to the presence of another "trans-woman" -- while *not* reacting to my own presence.

As I said, strange... at least, when I think about it. Which admittedly I usually do not. It is pretty rare for me to even be in the presence of another TG, so the whole situation was 'unusual'. Transition was something that happened a long time ago, and these days, most of the people that I know have nothing to do with "the community". Well, normally. But then, these were not normal circumstances, for me...

I suppose this wasn't really a fair example of the difference between being seen as a 'woman', or just a woman... without quotation marks... since Angela *did* know about me, even if she had forgotten for the moment. I have lived stealth for so many years, though, that I knew this actually *was* typical of that difference -- as I had seen the same thing, on occasions when I was present and truly no one knew about me. Seen how people reacted to a TG who came into a room... how they interacted with that person... and heard what was said, *after* that TG left again. Sometimes nice comments... sometimes, not so nice... but almost always, regarded as "different"... at least, for most people. There were always some who truly did not seem to care... but they were a small minority.

"Hi Michelle," I greeted her, slipping out into the hallway with her. "Are you going to the beach, tomorrow?"

The expression she put onto her face was... peculiar. "Err, no... I can't. I mean... my wig would come off if I went swimming... and in a swimsuit, there'd be a 'bulge'..."

Puzzled, I tilted my head. "A 'bulge'...?" Digging w-a-y back into my memory, I added. "Umm, can't you, you know, like... 'tuck'?"

"I tried that a couple times... and maybe I am just not doing it right, but that just *hurts* too much, ya know?"

Briefly crossing my eyes, then rolling them while giving a bit of a shake to my head, I could not quite suppress a smile. "I can't believe I am actually going to say this... but... well, you do know I have worked in the medical field, right? Would you like a little... professional assistance... with that?" I hurriedly added, "I promise I will keep it as clinical and... 'detached'... as I can...". I stopped, then smirked. "Err, perhaps 'detached' is the wrong word for me to use, when talking about your genitals..."

She laughed, the tension of the moment broken. "Hey, I don't mind. I've never really _hated_ that part of my anatomy, like some do... but... I won't miss it, when it's gone, either."

Following her lead towards the stairs... presumably heading towards her apartment... I partially switched topics. "I am not so sure about the wig thing, though. I have never worn one... never *needed* one... but... doesn't your roommate also wear a hairpiece? Maybe she will have some ideas..."

She gave an odd sort of half nod, half tilt to her head... as if to say, 'maybe'... then verbally added, "I suppose we can try. We'll be there with a group, so even if some people _do_ object, maybe they won't actually say so out loud..."

Changing the topic again, she asked, "By the way... why don't you still work in 'the medical field', anyway? I mean... I know you were saying that you were getting too obsolete in I.T. to be able to get another job, there. So... why not go back to that?"

I sighed. "The same reason I do not teach, anymore. I was a rather precocious child, growing up. Some trans-children react to their gender dysphoria by acting up... doing drugs, drinking, generally getting into trouble. Others, though, like me... sublime their discomfort in dealing with others by pouring all of themselves into something else. As a literal 'genius' -- and someone who tested quite high, even in the 'genius' range -- I was encouraged to advance way beyond my age group, in school."

I tilted my head sideways, thoughtfully, for a moment. "I don't think they do that, now... but they still did when I was young, at least in the backwater I grew up in..."

With a slight shake of my head, I returned to my previous point. "Anyway, learning was a task I focused on exclusively, since I felt... strange... like I just did not fit in... trying to interact socially with kids my age, what with the whole 'gender issues' thing. So much so that one year, when our coach was giving silly little 'year end' awards to everyone... while others were getting things like 'most likely to succeed', or 'best all around athlete' -- the award they gave *me* was, 'Most likely to *be* an extra-terrestrial'..."

I gave a small laugh, at that old, not-so-funny, 'joke'. "All of which resulted in the somewhat odd situation of my being a full professor at a post secondary institution, by the time I was seventeen. Weird, being the 'teacher', for a class of a couple hundred students -- all of whom are *older* than yourself... but I digress. My point is, that even though I transitioned young... with a few 'interesting' adventures even younger... well, my degrees were already in my birth name by then. And while I was able to eventually 'fix' my high school diploma, and other early school records... I never was able to do anything with those particular pieces of paper -- other than to get them to agree to keep them locked up, out of public or even normal staff access."

I grinned. "And no, I was *not* 'Dougie Howser, M.D.'. Not even close. But... there *are* real life people out there, on which that exaggerated character was very loosely based... and I suppose, in some small way, I *was* one of those people." My grin faded, then the corner of mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. "Not that I imagine Hollywood ever heard of me in particular, or anything... I was never famous. Quite the opposite, actually. As an occasional computer hacker, I went to a great deal of trouble to stay safely 'anonymous'... something that turned out to be useful, when I later transitioned. I just meant, I was one of that particular 'type' of person."

The smile faded again, as I stared off into the distance. "So much promise, so young... I don't think my parents ever really understood just why I never 'made it'. Unless you actually live with 'gender issues', it can be a bit hard to comprehend all the subtle ways in which they undermine your entire existence. As what old Harry Benjamin used to call a 'Type Six, High Intensity Transsexual', the conflicts between who the world expected me to be... and who I actually was... just tore me apart. Something not helped by the little detail that people who are a long ways from an 'average' IQ, whether high or low, are often a bit... umm, 'unstable'. Or in other words, I crashed and burned, young... there was just no way I could cope with my gender issues, the way some older transitioners somehow managed to do..."

Realizing that I was talking to one of those older transitioners, I quickly added, "Not that there is any real difference between a young transitioner, and an older one... other than life experiences. The 'gender dysphoria' is the same... it is just a little more intense, a little harder to deal with, for the young ones. It hits a tiny bit harder, a little bit younger -- before we have a chance to learn the coping skills that those who are 'less intense' manage to acquire. And being so young... lacking those skills... we are forced to act. 'Transition or Die', to use the usual cliché... which is no less real, for being a cliché."

I shrugged, then made a 'throwing away' gesture, returning to her earlier question. "I still have the knowledge, but I don't have useable credentials to back it up. Which basically puts me in the same position as some 'foreign' healthcare workers, with training from countries that our system doesn't acknowledge. Or in other words...no one would hire me, as things stand. I would have to go back to school all over again... and I always have had better things to do with my money. Surgeries, whatever. By the time I was finished with all that, well, the sort of women's jobs I could get simply do not pay enough to be able to afford to go back to school..."

I smiled. "Maybe I will go back to school again, someday. I do miss that sort of work... as I also miss teaching. Part of why I have written *so* many thousands of medical advice articles, on some TS sites, over the years..."

She rolled her eyes. "As 'Sherry', right?"

I gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Err, yeah. Among a great many other aliases. Sorry about keeping you in the dark about that, for so long..."

She gave an impish grin. "Don't worry about it. It's actually a little funny, when you think about it."

By then, we were standing outside the unit she shared with another, older pre-op TS, named Kristine.

"So why... I mean, you're homeless now. Nothing to lose. So... I know you prefer to live 'stealth', but wouldn't it make more sense to just 'come out', and use those old degrees, now -- even if you hafta explain about the name changes and things?"

For a long minute, I just stared off into space, lost in my thoughts. As always, when I seriously think about doing that sort of thing... I found myself re-living some very old memories. Memories that I had once written down, so many years ago...

 «The crack of the whip, the burning pain in my back, the taste of blood in my mouth, the smell of alcohol on my father's breath... as he pulled my head back up by the hair, and yelled in my ear, "You are a BOY, not a GIRL!", when I was a young child. The sensation of being torn in half, as he "taught me what it REALLY feels like to be treated as a girl"... at the ripe old age of five. The fear and wonder, at six, as my oldest brother (then, eleven -- but already physically larger than my father) pulled a knife on my father, and threatened to kill him if he did not stop hurting me -- and was very obviously ready and willing to do exactly that. The violent death of my youngest sibling (whom I often wonder if was also transgendered, although I will never know for certain), under suspicious circumstances, after my oldest brother left home and was no longer around to deter my father. (The case is still officially open and unsolved). Was he just a murdering, alcoholic paedophile? Or was he a well-intentioned fool, possibly acting on something he had read in our rather pathetic local excuse for a library -- a long obsolete psychology textbook, with some misunderstood reference to the ancient 'Gender Aversion Therapy' 'solution', for children like me? He died many years ago... so I will never know. »

I forced a smile onto my face. "Oh, no reason, I suppose. You know how it is... like a lot of 'old timers', who transitioned in the 'bad old days'... I just have a few 'silly issues' about what might happen, if people 'knew'. Call it just a strange quirk of mine, I guess... but, I really don't want to risk it."

My eyes lost focus again, as for a moment I almost lost control of my emotions. "I had some... problems... as a child. Problems that involved my sometimes being drugged... and... 'unpleasant'... things happening. Problems that my recent rape, after being drugged... have really stirred up, in my mind."

For another long moment, I suspect my eyes took on a rather haunted look. "My dreams at night lately have *not* been a lot of fun..."

Michelle is a lot bigger than I am, enough to make me almost feel like a child, sometimes. Which is how I felt, as she gave me a gentle hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you remember what happened..."

I just let her hold me for a minute, before stepping back. "No problem, really. I know enough about rape therapy to know that it is important to talk about it. However painfully it hurts to re-live the experience in telling... it is the *only* way to really lay those ghosts to rest. Talking about it, in detail, enough times that the 'edge' gets taken off of things."

I gave her a sort of sad smile. "You never really forget, but in time... well... it sort of becomes 'just another memory'. Not really, of course. If I make the mistake of thinking too deeply about it, even now... those experiences really mess me up. But... you learn to... sort of... 'distance'... yourself, from them, usually. A process that doesn't really happen, until you learn to talk about it -- or at least, that was how it was for me. I buried those childhood things really deep, for many years... and they kept haunting me, surfacing way too often. After I learned to talk about it, though... well, it was a lot more 'manageable'."

I shrugged. "This recent mess has stirred things up, but hopefully that will settle down again, in time. Once I manage to deal with my new fears, anyway."

I did not add just how much those current fears were troubling me... or how unlikely it was seeming, that I *could* get past them...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 14:17.

Michelle's apartment was... odd. Hanging from little strings all around the rooms, were stuffed animals. Toys... some new looking, some obviously very old. They were everywhere... not just hanging from the ceiling, but on the furniture, on the window ledge... everywhere. When I had asked, she had just said that they were gifts -- that she had told some of the other residents about liking stuffed animals, and they kept bringing her more and more of them. Refugees, salvaged from dumpster diving... she washed them thoroughly, then added them to her huge collection.

 «I wonder what Michelle's roommate, Kristine, thinks of living in this... menagerie? She's... what... maybe fifty-ish? A bit old for this sort of thing... but then, so is Michelle, even if she is more like thirty-ish... though I suppose we all do the best we can, to get along with our roommates... »

Kristine had obviously been on the edge of asking me something for a while now, so I finally decided to give her a little help.

"Umm, Kristine... you look like you have something on your mind...?"

Her lips twitched, in a momentary smile. "Yeah, I guess. I don't know if Michelle has mentioned it, but... well, I still have an insurance policy, from 'before'... and it is one of the few that covers SRS. My year of Real Life Experience was up a couple months back, and I have surgery scheduled for next month... and, well, Michelle said that you were a post op?"

I smiled. "Yes... although I am not sure how much in the way of questions I can answer. My own surgery was a long time ago... long enough that my surgeon has since retired, and while there are a couple other surgeons now continuing his practice, I think they have changed just about everything since then. Oh, the basic technique is still roughly the same... since I am 'recent' enough that they had developed the start of current techniques... so if you have purely medical questions, I suppose I could answer them... but... if you are wondering about what the doctor is like, or the facilities, or whatever, I won't be much help. Assuming that you are even planning to go to the same place I did..."

I won't bother to repeat all of that particular conversation... other than to say that there is a reason why most long term post ops do not usually hang around with pre ops. Well, many reasons, actually... but one in particular comes easily to mind, after that conversation. Sigh. I suppose it is reasonable enough, given how truly life-changing transition is -- those 'newbie' transitioners who wishfully think that transition won't really change them, are almost always in for a big surprise. There is a world of difference between *thinking* you are a woman, inside... and *actually* living the life of woman.

Life, *all* life, not just transition, inevitably changes who we are... sometimes in small ways, sometimes in very large ways. Transition is such a *huge* deal that it isn't really surprising -- or at least, it shouldn't be -- that most post ops (not all, but _most_), realize just how much they have changed... in hindsight, looking back from years later. But all of that takes time, and the process itself is incredibly absorbing for the person actively transitioning... which tends to boil down to their wanting to talk about the same issues -- surgeries, hormones, et cetera -- over and over and over again.

Fascinating, no doubt, to those whose very lives are involved in it... dependant on it... but looking back from years later, after the dust of transition has long since settled... it is all a little boring. 'Been there, done that... wore out the T-shirt, long ago...'

I answered her questions, as best I could... but it was almost with relief, that I finally changed the topic. At least, for a few moments... before I started thinking once again about how hard this particular topic was going to be, for me. You see, there was another reason I had approached Michelle for help, a little over a week ago. A reason I had not wanted to admit, even to myself, back then... but which had been floating around in the back of my mind, nonetheless. A reason that, actually, I suspect Michelle was 'street-wise' enough to already know I was thinking of -- and may even have mentioned it to the people who ran this shelter, since otherwise they probably would not have expedited my acceptance into here...

The cold hard fact was, I was in deep trouble. I never bothered to talk about all the things that went on in this last week... the fights between women in, and around, the other shelter -- even one all too memorable one with knives, inside my room. The drug pushers that had both tried to sell to me, and tried to 'recruit' me. The pimps that hang around on the street near there, also recruiting. The young woman, who borrowed a cigarette from another woman -- only to find out the hard way that the cigarette was laced with crack, and by the time she came back down, that she was hooked.

The daily grim reminders, of just how hard life on the streets can be. I had beaten Michelle's odds, and survived more than a week -- no doubt helped by the fact I had not actually remained in that first shelter for a whole week -- but I was very much a fish out of water.

Even living, now, in this 'much more civilized', second women's shelter, I was a girl from the other side of the tracks. In way over my head... desperately trying to keep my head above water, while fighting my own desire to just quit... and sink into oblivion. I seriously needed a short term solution, to a problem that normally takes a long time to get out of -- before I made a fatal mistake. And there *was* one way out, that I knew of. One way to earn money quickly. A way women had been using, since time immemorial. The 'oldest profession'...

Prostitution. A source of fast cash, in a world that revolves around cash. Lack of cash had helped put me in this mess, and it was going to take money to get out again -- *however* I earned it. With my physical disability, I could not really earn that cash the way I usually would... which meant only a few alternatives. Some might have turned to selling drugs, I suppose... but that simply was not an option I was even remotely prepared to consider. I *hate* drugs, and always have. Oh, I am not fanatical about it... I could smell that these two had probably been smoking weed recently, and it did not bother me. 'Different strokes for different folks', and all that jazz. What other people did was their business... but for *myself*, there was *no* way I would go that route -- I would rather die, first.

But prostitution... well, it *is* illegal, and I *know* it often destroys the women involved. But while I would never encourage *another* woman to go that route... a part of me saw it as different, when talking about *myself*. Yes, it was risky... even dangerous... but it was something I could do, even with my crippled arm... and I would be harming no one but myself. Or at least, that is the way I looked at it, in my street naivety. So long as I socially responsible about it, making certain to not spread disease, or whatever... well...

Double-think. Self-delusion. I was intelligent enough to know that was exactly what I was doing... but... what *do* you do, when there *are* no good solutions to a problem? When it is your very life that is on the line, and you have already learned the hard way that there are predators out there, just waiting? I was not yet committed to this plan of action... but... I wanted more data, with which to make a decision. Data best learned from someone who had already gone there -- as both of these two had.

Perhaps as well that I asked two of them, at the same time... for the answers I got were contradictory. Michelle hated the whole idea, and wanted me to have nothing to do with it. Kristine... well, she did not exactly encourage me, but I could tell that she had faced the same difficult choice herself -- she answered my questions honestly, holding nothing back. Neither encouraging, nor discouraging me. I will always be grateful to her for that...

Finally, Michelle said, "Crystal, there is something going on this weekend, that I think you need to know about. It is an annual meeting, of sorts... held by the women of the streets, for the women of the streets. As a transgendered former prostitute, I was asked to give a very short speech there... and I would really like you to come along, it you don't mind."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 20:05.

As I attempted to do the 'Range of Motion: Abduction wand exercise'... part of the routine my physiotherapist had given me... I noticed just how much of that 'range of motion' the last week had cost me. Fear of what might happen to me, if my disability became known, had caused me to skip those exercises for the week I was in the first shelter... and I was paying the price for it, now. I could not even come close to moving my arm as far as I could a week ago, before my shoulder 'locked', and the pain became too much to bear.

 «Okay, back to basics. I think I still remember the simpler, first set of exercises she gave me. Go back to those, for a week or two, then try the more complicated routines... »

I sighed, as it dawned on me that recent events had probably set back my shoulder's healing process by months...

 «At least, now, I am somewhere 'safe' enough to be able to start doing this again, twice a day. At the other place... well, it would have been blood in shark infested waters, if anyone had seen me... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 01:17.

"Are you okay, Crystal?"

"I'm sorry I woke you, Angela. Go back to sleep, please..."

This time, I had woken up with a start... and in the process, flinched enough that my shoulder felt like it was on fire.  «I really have *got* to find a way to rest that more, soon. Necessity has forced me to do way too much with it, lately... if I keep this up, I will end up *permanently* crippled... »

Sliding out of bed, I quietly padded off to the bathroom -- not that *that* was a long journey. The whole one bedroom apartment was smaller than many modern bachelor suites... and the bathroom was a tiny room just across the 'hallway' from the bedroom -- with that hallway being about the size of a small coat closet, about a metre square. Still, at least this shelter had been converted from an old, World War II era apartment building... so it *was* laid out in self-contained units. Much better than the WEAR building, which had once been small offices. Plus the view here was amazing... it was right on the crest of hillside, overlooking a pretty wooded ravine. Prime real estate... except for the detail that the ground was too unstable there, to support a taller, more modern apartment building. Which was why there were many of those taller buildings across the street, but this old building sat out on its little spur of land, all alone... with unused parkland around it.

Sitting down to do my business... without needing to bother with fiddling with a nightgown, or whatever, since the apartment was so hot that both Angela and I were sleeping naked... I found my attention diverted by something that just did not feel 'right'. The peculiar 'burning' sensation of tearing flesh, which I have too much experience with... followed by the strangest sensation -- as if warm liquid were inside my vagina.  «What the heck? *That* isn't just another UTI, whatever it is... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 06:08.

Angela was not a morning person... and actually, neither am I. But as I have not been sleeping well, lately, getting up at six in the morning was not really difficult for me -- I was usually awake, anyway. For those who have never lived in the north, the summer sun does not just set very late in the evening (or not at all, in the Arctic circle... although I was not, currently, living *that* far north)... it also rises very early in the morning. So at six, the sun had already been up for hours... and it was rather lovely, sitting by our east facing apartment windows, with the morning sun shining in... and the sound of birds chirping, drifting in from the ravine. I had been getting up early the last couple mornings, actually... as I rather enjoyed that time, alone.

I am an introvert by nature. Someone who *can* deal with other people quite well... but someone who needs time alone, to 'recharge my batteries'. As with all introverts, dealing with other people slowly wears me down, until I simply *must* have time by myself to recover. Something Angela sometimes had trouble understanding... for she was an extrovert, who recharged by being *around* other people. Drawing energy, from the very situation that exhausted me. It might have eventually been a problem for us... except, as I said, she was not a morning person... and while I wasn't either, I *could* adapt to that schedule easily enough -- which gave me the time I needed, alone.

The last two mornings, I had already used that precious time to dilate, while relaxing in the morning sun by the windows. But today, I had another plan in mind... one involving a little magnifying makeup mirror, some pillows, and carefully sitting in the direct sunlight in a rather undignified position. I smirked, as a stray memory crossed my mind... something I had read recently online, by someone convinced that women can't see their own genitals. Possibly true, for that particular woman... but then, I easily remembered a picture I had seen once, of a gymnast with her entire head tucked down between her thighs. I am not *that* flexible, but looking at myself is easy, for me... although a mirror *was* helpful, when I actually wanted to look up *inside* of me.

I grinned again, absently noticing my naked breasts, as the earlier train of thought reminded me of another funny delusion I had seen, in some of the TG stories that just recently I had begun reading online. Bizarre stories, really... although I must admit that even the weirder stories had a strange, almost morbid fascination for me, now that I had stumbled across them. Some of them were not bad... some, like Ellen Hayes' incomplete 'Tuck' saga, or some of the 'Whateley Acedemy' works, were truly excellent... but others, well, I can only shake my head when reading them. Such as a few transformation stories that claimed the person could not see their feet, around their new breasts...

My grin turned to a smirk, as I looked down. My breasts are not huge... but, thanks to that *stupid*, utterly unnecessary breast augmentation, I *do* wear a '34DD' bra (or '34E' / '75F', in UK / EU sizes), when I bother to wear one at all. Double 'D' cups, that in no way interfered with my vision down my own body... though perhaps that had something to do with my mostly lean dancer's body... with its long, thin neck. On a shorter woman, double D's might have appeared too large for 'lean' to describe them... but while not exceptionally tall for a woman, I *was* tall enough to carry them well, and have them appear merely 'well proportioned'. I suppose if I were shorter, or as 'neck-less' as some people I have seen, the viewing angle might be different... but for me -- especially when lying down nude, (when things naturally 'sag' a bit to the sides, even for someone as naturally 'perky' and 'firm' as myself) -- my breasts barely protruded into my line of sight...

Giving my head a shake, I tried to focus on what I was supposed to be doing. The results of 'peeking' at my own anatomy were not really that reassuring, though. There really wasn't that much to see... just a tiny, couple millimetre long red line, that gaped open slightly when I pressed around it. Its location, however, on the ventral ("towards the front") surface of my vagina, a few centimetres inside... accompanied by the sensations I recalled from last night... pretty much confirmed my fears.

 «Oh crap. A fistula... an 'internal passageway', between things that are *not* supposed to be connected... and from what I felt, almost certainly a urethrovaginal fistula. A tear from the sexual assault, re-opened by the physical stresses of moving out before it was fully healed... right through the lining of my vagina. And by bad luck, right in the one area where such a tear could connect up to my urethra -- literally, a bloody second 'pee hole'. Just what I needed -- NOT. It *might* heal on its own... so I suppose I should just keep an eye on it for a while, to see what happens... but then, it was probably the hydraulic pressure from my urinating that 'blew' through the weak spot, creating the fistula in the first place. Most likely, it will keep tearing just a tiny bit larger, every time I go to the bathroom... »

I closed my eyes, feeling a single tear leak out and down my cheek.  «Stop that. So life just keeps on getting 'better and better'. There is nothing you can do about it right now, and tears won't help. Suck it up, buttercup. You can't afford to be less than 'strong', right now... even here, alone. »

Thinking about my problem for a minute, though, I was pretty sure that among the diplomas on my gynaecologists office wall, was one about a urology sub-specialty. So... just maybe... she could take care of this, for me.

 «At least, I hope so. I really don't want to take this particular problem to just any old urologist -- under *that* sort of microscopic examination of *that* particular part of my anatomy, I rather strongly suspect I would need to disclose... which I hate doing, even to doctors... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

		Summer's End Part 4 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART IV: Memorial

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Finally, Michelle said, "Crystal, there is something going on this weekend, that I think you need to know about. It is an annual meeting, of sorts... held by the women of the streets, for the women of the streets. As a transgendered former prostitute, I was asked to give a very short speech there... and I would really like you to come along, it you don't mind."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Chapter 8:

Mid August, Wednesday, 12:45.

"Okay everyone. Have fun on the beach, but be back here in the parking lot by quarter to five. The bus leaves for the city at five sharp, whether everyone is on the bus, or not."

Actually, although I was standing close enough by to hear Amber's little speech, catching that bus wasn't something I really needed to worry about. I had made enough really short trips in my car lately, that I was starting to worry about the battery not having a proper chance to re-charge... so I had decided to waste the fuel, and follow the bus out to the lake in my own car. It had a big engine, and would really guzzle gas if I put my foot down... but driving the way I usually did, it actually got surprisingly good gas mileage.

I suppose I have mentioned my car a few times... but never really talked about it. Not surprising, really. Normally, cars are just transportation to me. So long as they are pretty, comfortable, and reliable enough to get me to where I am going -- in more or less that order -- I never really think about them. I have never bothered to waste the money on a new car in my life... so every one I have owned, has had a 'history' to it.

This particular one dated back to my days of working for an airline, when a friend of mine decided he wanted to become an air traffic controller, instead. A twenty-something boy... despite his age, I thought of him as a 'boy', rather than a 'man', just because of how he behaved... his car at the time was an ancient, but carefully restored, white '81 T-top Camero Z-28, with all sorts of things that he was willing to babble on about endlessly... but which went in one of my ears, and straight out the other. Anyway, long story short, he needed cash to go back to school... and my previous car had just died. Hence my buying a car that normally I would never have considered... but in hindsight, had been a great buy, as it provided me with many years of trouble free transportation.

What I actually cared about, about that car, was that it had a nice interior, power everything, a good stereo... and the two removable glass panel thingies that made up the T-top. The panels were a bit heavy for me, but I could (barely) manage them, normally... and when I did, it opened up the roof over the driver and front passenger. Sort of like a convertible, other than the bar down the middle... but with a solid, securely latching 'hard' roof, when the panels were back in place -- and with the rear section and strong center bar to provide at least the illusion of safety, in case of a roll-over. Actually, I have no idea if that thing would have been strong enough to save me if I had ever rolled it... but I did like to think it would, anyway.

Alas, while it had been a faithful companion for years... a really nice car, once upon a time... I was not the car nut that my friend was, and it was showing its age, now. Enough so that I was starting to think of it as a "beater", rather than a car to be proud of. A bit of rust here and there... paint flaking in some areas... and an engine that occasionally made some rather distressing, expensive sounding noises... although I haven't a clue what those particular sounds really meant. Well, other than a big repair bill, if I ever had the money to be able to take it in to a mechanic. The little backwards facing flap thingies on the engine... an extra air intake of some kind?... had also stopped working a couple years back -- but the car still really took off, on the rare occasion when I floored it.

Actually, I suppose the fact that my car needed more work done to it than it was worth, was actually a 'good' thing, in the present, weird, circumstances. Like many things I owned... it had once been of good quality -- but that was years ago, and as with most of my stuff, it was now severely 'depreciated' in value. Replacing all of my things would possibly cost tens of thousands of dollars... but it I tried liquidating, I doubt I could raise a tiny fraction of that -- a thousand or two in total, for everything I owned, at the very most. And even *that* theoretical value is a bit misleading -- I would probably have starved to death waiting to find a buyer for most of those things, if anyone had been willing to buy them at all.

Which no doubt was why I had not been required to sell some of these 'assets', when I went on financial aid. My car wasn't much... and might break down for good at any time... but while it lasted, the fact I still had *any* transportation was a huge plus, compared to many people in the shelters.

I have some fond memories of driving that old car on hot summer days, with my long hair flowing back through the open T-top roof... and the drive out to the lake today had been another of those memorable experiences. By the time I had pulled into the beach parking lot, the combination of sun and wind had really relaxed me -- I was looking forward to sunbathing, and maybe a little cautious swimming... truly happy, perhaps for the first time in what felt like ages. Had it really only been a couple weeks, since my life had changed so dramatically?

Although the T-tops were in their special padded storage bags in the car's trunk, there was no way I was going to be able to put them back on myself, what with my currently bad right shoulder.  «Oh well, at least it is a sunny day -- no sign of rain -- and I am parked in the row closest to the beach, where I can keep an eye on it. »

Back at the residence, it had been Carrie's husband, Marc, who had taken them off for me... although I might get someone else to put them back on, this evening. Marc had almost dropped one of them, when a bad coughing spell had overtaken him in the middle of taking it off. I had suggested he go see a doctor about that... but like most men, he didn't like doing that sort of thing -- he had insisted it was just a cold, brought on by working outside in the storm we had had, last week.

I sighed, thinking about that. Like so many people in the residence, he worked for a temp agency that paid cash daily, doing whatever work was available -- usually, stuff so miserable that people would rather hire someone else to do it. Minimum wage earnings, for lousy work, often in horrible working conditions... but it paid cash, and the income assistance rules allowed people to earn up to a couple hundred extra dollars each month, before they started deducting the earnings from the benefits. Extra cash that often made the slim difference between just getting by, and starving. Canada may be in the top five countries in the world to live in... but even here, life on the street is no bed of roses...

Eh. I suppose I should clarify about just what 'Marc' was doing in a 'women's shelter'. Although men *generally* were not allowed inside, even for visits... there were a few exceptions. Men who had been *very* carefully vetted, and known to be 'safe' -- NOT part of whatever had driven their women or children into that shelter -- were occasionally allowed to live in this particular shelter, with their wives. A sort of strange situation, and not at all usual... but it was allowed, occasionally. Marc was such an exception -- and a really nice man, who even I had enjoyed chatting with on occasion... despite the fact that right now, I was one of the many women there who were not real 'comfortable' around men.

And yes, I know how that must sound, considering my birth gender. But that was a long time ago, and recent events had only served to drive home once again, in spades, just how little I had ever had in common with that gender. How much, at the moment, I actually feared them. Or at least, *most* of them...

 «Interesting thought. I wonder if the shelter does things like organize this beach outing, and putting 'safe' guys like Marc around us, deliberately? Knowing full well that there are a *lot* of women like me, there... women who have been assaulted, and might be afraid of men -- who might benefit from being placed in situations where we can 'safely' interact with guys, to help overcome those fears? »

I made a face, thinking about it.  «Forget that crap, girl. Today is a lovely day... just enjoy yourself, for once! »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 12:50.

As I came back from the beach change-rooms -- nothing fancy, just a small, free-standing building with a few toilet stalls and a couple benches inside to change at, lit only by a couple skylights in the roof -- Angela looked up from spreading lotion on her son's back. "Hey, Crystal. Can you watch Sandy and Lenaya for a couple minutes, while I go get changed?"

"Umm, sure, no problem. Have you gotten lotion on both of them, yet?"

"Not yet... if you can do Lenaya, I should be back before you know it."

I smiled acquiescence, noting in passing that perhaps it was a good thing, that "Sandy" was a fairly gender-neutral name. With his shoulder length, slightly wavy, light blonde hair, and fine boned face... inherited, no doubt, from his petite mother... he looked more like a little girl, running around without her top on. Something that wasn't really helped by the fact he actually *was* wearing a girl's swimsuit bottom... although everyone had been careful not to tell *him* that.

"Can I play in the wa-tah, Auntie Cris-tah?"

Ignoring the way he had mangled my name... he was, after all, only three... I nodded, but put a 'serious' expression on my face. "Yes you may, Sandy. BUT...", and he stopped, turning back towards me. "BUT, stay close by, until I finish with your sister and can come join you, okay?"

"'Kay."

"Are you re-al-ly our Auntie, Auntie Crystal?" Lenaya was looking at me with big eyes... wise beyond her four years, as so many children placed into protective custody get.

"No, Lenaya, not really. But your Mommy trusts me, and wants you to stay with me right now... so it just makes things easier if you call me that. If you get lost, and you ask someone to help you find 'Auntie Crystal', they won't worry so much about who I am..."

"Oh. Can I go play with Sandy, please?"

"In a moment, dear. Turn around for me, so I can get some lotion on your back -- it is really sunny today, and you don't want to get a sunburn."

As I finished up with her, I decided I had better follow my own advice, and put sun-block on myself. A tan would be nice... but as a strawberry-blonde, I have a red-head's very thin, very white, skin. Skin that burns and freckles, rather than tanning, usually... and while I can tan, at least a little, it has to be done very slowly. A little at a time. Not something there was any point in even attempting to do, this late in the summer. Thinking about my skin made me smile, a little.

 «People who look at me never guess that, technically, I am 'native'. My father was half-blooded... but obviously carried some recessive genes from his own blue-eyed, blonde-haired father. »

I have always lived stealth, from my youngest years... although as a child, the "passing" I did, was to pass myself off as a "white child", rather than native. Not something I normally think about... but lately, applying for benefits... for the first time in my life, I had seriously considered ticking off the little box for "First Nations Status". If I had done so, as I am actually legally entitled to do, I might have received preferential treatment... but old habits die hard, and I had refrained from doing so.

 «They probably won't have believed me, anyway... not the way I look. »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 13:14.

Rolling over, carefully, so as to not jar my shoulder, I absently noted that the girl on the next blanket over was casually sitting up, removing her top.

 «Must be nice to be so young and free. She's what... maybe late teens, maybe early twenties... and on a public beach, topless. The times have definitely changed. I remember living across the street from a nudist beach, when I was her age... which taught me to treat skin casually. But back then, that beach was secluded, with trees planted to block the view of passers-by. Now? She honestly doesn't seem to be giving it a second thought, despite how open this beach is to view... and how many children are roaming around with their 'non-nudist' families. True, she is the only one I can see, doing that, at the moment... but no one else seems to care, in the slightest... »

I grinned to myself.  «So? Are you game to imitate her? »

Perhaps fortunately, I did not act on my own dare. After all, it is one thing for a pretty young thing like her to do that... but I am getting closer to middle aged, now...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 13:28.

I paused, on my way to the water. "How's it going, Michelle? Any problems?"

She gave me a sheepish grin. "Not a one, actually. Thank you for talking me into coming..."

"No problem. Did Kristine's suggestion work, about the wig?"

"Umm, I haven't tried swimming yet. I want to tan a bit first." She paused, then changed the topic. "You know, I was watching you, as you walked down the beach from the change-rooms. And watching the guys, who were watching you. Just curious... the way you were walking... like... I dunno... as if you weren't even aware of them all looking at you. How do you do that? I mean... if guys were looking at me like that, I would be freaking out. Wondering if they were *really* all just drooling, or if someone had read me..."

She gave a sort of bitter, self-conscious laugh. "Not that guys *ever* stare at me, the way they were at you. You really are hot, you know?"

"Err... thanks, I guess, although I think I am a bit too old to be called 'hot'."  «What do you say to something like that? » "As for the ignoring it... well, you just get used to it, after a while..."

 «Well, that... and simply not thinking about it. Even now, after so many years... if I see someone looking my way with lust in their eyes, I tend to assume they are actually looking at someone else, and wonder where she is. Not to mention that right now, I really *don't* want to even think about men thinking about *me*, sexually... »

Being out here today -- so skimpily dressed -- was probably therapeutic, actually. Although my bikini really wasn't covering much of my body... and there were men all around, at least some of whom definitely *were* looking at me, *that* way... it was a "safe" environment, where I truly *knew* -- deep down in my bones, not just in my mind -- that no one would hurt me. That the guys might look... but they would NOT touch, without invitation.

Right then, I needed that assurance... and receiving it, it helped my fears subside -- at least, a little...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 13:38.

Swimming was actually a bit of a problem, although I suppose it was good physical therapy. I could use a side stroke, if I lead with my left arm. I could even manage a sort of gentle, modified breast stroke... if I was really careful about how far I moved my right arm. But most strokes, I could not even attempt... they were just too painful. Oh well, at least the water was shallow to a long way out, so I could wade whenever I tired.

At the moment, I was sort of leaning up against the side of the rather long dock, near where it joined with the short cross dock... sort of making a very thin, long "T". I absently noticed a couple young children swimming nearby, though the water here was probably over their heads. A detail that caught at my attention... and made me keep half an eye on them, so it wasn't really surprising that I noticed when the girl (six? seven?) seemed to be struggling in the waves of a passing motorboat. From the looks of it, she had been breathing in just as the wave slapped water into her face...

Stretching out my good arm, I offered, "Grab on for a moment, love."

As she did, coughing for a bit, I heard a man's voice drift down from the dock, somewhere above and behind my head. "Thank you. I was almost ready to jump in, and I am really not dressed for that..."

Twisting my head around, I glanced up... noting a lean, well muscled, and yet sort of 'distinguished' looking gentleman, dressed more for work than for the beach. Not young... but not old, either. Middle aged... and there was no mistaking the family resemblance, to the little fish hanging onto me. I smiled up at him. "Not a problem. Is this young man yours as well?"

"Her brother," he replied with a smile, referring to the other child swimming with the girl... a boy of somewhere around ten, treading water and watching his sister with concerned eyes.

With a glance at his watch, he broke the moment by addressing his children directly. "Actually, it's about time to go. I know I said you could swim out to the end of the dock first, but you are mostly there... and we really need to get going."

"Umm, Daddy? I need to go to the bathroom, before we go."

I grinned, at the expression on his face. If I had to guess, he was not here with their mother... and taking a little girl to the washroom was not something he was really prepared for. In fairness to him, she *was* at an awkward age... too old to take into the men's room with him without causing difficulties, but too young to safely send off to do her business on her own, yet. I was not really surprised to see him looking at me as if he wanted to ask, but wasn't quite prepared to do so.

"Would you like me to take her there, for you?"

His relief was palpable. "Thank you. How about it, Julie? Are you willing to go with the nice lady?"

She just nodded, but I felt her tightening her grip possessively on my arm... latching on securely, no doubt. Taking my cue, I started wading back to shore, with her in tow -- while her brother quickly climbed the dock end ladder, joining his father in tagging along on the dock above us.

It's funny, the things we remember, sometimes. I have no children of my own... and previously, not a whole lot of experience with children. Having a little girl cling to me so trustingly, like that... it felt really good. And having a complete stranger, a loving father, entrust me with his young daughter... well, lately, I had once again been thinking about transition things, reminded by my contact with several pre-ops. And so, where usually I would just accept that as 'normal'... today, it struck me that *this* was part of why I had gone stealth, so many years ago.

To just be seen as a woman, trusted to do things like this... with no hesitation, no wondering about my motives. Just seen as me, a woman like any other. Taken at face value.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 14:55.

Watching Michelle 'cannon-ball' off the end of the dock -- then re-surface with her wig still attached -- it was apparent Kristine's idea had worked...

 «Glad that she knew that trick. I wouldn't have had a clue about something like that... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 17:05.

As I watched the chartered school bus fade into the distance, heading back to the city, I leaned up against my car for a few minutes. Just enjoying the feel of the sun on my face and body... relaxing. As I had my own transportation, I was not on any particular timetable... and hence, had decided to hang back, letting the others use the change-rooms first. Now that they were gone, though, I supposed I should probably get changed from my wet swimsuit. Changed back into the sundress I had worn for the drive out.

Wandering along the beach alone, I noted absently that most of the people had already packed it in. Not really surprising, I guess... most everyone here was probably like myself -- a day visitor from the city, who were facing a moderately long drive to get home for supper. And much as I was enjoying this "alone time"... I should probably get moving too. Directing my wanders consciously, it was not long before I found myself in front of the women's change-room.

The *locked* women's change-room... with a sign that I only now noticed, reading, "Open from 9:45 AM to 4:45 PM daily."

 «Oh, crap. Wonderful. W-a-y to go, genius. And once again, you learn the difference between just having a high IQ, and actually being *wise*... »

As I headed back towards my car... for lack of a better idea... I casually noticed someone standing beside a vehicle -- shielded partly by their open truck door, and partly by another person holding up a beach towel, they seemed to be changing right there in the parking lot.

 «Well, at least you are not the only one to make this mistake... »

Giving a second, more speculative, look at the changers... it occurred to me that I really could not see anything I was not supposed to. And while the person changing was a guy, which meant he didn't have to worry about his chest being seen... still... that other girl had been topless earlier, and no one had cared...

Shrugging, I continued on my way to my car, shifting my beach bag to a more comfortable position on my left shoulder. A bag I had carried while walking, with the vague plan of changing at some point... but which now it looked like I might as well have left it at my car, earlier.

Actually, changing wasn't all that hard to do. A little nervous making, yes... just because I tend to get rather "conventional", when taken by surprise... and I really had not planned on doing this. But not difficult. Of course, I did not have the helper that the other person had, to hold a beach towel up as a screen... but then, the sundress I was planning to wear was easier to don, than the shorts and tee-shirt the guy had been putting on. I simply pulled it up over my two piece suit, loosely tied the halter top strap behind my neck momentarily while undoing and slipping out of my bikini top, then re-tied the halter top strap more securely. A few damp spots on my dress from touching the suit top, but those would dry soon enough. Slipping my bottoms off, I started to reach for panties... when I noticed how 'damp' I still felt, down there.

I hesitated, watching a family with small children walk towards me... almost certainly heading for the car nearby -- where they would have an excellent view of any further antics I indulged in.  «Maybe I will just skip the panties, this time... it's not like I am going anywhere besides straight home... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 17:18.

Traffic was not all that heavy going back towards the city... although evening commuter traffic looked to be almost bumper to bumper, going the other way. Taking advantage of the more or less open freeway, my being alone, and the wind from the open T-top on my car, I decided to 'air dry' my still damp parts. Which is to say, I casually allowed my dress to ride up, exposing myself... not that anyone but myself could see.

Or rather, that was what I *thought* would be the case. I forgot about the little detail that the drivers of big trucks are *much* higher up than my low-slung car is... and could see down into my currently open-roofed vehicle, as I passed them.

"Woopsie. I thought that one was going to drive off the road entirely, for a minute there. Maybe I should cover back up..."

Okay, I admit it. I *do* have a small exhibitionist streak... when I know it is _safe_ to do so... and sometimes, just sometimes, I can be a little, teeny weenie bit, _evil_. Grin.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 9:

Mid August, Thursday, 11:05.

I bit off a scream, as I collapsed to the floor, literally writhing in agony.

"Oh my god! Crystal, are you okay?! I'm so *sorry*! I just didn't _think_ for a moment! PLEASE tell me you're going to be alright..."

My lungs were nearly paralyzed from pain, but after a couple failures, I managed to sort of grasp out in a higher-than-normal pitched, weak voice. "Yeah... just... give... me... ah... min-... -ute..."

For a bit, I just focused on breathing while curled up in a ball on the floor, holding my right arm safe against my body. After a while, though, I opened my eyes again... to find Angela kneeling beside me, looking devastated.

Whispering, I managed to say, "It will be okay in a bit, Angela. The pain when I move wrong... or someone grabs my arm like that... it spikes really high, really fast... but... it fades away reasonably quickly, too. Just let me lie here for a bit, please..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 14:22.

"Bonjour, Marc. Vous allez bien ?"

"Bonjour, la belle dame. Il va bien, merci. Mais vous permettre de pratiquer l'anglais, s'il vous plaá®t ?"

I grinned up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Or in other words, my accent is so atrocious that you would rather we spoke in English?"

"Mais non, mademoiselle," he mock protested... although the twinkle in his eye said otherwise.

I laughed. "You're sweet, but I know how out-of-practice I am." Changing the topic, I continued, "I am just about done with the washer and drier, if you want to wait a minute, dear. And thank you, again, for your help with my car on Wednesday..."

Quickly finishing unloading the last few items from the drier, I started to pick up my basket of clean laundry... momentarily grimacing, as my shoulder protested. I thought I had hid that reasonably well... but apparently not, as he insisted on carrying it up the stairs for me. He did have to pause once, though, for a coughing fit.

"I don't suppose you have had that looked at yet, have you?" I gave him a fake scowl, before breaking up into a small laugh.

"It's nothing. I will be fine... I just need to rest for a few days."

"Are you sure about that? Even without examining you seriously, I can tell from here, just looking at you and hearing your cough, that it is more than just a cold..."

He just shrugged, then changed the subject.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 11:00.

The woman who stepped up to the podium, in this community hall, looked pretty ordinary. Middle aged, in reasonably good shape... not particularly attractive, but not too unattractive, either. Dressed much like any other woman her age.

"Thank you all for coming today..."

Actually, I don't remember all of what she said... nor what, exactly, the others said. And there were many others who spoke... as the gathering devolved into a large sharing circle, with women in a large circle all the way around the big room. Sharing, one after another, little details. Things from their own lives... and things from the lives of others. Friends, and acquaintances, who were not there that day.

Not there, because they were dead.

All of the women there, with only a few exceptions like myself, were sex trade workers. Some still working the street, some 'gone clean'. I could not help but remember a time, many years ago, when another 'long term post op' invited me to attend a TDOR -- Transgendered Day of Remembrance -- ceremony... and I was struck by the similarities, in what I was seeing and hearing. But there was one, huge, difference.

All of the dead these women were remembering, were locals. Women who had died on *these* streets -- not scattered all over the world, over a period of decades... but right here, in this city... within the last few years. Hundreds of names...

Women whose passing was rarely reported in the news, often other than in a tiny paragraph, somewhere in the back of the newspaper. Drug overdoses... by women who no longer cared if they lived or died. Women beaten to death, by clients or pimps. Women who jumped off a bridge... or a building... or stepped in front of trains -- desperate just to make things *end*. Even some deliberately murdered, by a serial killer -- whose existence in the city I lived in, I had been almost unaware of... as the press rarely mentioned his victims. Certainly, I had been unaware of just how *many* victims he had killed.

The women I met that day were from all walks of life, and a surprising (to me) variety of ages. From teenagers, to women in their fifties. Rich girls, fallen on hard times. Poor women, who had never had much. Professional women, who for various reasons had lost their jobs. College girls. Housewives. Many women with children, who just needed to feed their children -- whatever it took. Drug addicts, wanting to support their habit. Their name was legion...

But they were not a faceless mob, nor were they easy to forget. Each one had a story, about how she came to be there... and, after I admitted I was there because I was seriously contemplating joining their ranks, many approached me, one on one, to share their stories.

It ended up being a rather long afternoon, and one I will never forget.

Especially some of the little anecdotes, that some told. The woman who was *almost* a victim of the serial killer... who realized what was about to happen, as she lay naked and tied up in the back of a van being driven somewhere... and had managed to wiggle out of her restraints. A woman who had somehow found the courage to jump, still naked, from the back of the speeding vehicle as it was driving across a bridge. Who got up from the pavement, nude and bleeding, and ran back across the bridge to escape... knowing the van could not turn around there, to follow her. She survived... although with many scars, both physical and mental.

Women who had been beaten, then left for dead. Women who had 'performed' at knife point, doing anything they had to, to stay alive. Women who got into the trade after fleeing from abusive homes, with nothing but the clothes on their back.

My considering becoming a prostitute? That plan died, that day. Mostly. In a bizarre way, though, I came away with much more respect, for the women of the night. Their sheer persistence, in the face of incredible hardships. Their strength, and their will to live, even under intolerable conditions. The willingness of some to go to *any* length, do *anything*, for the sake of their children. I almost wish I were a member of their ranks... for in some ways, it would be an honour.

Almost.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 22:12.

I don't normally wear a bra, these days. After my augmentation, my surgeon had recommended that I not wear one for a while... at least, once the initial healing was done. Something about helping ensure that the implants "dropped" properly, from where they were inserted to the position they would eventually settle into. But while I had worn a bra pretty much constantly before that time... after not wearing one for a few weeks, I was surprised to discover how little I actually needed one.

Even with double 'D' cup breasts, it wasn't really a problem. Oh, sure, I still wore one when I was planning to exercise, or whatever... or for modesty, if I were wearing something where my nipples might show through -- although most of the time, I wore enough layers that *that* wasn't really an issue. But as far as 'support', for day to day activities? It really made no difference. Something that mildly puzzled me, until I happened to find a web site about exactly why women wear bra's... which, according to that site at least, seems to be mostly just for cultural reasons. The site claimed that over ninety percent of women of North American women wear a bra, and that many had never even asked why...

Not surprising, I guess. Truthfully, I was in pretty much the same boat, before then. I wore a bra because that is just what people *expected* women to do. Because I just assumed my breasts needed the support... without really considering that a bra is a relatively recent invention, that women had done just fine without for most of recorded history. Assumed many things. Not all that smart, in hindsight...

I suppose the situation might be different if my breasts were 'saggy'... but fortunately, that isn't the case. And according to that site... it was actually *less* likely to become the case, if I *didn't* wear a bra constantly. Something about the ligaments that support the breast atrophying when not in use... making them *more* prone to damage, if anything ever did cause them to come under strain. Whatever.

My point is, wearing a bra is not an 'all the time', or even 'every day' event for me. Sometimes I wear one, such as for sports, or when it *is* socially 'necessary'... but most of the time, I do not. But, unfortunately... I considered something like today's memorial service one of those 'socially necessary' occasions. Not having the slightest idea what I was getting into, I had asked Michelle what to wear... a mistake, in hindsight. A typical 'early stage transitioner'... she is still in that phase so many seem to go through, where all they want to wear is skirts or dresses. So, naturally, that is what she told me to wear... even though it turned out few other women there were dressed that way. Anyway, I had worn a rather 'nice' dress... which happened to be one that needed to be pulled on over my head, since the waist was too tight to pull up over my hips.

And yes, I do know that for many TS their shoulders are actually more of a problem than their hips -- what can I say? I am not even close to "most TS" in body shape. In most respects, I fall entirely within the 'norm' for a 'natal' woman my height. And my height is also not exceptional, although a trifle above average... which makes sense, what with it being the same height my mother was...

My mouth twitched, as I remembered a really bizarre TV show I had channel surfed into the other day. A show on a US station that claimed to have answers to "men's" questions... and at the particular moment I tuned in, claimed to have a fool-proof method of spotting a TS. Their stupid brainwave? Supposedly, you can look at a woman's hands... and if the index finger is shorter than the ring finger... 'she's a guy'. Idiots. Not only were there lots of natal females out there whose hands are like that, considering that my own index finger is longer than my ring finger -- yeah, okay, I admit it... I actually looked -- their method really isn't that 'fool-proof', is it?

"Umm, Angela? Help?"

"What... oh, I see."

Dodging around behind me, she quickly helped untangle me, from where I had managed to get the dress over my breasts, and partway over my shoulders... and then, my bad shoulder had 'locked'. So there I stood, half naked... with a dress stuck around my shoulders and head. Not able to either pull the dress the rest of the way off, or pull it back on.

"Thank you, dear. I would be in a real fix right now, if I lived alone..."

"No problem. Do you need help with your bra?"

I hesitated for a moment. I had bought a couple "front closure" bra's after my shoulder was injured, before things became so tight financially. But while they helped a lot... getting in and out of them was a frustrating challenge, at the best of times, these days. And 'best of times' did not describe how my shoulder was feeling at the moment, after losing a battle with my dress.

"Yes, please," I finally said in a small voice, although I felt really stupid saying it.

Fortunately, she did not make a big deal out of it, just quickly undressing me as if I were her daughter. But afterwards, alone in the privacy of the bathroom, I found myself collapsing against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor.

 «I *HATE* being dependant on people like this! Being a useless *cripple*. Can't defend myself. Can't work. Can't pay my own bills, without charity. Can't even get *undressed*, without help. I HATE MY LIFE. »

I sat there for a long time, crying. Quietly whispering over and over again. "I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 13:00.

I knocked on the open door to Amber's little office, down by the MAR building's front door. "Hi... you left a note in my mailbox, that you wanted to see me?"

"Oh, hi, Crystal. Yes, I did. As you probably know, I am also a social worker... and I wanted to ask you about a program that is starting up in a couple weeks, early in September. You don't have to decide right now, but I have a brochure here that I wanted to give you -- so that you can think about it and get back to me. I would need to know in the next couple days, though, as there are not that many seats available in the program..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 04:58.

The nightmares had been bad, last night. Really bad. Which possibly explains just why I was digging through one of the few boxes of books that I had not sold, when I liquidated so many others. A box of hardcover books... some old, some new... that I had acquired over the years.

The black leather binding, imprinted with silver Sigils... the silver gilt-edged pages, with the sewn in black ribbon bookmark... the particular book I was looking for was pretty distinctive. A numbered, original signed copy of Simon's version of the Necronomicon. The Book of the Dead. Not exactly part of my usual reading, or part of Celtic Wiccan rituals, for that matter... not that I have ever limited myself to just one aspect of being a wicce. Wicca is a very individualized faith... and I am rather flexible in my personal interpretations of it -- on those days when I felt any sort of spiritual leanings at all. Most of the time, I call myself an atheist...

It took me only a few minutes to find the particular ritual I was looking for... mostly just to refresh my memory of some of the more obscure words involved -- I may speak several languages, and comprehend a few more... but I am not really a true scholar of ancient Sumerian, although I *have* carefully learned the meaning of a few, specific, "useful" phrases...

Skyclad, I began to walk the circumference of the Circle, whispering softly the words of over five millennia ago... as I *really* did not want Angela to wake, while I was doing this.

"Isa ya! Isa ya! Ri ega! Ri ega!
Bi esha bi esha! Xiyilqa! Xiyilqa!
Duppira atlaka isa ya u ri ega
Limuttikunu kima qutri litilli shami ye
Ina zumri ya isa ya..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 19:40.

"Umm, Crystal? You busy?"

I looked up from my notebook computer, from where I was sitting cross-legged on the bed with it in my lap. It was a truly decrepit Win2k relic that I had not bothered to try to sell for cash, since I doubted anyone would pay anything for it. It's batteries no longer worked, meaning I had to keep it plugged in... and there were other things wrong with it... but it was certainly better than nothing. Despite it's age, it would still surf the web, and even ran an obsolete version of Office that I had kicking around from my I.T. days. As the building had free internet and cable for its residents, I had dug it out of storage -- a free way to kill time, of which I had too much at present...

"Not really. I'm just reading some stuff online... mostly just for something to do. What's up?"

"I promised Nasrine I would watch her newborn this evening, while she goes to Mosque... but I just got a call from my children's guardians, and I really need to go over there for an hour or so. Would you mind looking after her baby for me? I promise I will be back as soon as I can..."

Slightly taken aback, I blinked. "Err... I guess I could. But I should warn you, I don't have a whole lot of experience with very young children..."

She smiled, with one side of her mouth. "Trust me, it won't be a problem. She is only a month old... she may very well sleep the whole time, and if she wakes, all you would need to do is change her, or give her a bottle. Nasrine is breast feeding her, but she expressed a couple bottles for this evening, which are in the fridge -- and everything else you might need is in the bag she brought over. Please? I really need to leave, right now..."

Against my better judgement, I acquiesced with a tilt of my head.

The almost panicky look in her eyes faded, replaced with a smile of relief. "Thanks, dear. You're the best..."

 «The best what? Idiot, perhaps? » I smarted off to myself... but, carefully, NOT out loud... as I watched her quickly gather up a few things and dash for the door.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 20:11.

"Yeah, right. S-u-r-e she will sleep the whole time. Now what do I do?"

Carefully peaking into her tiny diaper, she didn't seem to be wet... which a very tentative finger more or less confirmed. Although, I really wasn't that sure exactly what a wet diaper *would* feel like.  «Umm, don't these things have a 'stay dry' lining? *Would* it even feel 'wet' -- even if it was? Oh, wait... if it didn't *feel* wet, she wouldn't be crying... would she? »

 «Maybe try her with a bottle, to see what happens? »

Carefully picking her up... trying to remember what little I knew about how to hold a baby... I soon had her safely nestled in the crook of my good arm, securely tucked in against my naked breast. The sunny heat wave was still continuing... and while our apartment was not as bad as the ones on the other side of the building, which faced the sun in the evening... it was still way too hot for comfort. Hot enough that I had taken a cool bath just an hour previously, and never bothered to dress again after cooling off. Actually, the tiny baby girl -- whose name I could not remember at the moment, if I had ever heard it at all -- was almost as naked as I was, wearing only her diaper.

 «Ai-yi-yi-yah! Well, it's a good thing she doesn't have teeth yet... and I suppose this confirms what Angela said, about her normally being breastfed. » For a moment, I debated attempting to pry her loose from where she had "latched on" to my nipple... then just shrugged.  «I just had a bath, so my skin should be clean enough... and I don't have a soother to give her, to keep her quiet while I heat a bottle. Considering that about the only other thing I could use for a soother would be one of my fingers -- which probably have goodness-knows-what chemical residues on them, from my cleaning the bathroom after my bath -- maybe I should just let her be... it should only be for a minute or so before I have her bottle ready, anyway... »

Moving carefully so as not to disturb her, I shifted slowly to my feet, then started to walk towards the small kitchen alcove... absently noting the way her jaw and cheeks were moving, as she attempted to feed.  «Well, I suppose that confirms that she is hungry. I just hope she doesn't get mad and give up, crying, when she figures out I have nothing for her... »

Heating the bottle probably took me longer than it should have, much longer than I thought it would... as I really wasn't sure how long to 'nuke' it. I *did* vaguely remember that I was supposed to test it against the inside of my wrist... so I did have a gauge by which to tell when it was 'done'. But I didn't really know how long that would take, and didn't want to overheat it... so I kept zapping it for short periods of time, then taking it out to test again. By the time I figured it was 'right', the little girl was starting to get frustrated.... squirming around a bit... but was still being quiet.

At first, she did not want to let go... continuing to nurse on my barren breast, even though the bottle nipple was pressed up against her lips. Attempting to gently pull her away didn't really work -- she just latched on even harder, painfully so, as my breast informed me that particular plan wasn't a good one. After debating pulling harder, quickly enough that she wouldn't have time to react... but unsure if her neck was strong enough for that to be safe to do... instead, I tried squeezing a little milk from the bottle, dribbling it down my breast towards her mouth. It seemed to work, as after a minute she began to notice the milk on her lips, and started moving her mouth around up my breast towards its apparent source -- at which point, I was able to slip her the bottle's nipple. Shifting her around a bit as she sucked greedily, I eased myself down onto the battered old couch, gazing down at the loving little child in my arms.

Softly, I whispered, "You are so beautiful, little one. So innocent. So trusting..."

I felt my eyes tear up a little, as once again my old yearning for children of my own rose within me. The ache within my heart, as I had felt this little bundle of joy kneading my breast, attempting to nurse. The upwelling of frustrated maternal instincts... so long ignored. Children were a dream that I knew would never happen... but which I still found myself longing for, sometimes. My eyes lost focus, as I found myself drifting back in time, to when I was a little girl... and used to tuck stuffed toys under my clothing, pretending I was pregnant... pretending to give birth to my children. Something else I would never know...

My mouth quirked, as for a moment the irony of my previous thought caught my attention. "When I was a little girl...".

I shrugged, carefully so as not to disturb the child, letting that thought slip away. Once upon a time, such things might have mattered to me... but that was long ago. These days, I barely noticed thinking things like that... if I noticed at all.

My thoughts turned to the memorial I had been to, the previous weekend. To the brave women I had met, so many of which had children of their own... some, dearly loved... but some, unwanted -- unintended by-products of their trade. What I wouldn't give to be one of them, if it made me able to conceive my own children...

It was a very special evening for me, on many levels. Painful, as it reminded me of what could never be... and yet, immensely satisfying, as well. My heart ached, with suppressed instincts finally finding an outlet. Before that evening, I never really considered working with young children... fearing it would be just too painful, being constantly reminded of what I could never have. But as that night progressed, it really sank in to me, deep down inside, that even if I could never give birth... I *could* be a mother. Something I had "intellectually" known before then... but which now found its way deep into my heart.

A turning point, of sorts... when for the first time in too long, I looked forward to the future -- instead of miring myself in re-living the horrid past. Not a cure... but a first, necessary, step.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

		Summer's End Part 5 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART V: Learner

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

I knocked on the open door to Amber's little office, down by the MAR building's front door. "Hi... you left a note in my mailbox, that you wanted to see me?"

"Oh, hi, Crystal. Yes, I did. As you probably know, I am also a social worker... and I wanted to ask you about a program that is starting up in a couple weeks, early in September. You don't have to decide right now, but I have a brochure here that I wanted to give you -- so that you can think about it and get back to me. I would need to know in the next couple days, though, as there are not that many seats available in the program..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Chapter 10:

Late August, Monday, 09:45.

"Hey Crystal, Angela. Have you heard the news, yet?"

Sensing from her body language that whatever it was, was not good... I questioningly tilted my head, and raised an eyebrow, cautiously offering, "No...?"

"Marc died last night. Carrie finally got him to go see a doctor in a walk-in clinic yesterday morning... who sent him straight to the hospital... but it was already way too late. Less than five hours later, he was dead. Pneumonia..."

"Oh, goddess, Michelle. How are Carrie, and the little ones, taking it?"

"I don't really know... she has just been locked in her apartment all last night and this morning, telling everyone to go away... to leave her be..."

After she left, I found myself thinking back. It had probably been about ten days since I had last encountered Marc in the laundry room downstairs... and he had not been looking good, even then.

 «Fool. You should have checked on him, to see how he was doing. You *knew* he wasn't well, even if he was denying it and refusing help. Mea culpa... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 11:35.

I tentatively knocked on the doorframe by the open door of Amber's office, having already noted that she was inside doing some paperwork at her desk.

"Umm... hi. Do you have a minute?"

Spinning her chair around to face me, she gave me a sad smile. "Sure. What can I do for you?"

"Well... I just didn't really want to bother Carrie, and I was wondering if you knew, perhaps, if there were going to be a funeral?"

The sad look on her face merely intensified. "Actually I was just talking with her about that. Although I told her about the government program that covers basic funeral costs, a casket, and cemetary fees... for those who can't afford it... she still is afraid that she is somehow going to end up with a huge bill that she simply can't pay."

She paused, staring off somewhere over my shoulder. "She didn't really say it, but I got the feeling that she's not going to claim the body. That she is going to just leave... probably in the night... and take her children home to her parents, back East." She sighed. "It won't be the first time I've seen that happen, around here..."

Closing the distance between us, I reached out and squeezed her hand... almost causing her to shed the tears I could see lurking in her eyes. Death, of those you have come to know, is an all too frequent occurance in the shelters. He would be missed. A good, decent man, with a gentle and kind spirit, he was only forty-one years old... with a wife who had loved him very much -- despite what her fears might drive her to do -- and three wonderful young daughters, the youngest only two.

They had all struggled hard the last year, slowly pulling themselves back from the brink... to being a shelter 'success' story. Almost ready to leave the subsidized shelter, and rejoin mainstream society. And now, this...

Forcing a fragile smile, she gave her head a slight shake... obviously changing the topic to something... anything... less depressing. "Oh! Before I forget, there are some papers here for you, accepting you into that program we talked about. And in case you forgot, acceptance into that 'counselling and training program' officially changes you from the basic Income Assistance funding, to Learner status. In practical terms, that means almost double the benefits, plus you get to keep all of any extra earnings you make. If you want to fill in the forms that are in with the other documents, then get them back to me as soon as possible, I'll take care of that for you..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 13:15.

 «That's odd... Amber usually just talks to people as they go by her office. I wonder what's up? »

Opening the door, I greeted her with a slight smile. "Hi Amber, come on in..."

"Hi Crystal. Is Angela in?"

Turning away towards the bedroom, I started heading that way, before Amber added, "Umm, you may wish to stick around for this, though, as it will affect you too."

Giving her a tilted head and raised eyebrow, I responded, "Oh? That sounds... ominous."

She gave a tiny, short lived laugh. "Not really. Angela and her former roommate had applied for a larger suite a couple months back... and her name's now at the top of the waiting list..."

Softly biting my lower lip, I said, "Carrie and the girls left, then?"

She just nodded, sadly.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 09:10

Angela looked around the clean white walls of our new home. Excited, and at the same time, sad... what with just how we had come to live here.

The unit was completely empty... stripped, although Carrie had abandoned many things in the night. Marc had died of a possibly contagious illness... so everything left behind was gone, and the unit scrubbed down by a volunteer cleaning crew. Well, sort of 'volunteer', in the sense that the residents involved had volunteered to do the work -- they were paid by the shelter for their time.

Pneumonia is not normally contagious, for a healthy person... but, many people in the shelters are far from 'healthy'. Poor diets due to inability to afford healthy food, harsh working and living conditions... frequently bodies weakened by disease or drugs... as in hospitals, it was a legitimate concern, here. One the shelter preferred not to take a chance with. If Carrie were still living here, among her own things, I doubt anyone would have said a word about the risk... but with new clients moving into the shelter suite right away, someone had obviously been concerned about potential liability, in the unlikely event something *did* happen...

"I sorta hate just how we got this place... but the timing is wonderful. I've been clean for three months, now, and now that we have the space for them, they may let me start having my children back for occasional overnight stays. At least, so long as I keep testing clean on their random drug tests."

She turned to me, nibbling on her lip. "Umm, are you okay with continuing to share a room with me? I mean... there are only two bedrooms, and I think it would go over better with the social workers, if I could put the children in a room of their own. I know you are paying for most of this place, though... so if you don't want to, if it's too much to ask...?"

"It's not a problem, Angela. Besides... we only have the one bed mattress, right now, anyway."

"Great! Thank you s-o-o-o much, hon."

For a moment, she squeezed me with a massive hug... before turning back to more practical problems.

"Once the kids start staying overnight, I should be able to get a funding increase, from a single woman to a single mom with kids. That should help with buying a few things around here... and in the meantime, I'm sure I heard something about a program that provides beds for the homeless. A local furniture place, that donates any mattresses damaged in shipping. They usually have minor cosmetic stuff wrong with them... minor tears, shipping dirt ground in that they can't get out... stuff like that. But they're basically brand new. We would have to go get them ourselves... but... you *do* have a car. Umm, would you be okay with strapping something to the roof of that?"

I winced, but what the heck. A mattress wasn't likely to do much harm... and it already had paint damage, anyway.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 06:05

Real curtains can be expensive... but Angela had somehow managed to find enough spare cash to buy some cheap "sheers" from the dollar store, for at least _most_ of the windows... although not all. While there was very little else in our new living room at present, it was still nice to sit on the hardwood floor by the open corner window. Enjoying the slight breeze, which was countered by the warmth of the morning sun streaming in... watching the translucent white fabric of the curtains billow gently in the sporadic breeze.

A peaceful moment, to recharge my spirit... and take care of some necessary 'maintenance'. It had been more than a month since the 'incident', and my 'injury', now... so I was only dilating a few times a week... but it remained a necessity. At least until I saw my gynaecologist again, anyway... which wasn't scheduled to happen for a few more weeks.

Actually, there was another item of business that I needed to take care of, today... my HRT injection.

I suppose I should mention that I hate pills, of any sort. A legacy of my childhood problems, only made worse by recent events. Any medication that even potentially 'messes with my mind'... even such simple things as the caffeine in coffee or tea, or drinking more than a very little alcohol... and my hackles start raising. Many years ago, when I used the pill form of hormone replacement therapy, that pill phobia had been a problem -- one I had overcome mostly by sheer will-power, and determination to *fix* my body, no matter the cost. Still, I had shed no tears when I developed problems with the oral med's, and had to discontinue them. An unusual complication... but then, there was very little "usual" about my body.

Another thing I should talk about, maybe. I have long since completely lost track of how many doctors, and other people, have suggested I should be tested to see if I am intersexed... something I have never bothered with. I am what I am, and I see little point in worrying about that sort of thing. True, there *are* some intersexed conditions that can result in serious medical conditions later in life, if not treated earlier... and I know I face the risk of dying "someday" of some weird cancer or whatever... but... I would just rather not know. Silly of me, I guess... but there it is. I just hate doctors poking and prodding at me... and as for the thought of someone "invading" my body... even if well intentioned... well...

Shrug. "Thou art goddess." Something those who are not wicce may not understand... but, whatever. My body is my temple, and I do not tolerate lightly any messing around with it.

Strange, the paradoxes inherent in my life. On the one hand, I desperately needed my body "fixed", as a child... but on the other, I would not willingly take so much as an aspirin. I suppose it is a commentary on just how strong gender dysphoria can be, that I am the way I am today... but I digress.

Long story short, I currently take my hormone medication in the form of a simple self injection, usually into one of my thighs. While putting a needle into myself was also something I had to psych myself up to do, what with my phobia's, after so many years it was routine enough now that it was not something I gave much thought to, under normal circumstances... other than to plan my day so that I have some time to take care of it, once every few weeks. Officially, my prescription calls for it to be administered every two weeks... but after so long, many times I just forget. Eventually, I start having "hot flashes"... menopausal symptoms... which reminds me to give myself a shot. But until that happens, I usually don't worry about it.

Usually. But then... time had been something I had too much of, lately, as my shoulder oh so slowly heals... and being bored, I had been reading free stories online...

I smiled, at a stray thought.  «Where on Earth did the silly writing convention of transsexual HRT always starting with a big shot in each hip come from, anyway? I mean... adverse reactions can and do happen, even with 'human bio-identical' hormones. *Every* currently used HRT protocol that I am familiar with, calls for starting a new patient on half (or less) of the eventual target dosage... and *most* of them recommend against injection HRT entirely -- ESPECIALLY for those new to HRT. What can you do, if you give a massive injection to someone... and they have an adverse reaction to it? Not much, of course. Which is why that particular plan of action is so strongly recommended against... and most places start new patients on ORAL medications, where the doses are much smaller -- and can be flushed out of the body in a matter of hours, rather than weeks, if it becomes necessary for some reason... »

I shrugged.  «Ah, well. It is only fiction, right? Except... there are a *lot* of "do it yourself-ers" out there. People who ask questions on TS forums (sometimes) that make it obvious that they are getting their -- real world, actual life-depending-on -- information from some of those fictional stories. Yikes... »

With a shake of my head, I returned my straying thoughts to my own injection. Between my unusual enzyme issues -- which result in the break down of many medications (including oral hormones) ridiculously quickly, making them fairly useless for me -- and my sensitive skin (allergic to most adhesives... including those on hormone 'patches'), I actually was one of the few people for whom injections were a practical necessity, rather than a fictional plot device. Although in my (post op) case, the dosage was small enough, that a single injection to one of my thighs, was the usual regimen that I followed.

Not a double shot in the hips. Grin.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 08:30

The pamphlet sitting in front of me read "WELCoS"... which I gathered stood for 'Women's Employment and Life Counselling Services'...

The address on that pamphlet had lead me to what looked to be a small, old fashioned elementary school... except that the former school name had been removed, replaced with a tiny sign by the door with this acronym on it. On venturing inside, I had found pretty much what I had guessed -- an obsolete school, converted for use as something else... although that conversion mostly seemed to be in the form of replacing children's desks with adult sized tables and chairs. A few minutes of wandering around had quickly led me to find the particular classroom I wanted, whose number was on the letter accompanying that pamphlet.

Glancing around, I found myself in a small group of about a dozen women... ranging in age from late teens, to early forties, at a guess, with most in their early to mid twenties. Pretty ordinary women, at first blush... although the group *did* seem to include a higher percentage of thin, nervous looking women, than one would expect... plus a couple with old bruises, as well as one with a cast on her arm...

The package I had received had included a packet of free city transit bus coupons, so I had decided to save gas money by taking the bus -- almost to my regret, as I had nearly been late, what with the first two buses that drove on by without stopping -- being already packed full to peak capacity with morning commuters. Which is to say, I had little choice about where I sat, merely scrambling to get to the last remaining open seat -- in the back row, center, oddly enough. For some reason, I would have expected the back row to fill up first... but then, these *were* all adults, who actually wanted to be here -- not school children.

Considering the nature of the group... women on the run from sexual or physical abuse, for the most part... I was also somewhat surprised to see a male staff member enter the room... although, admittedly, he gave off very heavy "gay" vibes, so maybe that wasn't so surprising. Even the most nervous seeming women barely reacted to his presence. He just felt "safe"... although I admit that isn't exactly logical. I am well aware that abusive relationships are extremely common among lesbian couples... although I wasn't sure if that was also true for gay guys...

I won't repeat the opening speech... which was the usual pretty boring orientation sort of thing. "We will be spending this much time studying this topic, that much time covering that"... yada, yada, yada. About the only thing that really stuck in my mind, was the part where he had us introduce ourselves to the group. Besides the expected name thing, and a request that we tell a little about what brought us here, and what we were looking to get out of the program... he also had us tell "what was the most challenging thing you ever did in your life."

As I listened to the others talk, one at a time, a part of me was glad I was in the back row -- and that he had started from the front. You see, I had some serious thinking to do... as I listened to the other women talk about the abuses that had resulted in them being here. Some really serious issues, and ones that I could really relate to... except, if I were going to get much out of talking about similar issues, I would pretty much have to talk about some things I *never* usually talked about. Things involving my unusual past. Things that normally were not things I even thought about... but which *were* all tied together in my mind, with the issues I was currently having... and if I were going to get the full benefit from this program, I would pretty much *have* to take even that small influence into consideration...

Around and around, my thoughts went... as my turn approached ever closer...

Taking a deep breath, and staring straight ahead, I made my final choice, for better or for worse, just as my time ran out.

"Hi. My name is Crystal... and I suppose the hardest thing I ever did, was to have a sex change operation..."

You could have heard the proverbial pin drop.

Well, other than the sounds of people turning in their seats to stare. If I had wanted reassurances that no one had read me beforehand, I would guess from the utterly shocked expressions around me that I had just gotten it. Big time.

The instructor was the first to recover, although even he seemed like someone had just punched him unexpectedly. His eyes shifted around the classroom, as he obviously tried to assess the reaction of the group.

Finally, he spoke. "Umm. I think this would be a good time to remind everyone that this program has a zero tolerance policy on abuse of anyone, and that we have an official policy of GLBT acceptance..."

With another glance at me, he added, "And perhaps I should also remind you all that what is shared within these sessions, is intended to stay within the group..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 10:05.

Heh. If we were little children, I suppose they would call this "recess". As it was, it was called a coffee break... but it felt like much the same thing, given the surroundings. Especially since I don't actually drink coffee...

Actually, apparently neither did a whole lot of people in my group... or at least, they did not seem in any hurry to get coffee -- despite there being a free dispenser in the corner of the classroom.

Oddly enough, they seemed to want to talk with me. It would seem my gamble had paid off...

At first, right after my little announcement, there had definitely been more than a little tension in the group... which had shown up in a reluctance to talk about what had brought them here. But to give credit where it is due, the instructor seemed to see that... and managed to draw out of me more and more details about my own recent troubles. A discussion that gradually relaxed the group, as it became more and more apparent that I really *did* belong there, in that group. That I had similar life experiences to theirs, and similar problems. That I was one of them... and not whatever they had first assumed.

Strange. In retrospect, I had been noticing things like that a lot, in the last month. How being assaulted had given me a 'common bond'... an ice breaker, with many women, that caused them to open up with me, in a way I had not seen previously. Women at the shelters. My female doctor. Others. And now, here it was again, in the support group...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 12:35.

"Hi Michelle," I casually greeted her in passing, as I noticed her at the sinks while I headed more or less straight into an open cubicle, from the washroom doorway.

I had seen her around the WELCoS facility a few times in the last couple days, though we had not really spoken. There were several different programs being run here, including one intended to help former prostitutes get off the street, by providing them with alternate job training. I had vaguely known she was in that other program... but it was based in another wing of the school, so our paths rarely crossed. Actually, I had heard that there were three or four TS in that other program, although Michelle was the only one I even remotely knew.

Or perhaps I should say, "obvious TS"... since technically I was a TS too -- although the program I was enrolled in was not aware of that when they signed me up. I did not really think of myself as such, usually... but then, having "outed" myself here, deliberately, to the dozen women in my group... I was being reminded of it a bit lately, in occasional tiny ways. Little things, that another person might not have noticed... but which, having lived for years *without* that sort of thing, just served to remind me of why I usually live completely stealth. The difference between 'tolerance', and 'acceptance'... although at least things were slowly going back towards true acceptance for me. An advantage of being truly passable, I suppose... people tend to forget, unless you do something to remind them.

While I was in the stall, I was reminded of why I prefer stealth yet again. I heard Michelle leave... and a minute later, two other women come in -- talking about Michelle, behind her back. Not voices I recognized... but then, there were half a dozen different programs in this facility, and several hundred women in total, in those programs.

"Jesus, I can't believe that they let *things* like that in here. I thought I was gonna burst, waiting for it to leave..."

Another woman's voice replied... in fairness, sounding more than a little ill at ease from her friend's remark. "Umm, I heard that legally she is considered female, so she does sorta hafta use the women's washroom, rather than the guy's..."

"'She'? Please... gimme a break. 'It' has a penis. It's a guy..."

Exiting my stall, I was almost tempted to create a scene... but they were already in other stalls by then, and... well... what can I say? I hate confrontations. Especially _those_ sort of confrontations -- which many years of experience have taught me rarely accomplish anything. You can only teach someone if they are *willing* to listen... which people with attitudes like _that_ rarely are...

I did not feel particularly good about myself, though, as I quietly washed my hands, then left...

I did make a mental note, however, to go out of my way to be publicly friendly with any of the school's TS that I encountered... whether I knew them or not. Sometimes, the only way to reach people like that is through example -- and as I was *not* being read as TS by most people there (other than the women in my group, who 'knew'), perhaps I could use that. Set an example, as a 'natal female', of how other women *should* be acting. It might not work -- especially if the women in my group let it be generally known that I was TS... which had not happened *yet*, but might easily yet happen. Slightly risky... but... still... I thought it was worth a try.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 18:35.

It was chilly out this evening... quite a change from the heat-wave of only a week ago, but then, that was weather in northern Canada for you. Sunny and warm in the morning... and a blizzard in the evening. Or vice versa. At least this year, it was already early September -- and we had not had any snow, yet. Although that felt like a distinct possibility, this evening...

Wednesday night was "Food Bank" night, according to Michelle... at least, for people living in our part of the city. The doors would open around seven, for those who could not make it during the day. As a full time student "Learner", that was the time slot I was eligible for... again, according to Michelle.

As you might guess from how I phrased that, I had never actually been to a food back, before, though... so I really wasn't too sure of what to expect. Fortunately, the food bank was within walking distance of our shelter, and while it was not a great neighbourhood, I felt at least marginally "safe" in walking over there with another woman from the shelter. I had dressed warm, though, thanks to the current temperatures. A form fitted white, three quarter length winter jacket, although I had detached the fur trimmed hood -- it wasn't *that* cold, yet. Or at least, not by northern Canadian standards... where winter temperatures are occasionally well below minus forty degrees. Tonight was just a slightly "brisk", chilly fall evening... still a least slightly above freezing. A refreshing chance to stretch my legs, after sitting around in a classroom all day.

Actually, as I stood in line outside the food bank -- Michelle had recommended being there at least half an hour early -- I almost wished I had not bothered digging out my winter jacket. Not because I did not appreciate the warm, but rather... because the bright white, _clean_ coat, made such a contrast with the other people standing in line...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 19:15.

Sadly, the entire contents of the small food bags they had given me easily fit in the small daypack I was wearing. And that was it... all the food I was eligible for, for the entire month of September. Mostly items already past their expiration date, or very nearly so -- items that stores could no longer sell, donated as in 'still usable' condition... in theory for immediate consumption, although in practice we had to try to stretch them out for the whole month.

Slipping the light pack onto my shoulders, I climbed up the stairs from the food bank basement where they were dispersing their limited donations, to one person at a time. Outside, I paused for a moment, fixing in my mind the best route home. Not the *shortest* route... but the *best*, for a single woman walking alone in this area... as the woman I had walked over with appeared to be already gone.

"Did you have any problems?"

Startled, I glanced off to my side, noting that Ron... a guy I had been chatting with earlier, while waiting in line... was apparently waiting for me.

"No, thank you. It took a little longer for me, since it was my first time here and there was some paperwork to fill out... but everything worked out fine. How about yourself?"

He just twitched a single shoulder, in a sort of lopsided shrug. "I'm a regular here, so it's pretty much a routine..."

He hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. "You know, you really seem out of place, here. An angel, from the other side of the tracks... you just don't belong here. I'm worried about your walking home alone, even if it is still daylight. I know you don't really know me, but -- would ya mind if I accompanied you?"

It was my turn to hesitate, as I tried to remember what he had shared earlier. As best as I could recall, he done some time for 'pandering'... but claimed to have learned his lesson, and been out for a year now. He was working as a driver for a local charity... a job that didn't really pay much, at all. But as the same charity ran this food bank, he was allowed to supplement his income by drawing food from it. Not exactly sterling qualifications... but, he also had not struck me as a 'violent' person, in our earlier conversation. Quite the opposite, actually -- and from my talks with various sex trade workers, I *did* know that not all pimps are animals that beat up their women. Some of them are fairly decent people... little more than business managers. Not all, by any stretch of the imagination... but some.

For a moment, I seriously considered whether or not to accept his offer -- only to feel panic welling up inside me, at the thought of trusting a guy. Any guy. Strangely enough, it was that very panic that decided me -- as I knew that I needed to face my fears, if I was ever to get past them.

"Thank you. I would like that..."

At first, I was so tense that I could barely manage to keep up my end of the conversation, as we walked. But by the time we arrived at my shelter -- completely unharmed, as he had been a perfect gentleman -- I found my anxieties subsiding enough that I actually entered his phone number into my cell phone's memory, when he gave it to me. I don't know if I will ever take him up on that date offer... but... just maybe...

Someday. Not right away, though. I may be able to consciously override my fears, occasionally... but there *are* limits to what I can do...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 00:51.

I tried to gasp silently, as I struggled for breath... not wanting to wake Angela. After a few minutes, my shakes subsided enough that I could slip out of bed.

 «A bad one. Okay, what did you expect, spending time around a guy like that? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 06:10.

"...Ina zumri ya la tetixxi ye
Ina zumri ya la taqarruba
Ina zumri ya la tasaniqa
Ni yish shammash kabtu lu tamatunu..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 11:

Early September, Thursday, 12:05.

Rochelle paused, as she was about to enter the washroom... hesitating, as she belately remembered about me from the group.

She blushed, as she said, "Umm, do you... I mean... are you allowed in here...?"

I rolled my eyes at her, with a trace of a smile dancing about my lips. "Yes, Rochelle. I am female -- physically and legally. It's not like I am allowed to go into a men's room or something, anymore..."

To give her credit, Rochelle had obviously never met anyone remotely like me, before this week. From what she had shared outside of group, I gathered she had lived a rather sheltered life, growing up in an intensely religious, Roman Catholic family... before marrying right out of high school, and being a 'stay at home' mom to the two children she quickly had... before finally leaving, after the _latest_ time her abusive husband beat her up and put her in hospital. A bit on the naive side, about some things... but basically a really good person. Unlike that other woman, the previous day, I had hopes that Rochelle *could* learn... and hence, was quite willing to talk to her about all sorts of stuff, that I don't normally talk about.

Even when she made the occasional social blunder, as now...

After pausing for a second or two to think about it, she just nodded acceptance... then continued leading the way into the washroom, picking up our earlier conversation where she had left off.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 19:25.

"Yes?" I asked, opening the door to Nasrine, our neighbour down the hall.

"Uh, hi Crystal. I was just wondering if you could watch my daughter again next Friday evening, from six-ish to around ten or so?"

I blinked in surprise at being asked... but then, I *was* one of the older women currently in the shelter, and I suppose the fact that I had no drug problems, or whatever, *would* be something a single, teenage mom might consider a big plus around here -- even if I did not have a lot of experience with kids...

"Umm, sure, I guess. Although I had been thinking of going to that "Reclaim the Night" march then... but I suppose I could skip that."

"Oh, don't do that! I have a stroller you could use... and little Zahra loves it when I take her out in that -- the vibrations usually make her go right to sleep, even if she has been fussy earlier. I promise, she won't be any trouble at all..."

"O-kay... Well, in that case, I suppose I would love to take care of her for you..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 10:35.

Most of what is talked about in group, is not my story to disclose... but, there are a few things that can be shared, without betraying confidences. Generally speaking, the women in that group were there because of 'abuse' issues. Women on the run, from battering significant others... rape victims... and similar stories. One of the frequent characteristics of abusers is that they often tend to be very 'controlling', in many cases attempting to isolate the victim from others, so that she can't tell anyone. That often results in women on the run being poorly equipped to support themselves... as they may have not worked in many years, if ever (depending on how young they were when they enterred that relationship).

Consequently, while much of the time we were talking about personal relationships... and things like 'red flags', by which we could recognize falling into similar relationships in the future... a fair amount of time was devoted to 'non-confidential' things, too. Basic schooling, on things like how to write a résumé. How to be a good employee. What sort of jobs best fit our individual personalities, so that we could go out to find not just *any* old job, but one we might actually enjoy doing. Jobs that did *not* just pay minimum wage, but enough that we would be financially stable in the future...

Simply, giving us the tools we needed, to start life over... overcoming the fears that the abuse had (in some cases) literally beaten into us. A way to make us functional, useful members of society, again. Not really mentioned, but obvious if you read between the lines... teaching us how to 'get out of the system', and stand on our own... so that we could stop being 'drains' on taxpayers' dollars, and start paying taxes. A little detail that no doubt explains why the government was willing to pay for all this -- it costs a *lot* less to teach someone how to fish, once, than it does to *keep* giving them fish every day for the rest of their lives...

This particular morning was one of many where, rather than talk about our individual problems, the focus was on more "general purpose" personality profile testing... things intended to help us know ourselves, so that we could relate better to others -- since many participants in these programs have "issues" with either personal, or professional (work) relationships...

While I suppose there are arguments for and against the assorted individual tests we took... such as the "Meyer-Briggs Type Indicator" tests we were doing today, or the four quandrant DiSC [Dominance, Influence, Stability, and Compliance] Graphing and similar four "True Color" personality types that we were to take later in the course.

 «Tests that were obviously created down south in the States, what with the strange spellings of words like "Color" and "Counselor"... »

They are just tools, however... things intended to help us understand *why* people do what they do. What the different types of people want... how they are motivated... how they learn, and understand things. Tools that help one to understand just *why* it is that we might, for example, keep running into problems dealing with a particular boss, or husband, or whomever. Things to help us realize, just why we sometimes might end up in conflict with our loved ones -- since, to use another example, some people are verbally oriented, and want their partner to constantly *tell* them that they love them... while other people might be action oriented, and prefer to *show* someone that they love them, *without* using words -- which can result in both parties getting rather annoyed with the other side, if they don't realize what is going on...

A grossly simplified approach to psychology -- but then, this was not some four year university program. We only had a small fragment of one year in which to learn this stuff... so of necessity, simplification had to happen. Despite that 'crash course' approach to complex issues... and despite the fact that I actually already had many years of formal psychology training... I must admit that I found some of this "simplified" stuff rather interesting.

Take my own case, which I can talk about without betraying anyone else. My MBTI scoring is "INFJ"... which according to Dr Keirsey's books, translates as "Idealist Counselor". A rare bird... less than three percent of people are like me, according to these tests. Whatever. The part of that particular profile that I found most amusing was, "They are highly private people..." and "...they value their integrity a great deal, but they have mysterious, intricately woven personalities which sometimes puzzle even themselves."

Grin.  «Got that right, fer sure. That's me in a nutshell... confused as to who I am... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 12:55.

Class had not started yet after the lunch break... but a few of us were already back, idly chatting while waiting for the others. I was hanging up my coat, when suddenly one of them asked me something.

"Umm, sorry, what was that?" I blinked, sure that I had not heard her right.

"I said, are your boobs entirely fake? You know... like silicon implants..."

My mouth opened... but nothing came out.  «Too weird, or what... where did *that* question come from? »

Before I could gather up my fragmented thoughts, she added, "Oh, wait! I remember now... you said something, back when we were talking about nursing babies, about how you had never really done that... but *had* experienced lactation before. So, your boobs are real, right?"

She didn't wait for a reply, just nodding decisively as if agreeing with herself... then turning away to talk with another group-mate.

 «Wait, what just happened here? Is it just me, or was that a *really* strange conversation? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 12:05.

I paused in the middle of changing clothes, looking closely at one of my group-mates. "Umm... can I ask you something *really* strange?"

She froze for a moment, before continuing to change into her own running clothes. "Sure, I guess. What's up?"

"Well... you have about the same physical build that I do... and... well... before I came here and you talked a few of us into running on the track with you at lunch every day, I never really was much for running. Mostly cycling, walking, skiing, swimming, or whatever... but never really jogging or running."

I chewed on my lip for a moment, before continuing, "Anyway, you know about my 'unusual' past, right? So... there are some things that come 'naturally' to me... and others that I actually have to study people, to figure out. I noticed yesterday that while my wide hips cause me to not really run like a 'guy'... I don't really run the way you do, either. Not surprising, I guess, since the last time I really did much running was as a school kid, where people kept beating me up because I ran or walked 'like a girl' -- and hence, I learned to tighten up various muscles, to try and avoid that. But..."

I paused again, before adding, "Well, I don't really need to worry about that sort of thing anymore, but I *do* like to just blend in with other women. All of which is a roundabout way of asking... would you mind if I ran behind you today, so that I could study *exactly* what you are doing when you run... and try to mimic it?"

Her eyes got a bit bigger, and she froze again -- as she often did, whenever I did *anything* that reminded her that I was not, quite, like her. One of many reasons why normally I try very hard not to do that... although, unfortunately, learning to "blend in" sometimes involved being obvious, at least once.

Usually, I try to figure things like this out just by quietly doing some "people watching", from a distance. But in this case, I encounter women about my own height, about my own build, and *running* -- as well as close enough to myself, for long enough, that I could actually see exactly how they were moving -- so infrequently, that I had just given up on "subtle", and gone for openly asking. I suppose I could have just tried "stalking" her, following her around the track without telling her what I was doing or why... but... she *was* in a program for recent assault victims, which made *that* a _seriously_ bad idea...

"Uh... sure, I guess." She laughed, then continued. "Just don't follow too close -- knowing that you're watching may make me so self-conscious that I'll probably trip over my own feet..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 12:45.

While looking around the cafeteria for a place to eat my lunch, I casually said, "Hey Michelle, how's it going?"

She glanced up from where she was chatting with someone... from apparances, one of the other TS in her program.

"Hey. Pretty good, actually. I wish I had seen you yesterday -- I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come over for a bit, to wish Kristine luck on her trip."

"Eh? Oh, right... she was leaving for her surgery this morning, wasn't she..."

"Yeah. Umm, sorry, this is Jennifer. Jennifer, this is..."

"Sherry," I interjected quickly but firmly, slightly flaring my eyes and tilting my head at Michelle... who seemed startled for a brief moment, then smoothly went with it.

"Right. Sherry is a friend of mine that I know from the shelter, Jennifer."

"Nice to meet you, Sherry. Sorry to just say hi and run, but I've a couple things I need to do before classes start again..."

I gave her a smile and nod in acknowledgement... ignoring Michelle's own good-byes, while waiting for her to ask the question that I could see in her eyes.

"Umm, 'Sherry'? What was that all about?"

I sighed, although I had known the question would probably be asked. "I just thought there might be a chance you would want to share with her that I used to be 'TS' at some point... and as I live stealth, normally, I prefer to keep my real name out of conversations like that. Remember how I kept you in the dark about my name, for so many months? Same thing... unless someone really *needs* to know my name, I simply prefer to use an alias, with anyone who knows about my past..."

"Uh, yeah, okay... but... didn't you tell me that you 'outed' yourself here, anyway?"

"Yes... but only to those in my group -- who have shared a lot of secrets of their own with me, as well. Someone may say something, someday... but..."

I shrugged. "It was a calculated risk, of sorts. One that may come back to haunt me, eventually... but also one which I would rather not compound, by adding in unnecessary other parties to this..."

I smirked, rolling my eyes to indicate I wasn't serious. "Besides, then there is the whole other thing, about me being wicce. You do know that true names have power, right? Most of the people in that group only know me by my first name... a couple syllables. A few more people know my first and last names... which is a couple more syllables. Only a very few, closest friends, know my legal first, middle, and last name... which is something like eight or nine or ten syllables -- I forget which, at the moment."

She just rolled her own eyes back at me.

I gave her a slightly more serious look... although there was still a trace of a smile dancing around my lips. "Virtually no one, besides myself, knows all fourteen syllables of my true name. I may not take 'spells' too seriously, most of the time... but I *am* careful about things like that..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 13:10.

For whatever reason, the instructor was late. I suppose I should mention that the gay guy from the first session was just an administrator, there for the first day -- Shyla, our group instructor, was a young woman in her mid-to-late twenties... or possibly, a bit older than that. A nice woman, I got the feeling she might have been a graduate of this program herself, at some point... as she was constantly coming up with very real, *practical* examples, that just felt like she actually *knew* _exactly_ where we were coming from...

Anyway, we were in the classroom... but class was not in session. So I wasn't really surprised when Rochelle leaned forward to chat with me, from her spot at the next table over.

"Hey Crystal, can I ask you something kinda personal?"

"Sure. I may not answer... but you can always ask."

"Why do you hang out with them, anyway? The ones you were talking to, at lunch. They are so obviously men, and you are so feminine... you just don't seem anything like them..."

From someone else, that comment might have seriously annoyed me. Especially the 'men' part, although in fairness I doubt she had any idea how hurtful that sort of thing can be to a TS. But I could tell from her tone of voice... her body posture... that the remark wasn't intended in any sort of catty way -- she was obviously genuinely puzzled. And she is a really nice young woman, usually very friendly with everyone. Someone who was quite willing to chat, or whatever, with the other TS whenever she encountered one of them. But... I *had* noticed, previously, that her behaviour *did* alter when she was around them. Not as much as it did when one of the few men at the school came by, but not completely how she is around other women, either...

Unfortunately, her attitude was fairly typical of the other 'natal' women around the school, that I knew. It wasn't the first time I had been asked something like this, and probably wouldn't be the last. My previous attempts to talk about this with others hadn't really gone all that well, actually. Usually, my comments defending my associating with them, or encouraging the 'natal' women to be a little more accepting of the TS... well... it just tended to alienate the natal women. Made them 're-classify' me, in their minds, from 'one of them', to 'one of those others'. At least for a while, until they forgot about it. Something cautionary that was in the back of my mind, as I tried once again to formulate a response...

"You know, I 'transitioned' a long time ago, right? That I have been living as a woman for decades, rather than just a few months or years, as is their case? While I suppose you are right, in one sense, about my being a bit 'different' from them... well, you have to keep in mind, that, whatever their actual calendar age, they are still quite 'young'."

I smiled with half of my face. "A lot of trans folk have a real problem when they hit puberty. They *feel* like a girl inside... but their outer shell is turning unmistakably into 'something else'. And if they make the mistake of letting other people catch even a _glimpse_ of the girl inside that shell... well, 'harsh' things tend to happen. So... a *lot* of trans folk create 'walls' around their core persona... their inner child. Protective walls, that hide the child within from the ridicule and hurtful actions of others, while their outer, 'false persona' -- the pretence they put on for the benefit of the rest of the world -- deals with things for them."

I frowned, thoughtfully. "A sort of split personality often happens, although not in the classical sense. There is only one true personality, but often two distinct personas. And the important part, at least for what we are talking about, is that the 'inner girl' is shielded away... never really interacting with the world, and consequently, never really growing up."

I gave a sort of tilted nod. "That is what you are seeing, with the others. Someday, they will be mature women... and act like it. But right now, however old they may look on the outside, they are closer to teenage girls, inside. *Troubled* teenage girls, struggling to find their way in the world -- often without a whole lot of guidance. They are not really teenagers, of course... and their actual former life experiences mean that they will 'mature' very quickly... but 'quickly' is often measured in months or years, rather than days or weeks. Usually, about a year of 'fast maturing', for every decade of 'real age'... until their inner and outer ages align. In the mean time... you sort of have to cut them some slack..."

I made a face, rolling my eyes. "Yuck. Listen to me babbling away... I make it sound like they haven't a clue at all... which isn't the case. Most of them do fairly well -- they just have a few rough edges... and that isn't really my point, anyway. Mostly, I just meant... give them time. They may seem very different from me, right now... but in even a couple years, you might be surprised just how much they will change..."

I shrugged. "It's not even remotely the same, of course, but you might try thinking about your own young daughter. How well do you think she would do, if something happened to you and she ended up being raised by your jerk of an ex-husband? Treated more or less as a boy, until she was in her teens... and then tossed out to fend for herself? Sure, I could ignore the others, if I wanted to. But... is that what you would want for your own daughter, if *she* were the 'odd one out'? The young woman, who, simply because she mised out on a few things while growing up, doesn't really know *how* to 'behave properly' with other women. Would you want *her* isolated, ignored by her peers? Or would you hope that people would ignore her mistakes, and give her a chance to learn?"

She didn't say that she agreed with me... but, at least, she *did* seem rather thoughtful, as the instructor arrived and called for the attention of the group...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 12:45.

One of the nice things about the WELCoS school, was that they were very much 'realists'. They *knew* that many of the people in their various programs had all sorts of 'complications' going on in their lives -- case workers that they had to meet with, for some... parole officers for others... children that needed daycare arrangements made... financial instabilities that might cause them to move frequently -- all kinds of things. So rather than fight with that unavoidable fact of life, they made allowances for it -- by scheduling into the timetable afternoons "off", when we could take care of "other business".

All of which is to say, I had the afternoon off... and had some errands to run. In particular, one errand that I was not really looking forward to, but which needed to be done.

I had been tested for HIV once, at the first shelter... and would need to be tested again in late October, regardless of any other tests I had done... but, if I was going to have that little fistula problem taken care of by my gynaecologist next week, I really needed to be tested yet again before then. She had been willing to do the first repairs without a test, what with it being so soon after the 'incident' that it was unlikely any infection would have spread yet... but would not do further surgery on me without such a test -- that first test in the shelter didn't really count, since it was too soon after the 'incident' for the test to be reliable.

While it had only been a bit over six weeks, now, meaning a test still would not be one hundred percent reliable... most people develop detectable anti-bodies with twenty-five days, and I was well over that. After discussing the matter over the phone, my doctor had agreed to operate now, if I tested 'clean'. Actually, I think she would rather have waited the full three months -- but she knew my problem was slowly getting worse, and that time was a factor in successful treatment...

Even three months wouldn't really have been 'one hundred percent'. In less than three percent of cases, the antibodies may take up to six months to show up -- which would have been *way* too long to wait, without compromising my health. A calculated risk... and perhaps not one all doctors would take, but, well, I guess I was lucky. Although if I had *really* been lucky, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place...

"Crystal? Can you come with me, please? The examination room is down this hall..."

Funny. It really wasn't that long of a hallway, in an absolute sense. But... just knowing it I was in the local Rape Clinic, and what I was about to be tested for, made the hallway seem a *whole* lot longer...

 «There should be a sound track playing right now... something suitably eerie and ominous -- not the classical music that is actually coming out of the ceiling speakers... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 13:08.

Casually looking through the little, plain paper bag that I had been given at the end of my 'visit'... I was rather amused at some of the contents.

 «Cute. I have *heard* of female condoms before... but this is the first time I have ever actually *seen* one. I wonder if I could even use one of these things? The instructions say that the inner ring needs to be up against the cervix -- and I don't actually *have* a cervix. Not to mention how *big* that inner ring looks... although... it *does* say _that_ is removable. Hmm... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 14:10.

 «Apparently, 'yes'. I think. If I am reading this right. Weird, some of the useless information you can find on the internet... who *writes* this stuff, anyway? 'Hey, honey, what did you do today at work'... 'Oh, just wrote and produced a video about how to insert a female condom' -- NOT. »

 «Well, at least I can't imagine doing that myself. Maybe. Although... I suppose it *is* something that *someone* needed to do. Just glad it wasn't me... »

 «I think I will pass on actually trying to use one, personally, though... even if I *do* now have some free samples. »

 «Well... probably. I think... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 18:25.

"Thanks again, Crystal. I really appreciate your taking Zahra for me, this evening. I just fed and changed her... so with any luck, once she settles down you won't have any problems at all. The stroller is locked up outside, chained to the front door stairs' railing... and the key is here, clipped to the side pocket of diaper bag. Bottles in the other pocket, that should normally go in the fridge... but as you won't really be able to heat those if she gets hungry on the walk, maybe just let one of them warm up to room temperature -- it should be okay for a couple hours like that, I hope..."

Trying to gracefully transfer the baby from her arms to my own... without a lot of success, although at least I did not drop her... I replied. "No problem, Nasrine. You said you would be home around ten or ten thirty?"

"Yeah, should be something like that. I should be done by nine thirty, actually... but bus services at that time of night aren't the greatest, and it's too far to walk. I *think* there's a bus that gets here around quarter after, though..."

"Okay. Do you have a cell phone where I can reach you if there is a problem?"

She winced. "Umm... sorry. It's on a pay-as-you-go plan... and I'm outta minutes right now, and can't afford to buy more until my next cheque. But really, there shouldn't be a problem..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 19:45.

Well, for a wonder, Nasrine was actually right, this time. Zahra had settled down in a couple minutes, without a peep since then -- even when I carried her downstairs, and put her into the stroller.  «At least that little cold snap is over, and it's warmed back up to something a little milder... »

Glancing around, I found that most of the small group of women from the shelter, those who had said they were likely to come tonight, were already outside. After waiting just a couple more minutes for any stragglers, we set off together. I suppose there is a little irony in that -- the five of us were on our way to a 'Reclaim the Night' walk... which in theory at least, was about making it safe for women to walk the streets alone... and here we were, walking to it in a group... for safety reasons.

Zahra had fussed just a little a couple times on the moderately short walk downtown, as the stroller bumped over occasional obstacles (my fault... rookie driver, what can I say?), but always quieted shortly afterwards. At the rally point itself, most of the others split up into groups of one or two, and although I noticed Michelle not too far away, I found myself caring for the baby by myself... at least, for a minute. It did not take long, however, before a couple strangers noticed the baby and came over...

 «Still sleeping peacefully... she looks so angelic, like that... »

"What a beautiful baby! How old is she...?"

Not the most scintillating of conversations... but it was one that I would have repeatedly, as the evening progressed. Eventually, I gave up on telling people that I was just babysitting... it was simply a lot easier to just say "yes, she's mine", than to keep answering the same questions over and over again, about how her mother had given me permission to bring Zahra here, tonight.

For those who have never been to one, the "Reclaim the Night" walk that I was at is a rather interesting experience, in some ways. At least at the particular local one that I was at... and I think at others, since I gather this thing is hosted in many cities around the world, at various times of the year. The format is simply a gathering of hundreds (sometimes, thousands) of women, a presentation involving several speeches, and then a candle-lit walk along a pre-selected march route.

Being outdoors, the inexpensive white candles had little paper cups mounted on them, to shield the flames from the wind. Although you did have to be careful not to set the cup on fire, it really wasn't a problem -- I think I only saw one woman manage to make that mistake, and all she had to do was hold it out by the very end of the candle until the paper finished burning away.

I suppose, since Michelle was here and drawing the attention of more than a few people, I should mention that the event is specifically intended to be for "all women" -- which is explicitly inclusive of "trans women", to use the organizers terminology. I wish I could say that she was being welcomed whole-heartedly... but from what I was noticing, it seemed a mixed reaction. Some people approaching her, being friendly... but others, behind her back, doing things like rolling their eyes, or shrugging, in silent communication with others, when they saw her. Small victories, I guess. I have heard that in the past, at some of these events, "trans women" were asked to leave -- and at least now, *most* people were being friendly... with the dissenters at least keeping quiet about it.

Sometimes, for her sake, I really wished that Michelle passed better... there were so many little things like tonight, where, being "not read", I was able to see one reaction from people... while she had to deal with a different one. Sad, really. I do genuinely admire her strength and courage. Though... I honestly don't know if I could handle it, having to cope with that sort of thing all the time. She made it seem so easy to do, but I suspect it hurt her, inside...

It's funny, really. Most of the time, I don't really think about being a woman. I just am one, busy with my everyday activities. But... sometimes... like at this "women only" event, intended to raise awareness about violence against women -- a subject rather close to my heart, at present -- you can't help but stop and think about it. The good parts. The bad. The little things, that make you proud to be a woman...

And then there was the other matter, of being out with Zahra. Not really my baby... but... being around so many women, most of whom assumed she *was* my baby... talking with them, exchanging all the little stories about their own children... it really stirred something, within me.

In some ways, it was just a walk. Push baby stroller to the rally point... stand around for a few minutes listening to speeches... collect candle, then form a line with hundreds of other women... follow the pack more or less single file, along the several kilometre long route back to the staging area. Then go home again. A casual evening stroll... except, well, there *were* all those other women there, and we talked. Sometimes about nothing much... sometimes, all sorts of little things. Plus there were the thoughts roaming through my head, as we did all this.

I am rather glad I went. Even if my shoulder was killing me, by the time I got home...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

		Summer's End Part 6 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART VI: Healing

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

In some ways, it was just a walk. Push baby stroller to the rally point... stand around for a few minutes listening to speeches... collect candle, then form a line with hundreds of other women... follow the pack more or less single file, along the several kilometre long route back to the staging area. Then go home again. A casual evening stroll... except, well, there *were* all those other women there, and we talked. Sometimes about nothing much... sometimes, all sorts of little things. Plus there were the thoughts roaming through my head, as we did all this.

I am rather glad I went. Even if my shoulder was killing me, by the time I got home...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Chapter 12:

Mid September, Saturday, 10:15.

"Crystal? Sorry to wake you when I know your shoulder kept you up most of the night, but I've gotta leave in a couple minutes, and..."

"Hmm? Oh, sure. What can I do for you?"

"We haven't really had a chance to talk the last couple days, and I just wanted to let you know that I get to have my kids back for an overnight visit tonight. I am not expecting the social worker to drop them off till around four-ish, but just in case they *do* show up before I get back at around two... could you let them know I had to go into work for a couple hours, and will be back then?"

"Umm, sure, no problem..."

"Thanks, luv."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 10:25.

I think I have mentioned that I am a very light sleeper... but what I may not have mentioned is that I can shift from deeply asleep to wide awake in a split second... and once I am awake, if I have had a least a couple hours sleep... there really is no point in my staying in bed. Well, other than the usual 'wake up in pain from my shoulder, slowly and very carefully shift position to another one that is marginally less uncomfortable, then drift off again' routine that I have lived with since the injury. That sort of thing only brings me partially awake -- just barely enough to be able to consciously control my movements, since letting myself roll over in my sleep is instant agony. But anything else... anything that makes me start thinking... and it is hopeless. So even though I was still tired, I was awake... and I might as well get up.

Chronic depression is an 'old friend' of mine, made much worse by recent events, which makes it all too easy to *want* to just lie there... withdrawn from the world, accomplishing nothing... so that is also something I have to watch for. Am I *really* still tired, or is it just the temptation to hide away, retreating from reality? Which was another reason why staying in bed was not a good idea -- when you are depressed, keeping to a routine and consciously staying active is far better than letting yourself drift.

Not that I don't enjoy lazing around in bed, on the odd occasion... but... not recently. Sitting, or standing, so long as I don't do something stupid, my shoulder usually doesn't bother me too much. Well, the standing part assumes that I can sit, and rest my arm on something, occasionally -- just the weight of my own arm will eventually start my shoulder aching, otherwise. But lying down... which *should* be relaxing, for most people... is a literal pain for me.

I have never been able to sleep on my back, at least, not for more than a few minutes. Something about the shape of my lower spine. Maybe I could, in one of those really fancy, reclining beds that provided superb back support... but not on any mattress I had ever tried, anyway -- and certainly not on the "hard as a board" mattress we had in the shelter. Which meant that I really only had three choices of position: on either side, or on my stomach.

Smile. Now while it is true that my breasts are moderately large, actually, contrary to what I had seen in some fictional stories, I *could* sleep on my stomach. Normally, that is. There is a simple little trick which I learned as a teenager, where you turn your pillow on an angle -- so that the corner of the pillow points down into your cleavage, allowing you to sleep with your upper body weight partially on the pillow rather than completely squashing your "assets". It works fine... unless you happen to have a shoulder problem like mine.

As things were, the pillow trick causes my shoulder to not be properly supported while on my stomach... leaving me with few options. Either sleep that way anyway -- knowing I will be in agony in just a few minutes -- or try to sleep without a pillow tucked under me... which actually *does* get a little uncomfortable for my breasts after a while, although it is not unbearable. Still, I usually want to shift position again soon enough that it just isn't worth it -- trying to roll onto, or off of, my stomach, usually jars my shoulder at least a bit, so unless I am going to stay in that position for a long time, I would rather not do it at all. Which brings us back to sleeping on my sides. Which is not exactly "comfortable", either, since lying injured side down tends to move the damaged joint around as you breath, and injured side up... while actually okay... is something I can only do for part of the night, before my body naturally wants to shift to another position...

All of which is my usual verbose way of saying... sleeping isn't that comfortable for me, these days. Or perhaps, "sleeping is an endurance contest, seeing if I can handle the pain long enough to get enough sleep to function", would be a better way to put it. Not particularly fun...

I suppose that is why I started keeping a journal, using some of the back pages of my Book of Shadows -- a way to quietly kill time, when sitting awake in the night. And yes, I do know I am not really supposed to use this particular book that way... but hey, as Angela would not go near the thing, (claiming it gave her the 'heebie-jeebies" to even look at it), it was a "safe" way to keep a sort of therapeutic diary. Personally, I think Angela has watched too many episodes of 'Charmed' -- my Grimorie is *just* a book, after all... much like someone's personal Bible might be for a Christian, I suppose... although a wicce actual writes her own BOS, rather than just reading someone else's words. Besides... as I think I have mentioned, Wicca is a highly personalized faith -- if I want to call these scribbles my "ethics and philosophy"... that's my choice. And it's not like I keep a whole lot of other "spells" in that big, leather bound, soft grey book... I occasionally mess around with rituals, but not that often.

 «Soft grey... much like my attitude towards magic... and so many other things in life. Not really 'black', but not completely 'white' either... shades of grey. Real life is complicated... »

Drifting into the living room -- still woefully under-furnished, although we at least now had some pictures up, and some potted flowers in a couple places -- I was soon involved in my somewhat late morning physio session... which was actually getting a bit easier, although some of the simple "exercises" still brought a light beading of cold sweat to my brow...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 17:02.

"Do you know if there are facilities down here, or do you think I need to go back to our apartment?"

Angela glanced up from where she was dealing with changing three year old Sandy... who had mastered going 'pee' by himself, but still occasionally 'messed' himself the other way... and said, "I think there are restrooms down that side path over there."

"Mommy, I hafta go pee too..."

Looking a bit flustered, Angela glanced back to me. "Umm, would you mind taking Lenaya with you? She can dress herself, usually, but you have to take her in the stall with you to give her a little help, still..."

"Err... sure, why not?"

Turning to her four year old daughter, Angela added, "Be good for Auntie Crystal, 'kay? I want you to stay close to her, and do what she says..."

As I think I have mentioned, there is a wooded ravine behind the shelter... sort of parkland, owned by the city. Fairly secluded, there is a bike path down the middle of it, on which we occasionally saw the odd jogger or mountain biker. Not that far away, down in the bottom of the ravine, there is a cleared area... where there are some picnic benches and things. Weather in September can be strange -- sometimes cold, but sometimes we get a last gasp of summer. Today was such a day, and it was so nice out that Angela had wanted to eat down here, rather than keep the children cooped up in the apartment.

I would be lying if I did not say that the thought of wandering around more or less alone, in that wooded area, did not bother me. Fear is something that I had come to live with, in recent months. But...  «Face your fears. You are never going to get over them, unless you do... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 17:07.

"Aun-tie Crys-tal? I re-al-ly gotta go pee..." She was giving me a wide eyed, earnest look, while tugging on my good arm.

 «Why am I not surprised? » "Okay. We're almost there. Wait for me, though... we have to stay together, yes?"

"'Kay," and she was off.

 «Four year olds are so free. Must be nice, for life to be that simple... »

I was actually surprised when we followed the signs to the public restrooms. Given how few people used this particular park, I had thought that they would be, at most, a simple 'port-a-potty'... but these were in an actual building, with sinks and flush toilets... although only small upper windows for light.  «Maybe it cost less to tap into a nearby sewer line and water, than it did to keep doing maintenance on one of those portable things? Whatever... not important... »

Pushing the heavy outer door open, we were soon inside. While it *was* at least a 'real' restroom... it wasn't much. Steel fixtures, massively embedded in concrete -- no doubt to discourage vandalism. Actually, there was only the one stall, and it was the entire small, bare cinder block room. At first, I was going to try to keep my distance... but quickly realized that wasn't going to work -- the toilet was so huge compared to her tiny body, I ended up sort of balancing Lenay, as she perched on the end of it. She took care of most things herself, but when I asked, she said she needed help with wiping.

As I think I have mentioned, I have not really had a lot to do with children, in previous years. Which, I quickly discovered, meant that there were still a few 'things' that I may not have dealt with, so many years ago. Such as an almost overwhelming "this is wrong" feeling, as I even thought about touching a little girl's genitals. Weird, in hindsight. I mean... I have the same plumbing myself, and have had it for a long time. It's not like I don't *know* every tiny detail of what is down there... and there certainly was not anything sexual about what I was doing. But there it is. Old habits die hard, I guess... or at least, until I consciously think about them.

After taking care of the necessities... and picking her up, so that she could reach the water to wash her hands... I discovered that I wasn't quite through with embarrassing moments for today. The sounds of her going to the bathroom had stirred my own need into high intensity... and the running water sounds from the tap were just the icing on the cake. Before she had finished drying her hands, I was practically dancing... which the little monster noticed, right away.

"Yew hafta go pee too?" She asked, all wide-eyed and innocent. Like it was perfectly normal... which I suppose it is. Thinking back, I have been in restrooms many times when mothers came in with children -- and took them into a stall with them, with both of them taking turns using that toilet. Likewise, I had seen similar behaviour many times when using the change-rooms and communal showers at public swimming pools...

On those earlier occasions in change-rooms, though... I had never really *had* to pay attention closely to the naked women and children around me. 'Nudity is something often encountered, but never seen.' An old Japanese saying, that I had always used as my guide when in situations like that. With Julie, at the beach earlier this summer, she had been old enough that she just needed an escort -- I had not really had to do anything, nor had I disrobed around her. Not like this time...

But... the way Angela had phrased things earlier implied she knew that exactly _this_ was going to happen...

Taking my lead from that thought, I asked, "Does your Mommy go to the bathroom while you are with her, sometimes?"

She just nodded... with a vaguely confused look, as if to say, "Of course."

Funny, really. The thought of pulling my jeans down in front of her just seemed seriously WRONG... although I was utterly certain that Angela would not have hesitated for a moment, had she been babysitting someone else's very young daughter. Actually, I suspect that even guys -- that had children themselves, at least -- wouldn't have hesitated to do something like this, when it was "appropriate" and "necessary". But... I really did not know what I was doing, babysitting children... and I tend to get very conventional when I am off-balance. More hang-ups, from bygone days... but this one, I was having much more trouble overcoming.

"Umm, do you want to play outside, while I finish in here?"

She gave me another confused look. "Mommy said ta stay close ta yew..."

"Um, right. O-kay then. Can you go stand by the corner, please?"

Well, it half worked. She moved back a little... but she turned around and stood there innocently watching me.  «Oh, well. Just get it over with, girl. »

For all that worrying, it really was anticlimactic. She didn't seem to pay any real attention, casually continuing to chatter away in her barely intelligible English... which I suppose makes sense, since she had probably been doing this all her short life. Over the years, I have managed to 'fill in' a lot of the 'missing memories' of the childhood that I *should* have had... but... there *are* still a few things that have gotten missed. Such as this little silliness. Something a 'natal' woman, having childhood memories of being in Lenaya's position, probably won't have given a second thought to... but for me, a big deal. At least, this first time.

Although I think the crowning moment was when Lenaya noticed that my bladder was being 'shy' as I sat there. She very solemnly informed me, with all the massive wisdom of a four year old who has just recently learned to do this herself, "Ya hafta *push*, to go pee..."

I could not help it: I burst into laughter. Real, deep felt laughter... for what seemed like the first time in way too long...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 17:21.

Call it a guilty conscience, or whatever... but after re-joining Angela, I felt a need to 'confess' what I had done. Which pretty much had the result I expected from her -- she just looked at me like I had a hole in my head.

"Well, of course you did. Why would you think I would want to know something like that?"

Oh well. There are advantages to being a natural blue-eyed blonde -- even if it is, technically, a strawberry-blonde. People sort of expect you to do massively dumb things, on occasion...

Have I mentioned lately that there is a world of difference between just having a high IQ, and actually being wise?

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 13:

Mid September, Sunday, 11:23.

Pausing on the way to the basement laundry room, I noticed Michelle sitting in the common recreation room... looking rather bleak, and lost in thought.

"Hey, Michelle, what's up?"

"Oh hey, Crystal. Nothing much...", she said... although her tone of voice and body language said otherwise.

Dropping my laundry basket onto one of the chairs, I eased myself onto the couch beside her. My hand lightly on her forearm, I softly said, "Are you sure about that, love? Seriously... what's wrong?"

"It's nothing, really. I just... I mean... I was watching one of the other women, visiting with her boyfriend out in the parking lot, and..."

"And what, dear?"

"I hate looking like this. You know. Being obviously a dude in at dress. What with Kristine being away right now, I have been alone a lot, lately... and sometimes, well, I just feel like... who would ever want to be with someone like me? Am I always going to be alone, for the rest of my life?"

"Oh, Michelle... don't give up, honey. I know it is awkward, being at your early stage of transition... but really, w-a-y more people like yourself find that they actually *can* pass, six or seven years done the line, than ever dreamed that they could do so, early on. It's not just how you look, although I will grant you that you do have some genuine challenges there. It's the little things... thousands of little things, about how you act, and interact with others. Being a woman is not just about the clothes, or the makeup... or even how you feel, inside you..."

I paused for a moment, collecting my thoughts. "Yes, you can be *sure*, inside, that you are a woman... but I think you are realizing that there is more to it, than that. Humans are social animals, and while it is all very well to idealistically proclaim that 'the opinions of others don't matter to me', the reality is... it *does* matter, what others think of you. It *hurts*, somewhere deep inside, no matter how brave a face you put on for the outside world, when people completely fail to see you as the person you feel you are..."

With a slight shrug, I added, "I know that there is no such thing as a 'one true path'. That everyone transitions differently, and that what might be right for me is *not* necessarily right for others. And I know that, for you, being 'out and proud' is something that you *want* to be... that you probably think I am strange, to even want to be stealth. But... even for those who walk the 'out' path, *some* degree of 'blending in' is appropriate. If you just want to 'do your own thing', and proclaim 'I am a woman, so however I act is appropriate for a woman'... well, that's your choice, but... as you have noticed, it can be a very *lonely* choice."

Michelle looked at me rather sceptically. "I dunno. I did enough *acting* when I was growing up. I swore that I wasn't gonna do that anymore, ya know? That I would be 'true' to myself."

I looked straight into her eyes. "So? I may have way more 'book learning' than you do... but it was *you* that I came to for wisdom, when I needed to know about life on the streets. You have a brain, girl, and I know you learn from watching other people. So... *you* tell *me*. How do you see other people treating those that they perceive as 'different'? I mean, *anyone* that is perceived as different... not just gender stuff..."

She broke her eyes away from mine. "At the school, most of my group are former prostitutes. Even the genetic ones get ignored... isolated... most of the time, when they try to talk with the women from the other programs..."

I tipped my head in a nod, acknowledging her point. "It's not nice... not *fair*... but it *is* reality. Most of the world divides people into two groups: 'us', and 'them'. It's all very well to talk about not wanting to live in a new closet... but... while I am *not* saying everyone _has_ to go stealth -- I know several TS who *could* go stealth, but are quite happy *not* doing so -- you *do* at least have to _try_ to blend in a bit. Be at least a bit like the other women. Just 'doing your own thing' is all very well... but it makes other people uncomfortable -- and when people are made to feel uncomfortable, they tend to avoid whatever is making them feel that way.

"Like the women in the school... most of whom have come way too close to having to become sex trade workers themselves, and don't want to be reminded of it -- so they avoid those who *do* remind them of that possibility. Not deliberately trying to hurt the other women in your program... but just because it is something they do *not* want to even think about. Simple human nature... and something that is not likely to change anytime soon, so it is something you just have to work with."

There was more to that conversation. Much more. Things about continuing to learn, even as far along as I was... such as that thing with how I ran. About her being a former prostitute -- "damaged goods", in her words. The effects of how physically passable one is on all of this. How 'blending in' impacted dating. Lots of stuff, that I suppose would make boring reading if you weren't there. But in the end, she at least seemed a bit more cheerful... although I suspect that might have been an act for my benefit.

One thing I did notice during that long conversation, though, was the little padlock on a choker about her neck. I may not even be close to as "street wise" as Michelle is... but I *do* know what that means. Which reminded me of someone else I had known, several years earlier, who wore similar BDSM items... and, coincidentally, had also once been a sex trade worker... before transitioning to become a man. A rather lonely, but very nice man, as I recalled... and one whom I had thought quite highly of, despite his unusual lifestyle...

 «Hmm. I wonder... . I think I still have his phone number, somewhere... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 10:20.

"Thanks again, Michelle. I really appreciate your driving me out here, today. I know I cleared my taking today off with the program last week, but.. are you *sure* you aren't going to have problems, skipping today?"

She shrugged, still sitting behind the wheel of my car... which I was letting her use today for some errands, in exchange for her taking me to and from my surgical repair. "The program I'm in is a bit different than the one you're in, even if it is at the same school. You guys can only miss at most five days, without losing your funding... but for women in my program, well, they expect us to occasionally 'back-slide', and disappear. So long as we're there *most* of the time, they just want us to keep trying..."

"Okay. Umm... can you be back here to pick me up around four-ish? My doctor said this would only take a couple hours, even with recovery time... normally... but I asked for a spinal rather than general anaesthetic, so it will take longer before that wears off..."

I shrugged. "Plus the usual things about how they won't let someone go home from surgery alone, even if my legs did work well enough by then to drive -- which is something they don't even want me to _attempt_ to do, today..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 21:35.

Angela had to work tonight, so I was alone... which no doubt would not have thrilled my doctor, had she known. Technically, I was supposed to have someone with me for the first twenty-four hours after surgery... but that was in an ideal world, which has little in common with the very practical world of life in a shelter. Someone called in sick, her boss called, and she had to go... however concerned she might have been about me. Just the facts of life, which we both accepted.

Actually, I wasn't really supposed to be going to school tomorrow, either... but I had already missed one day, and the rules are crystal clear about missing time from that program. It was a chance to learn things I really needed to know... deal with issues I *had* to deal with -- there was no way I was going to jeopardize that, regardless of any doctor's orders. Silly, I know... with my training, I should know better than to do things like that. But then again, while I may follow the *Path* of Wisdom... I never claimed to be wise, myself.

Regardless of all that, right this moment I had a little problem. Although the repair had gone well, and my doctor was confident that she had fixed the fistula... she wanted to help the repair site heal by not putting pressure on it for ten days or so. And since the 'repair site' was partly in my vagina, but mostly in my urethra... well, there is only one way *not* to be constantly putting pressure on *that*, every time I went to the bathroom. Yup, you guessed it... my old friend the 'Foley catheter'. Yuck.

As you may have deduced from the way I said that, this was not the first time I had been catheterized... nor, probably, would it be the last. One of the joys of being a woman, with internal plumbing... right up there on the list of thrills with UTI's and yeast infections. Yuck, again. Not everyday experiences... and some really fortunate women never have to deal with any of these... but a fact of life for many of us. Still, this was going to be a bit different than the other times I had been catheterized... since I was going to be wearing this infernal device for almost two weeks, this time.

For those who haven't had a 'long term' catheter in, I suppose I should mention that the 'collection bag' attached is a lot smaller than what you would have, when lying in a hospital bed, for example. Just a tiny half-litre pouch, designed such that it could be 'descreetly' strapped to one of your legs, under your clothes. So you actually *can* get up and walk around with one of these attached, easy enough... but that isn't the same thing as saying they are exactly 'comfortable'...

And the flip side of that small 'convenience' size, is that the thing needs to be emptied occasionally. Actually, since they tend to pump you full of saline fluid through your I.V. tube during surgery, it needs to be emptied *often*, that first day. And hence, I was getting up a lot, despite my being alone... and not being particularly steady on my feet.

 «At least I *can* walk. I may not have been able to even think about letting them 'put me under' with general anaesthetic, after my recent experiences... but, I must admit that all the disclaimer forms talking about possible paralysis as a potential risk of a spinal, *almost* made me change my mind. And waking up before the spinal wore off... with my legs still completely 'not there'... *really* didn't help... »

 «Hmm. I wonder how I am going to rig this, for tomorrow? I don't really want to wear a skirt, the way I did today, since almost no one does to class... but, that catheter tube *does* come straight out of me, before it curves downwards to the collection bag. Interesting. I wonder if that is what it is like, having a penis attached to you? Sticking out, like that? »

I burst into giggles, as the incongruity of my own thoughts dawned on me. Yes, I do intellectually *know* that I once had something like that... but... that was a long time ago, and while I can sort of visualize what it must have looked like, in an abstract, medical textbook sort of way... I honestly can't remember what it was really like.  «How soon we forget... »

It's funny, really. I casually use the term 'when I was a little girl', in conversations... and even in my own mind. Some might assume I am lying to say that... but I'm not, really. The human mind is not a video recorder -- it's more holographic in nature, with bits and pieces all intermingled. If you remember a car accident, for example, you may have really paid attention to some details -- which your mind will store faithfully -- but other things, in the background? You may have vaguely noticed a 'truck' go by... but it wasn't important to you at the time, so your mind just 'links' that part of your memory to a generic image of a 'truck', rather than bothering to store all of the unnecessary details about it.

Of course, if it later turns out that those details *are* important... your mind will try to 're-construct' that missing image. Re-build it, from bits and pieces of adjacent memories stored elsewhere -- sometimes successfully, sometimes not. If it can't, it will often fabricate a new image from various 'generic' data floating around in your head... which you will 'remember' as 'real' -- even though in fact it is not.

That is the reason eyewitness testimony at trials can sometimes be so contradictory. Each person is genuinely *trying* to remember accurately... and may *think* they are actually doing so... but sometimes, what they remember is just a trick of their own subconscious.

So what has that got to do with my remembering myself as a girl? Well, my own body image is own of those 'background' details, in most of my memories. Occasionally, exactly how I looked was important to me at the time... and those particular moments, I can remember accurately -- if I *really* try. But normal, everyday sorts of memories? My self image was just a link to a generic 'me' body image... and that generic image has changed, over the years.

I have had female plumbing, and a distinctly female body, for so long... that my current reality has sort of retroactively 'over-written' my earlier self images... so what I remember is 'me', an actual girl, in those early memories. Not something I consciously tell myself... a 'lie'... but simply what I actually remember... despite my knowing, intellectually, both that there is 'something wrong' with those memories, and exactly how they ended up 'distorted'...

Giving my head a shake to focus on what I was doing, I decided to do some experimenting... dispite how sore I was at the moment.  «Better to figure this out while I can move slowly, with lots of time to spare, than to be messing around with this while rushed in the morning. »

It is a *very* peculiar sensation, to try bending the plastic tubing from a catheter, so that it exits at a bit of an angle and follows the curve of your body. And as that catheter tubing is the 'plug' to your bladder, what with the tubing holding your splincters open... that sort of experimentation can be messy, too. As I discovered the hard way. Don't ask.

 «A good thing they sent a bag of some surgical table pads to put on my bed, and gloves, home with me. You would almost think they *knew* this was gonna happen... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 07:51.

Walking to the bus stop -- I still didn't feel up to driving -- felt... really ackward... this morning. Not precisely painful... but while I *had* managed to arranged things under my jeans so that it didn't show... the slight movements of the fabric as I walked were doing "interesting" things to that tubing that ran up inside me...

 «I know that the autumnal equinox 'Mabon' ceremony is coming up in the next few days... but I sure don't think I am going to be in any shape to celibrate it, this year. I guess I will just skip it... it's not like my 'personal harvests' this year are really anything I *want* to celebrate, anyway... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 14:35.

Class today was rather different than normal. Not a 'closed' group session... but a 'general information' sort of thing, that I suppose I can talk about. We had done the DiSC personality graphing last week, and were finishing up this part of the course with 'True Colors' profiling, today. They had brought in some outside consultants to teach this particular segment, so rather than learning it in just our one group, we were in a much larger part of the school, in a joint class made up of many groups. Not *all* the women in the school... but maybe somewhere around a hundred women -- although I did not attempt to count them.

Originating way back with some early ideas by Hippocrates, and added to by more recent works by Carl Jung, then Briggs-Meyer, and later yet, Keirsey... and probably a few others, whose names I missed... eventually this particular philosophy of thought was formalized by Don Lowry in a book... although we didn't really explore all that back theory. What we *did* do, was the practical testing, then spend a lot of time talking about what it all meant for us.

In a nutshell, the basic idea is that there are four different types of people. In the True Colors metaphor, those groups are assigned a Color (with the colour being more or less arbitrary, from what I could tell), and usually described by a simple phrase or word for convenience. I gather that different instructors use different phrases, but the particular ones we heard were as follows. 'Compassionate Blue' were a group of people who are calm, value harmony, loyalty... feelings and sensitivity. All that sort of thing. 'Rational Gold' are people who really value stability, organization and dependability. 'Impulsive Orange' is about energy, strength, a focus on the present with little consideration of consequences. 'Inquiring Green' is about intellect, persistence, information... "the grounding of theory and data in its practical applications and creative constructs" -- pretty much the opposite of Orange.

There is some overlap in these colour groups, some values that in common between similar colours... such as Blue and Gold both highly valuing loyalty... but there are also some polar opposites. Most people, according to this theory, are mostly one of these aspects -- their 'primary color' -- but most people also have a fairly high score in a 'secondary color'. It is not uncommon for someone whose primary colour is 'Blue', for example, to often score high in 'Gold'.

Me? Top of the scale in 'Inquiring Green', with nearly tied, mid-range secondary values for 'Compassionate Blue' and 'Rational Gold'. 'Impulsive Orange', for me, is a very low score...

Just before lunch, we had broken up into groups by our primary colour, with the idea being that each group would discuss among themselves exactly what the defining characteristics of their group was, then make a presentation to the whole class after lunch. While such a distribution might not be very 'normal' for the general population... perhaps not surprisingly given the nature of the women at this school, there was a *huge* group of 'Oranges' there. Also a somewhat smaller group of 'Blues'... a fair sized group of 'Golds'... and then, there was the Green table.

A table at which I sat. Alone.

For someone who likes to 'blend in'... that was not a happy situation...

Not wanting to look like a complete idiot in my presentation after lunch, and lacking anyone like myself to talk to (other than, perhaps, the instuctor of the course -- who had mentioned she was also a Green), I spent most of lunch online, using the computers in the library. Researching what the characteristics of a 'Green' are, so that I would have my facts straight for my part in the afternoon. It seemed like just the 'proper' thing to do, to me...

Which brings us back to the present, after my presentation... when I mentioned my online research.

The instructor said, "That doesn't surprise me, actually. That sort of thing is entirely consistent with the sort of person a Green is... someone who *needs* to know that they have got all their facts absolutely accurate, before they share them. Whereas if it had been an Orange, for example, who had been in Crystal's solitary position... I really doubt it would have even occurred to them to go research things. Most likely, their first impulse would have been to just 'wing it', when their turn to present things came up. Just speaking off the top of their head about their emotions, rather than thinking things through carefully..."

A bit later, in response to another question, she added, "To use another analogy... both an Orange and a Green might end up working in law enforcement, just as an example. But if they did, their *reasons* for doing so would be rather different, and exactly which *part* of law enforcement appealed to them would most likely also differ. An Orange might like the idea of being a street cop -- and find the whole idea of car chases, gun battles with bad guys, all that 'excitement', very appealing. A green in law enforcement, though, would more likely be drawn to investigative work... more like one of the women in 'CSI', on TV..."

The looks I received from many women in the large class after that were... interesting. Respectful, almost. How strange. I never asked any of them, but I came away with the peculiar certainty that a lot of them really looked up to the actresses that portrayed those roles on TV -- even if they wouldn't actually want to do that, themselves.

A silly moment, feeling all those eyes on me, looking at me in that particular way... and in some ways, not that important. And yet, in the larger picture... that respect meant a lot to me. My own self-respect had taken a *huge* beating, in recent months... and while this moment was a little thing, it really touched something inside of me. Another big step, on the path to healing...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 21:42.

I was tired, but there was one final thing I wanted to do tonight, before calling it an evening. It had been ten full days, plus a little bit... and I *really* wanted that horrible *thing* out of me.

I have had catheters removed by nurses before... usually female, although I have one funny memory of a male student nurse who was given the task of pulling my catheter once -- much to his bright red embarrassment, since the job involves *very* intimate contact with the patient. Grin. But while it isn't *usually* much fun having that done... trying to take one out of *yourself*, I was rapidly discovering, is *far* less fun.

 «Okay. The instructions said to cut that part, and drain the fluid that is inflating the bulb holding this thing inside me... and that is done. So why isn't it coming out? »

Belatedly it occured to me that the little balloon inside me had been 'stretched out', inflated, for ten days now... and might not shrink back completely, even after being drained. Which is why I slowly, carefully, pulled that thing out... doing my best to ignore the resistance.

What an utterly horrid sensation...

Messy, too. Which I suppose is not surprising, given the nature of the body part it is inside of. Another reason for giving me those gloves and those absorbant, plastic backed pads, I guess.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 08:55.

"If I can have your attention for a moment, ladies, I just thought I would give you a run-down on what we will be doing today. As this will be another 'short day' with the afternoon off, I thought it might be a good time to schedule an activity we like to include somewhere in the course... usually later on, but there are a number of groups, so someone has to go first...

"Anyway, when you leave this program most of you will be looking for work -- which requires having at least one 'nice' outfit, to use for interviews. For many of you, that isn't really a problem... but we do know that some others had to run with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Still others may have clothing, but not necessarily 'appropriate' clothing. Which is what this morning will be about... we have a room upstairs where we keep a large wardrobe of donated 'nice', 'interview suitable' clothing... and we will be going up there, in small groups of six or less, to select an outfit for each of you. Everything is used... but in good condition, and was professionally and thoroughly cleaned before being added to the room."

One of the women asked, "Are there accessories as well? I mean, I don't have a lot to spend on the right shoes to go with something, or whatever..."

"Yes. It isn't like a real department store... the selection is limited to what we have received in donations. But there are belts, shoes, coats, and other things up there -- and if you can find something that fits and goes with your main outfit, you can take those too."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 09:23.

There are times when the women in my group completely forget about me. And other times, when someone remembers... and their behaviour gets picked up by others. It is almost like a visible ripple of awareness, sometimes, passing through the group. Such an occasion happened now, as one of the women started to try something on -- then froze, glancing at me. Sigh.

 «There are times I really regret outing myself... »

Glancing around, mostly using the corners of my eyes so as not to be too obvious about it, I noticed that what had been a small group joking around while 'shopping', had turned into an awkward scene of women looking uncomfortable... glancing at each other uneasily. While I *had* changed with some of the women in the group before, the ones that jogged at lunch time... none of those were in this particular sub-group.

With a shrug and a half smile, I found myself thinking,  «Time for an 'ice-breaker'. This top probably doesn't suit my complexion... but maybe I should try it on, right now, anyway... »

Trying to look casual about it, and ignoring the stab of pain from my shoulder that changing clothes usually brings, I slipped off my sweater and removed the top I was wearing... turning half away from the others, as women commonly do in a change-room... but aware that they could none-the-less see my (bra-less) breasts and upper torso, without much difficulty. For a moment, I felt a bit of a sinking sensation... wondering if it had worked, or if they would still feel hesitant to be seen by me.

Then April, a twenty-something, spectacularly gorgeous single mom -- who used to be a stripper on the side as a way to pay for her kids' food -- shrugged, glanced at the other two, much more 'conservative' women present... and followed my lead. Actually, from the faint smile I could see hovering around her lips, I suspect she knew exactly why I was currently topless... and was doing exactly the same thing, for much the same reasons.

It worked, this time.

 «Usually, it is *her* that has the problem... with many of the others being a bit uncomfortable with her having been an exotic dancer. I suppose that this tells me where known TS fit in the heirarchy, though... somewhere down at the bottom, below sex trade workers... »

"Thank you," I silently mouthed towards April, with a faint smile, a few minutes later when no one else was watching.

She just smiled, with a tiny, momentary flicker of a wink in one eye...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 13:28.

Not having classes this afternoon, rather than transfer directly from one bus to another on my way home, I had decided to check out a store I had noticed on other days. A second hand store... which someone in the shelter had mentioned as occasionally having things like inexpensive, useful household items... as well as clothing, and some new things. Not that I could really afford to do much shopping... but... sometimes it is fun just to look...

 «Okay, that looks cute. Brand new, and eighty percent off, too! Halloween isn't for another month yet, but... how can I resist that particular costume, when it is so deeply discounted right now? I mean... it's only five bucks... which I know I should keep for something more practical. But... I am *so* tired of this dreary 'being practical' every minute of every day routine -- *live* just a tiny bit, girl! »

 «Besides, there is just something... deliciously appropriate... about me wearing a 'renaissance witch' costume, don't ya think? ».

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 22:35.

Opening my eyes, I glanced around the bedroom for my cell phone... before noticing the distinctive ring-tone of my 'other' cell phone. The one whose number Michelle had...

"Hello?"

"Hi Crystal. Sorry if I woke you up... but Kristine and I are over at the nearest hospital, and we need help. Kristine is bleeding bad... and the doctor's here are refusing to treat her. Can you come get us in your car?"

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

		Summer's End Part 7 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART VII: Shades of Grey

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Opening my eyes, I glanced around the bedroom for my cell phone... before noticing the distinctive ring-tone of my 'other' cell phone. The one whose number Michelle had...

"Hello?"

"Hi Crystal. Sorry if I woke you up... but Kristine and I are over at the nearest hospital, and we need help. Kristine is bleeding bad... and the doctor's here are refusing to treat her. Can you come get us in your car?"

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Chapter 14:

Early October, Saturday, 22:51.

"Hi. I am here looking for a patient by the name of Kristine..."

Before I could finish asking, I heard, "Crystal? Over here..."

"Hey Michelle, sorry it took so long -- I wasn't dressed when you called. Where is Kristine, and what is going on?"

"She's down this way, in one of the side rooms. They said that they're 'not sufficiently familiar with her condition to treat her', and they want us to go away..."

I stopped her in the hallway, still a little ways from the room she was leading me towards. Interestingly enough, when I had mentioned the 'True Color' thing to her after taking it... Michelle had casually mentioned that she had taken the same tests at an earlier date, and tested as an "Impulsive Orange". Something that didn't surprise me in the least... but which was a surprisingly useful thing to know. It gave me some insight into why she seemed a bundle of emotions right now, wanting to just *do* something... anything... rather than settling down and focusing completely on the problem -- which is how I tend to react to emergencies...

"Wait, Michelle. I _need_ to know more than that, before I can do anything. A lot more. Slow down, and start over, please. I know Kristine just got home from her reassignment surgery on Thursday evening. Does this have anything to do with that?"

"Yeah, I guess. She had a small infection while she was there, that they thought they had under control... but it started swelling again on her flight home, and it burst this evening. And they won't *fix* it!"

"Whoa, Michelle. Back up. What sort of infection, and where, exactly?"

"Umm, you know. Down there. From the surgery. They thought it was fixed, so they let her go home 'cause she didn't tell them that it was getting sore again that morning, before she left for the airport. It started swelling, and it kept swelling more and more the last couple days... then tonight, it just sort of 'popped'... blood everywhere..."

"Wait. You said this started *before* she left, but she _didn't_ tell her doctor? Did either of you *try* calling her surgeon, yesterday or today?"

"Uh... yeah, it was before... and no, that's a long distance call, so we just tried to deal with it ourselves..."

I just covered my eyes with one hand, shaking my head. "Michelle..."

I stopped.  «Worry about that later. Focus on the problem, girl. »

"Is she bleeding *right now*, or has that stopped, now that the pressure is gone?"

"Uh... stopped, I think..."

I won't repeat the rest of that frustrating conversation. In fairness, I don't think either Michelle or Kristine have any medical training at all... possibly not even a basic first aid course, which *everyone* should take. Some of what I managed to piece together came from Michelle... some came from the hospital -- although Michelle was right about that: the staff at the Emergency Room just wanted her to leave. But while they were not being 'helpful' to Michelle or Kristine, directly... so long as I asked my questions *away* from the others, the staff seemed friendly enough -- talking to *me*.

As far as they were concerned, Kristine's life was not in *immediate* danger, and a complication from a sex change operation was something they just wanted nothing to do with. So they fell back on a loophole of their rules, which said that a medical practitioner was expected to assist anyone whose injuries lay within their area of competence -- but was *not* required to treat a condition that they were not 'sufficiently trained' to handle.

Barracks lawyers. Idiots trying to find a way to *not* do their job, rather than figuring out how to help. The patient *must* always come first... although these fools seemed to have forgotten their basic professional training...

Sorry if I seem a little harsh -- I do not suffer fools gladly. At least, not in the medical profession, and not when it endangers a patient. And as far as I could tell, that was exactly what they were doing, despite any legal dodging they were trying to make.

I find myself torn, here. This was an important incident to me... in that it influenced how I acted for a long time afterwards. But... there is also 'patient confidentiality' to consider, even if Kristine was never really *my* patient...

What I am willing to say, although I am uncomfortable with saying even that much, is that Michelle's somewhat scrambled account was basically correct. An SRS complication involving a rupture due to something that didn't heal right -- with a lot of blood, no doubt, while the problem initially drained. It had stopped bleeding after the rupture released the pressure... but there was a *huge* open wound left behind. The hospital was technically right -- she wasn't in *immediate* danger, being sent away -- but they were also very wrong, in my opinion. A wound *that* big, in that location, was a serious risk for infection. Not immediate danger, but if not treated, quite possibly life threatening in a few days time -- and even if that didn't happen, utterly certain to leave a *huge* scar, in a place where it was all too likely to seriously compromise her quality of life...

Stupid, really. That complication is not really all that different from the sort of damage that can happen in a difficult child birth -- and I knew very well that this particular hospital had a large maternity unit, with many OB/GYN specialists on call. It was, quite simply, by far the best equipped hospital in the region to handle this -- Kristine and Michelle had done exactly the right thing, in coming here. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that this place was *full* of doctors and nurses, who might not be trained in 'SRS complications' -- but who were none-the-less fully competent to handle precisely this sort of problem.

If they wanted to. Which they didn't.

Unfortunately... Kristine is another fairly 'obvious' transsexual. A cold fact I mention, as it undoubtedly had a bearing in this mess -- as a 'passable' woman, I had walked in here to find them... and been treated with dignity and respect, by seemingly friendly, professional staff. Encountered kind, seemingly caring staff, who answered my questions completely and with courtesy -- at least, when away from the others. As open, 'unpassable' TS... my friends had walked in -- and been subjected to one indignity after another. Treated as freaks by the same people... who revealed another side to themselves, as prejudiced, unhelpful bigots. Then my friends were asked to leave -- still medically untreated. With a "stable for the moment", but potentially extremely serious medical condition.

And people wonder why I am so untrusting, so reluctant to have 'faith', in the behaviour of other people. _If_ those other people knew my past. Which I go *far* out of my way, to ensure they do not.

Sorry. A bit of a rant. I *hate* it when a patient is abused this way. Any patient, let alone someone I know...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 23:55.

Fortunately, Angela was spending the night elsewhere... although she had gotten rather vague about exactly where, when I had asked earlier.  «I really hope she has not slipped off the wagon... although, while she hasn't spoken about it yet, I get the feeling that there is something else -- not drug related -- that is bothering her lately ». But her not being here was a detail that mattered at the moment, as Kristine was in our bed with one of my big surgical pads unfolded under her -- an 'extra' one that I had not used, during my own recent surgical recovery.

Getting her here, and resting as comfortably as possible, had used part of the last hour... but not all of it. A fair chunk had been spent on my phone, calling in favours. Remember Sara? The friend I spoke with so long ago, who worked as a head nurse in the E.R. of a local hospital? Well, unfortunately she didn't work at *this* particular hospital... but to say she was unimpressed about Kristine's treatment would be a vast understatement. Which I had figured would be the case... and was why I had 'wasted' time making that call, rather than treating my friend -- who like it or not, now seemed to also be in my care for the moment. Speaking of which...

"Umm, Kristine? Before we go much further, there is something I seriously *need* to make absolutely, crystal clear to you, okay? I am *not* currently licensed to practice medicine in Canada. I am not a lawyer, but as I understand it, that means I am *not* allowed to do a whole lot of things... and you need to know that. I *can* help you, in some minor ways... but only as a friend, only doing 'first aid'. Are you okay with that? And do you want my help, *knowing* that I do not have a licence to give that help?"

She still seemed a bit out of it... but she also seemed aware enough to fully understand me, as she said, clearly, "Yes."

"Okay. You are not actually bleeding at the moment... which means that we are not really in an emergency situation, yet. I have a friend working on getting you the real help that you need... getting you in to see an OB/GYN, for surgical repairs... but for now, let's focus on more immediate problems. I know from what Michelle said that you were dealing with swelling for the last couple days... and that you were over at that hospital since sometime early this evening. I also know that for someone as recently post op as you are, that you *must* dilate regularly -- or risk even worse complications than you are already dealing with."

I paused... mostly for dramatic effect, to make sure she paid attention to what I said next. "How *long* has it been, since you last dilated?"

"Umm. I dunno. I think yesterday morning sometime... but it hurt so bad I stopped right away..."

 «*Not* good. Not good at *all*. Depending on who her surgeon was, she has missed at least three, and probably *many* more, dilations. That has to be fixed, *right* now... at her early stage of healing, that kind of mistake can have *serious* consequences... »

"Most of that pain you felt was probably from the swelling, which has gone away now that the pressure has been relieved. I think it _really_ is important that you try to dilate, love. If I help you, do you think you can try to do that?"

"Uh, yeah... but I don't have my stents with me..."

"Would Michelle know where to find them, if I asked her to go get them?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Not the most intelligent sounding of replies, I'll admit... but then, she was probably still in a bit of pain -- and from the lost, slightly panicky look in her eyes, in a situation totally outside of her experience. At a complete loss as to what she should be doing. Trusting me, for lack of a better plan, to help her with what she *knew* was a serious problem. A serious problem that she had already *tried* to follow the "right solution" for... and been rejected, forced to go with a highly problematic "Plan B".

 «Actually, that _has_ to be a pretty scary situation to be in. I'm surprised she's holding up as well as she is, now that I'm thinking about it... »

When Michelle returned, at first we tried to give Kristine her dignity, letting her try to take care of things by herself... but there was *no* way that was going to work. I won't go into details... I have already shared more than I am comfortable with... but in the end, I ended up 'assisting' her. I am just glad that I also had spare items left over from my own recent problems... as while I keep a large first aid kit in my car, gloves and surgical drapes are not the sort of thing I usually have lying around my home...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

It ended up being a rather long night... and one where I lost track of the time. But somewhere around dawn on Sunday, Sara finally managed to convince "someone" high enough up in the food chain, to get them to admit that this actually *was* a problem they could deal with -- and agree to fixing Kristine, once we got her back there.

It's funny, really. Dealing with my own personal life, I sometimes show my blonde roots. Act like a complete air-head, unable to make up my mind about stupid little things. But put me in an emergency... and I just take charge, do what has to be done. Whatever it takes. If that means talking with some hospital administrator in a completely cold, angry tone of voice... projecting feelings I would never let myself express, in my own personal life... so be it. An example I mention, as I vaguely recall doing something pretty much like that, sometime that night -- Sara was not the only one making calls and pulling strings, behind the scenes.

Not something I normally think about... except, Michelle mentioned it to me. Mentioned how impressed she was, that I was willing to do that for them. How impressed she was, with how strong and forceful I could be, when someone else's welfare was at stake.

 «Do I really do that? *Am* I _really_ capable of doing that, when it's necessary? »

When I was finally able to rest, I found my mind racing... thinking about that, and other things. I suppose, objectively speaking, I didn't really do that much that night. Played taxi driver a couple times. Loaned my bed to someone. Made a few phone calls, and offered only a tiny bit of first aid and physical assistance, albeit assistance that involved rather intimate contact. And yet... that night played a big role in my own life, as it taught me a lot about myself. Reminded me of a part of myself that I had sealed away, decades ago, when I transitioned. Gave me a lot to think about, that indirectly influenced my life for years to come...

Sometimes, it's surprising just how *much* of an impact little things can make on our lives...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 20:05.

I was tired, since I rarely can sleep in the daytime... and had missed sleeping last night. More than ready to crash. But I forced a smile, as I opened the door to one of neighbours -- although not one I really had spoken much with before.

"Umm, hi? It's Crystal, right?"

"Y-e-s... was there something I could help you with, Avery?" She was our neighbour from straight across the hall... a young woman with a small baby, whom Angela sometimes talked about... which was about all I knew about her. Well, other than that Angela seemed to have a good opinion of her...

"Uh, yeah. I was talking with Angela and Nasrine yesterday, and they said that maybe you could help me...". She really looked uncertain... and almost like she was having second thoughts about imposing on a stranger, for whatever it was...

I tilted my head, raising my brows in inquiry. "Nice to meet you, Avery. You said you needed my help?"

"Uh, yeah. They said you were pretty good with makeup and stuff... and while I know how to do basic stuff, and nightclub stuff... I never really learned to do fancy makeup. Like, you know, 'sophisticated' looking stuff. And, well, like, my older sister is getting married next weekend, and, she, you know, like sent me some money to buy a dress so I could go..."

She bit her lip... pausing, while looking as if she were organizing her thoughts. "My parents tossed me out last year when I got preggers, and while my sister wants me there... Mom and Dad are gonna really be looking at me *hard*, like, *judging* me, ya know? So I _real-ly_ don't wanna mess this up... and I was wondering if you could, like, give me some pointers on how to do this. How to look, like, *respectable*, ya know? *Not* like a 'cheap tramp'... which is what I *know* they think I am..."

She paused again, closing her eyes while collecting herself. "I can do casual easy enough... or 'hot' for a nightclub, or whatever. 'Single mom' practical. But... I was never, like, into going to proms an' stuff, in junior high... and then, well, I was preggers and hadda drop out before I got to do that sort of thing as a senior in high school..."

She shrugged. "I just never got around to it, ya know? And then it was too late... and since I had my baby, I just haven't had the time or money to... well, you know. Like, learn all this stuff."

 «Huh. A bit of a strange request... but not really a problem... and I do know Angela likes her ». "Umm, sure. Come on in... we probably need to talk a bit about this, first."

As we settled on the couch -- our *new* couch... or at least, new to us, from a recent donation to the shelter -- I continued. "For that sort of formal look, we will probably have to take into account what colours are in the dress that you are wearing, and the accessories you're planning to take with you. Also, is this going to be an evening reception or a daytime one, and are you going to both the ceremony *and* a reception, or just one or the other of those?"

"Just the reception in the evening... my sister wanted me at the service to, but, like... she figured that was pushing things with Mom and Dad too much..."

"'Kay. Do you have your dress, yet?"

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. With a sort of half-apologetic, half-wincing smile and shrug, she admitted, "Well, like, that was another thing. Angela said you had some really nice dresses... especially a blue one that she thought might look great on me... and, well, I do have some money from my sister, but I am going to hafta buy a bus ticket to get there, and my daughter needs some stuff, and..."

I smiled, looking at her body measuring-ly. "Not a problem, hun. You are a little shorter than me... but not enough to matter. And while your breasts are a bit smaller as well, that also shouldn't matter too much with the way that particular dress is cut."

I don't really have that many fancy dresses, actually. Just a few, bought for various special occasions... much like the wedding reception Avery was going to. In fact, as I thought about it, she could probably use not just the dress, but most of the exact outfit I wore that time -- it's not like anyone there would have seen it before, or I had any real use for that outfit myself right now...

Digging through my side of the bedroom closet, it did not take long to find -- the closet was not large. Actually, most of my clothes were in boxes... other than a few items that really needed to be hung up.

The dress in question was an azure blue halter cut gown, backless, with a rather plunging neckline, and a bias cut, layered skirt. The bodice has an inner layer of thicker material for modesty, but the halter straps and the skirt, as well as the outer layer of the bodice, are of a quite sheer chiffon -- the skirt would almost be translucent, except that it has a couple layers that combine to provide modesty. The skirt hem was also cut diagonally... higher on the right, tapering down to the left, which was partially slit up the side. It was designed to be worn bra-less, so that wasn't really an issue... and the halter top wasn't stiff enough for the difference in our breast sizes to matter. I had worn a white bolero style shrug with it, which would probably be appropriate for her, too... and which I had stored on the same hanger, so pulling them both out was easy.

"Here you go. What do you think of this?"

Her face lit up, as she delicately reached out to stroke the fabric. "It's beautiful... are you sure you don't mind this? I mean... you don't even really know me..."

"Not a problem. I haven't worn it in years... and as my breasts are a bit larger now than when I bought it, I'm not sure I could even get into it, now. Please try not to wreck it... I have some fond memories about it, and would sort of like to keep it... but if something does happen, don't have a heart attack."

I grinned and added, "And as for the 'don't know you' thing... you *do* just live across the hall, and my room-mate likes you..."

Looking speculatively at her as she held it up against her, I asked, "Do you have heels suitable to wear with that, and accessories?"

Her face fell a bit, as she looked at her feet. Glancing down myself, I noted that they actually looked fairly close to mine in size... which wasn't really a given, even though we were about the same height.

"I wear a size eight shoe myself... umm, I think that is a UK size five and a half, or Euro size thirty eight and a half... if you want to try the 'strappy' stiletto sandals I wore with this..."

She bit her lip, then did a sideways shrugging nod of her head. "Maybe. I usually wear an eight and a half... but if it is, like, an open toe, sometimes I can manage an eight..."

Fortunately, she said she had a necklace that would work... and the dress watch I loaned her (blue cut glass 'crystals', with the watch face inside one of the crystals... it looked more like a bracelet than a watch) was not really all that expensive -- although it looked like it was. The black leather purse she normally used wasn't ideal... but it would do, I guess. I did have a clutch purse that went with the outfit better... but... well, there is a limit to my trust...

I'm not sure if I have really talked about that, for this shelter. The WEAR building, where I had first gone, was *not* anywhere that I would trust anyone at. Not really. There were exceptions -- there are *always* exceptions -- but the people there were too transient, too near the edge. Too desperate. 'Shark infested waters', was the way I usually thought of that place. But the MAR building? There was much more of a sorority house sort of feel to it... a woman's dormitory. The women who lived here were all trying to get *out* of the mess they were in... and it showed, in many little ways. The babysitting that went on, helping each other out so that the many single moms could get necessary tasks done. The conversations in the hallways, sharing things with each other. The many lonely women, who left their apartment doors open... an open invitation for anyone else who wanted to chat to just come on in. Lots of things.

I would not be so foolish as to loan anyone here money, or something I really needed. We were not angels, and prudence was called for. But... it was another level entirely, from what the first shelter had been like.

Take Avery, for example. She seemed a nice enough girl. Probably at least eighteen, although she looked younger... except, if she actually *were* younger, she would be in one of the 'youth' shelters instead, wouldn't she? Regardless of her age and how nice she was... I had already learned the hard way (a large stainless steel cooking pot... lent to another women, who subsequently constantly avoided me...) not to loan out things that were easily pawned. The dress was something I might never wear again -- certainly not in the near future, since there was no way I could get into it with my shoulder problems. It was quite likely I would eventually end up giving it to charity someday anyway. The watch was a risk, but not much of one... and not an item I would really miss, if I guessed wrong about her. The shrug something I had bought specifically for wearing with that particular dress... and which I had no real use for, unless I were to wear that dress again.

 «I may be w-a-y too trusting in other people for my own good... w-a-y too willing to try to see the good in people, rather than only looking for the bad... but even _I_ *can* learn, when life gives me enough 'hard knocks'. »

 «Still, even if I *know* others sometimes can't be trusted... I would rather get burned occasionally, than _completely_ harden my heart. »

"Is it okay if I try this on?"

"Sure."

Quickly wriggling out of her jeans and top, she was soon in the dress, looking in the mirror I had mounted on the closet door. She frowned, looking at her obvious bra-straps. "What sort of bra do you wear with something like this, anyway? I mean, like, the back goes so low you would see the band... even with clear straps, it would be pretty obvious..."

"It's meant to be worn bra-less... but if you think your parents wouldn't approve of that, there are adhesive bra's that you can buy. I don't have one, though... and my bra's won't fit you, regardless."

She did the partial sideways nod thing again, this time in the other direction, with a doubtful half smile. "I guess bra-less it is... it seems to cover well enough -- especially with the wrap."

"Hmm. Anyway, do you have your own makeup? With your dark hair, you need different colours than I use... even if it were a good idea to share makeup, which it isn't."

She did, and a half hour later, we had a workable 'look' for her, that she was confident she could do herself. It didn't really take that long, what with her already knowing the basics. As she was leaving, carefully carrying the dress -- which she had changed back out of before we played around with makeup -- a stray thought amused me for a second.

 «Strange, being the one asked for advice like this. I guess I'm getting old... I'm not sure whether to be depressed at the thought of an eighteen year old looking at me as a sort of surrogate mom, or pleased to have her looking at me like a 'big sister'. Either way... quite a change from my 'early days', when *I* was the one looking for advice from natal women... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 19:32.

Sitting lightly on the very edge of her bed, I spoke softly. "Hey Kristine. How are you feeling tonight?"

She smiled. "A lot better, thank you. And thank you *again*, for everything you did this weekend..."

"De rien... it's nothing. I'm just glad we were able to help. Have you had any problems since they did the repair and discharged you?"

"No, not really. A little discomfort when taking a tinkle, but..."

She shrugged, with a sort of half smirk. "It's not like I have *that* totally figured out yet, anyway. It's not that different... but it *is* different..."

A wicked grin danced around my lips, as I replied in a little girl voice while flaring my eyes in faked wide-eyed innocence, "Ya hafta *push*, to go pee..."

She just looked at me, like I was strange.

 «Oh, well. You had to be there, I guess... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 12:35.

"Hey Michelle, Jennifer, what's up?"

She glanced up from the paper in front of her, on the lunchroom table. "Oh hey. I was just reading somethin' in the news that Jenny pointed out to me..."

With a glance back and forth between the two, I raised my brows in inquiry.

Jennifer replied, "They caught someone who had been stalking and assaulting women by the downtown college campus, in another city not that far away. And the kicker is, the assailant was a schizoid pre-op TS, that wanted to be a woman half the time, and was assaulting women the other half the time, when his guy personality took over. Really messed up... and as it's in the news today, the other students have been giving us some rather nasty looks..."

Somewhat startled, I instinctively pulled back a little. "Whoa. That's certainly different... didn't this person's therapist know about this problem?"

Michelle added, "It says here that she only went to see her shrink when she was feeling like a 'girl'... and avoided the shrink the rest of the time..."

"Ouch. Well, just keep your cool, guys. I suppose this will blow over soon enough, so long as you don't give them anything to worry about."

I stopped and winced. "Sorry, the women in my group always use that 'guy' word, even when we are talking about other women..."

Jennifer snorted. "Yeah, I know. They do it in our group too. Don't worry about it. I'm just worried that someone in our group will spill about me, and what I've shared there..."

At my enquiring look, she continued, with a glance at Michelle as if to confirm that I could be trusted. "When I was a kid, I was molested by my dad... and then, when I was around puberty... well, I sort of did the same thing myself. Seduced my cousin, who was maybe half my age. I hated myself for it afterwards... and mostly I did it as I was real curious about girls -- wanted to *be* her, ya know? But... technically... I am a paedophile..."

 «What on Earth do you say to something like that? »

Inside, I could feel very old fears welling up... stirred to life again by meeting someone out of my worst nightmares. You would think that having someone admit to me that they were an actual incarnation of the thing I had feared for so many years... especially now, when I was so close to the edge from other things... would send me right over that precipice. Totally freak me out. But... I could feel her pain, as she said that. Knew that she was absolutely sincere, in her regrets. It's weird... but... in hindsight, that moment was probably a very valuable healing experience. One that let me finally confront an old demon, and truly lay it to rest...

A chance to come face to face with something from my childhood that had haunted me for most of my life... but having faced 'the boogieman'... discovered that the monster from my dreams was just a person, as messed up as the rest of us. Although it was perhaps a good thing that I had already gotten to know her, *before* this little revelation...

"Wow. Umm... that's a biggie, all right. Especially around here. But then, it was probably a biggie when you first told your group about that... and if someone was going to tell, they probably would have done it by now. Or at least, that's a hope, anyway. Sorry... I can't be much more reassuring than that -- it really is a potential problem..."

It's funny in a way. As more and more studies are starting to confirm, being trans is almost certainly a birth defect -- something induced by pre-natal hormone imbalances. Similar to being intersexed, although the part of the body effected by the hormones was different. Or at least _mostly_ different... I haven't seen a good study of it, but I rather strongly suspect that the percentage of TS who are also 'conventionally' intersexed is probably much higher than the percentage of the general population that are 'IS'. But while that 'biological origin' for being trans is nice to know... there is a flip side to it. Trans-folk are pretty much normal people, other than their physical birth defect.

That can be a good thing... but it can also be a bad. 'Normal', or what is sometimes called 'cisgendered', people are not just all of the law abiding, 'nice' people. 'Normal' also includes such things as rapists and paedophiles, murderers and thieves. What some might term 'saints *and* sinners'. Trans people can likewise be very good people... and on occasion, not so good. Each person is different, the same as any other randomly selected group of people, united only by a common medical condition...

But one thing that *is* a bit different about trans folk, is that the general public already tends to think of them as 'sexual perverts'. Which means that when their bigotry is seemingly 'confirmed' by the rare individual who is both trans *and* something else... well, it can get really ugly, really fast.

It's not fair... but who ever said life was fair?

Something told me that I would be doing my very best to 'blend in' for the next few days, though. A part of me wasn't proud of that... wanted me to show 'solidarity' with those who didn't have that option... but prudence suggested otherwise.

There was a time, many long years ago, when I *did* the 'out and proud' thing. Gave speeches, tried to get laws changed... all that activist jazz. You get tired of it, after a while. Fortunately, I was always careful to use an alias at those gatherings, and not allow my picture to be taken -- when I tired of being seen as 'different'... and just wanted to be a woman... I was able to walk away from all that. A small part of me is still willing to make political gestures, even to this day... but not big ones. Not anything 'risky'. Not anymore. I did my time, and moved on. 'Been there, done that, wore out the T-shirt, long ago...'

But even so, I wasn't proud about fading into the woodwork...

 «Mea culpa... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 15:

Early Mid-October, Monday, 17:05.

When they hear the phrase "Thanksgiving Day"... a lot of people may think of the US holiday -- which I think is sometime late in November. But Thanksgiving is traditionally a holiday similar to the Wiccan 'Mabon' ceremony... which is to say, it's based on a pagan Harvest Festival. The climate in Canada is much colder than down south, with a shorter growing season... so the harvest must be completed earlier in the fall. All of which is to say, around here, Thanksgiving is the second Monday of October. Today.

Of course, not being Christian myself... today was just another day, for me. Well, other than the fact that there was no school today -- so I was able to sleep in. And the detail that Angela was off somewhere with her kids and their (usually very absent) father... so I was home alone. A quiet time, for peaceful reflection... at least, until someone knocked at the door.

"Oh hey, Michelle and Kristine. What's up?"

Michelle surprised me with the *huge* grin that was bubbling up from somewhere inside her -- and even more so by sweeping me up in an almost crushing hug. *Really* not the sort of behaviour I expected out of her.

"Whoa, girl. Easy... you're hurting me. What was *that* all about?"

"I just wanted to thank you *sooo* much, for Friday night... and your help with Kristine."

I felt my brows going up. "Umm... Friday night?"

"Zach said that it was *you* who called him up, and arranged for him to ask me out. We *really* hit it off good together -- I'm *so* glad you did that...!"

Kristine interjected, "As am I, for your help at the hospital the other day..."

"Err... okay."  «You know, at my age it sort of looks dumb to still visibly blush about things like this... »

I collected my straying thoughts, and continued, "It really was no big deal, though. I am sure you both would have done the same for me, if things had been different..."

For a moment, Michelle managed to suppress her happiness, and look serious. "Maybe so... but we wanted to thank you anyway."

At that point, Kristine pulled something out from where she had been concealing it by standing mostly behind the much bigger Michelle. "Michelle said that you had mentioned liking fried chicken to her once... so we pooled together all our extra money, and thought we would buy you a bucket of KFC. Not exactly a traditional turkey dinner... but the best we could do..."

 «Oh goddess. That stuff is *loaded* with MSG -- which I'm very allergic to... although at least, it usually takes five or six hours after I ingest some, before the symptoms get *really* bad... »

"Why, *thank* you so much, for the thought... although you really didn't have to. Err... won't you come in, and at least share it with me?"

I tried really hard to encourage them to 'dig in'... to eat as much of the chicken as they wanted... but not to much avail. They kept waiting, wanting me to take the first piece of chicken...

 «Ulp. Well, maybe if I take *just* one, and eat *really* slowly... with lots of bread and water to dilute it... the inevitable won't be _too_ bad, when it happens. They look *so* happy... *so* pleased with themselves, for finding a way to say thank you to me... and I *know* just how big a hardship the money they spent on this is _really_ going to be for both of them, this month... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 23:15.

"Uh. Uh. Oh goddess...". For a moment, I thought I was going to heave yet again... but not quite...

"You really _must_ learn to say *no* to people, sometimes, girl..."

 «It's a good thing I cleaned in here this morning. Although now that I'm lying here beside the toilet looking up, I see I missed a spot... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 00:21.

"Crys? I'm sorry... but... I *really* have to go to the bathroom, *right* now..."

"Uh, right. Just a sec while I catch my breath, and I will crawl out of here..."

"Umm, don't worry about it. Stay there... I'll just slip in and go, 'kay?"

 «You know, it's kind of an odd view, lying here looking up at another woman doing her business and wiping herself. Seriously strange... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 21:33.

"Crystal?"

"Hmm? What's up, Angela?"

"You know that once in a while, I see my ex... just for the kids' sake... right?"

"Y-e-ssss?" My eyebrows asked the question.

"I know that I shouldn't do it... that he is a total jerk, who used to beat me up... and even broke my bones, more than once. But... well, sometimes, just sometimes, when he is being on his very best behaviour for the kids... well, I still love him, you know? Despite everything he has done. At least, just a tiny bit..."

She looked away, obviously struggling with what she was saying. I didn't say anything... just quietly waited for her to collect herself and continue.

"Anyway... long story short... a couple months back, we had a really good day. I had the kids, and we both spent a really nice afternoon together, with the social worker watching. But after she left with the kids... well... the two of us got to talking about old times, over a bottle of wine... the good old days, before he became such a jerk... and..."

She was crying, now. "I was stupid, Crystal. *Really* stupid. I ended up sleeping with him again, for old times sake. Just the once... but I wasn't on the pill..."

With tears streaming down her face, her arms wrapped around herself while she sat there, rocking slowly back and forth, she added, "I'm pregnant, Crystal. I swore I was never gonna do this with him again. That when I let myself be drawn back into that miserable marriage -- when I discovered I was pregnant with Sandy -- that never again would I *do* that. And now, look at me..."

She closed her eyes. "It's the same thing all over again. I *knew* what he was becoming, by the time I had Lenaya. I actually *left* him after she was born... went to live in a shelter... but then... I found I was pregnant with Sandy, and... I just knew I couldn't do that to a child. That I had to go back. That it took everything I had, to survive in that shelter with *one* baby -- there was *no* way I could do it while pregnant with a second."

She shivered. "That's how I got hooked on drugs, Crys. After Sandy was born... living with that asshole... he kept beating me up. Breaking my arm. My jaw, once. A couple ribs, now and then. I needed to take pain killers, to be able to function well enough to look after the kids... but... I didn't dare go to my doctor for them, or they would find out what was happening to me -- there are only so many times you can tell them that you fell down the stairs, before they stop believing you. So I started buying things on the street... and... one thing lead to another..."

She looked back at me, with haunted eyes. "I just can't do that again. Can't have another child by him. I've been clean for over four months now... a couple more, and they might let me have my kids back full time. But I'm just barely scraping by now, with lots of help from you -- if I can't work because I'm pregnant, I'll be right back where I was with Sandy. Having to go back to live with that animal, once again. I just can *not* do that, not again..."

She blinked, causing the tears glittering in her eyes to stream downwards, again. "You know that I'm Roman Catholic, right? That my church forbids abortion... that it's a sin?"

By now, I was sitting beside her, holding her. I just gave her a squeeze, in acknowledgement.

"I've... known that I was knocked up for a couple weeks now. Trying to decide what to do." Her mouth quirked briefly. "You aren't the only one who's been having nightmares, lately..."

She took a slow, shuddering breath, and visibly gulped. "Anyway, I finally went to the doctor yesterday... and made an appointment at the local Women's Hospital, for an abortion. It's on Friday afternoon... and they want me to have someone there, someone to take me home, to look after me for the first twenty four hours afterwards. Can you... I mean, *are* you okay with that? Would you mind taking me, in your car?"

What could I say, but simply, "Yes".

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 13:45.

Today's class was... unusual. A bus ride downtown, followed by a tour of various facilities that they wanted to draw our attention to. Things that were in handouts we had received earlier in the course... but if we ever truly *needed* to know where they were, we might be on the run -- with no time to look for those brochures. Hence this tour... letting us actually see these places, fixing their locations in our minds.

The locations of several women's shelters (not something I needed to be reminded of... but most of the women in our program currently lived elsewhere). The location of a couple food banks. Several charitable agencies. The main city library... where it was pointed out that we could get free library cards, just by signing a statement confirming our low income status. And then there was this particular 'destination'...

A woman's physical fitness facility, that offered substantial discounts for low income women. Not as strange a place to visit as you might think... the course *did* include segments on the importance of healthy eating and exercise, et cetera... but still a bit odd. Whatever... we were there, and it was a nice enough place. Converted from an older community recreation centre, when the city replaced it with a more modern facility in the same area, this was not just an exercise room, but a swimming pool, sauna... lots of things. No big deal -- I like to swim, and had been to the newer public facility many times, back before my shoulder injury.

No big deal... except, we did a tour of the facility. *All* of the facility -- including the women's change rooms and showers. Rooms that were currently in use, with many women wandering around in various stages of undress. Which triggered another of those 'waves of awareness' things, in my group-mates. Sigh.  «It's been over five weeks now, since the course started. You would think they would get over it, already... »

 «Oh well. I guess they *are* learning, though. I'm getting a few funny looks... but no one is actually *saying* anything. More like they are just trying to surreptitiously check to see how *I* am reacting to all this... »

I had to suppress a smile, as I thought,  «Not that I can complain about their doing that... considering I am covertly watching *them* secretly watching me... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 21:55.

As I got ready for bed, I found myself watching Angela a bit more closely than normal. Wondering what must be going through her head, right now. She was putting on a brave front, trying to pretend that everything was just peachy... but... you could see it in her eyes, occasionally.

Abortion is not something I give a lot of thought to, normally. It has been legal in Canada -- with a few restrictions -- for many decades now... and even those last restrictions were completely dropped something like a decade ago. I have always been at least mildly 'pro-choice'... a side effect, no doubt, of the torments and literal tortures of my youth. The rapes... the being drugged... the barely visible, faded whip scars on my back... all the things which engraved forever into my spirit that it is simply *wrong* to impose things on other's bodies. That I would rather they simply kill me than have someone dictate what I can and can not do to my own body.

Still, I do understand the 'pro-life' position as well, even if I can't, personally, endorse it. While the Wiccan Rede does say, "An it harm none, do as ye will"... with the central tenet being the 'Harm none' part... Wicca is also about balance. Harmony with nature, and *all* living things. My heart aches with the thought of the harm to the Child Within, the Unborn One... but... one *does* have to use some common sense about things. Balance the harm done to the mother, against the harm to the potential new life growing within.

Sometimes, there are no good answers. Real life is complicated... shades of grey...

In some ways, I wish Canada still had some of it's earlier restrictions. That the line were drawn somewhere earlier in pregnancy than the near-full-term abortions that are currently allowed. But... well, who gets to dictate where that line is drawn? There is no simple solution... which I suppose is why the courts eventually struck down *all* of those restrictions. Whatever. None of that 'viable baby' stuff really applied in Angela's case, anyway. She was still fairly early in pregnancy -- when what was to be ended was technically not an embryo, having become a foetus at the end of week seven... but not far beyond that line. A little too late for a chemically induced 'Medical Abortion'... but still early enough that the 'Surgical Abortion' would be done by the most common method of 'Suction Aspiration'... which is a fancy way of saying that a suction tube gets inserted and vacuums out the entire lining of the uterus, including her daughter.

Her daughter? At week seven, the genitals form... and she had already had a sonogram done earlier this week, while deciding on what to do. Things are still so tiny -- the entire foetus being only about forty millimetres long -- that it was highly likely that she was wrong about the sex. It's usually closer to week eleven, before the genitals are considered 'distinguishable'... even if technically they differentiated earlier. But in her heart, she was convinced that she was carrying a daughter. A defenceless little girl, that she was about to kill. Small wonder that her dreams lately had not been easy. I honestly think that if not for her other children, she might have solved this problem another way. A very Final Solution. Fortunately, it had not come to that... but still, I had been watching her closely these last few days...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 23:58.

Some women like to wear nightgowns... others do not. Both Angela and I happen to be people who prefer the feeling of unrestricted freedom that we get sleeping nude... well, other than the panties she probably wore during 'that time of the month'. Which now that I was thinking about it... I had not seen her do, since moving in with her. Foolish of me... I should have guessed she was pregnant...

Anyway, how we sleep is not normally relevant to anything, but this evening it is perhaps worth mentioning...

"Crystal? You still awake? Would you mind just holding me for a while?"

 «Well, I *wasn't* awake... but I *do* wake quickly and easily... »."Of course, dear..."

For a while I simply held her, feeling her body occasionally shudder with suppressed sobs. Gently stroking her arms... her hair... holding her close, until her breathing finally eased into the regular rhythms of sleep...

 «Odd. Usually, I am the one being held safely snuggled in the arms of another, larger, person. Spooned against them, my back to their chest... and their hands usually roaming my body -- although I am certainly not doing *that* with her. But Angela is a full hand's breadth shorter than I am... petite. I wonder if this is what it is like, to be a 'man' holding a woman 'he' loves? So different, being the 'protector', rather than the one being 'protected'... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 09:55.

 «I know Angela insisted that I go to classes this morning, for my scheduled 'half-day'... said she wanted some 'alone' time... but... I haven't the *faintest* idea what the group has been talking about for the last hour... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 10:06.

Over half the group had stepped out for whatever reasons, at the start of the ten AM coffee break... but a fair number were just sitting around the classroom, chatting casually.

"My ovaries hurt..."

I blinked.  «What? Where did *that* comment come from? Perhaps I should pay more attention... even if I didn't get much sleep last night... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 12:48.

Angela looked up at me with tortured eyes, from where she had been borrowing my notebook computer to look up something online. "Oh God, Crystal. The baby's nervous system starts to develop at week _three_. What am I *doing*?! Is my daughter going to *feel* this?!"

Holding her hands, and looking tenderly into her eyes, all I could say was, "Umm... actually, I think it might be closer to week four... and that is only when things *start* to form... not when *thinking* begins... but...". I stopped, realizing that this wasn't helping. "You don't have to do this, if you can't. I will call the clinic for you, and cancel, if you want... and help you through all this, whatever you decide..."

If anything, the torment in her face merely increased. "God forgive me, but I... I... I just can't. I simply can not have this child... may God have mercy on my soul..."

Her voice faded out into a wail, as she sat rocking slowly back and forth in my arms, tears streaming down her face. As they were also streaming down mine...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 16:

AUTHOR WARNING: The following short chapter contains a fairly accurate, somewhat graphic portrayal of what a visit to an Abortion Clinic is like. For the convenience of those who would prefer not to read it, the only really graphic part (three paragraphs) has been offset and typeset in italics. Reader discretion is advised...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Mid-October, Friday, 13:55

As the traffic light turned red, the little pedestrian sign turned to the symbol for 'Walk'. We had parked a block away from the hospital -- there was a Visitor parking lot closer, but who can afford to pay their outrageous rates, on Welfare? No doubt later I would have to bring the car around to pick Angela up at the door... but for now, on the way in, she said she didn't mind the walk. Although I noticed her steps were getting slower and smaller, the closer we got to the doorway...

The local Women's Hospital is actually just a wing of a bigger facility... served by a somewhat small doorway, discreetly tucked away down a side access roadway. Hidden away from casual view... like so many parts of women's underground culture. The small waiting room puzzled me for a moment... before it occurred to me that in this part of the hospital, most patients went straight in -- and were often accompanied by those who were with them.

There really wasn't that much to the sign-in process: many things had already been completed earlier this week, when Angela booked this appointment. The sonogram was already done... and she had been fasting today, as required. Well, sort of. I seriously doubt she could have managed to eat anything today, even if it *were* permitted...

"Crystal? Is it okay if I list you as next of kin on these forms?" She sort of sadly half smirked. "I suppose if anything actually *does* happen, you could always claim to be my same-sex, live-in partner... same-sex marriage *is* legal in Canada, after all."

She rolled her eyes... almost playfully, although I could see it was just a facade over her inner hurt. "Mostly, I just *do not* want to list my ex anywhere on these forms... and I know you are bisexual, and actually *were* in that sort of relationship with a lesbian, once..."

I hesitated for a moment... unclear of exactly what the legal situation was -- I am not a lawyer. "No problem, Angela. I doubt it would hold up in court for anything serious... and definitely not for inheritance issues... but for minor administrative stuff here in the hospital? Maybe. It's not like it would be down in the States, anyway. I might be wrong, but I *think* the 'next of kin' thing up here is more like it is in the UK. Just a formality, really. Someone the doctors can talk to for *advice*, if they are unsure of what the patient's wishes would be -- the final decision on treatment lies with the patient first, the staff second, and only then are next of kin asked for their opinion about anything..."

"Yeah... but... if I list you as next of kin, with the relationship as 'same sex live-in partner'...they will let you come into the back with me. Or at least as far as the prep and recovery areas... if you don't mind doing that?"

"Of course, dear..."

"Thank you. And if it's any consolation, it really isn't a lie. We *do* live together as _financial_ partners, and we *are* the same sex... and sleep together... even if *all* we do in that bed is *sleep*."

I had to laugh, slightly. "I think you're rationalizing... but no problem. I said I would help you through this, and I meant it. Whatever it takes..."

Tears were her only reply...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 14:02.

She looked at me, with a sort of half-baffled, half-angry expression. "How can that other woman *be* like that? Like she is just standing in line for coffee at Timmies?"

I could only shrug. "I think she said something about this being her fourth abortion..."

"Her fourth?! What... how... How can someone *do* that?!"

I could only shrug again, slightly shaking my head. "You're asking the wrong woman, luv. I would give anything to be able to have one of my own... and I *know* how hard this is for you. I don't get it any more than you do, even if I do know that something like one in three women end up having an abortion, these days. I guess it must just get easier, after the first time, for some people..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 14:06.

Angela was already in her surgical gown, donning her "anti-embolism stockings".  «Funny looking things... and while the little hole under the toes is probably useful for checking blood circulation in the toenails, it really doesn't make them that comfortable to wear... »

I found my thoughts straying,  «Being stealth even in my medical record, I have worn things like that many times now. Ironic, really. I have read online about how doctor's make TS stop hormones for surgeries, these days... but... even though I *tell* them that I am post hysterectomy, and *on* HRT -- they never even _suggest_ that *I* stop HRT before any of the surgeries I have had, since going stealth. No more than they insisted that Angela be off birth control pills. They *ask* if a woman is on that sort of thing, but only so that they can take appropriate precautions... such as the stocking things, which help prevent blood clots forming in the legs during surgery... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 14:31.

Angela was gone, now. Wheeled away towards surgery... where I could not go with her. But in my mind, I found myself reviewing what I knew of what was to happen. I have never had an abortion, obviously... nor assisted in performing one... but I have had enough surgeries -- and known enough other women who had an abortion -- that I could easily visualize what she would be experiencing. Sometimes, I hate my too vivid imagination...

The watching of the ceiling, as the gurney is wheeled down the hallway... often with a few stops along the way, for whatever reasons. The porter slapping the metal plate by the doors, to open them for the gurney. Being jolted back and forth, as they positioned it next to the table... then the sort of half-scramble, half being slid, as she was transferred from the gurney to the operating table -- being careful not to snag the I.V. line, which had been inserted in the prep area when they did her blood typing tests and pelvic exam, earlier. The racing of her heart, as someone ironically tells her to relax -- before terrifying her by injecting medication into the port on the I.V. line. The somewhat stale, odd smelling mask being held over her face... before being told to count with the anaesthesiologist, while the gas comes on... and then the rapidly narrowing tunnel vision, fading away to black...

She probably would not remember much of anything after that... but with my training, I do know what would happen next. The opening of the vaginal walls with a speculum... grasping the cervix with tenaculum forceps to hold it in position. Insertion into the cervical opening of a series of gradually larger, thin, highly polished metal rods known as 'dilators' -- although much smaller and longer than what a TS may think of when they hear that word, for the largest of these is about the width of a finger. Once dilated, the cervix is held open with the repositioned tenaculum -- a type of long forceps with a slender sharp-pointed hook tip, attached to the sort-of scissor-like handle.

A suction wand goes in next... vaguely like you would see in a dentist's office, except thinner and with a bent tip, as well as having openings on the sides of the tip rather than on the blunted end. Two or three minutes later, the deed is mostly done... the fragile foetus torn apart by the suction, and the uterine lining removed. Just to be certain, there is a final scraping of the uterine walls with a "long handled, tiny spoon shaped" curette knife, with a second suctioning afterwards. Her part would be over then... although the abortionist would still need to carefully examine the suction collection bottle containing everything that had been removed, to ensure that nothing was left inside...

The whole thing is over in only about ten to twenty minutes... but the effects can last a lifetime. Literally.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 15:08.

When they had brought Angela back from surgery, they had left her face down on the recovery bed... which might seem an odd thing to do to an unconscious patient at first blush, but helps with 'drainage' of anything left inside. She was just starting to make uncoordinated movements, and incoherent mutterings, when the nurse came to turn her... rolling her onto her side, with a "Maxipad" placed between her thighs to absorb any remaining discharge. I noticed that she was crying again... although she did not seem aware of me holding her hand, or much of anything else, yet.

I knew it would probably be a while yet, before she was fully conscious.  «At least she doesn't have my medical problems with medications -- even with the alternate anaesthesia techniques that they usually use on me, I am often out for many hours -- sometimes, days -- after surgery. But she should be aware of her surroundings *much* sooner than that... probably about another fifteen or twenty minutes, the way she is moving now. Although she may already be aware enough to remember this, later... »

With that thought in mind, I started softly speaking to her... knowing she wouldn't answer, but just might understand me. "You're okay, Angela. The surgery went fine. You are in the recovery room, and..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 15:45.

"Come on Angela... I know you aren't hungry right now, but they want you to have the cookies and juice anyway, before they will let you leave. You have lost a lot of blood..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 16:26.

She was moving very slowly, and painfully... but she had managed to walk a lap around the recovery room -- which was enough that they were willing to let her go home. I had brought the car around to just outside the clinic doors, then helped her out to it.

 «I wish this thing wasn't so low-slung, right now. I remember from when I was raped just how much it *hurt* to lower myself down into it... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 21:55

Angela had not really wanted to eat much for our 'late' supper tonight... but while I hated to push her about that, I had encouraged her to eat just a little -- for much the same reasons as the hospital had, earlier. After that, she had mostly just wanted to lie down... which was appropriate, really. Her post-surgical instructions specified that she should rest the remainder of the day... that there might be "some discomfort" today and tonight, and that she should avoid strenuous activities for a few days. That it would be normal if she experienced some bleeding, possibly with mild cramps, for the next week. But basically, the physical part was over.

 «The emotional part? I must admit I am still worried about her... she wanted to be left alone, so I am sleeping on the couch tonight... but I can only hope she will be okay... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 22:16.

"Crystal?" I heard Angela softly call out through the open bedroom door, as I came out of the bathroom. "Would you mind talking for a bit?"

"Hey, girl. How are you feeling...?"

She listlessly shrugged, with a sort of sad, melancholic expression on her face. "A bit of pain... but that's okay. I *deserve* pain, right now... as penance."

Tears began to leak slowly from her eyes, as she added, "What have I done, Crystal? I thought I was making the best decision... but..."

She stopped, closing her eyes and taking a shaky breath. "I start crying every time I see the blood on my pad. In the toilet. On the paper as I wipe. The blood of my murdered daughter. She wasn't born yet... will never be born, now... but she was real to me. I want to know she is growing again inside me... want to feel my boobs becoming sore... I even want to be sick again in the morning. I want my baby back..."

She opened her eyes, looking somewhere far beyond the bedroom walls. "And yes, I know how stupid that is. I know it was right. That I had to do it. But what my mind knows... my heart does not..."

Glancing into my eyes, she slowly turned the rest of her head to follow. "God, Crystal. When will all this *end*, anyway? I mean... I grew up with the usual dreams... being a good mom to 'two point two' children, a loving husband, a car, and a house with a white picket fence. The usual stuff every girl dreams of. But it's all just gone s-o-o-o wrong, ya know? Like... I had to run away from my home to get away from my husband, the kids have been taken away... and now..."

I gently squeezed her hand, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. "I know, Angela, I know. I had those dreams, too... and who knows, maybe someday they will come true, again? You're right, though. As things stand, those dreams seem impossibly far away..."

I shrugged, lightly. "I wish I had all the answers for you, dear. I really do. For now, though... all I can say is don't give up. Life may have kicked us both when we were down, but... well, it is a very old cliché, but... all we can do is keep on trying. Never give up. *Make* our dreams come true..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 04:48.

I started awake, at the faint, gentle tapping on our door. Slipping off the couch, I absently noticed soft sounds of breathing coming from the dark bedroom as I passed it. Glancing though the outer door's peep-hole, I found Amber -- who had obviously had her own sleep disturbed, as she was in a housecoat with her hair up in rollers.

"Crystal? Sorry to wake you... one of the girls tried to kill herself, and we can't get her to let us take her to the hospital. Michelle suggested you might be able to help...?"

 «Angela?! But... who is in the bedroom, then? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

		Summer's End Part 8 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART VIII: Samhain

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

I started awake, at the faint, gentle tapping on our door. Slipping off the couch, I absently noticed soft sounds of breathing coming from the dark bedroom as I passed it. Glancing though the outer door's peep-hole, I found Amber -- who had obviously had her own sleep disturbed, as she was in a housecoat with her hair up in rollers.

"Crystal? Sorry to wake you... one of the girls tried to kill herself, and we can't get her to let us take her to the hospital. Michelle suggested you might be able to help...?"

 «Angela?! But... who is in the bedroom, then? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Chapter 17:

Mid October, Saturday, 04:48.

"Err, sure, Amber... just give me a moment to grab a robe or something...".  «And a moment to check on Angela... »

The seasons change fairly dramatically, and quickly, in northern Canada. Just a couple months previously, this time of day would have already been daylight... but in mid-October, it was still the dead of night, with dawn many hours away. Cautiously, I made my way through the dark apartment... glad for the moment of my fairly good night vision.

I don't think I have talked about the larger suite we were in now... the entrance was at the end of a moderately short hallway, with the two bedrooms on one side, the kitchen and bath on the other, and the living/dining room at the end of the hallway. To answer the door, I had actually walked past the master bedroom earlier... but at the time, I had been thinking about who was at the door -- I had not looked into the side rooms.

Back down the short hallway I walked, hesitating as I approached our bedroom... noting that the blinds were drawn, and that it was even blacker in there. Funny really... many think of witches as creatures of the night... but even a wicce can feel fear of the dark -- sometimes.

It was with relief, though, that I found Angela safely asleep in our bed.  «Okay, so it isn't her that Amber was talking about... I wonder what happened?"

Gathering my robe from the hook on the back of the bedroom door, I quickly donned it and re-joined Amber in the hallway.

Speaking softly so as not to disturb other residents, Amber informed me, "We are still a bit unclear on all the details... but we think Kristine tried to kill herself by stepping in front of a bus last night. It didn't work -- the bus managed to stop in time -- but afterwards, the police were called."

Her voice took on an angry undertone. "What they are *supposed* to do in a situation like that, is call for a special ambulance, that takes the suicidal person to the psych ward of the nearest hospital. But what they *actually* did, once they realised 'what' they were dealing with, was to throw her in the back of their 'drunk' van... then 'bounced' her."

Unclear what she meant, I asked, "Bounced?"

She made a face. "Sometimes with prostitutes or street people or whatever, when they want to 'teach someone a lesson'... but don't want to be charged with police brutality for directly hitting a prisoner... they will put someone alone in the unpadded back of one of their van's -- then drive around at high speed, swerving suddenly and slamming on the brakes randomly. It throws the prisoner around inside the van... 'bounces' them off the walls. At the least, the person usually ends up bruised... and sometimes, with broken bones. But they can claim that they never actually touched the prisoner -- that they were just driving normally, and it's not their fault if traffic caused them to have to stop suddenly. Unless there is a witness -- which there rarely is -- they often get away with it..."

I was still puzzled. "Okay... I get that. But... why would they bother doing that to Kristine? It seems a bit extreme, even if they don't like TS..."

She sighed. "I think Kristine resisted being put in the back of the van -- I'm not sure, but I think she may have sworn at the cops, and possibly even spit on one of them."

She paused, then continued, "Suicide by cop -- deliberately annoy or threaten one, in the hopes they will kill you. It doesn't usually work, but it's not the first time I have seen someone try it..."

"Whoa. Umm... I do have some psych training... but... suicide counselling is a specialty, and definitely *not* something I know much of anything about..."

She gave a short laugh. "Sorry... I should have told you what I needed your help with. The shelter has psychologists on retainer that we can send her to tomorrow. I just was hoping that you could maybe do a little first-aid stuff, patching up some of her scrapes and bruises... and... well... Michelle seemed to think that what had been bothering Kristine the last few days had something to do with her surgery. That isn't anything I know much about... and Michelle has never been through it, either. But... I know you *have* been through that, yourself, so... I was mostly just hoping you could just talk with her, as a friend. See what's going on, and help her get through the night until we can get her in to see someone professional..."

"Ah. Okay... although I should tell you right now that I need to keep an eye on Angela tonight, too. She's... umm... not feeling well, and I just don't like the idea of leaving her completely alone all night..."

She tipped her head in acknowledgement. "No problem. Michelle will stay with her room-mate most of the time... if you can just talk with Kristine for a bit?"

"Sure."

 «When it rains, it pours... why do things like this always happen at the same time? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 05:25.

Actually, Kristine's physical problems were pretty minor. A bloody nose... a few scratches... a couple minor bruises. But as to *why* she had done it... well, we had been talking about that for a while, now.

"I just... you know. I just never really *planned* things to end up like this. Before I transitioned, I had my own business... a fully-paid-for home... a wife that I thought loved me. But... it all came unglued, ya know? My customers stopped calling... my wife threw me out, keeping the house and car... and the money I thought I had set aside to cover expenses and things, well, most of it just disappeared out of our joint accounts one day. Not that I really blame her..."

She shrugged. "It's just... I have been hanging on for most of a year now, doing what I had to do, to survive. I even became a hooker, despite being more of a lesbian than someone interested in guys... and despite my knowing that most of the clients probably thought of me as a perverted man in drag, not a woman. But through all of that... the thing that kept my going was... I just wanted to *die* as a woman, you know? *Not* as a man. I never really made any plans on surviving past my surgery -- that was *it*, the end of my planning. Only now... here I am. In uncharted territory..."

"Wow. Umm, what can I say to that? I would be lying if I said that everything magically becomes all peaches and cream after surgery." I snorted, softly. "After all, I *do* live just upstairs from you, here in this shelter. But... there have been a lot of good things, too, over the years. A lot of things..."

My voice trailed off, as for a bit I found myself thinking of some of the good times, as well as the bad. My relationship with Alex, back before we drifted apart. The lipstick dyke I had lived with for a time, before him. Others, over the years. The fun times, and the sad. Just life, the same as any woman's -- good parts, and bad. For all of where I ended up, I can't really say I regretted much of it...

Much of what we talked about is not mine to repeat. About all I will say is, post surgical depression is a tricky thing that sneaks up on many transitioners, for many different reasons. Just something to watch out for... and something that makes it always for the best to have planned out goals for life *after*, as well as how to get *to*, surgery...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 09:18.

Amber had taken Kristine off for an appointment somewhere... and Angela was still resting, albeit somewhat uncomfortably. She wanted to be alone, again... and right now, that was fine by me. I really needed some alone time, myself, right now.

I know it's a bit of a cliché, but I have always enjoyed relaxing in a bubble-bath. Or even just a nice long soak in a regular hot bath, if I don't have anything to put in the tub... as was the case at the moment. Actually, I rarely take showers, if I have a choice... it takes a bit longer to run a bath, but I have always felt that it was worth it.

I wish I could say I was just happy to have helped, with Kristine... and I suppose, on some level, I actually *am*. But...I am human, after all... and there are limits to what I can do. How much I can handle. In an emergency, I just do what needs to be done. Whatever it takes. But afterwards, alone? When I can think about everything at my leisure, as now, relaxing in a bath?

Much to my regret, the thought that was actually running through my mind was,  «I'm so *tired* of all this. I'm not Supergirl. I've barely got my own act together... can barely deal with what's on my own plate right now... and I have to deal with all *this*, too? »

Not something I am particularly proud of thinking... but there it is...

I am human... and humans can be rather self-centred occasionally. Including me.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 20:35.

Fall weather can vary a fair amount, from year to year, in northern Canada. Well, actually, I suppose that is true in most parts of the world... but that isn't really my point. Which is simply that some years, we may not see snow till almost mid-winter... and other years, it can come as early as late August. Still, usually early snowfalls are only temporary, and quickly melt away again. But eventually, we get a larger snowfall... and winter is here to stay a while...

I wasn't sure yet, about today's snowfall. There was a fair amount of it... but it was fairly 'moist' snow. Big flakes, softly drifting down from a nearly windless sky. Many of the native trees had shed their leaves earlier in the fall... but in the city, there are also many imported trees as well, which often wait until after the snow comes to drop their leaves. Perhaps not the best state of affairs, from an evolutionary point of view -- the leaves sometimes trap too much snow, breaking branches and harming the tree -- but from an aesthetic view... well... it was very lovely, this evening.

The sun had set a couple hours earlier, in the rapidly shortening days of a northern fall... but the city is large enough that it gives off considerable "sky glow". Lights from the city reflecting off the clouds, and even off the snowflakes themselves... a sort of diffuse illumination, that created an almost ethereal effect. So beautiful...

There wasn't really all that much snow accumulated on the ground -- it was barely ankle deep, really. But pristine white... covering everything. Hiding all the little uglinesses of our modern world... coating the tree branches, the shrubs... even helping the parked cars to blend in, and seem more a part of nature.

Near the shelter is an older residential neighbourhood, tucked away behind the high-rise apartments. A neighbourhood with somewhat narrow, tree lined streets... where the tree branches more or less occlude the sky -- even when not coated with snow. Tonight, they were soft white arches of frost and snow... a tunnel of white, nature surrounding myself.

I suppose I really had no business being out here. Being a woman walking alone in the dark is not a wise thing to do. But as troubled as I had been the last few days, I really felt a need for this alone time... a need to centre myself in nature again. A city street was not exactly ideal for that... but this night just felt special. Peaceful. Quiet. No one else in sight... my tracks alone in the otherwise unmarred sea of white. The beginning of a new day... and a chance for myself to re-charge...

The beginning of a new day? The Old Religion dates from an earlier era than Christianity. Much earlier. Some archaeological evidence points back at least thirty thousand years... although those origins are mostly lost in time, and more 'modern' traditions largely come from Celtic origins. A time when the new day began with sunset, rather than midnight. When all daylight hours were needed simply for the activities of survival... and rituals were, of practical necessity, usually conducted *after* it was too dark to work in the fields. Part of why things like Samhain are celebrated on the evening *before* what most modern people would consider the date to be. Why the 'witches' of Halloween come out on All Hallows Eve, rather than the following day. Samhain falls on what the Christian calendar calls November first... but for a wicce, November first starts at dusk on October thirty first...

Not that Samhain is entirely the same as Halloween, anyway. Halloween probably draws as much or more from the Roman Parentalia... the 'Festival of the Dead'. The End of Summer... and the start of Winter. The beginning of the new year, for Wicce. A Spirit Night, one of two... a time when the Thin Veil between the worlds is lifted. When the spirits of the dead are abroad, seeking their way through the veil from this world to the Summerlands...

Whatever. More amusingly, it is also a night when the Wee Folke and nature spirits were believed to be abroad... which in earlier times, resulted in some interesting traditions. Travelling after dark was not recommended, and if one *had* to do so, the best defence against the spirits was simply not to be noticed. Disguises, in other words. Dressing in white... like ghosts. Or nature costumes, made of straw. Or as another way to fool nature spirits, dressing as the opposite gender -- which was once quite commonly done, on this particular night. Smile.

Of more interest to me at the moment, though, was another aspect of Samhain... the Third Harvest. A time of the Dark Mysteries... and symbolic of the end of the Wiccan year, the Rebirth through Death...

But that is also getting a little too metaphysical for my present thoughts. Suffice it to say, in the Wiccan calendar, Samhain is a time when the previous year *ends*... and the new year begins. An ending I was all too ready to see... and the dawning of a new year also something I looked forward to. This past year had *not* been a lot of fun... I could only hope the new one would be better...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 08:43.

One of the central concepts of Wicca revolves around the idea of accepting responsibility for your own actions. Not important... but... it has always made it hard for me to accept help from others. I enjoy helping others... but accepting help, myself? It's almost like doing so is to admit failure...

But I am human... and there are limits to how much I can deal with. Limits that the previous weekend had surpassed. Someone who is themselves very close to the edge has no business attempting to talk down someone even more suicidal -- it only serves to loosen the last fingernail anchors on sanity...

I had done some rather serious thinking, while walking last night. Reflecting on all my troubles. Group sessions at WELCoS had helped... let me hold things together... but there comes a time when that metaphorical last straw gets to be just that little bit too much.

"Can I help you?" the school administrative clerk asked.

"Yes... I... in our classes, they mentioned that there is a professional rape counsellor available for free sessions, here on the staff. And... that we could... could ask for help?"

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 18:48.

"Hey Avery, how did the wedding go last week?"

"It went perfect, thank you so-o-o much. I used some of the money your loan saved me to have your dress cleaned... it should be ready later this week. But I just wanted to, like, thank you tonight. And to let you know that I won a couple tickets from a local radio station. And, well, I was wondering if you might want to, like, go with me... are you busy on Saturday night?"

She held up her hands, almost defensively, between us. "Not like a date or anything, ya know? Just a couple friends going to a show -- it's supposed to be a *very* strange, but very kewl, performance..."

"Err... not really, I suppose. What sort of tickets are they?"

"It's called the Rocky Horror Picture Show... some sort of cult classic movie thingie that they show every year around Halloween, at a local community theatre. I haven't been there, but from the chatter on the radio, I gather that it can be, like, a *lot* of fun."

I found myself fighting to suppress a really big, wicked grin, that was threatening to bubble up. "That it is... I went to a showing a long time ago, when I was a university student. I don't know if this one will be anything like *that* experience... but... fun is definitely one way to describe that strange evening..."

 «I wonder if I should warn her what she is getting into? Although... the first time I went, I had not a clue -- and that made it all the more fun... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 16:40.

There are quite a few odd items that have accumulated in my wardrobe over the years... bits and pieces acquired for many odd reasons. Which I suppose vaguely explains just why I actually already owned a real, 'high end' black leather 'merry widow' corset, complete with steel boning -- which allows you to really cinch the thing down for a wicked looking waist-line. A rather racy thing, what with its full length zipper down the front -- allowing for a truly "plunging" neckline -- and with it's matching G-string "wet look" black leather panty, and built-in garter belt hooks. Most definitely *not* the sort of thing I would _normally_ even *think* about wearing out in public... although my most recent ex, Alex, had liked it, back when he bought it for me...

Of course, as anyone knows who has ever seen the movie... the Rocky Horror Picture Show is *not* anything even approaching 'normal'. Grin. Which might explain why I was currently in a dollar store, looking for a few items that I don't normally keep in my wardrobe... such as fishnet stockings. Halloween can be a fun time of year to go shopping -- stores sometimes carry the oddest things, for use in people's costumes...

 «Speaking of which... that costume I bought doesn't include the broom shown on the package illustration. But that silly, gold glitter covered "witch's broom" looks like it would go well with the outfit... and it is really inexpensive, too. Hmm. I'm not so sure about the rubber full-face mask that goes with it, though -- who would want to have a long, bent nose... with a wart on it, no less? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 06:24.

After so many months of physio, it gets really boring doing the same simple exercises over and over again... although the pain those exercises inflict *does* tend to distract you from the boredom. But lately, for the last week or so, the pain had been getting a lot more manageable. This morning, I had actually managed to do the entire set of exercises *without* it hurting. Well, almost. Let's just say, with only minor discomfort... which is such a huge contrast from the previous state of affairs, that it felt like no pain at all...

 «I'm learning a lot at WELCoS... I almost hate to cut my time there short. But maybe it is time that I started looking for work again. Get a job again... some sort of light work, that will let my shoulder continue to heal. A real income. Start pulling myself back onto my own feet. From what I have seen others go through, it won't be easy, or quick... but it *can* be done... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 23:28.

"Hi, Avery. Ready to go?"

"Umm, pretty much. I just need to drop my daughter off with Nasrine, who said she would keep her tonight with her own little one." She tilted her head, obviously noticing the fishnet stockings and extremely high heels... even if my long coat hid the rest of my outfit. "Umm, are the jeans I'm wearing going to be okay, or should I dress up a bit more?"

I found myself having to hide a grin again. "Jeans are fine. No one actually *has* to dress up for this show... although if you *want* to, well, you can go pretty wild without looking out of place. But it is a pretty specific sort of look that you need to go with, if you are going to do that -- for someone who doesn't know what to expect, it might be best if you just went 'normal'..."

My grin did slip a little, though, at the thought of *actually* going somewhere dressed as 'sexy' as this. Once, I might not have given it much thought. But lately? I had learned fear of the night... although I was determined *not* to let that stop me, tonight.  «Face your fears, girl! »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 23:50.

That grin was only getting harder to hide, as Avery's eyes kept getting bigger, looking at some of the costumes around us. The line outside the theatre was moving slowly... not really surprising, since they were searching handbags and things, before admitting people. Not for *real* weapons, mind you -- it wasn't *that* sort of scene. But while rice, toast, and newspapers were items they didn't care about... the theatre drew the line at squirt-guns or other sources of water. A safety hazard... the floors had gotten *very* slippery, as I recalled, during the other show I had been to so many years ago...

Her eyes only got bigger yet, when we got inside... and my own overcoat finally came off. Grin.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 01:55.

What can I tell you about that show, if you have never been? Just that there is a very good reason that it is the longest running movie ever produced -- still occasionally in theatres more than three decades after being released. If you just rent the video, you have a much better view than you get in the theatre -- but you miss out on so much of the fun. The audience costume contest. The performer's on the stage in front of the screen, lampooning the actual movie. The rice thrown about, in the wedding scene. The toast... the newspapers. Dancing The Time Warp with the rest of the audience. All of it...

Children under fourteen are not allowed, at least in Canada... but the audience is mostly young. A few older people, still enjoying a show from their youth... but mostly college kids or younger. A whole new generation, who were not even born when this movie was produced. People told by older friends... siblings... even parents, these days... to go check this thing out.

It's a fun time. How many occasions *are* there, for someone to wander around in public in a merry widow costume, dressed as a 'sweet transvestite from Transsexual Transylvania', *without* people thinking they are strange? Well, no stranger than the *rest* of the audience, anyway...

 «Although these days, I tend to identify much more with Magenta or Columbia, than when I first saw this thing as a transgendered kid... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 02:15.

"Wow. That was certainly different. I mean... I sort of knew what I was getting into, from what they said on the radio when they gave the tickets away... but..."

"Did you like it?"

"Oh yeah! I mean, I knew about you, from what Angela has told me... which is why I thought you might like to go, when I won the tickets... but I thought it was just going to be a way of saying thank you to you. That I would be bored. Which certainly was not the case!"

 «Oh, crap. I think I am going to have to have a little talk with Angela. This is why it's never a great idea for someone stealth to let people 'in on the secret'... you never know just who they will decide to tell as well... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 14:20.

Another half-day -- which were mostly scheduled on Fridays, but not always -- and more errands to run... although this particular one was starting to seem repetitive. I had been told to go back for follow-up testing for HIV in the last week of October... so I was back here, one more time. The Rape Clinic... which was almost starting to seem like just another doctor's appointment to me. Almost.

For three months now, I had been worrying about this. I obviously had not had to deal with the anxiety of possibly getting pregnant from that 'incident'... but disease? That had been a real possibility, and one I had tried hard not to think about...

The test itself was almost routine, now. Unfortunately... as usual, they had told me it would be about twenty four hours before I would be called with the results...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 15:22.

"Crystal? Is that you?"

I glanced around from where I was watching the city bus approaching the stop I was waiting at, still downtown near the clinic, to find Coral paused on the sidewalk beside me. I forced myself to be polite. "Err, hello, Coral. It's been a while... how are you?"

She gave me a big smile. "Oh, my husband and I are doing quite well, thank you. It's good to see you out and about, without a sling. For a while, I was a bit worried about you -- I am so glad to see that it all worked out for the best. That our pushing you out of the nest has gotten you back on your feet again, financially... the way I had hoped it would... and away from that dreadful Welfare thingie you were thinking of doing..."

As I momentarily reflected on everything that had happened in recent months, I found myself thinking,  «You are making some mighty big assumptions based just on how I am dressed and look at the moment, lady. But... what can I say, to someone so obviously utterly *clueless* about what she has done to me? »

I just gave her a tight, cold smile... then without looking back, boarded the bus.

 «It's funny, really. Everyone is the hero in their own personal world... and few people stop to think of themselves as a potential villain in some else's story... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 08:55.

Catching the instructor at the door, I quietly asked her, "Shyla? I know it is normal policy that cell-phones must be turned off for classes... but I am expecting some medical results today...?"

After giving me a hard, searching look into my eyes, she chewed on her lower lip for a moment. "Please switch it to 'vibrate', and step out of the class when you get your call..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 11:25.

Slipping into the hallway, I glanced again at the call display... which was saying that this call was, indeed, from the hospital that the Rape Clinic was located in.

After the usual greetings and my identifying myself to the clerk, she finally got around to what I was waiting to hear. What I had been waiting to hear for three months now... three very long months, of wondering if I would be forever haunted with a physical reminder of that fateful night...

"I have some good news for you Crystal. The results of your HIV test came back negative, again. This is only the three month test... which is only about ninety seven percent accurate... but for most practical purposes, I think it is safe to say you are clear. If you want to be one hundred percent certain, you should have one final test in another three to six months, whatever is convenient... but that is just a formality, really. You are going to be okay..."

The long, secret terror of mine was over. Or at least, one of them...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 18:

Late October, Saturday, 17:05.

"Hey Crystal, ya have any plans for tonight?"

I smiled at Angela. "Not really, no. I was sort of toying with the idea of going out to a club I know nearby... maybe celebrating a tiny bit, since I know many nightclubs are doing Halloween parties this weekend -- even though Halloween isn't, technically, for a couple days yet. But... it was just a thought. Why? Did you have something else in mind?"

She gave a sort of rueful shrug. "Not really, either. I just am going crazy sitting around the apartment, thinking about things best forgotten... ya know? Actually, going out for a bit sounds like a good idea..."

"Are you sure you are up to dancing, or whatever?"

She shrugged, more dismissively this time. "Yeah, no problem. I stopped bleeding a couple days ago... and other than that, I felt okay several days before that. I might take it a bit easy, but..."

"Kewl. I think they are doing a costume night tonight, at the place I am thinking of... I have one already, but do you have anything to wear?"

She sort of puffed her breath out, in a short sigh. "Err... no. Do ya think I really need one?"

"Umm... well, not *need* one... but... you might feel a bit out of place...". I paused for a moment, before continuing, "Although, maybe you could ask Avery if she has something -- I think she was planning to take her daughter out trick-or-treating, so she might have one..."

She looked sceptical. "Avery? Her daughter is what... about a year? Way too young to remember, or have a clue what is going on..."

It was my turn to shrug. "Hey, I didn't say she *should* be doing that... just that I think she *is* planning to do that... and she does sort of owe me a favour right now, if you are worried about imposing on her..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 17:45.

I had to suppress a grin, as I watched Angela try the "she-devil" costume on.  «Jeez, Angela is shorter than either myself or Avery -- given how close to indecently short that costume dress is on Angela, I *really* hope Avery is planning to wear conservative panties with it... »

Angela turned sideways, looking at herself in the closet door mirror... before turning to me with a rather dubious expression. "Umm, are you sure this is going to be okay?"

I let my grin escape. "Nope. Not at all. So? Have a little fun, girl... and just remember -- *do not* bend over to pick anything up tonight..."

She just laughed, briefly and self-consciously, while rolling her eyes at me. Then went back to looking doubtfully at herself in the mirror...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 18:40.

"Whoa. Does *that* ever look different..."

While in the dollar store a week back, I had also purchased a cheap package of single use, black, wash out hair die... which really made for a dramatic change from my usual blonde hair...

 «Hmm. I'll need to go darker on my makeup tonight... and maybe use a black eyeliner to darken my brows as well. I was thinking of wearing the witch's mask, but I may not have it on all the time... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 21:48.

"Well, what do you think of the totally effect, Angela? 'Better than mortal man deserves', or what?"

"Pretty hot, witchy woman." She winked, then added, "Although you might want to stay away from any Terminator costumes, with that line..."

I blinked.  «Wow! She actually *got* it. Way to go, Angela! »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 22:16.

I would be lying if I did not admit that I was nervous, as we parked at the nightclub. It was the same "safe" club as I had taken Michelle to, several months back... but this time, I did not have the distraction of my concern for her to keep me from noticing my own fears.

"What's wrong, Crystal?"

I smiled, sheepishly. "Just silly old fears, spooking at nothing much. It's sort of the first real time I went clubbing, since that thing back in July..."

She reached out and squeezed my hand for a minute, before we exited the car.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 22:37.

I felt a cold shiver pass up my spine, as I saw someone who looked vaguely familiar.  «Don't be ridiculous, girl. What are the odds one of *them* would be *here*, tonight? You are just spooking at shadows, again... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 23:04.

With a grimace, I peeled off the silly mask.  «That thing's too hot to wear in here... at least, most of the time. Maybe I will put it back on, later... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 22:48.

It can sometimes be *really* strange, when you are truly passable. I think I have mentioned that this particular club is GLBT friendly, even if mostly straight. That sometimes, you will find either Drag Queens or Cross Dressers, here. Apparently, on the weekend before Halloween at least, more than just ghosts and goblins come out: there seemed to be a *lot* more than just a couple trans-folk roaming around tonight...

Take the pair chatting in front of me, for example. Angela and I had actually been joking around with one of them... an older CD, maybe fifty-ish, who seemed to take cross-dressing seriously enough to at least try being passable... when another one approached her. From the conversation they were having, I gathered that the new one -- who really seemed to be a 'newbie' at all this -- had mistaken the CD for a transsexual. A *post op* transsexual, at that... although I am not sure exactly why -- perhaps it was just that she was a lot more passable than the average of the various 'obvious' trans-people here tonight, although still fairly easily clocked.

All this was unusual enough to be mildly weird for me... but the kicker? The newbie TS seemed to want advice on what it was like to have a sex change operation... all the usual sort of things that early transitioners want to talk about it. I could see that the CD was trying to be diplomatic... answering as best she could, about something she really wasn't that familiar with... but losing her patience, as the TS didn't seem to get the hints that were being dropped. Which is when I, perhaps foolishly, tried to interject a few comments -- answering some of questions, pretending it was just something I had read somewhere.

It didn't work. The TS completely ignored me, making a show of turning her back to me while continuing to talk to the CD.  «What could a 'natal' woman like me *possibly* know about those particular topics, anyway? »

After a moment or two, I just rolled my eyes, and went back to talking with Angela.

 «Her loss... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 23:55.

"Okay everyone, it's almost the Witching Hour... and time for our 'Best Costume' contest. If everyone wearing a costume that wants to enter would please make their way out onto the dance floor, please..."

Ignoring the idiocy about the time, I looked at Angela. "You interested? I think the sign at the door said the prize was something like fifty bucks... which would be useful..."

She half-smirked, rolling her eyes. "Sure, why not."

Sensing a momentary sadness passing through her at some stray thought, I gently squeezed her hand before adding, "That's the spirit, girl. Let's give it a try, at least..."

Donning my mask, I followed her onto the floor.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 00:08.

Perhaps not surprisingly, given that she was in a borrowed costume that was too small for her, Angela had not made the first cut... but somewhat to my surprise, I had. Not that anyone here tonight had really gone 'all out' with their costumes... so maybe that was why I was still in the running. Although I suppose my visible cleavage may have also had something to do with the (male) judges votes...

 «Sexist twits. Although I suppose under the circumstances, maybe I should just go with it... »

A thought that had more than a little to do with my deciding to really turn it on heavy, flirting with the audience and judges, when it was my turn to walk around the dance floor. Which in turn possibly had more than a little to do with my winning second prize -- it wasn't *that* great of a costume...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 00:29.

Coming out of the lady's room in the back of the club, I was debating removing my mask again, when I noticed the group of guys by one of the pool tables. And one guy in particular... the same one that had vaguely caught my eye earlier, although I had not gotten a good look at him then.

 «Luke?! »

Some witches feel that rituals must be performed precisely as written, or risk dire consequences. Others believe that it is more important what is in your mind and spirit, while you are performing a ritual, than the precise details of what you do. Personally, I tend to subscribe to the later approach...

So even though I had made no preparations... was missing some items, and frozen in my tracks rather than walking a Circle... I found myself intoning familiar words, once again...

"...Ni yish enki bel gimri lu tamatunu
Ni yish marduk mashmash ilani lu tamatunu
Ni yish gishbar qumikunu lu tamatunu
Ina zumri ya lu yu tapparrasama!"

~ * ~ * ~

Luke casually noticed that his drink was empty, as he went to pick it up after missing his shot at the pool table. With a shrug, he turned away, about to head towards the bar... when he noticed a chick in a sexy witch's costume staring at him, seemingly mumbling something under her breath.

With a bit of a leer, he thought,  «Wonder what's her problem? Though I wish she'd lose the mask -- she looks like she might be *hot*, without it... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

		Summer's End Part 9 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART IX: Rebirth

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Coming out of the lady's room in the back of the club, I was debating removing my mask again, when I noticed the group of guys by one of the pool tables. And one guy in particular... the same one that had vaguely caught my eye earlier, although I had not gotten a good look at him then.

 «Luke?! »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Chapter 19:

Late October, Sunday, 00:30.

"Crystal? Crystal?! What's wrong...? You look like you've just seen a ghost..."

In a very small voice, I said, "Angela? Do you see those guys over there... hanging out by the pool table? Especially the guy walking away towards the bar?"

She looked, then turned back to me with an inquiring expression.

"It's Luke, Michelle. One of the guys from that night... back in July."

Rage flashed across her face, as she started towards him... her hands contracting into hard fists. "I'll kill him!"

For just a brief moment, the insanity of petite Angela attempting to kill someone Luke's size with her bare hands made me smile... although it quickly faded away.  «Whoa. Where did *that* come from? A bit of bottled up rage from her own abuse? Funny... threaten *her*, and she will just take it. Threaten someone *else* that she cares about, though... and watch out for her temper! »

I started, reaching out for her arm. "NO! Wait, Angela! That wasn't what I meant, at *all*. Please don't do anything rash..."

For a timeless moment, our eyes locked with each others... before she broke her vision away from mine, and stopped pulling against my arm. "But... what... do you want me to call the cops?"

"Please, no... I just was wondering if you could... like... keep an _eye_ on me, for a few minutes? I want... no. I *need* to go talk to him for just a bit, okay? And while I *don't* want you to come with me... I would sort of feel better, if I knew you were watching...?"

I could tell from the look in her eyes, that she had serious doubts about letting me do that... although all she said was, "Are you *sure* you wanna do that?"

"Yes Angela, it is something I *have* to do..."

 «Face your fears, girl. You need to do this, if you are going to get past this... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 00:33.

My hands were quivering slightly, as they tend to do when adrenalin is really pounding in my veins... which no doubt also explained the racing of my heart, and my shortness of breath. Standing only a few feet behind him near the bar, I tried to speak... but could not, as dry as my mouth had become, with what felt like a huge knot in my thoat.

Finally, after clearing my throat more than once, I managed to softly call out, "Luke? Is that you?"

I had almost given up... thought he had either not heard me over the club's music, or else it was not really Luke. But just as I was getting ready to back away... he turned to face me. For a moment, he just looked puzzled... before letting a smile spread over his face.

"Well hello, honey. Do I know you?"

Belatedly remembering the witch's mask I was wearing, I reached up and pulled that off over my head.  «Ouch. Idiot. Next time use your *left* arm... »

His smile slowly faded, as if he were trying to place me. Not surprising, I suppose -- the black hair dye and witch's costume no doubt had really changed my appearance.

"Remember me, Luke? The girl in the red and black dress, from that night back in July?"

He started to shake his head 'no'... then froze, his eyes and nostrils flaring just a tiny bit. Recognition. His friendly expression briefly flashed something else... panic?... then hardened into a firmer head-shake, and a frown.

"Lady, I have _no_ idea who you are... I don't think we've ever met." The faint glistening of thin, instant sweat on his brow, suggested otherwise...

A forced, coldly dubious smile flickered over my own face for a moment, as I just looked at him... hard. "Really. That's funny... despite the drugs I was given that night, I still remember *you* just fine..."

Perhaps a mistake, mentioning drugs. He simply sneered, "Sorry, I don't do drugs... and I don't hang with those who do. Why don't you just go shoot up somewhere, and stop bothering me..."

Rolling my eyes slightly, I bit back several cutting replies that flashed through my mind... settling instead on just giving my head a small shake, then saying simply, "Luke? Just chill, okay? I'm not here to make a scene... or call the cops. I just wanted to say, 'Thank you', for what you tried to do that night..."

 «Okay, *that* took the wind out of his sails... »

He visibly swallowed, goldfishing for a moment as he tried to find words... *any* words. "I'm... sorry. I mean, *really* sorry. I wasn't there... but I heard what happened, later on. I *knew* what they were going to do... *had* done to you... but... I hafta *work* with those guys, every day -- in a job where accidents happen *real* easily. Sometimes, fatal accidents. I just... I mean... "

Words failed him again, although the look in his eyes said volumes more.

With a slightly shaky breath, I forced a tremulous smile. "It's okay, really. I understand."

I looked down for a bit, before fixing him with my eyes again. "I only wish I had accepted your offer, and gone with you instead..."

I shrugged, then walked away. Although I would be lying if I did not admit that something horrid was crawling up my spine, the whole time my back was turned to him...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Sunday, 00:38.

As I walked back towards the bar corner where Angela was waiting... looking more and more confused, as I walked away from Luke.

"Crystal? What gives?!"

"What? You were expecting me to maybe cast some sort of spell on him, or something? Turn him into a frog, or maybe a woman -- who might have to actually experience what they put me through? Please... I wouldn't wish *that* fate on my worst enemy..."

I just shook my head, while idly reaching for the bar tray of free nibbles. As an aside, I interjected, "Umm, have you tried one of these little red fish? They're quite tasty..."

Giving my head another shake, I returned to my prior point. "Real magic doesn't work like that, Angela. Wicca is a very personalized faith... and I know what I am about to say doesn't apply to all wicce, but for me... it's just rituals... ways of focusing _myself_, to aid myself in accomplishing things. For example, a couple times lately I have worked an ancient spell... a charm against Demons in the Night. I don't *really* believe in demons, though. It's just a metaphor... a way of talking to my own subconscious mind, coping with my nightmares. A psychological trick, to help me set my fears behind me, and function better."

Staring off into the distance, I added, "Besides... even for those Wicce who *do* believe that magic is more than that... being Wicce is not about casting curses and things -- regardless of any Halloween stories you might have read. Wicce believe in the 'Law of Three' karmic return -- that when you cast something like that, it will come back at you three times worse. A curse is *not* something *any* witch would lightly cast... although sometimes it is necessary to sacrifice oneself for the greater good..."

Pausing for a shaky breath, I added. "Over the centuries, many practitioners of the Craft were healers... mid-wives... that sort of thing. The Path is something each person defines for themselves... so what I am about to say may not apply to everyone... but for me, it is more about achieving harmony and balance within nature... and yourself. 'Thou art goddess.' Witches do not worship a 'supreme being', whether good *or* bad. They believe in a single power that is composed of *everything*, and *everybody*. A supreme energy force that does not rule over the Universe -- it *is* the universe... and everything in it." I snorted. "Sort of what George Lucas was probably basing his ideas on, for his modern-day 'force', from Star Wars. Whatever. I'm preaching, and Wicca is not a faith that ever looks for converts... it's believers come to it of their own volition, not because someone tried to convince them to follow this path..."

I paused for a bit again, thinking. "Even if magic *did* work like that... why would I bother? When I was a child, my youngest sibling was murdered... and the case is still official open, regardless of what some of my family thinks might have happened. And as the youngest surviving child, my older brothers did not even share their thoughts with me, until many years later -- I grew up simply not having a clue who killed my sibling. So many people talk about how they 'need' someone to be punished, before they can experience 'closure'... but that does not match my own experience. I mourned my sibling for a while... and then I simply moved on. *Without* anyone ever being charged with my sibling's death, or knowing who did it."

I flared my eyes a bit for emphasis, looking at her. "Closure is something that comes from *within* you... not from external events. Punishing someone else might be necessary from a societal point of view... but you should never *depend* on it, *counting* on it to somehow make you feel better. If you do, you are just setting yourself up for disappointment. Punishing *yourself* far more than the criminal..."

I chewed on my lower lip for a moment. "It's the same thing with this rape. Soon after it happened, a man told me: 'There is nothing you can do about it, now. It's over. Just forget it, and move on.' At the time, I was extremely hurt by that... *infuriated* that he could be that insensitive. But much as I hate to admit it... he was right. Or at least, partly right. You never really forget... but you *do* have to move on with your life. Dwelling on these things accomplishes nothing except to keep yourself hurting, *years* after you should have healed.

"That was what tonight was about, for me. Why I felt I had to talk to Luke. Closure. Will they ever be punished? Who cares? I don't. I suppose a part of me hopes karma will eventually catch up to these characters, if only so that they can't hurt anyone else... but whatever happens, it won't really help me in the slightest. It's better I simply set this all aside, and move on..."

I smiled, slightly. "Besides... Luke was never the really evil one. I suppose he might have tried a little harder to rescue me, than he did... but really, his only crime was to stand back and let the others get away with their plan. I am more thankful that he even *tried* to help, even if unsuccessfully, rather than feel he should be punished for not trying harder."

My wistful smile turned into a hard grin. "Now the _other_ guys... *those* I would shed no tears for, if they accidentally stepped in front of bus. But Luke... Luke I can understand."

With a slight toss of my head towards the dance floor, I added, "Come on... let's go have some fun. Life is too short to waste it dwelling on the past..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Year's End (Samhain), October 31, nightfall.

Angela was away this evening... visiting with her children. As I knelt alone in our darkened living room, I lit a single candle... placing it on the window sill. Although it has absolutely nothing to do with Wiccan traditions, on quiet moments like this there is a passage I sometimes like to read and reflect on. Science fiction, from an episode of an old television series... the words were originally from a short speech by a character from Babylon 5, "Ambassador Delenn", given on the eve of war:

"What does the Candle Represent?"

Life, all life, every life.

We are all born as molecules in the hearts of a billion stars.

Molecules that do not understand politics, and policies, and differences.

Over a billion years, we foolish molecules forget who we are, and where we come from.

In desperate acts of ego, we give ourselves names, fight over lines on maps,
and pretend that our light is better than everyone else's.

But the flame reminds us of the piece of those stars that lives on inside us,
the spark that tells us "You should know better."

The flame also reminds us that life is precious, as each flame is unique,
and when it goes out, it's gone forever...
and there will never be another quite like it.

So many candles will go out tonight, I wonder sometimes,
if we can see anything at all.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Epilogue:

I have lost track of Michelle, in the years since these events happened. The last I heard, she had made it off the streets... and was working as an accountant, happily married to the man I introduced her to. She will probably never pass well enough to go stealth... but that doesn't matter. She *has* learned how to behave, such that other women accept her... and has found her niche in life, where she is socially accepted.

Kristine was always more Michelle's friend than mine. I never knew her phone number... so I lost track of her even sooner, barely a few months later, when she left the shelter without saying good-bye to me. Sometimes I wonder if she made it, or not... but I doubt I will ever know.

Angela? I also don't really know... she was never one for writing, or returning phone calls. I lost track of her, too... much sooner than Michelle. I know her decision to have an abortion haunted her for a long time, afterwards, despite her being convinced it was the right thing to do. All I can say is, the last I heard, she was still trying hard to stay clean... and it looked like she was going to make it.

Myself? It took me another ten months before I left that shelter for the last time... but eventually, I was able to do so, and move to another community -- where I was able to return to living 'stealth'. With the help of a government grant, I eventually went back to medical school, before working in a Children's Hospital for a time... until the constant tragedies of sick children dying grew too much for me to bear. After that, I went back to an earlier calling of mine, working with special needs and gifted school children. Socially, I eventually met a wonderful older man, and now I am happily married to him... with two step-daughters from his first marriage... a new car... and a house with a white picket fence.

My shoulder? That never really fully healed... I guess I just damaged it too much, too often, during those eventful months when I was forced to use it w-a-y too much. Oh, well. At least now that I am married, it is not a problem to get help undressing, on bad days when my shoulder flares up yet again. Smile. Although my husband never fails to extract a 'toll' for his help... much to our mutual fun.

Life is never "happily ever after", of course. I have faced many new challenges in the years since that fateful summer and fall... but that is only to be expected... and that is another story.

Never give up on your dreams, no matter how bad things get. *Make* them come true.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Author's Afterword: Although this story is loosely based on a highly fictionalized combination of the experiences of several real people... as many readers have probably guessed, many parts of this come from my own personal memories of that troubling time -- with a few major embellishments added just for fun. Embellishments such as my pretending (both as 'Crystal' in parts of this story, and in my comments while posting this story) to be a witch. Grin. I played around with Wicca in my youth folks... and still remember a fair bit about it. I even still try to live by some of its values. But... my pretending to actually *be* a witch was just a Halloween Trick, done in search of a Treat...

Some of the characters portrayed in this are at least partly based on real people... others are entirely fictional. Most of the names used in this story have been changed... but not all. Luke? Are you out there? If you read this... thanks again, for what you tried to do...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Good night, all. Sweet Dreams.

Sherry Lynn Hawke

~ Finis ~