Changing Sam
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by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad
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(Photo courtesy of wikipedia)
“A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, there might have been life forms so unlike ours that we wouldn’t recognise them as such. Ours is carbon based because carbon forms so many complex molecules it enables polymers to form which become what we call proteins, once these developed a way to reproduce themselves life occurred and once those proteins formed as DNA, more complex life forms could happen. There are actually only four...” the teacher droned on and on and lost increasing numbers of his class to torpor or ennui.
One of these children was a boy called Sam. He was in a strange sort of place, almost in a dream and therefore long lost to the teacher, but still awake and looking, no analysing Amanda, her hair, her clothes, her makeup, her gesture. It was almost as if he was trying to absorb her into his being, so intense was his stare. Fortunately she didn’t notice, neither did any of her friends, which was lucky for Sam because he was seen as weird by his contemporaries. He was a loner and at fourteen was still to engage with puberty–he was thus without acne or growth spurts, deep or breaking voice and facial fluff.
After what seemed like a lifetime of trying to belong and being rejected, he accepted that he was different. He didn’t like it, he was at times lonely, but as his overtures to others over the years had resulted in him being bashed or insulted, he was getting used to it. It meant he couldn’t play team games by himself but he could now game courtesy of the internet and then he could join in because he was sure many of the other geeks or nerds were loners as well.
Sam was of a laid-back disposition, so he wouldn’t one day let his resentment boil over and murder half the school, besides he hated guns and violence and had no interest in making bombs or finding out how to. Computers and electronic musical instruments were his bag and he had a keyboard and various gadgets at home. He never brought much to school, though one day because someone had really pissed him off, he jammed their mobile phone while they were texting their girlfriend, Sam then changed the text to something less romantic and nearly wet himself when the girl slapped the boy and stormed off in a huff. Sam had shown his capability but could share it with no one–his moment of triumph was uncelebrated–he was a real loner.
Sam was an only child, again not something which assists the development of relationships and he’d spend hours either on his computer, playing games, or his keyboards or trying to find stories about boys who became girls. Sam desperately wished he was a girl, and a pretty one like Amanda–although he didn’t like her, she could be spiteful and bitchy and treated him like something she’d stepped in, he was envious of her body, her hair and everything else about her.
His parents were quite generous and didn’t question too much what he did. They were both busy–his mother was an accountant and his father an engineering consultant–so money was no problem so long as he didn’t get greedy. The big things he had, his computer and keyboard were Christmas or birthday presents or he built them himself buying the components as he could afford them. The computer he had now was ten times as good as the one his parents had bought him, modified by Sam as his know-how improved and his savings to acquire the bits.
When he saw the films on youtube about using makeup or masking ones maleness to appear female he had to have a go and instead of buying computer parts ordered some makeup from ebay–he wondered with practice would he be able to copy Amanda’s look which he saw as kewl. Because his parents were out before him and back afterwards, Sam usually took delivery of things or cycled down the post office depot to collect undelivered things. He wasn’t geeky about bikes, it was means of transport only and only for another three years, then he could get a car, even if he had to work in supermarket or someplace to get the money for the driving lessons.
When he got his delivery of cosmetics, he was overjoyed then realised he had nothing to remove them with, so he had to make a trip to the local pharmacy to get some makeup remover. With his longish hair and small size, the old man behind the counter assumed he was a girl and addressed him as such which caused a little shiver to go up his spine.
For the next few weeks, at every spare moment, Sam would play with makeup trying to get as close to the look that Amanda had. He even took surreptitious photos which he’d blow up on his computer to analyse it in even greater detail. Then he’d sit playing games as his alter ego, Samantha and no one online questioned his gender as anything other than female. It made school tolerable.
He discovered Amanda painted her toenails, so he did the same with a similar colour. He began to buy lingerie online and occasionally wore it under his uniform, the risk of being discovered almost making his heart stop at times. He was disappointed that Amanda seemed to be sprouting quite a chest and hips although her waist remained small. He so wanted to do the same but how?
He read loads online about hormones but where would he get them without a prescription. They were potentially dangerous drugs but he so badly wanted tits that he was prepared to take some risks. His first risk was in stealing his mother’s contraceptive pills. She was rather casual with them and he managed to snaffle a couple of month’s worth. He was sure at the end his nipples were bigger and more sensitive. To protect them from his shirts and potential jogger’s nipple, he would stick plasters or tape over them. It also meant he wouldn’t get noticed in school.
He didn’t do games or gym, the school having a policy of pupils opting out and doing extra lessons in something else–he did physics and maths.
The pills coupled with his strict diet did in fact mean he lost weight around his waist, so much so, his trousers used to slip down to his hips which gave a real danger to showing his panties or if he was wearing them, tights. He even went down a size in boy’s trousers to try and get something that fitted, but they didn’t–or only in places.
Another month of pills, meant his chest also began to pucker round the nipples and he began to grow little booblets. He was so proud of them, yet he could show them to no one. He began to wear baggy clothes on his top–arguably his school clothes were already baggy he’d lost both weight and muscle mass. He also discovered Pilates and bought himself a mat and practised on his own at home, trying to maintain the suppleness he thought a girl of his age should enjoy.
He developed one or two contacts on the web and one of them gave him the address of a reliable pharmacy suppliers–he bought a whole year’s supply of oestrogen and his life was about to change forever, although he seemed oblivious of it.
Sam continued popping the pills–just one a day seemed to do all he wanted and he carried on wearing baggy tops to school although he now had to bind his chest or wear a tight sports bra to stop his outgrowths bouncing round. According to the chart from the lingerie company he was fast heading for a B cup and he was delighted with his dusky areolae and nipples which had also grown somewhat.
He refused to cut his hair, which he kept tied back in a ponytail though he knew it needed styling. His parents nagged him about it and finally he agreed to get it trimmed but not by much. His mother accepted that it was better than nothing and gave him some money to do it.
Sam’s alternative wardrobe was burgeoning. He now wore girl’s trousers to school because boy’s ones didn’t fit anymore. Under these he only wore panties and if cold, tights or sometimes hold up stockings, under which he had painted toenails. If it was cold he would sometimes wear a bra and camisole under his blazer and pullover, and his armpits and legs were always shaved or depilated. When he took his uniform off, he looked like a girl with a tiny bulge in her panties. He bought a tight elastic gaff to avoid that.
He offered to do the laundry for his mother who he saw was ‘always so busy’. She thought he was being helpful and increased his pocket money by another fiver a week which enabled Sam to up his wardrobe quicker. The purpose of doing the laundry was to enable him to wash his own stuff without being discovered.
His parents left him mostly alone in the house, either working on their own stuff or chilling out. He did stay with them for dinner each night, and began to take over cooking that once or twice a week–he believed as girl, he should know how to cook.
This caused his mother to remark, “Sam, I love that you’re helping with chores around the house, it’s like the daughter we never had, and I do appreciate it.”
“Yeah, and if he doesn’t get his hair cut soon, he’ll look more like one too,” was his father’s observation.
“I’ll get it cut tomorrow, I promise,” he said on the Friday evening, which was true, he had an appointment at a salon for a trim as Samantha. He’d spent all week deciding what to wear, once he heard his parents were both working in the morning–in fact his dad was away all weekend–supervising a project up north somewhere, so he could be away for days.
Sam had also decided to have his ears pierced, just with studs for now, but it was another step on the ladder. On the day, as soon as he heard the front door slam he was out of bed and stripped off his nightdress–well what else? Then into the shower and he washed himself and his hair, removed any body hair, checked his eyebrows and then dried and moisturised himself–he’d noticed his skin had become drier with the pills–and he always moisturised his boobs, partly because he enjoyed touching them, and sometimes he wished he knew someone who’d like to touch them, though he didn’t know if that should be a boy or a girl–possibly he didn’t care as long as they didn’t stop until he was fed up. Fat chance.
He pulled on his bra and panties set, then a tight cotton top which showed a little cleavage, he pulled on some opaque tights and some short shorts in denim, on his feet he drew on a pair of ankle boots in black leather with two inch heels.
His heart was beating nineteen to the dozen when with slightly shaky hands he did his makeup, exactly the same as Amanda’s, down to the colour of the lipgloss, which he’d managed to see in her bag. He dried his hair and wore it down, brushing it until it shone, though he could see split ends and they needed cutting. His hair was down to his shoulders and beyond. He grabbed his handbag and gave himself a squirt of some eau de toilette, then walked down through the house with his hooded duffle jacket. He checked he had his money and his key and with a deep breath stepped out of the door and closed it behind him with a bang.
He walked to the bus stop and realised for the first time that he would be on view here but it was slightly too far to walk in heels. He had been practicing but on a limited basis. Once the bus arrived he recognised he had gone beyond the point of no return, so he got on and paid his fare. So far no one had paid him much interest except one or two teenage boys sitting on the back seat who whistled and passed the usual remarks. Sam blushed but sat down and gazed out the window.
Had he chosen a seat on the other side of the bus he’d have seen his mother’s car return to the drive because she forgot some files shed been working on. She entered the house and smelt the unusual perfume. She called his name and on receiving no answer went to see if he was on his computer. He wasn’t–perhaps he had a girlfriend? As she turned to leave his large bedroom, she spotted his nightdress and some makeup on the tallboy. Had the little bugger had a girl there? She wondered how she might ask him. He was fourteen and lots of kids were doing it at that age–however, it was below the legal age of consent and if he got some girl up the spout it could wreck two or even three lives. She’d better speak to him about it, she decided and then decided she needed a coffee and a think, called her office and cancelled her meeting. Secretly she was delighted, her oddball son had a girlfriend–wait till she told Ben, her husband. He’d be pleased too.
With this in mind she put her car in the garage and decided to work at home, hiding her car, in case Sam brought the girl home again. If he saw the car she knew he wouldn’t. Two can be sneaky, she smirked to herself as she drank the coffee.
While this was happening at her home, Samantha was in the salon being advised on matters trichological. The stylist cut her hair to remove the split ends sold her some shampoo and conditioner at exorbitant cost and then got one of the other girls to pierce her ears.
“We have a special offer on this week, get two piercings done for the price of one.” Sam misunderstood and thought she meant one in each ear, she didn’t she meant two in each ear and five minutes later an embarrassed Samantha escaped the salon with four pink crystal ear studs inserted in her ear lobes. Part of her loved it, but would anyone notice in school?
Rationalising, she realised if she only used two ear studs, the others would close up very quickly and if her ponytail was a bit looser, no one would notice anyway–and who ever looked at her. If she hadn’t been so self-absorbed, she’d have noticed lots of boys and some girls were checking her out for she made quite an attractive girl–the pills had done their job well.
This was the first time she’d been able to go shopping for real, and she was loving it. She bought several sets of ear studs, now she could use them, a pair of high heeled court shoes which she actually tried on and walked about in the shop–the bored teenage girl assistant, paying her not a wit of notice other than to take her money.
Finally at one o’clock she set off for home and felt sad, she’d have to change back before her mother came home or face the inquisition. As her mother did some forensic accountancy for the police and courts, she could certainly ask some questions.
Still, she had to look on the bright side, she’d gone out as herself and no one had noticed one more pretty teen girl on the prowl round the shops. She was sad that most of the others were with gangs of other girls and occasional boy, while she was on her own. But it was a first and Samantha now existed, people had interacted with her in the flesh–she’d had her hair cut and her ears pierced. She had some new shoes and skirt she’d actually tried on in the shop–that was like, so much fun even if she had almost died of fright–it was nice fright.
She felt really good as she put her key in the door and walked into the house, only for her mother to ask loudly, “Who the hell are you?”
Changing Sam - The Changes Continue.
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by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad
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(Photo courtesy of wikipedia)
She felt really good as she put her key in the door and walked into the house, only for her mother to ask loudly, “Who the hell are you?”
This was a real oh shite moment and Sam suddenly felt quite sick. She stood there trembling amazed her mother hadn’t recognised her–she didn’t look that different–well okay, she did.
Her mother stepped towards her, “Well, who are you and where’s my son? That’s his key, what are you doing with it?”
Sam looked down at the key held in her painted nails, the same colour as her toenails and the blush that was spreading all over her. She was about to say something when her mother did a double take. “Samuel, is that you?” Her eyes were nearly out on stalks.
Sam almost paralysed with embarrassment, not difficult for the average teenage girl, nodded as tears formed in her eyes and as she looked at the carpet to avoid her mother’s withering stare, drops of water rolled down her nose and dripped onto the Axminster. She was aware of her mother’s legs standing before her and felt her hands gently grip the tops of her arms. “Sam, what’s this all about?”
“I’m sorry,” said Sam who then tried to push past her to escape to her bedroom but her mum held on to her arm and wheeled her into the sitting room handing her a tissue as she did.
“Here, dry your eyes.” She watched as the teen carefully dabbed at her eyes minimising the damage to her makeup–this was a practised hand and her mum felt even more confused. Sam sat down, sweeping her bum with her hand as if she were wearing a skirt–she wasn’t–but the automatic nature of it showed.
Sitting in an easy chair Sam finished dabbing at her eyes and looked across at her mother who was seated on the settee. Her mother took in the careful makeup, the now tidy hair with a fringe–very girlish–and the ear studs–they weren’t there last night, surely?
“You’ve had your hair cut, I see.”
Sam nodded.
“Looks nice.”
“Thank you,” said a tiny voice.
“How long have you been doing this?”
Sam shrugged, “Dunno, a year or so.”
Helen, Sam’s mother, was a clever woman and yet she felt like kicking herself, suddenly little things which she’d seen in isolation were making sense–the jigsaw was coming together. She wasn’t sure she liked the picture very much, but that was because it was on the edge of her comfort zone and perhaps more importantly, she feared for her child. He was isolated as a boy, as a girl, albeit quite an attractive one, life would be very difficult. She also felt very guilty. Had she and Ben, her husband spent more time with the boy, would this have happened? She didn’t know but she knew a man who might–but that was for later.
“I’ll go and change,” said Sam standing up.
“No, stay there,” Helen barked and the child started, “I mean, there’s no need and I think I’d like to get to know my daughter a little better...if that’s okay?” Sam sat down again and nodded, blushing furiously. “Do you want to be a girl–I mean permanently?”
Sam shrugged, “Dunno–maybe,” she said quietly, though she suspected she did, she just hadn’t got that far. Today had taken all her energy for the past week or so and teens were not renowned for long term strategies.
“You went out like that to the hairdressers?”
Sam nodded.
“And no one spotted you were a boy?”
“Dunno.”
“Stand up for me, please.” Sam complied with the request, “do a twirl for me.” Sam turned round in a circle–slowly, feeling like a rabbit being viewed by a hungry fox. “They wouldn’t have spotted you, would they?”
Sam shrugged and sat down when Helen asked her to. Helen’s mind was reeling. He–no she, was so thin, but had the hips and bum of a girl and, she was almost betting those breasts weren’t all padding. Her son was turning into a girl before her very eyes and she hadn’t noticed. How could that happen? She shook her head.
“I need a cuppa, would you like one? What do I call you in this mode?”
“Samantha, yes please, I’d like a cup of tea.”
“Okay, I’ll go and make one; you young lady, had best go and sort your makeup–but I expect you back here as you are, I haven’t finished with you yet–okay?”
“Okay,” said the diminutive voice and as Helen went off to the kitchen to fill the kettle and give herself a moment to think, Sam escaped to the cloakroom with her handbag to touch up her makeup. She cursed herself–how come she didn’t see her mother was home? What would she have done if she had? Why was she home, she hadn’t said yet at the same time she realised these things happened, serendipity or something like that.
Sam looked at herself in the mirror, her eye makeup had smudged. She looked again and felt so stupid. It was all going to come out now. She’d decided she wouldn’t tell them about the pills she’d bought, just the ones she taken from her mum, if her mum spotted anything, that is. No matter what her mother said, Sam knew she was going to continue expressing this part of her–perhaps it was the real part of her–she didn’t know. With shaky hands she had to lean against the wall to steady, she repaired her makeup and redid her lip gloss where she’d licked it off as her mother interrogated her. She wondered how she was going to drink a cup of tea, especially if it comes in a cup and saucer.
While she was in the loo she used it and washed her hands noticing how slim her fingers looked with the nail varnish. She dried them and returned to the sitting room and once again sat in the chair alongside which lay the bags containing her shoes and skirt.
While Sam was fixing her face, Helen was texting Ben asking him if he could get home earlier as something had come up. She made the tea before he responded that he’d be home tomorrow evening. She didn’t know if she’d make Sam stay girly all weekend and see what Ben said or make her change back to a boy. She wondered what Sam would like to do.
She returned to the sitting room with the two mugs of tea. “Have you had lunch?” she asked her ‘daughter’.
“No–I’m not very hungry, thank you.”
“You need to eat, girl.” The last word had just slipped out, her child looked natural as a girl–this was doing her head in. “Drink your tea and we’ll go out and grab a snack somewhere.” Did she really just say that? What was she thinking?
Sam’s expression went from stoic endurance to astonishment. Was her mother offering to take them out to lunch? Was there some hidden agenda?
They sat in silence, each with their thoughts as they sipped the tea. Helen decided she would take the bo–girl out and see how she coped with being in public. Probably too well, after all, she could have been doing it for months–there was that guilt thing again.
A little later they set off in Helen’s car. As time was passing, she drove to a nearby pub that she thought did reasonable food and which hopefully would be relatively quiet now the main lunch time was over. Sam had entered the car okay, but as Helen parked it, she felt rather nervous. It was bad enough doing this on her own, to have her mother watching as well–was a bit of overkill.
Sensing the teen’s nervousness, Helen opened the car door for her. “C’mon, you’ll be okay, and I’m here, so no one is going to hurt you–promise.”
Sam grimaced and nodded but got out of the car and was rewarded with her mum offering her hand. They entered the pub hand in hand.
“What can I get you, ladies?” asked the barman.
“A white wine and a pineapple juice for my daughter. Are you still doing food?”
“We are indeed,” he replied and handed her a menu. Helen paid and gave Sam her drink then led her over to a secluded table in a corner. They spent a few minutes perusing the list of meals before Helen announced she would have a cheesy jacket potato, she looked at Sam who nodded that she would too. The barman took the order and disappeared behind the bar.
“Nervous?” asked Helen.
Sam nodded, a gesture which could be regarded as the understatement of the century.
“Don’t be, you look fine.”
Sam smiled an acknowledgement of the compliment.
“You make quite a pretty girl.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome–so cheer up and enjoy the experience. I’m going to, this is my first mother and daughter time–so it’s precious to me. I hope you feel the same.”
Sam nodded more out of politeness than agreement–she was still running on pure adrenalin. She also knew her mother wasn’t half as happy as she was trying to make out and which she took as a form of bravado, but it was better than a screaming fit.
“What size is your wardrobe?” asked Helen.
For a moment Sam the boy nearly emerged and gave the measurements in centimetres before being submersed by his girl self who suddenly realised her mum was talking about clothes.
“A few things.”
“I saw the nightdress–is that the only one?”
“No, I’ve got two.”
“Okay, what about other clothes?”
“I’ve got a couple of skirts and tops.”
“Shoes?”
“These, a pair of slippers, some ballet pumps and pair I bought today.”
“You bought some today? What tried them on?”
“Yes,” Sam replied blushing. The memory was very fresh.
“What about undies?”
“I’ve got two bras and some panties.”
“Tights?”
“A few pairs.”
“Trousers? I suppose you don’t wear those do you?” said Helen forgetting that Sam was wearing shorts.
“Yes. I wear trousers to school.”
“I meant girl’s trousers.”
“So did I,” replied Sam and her mother nearly choked on her wine.
“Isn’t that a bit risky?” asked Helen having cleared the alcohol from her bronchioles.
“No one’s said anything yet and they fit better.”
Helen said nothing but understood why that might be the case. The person sitting with her might be her son, but he seemed to be turning into a female. She mentally kicked herself again for not noticing before. Is this what happens when you leave teenagers on their own for too long? Didn’t most of them go mad on drink and drugs and cause mayhem, or get girls pregnant? Would that be any easier to cope with than this? She didn’t think so, but then she needed an educated opinion. Was this a temporary thing or was this the shape of things to come? Oh boy. Where’s Ben when you need him? Bloody men.
After a tense meal Helen took her daughter to the town centre and again they walked round together, saying very little. She bought her child another nightdress which she chose herself. Then they added some more panties and a dress. Sam chose it and Helen thought it was going to be a disappointment. Instead she nearly fell over when Sam emerged from the changing room to show her mother. It fitted her like it was made for her. A stretchy sculpted velvet in a pinky dark red, it fitted perfectly.
“What d’you think?” asked Sam.
“I think you look lovely,” she said and they hugged each other, Sam escaping back to the changing room before she burst into tears and Helen had to sniff back the odd one as well. They got the dress and some glossy fifteen denier tights plus a pair of black patent Mary Janes with a two inch heel.
Back in the car an hour and a half later, Sam was in danger of becoming delirious with pleasure. She was still on an adrenalin buzz, but added to that was a shopping trip and lunch with her mum who so far hadn’t told her anything negative. She knew a crunch was approaching but in true hedonist style, she was enjoying it while it lasted.
They got home and Helen insisted on seeing all the clothes that Samantha had. The dress was a nice addition to a very small wardrobe. “Wear that tomorrow for dinner,” Helen instructed Sam.
“I can do this tomorrow, then?” there was true surprise in Sam’s voice.
“Yes–why not? Have you any homework to do?”
“No, I did it last night.”
“In which case you can help me tidy the house and cook the dinner.”
“Okay,” agreed Sam, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“We’ll do something nice, Daddy’s home tomorrow evening.”
The shoe hit the deck with a loud bang–or it did in Sam’s mind. “You want me to dress up for Daddy?” She hadn’t called him that since she was seven and a school friend called her a baby for doing so; since when she’d called him Dad.
“Yes, of course. How can we make an informed decision without the full facts. Plus I want him to see what pretty daughter he has.” Sam nearly collapsed. Her father was reasonably broadminded but was her mum setting her up for the coup de grace at the hands of her father? Her tummy flipped.
“Right, I paid for lunch so you can make the tea–there’s some salad and some nice rolls out there–do something with it. Well go on, girl.”
The rest of the evening was quiet. They watched some stupid film which had Sam not been so tense, she might have enjoyed. She was thinking about tomorrow and what that would bring. She hardly slept, worrying about what her dad would say. Her mum had been really good, perhaps too good–was it all going to end in tears? If so, which ones? Sam thought probably tears of unhappiness, but no matter what happened she was going to continue taking the pills–the taste of freedom she’d had that day meant she wasn’t going back in the closet–or if forced back there–it would only be a temporary situation–Samantha was here to stay, though it didn’t seem quite so definite in the wee sma’ ’oors.
Helen, though not as relaxed as she’d tried to appear and still very concerned on lots of levels, tried to appear encouraging to her new daughter. She decided that if it all went pear shaped later, at least she’d have had some mother and daughter time, something she’d never have believed twenty four hours before. Talk about life throwing a curve ball at you...
She encouraged Sam to wear something comfortable to help round the house. They’d do the housework in the morning and after lunch change into something tidier for the return of the man of the house. She’d decided that she’d shoo Ben up to the bathroom to shower and shave and change into something nice before introducing him to their new daughter, unconsciously conspiring to keep her.
They vacuumed and dusted and polished and wiped everything they could find. Sam even agreed to tidy her bedroom–Helen wondered if there was some apocalyptic planetary alignment she’d not been informed about that was causing all this change.
After a light lunch they prepared the makings of the dinner and Sam laid the table in the dining room. Ben had texted that he hoped to be home about seven, which would fit in with her plans perfectly. The dinner ready to cook, a leg of pork–Ben’s favourite and they could go off to get ready.
As they went upstairs, Sam was asked by her mother if she had any perfume. “I’ve got some cheap stuff I got in Superdrug, why?”
“Try this,” she handed her daughter some decent stuff and watched as she sprayed a little on her wrist rubbed it against the other before sniffing it.
“Hmm, it’s nice,” she said looking at the bottle.
“Daddy bought it for me but it doesn’t go with my skin, I’m sure he won’t mind you having it.”
“Thank you, Mummy,” she responded hugging her parent.
“C’mon, it’s five o’clock, we need to get ready, but once he comes, stay in the kitchen until I tell you to come out.”
At a few minutes after seven, Sam heard her dad’s car pull into the drive, the diesel engine of his Range Rover stopping as he parked in front of the garage. She stood nearly pooing her panties as he came in and protested about being sent up to shower before they ate.
Some twenty minutes later she heard him talking with her mother and her tummy did somersaults making the butterflies it contained loop de loop. Her mouth felt dry and her hands paradoxically were almost dripping with sweat. She wiped them in the skirt of her dress as she did so her hyper aware senses recognised the Givenchy scent amongst those of the resting, roasted meat and vegetables.
Shit, they were in the dining room. “Where’s Sam,” she heard her father’s voice.
“He’s not here.”
“What? Don’t tell me he’s got himself a girlfriend at last.”
“Something like that.”
“So it’s just you and me, then?” he asked seductively.
“Ah, not quite.”
“What d’you mean and what about these flowers?”
“They’re for the cook.”
“Cook? What cook?”
The kitchen door was pushed open and Sam nearly died. Her mother grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the dining room. “This young lady–well give her the flowers then.”
“Oh right, hi. These are for you.” He handed the large bunch of flowers to the vaguely familiar young woman standing before him. She was quite pretty and had a lovely figure–pity they can’t stay like that forever, said the brain he kept in his trousers. She took them and said a thank you which was so quiet only the cat would have heard it. “Well don’t I get a proper thank you?” he bent down and she moved to him and pecked him on the cheek saying something which he thought ended in daddy.
As he stood back upright the young woman stepped back the light from the kitchen catching the side of her face, “Oh fuck!” said Ben as recognition dawned.
Changing Sam - Dealing with Change
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by Angharad Copyright© 2013 Angharad
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(Photo courtesy of wikipedia)
As recognition dawned Ben stood back and realised he’d sworn, not something he did in front of women, having been brought up properly, perhaps a little old fashioned, but Helen loved him for it. Helen took the initiative, “Samantha, why don’t you put your flowers in some water, and then we’ll have dinner.” Ben was about to say something but she hushed him, “We’ll talk after dinner, our daughter has done it beautifully for you as she knows it’s your favourite.”
Ben’s head felt close to exploding, he had so many questions and had to wait until after dinner. How was he supposed to eat while his son, who looked a real babe, strutted about in a dress and makeup? He walked to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a brandy, and sank it at a gulp. “That’s not going to help, darling, we have to keep clear heads to discuss Samantha’s future.”
“Samantha?” he squeaked hoarsely as a consequence of the brandy.
“Yes, that’s her preferred name.”
“Right,” he said nodding wishing he had another brandy to swallow.
Sam finished arranging her flowers and her mother told her to take them up to her bedroom as it would be cooler and they’d last longer. She got upstairs placed them on her bedside cupboard and sat on the bed, her heart beating like she’d run a marathon. She wiped her hands on a tissue, checked her makeup and gave herself a small squirt of perfume into her cleavage, which showed just a fraction in the dress. “If he kills me at least I’ll smell nice for the undertaker,” she said to herself trying not to be sick or burst into tears. Then she said, “Whatever happens, Samantha exists, they can’t take her away from me because I am Samantha and always will be.” She took a deep breath and descended the stairs.
“Ah there you are, sweetheart, Daddy’s carving the meat perhaps you could help me bring in the vegetables.”
“Yes, Mummy,” she said without batting an eyelid, she’d been addressing her as such since last night when they’d watched the film together. She followed Helen out to the kitchen and Ben remarked how nice the food looked. He handed a plate of meat to Samantha and she thanked him as she took it through to the dining table.
When all the food had been set on the table, Ben poured a glass of red wine for Helen and then one for himself. He was tempted to offer Sam some, after all this must be nerve racking for her, but Helen supplied some grape juice for the child instead.
Helen held out her hands to Ben and to Sam and they each took one then joined hands themselves. “Let’s enjoy this lovely meal and then afterwards, we’ll talk in constructive terms as to where we go from here.” The other two nodded and although the food was delicious, none of them had their usual appetite, leaving quite a bit of the main course and not starting the dessert.
Helen insisted that they clear the table and have a coffee before talking. Ben was feeling irritated by her demands wanting to get to the main course, their child and his or her future. In what was only minutes, as mother and daughter worked together while Ben sat and pondered, it seemed like hours later that a pot of coffee had appeared along with cups and cream.
“Up until lunchtime on Saturday I didn’t know I had a daughter,” began Helen. “It was quite a shock for both of us when I arrived home early and found the house empty, then a little later Samantha walked in, having been to the hairdresser’s as we’d asked her. I’d never seen my child as a girl before and once I dealt with the shock, I realised I as her mother had all this happening under my nose without noticing it.
“I accept I’m probably partly to blame for not noticing being too wound up in my own life to pay full attention to Samantha’s. I’d like to apologise to her for not being there for her when she obviously had some major issues to deal with by herself. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
A tear ran down Helen’s face and Sam was sniffing back her own.
“Is there anything you want to say, Samantha?” asked her mum. The girl shook her head, too choked to speak. They both looked at Ben. He reached out and squeezed both their hands.
“I’m astonished, I really am,” Ben began, “I’ve got a million questions I want to ask but at this moment only one seems important. “Do you feel happier as a girl, Sam—antha?”
Sam couldn’t speak, the frog in her throat swelled to the size of a cane toad and she blushed like a stop light. The best she could do was to nod in answer to his question.
“I have another question, which I’d like you to answer if you can, but I’ll understand if you can’t or don’t want to, if that’s all right?”
Sam nodded.
“Do you want to be a girl, I mean all the time?” He surprised Helen with his constraint. She knew he’d never do anything to hurt their child but, his consideration was something more than she’d hoped for. She squeezed his hand as he looked at their child who was shrugging and nodding at his question, and whose face was dripping with tears.
He waited while his two girls—that was a novelty—dabbed at their eyes and blew their noses. He sipped his coffee and once the two women were calmer, he asked, “What do we do next?”
“I think we need some professional advice,” offered Helen.
Ben agreed.
“One of my clients is a child psychiatrist, I think I’ll ask her if we can see her for guidance on what we do next.”
“Okay, I want to come as well. You okay with that, girl?” he asked his new daughter, deliberately trying to give her some impression of acceptance while he dealt with his emotions and surprise quietly by himself.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“What about school?” he asked.
“It’s half term next week,” advised Helen.
“Oh well, that gives a bit of time to decide what to do, doesn’t it?”
They talked about little things, Ben just noticed Sam’s pierced ears and smiled shaking his head. He knew this one wasn’t going back in the box, things were going to change whatever happened to Sam. He too apologised for not noticing the changes and for not being there for her.
At the end of discussion, it was agreed that Samantha could stay for the moment though until they had guidance on what to do next, she might have to revert to a boy for the purposes of school. She gave her understanding of the position.
Whether it was the coffee or the adrenalin but none of the three could sleep much that night. The two parents lay in their bed talking quietly while Sam lay in her bed in one of her new nightdresses alternately crying with joy and feeling sick with worry. All she had wished for in the past year or more looked as if it could be about to become possible. She prayed that it might be so and gave thanks for having the two best parents in the world.
She couldn’t believe how different it all was to how she imagined it would go and then to kiss her daddy goodnight, she hadn’t done that since she was about five—but they both needed it. She pecked him on the cheek and he pulled her close to him and said quietly that he loved her and they’d sort it between them. She thanked him and kissed him again.
Then she repeated the exercise with her mother, pecking her on the cheek and getting a kiss in return. Her mum had been awesome since it all happened just a day before. Fancy, you come in dressed as a girl and instead of bawling you out, she takes you shopping for clothes—absolutely brill.
The realist in her wanted to see if this euphoria would last or would there be a backlash once her parents took off the rose coloured spectacles. It was going so well there had to be some negatives. One big one could be the school—what was she going to do there? Plus, what would this shrink woman that her mum knew have to say—especially when she found out she’d been taking hormones?
As she couldn’t sleep, she booted up her computer and went to a chat room where she spoke to several other trans teens and they all thought her parents were fantastic, one asked if she could come to live with them. At one o’clock she gave up and went to bed finally sleeping in the hope that tomorrow was a new day and she’d still have the two best parents in the world; she asked for patience so she could do things as quickly as was feasible but not to get upset if they didn’t go fast enough for her. Her mum had expressed that idea during their discussion, and also to be tolerant of them, as they would do all they could to help but that they had to cope with losing a son as well as gaining a daughter and all the emotions that entailed.
No one said it would be easy, but at least now she knew it was possible, and for now that was good enough.