A Mother’s Story

Part 1

How Jerry married the Queen and found people thinking he was gay.

A Surprise

“Hey Jerry, can I talk to you for a minute?” Jane Turner, one of the hottest girls in school, was beckoning to me. Me? She had said “Jerry,” and there was no other Jerry around, so I must be the one she was talking to. She was cheerleader who had starred in the fall musical and dated the crème de la crème, and I was – well me. I walked over to where she was standing – a little alcove that looked out over the parking lot. It was where the assistant principal kept an eye on things without being seen.

“I’ve noticed you looking at me. Aren’t you ever going to ask me out? Are you waiting for me to ask you?” I was embarrassed that she had seen me eying her, but I had been – along with most of the other guys in school.

“Jane, everyone looks at you. You’re like the queen. You are the Queen. But, I know my place in the pecking order, and it’s not dating the Homecoming Queen. In fact, I’m so far down the ladder, no one wants to date me – even the Homecoming Scullery Maid.”

“You never can tell, Jerry. You have to ask.”

I felt I was being set up for ridicule. Still, I plucked up my courage. “OK, Jane, would you like to go out with me Saturday?”

“Of course, Jerry. Here’s my number. Call me tonight.” She pressed a slip of paper into my hand and hurried off. I must be dreaming – or I was being set up for an elaborate joke. I’d been going to this school for almost four years and had zero dates. Sure, I knew some girls – lots of girls – more than boys – but they considered me more one of them than dating material.

At lunch I told my friends what happened. Delores Gomez said something was up – maybe Jane wanted to get Bob Williams, the quarterback she used to date, jealous. If so, I should watch out. He had a temper and one well-placed punch could land me in the hospital. Cat, a “sweet” boy whose real name was Carl Alfonso Torres, said that Jane had been stressed and distracted lately. Cat had the best feminine intuition at the table, so I accepted his observations without question. Tina, the brain of our little group, agreed. She’d seen Jane repairing her mascara in the girl’s bathroom.

I floated the idea that I was being set up for a cruel joke. Roger O’Malley, who had a crush on Cat, started to agree, but then said that Cat was usually right, so it must be something else. After a bit of discussion, the consensus was that I was too insignificant even to be the butt of a joke. I should just call Jane, be careful, and see what happened.

Mom worked. So, I cooked and cleaned up. It was almost 9:00 when I called Jane. She seemed anxious, like I wasn’t going to call. She tried to hide it with bravado, but there was a tremor in her voice. She tried to be pleasant, but clearly Cat was right – she was stressed and distracted. She wanted to see a movie in Pasadena, about 20 miles away, and would pick me up about 4:00. After the movie we’d stop at the Hat and split a pastrami sandwich. It was within my limited budget, so I agreed.

After I got off the phone and I looked up the movie. It was playing at three local theaters. Why go to Pasadena? She must not want to be seen with me. That seemed to rule out Delores’s idea of making Williams jealous. I was glad not to worry about winding up in the hospital.

Saturday, I shaved twice, brushed my teeth and gargled more times than I remember, put on extra deodorant, new underwear, my best khakis and a polo shirt. My mother gave me the mandatory compliments and I waited patiently for Jane. About 4:15 she drove up in her Prius, honked and waited for me to come out. My mother made a comment about how rude girls are these days, then revised it to apply to Jane alone.

I tried to make small talk as we drove to the theater, but Jane wasn’t talkative. When we got there, I got the tickets and offered to buy popcorn. She needed to watch her weight. I looked – maybe she was right. I got her a diet soda instead. That’s how the date went – it was a disaster. She was tense, said little, and barely laughed at my feeble quips.

After the Hat, she suggested that we go up into the hills to see watch the sunset and city at night. It was spectacular. As I sat watching, she put my hand under her skirt hem, leaned over and kissed me with more than a little tongue. I never kissed a girl before and wasn’t ready for that. Still, I got hard. Her hand was slowly rubbing the front of my pants. It was too much, too fast.

“Jane, stop! We’ve had a lousy date and now you’re doing this. What’s going on?” With that she stopped, put her face in her hands, and started sobbing. For a long time she couldn’t say anything. I felt sorry for her, and held her.

“I’m knocked up and need to get married. I thought maybe I could make you marry me.”

“I’m surprised you don’t get an abortion. Rumor is lots of your friends have.”

“I was planning to get rid of it, but my mom found my test kit and told my dad. He won’t let me ‘kill my child.’ They want me married so they don’t get dissed at the club. Bob won’t marry me … and none of the other guys will either. I thought maybe you’d be thrilled to marry me – besides no one would think the less of me when I divorced a looser like you.”

“So your plan was to make me think I got you preggers, force me to marry you, and then divorce me after the baby is born? And do what with the baby?”

“Oh you could keep the horrid thing. I don’t want it.”

I wasn’t sure what stunned me more – how little she thought of me, or her total indifference to “the horrid thing” inside her. No one could really be like that. Maybe she’d be a normal, loving woman and mother if someone gave her real love.

“I’ll drive you home. Just keep your mouth shut, or I’ll fix you, or maybe one of your fag buds – O’Malley or Torres – or that Tina person. You never can tell who you’ll meet in a dark alley.”

“I wasn’t going to blab anyway – but you better stay away from my friends. Their connected,” I lied. I always try to think the best of people. I decided she didn’t mean the threat, but lied as I lied in return because she was desperate to keep her secret.

The Prenup

I admit it. I’m a horrible romantic. As I was going to sleep that night I started thinking of myself as a white knight, coming to Jane’s rescue. If I gave her the love and devotion any woman deserves, she’d come around. Then, there was the baby. I know, guys aren’t supposed to like taking care of babies, but I’d done a lot of babysitting and a baby of my own touched a cord deep in my heart.

Don’t forget that testosterone had been coursing through my veins for 5-6 years. Jane was the only girl I had ever been on a date with. (I had taken Tina to the prom, but only because no one else asked either of us. It wasn’t a date. We didn’t even kiss.) Not only had Jane practically asked me out, but if I’d just gone along with the program, I would have gotten laid. When you’re 17 that means a lot more than it should.

So, the combination of my heart and my cock pulled me in a dangerous direction. My brain, on the other hand, was jumping up and down blowing whistles and waving red flags. It lost. About noon Sunday, I texted Jane, “Thinking abt it.” About 10 minutes later I got “Pk u up @ 1.”

Again, she was about 15 minutes late. “You want to marry me?”

“I’m thinking about it. What do you want?”

“I told you. Look, I told my dad you were thinking about it. I didn’t tell him what a looser you are,” she reassured me. “He wants to talk to you.” The rest of the drive passed in silence.

We pulled up to a pretentious colonial – pretentious because the columns were way out of proportion to the house. Still, the house was bigger than any I’d ever been in. Jane led me to the library, where her dad had his desk. “He’s waiting for you,” she said as she turned to go up stairs.

“Hello, I’m Jerry – Gerald Zimmerman – Jane said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Ralph Turner,” he said holding out his hand. “Have a seat,” he said indicating one of two leather armchairs flanking a lamp table. He eyed me for a few seconds. “Funny, you don’t look like an idiot. Are you after money?”

“What?”

“Jane said you were thinking of marrying her. So, I figure you must either be an idiot or looking for a payday. Am I wrong?”

“Jane is a very beautiful and sexy girl. Lots of guys would want to marry her.”

“They don’t. She’s a bitch. Everyone who’s met her finds that out straight away. If that’s why you want to marry her, you’re an idiot. I’m not going to take advantage of an idiot. It’s immoral. So is there any other reason you’re thinking of marrying Jane?”

He wasn’t fooling around. He had no delusions about his daughter and had thought about her a lot more then I had. He sat patiently as I gathered my thoughts.

“Well, I don’t call girls ‘bitches,’ but you’re right. She’s self-centered and inconsiderate. … Last night when she decided to tell me what was going on … she was crying and I felt sorry for her. Still, I was mad that she was willing to trap me … to use me. … I like to think the best of people. I think maybe if someone … if I … loved Jane she might change … you know all girls … all women are capable of real love … at least that’s what I want to believe. … I think if I treated her nice I could bring that out.

“Then there is sex. You know, I’m 17 and never had sex. I want to wait till I’m married and she wants to marry me … so that’s part of it.

“And there’s the baby. Babies need someone to love them … I don’t think Jane is ready to love her baby … Maybe I could help her see how wonderful babies are. I’ve done some babysitting. I know I could love a baby the way it deserves – even if it’s not mine … biologically I mean.”

“Is that all?”

“It’s all I can think of right now.”

“Well, Jerry, you’re not the kind of idiot I thought you were. You’re an idealist and a romantic – that makes you an idiot of a different sort, but an admirable idiot. I don’t think for a second you’ll be able to change Jane. I’ve loved her all her life, and it hasn’t made the slightest difference. Maybe you might, God bless you, but I really doubt it.

“As for sex, Jane gives that out freely. So get what you can as long as you can. Just don’t catch anything.

“What matters most to me is you loving my grandchild. He or she will need a lot of love, and won’t be getting much from Jane – I have no delusions about that. Having a parent that will love my grandchild means the world to me.

“Have you thought about how you’ll support your family?”

“If I do marry her, I plan to get a job when I graduate … I was going to go to Cal State L. A., but I’ll get a job instead.”

“I want you to go to college as you planned – but maybe later. The child has to come first.

“Personally, I think you’re signing up for a stint in hell, but I want to protect my grandchild. So, here’s the deal. Connie, Jane’s mother, wants her to stay married for two years at least – for appearance sake – Connie is very concerned about appearances.”

“If I marry it will be for a lifetime, not two years – I don’t care about appearances.”

“I am not doubting your good intentions – but it takes two to make a marriage. Right now, anyway, Jane is not planning a lifetime marriage – and she and Connie do care about appearances – sometimes I think that’s all they care about. Anyway, let me lay out my proposal without interruption. Then you can tell me what you think.”

“Sorry for interrupting, sir.”

“No need to be. As I was saying, here’s what I am proposing. Whenever you are divorced, you will get full custody of any children. I’ll buy you, personally, a starter house before you are married. When you marry I’ll pay off the mortgage. It will be yours to keep and raise my grandchild in. You’ll stay married to Jane for at least two years. If you’re divorced before that she’ll get no inheritance and you’ll get nothing further. If you stay married for the two years, you will get a $100,000 cash settlement and $25,000 a year until the youngest child is 18. I’ll also set up trust funds for any grandchildren to attend a four-year university. Is that satisfactory?”

“I wasn’t looking for any money, so that’s more than generous.”

“So, there you have it. If I were you, I’d walk away because I wouldn’t want to be married to my daughter for any length of time for any money. I want you to take a week to think about it and discuss it with your parents.”

“It’s just my mother.”

“Well, tell her she should be proud of you, but also tell her what I said about being married to Jane. See you in a week.” He shook my hand and I left.

Jane was waiting in the hall. “Did he say I’m a bitch?”

“Yes, but I’m sure he loves you.”

“Well, I am. Last warning.”

I told my mother the whole story. She gave me the same advice as Jane’s father. Still, I figured I could make Jane love me by being nice enough to her, so I wanted to give it a try. The following Sunday I was in the Turner library telling Mr. Turner what I decided.

“I’ll have my lawyer draw up a prenuptial agreement along the lines I outlined. I’ll give you money to hire a lawyer of your own to review it. Remember, that though I’ll try to help you, I think you’re going to have a rough two years.”

Jane and I were married the week after graduation in a small wedding in the Turner home. Cat was my best man.

Our Honeymoon

After the wedding we went to the Beverly Hilton before flying to Hawaii the next day. (The Turners gave us a honeymoon there as one present.) I know wedding nights are supposed to be about sex, but Jane said she was really tired, and I know I was. So we just went to bed and slept. We did not even have Champagne because Jane was preggers and I was too young anyway. The next morning a limo took us to LAX and we were off on a first class flight. In Hawaii, we stayed in a cottage overlooking the ocean.

When we got there, I thought it was time for me to loose my virginity, but Jane looked at me in a disgusted way. “Look, Jerry,” there was an angry edge to her voice as she said my name, “if you think your going to fuck me, you’ve got another think coming. I’m not fucking a fag looser like you.”

“I’m not a fag!”

“Oh? Any guy who was not a fag would have screwed me when he had his chance up in the hills that night. Besides, only a fag would hang out with other fags like Torres and O’Malley. So, if you want to have a pleasant marriage, find a boyfriend down by the pool or wank yourself off, but leave me alone.” With that she shoved me out of the bedroom door and slammed it shut.

It was hardly manly, but I burst into tears. I spent the night on the sofa. The next morning, Jane asked me if I knew my place.

“What place is that?”

“You’re a paid companion, dearie. If you’re ready to accept that and give up on sex with me, we can go down to breakfast together.”

I didn’t know what else to do, so I agreed, hoping that in time I could change her mind and have a normal marriage. That started a pattern. We had meals together, then went our separate ways until the next meal. Jane flirted on the beach and around the pool, but given that she was beginning to show, without much success, which just made her angrier. Meanwhile, I sunned, read, swam or watched TV.

The third day, I was getting some rays by the pool, reading Pride and Prejudice, when a well-built 30ish man named Tyler sat beside me and struck up a conversation. I’m not very outgoing, but I’m not antisocial either. I was glad of someone friendly to talk to. He knew the book and had seen a couple of movie versions as well. It was a favorite of his former SO. He identified with Darcy, because he tried to be rational, but found that his emotions eventually won out. His SO was more like Elizabeth, rash to judgement, but willing to see the truth about him in the end. Sadly, they had recently broken up when another man came into the picture.

By now we were walking along the beach front in the shade of palm trees. “I hear you're married, but it’s not going well?”

I was surprised. “Where did you hear that?”

“Well, this woman kept eying and flirting with me, so I went over to tell her she was wasting her time. It turned out to be your wife. When she found out where my interests lie, she suggested that I talk to you.”

“You mean about Jane Austin?”

“Well in a way. About you being Elizabeth to my Darcy.”

“Elizabeth?” I was confused. Then it came to me – Jane told Tyler I was gay. While I was working it out, I’d been looking into Tyler’s eyes, trying to grok what he meant. He misread my stare, leaned forward and gently kissed me on the lips. For a second, I kissed back, kind of automatically. I thought I’d be revolted at kissing another man, but I wasn’t. Tyler’s kiss had been affectionate, not lustful, and I was badly in need of affection. I was still confused after I’d worked out how I could be Tyler’s Elizabeth.

Tyler didn’t press me, but waited for my reaction.

“Let’s sit and talk, Tyler.” I lead him to a bench facing the sea. I wasn’t sure how much to tell Tyler, but he deserved more than a curt rebuff.

“That was a very sweet kiss, Tyler.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Jerry.”

“Yes. In fact, I really liked being kissed, but it wasn’t because I want sex with you. It’s because I’m going through a hard time with Jane now. I guess I need affection and to feel wanted.”

“Jerry, that’s very honest and brave. Those are two of Elizabeth’s best qualities.”

I blushed.

“Look, Jerry. I don’t need a sexual relationship just now and I really like you. You need someone to care about you. So, how about we just spend some time together? We can agree right now that there won’t be any sex, but if you’re willing we can share a little affection. How about it?”

I sat for a while thinking. Lots of young guys and gals went out, kissed and didn’t have sex, but Tyler and I were both guys. I wasn’t gay – Tyler’s penis held no fascination for me. Still, his kiss had warmed my soul. I was married, but Jane made it clear that it was a marriage in name only. What would people think? Did I care? I wasn’t a homophobe. Cat and O’Malley were gay and I liked them very much.

“It sounds weird, but I don’t care. If you don’t mind dating a straight guy, I don’t mind dating a gay one.”

“That’s great Elizabeth!” Tyler winked at me, took my hand and helped me up. Then he held my hand and we continued walking down the beach. Later I texted Jane: I wouldn’t be eating with her. After dinner, Tyler walked me to the cottage, and gave me a good night kiss that warmed my heart.

When I went in, Jane was in a crappy mood. She’d ordered a drink, but room service wouldn’t serve her because she was underage. “I see you took my advice and found a boyfriend. I saw you and Tyler kissing. I knew you were a fagot!” I didn’t care what she said or thought.

That was the tone of my honeymoon. Jane and I occasionally ate together, but mostly we went our separate ways. A couple of nights she didn’t come home. I spent most of my time with Tyler, who was true to his word and didn’t press me for sex. I felt feminine with him, and enjoyed being held, kissed and called Elizabeth. After a week he went back to Texas. A few days later, Jane and I returned to L. A.

My Job

My new house was in West L. A. It was Spanish colonial build in the 1930s with three small bedrooms, a living room, dinning room, and a breakfast room that Jane and I put our computers in. Jane and I each took a bedroom, and set up the third as a nursery.

Connie Turner spoke to some people and lined up a good paying job in a men’s store a short bus ride from my house. The salary was more than anything I had a chance at, and there would be commissions as well. Sunday evening after our return from Hawaii I put on a coat and tie, and went to meet the owner of the Blade Boutique in West Hollywood. It didn’t take long to realize that the Boutique catered to the gay community. Rene Blade, the owner, wore make up, a ruffle front mauve satin shirt, a beret, and black crepe pants. I wondered what Connie had gotten me into. Jane probably told her I was gay.

“Sweetie, I know you’re just out of high school. I can understand why a sweet boy like you would dress conservatively in such a hostile environment, but you can express yourself here. In fact, I try to maintain an image that will make even the shyest thing feel at home in my little boutique. Since you’re my first associate, I’ll style a uniform that highlights your yummy features. You’ll need at least a couple of new outfits to wear at the Boutique. Don’t worry, you’ll get them at cost, and I’ll deduct it from your salary.”

Since I was young and thin, he wanted to show my legs with the male version of black satin hot pants – if there is a male version. I was to shave my legs before work Monday. I protested that I was married and didn’t want customers hitting on me.

“Not ‘customers,’ ‘guests,’ sweetie. Don’t worry, I am not asking you to do anything with your yummy body your mother would blush at. Think about how waitresses dress, sweetie. It isn’t to get dates – well not mostly anyway – but to increase sales. Of course, if you want to make dates, I have no objection. We both know being married hasn’t slowed you down so far.” Clearly, Rene had been told about my dating Tyler.

Rene picked an assortment of poet shirts and matching berets to go with my black hot pants. “Now shoes. You can’t wear those old things,” he said indicating my new black Oxfords. “Take them off – let me see your feet. … Hmmm, lovely toes. No need to hide them. I’m cursed with ingrown nails, but yours are perfect. I have the perfect thing.” I followed him back to the shoe department. There he measured my feet and quickly returned with a pair of Steve Madden wedge sandals. “These will really shape your legs and show off your delicious feet.

“You have an appointment at 8:00 tomorrow at Randi’s Salon over there.” He pointed it out down the street, “Let him work his magic. I won’t expect you until noon. We close from noon till 2:00 every day for lunch, siesta and afternoon delights, but I’ll show you the ropes – oh wouldn’t that be delicious – don’t worry – just fantasizing. After that I’ll expect you Tuesday till Saturday from 9:30 to 7:30.”

It was all a bit much. Obviously all the customers would think I was another gay blade – as would anyone that saw me dressed for work. Still, the folks in Hawaii that saw me holding hands and having dinner with Tyler must have though the same. That didn’t bother me as much as I thought it might, so this shouldn’t either. Like Rene said, it was like waitresses wearing short skirts – just a costume to please the customers – ah, guests.

That was the pep talk that I gave myself on the bus home. When I got home Jane was watching some inane flick and eating chocolates. “Well, do you like the job mother found for you?”

“It pays very well.”

“I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” If that was her worst, I could take it.

The next morning I got up at 6:00, showered, and shaved my legs with one of Jane’s razors. I was not sure if they were the same as men’s but better safe than sorry. As I ran my hand over my shaved legs to feel for stubble, I got a strangely erotic feeling. Now that I’d done it for work, maybe I’d continue, even if I didn’t have to.

After I dressed in my hot pants, poet shirt and sandals a glance in the mirror showed a perfect sissy. I was glad that I wasn’t still in school or I’d have been beaten to a pulp. Jane was still asleep when I left.

I arrived in front of Randi’s at 7:40. About ten minutes later he arrived to open up. He stopped and looked my up and down. “You must be Jerry. You have a lot of potential. It’ll be a pleasure helping you blossom.”

“Ah, thanks.”

“How very refreshing to hear an unaffected voice from such a pretty boy. I know a lot of people who might find that intriguing. I’ll send them by. I’m sure Rene will be happy to have the traffic, and you can have the commissions and maybe a bit more.

“Rene wants you to have the works, but I want to keep you fresh and innocent looking. Nothing too over the top. You have blue eyes and a fair complexion, so Irene will lighten your hair and give it some subtle highlights. I’ll show you a simple day makeup regime to accent your gorgeous face, and Margaret will give you a manicure and pedi while you’re under the drier.” With that Irene started shampooing my hair.

“You're gorgeous honey. Randi’s the best. You’ll be so glad you came here. I wasn’t anywhere near you and look at me now,” Irene said in a husky voice.

I did look at her. If she didn’t still have a bit of an Adam’s apple, and I wasn’t so shy, I might easily have asked her out. “You’re beautiful, Irene.”

“It’s very sweet of you to say that, Jerry, but I have a long way to go yet.”

“No, it’s true. You are beautiful, and I’m sure you will only be more so in the future.”

“You’re a such a flirt, but I love it anyway.”

I found it very easy to relate to Randi, Irene and Margaret. I only needed to treat them as real people with virtues and flaws instead of stereotypes. I decided that if I did the same at the boutique, I could do very well there.

Shortly before noon, Randi brought me to the wall mirror to see the finished product. I didn’t look like a woman, and I certainly didn’t look like the man I’d been. Still, I was beautiful. For the first time in my life, I was proud to be me. My hair was honey blond with natural looking highlights. My lips were just a bit redder than their natural color, and my fingers and toes matched them. Mineral make up evened out my skin tones and covered a few blemishes. Finally, a touch of blue liner and mascara made my eyes pop.

I guess I looked like a sissy, but not like a caricature. Rene did have an eye for clothes. What seemed merely effeminate in the mirror this morning, all came together to make a statement. It was not a statement I’d thought about making, but as I looked it dawned on me that the Rene, Randi, Irene, and Margaret had all seen something latent in me that they had managed to bring out. I found myself saying, “It’s so me!” I'd have to find the courage to carry it off.

A Mother’s Story

Part 2

How Jerry and the Queen came to a fateful decision.

A Mother’s Story

Part 2

Settling In

When I went to the Boutique, Rene had me do a turn and told me how well I ‘cleaned up.’ “Look at those gorgeous legs and your eyes are to die for! Oh to be 18 again and look as delectable as you, sweetie!

“Still, you can’t be going around with bulges in your pockets. Those pockets are for show, not blow. Empty them on the counter.”

When I finished there was a considerable pile. Rene lead me to a mirror and showed me how much better my hot pants fit with empty pockets. As I turned to see myself at various angles, he was selecting a bag. He returned with a very smart Coach messenger bag that looked businesslike on my shoulder, but hardly masculine.

As it was a little after noon, he invited me to lunch in his apartment above the store. He shared it with Charles, a stockbroker in Century City. Charles had put up the money for the Boutique, but now it was a going concern. In fact, Rene could afford to hire me because he had just finished paying Charles back.

“Rene, I’m curious. Yesterday you said my being married hadn’t slowed me down. I gather that you heard that from someone in the Turner family. Could you tell me how?”

“The same way you got the job, sweetie. Charles belongs to the Turners’ club. He uses his membership to recruit clients like the Turners. Mrs. Turner has been outing you to anyone who’ll listen. She says you tricked her daughter into marrying you to be your beard. Charles takes anything she says with a grain of salt, of course – in fact a whole shaker full. He’s seen the Turner woman twist facts before.

“Anyway, when she showed him your picture, he thought of me needing an associate. He told her ‘it would serve him right to have a gay job.’”

“Thanks for being so straight with me.”

“Imagine me being straight!” We both giggled.

“I want to be honest in return. I know you spent a lot of money on my makeover, but I’ll pay you back if you don’t want me when you hear the truth.” I told him my story, concluding that though I liked Tyler kissing me, I was never tempted to have sex with him. So, I wasn’t gay.

“I’m not a heterophobe, sweetie. We should all love who we love, and have affection from anyone nice enough to give it. So, I don’t care if you’re not gay. I don’t even care if you like kissing women!” He grinned. “But, do you like your new look? I don’t want you uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be good for you or the Boutique.”

“I do! I mean I never imagined dressing like this, but for the first time in my life, I like how I look. That really surprised me. I’m still trying to grok it. Maybe I like people seeing at me instead of acting like I don’t exist. I got some looks on the bus this morning. No one was rude beyond staring briefly. Some even smiled. One lady my grandmother’s age even said she wished more boys had my sense of style.

“Still, I’m not sure how it will wear when I’m not working. If I want to look more like my old self, I can just change my clothes and take off my make up – except for these.” I held out my glossy red nails.

“Your hands are one of your best features – along with your face, legs and feet. If you studied art, you know artists compose paintings to lead your gaze without you realizing you’re being lead. Your polish draws attention to your delicate hands and feet. In the same way, your pants highlight your legs and your makeup draws the eye to your face. All that gets integrated into an appreciation of what a pretty boy you are. That’s why people are looking and smiling instead of ignoring you.

“You’ll be a work of art in my boutique. People will want to come in and admire the masterpiece. That will be good for sales – both yours and mine. Still, remember that there are certain men who will look at you and get an erection, hate themselves for reacting that way, and want to take it out on you for ‘making’ them feel like that. That happened to me when I was younger. Like beautiful women, we have to be constantly alert and walk with confidence so we don’t become the victims of such men.

“So, I got you a little present to help keep you safe.” He handed me a small pepper spray. “Keep this in your purse, sweetie.

“Now back to dressing down. You’re used to being invisible and ignored. Being seen and appreciated takes some getting used to, and you may want a break. That’s why models and movie stars often wear hoodies and sunglasses. Red nail polish is hard to hide, so you may want clear polish instead. You decide.”

What Rene said all made sense. He and Randi’s crew were artists who’d made me into a work of art. That is why I liked how I looked – anyone would unless they were homophobic and hated their own response to a beautiful boy. … A beautiful boy!? Yes, I was! I wasn’t handsome. I knew that. But, now I was beautiful – and I liked it!

After lunch we went down to the shop and Rene became all business. I had a lot to learn. We started with the mechanics of ringing up sales and proceeded to stock layout. That way, I could take some of the burden off Rene without having a mastery of body types, coloration, fabrics, styling and especially personality. The Boutique didn’t push the same styles on everyone like a traditional men’s store. Instead, we helped guests express their inner self – even when they did not know it themselves – as Rene had done for me. Until I mastered those things, I was to follow Rene and his ‘guest’ around, observing in silence and awaiting his orders. When the guest left, I was to ask Rene about anything I didn’t understand – which turned out to be a lot. Rene was a lot more analytical and perceptive than one would guess from his bubbly persona.

By the end of the day, my calves were on fire from my wedges, my mind was buzzing with undigested information, but my soul was satisfied that we had really helped a couple of people to accept and express themselves. I had been hit on – nicely – once, but deflected it by flashing my wedding ring. Rene said I had done better then he had hoped and he was glad he’d hired me. He even gave me a commission on a Coach bag like my own I had suggested to customer, er guest, I was ringing out.

It was a little after 8:00 when I arrived home, dog tired. Jane had nuked herself something for dinner, and was munching popcorn and watching TV. “Gawd! You really are a sissy! Look at you – makeup, nail polish, wedge sandals, hot pants and a purse. Are you wearing panties and a bra?”

“No! This is just how I have to dress for the job your mother found me.”

“Well, you should be. It was bad enough you screwing around with that guy in Hawaii, now you're embarrassing me at home. What do you think the neighbors’ll say? ‘Oh poor Jane Zimmerman, she couldn’t even find a real man to marry her!’ Gawd! You make me sick. I’ll get you for this!”

“I told you, nothing like that happened with Tyler. He was just nice to me while you were off all night doing God knows what.” She gave me an evil, satisfied grin.

“Getting what you wouldn’t give me – a thorough screwing.”

“I wanted to make love with you, but you refused!”

“Do you think you could ever satisfy a real woman with that dinky thing of yours? Do you think I’d ever fuck a man who uses makeup, wears hot pants and carries a purse? Get out of my sight you little shit!”

I was tired and stressed from strangers staring at me on the bus home. I’d felt so nice this morning when Randi and his crew finished with me. Now Jane made me feel like crap over the same thing. I started crying and went to my room. About midnight I woke up, ate a banana and a carton of yogurt, and drank a glass of milk.

The next day Rene taught me fabrics and fibers. I sold some earrings and pairs of shoes while Rene was busy with another guest. The commission was less than on the bag, but I viewed every commission as a bonus. One of the customers from the previous day came back to buy a shirt and ask me to lunch, which I politely declined.

When I got home, Jane didn’t talk to me, but gave me a strange grin. I baked a chicken leg quarter and a potato, and ate it alone in the kitchen. I thought about removing my red polish and replacing it with clear, but that would have been like drawing a moustache on the Mona Lisa – ruining an artwork that was not my own.

As usual, Jane was still asleep when I got ready for work. After my shower I went to my underwear drawer and found all my jockeys gone – replaced with nylon panties. Next to them lay a neatly folded pile of camisoles in place of my tees. I thought about putting yesterday’s underpants on, but then what was the point showering? No one would see the panties, so wearing them would be no big deal. Besides, I didn’t want to give Jane the satisfaction of making a scene – let her have her laugh. It was a strange sitting in purple print panties doing my make up, but I decided I liked their look.

After the third guest eyed my hot pants and smiled, I looked in the mirror. The thin fabric made my panty line very noticeable. I was embarrassed, but told myself that it was all part of the costume. When things were quiet, I asked Rene why he’d said nothing. He told me as long as it did not spoil the image he’d created, my choice of panties was my own affair. He told me if I didn’t want my panty line showing I could always wear a thong – no thanks!

By noon I decided that I did not mind showing a panty line – at least not in the Boutique. Maybe I was becoming an attention whore. At least I liked being noticed – being someone as opposed to the invisible nothing I'd been.

When I got home, Jane was in a good mood, and had actually made us dinner – if you can call baking frozen lasagna and pouring premixed salad in a bowl making dinner.

“Look, Muffin, let’s declare a truce. I told the neighbors my husband is in Afghanistan. You’re my gay brother, and I’m not responsible for you wanting to be a girl. So, if you don’t cross me on that, we can get along until the two years are up. Deal?” She held out her hand for me to shake. So far my life at home had been the hell her father had predicted. Anything would be better. I didn’t need to lie, just not say anything about the real situation. So, I shook.

“Good, I promise to be the supportive big sister as long as you go along.”

“OK, thanks, I guess. … Ah, what do you mean by big sister?”

“Well, if we’re brother and sister we can’t both be 18, so I told the neighbors I’m 22 and you’re 18.”

“I see.”

We had a pleasant dinner. And Jane even asked me about work and listened. After dinner she put a frilly apron on me and we did the dishes together. We watched TV until 10:00, when she said it’s bedtime. That was unusual, because she’d been staying up to the wee hours and sleeping in.

“Isn’t 10:00 a bit early for you?”

“I have to get up early and make my little brother breakfast. Don’t worry, I’m DVRing my shows. I’ll watch them in the morning.”

Maybe she was turning over a new leaf. Anyway having breakfast made for me was better than being called “a little shit.” Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

I learned that Jane could be pleasant when she wanted to be. When I came out for breakfast, I found hot coffee, a soft-boiled egg and OJ. I was used to a bigger breakfast and the coffee had no cream or sugar. I wanted both, but was told that my big sister was taking charge, and I'd be eating healthy from now on. If that was the price of peace, it was not too high – it would even be good for me.

Another surprise was a bag lunch with cottage cheese, a banana, and a container of cranberry juice. Jane told me to put it in the fridge when I got to the Boutique. I got a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the butt as I left. It wasn’t marital bliss, but it wasn’t hell either.

The new regime continued when I got home to find a dinner of skinless chicken breast, a small portion of brown rice and broccoli, accompanied by a glass of vegetable juice. Again, we did the dishes together. After, Jane brushed my hair and put barrettes in it.

“I don’t need barrettes.”

“Yes, you do. Remember you promised to go along with my story. We’re going for a walk and I want the neighbors to see how much of a girl you’re becoming.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, the doctor says I need more exercise, and it would be strange if I went alone when my girly brother was home.”

So began our new pattern of behavior. Jane was pleasant as long as I allowed her to show the neighbors that I was becoming ever more femme. When I objected or refused to go along, I got a vicious verbal hiding that reduced me to tears. While I was not heavy, my new diet caused me to loose the little fat I had around my waist and on my abdomen. My arms and legs also became thinner. Still, I felt healthy enough.

Things were going well at work. Rene was letting me serve many guests on my own and my commissions were increasing. Also my presence had increased traffic, and the Boutique’s increased sales more than paid my salary. I was content, but not really happy.

The big negative was no sex life other than what I provided for myself. If I were interested in men, I could have had more than my fill – I was constantly hit on in a respectful, but often persistent way – but that was not my cup of tea. No one seemed interested in me the way Tyler had been – as an object of chaste affection. The few girls I met weren’t interested in a guy that looked better in makeup than they did – besides, I still considered myself married and held out the vague hope that Jane might move past accommodation to something approaching respect or even love. Things got easier as time went on: my libido dropped, and I thought about sex less than before.

Birthing Class

As summer ended, Jane’s doctor sent us to birthing classes. I would be her partner/coach. I arranged to get off early two nights a week so we could attend the 7:00 PM classes together. I found them fascinating, while being confronted with the reality of giving birth only put Jane off.

One of the classes dealt with the many benefits of breast, as opposed to formula, feeding. As we drove home that night, we broke our détente by getting into a huge fight over nursing. Jane did not want “the thing” “sucking the life out of my body,” while I reminded her that her father wanted me to do the best possible job of taking care of his grandchild. That meant the baby must be breast fed. As we arrived home, I decided not to bring the argument into the house, and so I said, “Ok, just think about it.” Jane was tired and agreed to think about it. So, the rest of the evening was quiet, if not cordial. I could tell that she was seriously thinking about it, as she was researching lactation on the web.

At breakfast Jane told me that she had thought about it, and that maybe the baby should be breast fed. I was pleasantly surprised.

“It’s very important to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. Even if you don’t want the baby, I do, and I want it to be as happy and healthy as possible.”

“I gathered that. OK, let’s agree then, the baby will be breast fed.”

“Good.”

“You know, I’m really glad that we are beginning to agree on things.” Jane smiled, kissed me on the cheek and patted me affectionately on the rear as I left for work. I felt that my hopes were being realized.

A Mother’s Story

Part 3

Jerry tries to cope while the Queen poisons an apple.

Friends and Family

I’ve not said much about our family and friends. Mother and I chatted daily, and visited each week. Occasionally, she came Saturday night to see both of us. Jane was not rude, but was less than cordial. More often, I went to see mom Monday night. I’d arrive at her apartment before she got home and make dinner as I used to before I married.

Mother and I had no secrets. She knew I’d never dated. So, when I told her about Tyler, she wanted to know if I was gay. I admitted enjoying Tyler’s affection, but had no desire to go further. I also told her about my job as things unfolded. I had Rene take a cell pic of me when he was done. I sent it to mom. She wanted to know if I was forced, or had done it freely. I said I knew it’d take getting used to, but that I felt like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon, and for the first time in my life, liked how I looked.

She saw the whole effect – makeup, nail polish, hot pants, panty line, hairless legs and wedge sandals – the first Saturday after I started. The pic had prepared her, but the reality still set her back. After dinner, Jane watched TV while mom and I cleaned up in the kitchen.

“You like your new look?”

“Yes, very much. Before, I felt like I didn’t exist. No one ever looked at me. Now, I’m noticed. Sometimes it is embarrassing, but I’ll get over that. I like the attention. I get a lot more smiles than I used to, and even if I get stares and scowls, at least people know I exist.”

Mother was silent to as she rinsed and dried the dishes I was washing. “And your sure you’re not attracted to men?”

“Well, not sexually, but I did like Tyler being affectionate. He was the first person – other than you – to give me any affection.”

“You needed a father in your life. It’s my fault – I should have found you one. I think every child needs a man’s affection as well as a woman’s.” She thought silently as she wiped two plates. “Also, you’ve always had a feminine side. I saw it when you were little. You were so neat, and liked to play dolls and house with Sandy when we lived in the Valley. I took you to soccer so you’d learn to be more boyish. … And not many boys have babysitting jobs. … Also you and I relate more like mother and daughter than mother and son – we talk so freely you know.

“I remember you used to like bright colors. Then, after you were in school, you wanted to wear dull colors and fade into the background. That surprised me at the time.”

“Well, I got teased and called a sissy. I wanted to disappear.”

“Well, you’re making up for it now.” She smiled and gave me a hug. Her acceptance made me feel warm and … centered. I don’t know how else to say it.

I tried to keep in touch with my friends. Mostly it was with texts. Delores and I were never close. She was more Tina’s friend. So, I never heard from her after graduation.

Cat and Roger asked why I’d not come out to them before, as they had with me. It took quite a while to convince them I wasn’t gay. I invited them to the boutique one evening. It was pricey, so I didn’t expect them to buy anything – just see where I was working. Rene treated them warmly and gave them each one of his signature berets. He also gave Cat a note to Randi for a free manicure and pedi.

Tina had an unexpected reaction to my new look. She thought I looked better than her and was jealous. It came out as a joke, but as we talked I could tell she was down on her appearance. I felt bad for her. I invited her to lunch one day when she wasn’t working. After lunch we walked around West Hollywood, stopping at Randi’s. I’d sent him a steady stream of new clients, so he’d agreed to a free makeup session for Tina. Of course, she demurred. I told her it was all set up, and it would insult Randi to turn it down. So, with a little pushing and cajoling, she went in and I went back to work.

I expected to see her in an hour, but I was busy and time flew. Three hours later, the new Tina appeared with tears running down her cheeks. Randi had opened his heart and given her the works on the house. She was both radiant and gorgeous. I was rewarded with hugs and kisses.

I did not see much of Jane’s friends. I think she tried to keep me out of their sight. On the few occasions when I did see them, they either ignored me or snickered.

The person whose reaction I was most worried about was Ralph Turner. In the weeks before the wedding, I’d begun to look up to him as a father. He said he thought of me as the son he never had. Every father wants his son to be a chip off the old block, not a sissy. However much I liked my new look, I knew I was a sissy – a disappointment to him. Still, I respected him too much to avoid him.

On the way home from my first full day, I called him to set up an evening I could come over and “talk” to him – really, to face his disappointment and disapproval. He suggested that he pick me up the next day and take me to lunch at his club. I agreed, but thought it would be better not to go to his club. I didn’t want to embarrass him.

I was very nervous as I helped Rene close for lunch. Though my mouth was dry, I imagined further embarrassing myself by wetting myself from fright as I had on a third grade field trip when I nearly stepped on a snake. I pictured a little boy wetting his sissy shorts on the sidewalk. I went to the toilet – just in case – but had nothing to pee.

It was 12:05 when I went out. I looked up and down the street – no Ralph Turner. Part of me was very relieved. I wouldn’t have to do this – at least, not today. Suddenly, there was a pert beep from a white BMW Series 4 convertible double-parked in front of me. I did practically wet myself. Swallowing hard, I opened the door and got in.

Ralph Turner was smiling. “Nice to see you Jerry. You look a lot different that when I saw you last.”

“Sorry, but I wanted to be the one to show you what I look like, and not have you get it second hand. I respect you too much not to face the music. I’m sorry if I shocked you.” Damn it! Tears were forming in my eyes. I was being almost as much of a sissy as if I’d wet my pants. I wanted to be strong. Fuck!

“Well, you didn’t shock me. Connie showed me a picture Jane texted her last night. Still, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. It shows a lot of courage, and I’m proud of you. Now, there’s no need to cry.” We were stopped at a light and he dabbed my eyes with his handkerchief.

“We’re going to Malibu for lunch. An associate has a nice house with an ocean view. We can eat quietly while you tell me what this is all about.”

I don’t remember much about the house or how to get there, but behind it was a patio high above the ocean with a fabulous view. We had a simple lunch of salad and fish tacos while I told Ralph everything. I can’t say he approved my decisions, but he didn’t second-guess them. He told me everyone has to find his or her own way in the world, and as long as they were not hurting anyone – including themselves – they should be given the space to find their way.

As 2:00 PM approached, we were pulling up in front of the Boutique. Ralph said, “I think you're a brave person who's doing his best. Next time, let’s eat lunch at my club if you're willing. There are a few people I’d like to shake up.”

Acting for the Queen

I’ve already said how Jane made my life hell until I agreed to go along with her story that I was her transitioning gay brother. I should have learned from her father that unless agreements are spelled out in detail, they’re subject to differing interpretations. My interpretation was I’d hold my tongue and let her spin whatever harmless yarn she wanted to the neighbors. Jane’s interpretation was quite different.

I grew up in a peaceful household and always accepted – well, up to the time I decided to marry Jane – that mother was older and wiser, and knew what was best for me. Jane, on the other hand, lived in a household where hysteria ruled. If Connie did not get her way she made Ralph’s life hell until she did. Jane did the same as a child, and was now doing it with me. You’d probably say a real man would have stood up to her and I didn’t because I’m a sissy momma’s boy. I might be, but Ralph Turner is a confident and successful businessman, and he didn’t stand up to them either. I know – that’s no excuse. I’m responsible for my own choices.

I almost always chose peace over stress and conflict – go along to get along, as they say. The one exception was the baby – my baby, as I’d come to think of it. When it came to my baby, more than my personal stress or comfort was involved. Compared to it, what happened to me was secondary. I got that from my mother – in things that mattered, my welfare always came first with her.

I’m wandering. I was talking about agreeing to go along with Jane’s story about me wanting to be a woman. As I said, the first active thing I did was to go for a walk around the neighborhood with barrettes in my hair. She introduced me to three different neighbors as Geraldine, her transitioning sister. I said little, but my makeup, nails and shoes all silently confirmed her story.

Being exhibited as a half girl in a conservative L. A. neighborhood is very different from dressing as a beautiful boy in accepting West Hollywood. No one was overtly rude, but there was a lot more sympathy for Jane being in such a demeaning situation than for any struggles I might face expressing my inner self. That was just what she was looking for – to play the role of the poor suffering sister of a confused and inconsiderate sibling. By the time we got home she was as satisfied and exhilarated as I was embarrassed and depressed.

Having tasted victory, her appetite increased. The next evening, I was told to wear a shear white blouse and pushup bra. When I balked, Jane flew into a rage – calling me a lying fag for going back on my word. Given the choice between temporary embarrassment and continuing hell, I chose the former. My cranberry bra showed through my sheer blouse, and it molded cleavage at my neckline. Again, parading me around the neighborhood generated attention and sympathy for Jane while it made me feel weak and impotent.

With my spirit broken, I saw little point in protesting when she told me to wear my new bras whenever I wasn’t at work – including to bed. After two months my chest had reshaped itself. My new shape remained even when I removed my bra to shower. When I wasn’t wearing a bra, my nipples rubbed against my shirt, causing painful swelling. It was a relief to put my bra back on when I got home. I started wearing camisoles to work to protect my nipples during the day.

One day when we closed at noon, Rene asked me up to his apartment for a talk.

“Are you transitioning, sweetie?”

“Transitioning?”

“Yes. You’ve stated wearing camis and your nipples are dimpling your shirt. Also, your shorts have gotten tighter across your hips and derriere.”

I told him that Jane had made up a story about me transitioning, and had me wearing bras at home to support her story. My bra cups were just molding my chest.

“May I see, sweetie?”

I lifted my shirt and camisole. Rene asked if he could touch, then gently pinched the area under my nipples. “Ouch!”

“How long have you been taking hormones, Jerri?”

“I haven’t been, Rene. Really.”

“You may not know it, but you have been, and for at least a couple of months – probably longer.”

“You think Jane’s been feeding me hormones?”

“Yes – probably from when she started cooking for you.”

I started crying. Not because I’d been given hormones, but because my hope of making Jane love me was based on another of her lies. She was probably laughing at me right now. Rene held me until I calmed down.

I looked in the mirror. My breasts weren’t real big or pointy, but my chest didn’t look like any boy’s chest I’d seen. Also, my aureolas were getting bigger – not huge yet, but definitely bigger than boys’. It had all happened so slowly, I hadn’t noticed the change from one day to the next, but once Rene pointed it out, it was obvious that I was growing breasts. I felt my breast where Rene had squeezed. I was firm and tender. “Milk glands, Jerry,” Rene said. My nipples were little cylinders maybe a ¼” in diameter. A little moisture had spread out over the tip – not even a drop, but enough to glisten in the light.

I started panicking and hyperventilating. I was feeling faint. Rene gave me a bag to breathe into. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off.” I nodded.

“I better drive you. You might pass out on the bus.”

“Yeah, I’m not feeling very well.”

Rene drove me home. He offered to come in, but I wanted to talk to Jane alone.

A Mother’s Story

Part 4

The Queen Is dead. Long live the Queen!

When I stepped onto the porch, I saw a skateboard leaning against the entryway wall. I recognized it as belonging to John, a 14 year old who lived next door. We paid him to cut the grass. I wondered why he'd left it, but I was too angry to think about it. Mostly I was thinking what I was going to say to Jane.

Unlocking the door, I went in. Immediately I heard rhythmic squeaking and moans coming from Jane's room. Furious, I opened the door to see Jane bent over the bed with John behind her going at it like there was no tomorrow. Neither of them noticed me.

“Get the fuck out of my house, both of you!”

“Wha …?”

”Beat the shit out of the fag, John. Show him who's the man of the house.”

John pulled out of Jane, his huge hard, red cock bobbing at an obscene angle. Before I could react, he hit me between my ribs and stomach. I heard a distinct crack. Only then did I realize how much bigger than me he was. My adrenalin kicked in, allowing me to retreat a couple of steps. John lunged after me, but his pants were around his ankles, so he fell on his face. While he was untangling himself, I opened my purse, got my pepper spray and blasted him in the face. He screamed in agony – clawing at his eyes.

Meanwhile, Jane grabbed a wine bottle. She swung at my head, but I dodged and she hit my left shoulder, breaking my collar bone. She had the bottle raised again when I doused her with pepper spray as well.

With both of them writhing in pain, I ran out and hid on a porch across the street. I dialed 911 and waited. A couple of minutes later John came out, stumbling around looking for his skateboard – still blinded by the pepper spray. Just then a police car pulled up, quickly joined by another, and then a third. Finally, a fire truck with a paramedic arrived.

Unless your lung is punctured, there's not much to be done for a broken rib, but they set my collar bone. My mother picked me up from the hospital and took me back to her house. Three days later I felt good enough to go back to work.

John was tried for assault and battery and spent a year in juvenile detention. Jane was charged with sexually abusing a minor, battery and for dosing me with hormones. She spent two years in prison and is now a registered sex offender. She had our baby in jail. I named her Marie after my mother. Shortly after, we divorced. I got full custody.

I'd been married less than a year – not the two I signed up for, but Ralph Turner not only gave me the $100,000 he talked about, but offered to pay my university tuition. I told him I'd think about it.

Connie was furious about everything that happened and blamed it all on me. I had not kept up appearances – which she saw as my primary job. Instead, I had exposed Jane as a sex offender and liar. Further, the grand daughter she had hoped to brag on was being raised by a blatant sissy. When Ralph agreed to pay me despite my shortcomings, she divorced him and moved to Florida – where she could tell whatever story she liked.

Of course, you're wondering about how I coped as a mother. After Jane was arrested, I spent a long time reflecting on things I should have thought about before I got married – especially about how I was going to take care of my baby. You can't easily care for a baby and work full time, but then I did not have to. I had a house and $25,000 a year, so I did not have to work.

I had been serious about Marie being a breast-fed baby. Now there was no one to do it but me. Rene knew a doctor who dealt with gender issues, She was able to tailor a program that threaded the needle between growing breasts and still being able to father children. I nursed Marie until our next baby came.

Oh, you want to know about how I came to have another baby? Well, when Tina heard what happened, she came to help me until I was recovered. She had not found her relational niche because she was masculine, but not interested in girls sexually.

Given my hormone regime, my sex drive was low. Tina was still not sure where she belonged in the sexual spectrum. So nothing happened between us for a long time. Instead, she just stayed on in Jane's old room after I recovered and we became ever closer friends. She went to community college in the Fall, and I stayed home to mother Marie. In October, I had a talk with Ralph Turner, who had connections at U.S.C. He agreed to use the money he'd offered for my tuition to pay Tina's. She started at U.S.C. in the Spring.

After living together for a year, we became intimate. We married when Tina discovered she was pregnant. By this time, Ralph, who came every weekend to spend time with his grand daughter, had come to love Tina too – as a daughter. He is Bobby's godfather.

Fifteen years later, I am the full-time mother of four and Tina is up for a partnership in a West L. A. law firm. However bad the start, love wins in the end.