Maunder. A good, old-fashioned word. You don't hear it much these days unless it's in the cliché about old people maundering on about the past. Since I just hit my 70th birthday, I guess I'm licensed to maunder, so here goes.

This is going to be part fiction, part autobiography, part speculation, part rant, and certainly part bullshit. It's the story of what I refer to as my 'stealth transition.' I was born in 1950, when World War II was still fresh on everyone's minds. TV was brand new, electronics ran on vacuum tubes and transistors were just coming out of the laboratory, cars had fins, men were the providers and women stayed at home and cooked and cleaned house.

At least that was what many people wanted to believe. They tried to ignore the thousands of women who worked in factories producing the guns and ships and planes that the men were using to fight the war. Women were welders and plumbers and pilots and just about anything else, and they got booted out the second the armistice was signed.

My Mom was one of those women, and my dad, while he never was in the army because he was working in those war material plants, got to know a lot of those working women and he had his consciousness got raised, to use an anachronistic phrase. You'll see just how important that was to my life as we go on.

 

Despite being old as dirt, at least according to my smartass son, I do enjoy using a computer and can do pretty well at it. The other day an image popped up on a Google search that took me back to my teenage years, but before I reveal just what I saw, let me remind you of what life was like when I was about thirteen years old.

We had one black-and-white TV in our living room. The screen was maybe twelve inches across. Next to it sat a table with our one and only black, corded, rotary telephone. It was a party line, so you had to listen to the coded ring before you picked it up to talk. (Well, unless you wanted to listen in to the neighbors for the latest gossip.) Regular news came in two ways - the wooden, tube-filled radio or the newspapers. That's right - newspapers in the plural - one in the morning and one in the evening.

Of course there were magazines. Mom got The Ladies Home Journal and dad got Popular Mechanics. The family got Look and Life, filled with real pictures, some even in color. I really don't remember when I discovered Dad's stash of Playboy in the garage, but they surely did have some fine color pictures in there. They did leave some mystery about the female body at that time in my life; they had yet to break the pubic hair barrier and there was always something strategically in front of the place where her legs joined the body. Me and my buddies were always wondering what a real woman would do if there were a staple on her body at that particular place. We got pretty silly about it.

Naturally, I couldn't reveal I had found them, but if you wanted to see women with at least some of their clothes off there was one place you could look and not fear exposure. That place was the Sears Catalog. If you were lucky your family got the Montgomery Ward Catalog, too - twice the pages of women in their unmentionables. That's another interesting word, since my buddies and I mentioned those pictures a lot. And that's the image I found in my searching - a page from one of those catalogs.

Now if there's anything going to set an old man maundering, it's something meaningful from his youth. That catalog page brought back the sessions Alvin and I had ogling the women in that catalog. Well, Alvin was ogling the women. Me? I was ogling the underwear the women were wearing. Alvin talked about how you would get something like a girdle off a girl. Me? I thought about how to get a girdle on my body.

I did have one question, though. Just why did they have those little ribbons hanging down from the girdle? I couldn't figure that out and knew better than to ask!

Of course I went along with Alvin (or Justin or Herb or whoever was there that afternoon) and made the proper noises to convince my buddies that I was rarin' to go and couldn't wait to get that babe in bed. Of course I hadn't a clue about what I'd really do with a babe in a bed; sex education was something you didn't talk about in those days, either in school or at home. I was clueless.

I knew from gym class that there were a wide variety of penis shapes and sizes, and I figured out from the locker room talk the whole idea was to get your penis into the babe in the bed, but really - I had no idea just how you did that.

It was pretty obvious from the picture in the catalog that the babe didn't have anything like a penis between her legs, not with the close fitting shape of that panty girdle, but how did I get that floppy thing between my legs to go anywhere? I was still a couple of years from puberty. I was a late bloomer and, frankly, never blossomed all that much. That turned out to be a good thing in the long run but back then, giggling at women in their underwear in the garage, it seemed a tragedy.

Things got even worse when there started to be color printing in those catalogs. Black-and-white girdles fired my imagination like the rockets NASA had started sending into space. I was a Space Junkie and had a scrapbook full of clippings and pictures of the astronauts and anything to do with space, which seems pretty odd when you think of it. Here I was idolizing those super-macho dudes and letting my mind fly up into space with them and at the same time wishing I were a girl and could wear those wonderful, elastic things I saw in the catalogs.

The human mind is a wonderful thing, it is marvelously flexible, capable of doing the limbo around any inconvenient facts that enter into its confines. Which brings back something else to maunder about. Chubby Checker had a hit with The Limbo Rock around that time and I was a limbo champion. My pre-pubescent body was able to bend backwards far more easily than my more masculine friends. I still have a trophy somewhere that I won at the roller rink in a limbo contest.

How's that for championship maundering? Now where was I before I got distracted? Oh, yeah - color in catalogs.

The first thing that caught my space-addicted eye was the Heavenly Bodies tagline in the ad, quickly followed by the stunning fact that the models were wearing blue and yellow brassieres and girdles. And they had stars and moons on them! Why oh why was I born a boy? It just wasn't fair!

That ad did answer one of my questions, though. Those ribbons that had confused me in the black-and-white ad had to be the things you hooked your stockings to. Garters, I found out later. Most women were still wearing gartered stockings around that time, and there was still a strong feeling that a woman who went out in public without a girdle was the next best thing to a slut. Pantyhose were just becoming popular and may have been part of the reason that girdles lost their popularity.

I guess I have to maunder on about my family life at this point, so you can get a feel for what happened when I saw that ad. We were pretty well off, Dad sold insurance and was pretty good at it. Back then, he was a one-man operation, but he was successful enough that he expanded and had a pretty good size agency going for him at the height of his career. That, as you will see, made a big difference in my life.

As a kid, I never really had any money worries with my allowance and the occasional neighborhood chores, so not the least of my popularity with my buddies was my ability to treat them to an ice cream or a visit to the penny candy counter at the Woolworths. I had a decent stash of cash in my bottom dresser drawer as well, over fifty dollars, which before inflation was pretty impressive.

Actually, some of that money was specifically for buying clothes. When my mom went back to work, my folks decided I was old enough to select my own clothes without them, so I got a clothing allowance. Believe me, I learned how to shop for bargains in order to stretch that money. It also helped that Jimmy gave me some of his old stuff when he outgrew it. I told you I wasn't the most manly of men, but Jimmy must have gotten a shot of growth hormones instead of his vaccinations when he went to the doctor. The coach wasn't happy that Jimmy didn't give a damn about sports, he could have been half the football team all by himself. OK, so I exaggerate, but he was just enough bigger than me that I got the benefits. Too bad I couldn't cut a deal with his sister Chris…

Yeah, like that was going to happen.

Mom and dad were pretty cool. You could say that my dad was in the forefront of the transition between the whole father-brings-home-the-bacon and mother-runs-the-house ethos and the Hippie Generation. Mom was right there with him; by the time I discovered my interest in girl's clothes she was working part-time at the local Woolworths store in the fabric and ladies fashions departments.

Dad did have time for me. (I was an only child, by the way.) I was fortunate in that he wasn't into the whole macho thing, not a sports nut or anything and his 97-pound weakling son didn't bother him a bit. Which brings to mind another ad you saw on the back page of half the comic books of the era. That ad did not interest me in the slightest!

I guess you could call my folks hippies-ahead-of-their-time. They had the laid back attitude of the sixties while being in the generation before the hippies. Not quite beatniks, but perfect for me. They taught me to stand up for what I believed in, to work to get where I wanted to go and to think for myself. Sure, we had some angst-ridden teenage quarrels along the way, but we got along pretty well and we were still close until they left the planet a while back. I still think what would Dad do? or what would Mom wear? when I have a decision to make.

When I started to get interested in bras and girdles I was pretty much out-of-luck, no sister and my mother was considerably larger than me so nothing fit. I know, I tried. Now if you look on the ad, you'll see that back then the bras and garter belts went for $1.49, the girdle was a whopping $4.94. That was a total of $7.92, and even with shipping would hardly put a dent in my savings. I could actually buy that stuff and try it on!

When I started to get interested in bras and girdles I was pretty much out-of-luck, no sister and my mother was considerably larger, but back then the bras went for $1.49. I could actually buy that stuff and try it on!

You have no idea how radical that thought was back in the early sixties. In these days where crossdressers are a staple of afternoon TV, gay marriage is legal in all fifty states and Tumblr has a plethora of crossdressing photos for the world to view, it's hard to imagine how isolated a guy who wanted to wear girl's clothes felt back then.
Virginia Prince had just recently gone public, but I wouldn't learn of her and the world of crossdressing for many years to come. I wondered if I were the only boy who felt like this, but I just wasn't able to figure out how to learn if anyone else wanted to wear girl's clothes without letting anyone know that I wanted to wear girl's clothes. No one had to tell me explicitly that such feelings were wrong, that just soaked in through the culture.

I dithered for several days, constantly coming back to that colorful ad with the moons and stars, until another colorful ad caught my eye.

That did it! I transitioned from dithering to planning. Having tried and failed to wear my mother's clothes I was very aware of sizing. Fortunately all the catalogs had size charts in them. Naturally my body shape didn't conform to those charts. With the help of the cloth tape measure from my mother's sewing room I measured myself in the places shown in the catalog and figured out my sizes, choosing a B cup because that was the smallest they had and I certainly had nothing of my own to contribute.

I was so naive that I didn't even consider filling the cups, that would come much later. I also picked the open bottom girdle because it was obvious that the one with the legs would be uncomfortable with my male anatomy. Not that I was all that big, but I sure wasn't built for a girdle with legs.

I grew up in a small town an hour's drive from anything that could be called a big city. Remember, this was before the Interstate system was fully developed and the roads were less than stellar. These days it takes twenty minutes for that drive, but I don't live there any more so that's just another of my endless asides.

I carefully filled out the order form and was briefly stuck at the address line. Our mail was delivered to a box in the post office, so that's what I used. Since one of my jobs was to pick up the mail on my way home from school every day I would be able to intercept my precious package without my parents seeing it.

With the form filled out I got a ten dollar bill from my savings and headed for the post office. There I purchased a money order for the correct amount and added it to the form, sealed the envelope and put the stamp on it. I was excited to watch the envelope slide down the slot and start on its way to Sears, Roebuck and Company.

Then the waiting began. It wasn't like these days, when you can click your mouse on Amazon and get your stuff the next day. It took three whole weeks! for the package to arrive. Week one wasn't too bad, I knew it wouldn't be instant. Week two was hopeful, maybe it would be there today. OK, maybe tomorrow. The third week was almost desperate. Would it ever get here? Nothing again today! Come on!

Finally, there was something big in the PO box on Thursday. It's here! It's finally here! I put it reverently in my bicycle basket with the rest of the mail and pedaled as fast as I could to the house.

Noooooo!!!!! It's Thursday, mom's home. How could she do this to me? My new clothes are here and I can't put them on!!!!!

Alright, pardon the italics and the exclamation points, but I was thirteen years old. Everything is dramatic to a thirteen year old. Everything is unfair. The world hated me! Patience was no virtue to a thirteen year old crossdresser with his first bra waiting to be worn. So I stashed the package in the garage and went in the house.

I should have known my mother would instantly detect I was upset. Until the day she died I couldn't hide anything from her. Sherlock Holmes would have been overjoyed to have her as an assistant, unless she took over his practice and left him standing outside 221B Baker Street with a confused look on his face, wondering just what the hell happened.

I was still thirteen years old, so I tried the usual standby of "Nothing!" when she asked what was wrong. I damn well knew from experience that wasn't going to work, but I was stubborn and tried it anyway.

It didn't work.

"Come on, honey. With that long face I know that it's not nothing."

Just how did she manage to make her voice sound exactly like mine, anyway?

"Really, I'm fine, Mom."

"And I'm the Easter Bunny. What's so horrible that you don't want to talk about it? You don't have a girlfriend so you couldn't have had her dump you."

That's Mom, she had a way about her.

"Awww Mom!"

"Give, Conrad. There's something bugging you."

Some writer I am. I just realized that I've been writing this story for quite a while and never told you my name. Conrad M. Cobb, at your service. Corn Cob to my alleged friends. Is it any wonder that I'd rather be a 'Connie' than a 'Conrad' with that nickname?

So I tried an end run.

"Have you ever wished you could be someone else?" I asked.

"I suppose I have. When I was a little older than you are now I wanted to be Sonja Henie, the figure skater. I just loved the skating costumes she wore, with the daring short skirts. Figure skaters before her mostly wore long, black wool skirts and did pretty tame routines. The stinking male-chauvinist judges thought it wasn't proper for a woman to show her legs or - heaven forbid! - cross her legs in a routine.
"She blew all that away and I would have loved to be her out on the ice. Of course we didn't have an ice rink and I fell flat on my face in roller skates. When I finally had access to an ice rink I worked my little heart out to become the next Sonja Henie. Every once in a while I still remember that dream."

"I never knew that, Mom."

"There are depths to your old Mom you never plumbed, eh kid?"

"I guess."

"You sound so positive. So what's your dream, kiddo?"

Could I tell her? I was halfway there after hearing about her dream of being a figure skater. My feminine dreams were rather formless at that point, and I couldn't quite get over that 'you'll think I'm a freak' barrier.

"I don't know, Mom. Just sometimes I think I should be someone else. I don't know who and it doesn't make any sense. I can't really put it into words, just sometimes I think I should be someone else."

"You're not alone, Con. You're at an age where you're trying to find out just who you are. So try on some different yous and see how they fit. I wouldn't go for Humphry Bogart or John Wayne, though."

"Sonja Henie, maybe?"

"Now that would be different. You want I should start giving you ice skating lessons?"

"I don't know. How would I look in a short skirt?"

She took a step back and looked at me.

"Now that you mention it, I think you could pull it off. You might actually look cute in Sonja Henie's tutu. At least if you didn't fall flat on your tush-tush.

"Mom!"

So now you know. If you ever listened to Click and Clack, you know they used that line a whole lot. But my mother said it first - about me, her son! She was a generous soul, so I'm sure she wouldn't begrudge it to them.

But really, mom thought I wouldn't look bad in a skirt? Wow!

Up in my bedroom I sat at my desk in a daze. Until a half hour ago I wouldn't have thought anything could have made me think of anything but not being able to try on my new clothes. I wasn't happy with my mother for trying to distract me from my funk, but - Sonya Henie's Tutu! - she had managed it.

Now any thirteen year old today would reflexively go to their phone and call up their playlist to fill the silence of the bedroom, but in the early sixties that wasn't an option. I had two choices - put a 45 RPM record on my record player and change it every few minutes or turn on my transistor radio. At the time a transistor radio was a big deal, you could stick the new Japanese ones in your pocket and listen to the local stations anywhere, at least until the 9 volt battery gave out.

My parents had gotten me one last Christmas, so I was the envy of my buddies. The thing cost about fifteen bucks, and if you remember I paid a buck and a half for that bra I couldn't try on, you get the idea that they were not in everybody's price range. The last I bra I bought on line cost me almost sixty bucks, so you can see just what fifteen dollars meant back then. Like I told you, my family was moderately well off.

With the tinny sounds of the top forty coming from the little inch-and-a-half speaker I contemplated what had just happened. I learned my mother had big dreams when she was my age - something that had never occurred to me before then - and she had actually told me I might look cute in a tutu.

Something like that had never happened before, either.

Ice skating - a subject I had never really considered before that momentous day. What would happen if I asked my mother to take me ice skating with her sometime? Would she be willing to teach me how to skate? Could I work up the nerve to talk about a tutu? Big dreams for a thirteen year old boy.

I needed to know more about this whole ice skating thing. Once again, I have to remind you this was the early sixties, if you wanted to get information about something you basically had one choice - the Library. Kids these days don't know what it was like… Forget it - I'm maundering again. I'll try to stick to the subject.

After dinner I quickly finished my homework and then hopped on my bike to ride to the library. There I consulted the card catalog and found a whole lot more about ice skating than I had found about boys who want to wear girls clothes. Since I found absolutely nothing on that subject, it wasn't hard to find more than I did on my last search. I even found a book on Sonja Henie and got a look at her tutu. The boy side of me thought she looked pretty good and the emerging girl side of me wanted to be wearing one of those! When I left I had checked out my limit of books on ice skating and filled the basket on my bike.

I tried to simply go up to my room when I got home but, while the sight of me with an armful of books wasn't exactly rare, it wasn't exactly common either.

"What'cha got there, sport?" asked my dad.

"A bunch of books."

"I kind of figured that out. Books about what?"

"Ice skating."

"Ice skating? You know your mom was an ice skater when she was your age. She was pretty good, too."

"I know. She told me about it this afternoon. It sounded interesting."

"Well, I really enjoyed watching her skate in that little, short skirt. The ice rink was the only place in town she could wear something like that without every old biddy in town phoning her mother to complain about moral laxness in the younger generation."

"Lawrence! Am I hearing you discuss moral laxity with our son?"

Mom had arrived.

"Just telling him how good you looked in a tutu, dear."

"So you said, even back then."

"Haven't changed my mind, either."

"Flatterer!"

"Uh, Mom?" I asked.

"I was thinking… Could you maybe teach me how to ice skate? It looks like it might be fun."

"Well, I certainly enjoyed it. So did your father but for rather different reasons."

"Hey! I can't help it if you were the prettiest girl on the rink."

"I think you were more interested in those quiet places behind the rink where you could…"

"Mom! Maybe I should just go up to my room now."

"Not a bad idea for us, either, eh Bev?"

"Lawrence! I think it's time for you to have that talk with Conrad. Past time, maybe."

"You could be right. We aren't trying to hide anything from you, Con. It's just that the whole subject of sex is rather… rather…"

"Difficult, Dad? I've noticed. Adults tend to clam up and get red in the face about it."

"From the mouths of babes… I guess that applies to us, doesn't it Bev?"

"I guess so. Tomorrow night we'll try to give you the straight story, son," said Mom.

"That would be good. Some of the stuff I've heard in the locker room seems pretty weird."

"About as weird and almost certainly as wrong as what I heard at your age," Dad replied.

So we left it there and I went up to my room to read my books. Problem was, now I had something else to be confused about. I fell asleep and had some very odd dreams. Fortunately, I couldn't remember them when I woke up.

It's really hard to pay attention in class when you're distracted. School was pretty easy for me, I enjoyed learning and liked to unravel puzzles. Math was OK, history was fascinating and I loved science. About that time I started to figure I could do without gym class. Not that I didn't like exercise, but I got plenty of that on my bike. It's the posturing and jock idiots that got my goat.

Not that anyone reading this would be surprised that I was less than enthusiastic about macho stuff. I held my own and a couple of the assholes found out I wasn't quite as wimpy as I looked. Short doesn't mean easily pummeled. Actually, being able to read body language was a real advantage in a fight. If you could predict what the idiot trying to pound you was going to try next I would not be where he expected me to be. I was a quick little bugger, and more than one bully found himself tripping over my feet.

Not that that was the problem on that particular day. No, it was 'The Talk' and ice skating and tutus and bras that had my head in the clouds. Mom & Dad wouldn't be home until after five, so I could try on my new pretties. On one hand I really wanted to see what a bra and girdle felt like; on the other hand I was almost afraid that I would like them too much. What was I going to do if they felt as good as I thought they would?

When that wasn't occupying my mind, visions of spinning around on ice skates in a tutu took their place. I really don't remember how I made it through that day.

Somehow I made it home without running into anybody and parked my bike in the garage. I dug out the package from its hiding place and took it to my room. Off came the clothes and I opened the package. The bra came out first, so I tried to figure out how to put it on. All those pictures showed the bras already on someone's body, but how did you actually get them on your body?
Well, your arms obviously went through the straps, so that's where I started. The darn thing didn't fit over my shoulders, so eventually I noticed there were adjustments on the straps. Being the early sixties, the adjusters were still on the front of the bra, so I extended the straps and slid the bra over my arms. None of the pictures in the ads showed the back of the bra, but it didn't take a genius to figure out how it should work.

Then came the frustrating dance as I tried to match the hooks together behind my back. It took some time, but I finally succeeded and looked in my mirror. Cool! I was actually wearing a bra! And it felt just as good as I had imagined. Looking in the mirror the front was kind of floppy, so I played with the adjusters until I felt the straps tighten on my shoulders.

The girdle wasn't anywhere near as hard to figure out, just step into it and zip up the side zipper. The only problem was that it was tight on my tummy and far too loose farther down. Studying the pictures in the catalog I finally realized that real girls had hips and I didn't, so the girdle just didn't fit right on me.

I hated to do it, but I took the girdle off and tried the garter belt. That fit OK, but since I didn't have any stockings the clips just hung there and tickled me when I walked around. I guess there's more to dressing like a girl than just wearing a bra.

Eventually the first rush of pleasure at wearing a bra faded and I noticed that wearing a bra was kind of pointless unless you had breasts to put into the bra cups. Well, not quite pointless because the thing felt so good, but there had to be some way to do something about those empty cups. So, like all novice crossdressers, I set about finding something to fill the cups. I won't bore you with all my experimentation, but some cotton batting (this was way before fiberfill was available) from Mom's sewing room did the job.

I can't tell you just how looking in the mirror and seeing a girl looking back made me feel. I was riding on the wind, flying above the clouds, mistress of all I surveyed. This was exactly who I was supposed to be, how I was supposed to be dressed, I had found whatever was missing in myself. Pardon the hyperbole, but it was necessary. That day changed the course of my life. Looking back from 57 years in the future, the feelings and the joy still shine in my mind.

I sat at my desk and did my homework dressed only in my bra and garter belt. The feelings were distracting, but I felt far more creative and alive as I did my homework. I was so enthralled about the whole thing I almost blew it - Mom and Dad would be home soon. Taking one last look in the mirror, I finally noticed the girl there had a brush cut and a small but noticeable penis. I resolved to let my hair grow, after all there were a lot of guys starting to wear long hair, the hippies were all around us.

What to do about that penis was a bit more difficult. It finally occurred to me that all the models in the ads were wearing panties, pink ones and blue ones and white ones. At least wearing panties would hide the fact that I had something girls didn't.

I could picture the ladies wear section in the Woolworth store, with the rack of panties right next to the rack of stockings, and you had better believe I had noticed them and tried to be cool while looking at them without anyone seeing I was looking. I saw them every time I went into the store to see Mom, and that was just the problem. Mom worked there; no way I could buy such things even if I could work up the nerve to do it.

I guess you can see why I'm so good at maundering as an old fart, I was perfectly capable of getting distracted starting in my teenage years. It was time to put away my new clothes, but just where could I put them? I didn't want Mom to find them when she did the laundry, so my closet and drawers were out. So was under the mattress, Mom found some stuff I thought I had hidden there a while back, so what now? Then I remembered a loose board in the hall closet that you could take up to get at some plumbing. I found that when I was about eight and thought it was so cool to have a hidey-hole like that. Nobody goes in there - perfect!

I was dressed in my normal clothes and my heart was almost beating normally by the time my parents got home. I even had time to read some of the ice skating books.

When my parents got home, I somehow managed to convince them that I hadn't spent the afternoon doing something that was, well, considered perverted back then. Not that they asked, but there wasn't much of anything else on my mind. Heck, a lot of people still consider it perverted right now in 2020.

Perhaps they put down my nervousness to the upcoming talk about the 'Birds and the Bees.' Maybe I even pulled off being my normal self. The subject never came up even when I was an adult and we reminisced about growing up.

It's hard to believe it in these days of natural foods and eating healthy, but when I was thirteen years old having a TV dinner was something special. With Mom working we had them every so often when things got too busy for her to cook, and I didn't mind a bit. In fact, I looked forward to those TV dinners.

As you can see from the ad, it was assumed the 'little woman' would be at home while the macho man was off working to support the family and she would have dinner hot and waiting for him and their 3.7 children when he arrived home. It wasn't expected he would call home if he was late, it was her job to cope and damn well have that dinner hot and ready.

Notice the not-so-subtle images. The clock behind her - she's ten minutes late with dinner. The woman is wearing a fashionable outfit and she's obviously been shopping because she has a great, big hat box next to her stack of TV dinners. About the only thing it lacks is a pipe in the husband's mouth as he reads the paper while she does all the housework.

OK, I'm cynical, but that attitude wasn't all that rare in my youth. I suppose it can still be found in isolated pockets of machismo to this day. That was a time when one person could support a family with one job, something we look back on nostalgically these days.

Now Mom was a great cook, but what teenager (or pre-teen) ever notices things like that. I just expected a great dinner on the table every night, that's just how things were. TV dinners were different, more modern, and so they had to be special. Those memories remain in my head, but I wouldn't touch one of the things with a ten foot fork. I have higher standards now and Mom eventually taught me how to cook. My thirteen year old grandson who - as far as I can tell, intends to stay my grandson - would be outraged to find one of those aluminum-clad monstrosities in my freezer.

I got distracted again - let's get back to 'The Talk.'

Oh heck! I'm going to have to explain something before I can get to 'The Talk.' I later found out I grew up with exceptional parents. In my parent's era, sex was something you just didn't talk about! In her later years, Mom told me that her grandmother told her that she just had to close her eyes and endure her wedding night for the sake of having children.

Really?

In my teenage years, the whole free love movement was gathering steam. By the time I was in college, everybody was talking about sex quite freely - at least on campus where there weren't many old fuddy-duddys to be scandalized. Well, there were a few that actively sought out fuddie-duddies to scandalize, but I didn't hang with them. It wasn't until much later that I realized my parents were exceptional, they could actually talk a bout sex with their son and not get embarrassed (well, not too much) or tongue-tied.

These days we might consider waiting until a kid is thirteen waiting rather too long for 'The Talk,' but some of my friends never even got anything more than 'keep it in your pants' as guidance. Since puberty was yet to happen to me, I doubt talking any earlier would have helped. As it was, I didn't understand some parts until I had a girlfriend to give me some details about the whole thing. Julie was very good at explaining, but that's another story.

I can remember being fascinated and repelled at the same time. I really wanted to know all the details of this sex thing, but having my parents make references to themselves about sex was something I couldn't fathom. And, very unusual for the time, or maybe any time, they were both there to give me 'The Talk.' I did get an answer to the question about where a penis goes in a woman's body, but thinking about my father's penis in my mother's body was something that blew my mind.

Well, of course that had to happen or I wouldn't be here, but really!

I have to say they covered the pure mechanical aspect of sex rather clearly, I was able to follow that part, despite the ugh factor of realizing my parents did stuff like that. Since I had yet to hit puberty, it was hard to apply to my body, but it made a lot more sense than some of the stuff I heard from my contemporaries. When they got to the part about how a woman's body prepares for sex I have to admit I was a bit jealous. It seemed a lot easier to me to be the female, none of this erection stuff and finding the target. Especially with my recent experience with wearing a bra, I really wished I could be the female in all this stuff.

Then Mom told me the facts about girl's bodies. How they develop breasts and just what menstruation and periods were and what girls did about it. She said it was something I should know even if it was not going to happen to me. Someday I'd have a girlfriend or a wife and needed to be understanding. Little did she know that after what happened in my bedroom that afternoon I was very interested in how a girl's body developed.

But they didn't stop there. My folks wanted to make sure I knew that sex was more than just coupling two bodies together. Love, respect, consideration, playfulness, and acceptance all played a part as important as getting a sperm to find an egg. In fact, since this was the dawn of effective birth control, sex no longer necessarily led to getting pregnant.

And there's where they gave me the whammy. No man with any self respect or consideration for his partner would take a chance on getting her pregnant unless they were married. Period. If you start a child, that responsibility lasts for eighteen years and nine months at a minimum. No excuses, no 'I didn't think it could happen,' no 'protection is her responsibility.' No way, no how. If you are man enough to have sex then you damn well better be man enough to be a father.

Not all of it stuck in my thirteen year old brain, but enough of it did to give me a lousy night's sleep. The day had taken some serious turns that would affect me for the rest of my life. That takes some serious consideration.

By Friday morning things had settled down a bit. My parents had recovered from the Birds and Bees session, even if I was still mulling it over. At thirteen I was too young to maunder, but mulling was good practice for later in my life.

I had been able to do my homework twice while wearing a bra and garter belt, and was still enthralled. Naturally, anything new will inevitably become normal, and I found myself wanting more! Somehow, even looking from the perspective of being seventy years old and knowing I'm nearer to the end of things than the beginning, I still want more. I suppose that never changes. Just how to go about getting that more was something I was still trying to figure out.

Something that had become clear was, with all the talk about Sonja Henie, I was interested in trying to ice skate. Now that was something that I could do something about.

"Hey Mom?" I asked at breakfast.

"What's on your mind, Con?"

"I've been thinking about what you said about ice skating."

"Oh, you have. That's nice."

"I'd kinda of like to have you teach me how to do it."

"Really? I haven't skated in years."

"Maybe it's like riding a bike - you never forget."

"That's an elephant. I'm not sure they make skates big enough for elephant feet."

"Mom!"

"It might be kind of fun. I wonder if I could find my old skating things. Actually, I wonder if they would be any good after all these years."

"Maybe up in the attic?"

"I don't think so. I was skating mostly before I married your dad, so if my clothes and skates are still around they'd be in Grandma's attic."

"Can we look?"

"Why not. I'll give her a call while you're in school. You're going to be late for the bus if you don't get a move on. If Mom tells me that the stuff is still at her place I'll pick you up after school and we can go visit Grandma."

"Cool. See you after…" I called as I ran out the door.

 

For the second time that week I was missing in action at school. Mom had her ice skating stuff from when she was my age? Was there any way I could get to wear it? Was I out of my mind? I certainly couldn't ask. But she said I might look cute in a tutu. But I'm a guy. But I want to wear a bra and dress like a girl. But that's not something I want to tell my mother. But what if…

You get the idea. Somehow school just wasn't that important that day. I was practically biting my nails by the afternoon. I had decided that I needed to let them grow so I could have fingernails more like the girls I knew, but after only a few days there wasn't much progress. Biting them wasn't a good idea. When I saw Mom's car in front of the school I reacted like the boy I had been up until the last few days, shouting "YES" and punching the air with my closed fist. That got me a few odd looks, but I just headed for the car and hopped in next to Mom.

"Ready to see what your old Mom looked like when she was your age?" she asked.

"Sure. I bet Sonja Henie wouldn't have looked any better than you, though."

"Save that line for when you want to impress a girlfriend. You don't have to butter me up."

"Please! You know they call me Corn Cobb. That's not what I want to hear."

"Ouch! I would have thought you'd get stuck with Connie being on the small side."

"Sometimes, but not too much."

"Kids can be cruel. They called me Booberly when I was a little younger than you. I suspect you can guess why."

"Jeez Mom! That's gross."

"I bet I can give you the punch line to every dirty joke anyone has told you at school and make a good guess at what nicknames get hung on which kids, especially the girls. Things haven't changed that much since I was young."

"I guess not. But Booberly?"

"I don't want to gross you out, but I had to start wearing a bra when I was nine years old. At least that's not something you'll have to cope with."

If she only knew!

"Uh…" was about all I could come up with.

"If you haven't been noticing the girl's boobs by now I'd be surprised. We did have that talk the other night."

"Who are you and what did you do with my Mom?" I giggled. Yes, giggled. I couldn't help it.

"I put her on one of those space rockets you like so much and sent her to the stars. I'm an alien come to take over planet earth. Just don't tell anyone, OK?"

"Mum's the word, Mom. Think you can fool Grandma? She ought to be able to tell her daughter from a space alien."

"At least I don't look like Gort."

"Klaatu barada nikto"

"Aww darn! Now I can't destroy the earth. You take all the fun out of alien invasion."

"We gotta go see The Day The Earth Stood Still the next time it comes back to the theater."

"I don't know when that will happen, but it would be fun. I always loved that movie."

"More than ice skating?"

"Well, your dad and I could fool around in the back row of the theater during the movie. We couldn't do that in the ice rink."

"Jeez Mom! You tell me about sex and suddenly all you can talk about is sexy stuff when you were a teenager. What gives?"

"You're taking me back to my misspent youth. Don't your friends boast about stuff like that when you think no adults are around?"

"Does that mean you think there aren't any adults around now?"

"Just for that I'm not going to tell you about the time I double dated with my sister. That was before I met your dad. Not that I'm comparing Jimmy to your dad, though."

"Mom! Cut that out!"

"You're cute when you get embarrassed, Con."

"Oh joy! Just what I wanted to hear."

"Since we're here, I guess I'll have to stop."

"Imagine my relief!"

"I don't have to imagine it - it's obvious. Let's go say hi to your grandmother."

Let me introduce you to my grandmother - my mother's mother. I had another one, Dad's mother, that you'll hear about later, but she had died when I was very young.

Grandma Gladys was a tall, slim woman, much like her daughter, only Grandma Gladys had remarkably big boobs. Listen, my thirteen-year-old self didn't go for the more polite 'breasts.' Girls, and by extension women, had 'boobs.' I'd known that before - obviously! - but with my newly heightened awareness having just had 'The Talk' and having found out how delightful wearing a bra could be I had to wonder just how big were they?

Not something a kid can comfortably ask his grandmother, eh? I later found out she was an E cup by looking at the tag of one of her brassieres while they hung out to dry. Pretty sad, huh, a kid checking out his grandmother's boobs. I can only plead that puberty, such that it was, must have been starting around then. I had a well developed fascination with breasts, and it never really went away even when I got a pair of my own.

Then there was Grandpa Dave, but he was off golfing. The man was ga-ga about golf, and had tried to get me interested, too. Didn't work, I found it boring. If he wasn't golfing he was fishing, and I didn't like that much either. Now that I'm an old fart I rather enjoy fishing, that is to say drowning worms and maundering while reading a book. Golf is still boring.

Back to the main thread of the story. Grandma Gladys was a tall woman, 5'10", as was my mother. I was not so lucky, I barely made it to 5'5" if I tried to lift myself up on my toes while the doctor slid that metal thing down the wall when they measured your height. I wasn't the shortest kid in my class, but I came close.

I'm maundering again - that's the third time I've gotten sidetracked since I tried to tell you about Grandma.

Naturally I got hugged, placing those boobs practically in front of my nose, and told how big I had grown. Grandma was a good liar, I hadn't grown at all in the two weeks since I had last seen her.

"You look so much like your mother, Con. You really ought to let your hair grow out. Boys these days don't need to look like they just got scalped after joining the army."

"I've been thinking about that, grandma."

"Well do it, child."

"Yes ma'am!" I gave her a mock army salute.

"You're as much of a wiseacre as your mother."

"We tried to raise him right, Mother."

"Work on that teenage rebellion thing, won't you Con? Your mother deserves as much grief as she gave me growing up."

"Don't encourage him, Mother! He does just fine without any help."

"Can I be a radical when I grow up?" I asked.

"Go ask your father."

Naturally Grandma had cookies and cocoa waiting in the kitchen. We sat around and talked a while I tried to be patient, but I really wanted to see if any of Mom's ice skating stuff was still there. After going through those books on ice skating I thought it would be something pretty interesting. Those little short skirts and flashy tops had nothing to do with my interest. Sorry - I just can't lie as well as my Grandma Gladys. I wanted to wear Sonja Henie's tutu, but I'd happily settle for my mother's tutu if it fit.

Fat chance, right? I already told you she's much bigger than I was at thirteen.

Eventually we went up to grandma's attic. I've always loved her attic, she and grandpa lived in this huge, three story old house and the attic was filled with treasures of every kind. It smelled of old dust and faint perfume, and on sunny summer days could be like an oven. I suppose these days Grandma Gladys would be called a hoarder, because the attic wasn't the only room filled with - to put it kindly - the castoffs of a lifetime. When they passed it took months to clean the place, but once again that's another story.

I discovered another downside to having been born male that afternoon - I got to be the one to shift all the boxes around while the delicate women searched for the box - or was it a trunk - or maybe a big suitcase? - with Mom's skating things in it. I could easily get distracted telling you about the other things we found (including some dresses that just might have fit me) but I'll cut to the chase. Eventually we found the right trunk and between us we managed to get it downstairs into one of the spare bedrooms. Then I had to go and wash the crud-of-ages off my hands before I could touch anything. That attic had a lot of dust collected over the years.

Sure enough, there were three pairs of skates in there, in varying sizes as Mom grew up. The biggest pair still fit her and the smallest pair fit me. I was not allowed off the rug under the chair I was sitting on to try the skates, grandma didn't want her floors ruined. My image of being a beautiful ballerina on the ice, floating along and jumping gracefully into a spin took a beating, I was barely able to stand up balanced on those thin blades. Reality sucks sometimes. Mom assured me she could show me how to skate properly, it was only a matter of practice. I sure hoped she was right.

There must have been two dozen outfits in there, Mom must have really been into skating. Mom couldn't resist seeing if she still fit into the one she used for her last competition, so she disappeared into the bathroom to change. Grandma had this enigmatic smile on her face while we waited, a smile I now know after reaching the age where nostalgia looms large in your life. She was obviously remembering the little girl who once was.

Mom came back and it seemed that fifteen years and one pregnancy had not affected her figure. The outfit still fit. Now those skating costumes are made to be a close fit, there isn't much room for growth allowed. I could see Mom's bosom (thinking boobs in front of my Mom and Grandma was really too much) was a bit tight - something she blamed on me using them as a baby. I think that's the first time I started to appreciate my mother as a woman, that skating outfit displayed her figure very well.

"I never would have believed it, Beverly," Grandma enthused. "You always looked wonderful in those outfits and you still do. I just wish I could still wear things from fifteen years back."

"Fishing for compliments, Mother?"

"Your father does the fishing in this family. I do the wishing. Look here, this is the first one you wore when you were eight years old. You looked so adorable."

"And I got eliminated when I blew the last jump and Shelly Wilson got the first place."

"Still got that competitive streak, eh daughter?"

"I guess I do."

"What was this one for, Mom?"

I couldn't help it. The outfit was a creamy white with gorgeous embroidery around the neckline and the edge of the very short skirt. The material was very stretchy and it was all in one piece, with the panties as part of the dress. I instinctively held it up and measured it to my body.

"My god, Bev. If it wasn't for the brush cut I'd swear you were a teen again."

"Well, Mom said I'd look cute in at tutu just the other day," I offered.

"It looks like it would even fit you, Con." Mom said.

"So, should I wear it when you teach me to skate, Mom?"

I just hoped the light bantering of the morning would let me get away with that.

"Your hair would give you away, I'm afraid."

"Now that shouldn't be a problem. Just wait here a minute," Grandma said.

She left the room and a few minutes later came back with a wig, one that was practically the same color as my mother's hair.

"I can't wear this any more since I let myself go gray. Let's see what you look like with long hair, child."

So grandma fussed and tugged and brushed and when I looked in the mirror the mother-daughter resemblance was very apparent. The wig was much like how my mother wore her hair, enhancing the effect. A lot of girls in those days were wearing jeans and a t-shirt much like what I was wearing (although the girls usually had flowers or puppies on them), so even the clothing wasn't too out-of-place.

"I can't believe it!" my mother said in wonder. "I knew you took after my side of the family, but that's… that's… spooky!"

"Should I try on the outfit?" I asked hopefully.

"Do you want to?"

"I think I do."

Oh boy, I had to take the chance. I just had to.

"Then go ahead. It ought to be interesting."

It never occurred to me back then to wonder just what my mother and grandmother were discussing while I was gone. Like I said, my parents were pretty unusual, but they were the only parents I had. I was blissfully ignorant that they had noticed I was unusually interested in girl's things for a normal boy. Self-centered little brat, wasn't I?

So I went into the bathroom and took off all my clothes and tried on the outfit. Other than being a bit loose in the bust and tight in the crotch, it fit pretty well - at least after I took it off again to remove my tightie-whities, which just didn't work with those built-in panties that kept people from seeing too much when the skirt went flying. I took off my shoes and socks, too. That looked much better.

I was a bit nervous going back to show them how I looked, but I was simply too high with being able to wear a dress and feel like a girl that I was oblivious.

"I think I'm going to have to start believing in reincarnation, Beverly," Grandma said with a huge grin.

"There's no doubt that she's my daughter, is there Mom?

Daughter?

DAUGHTER???

"There's no doubt that she's my daughter, is there Mom?"

Mom called me her Daughter?

DAUGHTER???

"Well, you were a little more developed up top, weren't you Booberly?"

"Did you have to remember that nickname?"

"Kind of hard to forget, girl. I don't think any amount of tissues would pad Connie out enough to be reasonable, though."

"Not without a bra, I guess."

"Remember when your cousin Sara wrapped up some rice in a handkerchief to fill things out?"

"Quite vividly. She should have been a Boy Scout so she learned to tie knots better."

"If she was a boy scout she wouldn't have needed the rice."

"Every time a few grains fell out and hit the wooden floor you could hear the tippity-tap quite clearly."

"So could her boyfriend."

"Good thing Connie is a Boy Scout. She ought to be able to tie a knot that won't come undone."

"She'll need a bra, then."

What the heck was going on?

"I suppose so."

"Let's see if this one will do," said Grandma as she handed me a shopping bag.

I recognized the name of the place where Mom went for some of her clothes when Woolworths didn't have what she wanted at her employee discount. A place that was filled with bras and slips and other stuff for women. A place where I had to try really hard to act bored while waiting for my mother to finish shopping.

I was just beginning to realize that I had been set up. Self-centered little twit that I was I hadn't a clue.

"You're kidding!" I managed to squeak out. Under other circumstances having my voice break might have been good news that I was finally going to be a man. Or at least that would have been good news until recently. Now that squeak was pure, adulterated disbelief.

"You aren't going to tell me you don't want to try it on. We aren't blind, you know."

"But… I…"

Incoherence, thy name is Conrad - or should that be Connie?

"Do you think I hadn't noticed the torn-out catalog pages in your wastebasket? Or the longing looks at the ladieswear when you see me in the store? I was pretty sure when I told you you would look cute in a tutu and you practically went off into dreamland before you could answer.

"Then when Mrs Corley at the Post Office mentioned you had bought a money order and sent an envelope to Sears, what else would you have been ordering without telling us but something from those lingerie pages?

"Some tools for Dad?" I tried weakly.

"Shopping for Christmas in April? First time you've ever thought that far ahead. When we gave you that clothing allowance, we didn't tell you how you could spend it. Of course, we didn't think you would be buying bras and panties with it. I assume you couldn't resist the ones with the stars and moons on them, being a space nut.

"Remember when you asked if you would look good in a short skirt? That pretty much gave it away, you know."

"Connie, you can't hide anything from your mother, just like she couldn't hide anything from me," smirked Grandma.

"There was the weekend camping with Charlie when you thought I was with Gail and Cindy. I don't think you found out about that one."

"I stand corrected. Speaking of standing, are you just going to stand there holding that bag or will you go and try it on, Connie?"

Not that I was ever interested in watching the so-called professional wrestling on TV, but by then I had a pretty good idea what Hulk Hogan must have felt like when he was double teamed in a match. That brings up some interesting speculation on my part as to just how badly those macho morons would do if my immediate female ancestors teamed up and jumped into the ring. Gran's impressive breasts would probably distract any macho moron so much that Mom would have them hog-tied and pleading while they drooled over Grandma Gladys.

I shudder to think what they would consider appropriate costumes for a faked-up wrestling match. And just how would Grandma keep her wig on her head if she started spinning someone around before she tossed them over the ropes?

But back to the costume I was wearing that day and the bag I had just been handed. I went off to the bathroom and discovered a package of panties, yellow, blue and white, just like the catalog page I had ordered from. Did Mom get them to match my yellow bra? Since I didn't need them with the skating outfit I wondered why she had bought them for me. Likewise the garter belt, the stockings and a pair of black women's flats. (I now had two garter belts!) You see where this is going, don't you? I sure didn't in my euphoric state. It's a damn good thing pot wasn't legal back then or someone would have busted me thinking I was high on something illegal.

I put on the bra. It was plain white but had a little pink bow between the cups. I can remember almost all of my bras from that era had a bow or flower between the cups - since blouses back then were much heavier fabric, the little nubbin didn't ruin the lines of the breast like it would now. In fact, the unibreast was still a common look, no way the blouse would even get near that bow.

By this time I was practically and expert and had it snapped and adjusted in a flash. What surprised me was two squishy inserts for the cups. I wasn't sure what they were made of, but it seemed obvious that real girls sometimes need a little help in filling their bras. I guess I wouldn't have to practice my knot tying after all. Compared to the silicon marvels, complete with nipples (something not to be contemplated in the early sixties!) that were available a decade or two later, they were lumps of formless jelly. Compared to cotton batting they were outrageously feminine. It was also obvious how they went in.

It suddenly occurred to me that Mom must have spent some serious money on these things. I knew the prices of most of the girl's underwear from studying the ads or surreptitiously checking the prices while Mom was helping a customer at Woolworths. The falsies were something new to me, but they had to be expensive. I knew that these weren't the low-end things from Woolworths, but the quality stuff from her favorite store. She must have spent maybe thirty dollars on all that stuff!

You have to account for inflation - remember my first bra cost $1.49? Google has a handy Inflation Calculator that tells me that $30 in 1963 works out to $251.94 in 2020 dollars. Of course, that $1.49 bra would be $12.59 according to the calculator, so I wonder how accurate it is in calculating women's fashions. There is no way in god's green earth I would wear a $12.49 bra these days. I do have my standards.

That's not trivial, but while my younger self was impressed that my parents would be so generous, I wasn't that impressed. Selfish little brat. It wasn't until years later, just before I went in for my final surgery, that Dad admitted they hoped that by overwhelming me with feminine everything I might realize how much simpler being a man was and abandon all this nonsense. I can say that none of us were really aware just how much I wanted to be a woman back then, but obviously drowning me in feminine clothing and accessories didn't have the desired effect.

Glowing with satisfaction at my new figure, I returned to the bedroom where the conversation stopped abruptly at my entrance.

"Ah-ha!" crowed Mom. "You must have gotten a bra or you would still be in there figuring out how to put it on. Out of curiosity, just where did you hide your goodies? They weren't in your drawers."

"So you were snooping?"

"You bet! C'mon, give!"

"Uh, I may want to use it for something else I don't want you to find."

"Told you she wouldn't tell," smirked Grandma.

"I didn't raise a dummy, it seems."

"You haven't been raising a boy either, it seems. That should make the feminists happy."

"It makes me happy that my child is willing to experiment and not just go along with the crowd. I think your experiment is looking rather successful, Connie. If you still want to learn to skate in my old costume then we can give it a try. I never thought I'd be teaching a daughter to skate."

"Can I?"

I couldn't keep the enthusiasm out of my voice.

"I think the rink is far enough away that we shouldn't meet anyone who knows you. If you're willing to take that chance, then let's do it."

"But what will Dad think?"

"You'll know in a few minutes when he gets here. I know he's been very curious as to how you'd look in my old clothes."

"Oh…"

"Don't worry, we both agree that we can live with you experimenting with this. It's not something people talk about, but a lot of boys your age are curious about girl's clothes. Your dad and I think the ridiculous ideas about sex that most people hold on to are well past time for a change, and we are going to do our best to put that into practice in our family".

I was well into my sixties when I read Gorg Huff's Volga Rules, a book in the wonderful Ring of Fire series. In it there is the character of Father Yulian, a very horny priest whose mantra is the best cure for lustful thoughts was satiating them. It appears my parents espoused that philosophy long before Father Yulian made the scene, even if lust wasn't precisely my issue. I have to say I rather go along with that philosophy to this day.

Mom continued: "You'll still have to be careful, even if we go along with this, you could get into some serious trouble from people who think their way is the only way to do things the right way. People like religious nuts and jocks at school. I don't want you getting beaten up or ostracized if your interest in girl's clothes gets to be too public."

"Neither do I. I can hardly believe this!"

"Well, it took some heavy thinking on our part before we decided what to do with you. And now you have a decision to make yourself."

"What?"

"You can either choose to stay in my skating costume and we ladies will cook dinner or you can put on a dress that's a little less flamboyant and we can take a drive into the city and eat out."

"I don't know…"

"Which is a good answer until you have some time to think about it. Since Grandma won't want you clomping around in your skates, I brought over a pair of your sandals."

"Thanks, Mom. Barefoot doesn't exactly go with a skating outfit."

"Wow, she's developing a fashion sense already," Grandma looked amused.

"You said there were other dresses I could wear?"

Even if I weren't going to go out to dinner I was curious about that. I had absolutely no idea how lucky I was at the time. I've met many of my sisters who started out with nothing and wore scraps and rags for years until they could afford something decent. For that matter, I know how much fashionable and well made skirts and dresses cost for me now.

That doesn't even include the cost of those spiffy suits my husband wears. We've worked hard to get to the place where we can enjoy life and dress well. That naive kid in my past just took it for granted that the wardrobe of pretty dresses in her grandmother's attic was almost hers by right.

Of course, faced with all those clothes hanging there I just had to decide we should go out. With the confidence of a teenager who had never faced a real crisis in her life, I blithely forged ahead and got dressed to go out to dinner with my family. I even thought I was ready once I had my wig, stockings, panties bra and dress on my body.

OK, I was a novice at this dressing stuff. I was also completely wrong.

Grandpa Dave has a saying he's fond of: Be careful of what you wish for, you might get it. It's the kind of stuff old people like to say to young people. Lord knows I've used it a time or two myself.

In the thirteen (almost fourteen) years of my life before that momentous week nothing all that earth shaking had happened. I had never done anything to get my name in the newspaper unless you count a caption under the picture when a bunch of us from the school cleaned up the roadside. This was years before the first Earth Day, so I guess it really was pretty unusual.

I'd done my first communion at church, but my name only got in the church bulletin. Besides, the whole thing was pretty much pro forma. The family wasn't quite Christmas-and-Easter Christians, but we weren't all that worried when we skipped a few Sundays in the pews. Considering what some of the religious nuts think of us trans folk, I suppose that was a pretty good thing.

Nope, until I tried on my first bra my life was pretty much steady and unexceptional.

On Tuesday I discovered I really wanted to wear girl's clothes. On Friday I discovered that as much as I was convinced I had hidden my desires so well, my parents knew all about it and my mother and grandmother had even bought me a bra and something to fill it with so I could see what it felt like. Far from freaking out, they were actually helping me.

How many shocks can a teenage boy, who wants to be a girl, take in less than one week? Apparently one more - they were taking Connie - that's me in a dress - out for dinner within hours of letting me know my secret wasn't so secret. I had on a dress and all the appropriate underwear for a girl in the early sixties, including those adorable shiny black shoes with the little bow on them, so I thought I was ready.

I had a lot to learn. There was jewelry, and Grandma Gladys had plenty for me to borrow. Since she had never had her ears pierced she had plenty of clip-on earrings to loan me. Naturally my mentors just turned me loose and let me pick something out. I suppose I was being tested for fashion sense.

I had picked out a cotton summer dress in pale blue with a high neckline, 3/4 sleeves, high waistline and a hemline that came well below the knee. I knew that the girls at school were constantly trying to see how short their skirts could be before they got that dreaded pink slip that sent them home to change into "something more appropriate to a young woman," but somehow I just knew that drawing too much attention to myself was a bad idea. Mom's warning about being careful was still fresh in my mind.

I had heard Mom talking about matching colors, so I had some idea of what I should do. It was hard to pick something out of all the earrings Grandma had, but I thought the plain silver discs were a good choice. Silver goes with any color, doesn't it? I got a thumbs up from Mom, so on to the next selection.

I needed a necklace, I tried a big gold thing but it didn't look right so I put it back. I could see both Mom and Grandma smiling so I knew I had made the right choice. I liked the beaded necklace in light blue and yellow and thought it was pretty good, so I looked at my panel of judges and they were smiling. Was I done?

Mom subtly wiggled her wrist and I notice she was wearing a bracelet, so I asked Grandma where she kept her bracelets and found three patterned silver rings that slipped over my hand if I squinched it up a bit. I thought the way they jangled when I moved was just about the most wonderful thing since I discovered wearing bras. I wondered if standing before a panel of judges if I ever got good enough at ice skating would be as nerve-wracking as waiting for approval of my jewelry. But I still wasn't done yet. The judges broke their silence.

"I'm impressed. You have very good taste for a someone who forgets to put their dirty socks in the wash for days at a time."

"Mom!"

"You do know you should rinse out your stockings in the sink and not throw them in the hamper?"

"Actually, I didn't."

"Well, now you do. Not that you'll be wearing stockings all that often. Tonight is rather special, but teen girls do not wear stockings to school as a regular thing."

"I've noticed. I see a lot of saddle shoes and socks with lace edges."

"Observant, aren't you."

"I thought a guy my age was supposed to be looking at girls."

"Not usually at their socks."

"I don't want to be like Jason and get clobbered for staring as Shelly Jo's boo… breasts."

"Good save. Be sure to think of them as breasts or bosoms now that you have them."

"Well, almost."

"You couldn't tell by looking. Ready to get your nails painted?"

"Wow!"

"Next test - what color will be good with that dress?" Grandma had quite a selection. I picked out a color. My first try was pretty rough, so Grandma took one hand and Mom the other and went to work. Time was passing and Dad would be here soon.

I wasn't allowed to pick which perfume I would be wearing, which was probably good as I hadn't a clue. Whatever they used it smelled pretty good.

"You're almost ready. Since this is a special occasion you get to use some makeup tonight."

"Cool!"

"Just wait until you can't stand your nose itching but can't touch it without messing up your makeup."

"Really?"

"Being a woman isn't as easy as it seems, daughter of mine."

"It looks so easy when you do it."

"Years of practice. If you really want to keep on with this then you'll have to do some learning. And you'll have to learn about the less glamorous parts of being a girl. You can start learning how to cook and help with the housework over the weekend. I wouldn't want you to think being a girl is all eating out and dressing up."

"I thought reading Seventeen or Vogue was all I needed."

"You'd better stop thinking like a boy if you want to be a girl. Get real!"

"Really, I do want to learn. I've figured out that what you see on TV or read in the magazines isn't exactly the whole story."

"That's for sure. But right now we need to give you a makeup lesson. Sit down in front of the mirror."

I sat.

"Not like that!" came from both Mom and Grandma. You have to brush your skirt under you so you don't let people see your panties. Especially your panties."

And thus began my deportment lessons. My high gradually got lowered as I received advice and instruction about a whole lot of little fiddly details. I know now that a woman born learns these things over a lifetime, I was trying to absorb in all in time to go to dinner.

I didn't need too much in the makeup department, with the wig my resemblance to my mother made me distinctly feminine. Some mascara, a bit of blush and some lipstick was all it amounted to, but I was once again floating in a feminine cloud. That is until my Dad came in and I noticed he was watching.

I know Mom had told me he as OK with all this, but I still jumped.

"You almost lost an eye there, lady. Hold still while I try and remove that black streak."

"Looks like you're finding out how much work it takes a woman to be ready to go out on the town, eh?"

I nodded. Wrong move!

"Hold still!" came the command.

"I'll just watch and won't ask any questions. Once you're beautiful we can talk on the way to town. I want to get to know my new daughter."

"I'm just getting to know her myself," I replied.

"I have to say that it's hard to see my son right now. I hadn't expected that."

"I hadn't expected all of this, either. I kind of expected to be grounded until I was going off to college."

"Something like that had crossed my mind, but I got overruled. Since I seem to be the only representative of the male sex here at the moment, I will tactfully agree to be guided by the women in my life."

"Remember that, Mom," my Mom told her Mom. "I want witnesses when he forgets his promise."

"Who's promising what up there?" came a voice from the stairway. Grandpa was home.

"Lawrence is promising to be guided by the obviously superior sex tonight," Grandma chortled.

"It ain't obvious to me which sex is superior, Gladys."

"Just like a man. Come and meet your latest granddaughter."

"Well I'll be hornswaggled! I spent the whole day drowning worms when I could have caught a mermaid if I stayed at home. Don't that beat all. You clean up pretty nice, Conrad."

"Connie, please, Grandpa."

"I suppose so. What these young whippersnappers won't think of to confuse us old far…"

"David!" warned Grandma.

"Fuddy-duddys, Gladys. What did you think I was going to say?"

"Old fart, you old fart."

"Now don't that stink? She can say it but I can't."

"You could always borrow a dress from the attic and then you might get away with saying it if women are permitted to use the term."

"I may be an old fart but I have no desire to be an old woman. I already got one of those in the place."

"Go and get cleaned up so we can go out to dinner. You smell like a fish."

"I'm not the only thing that's fishy around here."

"Go, David!"

Grandma had spoken.

Pretty picture I've drawn, isn't it? Understanding grandparents, understanding and even helpful parents, son who cleans up to look like his mother, access to lots of clothes, well-off family who can afford to indulge their child, instant transformation to beautiful (well, reasonably good looking, anyway) girl, a night on the town as soon as the beautiful girl is brought to life. Every transgendered person's ultimate fantasy, right? And all this in 1963, for heaven's sake.

I swear to you that's just how it happened. Really. When I left off the story I was, in a phrase that wouldn't be used until a few more years in the future, blissed out. My fantasies had come true.

As real life tends to be, the fantasy that had existed when I was sitting before the vanity mirror came crashing down when I got up and strode to the bedroom door.

"Connie!" came my mother's anguished cry.

"Oh dear!" my grandmother echoed.

"What?" I was confused.

"You do realize there's more to being a girl than just putting on some clothes?"

There was?

"What do you mean? You said I looked just like you did."

"Looked, my dear. Looks aren't everything, your attitude makes a big difference."

Oh boy. At thirteen 'attitude' was a loaded word. One I usually heard when I was pissed off - that's when I got accused of having an attitude. What did that have to do with me looking like a girl?

"Huh?"

"Connie, have you ever really looked at how the girls at school move, and I don't mean just watching their breasts bounce."

"Mom!"

"Seriously. Now you know that girls have different hip structure than boys so we move a bit differently when we walk, but I mean just how a girl holds her body and how she places her feet when she walks. What does she do with her hands? Where are her elbows when she moves? How does she rise from a chair? How does she settle into a chair?

"I don't…"

"Obviously! Honey, there's more to being a girl than just wearing the clothes. I have to think if you went and spent your own money to mail order clothes then you are serious about this whole thing, but if you want to do it you have to think about more than just the clothes."

"I suppose you're right, Mom."

"Of course she is, Connie," Grandmother said. "It took me years to teach your mother how to be a lady. I have to wonder just how successful she could be in teaching a boy how to be a girl. It isn't something you can go down to the library and check out a book to learn."

"I know. I've looked" I revealed.

"You did?" came the anguished response from my mother.

"Isn't that what you and dad taught me to do when we needed to know something?"

"She's got you there, Bev." Grandma was amused.

"The big library in the city had a reference to some German, but that's all. Besides, if he wrote in German it wouldn't do me much good."

"I can't imagine what the county commissioners would do if the library did have something about boys dressing as girls. They practically lost their minds when one of the magazines there had an article about 'The Pill.' They're all men, of course - wouldn't want a woman to have any choice about having babies. Good thing I can't get pregnant any more or I'd… I'd better not get started about that."

That was something I hadn't known. Now I knew why I was an only child. I didn't think this was the time to ask for details, though.

"Is that why you warned me I'd better not get a girl pregnant the other night."

"Or any other night. Not that you'd be getting anyone pregnant dressed like that."

"See - there's a good side to everything."

"Daughter, you're getting sidetracked," admonished Grandma.

I knew I got that tendency from somewhere.

"I suppose so. Think about walking down the hall with a girl at school."

"Like that would happen!"

"OK, a bunch of kids with some girls among them. Who walks faster and why?"

"The guys do. Maybe because they're bigger and take bigger steps?"

"That's one reason. So if you want to look like a girl, start by slowing down and taking smaller steps. We have wider hips so our balance is a bit different. We use our hands more than men when talking. There are lots of things, subtle things, that will make someone wonder when what you do isn't quite right."

"But how do I learn all that?" I wailed.

"Darn good question," replied Grandma. "The army had boot camp to teach men how to be manly, maybe we can find a high-heel camp to teach you how to be womanly."

"You're insane, Mother!" cried my mother.

"And you're not trying to teach your son to be a daughter?"

"I wonder if they take group reservations for the loony bin?"

"I don't know, but we do have reservations for dinner, so let's just try to give Connie some quiet hints about how to act properly and get going. The shower shut off a while back so David should about ready. I'm sure that Lawrence will be relieved now that we've had time to talk to Connie about things men are uncomfortable with.

So now you know how it all started, how a kid in the sixties was actually able to successfully crossdress without too much problem. I spent many weekends as Connie, as well as several notable summer vacations as Connie for a month at a time. I was fortunate to grow up in a time where long hair on men again became fashionable. By then I had let my hair grow and I no longer needed Grandma's wigs.

Mom did teach Connie to skate, as well as to cook, do laundry and housework. That sort of thing was truly enjoyable and made me feel that I was destined to be a girl. Unfortunately, the rest of the world didn't agree. Stonewall didn't happen until 1969, Renee Richards wasn't known until 1976 and the Harry Benjamin Standards weren't introduced until 1980. Crossdressing and transgenderism were thoroughly in the closet, especially in the small town where I came from.

Puberty finally hit me when I was almost sixteen, but it was pretty much a glancing blow. I finally got some pubic hair so I wasn't so obvious in gym class, but my voice barely changed and I stalled out at 5'7". In public I moaned about it, but privately I was happy that Connie didn't have to worry about standing above the crowd.

I barely had to shave, either. Much later in life, when the possibility of gender conforming surgery became a reality, I found out I had a testosterone level barely within the normal range. I've always been thankful for that, not only did it help me to be Connie, but I still had a full head of dark hair when I celebrated my 70th birthday. OK, I do have this cute white widow's peak that Isaac just loves.
 

Things changed radically when I went to college. The school I chose was far enough from home to make casual visiting a chore, and there was no room for Connie in a shared dorm room in a residence hall. I did my best to convince myself that Conrad was destined to be who I was, that Connie was an interesting phase in the life of a teenager. Nothing more than a phase…

Once at college, I did my best to convince myself that Conrad was destined to be who I was, that Connie was an interesting phase in the life of a teenager. Nothing more than a phase…

It actually worked for a while. I made it to my Junior year without a single vestige of Connie anywhere but inside my head. I did my damnedest to be all-boy, scrupulously ignoring anything even faintly feminine. With all the new experiences at college it wasn't too hard, at least at first.

I was determined to leave Connie behind, but it was not the easiest of tasks. The liberal atmosphere at college, the anything-goes attitude of freshmen who suddenly can make their own decisions without a parent looking on, the excitement of 'The Pill' and the free-love movement, Hippies, anti-war protests, all of that mixed and swirled around me as I tried to convince myself that Connie was gone forever.

I couldn't bring myself to go out for any organized sports, but the college radio station drew me in. I spent many hours in the basement of Willits Hall, cataloging records in the station library. I was thrilled to be entrusted with the job of Record Librarian, never realizing that was the job that nobody else wanted and where they stuck some naive freshman each year.

The problem was that next door to the station in the basement of Willits Hall was the nascent LGBT club, which was very tentatively organized after the Stonewall Riots. You have to remember that being gay or lesbian was still actually illegal in that state, so it took some real courage to admit it. Actually, I can't remember if they even used those terms or if the gays and the lesbians separated themselves in the language at the time. I didn't even know the words 'transvestite' or 'crossdresser' back then, information in my little town was nonexistent.

I didn't know it back then, but my comfort in the feminine role had affected my behaviour as a male, the gay guys next door immediately recognized a fellow-traveler. My sexuality was confused as hell, but I didn't think I was gay, so I suppressed my desires and got on with life. At least that's what I thought I was doing.

I studied hard, hoping to follow in my father's footsteps. Well, that's what the fifties taught their children - men follow in their father's footsteps. My eventual goal was an MBA, maybe even to be a part of Dad's growing agency when I graduated. Other than the radio station, I didn't do much besides attend the occasional concert or play. Even though I was trying to be a man, I just couldn't get interested in the more "manly" opportunities on campus. My GPA was a 3.8 and I kept my nose clean. I hadn't worn a bra in two and a half years.

I tried to be proud of myself, but was I? I didn't want to answer that question.

 

Maybe it was a harbinger of Global Warming, maybe it was just a freak of nature, but the weather went crazy in early February of my junior year. The temperature hit 65° on Thursday and the snow started melting. On Friday it got up to 79° and the campus went nuts. In the Northeast, college campuses tend to go berserk on the first warm weekend of the spring (even if it wasn't really spring) after having a passel of hormone-charged young men and women confined to quarters for months on end. It was Scott and Craig (last names redacted to protect the guilty, even after all these years) who decided our floor should stage a panty raid on the girl's dorm.

Now the panty raid had gone out of fashion by the time I went to college, in fact, back in 1961 the University of Mississippi had actually expelled three students for their part in a panty raid. Add to that the nascent feminist movement and some things get consigned to the dust bin of history.

However, on that particular night a certain quantity of (strictly forbidden) alcohol had made it's way around the floor, and I have to admit a certain quantity of that alcohol had made it's way into my stomach. In other words, I was more suggestible than usual and when Scott and Craig (who had a lot more than a certain quantity of alcohol in their stomachs) proposed a panty raid to a bunch of drunken, horny college men the motion was carried unanimously.

This particular drunken, horny college man, having refrained from wearing a panty or bra for two and a half years, had a distinctly different agenda for what should be done with those panties.

The raid was a great success, possibly because the owners of the panties were very cooperative and thought it was a fine idea. Scott and Craig having made sure the alcohol came with us as an inducement to gain entry to the girl's dorm had no little influence on our warm reception.

In my inebriated state my defenses were down. Quite a few of the girls had decided that the pack of horny, drunken boys should be greeted with them less than fully clothed. After all, how were these innocent girls to know they would be so rudely invaded while they were changing their clothes?

Yeah, right. There was as much illicit alcohol floating around the girl's dorm as there was in our dorm. Spring was in the air, let it all hang out was the popular byword, and I can tell you some of those girls hung out very noticeably, especially Cilla Carter who had removed her bra. She had a long time living that one down when she sobered up.

While I certainly enjoyed the show, all those bras and panties utterly destroyed my resolve to forget Connie. I was gifted with a pair of pale yellow panties by a grinning girl wearing a blue bra and red bikini panties.

Be still my beating heart!

We returned to our dorm jubilant and even drunker, and it was communally decided that the panties must be displayed hanging from the windows of our dorm room to advertise our success. As much as I wanted to wear them, I went along with the consensus. Maybe tomorrow….

The next morning I awoke to a godawful pounding. In my semi-somnolent state I first thought the pounding was internal to my aching head, but slowly realized the pounding in my head was at a different tempo from the pounding on the door.

My sleep had been troubled, mainly by visions of the pale yellow panties, trimmed with some pretty blue lace, that were hanging outside my dorm window and not where they belonged - on my body. After solitary confinement for two and a half years, could that be Connie pounding to get out and not just the aftermath of too much booze?

I couldn't hear myself think, but I could hear a woman's voice loudly chastising the %$#& thief who had take her %^3$@ panties and hung them out the window of this ^&^%(*# room! Foolishly, I stumbled over to the door, wearing my men's flannel pajamas, the kind with a long fly held closed with one lousy snap in the middle that always comes unsnapped while you're sleeping, giving the world a look at your penis if you're not careful. I squashed the wish to be wearing my old violet flannel nightgown with the black trim.

Even more foolishly, I opened the door and was bowled over by someone who had launched herself at the door in hopes of becoming a battering ram. We ended up in a tangle of limbs with her left breast pinning my right hand to the floor and her face disturbingly close to my crotch. To my horror, that damnable fly had parted and my penis and one of my balls was but inches away from her lips.

Time froze. Just what do you say in such a situation? My mother would have been proud that her training in politeness had taken root and blossomed.

"I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Connie, uh Conrad Cobb."

"I refuse to believe this is happening."

She had a nice voice when when she wasn't shouting.

"It does seem somewhat improbable."

"I suppose I should apologize for my rather rude greeting."

"Accepted, of course. If you could move just a bit, I'll remove my hand from your body and use it to tuck myself back in."

Her breast was a lot warmer and softer than the primitive forms Connie had used.

"I can't believe this! A panty thief who talks like someone out of a hoity-toity movie."

"You'll have to admit that something like this could only occur in a British farce."

"That thing in my face doesn't look like a prop."

"Someday I hope to find out if it's functional, but I really don't know."

"What? A guy that actually admits he hasn't used it?"

"I'm saving myself for marriage?"

"Jesus! That went out with the Victorians."

"Not where I grew up. But I'm lying. I've never had the chance."

"This is undoubtedly the weirdest conversation I've ever had."

"Uh, not that I don't appreciate where my hand is, but it's starting to go to sleep."

"That thing in front of me doesn't appear to be sleeping."

"That happens some mornings. Not that I've ever had a woman close enough to observe. Probably you being there has something to do with it waking up."

"Then I suppose I'd best move. Besides, someone will probably come along and investigate what's happening."

"Since the door bounced shut we won't have to worry about our conversation being too public."

"Or too pubic."

She moved. I moved. In all of my seventy years I've never heard of anyone meeting quite as Julie and I met. Once I saw her face I knew who she was. She was in the MBA program as well, having transferred in this year from someplace or other. Since we were heading for different concentrations, I only had her in one of my classes and we hadn't really talked to one another. You can believe I had noticed her, she was a striking woman.

"I take it those are your panties hanging from my window?" I asked.

"I didn't come here just to examine what's in your pants, buster."

"Or out of my pants. You have very nice taste in panties." I offered.

"Can't say the same for what you're wearing."

"I left all my panties home when I came to college."

"What?"

"Roommates are so nosey, I didn't want to have to explain."

"That you like to wear panties?"

"Don't you?"

"I was wrong. This conversation just got weirder."

"That's what you get when you launch yourself at strangers."

"I hardly think you could be a stranger after I've been within sucking distance of your cock."

"That thought did occur to me, too, but I was trying to be a gentleman."

"A gentleman who collects panties."

"If you like to wear them does it count as a collection?"

"Only if you keep it in a glass-front case."

"Would hanging from a window qualify?"

"Not in my book."

"I keep my panties in a drawer, not a book."

"I don't suppose you can press them like flowers?"

"Only if they're flowered panties."

"I hesitate to ask this, but do smell your panties like you smell flowers?"

"I wouldn't see the point. They'd smell like me."

"Too bad the ones you stole have been washed, then you could give me your opinion. You could put the ones in the window on and we could check tomorrow, as long as your roommate isn't back."

"He's away giving his girlfriend's panties an inspection. Or more likely inspecting where her panties had been."

"Must be something about the air in this room makes people want to get up close and personal with crotches."

"I would suspect that most men would be interested in getting up close and personal with a woman's crotch, air or no air."

"You've got that right. I'm surprised you haven't made a move yet."

"Are you offering?"

"Are you interested?"

"Only if you're offering."

"We'll see. Let's conduct the smell test before we jump into anything."

"I have to agree with you about one thing, though."

"And that is…"

"This is the weirdest conversation I've ever had."

"You interest me. I get so damn sick of men who only want to fuck me. You've spent quite a while alone with me, even shown me your penis, and yet you didn't jump at a veiled invitation to get me naked."

"There's more to me than meets the eye."

"So are you going to wear my panties?"

"I would hate to turn down such a generous offer."

"Well, what's stopping you? I've already seen it. Maybe I like looking at crotches."

I dropped my PJ bottoms, took a step to the window and retrieved her panties, then pulled them on. They were a pretty good fit. She was slim but had hips that I would kill for - on my own body.

"You actually did it."

"You asked, I delivered. Was it worth it?"

"I never comment on a man's size. It's how he uses it that counts."

"And I've never used mine."

"To the dismay of all womankind."

"What about the kind woman in the room with me?"

"Maybe you'll find out tomorrow. You going to put on some pants before I open the door?"

"Probably a good idea. I can just about guarantee that there will be an audience waiting after your dramatic entrance."

"Then we should give them a dramatic exit."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Come over to the door and put your arms around me."

Not an invitation I would turn down. She opened the door and moved toward the hall, where she gave me the first and only passionate kiss of my life. With tongue. I did my best to reciprocate, but she was tall enough that I had to stand on tiptoe.

"See you tomorrow, lover." she called as she strode off down the hall. I know Mom told me that girls don't stride, but she managed it. I may not have been able to look at her crotch, but her ass was definitely worth watching until she went down the stairs.

The reaction from the guys staring at my door was all I could have hoped for.

Sunday Morning
I woke up to a discrete knocking on my door. My first fuzzy thought was that at least my head wasn't pounding like the door did yesterday. So call me stupid, but I stumbled to the door and opened it wearing just my pajamas.

At least last night I hadn't been too drunk to put on pajamas before I went to sleep. I've never had to worry who was at the door before, and I was just not remembering Julie's promise of the day before.

"Good morning, lover," came Julie's much-too-happy greeting. I realized we hadn't really set a time to get together.

"It is?"

"You are the most stimulating conversationalist, lover. You going to invite me in or make me stand out in the hall all day?"

"Uh, Come in."

I stepped back and she came in. It got dark again when I shut the door because I hadn't opened the shades or turned on the light yet."

"Oooh! Such romantic lighting, you really know how to get a girl in the mood."

"Huh?"

I wasn't awake, but having Julie in the room with me was rapidly changing that.

"Uh, sorry. I'm not really awake yet."

"You're cute with your hair all frizzy like that. I could get to like that hair."

She ran her fingers through it, or at least tried to. It was too tangled to get very far."

"Where's your hairbrush? You need help, even if tousled hair looks cute on you."

"In my kit?"

"And where is your kit?"

"Top shelf of the closet," I replied without thinking the whole matter through.

She slid back the curtain and looked. She must have excellent night vision to spot the brown leather kit in the gloom of my dorm room.

"Sit down, lover. This will be fun."

Lover?

Where did that come from? Before I knew it I was sitting on the bed with Julie as she brushed out my hair. I hadn't had the heart to cut it even if Connie was history, it was almost to my waist by that time. Looking back, I can now admit that even when I was trying to deny I was Connie I made a hash of it.

"You really need to put your hair up when you sleep. Then you wouldn't have to fight like this in the morning."

She worked out a knot as she spoke.

"Your hair is in wonderful condition. How is it that a guy knows how to take care of his hair and even has a clean closet with everything hung neatly?"

"My mother wouldn't tolerate Connie being a slob."

Oh shit! That just slipped out.

"Connie?"

"An alternate personality. Took years to get rid of her."

The Union had just shown The Three Faces of Eve so there was quite a bit of talk about it just then.

"You're still as weird as yesterday. So did Connie wear your panty collection?"

"Who else?"

"And your mother approved?"

"She's the one who encouraged Connie."

I was awake enough by then to enjoy this game, telling the truth in such a way that it made no sense. I had been so damned long without Connie and somehow I felt I could trust Julie. Besides, I was really enjoying having Julie playing with my hair.

"Your mother encouraged this girl to wear your panties? Did this Connie let you sniff them?"

"I never had any interest in sniffing Connie's panties."

"And yet you seemed pretty interested in sniffing mine."

"You're not Connie."

"So my mother told me. So what makes my panties worth sniffing when you don't want to sniff this Connie's panties?

"You could say that Connie is rather closely related to me."

"Connie - Conrad. She's not your sister!?"

"Careful! I don't want you to make me bald when you get all excited. Do you really think my mother would encourage that with my sister?"

"So I'm going to have to play twenty questions?"

"You could try."

"And you won't lie to me?"

"Never. That's one."

"Wait a minute. That one doesn't count."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"You want to go bald in the next twenty seconds?"

"OK, OK. That was a free question."

"You're learning. So, is this Connie a real person?"

"I consider her to be. One."

"You're not waffling?"

"Sort of. Two."

"You're hard."

"I didn't think you could tell in the dark. Ouch!"

"And she's a blood relative?"

"Yes. Three."

"Cousin?"

"Nope. Four."

"Aunt?"

"That would be gross. What kind of aunt would share panties with her nephew? Five."

"You wouldn't ask that if you'd taken abnormal psych. You wouldn't believe the gross things some relatives get up to."

"Really? You'll have to tell me sometime."

"Just remember you asked for it. I'm running out of relatives here."

"I've known some people who would be pleased to run out of some of their relatives."

"Who else? Brother?"

"I'm an only child, but you're getting closer."

"That doesn't make sense. Not a cousin, not a sister, not a brother, if an aunt grosses you out then I won't ask about your mother…"

"So what's left?"

Her sudden grip on my body told me she had finally seen the light.

"You? You're Connie?"

"Since I was thirteen. I've even won several figure skating trophies as Connie."

"Turn on the lights, please. I want to look at you."

I did so and I got a very close inspection. If you've ever had a very tantalizing girl give you a very close inspection while you were wearing her panties under your rather scruffy men's pajamas, you can appreciate how I felt at that moment.

I had finally admitted to someone outside my family that I liked dressing as a girl. After two and a half years of trying to deny it, I could hide it no longer.

"Turn around," she commanded.

I complied.

"I can see how it might work. What do you do about your top?"

"I wear a bra with some special gel inserts. Lots of girls do when they want to impress the boys."

"And do you want to impress the boys?"

"I don't really know."

"I guess that's honest. Do you want to impress the girls?"

"Some of them."

"Anyone in particular?"

"You fishing?"

"Could be."

"Could be I'd like to impress you."

"You've already done that. You're the most interesting man I've ever met."

"Maybe because I'm not so sure I'm a man."

"I never liked those self-assured studs that thought they would do me a favor by fucking me."

"You don't pull any punches, do you?"

"A waste of time, mostly."

"Julie, if we ever get to that point I want you to know that I would never fuck you. If I ever make love to a woman it will be just that - making love. Equal on both sides and I would have to really care about any sexual partner."

"You just did it again. I'm half tempted to indulge in some nice, healthy lust and you go and talk about love. Makes me feel like I'm missing something."

"You don't seem to be missing anything. You're the first girl I've ever been able to talk to without feeling stupid. I've never told anyone about Connie before either."

"I'd like to meet her sometime.

"All her clothes are back home."

"What size bra do you wear?"

"34C"

"I'm a 36C. You could probably use one of mine if we tightened the snaps all the way. And my panties are the right size."

"We'd have to find somewhere private. My roommate won't always be away."

"And you never can tell who will come pounding on the door."

"Tell me about it!"

"You need to get dressed. I want to go out to lunch with you and get to know you better. If it works out all right we can do the sniff test when we get back."

"Arthur will probably be back by then."

"I guess we need to do the sniff test now."

She just unbuttoned her pants and shucked her panties right in front of my eyes. I couldn't believe she had more pubic hair than I did! Not to be left behind, I did the same. She had already seen me, hadn't she?

We exchanged panties and sniffed. I don't know what I was expecting, but there must be something to that pheromone stuff because I had one of the few spontaneous erections in my life after I sniffed.

"Mmmmm," was her wordless response. "You smell rather nice. Whoa! I guess I'm not the only one thinking lustful thoughts today."

I was embarrassed. "Hardly surprising with you here with me," I countered gallantly - I hoped.

"You don't have any rubbers handy, do you."

"Never needed them before."

"Connie, would you be interested in learning about how girls make love?"

The formal classes on a college campus are not the only way you can learn about biology. I was interested. She insisted we keep the lights on so we could see each other. It was a wonderful way to learn about lovemaking, surprisingly gentle and passionate for my first experience.

It wasn't long before everyone on campus knew that Julie and I were an 'item.' That term may be anachronistic, but it's accurate. We studied together, ate together, explored each other's bodies whenever one of our roommates was conveniently absent, fell in both love and lust with each other.

Julie had experience in sex, my knowledge was all theoretical until that weekend. From the start, Julie was the dominant one in the relationship. She made the appointment at Planned Parenthood and by Wednesday evening I had a box of rubbers and she had a tube of foam spermicide. Waiting for the opportunity to use them was supremely frustrating. It took a couple of weeks before her roommate was gone for a day, and all we could think of was divesting myself of my virginity.

We started sharing her clothes as part of our sex play from the first. I lost my virginity wearing her bra, but it didn't take long before I bought my own bra and panties so I didn't have to use hers. I missed the gel fillers I had back at home, but I remembered my Boy Scout knots and a nylon scarf filled with rice had to do. (They never did leak.) Naturally, she kept such stuff in her dorm room because such items would be discovered all too easily in my room. Who cares if a sexy girl has some extra lingerie in her drawers?

My ears got pierced less than a week after that fateful weekend when we met. I took some ribbing about the little gold studs but nothing serious. It did make the gay guys next to the radio station certain I was gay, however.

 

We were squeezed together in the undersized bed in my dorm room, having bribed my roommate to find something to do elsewhere for a few hours. Basking in the afterglow of some very satisfactory sex, Julie sprung her suggestion on me.

"What are you doing for spring break?" she asked.

"Probably going home. You got something in mind?"

"You going to visit with Connie?"

"Now that you've gotten her out of the closet, it's possible."

"I have a better idea."

"You usually do, lover."

"Connie could come home with me and spend the week in my bed."

Connie, not Conrad.

"I haven't got anything to wear!" I moaned.

Notice I didn't even consider refusing? Notice my only complaint was about the lack of clothes?

"How long does it take you to get back home, Connie?"

"Maybe four hours on the bus."

"Not an insurmountable obstacle, don't you think? We could cut classes Friday afternoon, I could meet your family while you explain we're visiting for the weekend because you'll be visiting my family for the break, then we come back with a suitcase full of Connie's things. See, simple!"

"You do realize the implications of bringing you home to meet my family?"

"Should we go ring shopping so they won't make any mistake about us?"

"Wait! I thought the man was supposed to ask that question."

"This from the person wearing the pretty pink bra?"

Julie really liked lovemaking while I was wearing a bra. Don't ask me why.

Hell, I liked it, too. My nipples weren't anywhere near as sensitive as hers, so it didn't matter to me that she couldn't get to them.

"I suppose you have a point."

"Which is good, because your point is rather at a low point."

"You should know, you got it there. Will you marry me?"

"I asked first."

"You only alluded to marriage."

"Yes."

"Does that include Connie?"

"Of course. I can hardly wait to be able to spend more than a few hours with her."

"Think we can find a ring before we get on the bus?"

"We can try."

"I guess I'll be eating bologna for the next few months."

"Silly, you're on the meal plan. But I wouldn't mind eating some sausage."

And that's how Julie and I decided to get married, just about as crazy as the way we met. For that matter, nothing in our lives together was anywhere near what most people would consider normal, but it worked for us.

So I took Julie home, introduced her to my parents, who loved her, and we went back to school on Sunday. Simple, right?

If you believe that then you're more naive than I was when Connie first came into being. Of course it got completely out of hand even before we left the bus station. We got there mid afternoon because we didn't just cut class for the afternoon, we blew off the entire day.

Mom, Dad, Grandma Gladys and Grandpa Dave were all waiting for us at the station, you'd think they were excited to have me bring home a girl or something.

Actually, Mom told me years later that I had phrased it 'there'll be a girl on the bus I want you to meet,' and she was half convinced that I was going to be coming home as Connie. I would have liked to travel as Connie, but we had tried to keep her a secret in our little town. It wouldn't do to just throw all that effort away.

I hadn't been able to borrow any of the sophisticated electronic timers from the Physics Lab before I left, so I have to estimate that it took approximately 4.3 microseconds for Mom to spot the tiny rock on Julie's left ring finger. Mom grabbed Julie's hand in a double handed embrace and lifted her ring finger so she could get a close look at the engagement ring.

"Con! You didn't!"

"She… he surely did and I intend to say 'I do' very soon, Mrs Cobb."

"Please dear, call me Mother if you feel comfortable."

"You can never have too many mothers, Mom. And that would make you my new Dad?" Julie said, turning to my father.

"So it would seem. You think you have any chance to keep this hooligan in line?"

"I won't even try. Con's taken me too many interesting places so far."

"Oh boy, we're in trouble now!"

"Julie, ignore that grumpy old man and meet my Grandparents, Dave and Gladys."

"I'm so glad to meet you. Con's told me so much about his family."

"And you still came to visit?"

"Of course!"

"Then let's go home and get to know each other."

 

"You have a lovely home!" Julie enthused.

"I'm so glad you like it," answered Mom.

"How do you manage? Con tells me you're working full time, now."

"Well, with the house empty it seemed silly to sit around all day just doing housework. When Jim retired I talked my way into managing the store. It's not a very big store compared to what you must be used to, but it serves our community well."

"Not like the Mall idea has reached here, is it?" I commented.

"And I hope it never will. Things have to change, but I like living in a small town. I'm glad I know the people I sell insurance to personally, I really don't want to run an impersonal business."

"I guess I just grew up in the big city, I really wouldn't know what to do here at first. We don't have any real plans about where we're going to live once we get our MBAs, so I may have to learn to love small towns."

"You could do worse."

"I certainly know that."

"So tell us, Julie - how did you meet Conrad?"

Now that's a funny story. One of my roommates went and loaned him something of mine without telling me. I wasn't pleased and I was in something of a temper when I knocked on his door."

"People, that is known in the trade as understatement! The Trump of Doom would probably be quieter and wake up fewer of the guys on my floor."

"Conrad, I've told you a million times not to exaggerate."

"That doesn't sound like an auspicious beginning," observed Grandpa Dave.

"It wasn't. I was pretty mad."

"And I was half asleep when I opened the door."

"You might say I fell for him the first time I met him."

"Understatement again. She fell for me hard!"

"And I couldn't believe what I saw when I opened my eyes."

"Now I know a father needs to be proud of his son, but Robert Redford he's not."

"What I saw looked very tasty to me. He proved me right when we got to know each other."

You'll understand why I had a sudden coughing spell, which sidetracked the conversation.

"I have to admit I had my hands full when we met so suddenly."

"Con was the perfect gentleman. I hadn't been so stimulated in quite a while."

"So did you get your property back?"

"Since Con was such a nice person, I left it for another day so he could finish using it. After all, it wasn't Con's fault that my roommate was a dork and I did have another one to use until he was done."

"We found out we had a whole lot in common, had the same taste in many things, read the same books and were in the same program. It just sort of happened and I fell in love. I was trying to get the nerve to ask her to marry me, but she beat me to it. Of course I said 'yes.' "

"Are you thinking about a date yet?"

"Not until we graduate. Maybe before we start grad school. We both want to do the advanced 1-year program so we can actually use our degrees."

"An ambitious couple. Best of luck with your future, both of you," Grandpa Dave said.

"And we need to be thinking about dinner. With never knowing if the bus will be on time, we thought we should go out to dinner tonight. Perhaps you want to go up to your room and refresh yourselves, riding the bus can be tiring."

Julie shot me a look that plainly said "have you found out about sleeping arrangements yet?"

"That sounds like a good idea, Mom. Uh…"

"If you aren't sleeping together I'd be surprised," Dad offered. "If you believe the magazines and TV, moral turpitude and rampant fornication are ruining the moral fiber of our youth. If that were true we'd all have gone to hell generations ago. You have a double bed in your room, don't be afraid to use it."

"I'd better not ask if you and Mom know this from personal experience…"

"Good thinking, we aren't going to tell you."

"I'm not sure I want to know. See you in a few minutes, Dad."

 

"Wow, Connie. Your parents are seriously cool."

"And you're seriously hot but we don't have time to do anything about it."

"It's going to be very nice to wake up with you in my bed and not worry about roommates or classes or any of that crap."

"We need to see about getting an apartment together next year, this dorm business just doesn't work when I want to be with you."

"That's for sure. I'll start checking around with some seniors to see who might be leaving an apartment."

"I'll do the same. We ought to be able to find someplace we can afford."

"We'll have to do our own cooking."

"No problem, Mom taught Connie to cook."

"And I know my way around a kitchen, too. Speaking of Connie, I seriously want to see her tomorrow. You aren't going to disappoint me, are you?"

I couldn't be Connie in town, you know."

"I figured. But if you and you mother went ice skating, that would work."

"I haven't been skating in years."

"No excuses. I want to see you in one of those cute little skirts."

"I have a couple of tutus…"

"Whatever works. I always admired how effortless it seems when they're gliding around on the ice."

"The idea is to make it look glamorous, but it's hard work and I'm breathing like a racehorse by the time I finish a routine."

"We can ask your Mom."

"You'd better button up one more button on your blouse or Grandpa might be needing oxygen."

Saturday Morning
"Mmmm," came a sleepy voice. "I could get to like waking up with your hand on my breast."

"You weren't saying that the first time your breast ended up in my hand. As I recall, you were saying something rather salacious."

"I've reconsidered. Leave your hand there as long as you want."

"I'd try my luck putting it some other places, but if you really want to see Connie ice skating we'll have to get up shortly."

"I've reconsidered."

"Your choice. Seems a shame to waste all your effort convincing my mother to do our ice dance routine for you."

"Choices. Always choices."

You were the one who wanted to see Connie in full bloom, remember?"

"Hot sex or a hot girlfriend. Choices, choices."

"In any case, I've got to pee. You really don't want a wet girlfriend in bed with you."

"Yucch! My boyfriend is gross."

"We could shower together and save water."

"You've got a deal."

 

It takes a while to dry my waist-length hair, so Julie got dressed while I brushed and blew myself dry. It was quite enjoyable watching her take the time to get dressed up, usually we had to hurry to put our clothes back on because a roommate was going to be back soon and we almost always pushed the limits of the time we had alone together. I'm sure she was putting on a show for me now that we had time to enjoy the show.

Normally I would wear a dress or a skirt-and-blouse combination to the rink and change into my skating things in the locker room. This morning I was putting on a show for Julie, who wanted to see just how I managed my transformation. I have to admit I was willing to show off. We had used bras and panties and stockings in our sex play, but she had never seen the Connie completely put together.

"I'm going to have to get a new pair of tights, I think, The elastic is just about gone on these after sitting in a drawer for a couple of years."

"You should have spares, girl."

"I know, but if I had spares they'd probably be shot, too."

"I guess. They look like they'll last for a day. What's with the two pairs of panties?"

"The outfit is designed to show off my crotch when the skirt flies up. I know you get off looking at my cock, but Connie shouldn't have one. Since I'm not about to cut it off I have to disguise it. Did you know that if I'm careful I can push my balls up inside somewhere and then the panties hold them in there. Much less obvious."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Not too much, and it's OK for a few hours of skating. I prefer long, full skirts if I'm not on the ice."

"What comes next?"

"The padded panty."

"Another one?"

"One of the girls at the rink clued me in about them. Seems I'm not the only girl who needs a little help under these costumes. You practically have to know the secret code and knock three times to find anyone that sells them, but it can be done."

That's the only ad I could find on line from the era, such things weren't widely advertised. Naturally my padded panty didn't have any material on the legs because the skating costume stopped at my crotch. Like Julie observed, it took a lot of effort to be Connie on the ice.

"You put a lot of effort into being Connie. I bet that thing helps if you fall on your ass."

"It doesn't hurt."

"All those layers probably helps keep you warm."

"You'd be surprised how fast I can work up a sweat on the ice."

"You look funny with a girl's ass and a man's chest."

"Then I suppose I should put on my bra. You don't have to put on yours, though."

"Pervert."

"And who's watching a man transform himself into a woman and loving it?"

"We fit together so well, don't we? So these are what you use to fill your bra. They look like they are getting cracked."

"Crap! You're right. I'm going to have to look into getting replacements."

"Does that mean that Connie will really come home with me?"

"Try and stop me."

"Can I make a long distance call on your phone?"

"As long as it doesn't take too long."

 

I have to interrupt here for readers who grew up in the cell phone age. When I was in college the phone company had a quaint practice called "Long Distance Calling." This meant if you called anyone more than a few miles from your wired-into-the-wall telephone you were charged extra fees by the minute! This had resulted in several very irate letters from parents to those guys on the floor who had spent too much time talking to the girl back home.

The system included a complex system of calling zones, which meant the farther away you called the more they charged. To add another layer of complexity, calling after 11 PM was cheaper than calling in the evening, which was cheaper than calling during the day.

The availability of gender conformation surgery in our modern era is not the only reason I'm glad I'm still kicking in 2020. Making a phone call is much easier, too.

Now you know why Julie had to ask if she could make a phone call, so back to the story.

 

Julie had a mysterious smile on her face when she returned.

"How did you get rid of the feathers?" I asked.

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"You're smiling like the cat that ate the canary. What happened to the feathers?"

"I sent them out to be made into a boa to wrap around your scrawny neck."

"I'm not sure I have anything to go with yellow."

"You didn't wait so I could watch you finish dressing."

"All that's left is the dress. Could you do the zipper?"

"Mmmm. That's usually a question you ask when you're wearing jeans."

"Stop that! I'm rather constrained to be thinking of things like that."

"Heh, heh, heh."

"Just wait until tonight. Can you be quiet enough not to disturb my parents?"

"Well, if I had something in my mouth…"

"I told you to stop that."

"If you insist."

"You want to do my hair?"

"Of course."

One of our pleasures was to brush each other's hair. We needed something special to go with the provocative skating costume, so she sectioned and created several long braids, which she fashioned into a crown of glory pinned to my head. Perfect for keeping it out of the way while skating and dramatic enough that I wished she had been around the last time I competed for a prize. I was sure that the male judges counted looks as a part of the scores, no matter what the official rules said. Connie was once again ready to face the world.

It felt good to be back on the ice. It felt good to be back as Connie. Why had I ever tried to hide from this? As I was stretching my muscles prior to skating, I wondered just why I hadn't been born a girl.

It may seem funny after several years of dressing as a girl that I had never really wished I had been born a girl. I had often wanted to be a girl, but there was really no way that could happen. I was destined to be a man who liked to dress as a woman, so I just had to learn to enjoy that.

And enjoy it I did. Being on the ice and dancing with my mother was a joyful experience. If you ever want to feel like a woman, I highly recommend ice skating. You must have seen how a woman can glide across the vast expanse of ice, arms spread, one skate on the ice, the other leg behind her and her breasts plowing ahead in the air like the prow so some sailing ship on the high seas.

We started off easy, just skating around a few times, then worked our way up to some of the various jumps. I'll try to keep it simple, the moves that catch the eye are the jumps, and they have names like Axel, Lutz, Salchow and Loop. What they have in common is both skates leave the ice, you spin your body around one, two or - if you're really good - three times in the air and then land without sprawling or hurting your ass. Of course that makes your skirt flare out and your panty clad crotch is right there to make the men start drooling. I suppose some women would start drooling, too, but I'm not going to comment on that.

OK, that's vastly oversimplified. What differentiates the jumps is where on the blade you start and finish the jump and which way you're going when you land. If you really want to know, Google it, there are lots of places that explain in detail.

The art is in how you combine those jumps, some land with you going forward, some with you going backward, there are endless permutations, and working out a graceful sequence of moves counts for a lot.

If you've a partner, the possibilities expand. If it's a male-female pair (or looks that way) then the guy gets to toss the girl around and maybe spin her in the air a few times. Then they do those impressive spins where he rotates like a top at the center and she stretches out and tries to cut a big hole through the ice with her skates, drowning them both at as a six-foot disk of ice sinks into the sea below them. Sorry, that's a bit of black ice humor. Of course it isn't really true.

Suffice it to say that Mom and I found our old groove and put on a show for Julie and anyone else in the place. Ice dancing routines rely more on synchronized movements that mesh with the music being played. We had agonized endlessly over the music for our routines, there being a generational difference in musical tastes. The term 'catfight' might have been appropriate at times, but we always found a compromise and obviously it was a good one as we took several prizes.

Since we were just two of many people on the ice for an open skate we didn't have any music that morning, but we managed. As we discovered our old rhythm people began to notice and gave us room, skaters are nice that way. Our sequence derived from the tango actually drew some applause, good to know we still had it.

I even did a couple of double jumps when I was feeling confident. I had accomplished a triple a few times when we were skating every weekend, but I wasn't going to try it after being off the ice for so long.

By the time we finished, I was really wishing I had been born a girl so I could be doing this without having to pad my body. I pushed that thought down and resolved to live in the joy of the moment and enjoy being a girl for the time being.

Later, in the locker room, I showered and changed into street clothes. The ice rink was a part of a rather fancy club which my parents had joined when we got serious about ice skating. This was a far cry from a town recreation rink or the "Y," with their open, echoing communal showers and hard wooden benches between ranks of steel lockers. If that were the case, Connie would have been hauled off to the hoosegow the first time she changed her clothes.

There were a series of individual cubicles with hangers, seats, shelves and a substantial curtain for privacy. The toilet facilities were individual cubicles as well.

I had been pretty nervous the first few times I had gone skating as Connie, but after a few weeks it all became perfectly normal. After having denied Connie for so long I rather went crazy and extra feminine. I had found a pair of black, patterned stockings still in their wrapping that were still wearable, and held them up with a bright red garter belt covered by red, frilly panties. Sadly, I didn't have a red bra to go with them, but the black one set them off nicely. I hoped Julie would appreciate them tonight when we undressed for bed.

Then a full length, red-and-white polka-dotted skirt that just barely revealed the 3" patent leather heels on my feet and a high-necked white blouse with a ridiculously big, frilly ruffle down the front. And yes, I had chosen it so that the world could see I was wearing a black bra underneath. I was plainly announcing that Connie was back and she was not going away.

Mom was glowing as she emerged from her cubicle, I wasn't the only one who had enjoyed our mother-daughter reunion. We stood side-by-side at the big mirror and did our makeup, (I had picked up new makeup supplies because I knew anything left after two and a half years would be trash!) trying to suppress our grins so we could put the stuff on our faces. It's hard to do your lipstick when you're grinning like a fool

Julie approved of my choices and gave me a kiss - on the cheek since we were in public. It may have been the seventies but two women exchanging a passionate kiss would have been anywhere from awkward to scandalous.

Dad didn't have such limitations. He gave Mom a full-bore, spoke-wire-wheeled smack that lasted quite a while. I'm sure there was some tongue involved. I hoped that Julie wouldn't be the only one trying to be quiet tonight. Does that mean I'm finally grown up if I can think of Mom and Dad pumping away in bed without going 'yucch!'?

 

So we did lunch, Julie charming my parents with her outrageous commentary and irreverent opinions. We agreed on a movie, then left my poor dad to sit on a bench while we three women window shopped, and finally had dinner at a steakhouse. We figured a steak was would be a reward for Dad's patience.

Not that we sat there and nibbled diet salads or anything, we enjoyed our food, just a much smaller portion than our manly protector did. This was the seventies - gyms were the province of weightlifters and boxers and other macho types, the whole eating natural and healthy craze was years in the future. Food was there to be enjoyed, not measured and portioned and analyzed for vitamins and trace minerals. Even though I've been a complete woman for nigh on to thirty years, I still enjoy my food, but I eat in moderation.

 

Sunday Morning
I was bummed, and yes, I know that's another anachronism for the time period and I don't care. Conrad was back after one glorious day of finding out Connie had most emphatically not gone away. Conrad was packing Connie's clothes but wasn't going to be wearing them.

After two and a half years, many of Connie's clothes were somewhat dated, and not only those that had come from Grandmother's attic. With Julie's help we were easily able to assemble enough for a couple of weeks as Connie. Yes, I know we had only a week, but a girl's got to have options!

With a little effort, they all fit into a suitcase from the attic. Remember this was the early seventies, so suitcases didn't have wheels yet. Sometimes the most obvious things elude designers. I suppose those designers were men, men who thought the big, strong man would be hefting that suitcase for his little woman.

So what happens if you're both the big strong man and the little woman? You can flip a coin, but I still had to lug two suitcases to the bus and then across the campus. Connie's suitcase stayed in Julie's room, I didn't trust Arthur or the lousy little lock on the suitcase. I wasn't going to explain to my roommate (still pretty much a stranger after all this time) what I was doing with bras, panties and dresses.

A suitcase full of such things in Julie's room, especially as most of them would fit her, was no problem, other than having her complain about it always being in the way. I reminded her it was her idea, but that was irrelevant. I might want to be a woman, but I still didn't understand women.

I was still bummed, putting Connie back in her closet hurt. I toughed it out, waiting for Friday morning and even trying to get some schoolwork done. Who gave a damn about school, anyway?

Julie finally called, her roomie had left for home and I could once again become myself. We had decided to throw caution to the winds since the campus was virtually deserted, and I'd change into Connie for the bus ride. Julie had told her mom about Conrad and Connie, but I didn't want Conrad to be any part of the vacation. I once again got dressed properly in front of my girlfriend and she did my hair in a sort of twist on the top of my head. I was going to have to start learning how to do my own hair again if I wanted to be Connie.

Once again, my seventy year old self has to point out how unworldly I was at that time. While sex roles were changing and feminism was on the rise, the chances of finding two sets of parents who would accept a crossdresser were astronomically small! I just accepted it because that's the way I wanted it to be. Amazing I managed to live long to make it to seventy.

Well-worn patterns of behaviour carried me out of Julie's room, down the stairs and out the door of the dorm, I had done it dozens, no, hundreds of times before. Down the short flight of steps at the entrance and on to the sidewalk. By the time I reached the old oak near the corner of the road I suddenly realized I was walking across the familiar campus in my skirt! Connie was free and out in the world.

"Julie!' I called as I set down my suitcase.

"What?"

"I just realized…"

"What?"

"This is the first time I've gone anywhere without my parents with me!"

"Darling, did you hit your head or something? You've been living on campus for almost three years without your parents."

"No, I mean Connie has never been anywhere without her parents."

"You're kidding?"

"I kid you not. Until I asked my mother to teach me to skate I just sat in my room in a bra and garter belt, I didn't even have a a dress. You could almost say I only lived at the skating rink. Well, that and on vacations, but they were family vacations."

"That's weird."

"You've seen where I grew up. We couldn't let Connie out without a lot of blowback. I never realized what my parents did for me until just now."

"Well, I can say I'm very glad to be marrying into your family. I just hope you think as much of my mom."

"If she's invited Connie to spend the week with you, she must have something going for her - besides you, that is."

"And we had better get something going for us or we'll miss the bus."

 

"Julie, I've just realized something."

"What are you trying to do, write a new book of revelations today? The way this bus is bouncing nobody could read anything you've written."

"That's just it - I just realize that boobs bounce in buses."

"Nice alliteration. You may have tagged along with your parents most of time, but surely Connie has noticed that her boobs are bouncy before this? I'd figured that out before I filled a B cup."

"Yours come attached to you, so you'd notice. It wasn't until I rode this bus that I figured it all out."

"Too bad you can't attach yours. Then you would really get the full experience. I bet Mom's place is working on it."

"Who knows, someday it might be possible. And why would your mother be thinking abut attaching breasts to men?"

"Women, you dork, not men."

"OK, I'll bite. Why would your mother be working on attaching breasts to women? I thought we had established they come naturally equipped."

"Not if they've had breast cancer."

"Oh. I never thought of that."

"Most people don't like thinking about cancer. Mom works for a medical equipment manufacturer and someone there - probably not a man - realized that there are a lot of women who have had mastectomies and want to at least look like they still have breasts."

"That's sad. I only wish I had breasts, but I think I can think I can understand how they would feel."

"It makes me cringe to think of losing a breast."

"I don't think I should make any comment about that."

"That's probably wise. Mom told some stories about women who have a mastectomy losing their husbands or boyfriends along with their breasts."

"That's… that's despicable! I like your breasts - quite a lot! - but I don't think I'd ever leave you because of anything so trivial. No, that's not the right word. I love you, not your breasts. You would still be the person I love with or without breasts."

"That's nice to know, but don't try to predict the future. It's chump's game, things can change in ways you never expect."

Julie was so very right about that, but neither of us realized it at the time. Just be patient, you'll know why eventually. (That's called foreshadowing in the writing biz. Just thought I'd let you in a little secret.)

"And I love you, with or without breasts. I am looking forward to seeing you with breasts for this week, though."

"So am I. You sure your Mom is OK with this?"

"You could say she is looking forward to seeing you with breasts."

"Far be it from me to say your mother is weird, but…"

"Just wait until you meet her. She raised me, you know. That should give you some idea."

With that, the conversation lapsed and we dozed off for a while, waking when the bus slowed for a pit stop in a small town on our way. We could see a crowd of people waiting to board, so we made sure our things were close to us. The noise level rose as four rowdy boys moved down the aisle and Julie grabbed my hand and whispered in my ear "Oh shit. We could be in trouble."

It took a few seconds for me to grasp her meaning. I may have been out and about as Connie for a long time, but one side effect of always accompanying my parents was I never had to learn how to handle obnoxious boys. Hell, I was probably an obnoxious boy most of the time myself.

This was confirmed when they spotted us and two filled the seat in front of us while the other two filled in behind. I was really nervous with them behind me where I couldn't see what they were doing. The one in front of Julie turned around.

"Where ya goin', dolls?' he asked.

"Stuff it, Romeo." The ice in Julie's voice should have flash frozen a fire demon.

"Ooh, tough bitch, are ya?"

The silly fool didn't know what he was playing with. Remember the circumstances around our first meeting? I had the feeling if Joe Cool's hand ended up anywhere Julie's breast the only reason it would have stayed attached to his wrist was because Julie didn't want bloodstains on her blouse.

"Look asshole, just move along and you might end up keeping your balls somewhere near your puny little cock. Buzz off!"

The jerk started turning red and his buddies were very close to laughter. Not a good situation at all. He made one more effort.

"Then fuck you, bitch. You got something going with your friend, there? Maybe she wants to see what a real man can do for her instead of some lezzie bitch."

"How the hell did your mommy let you out of the house before she made sure your brain hadn't dribbled out your nose and down you chin? Whatever that stuff is on your chin couldn't be a beard, could it? My friend there has a bigger set of balls and knows more about what to do with a cock than you could learn if they ever let you graduate from kindergarten."

As I've told you, my endowment was on the small side before I had it inverted. If they only knew just how much of an insult that was… I tried for my very best sneer.

"From the look of his shirt, if this dork dropped his pants right now the stench would evacuate the entire bus. It looks like romance dies a painful death with convulsions and vomiting when he tries to pick up a girl. Fortunately we're immune as we are women and have much higher standards than any of these little boys."

I was really getting into the fun. By now, the bus driver was glancing back at us frequently. This was a situation that could get ugly, and I was ill prepared to handle any boys hitting on me, let alone these four cretins.

"If any of you others are so hard up as to claim this… specimen… as your friend, you had better take him to the back of the bus right away. It's obvious he is overdue for his nappie and a bottle."

His friends had finally figured out they weren't going to win this one, and with a certain amount of posturing and growling they made for the back of the bus. The driver looked relieved and I could feel the tension draining away.

"Remind me not to do anything to piss you off again. I'm not sure I could survive the encounter," I whispered.

"You're safe. I like your balls and your cock is obviously more talented than anything those guys could come up with."

"Thanks, I think. Right now I'm trying to forget I have a cock."

"I won't let it slip your mind, lover."

The remainder of the trip was pretty quiet.

It only took three hours to reach Julie's home, even if that few minutes of confrontation seemed to last for hours. The guys waited at the back of the bus until we got off There was a couple standing there who were waving happily at the back of the bus, so I figured they were afraid we might talk to the adults. It wasn't worth it, I was much more interested in meeting Julie's mother.

On spotting my fiancee, the woman who must have been her mother started running toward us and they met with one of those dramatic, whirling hugs you see in the movies. I received the same treatment in turn, with an enthusiastic "I'm so thrilled to get to meet you, Connie! You look simply wonderful!"

I was commanded to call her Sandra, or Mom if I wished. Naturally I chose Sandra in an abundance of caution. We retrieved our suitcases and, just for fun, veered close to the four boys and the two adults on our way out. In a very sophisticated and feminine gesture, I stuck my tongue out at the would-be Lothario, but was kind enough to do it behind the parent's backs.

Sandra was the observant sort.

"And just what was that all about, Connie," she inquired. So we gave her a blow-by-blow rendition of the encounter, doing our own version of tag-team wrestling with the story.

"You two are dangerous!" she exclaimed. "I hope they learned their lesson."

"I doubt it," I replied. "I think I was the one who learned the lesson. I didn't grow up having to cope with macho jerks hitting on me."

"I guess you didn't, did you. Even though my daughter assured me you were a very good looking woman, I was worried you would be, well, some Neanderthal in a skirt."

"Mother! She's a perfect lady, that is until I get her in bed. The rules are different there."

"I don't think I need any more details, young woman. Control yourself."

"Sounds like Doug has been out of town too long, eh mother?"

Julie's father had not returned from the Korean War, so she grew up raised by her mother. I had no doubt that she had been raised by a strong woman who didn't take any crap, because Julie had turned out the same way. Doug was the man who had won her heart and had recently proposed to her. Julie was pushing for a summer wedding so we could be there..

"That's none of your business. I won't ask what you two do in bed and I expect you to reciprocate."

"What happens if we don't do it in a bed?"

"Be sure you lock the door before you start, wherever you are."

I was learning where Julie got her ability to fling zingers at short notice.

We got settled in Julie's room and she cleared a couple of drawers for my clothes. She surprised me with a pair of matching nightgowns for us to wear and then dragged me downstairs to talk with her mother.

"Connie," she started. "I don't want to embarrass you, but I have a little present for you."

"How could getting a present embarrass me?"

"Because it's rather intimate. You know I work for a medical equipment company, don't you?"

"Julie told me. You're involved with mastectomy supplies, I understand."

"Which I was certain would be of interest to you. Julie mentioned your inserts were rather old and starting to fail. They are almost certainly liquid filled prosthesis, and the liquid isn't stable over time. That's not surprising, but there has been a great deal of progress in new materials in the last few years. The older inserts started out fairly compliant with breast tissue, but they didn't age well."

"I found that out last week. I haven't used them in several years and they aren't as nice as they used to be. Please don't worry about embarrassing me, I've decided that I can no longer go on denying that I have a strong feminine side and I need to explore just how I can deal with that."

"Very good. I think we can all agree on how important breasts are to a woman's self-image. In our research we have talked to many women who had to have mastectomies who feel they are no longer real women without their breasts. Is that how you feel as Connie?"

"Very much so. I'm using my inserts even though they aren't as good as they were, but they are still much better than a bag of rice or some kind of stuffing.

"You bring back memories of my days as a young girl who wanted breasts so badly I resorted to such things and my mother was kind enough not to laugh, but encouraged me to wait for nature to take it's course."

"I'm afraid that won't work for me."

"If it did there would be a lot of unhappy men in this world. I've also talked to men with gynecomastia. Unlike you, it disturbs them greatly."

"Gynecomastia? I don't know what that is."

"Spontaneous breast growth in a man. Pretty rare, but it happens. I find it odd that men with that problem will go to even more extreme lengths to hide their breasts than some women use to increase their breasts. Too bad there isn't some way of spreading the wealth so everybody will be happy."

"Somehow I wouldn't consider that to be a problem. Some people have all the luck."

"One man's problem is another man's blessing. In any case, our company has developed a new generation of silicon filled breast inserts and we are starting a testing program to see how they fare when used in normal living. Would you be interested in joining our test program?"

"Would they let me in? Let's be blunt, I was born a man, even if I don't feel like one and don't want to be one too much any more. There's nothing much I can do about that except dress and act like a woman whenever I have the opportunity."

"Would it surprise you to know you are only one of many men who feel that way? Julie tells me you have been able to develop your feminine personality without help from anyone but your family, is that correct?"

"Yes. We live in a very small town and if anyone knew then everyone would know. My dad is prominent in the town, and my mom is the manager of the Woolworths. I hate to think of what would happen if the town knew about Connie."

"I've been surprised by the interest of men in our product, especially since I ended up the head of the department because most men get all tongue-tied and discomfited at the thought of an artificial breast or any breast that they can't fondle."

"I certainly won't quarrel with that assessment. I get sick of faking just to seem like I'm not a wimp or a homosexual. If most men's idea of manhood is like those disgusting little boys on the bus, I don't want to be a man."

"We could spend all night discussing the subject, but what I am really interested in is getting you into our test program. I'm convinced there is enough of a market for breast inserts among crossdressers that we would be foolish to ignore it. I can't see how a man wearing a breast insert would treat it any differently than a woman would, but that's why we do research. Ideally, I want 10% of our test subjects to be crossdressers. We would supply the prosthesis free of charge and ask to conduct regular inspections of the product and ask you to fill out a form about how the feel and any problems or concerns you would have using them."

"You have an enthusiastic subject for your study, Sandra."

"So my daughter assured me over the phone. I took the liberty of filling out the application with her help. Check it over to be sure it's accurate, fill out the medical history part and sign it. We can go into the study office tomorrow and do the rest. We keep it open for half a day on Saturday for women who can't take time off from work."

"Pretty sure of yourself, weren't you lover?" I asked.

"There was as much chance of you refusing as there was of me going out with that twit on the bus."

"Then let's stop talking business and go out for something to eat. We can plan what you want to do with the rest of the week over food."

"I knew I had a very smart mother."

Not only smart, but empathetic, a word I hadn't much use for before meeting Sandra. Somehow I liked and trusted her as much as I did her daughter from the moment I met her. Why else would I have been able to tell her the intimate details of my growing feelings of femininity.

Think about it - this woman was meeting the man her daughter was going to marry for the first time and that man was dressed and acting as a woman. She didn't simply accept me like that, but positively welcomed me into her life and offered to help me achieve my growing femininity as best she could.

As for me, I was able to open up about my desires and tell a complete stranger about them with no hesitation. People like that are the treasures you collect in life, and Sandra has loved and supported me through all the joys and sorrows of life to this very day.

I was in love with her daughter, but I was learning that that portmanteau word love could include a different kind of love for many kinds of people.

Over the years I have developed a philosophy that has held me in good stead. Any time you interact with the medical establishment, the government or any form of bureaucracy, bring a book. Technology had forced an amendment recently - a cell phone or an e-book will work just as well as long as the battery is fully charged when you arrive.

Invariably you have to wait in a chair that can range from luxurious to ass-biting, until some arcane and hidden device with a random timer included within its bowels decides it's your time to be dealt with. Experience has shown that it certainly can't be a rational process that determines when the doctor is ready or the second assistant clerk to the third vice president is available.

We arrived at the clinic at 9:52 AM, in time for our ten o'clock appointment. Walking in the door with the head of the whole shebang having her arm around my shoulder did marvels for the alacrity of the staff by bypassing that random timer and seating me in an examination room without delay. I was a little nervous; confiding in Sandra had been easy, talking to a complete stranger, probably in a white coat and adorned with a stethoscope instead of a necklace, wasn't so easy.

My illusions were shattered when a motherly woman of maybe fifty years knocked on the door and entered. She was wearing a beige blouse and brown slacks, casual flats; a pair of rings on her left hand were the only jewelry she sported. She greeted me with a smile and casually asked how I was that morning. It was more like sitting down to coffee with someone you didn't know than anything connected to the medical establishment.

I should have known Sandra would have hired such people to work for her, especially considering how traumatized many of the clients would have been. For a wonder, the fact that I was a man who wanted to dress as a woman appeared to be unremarkable to her.

She reviewed my medical history, remarking on the fact that this wasn't the first time I had been part of a medical study. When I was maybe four years old I developed a hernia and had surgery to repair it. The doctors used surgical glue to close the wound rather than stitches, something that was brand new technology. It didn't matter much to me, the main thing I remember was being incensed that I had to sleep in a crib and I was a big boy, I didn't need no stinkin' crib.

I'm maundering again, you must be used to that by now.

Naturally, she had to examine me, so I took off my blouse and removed my bra. She agreed that my forms were ready to be replaced, then complimented me on my good taste in bras. I had to tell her that my mother was the one who chose it. Other than my one foray into mail order (remember the stars and moons?) whenever I went shopping for clothes it was with my mother.

After having spent much time organizing my memories to write this, I can see how odd it sounds to only have gone bra shopping with my mother. Since neither of us were thrilled with the selection at the Woolworths, after a skating session we would go to her favorite boutique, the one where she bought me that first bra. Since I was too young to drive, of course I went with my mother. There were a few times that Dad came with us, but he exhibited the usual male reaction to being surrounded by lady's frillies and studiously ignored them. I've never quite had the nerve to ask him what he thought as Mom and I discussed this bra or that girdle. And yes, I did wear girdles when the dress called for it, like any other young woman of the time.

I never asked Dad what he thought of paying for all these clothes for his son, either. Like I said, we were well off, but dressing me up had to put a substantial hole in the paycheck. He never once complained or made me feel the less for my need to be a girl on the weekends. He didn't complain about the cost of our skating obsession, either. It wasn't cheap buying two of all the outfits and traveling to competitions. At least with Mom to train me we weren't paying for a professional trainer like some of the other girls.

Which brings up something else you might have been curious about. As I got serious about skating, Conrad had to disappear on weekends so Connie could practice and compete. My buddies were mighty curious about where I went and I couldn't tell them. I tried to cultivate a personality like that new guy we were seeing in the movies, James Bond. Most of my buddies thought he was the ultimate in cool, and the rest just liked ogling the women. Me, I kind of wanted to be the women, but that wasn't something I could talk about. Being a crossdresser in the sixties was more than a small challenge; here I was training as a woman ice skater and trying to make all my buddies think I was James Bond. Is it any wonder that gender challenged folks in these modern days really need to see a shrink?

I did it again, didn't I? I was supposed to be telling you about getting my new breast forms and somehow I ended up talking about ice skating, macho secret agents and psychiatry. I'll try to keep my focus, at least for a while.

Naturally, healing after a mastectomy was not an issue in my case, so she took a few measurements and bustled off to return with two new forms for me to try. I was amazed, while they were undoubtedly made of plastic and would never look like real skin, they were shaped like real breasts and even felt like real breasts - at least they felt much like Julie's breasts and I figured she wasn't unique among woman, at least in that department.

Once they had found a home in my bra I could see that my body looked much more natural with them, but there was a certain looseness in the cups.

"I think maybe the next size up." and off she went, returning with another pair. With the blouse on and buttoned there was certainly no way to tell I was anything but a reasonably well developed young woman. All trace of my misplaced masculine angst at not being a man among my peers had vanished. I was starting to realize looking so much like my mother was a blessing, not a curse.

I had thought I had average-looking breasts before, and they were good enough that I don't think anyone ever realized they weren't home-grown. The difference was subtle but profound, my breasts now looked - and it's so damned trite I hate to use the word - perky. Perky breasts are usually found in soft porn and not on real women. I guess since I wasn't a real woman I could qualify to own a set of perky breasts, even if they had to be stored in a box.

Before we left, Sandra took us on a little tour, then stopped in her office. She closed the door and Julie said "I wanted to do this where we wouldn't attract a big crowd."

"What do you have in mind?"

"You."

"Well, I don't mind that too much," I answered.

She opened her purse and took out a small bag.

"I have to do this right, she said as she knelt before me. "I don't have to ask you to marry me, since that's a done thing, but I want the world to know you're an engaged woman. Hold out your hand, darling."

I did and she slid a rather old fashioned gold engagement ring on my finger."

"It's the one my father gave my mother. She wore it until Doug replaced it and we think it would be appropriate for Connie to be it's new bearer. It has a history of love behind it, and I hope we can add to that history."

"You're OK with this?" I asked Sandra in a tight voice.

"Of course. It would mean a great deal to me to have that ring remind you of your new family each time you see it, and I expect you to wear it when you're my bridesmaid this summer."

So we all broke down and cried. A good thing the hot-shot director had a small bathroom attached to her office or we would have attracted a good deal of attention sniffling through the halls to the lady's room to repair our makeup.

We left soon after, offering my profuse thanks to everyone within earshot. Julie and Sandra had wide grins on their faces at my delight, and not just at my new breasts. There was only one thing we could do after that - go shopping.

That's another overly trite thing I object to, detailed and breathless descriptions of going shopping for all the things a crossdresser needs to feel like a woman. I only object to the descriptions, not the actual shopping, especially when Sandra offered to spring for some matching undies for her two girls. If you think that's all we bought, then you don't really belong reading stories like this. We decimated the sales racks.

I hadn't even had time to hang my new clothes up before Julie reached over and squeezed my new breasts. "They do feel almost real," she commented. I could vaguely feel her finger as it traced the nipple of the form. "And it has a nipple!" she enthused.

"Of course they have nipples, breasts have nipples. Even if you buy the nonsense from those people who argue whether Eve had a belly button or not, they all agree she had nipples. How else could she have fed Cain and Able?"

"You mean God didn't supply her with a formula starter kit? Just like a man."

"You could end up in hell if you make jokes like that."

"Mom went through hell convincing the big boys that their breast forms had to have nipples. There were some convinced the extra expense of molding a nipple wasn't justified as there would be no real use for one on a fake breast."

You have to remember that in the seventies it was shocking if a woman let her nipples show through her blouse. You had to feel to find it, and that could get you into a lot of trouble.

Julie continued her examination by giving my left breast a little bounce.

"They bounce!" she enthused.

I reached over and returned the favor.

"So do yours," I observed.

At this point in the story an impartial observer would see two women jumping up and down and watching each other's breasts bounce as they did. The woman with the high neckline was much more delighted to be watching the woman with the low neckline, as she could see those breasts wiggle at each impact.

"What are you girls doing in there?" came the loud query through the bedroom door.

"Just a little field testing, Mom," answered Julie.

"She's playing with my new boobs,"I answered with a smile.

"Be sure to remember the results for the questionnaire, Connie."

We could hear her footsteps recede and fell on to the bed laughing. It took a while to get back up again, but that shouldn't surprise anyone.

I could fill page after page with glowing descriptions of how we spent that week together. The freedom to be Connie not just for a few hours or a few days with my new family was intoxicating. We visited museums, picnicked on the warm days, spent several evenings in girl talk with Sandra and just frittered our time away, discovering just how deep our love had grown.

The sex was fantastic, but that's all I'm going to say.

It was on Saturday that I realized that, in my determination to live the week as my real self I had neglected to pack any clothes to return to campus with. By that time I discovered this I was so high with the experience I wanted to just ditch Conrad and return as Connie and the hell with the consequences. I count myself lucky that my fiancee and her mother had more sense than I did at that point. We again went shopping, but for a lousy pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Oh, yes, some black socks as any socks I had were pretty girly.

When we tried to pack, we realized that we had both been a bit too enthusiastic in our shopping, no way we could fit it all into the suitcases. Or our dorm rooms either, even if Arthur was blind to what I had hanging in my closet. Sandra had the answer: "Just leave it here and then it will be here when you come back for the summer."

The summer?

Sandra had that smug look of someone who had just successfully sprung a surprise.

"Of course you'll both be here for the summer. I'm pretty sure I've wrangled two internships for two bright, young college girls who are on the fast track for their MBAs. Being a department head has its perks.

"But… but…" I stammered.

"You want to maybe wear a suit and tie?" she smirked.

She didn't get any further because I had grabbed her and was hugging for all I was worth, planting a great, big kiss on her. On the cheek, of course. She was too old for me and her daughter was watching.

The ride back was nowhere near as much fun as getting there, but then again I didn't have to worry about anyone hitting on me.

Laying in my lonely bed with only Arthur's snoring to distract me, I was depressed. Seven more weeks until summer. Seven more weeks of trying to be something I was sure I was no longer - a boy. Man, I suppose. For a couple of weeks I was a mess, even scoring an apartment where Julie and I could live together next year wasn't enough to lift the gloom.

People got depression back in the seventies but, like crossdressing or any issue, you just didn't talk about it. It was like moving through molasses. My friends noticed but didn't know what to do about it. Julie tried to cheer me up, but even a good session in bed only kept it at bay for an hour or two.

In the end, it was the radio station that made the difference.

In my depression after returning from that glorious week of letting Connie be free in the world, I neglected to notice that I couldn't be bothered to be sure her voice and movements stayed firmly behind the screen of Conrad. People began to notice but, like sometimes happens, just shook their heads and whispered among themselves.

The gay guys next to the radio station certainly noticed. We'd call it Gaydar these days, but even with my efforts to suppress Connie they knew a fellow-traveler when the saw one. Sure, I confused them with Julie since our sex life was pretty well known on campus, (I dare you to hide such stuff when you have to bribe roommates and make advance arrangements) but the clues were there if you knew how to read them.

I was moping in the cafeteria, too bummed out to even clear my dishes, when Steve came over and sat down across from me.

"You look like you've lost your best friend, Con."

"No, I just have to bury her, that's all."

I told you I was depressed and not hiding things well.

"Julie? What the…"

"The funeral is metaphorical."

"She dumped you?"

"I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"You said it, man."

"I'm sick of hiding who I am, Steve. It's just too much!"

"Now there's something I can relate to. Try being gay in a straight world."

I had tried to ignore the burgeoning LGBT tidal wave in denying Connie, so I didn't really understand gay and straight, so he had to explain.

"Now there's something I can relate to," I returned his own words.

"Does that mean what I think it does, Con?"

"Sort of. Not the way you think. I… I'm sick of being Conrad and want to be who I really am - Connie. Conrad is a fake, a facade, a phantom."

"Hey man! Maybe we ought to go down to the club where we can talk without everybody listening in. You game?"

"Why not, things can't get much worse."

"Now that, my friend, is downright naive. You're not in jail or beaten black and blue in the hospital or a gutter somewhere or freezing in the snow because your father booted you out of the house. It can get a whole lot worse!"

That caught my attention, putting my worst fears about being revealed as Connie into words. I can't tell you what a relief it was to talk to someone who understood. Even though things have gotten much better today in 2020, we still live in a culture obsessed with sex and swimming in stupidity and contradictions about the subject. It was much worse back when I was growing up, people like Steve were taking big chances and were very vulnerable to the bigots and assholes.

Just as, at that time, I didn't really understand Steve's attraction to men, he had a hard time grasping that I felt like a woman. Nevertheless, we forged a connection and I was invited to come to one of their meetings. I promised I would, hoping I would be able to keep that promise.

I haven't mentioned it much so far, but I really didn't spend all my time in bed with Julie or obsessing about Connie. I hung out with guys in the dorm, still worked at the radio station and even spent time (gasp!) studying. Since I was right next door to the radio station I dropped in to see who was around. The answer was: nobody but Lloyd McGee, host of the call-in show and the tech who was on the air that afternoon.

"Shit! Hey Con! You didn't see that fucking bitch Maggie Vanhoose out in the goddam hall, did you?"

You may have noticed that every second word was a variant on 'fuck' or something scatological. And don't forget misogynistic. This was college life in the late sixties and early seventies. I was guilty of it myself, but I've cleaned up the things I said to protect my reader's delicate sensibilities. Besides, my husband doesn't like it when I swear like a sailor.

Maggie was a notorious and outspoken feminist on campus. She made a lot of people nervous but I liked her. In many ways I wanted Connie to be like her.

"Nope, pretty quiet out there. Just Steve hanging out next door."

"Shit! I got five minutes before the call-in show and she's supposed to be the guest spouting about that feminism crap."

"With that kind of attitude I wouldn't want to be around when she rips you a new one on the air. You got to develop some tact if you want to be a show host, brother."

"I got tact in fucking barrels, numb-nuts. What I ain't got is a motherfucking guest."

"My heart bleeds. I could pull you enough records to fill the time."

"Shit! I need a demo tape to send out for jobs. Records aren't gonna do me a fucking thing!"

That was the point where I lost my mind.

I was a committed feminist who had just spent the week with two committed feminists. We had talked about everything under the sun and I knew I could hold my own against a misogynistic radio host, especially one who is going nuts trying to figure out how I was using Connie's feminine voice to talk to him. This was radio, nobody could see me. Should be safe enough, but I wasn't going to worry about that any more. I was out, at least on the radio.

I'll save you any more of Lloyd's invective, but he was in a bind and if he wanted a demo tape I was it.

I shook my hair out, put on a set of headphones and sat down across the table from Lloyd, unconsciously brushing the skirt I wasn't wearing as I made myself comfortable. As I pulled the microphone over to me I had the fleeting wish I was at least wearing my bra with my wonderful new breasts, but that was safely stored with Sandra. Too bad.

Lloyd's mouth was hanging open as Connie spoke the traditional words "One…two… three…mike check… mike check. You getting this, Charlie."

Charlie was getting the voice, if not exactly what was happening. I heard the musical intro as Lloyd pulled himself together. Grabbing a pad and pencil I scrawled "CONNIE ALFARO" in big letters. I appropriated Sandra's maiden name on the spur of the moment. She had gone back to it after her husband died, but kept Julie with 'Wheeler' in honor of her father.

"Good afternoon, and welcome to Talk-back," Lloyd intoned. He really did have a great radio voice. "We have a last minute program change today, as Maggie Vanhoose, our scheduled guest, was unable to attend. Let me introduce..." he stumbled slightly, "Connie Alfaro to you, who is a very well informed, uh, person on today's feminist issues."

Lloyd's eyes glanced desperate toward the ceiling as he said that.

"Thank you, Lloyd," Connie said, "I'm pleased to be here today. While I won't tell you I am as well versed as the wonderful Maggie, I have just returned from a small conference of dedicated feminists over the vacation and can claim some small expertise."

"I'm glad to hear that, uh, Connie."

Lloyd's eyes belied that statement, but this was radio and only I could see that.

"Let's get our first caller on the line. Welcome to Talk Back, Gloria"

The tech had held up a sign with her name on it so Lloyd would know who he's talking to.

"Am I on?" came a plaintive voice.

You'd be amazed how many times a call-in show host hears that. 'No you idiot, I just invited you, by name, to talk to my goddam cat. Of course you're on!' was not an acceptable reply.

"Hello? He said your name was Connie?"

"That's right. How can I help you today?"

"Well, I wanted to know If you've heard what's happening with Lorena Weeks."

Bingo! Sandra was hot about this one.

"For those of you that don't know the name, Lorena Weeks sued Southern Bell in Weeks v. Southern Bell. She was denied a switchman's job because only men could be switchmen. One of the company's arguments was that switchmen had to be able to lift at least thirty pounds to do the job and that was too much for a woman to handle. Things got embarrassing when her lawyers proved she had to routinely move a thirty-four pound typewriter for her job as a typist. It took a lot of years and some very silly arguments in court, but she finally was awarded back pay of somewhere around thirty thousand dollars just a little while ago. See, women can fight misogynistic men on their own turf and win!"

By this time Lloyd was just sitting there paralyzed in shock.

"Should we see who else has a question, Lloyd?" I asked.

That woke him up and for the rest of the hour I fielded questions about the 26th amendment (letting 18 year olds vote) which was about to be ratified at last, Feminists like Bella Abzug, Gloria Steinem, Shirley Chisholm and Betty Friedan, abortion, the ERA hearings in congress and sex segregated help wanted pages.

We finished up with a discussion of Phillips v. Martin Marietta, a ruling telling employers that they couldn't refuse to hire women solely because they have small children unless fathers of small children are also denied employment.

Somewhere near the end I looked up and saw Maggie watching through the soundproof window. She was looking very bemused, as well she would, hearing a woman discussing feminism intelligently and fervently while watching that voice emerge from a guy.

I told you I had lost my mind.

The show ended and I took off my headphones. Maggie was there in an instant.

"Just where the hell did you come from?"

I just told her the name of my home town. It didn't satisfy her.

"You know that's not what I meant! You're good. You're better than good! No way I could have pulled all those facts out of the air like you did!"

"Just lucky my girl and her mom spent a week talking about this stuff with me. I get pretty steamed when I hear crap like that happening to women or anyone else for that matter."

"But you're a guy?"

"That's open to question, but you wouldn't be indulging in any sexist stereotypes, would you?"

That's about when Julie came bursting in, followed closely by her roommate.

"I knew that was you! Connie, you were wonderful!"

I was smothered in a hug and a very passionate kiss. Julie's roommate just stood there with a smirk on her face.

"They better get married soon if they're going to behave like that in public," she commented.

The tech was waving his hands to attract attention, then remembered the intercom. "Hey Con, the phone is going wild. Grab a line and talk to some of the callers. I've got a radio station to run in here."

As he queued up the next record, without thinking Connie answered, "KXXX, campus radio. How can I help you?"

It took a good twenty minutes for Lloyd and me to field calls before the phones quieted down. As I remember only one of the calls was a request for music, the rest wanted to know more about feminism, Connie and some of the things we discussed. Maggie slid a paper with contact info for the women's group before the both of us and smiled as Lloyd had to pass out information on feminism to anxious women. Sadly, the callers were almost exclusively female. We had a long road ahead of us.

Maggie, at first miffed that a man was doing so damn well as a feminist, eventually began to relent. Julie and I decided she needed to know the whole story, so one evening in an unused library room we took her into our confidence.

Maggie was as conflicted as Connie was, but she gradually thawed. There was a branch of the nascent feminist movement that believed simply that men are scum! and were quite vocal about it. Others were glad to welcome men who believed in their goals to join in and work along with the women. Naturally, as with any movement, there were a bunch of people in the middle. Maggie had been somewhere in the middle, maybe leaning a bit to the more radical element, when Connie came into her life.

As the friendship grew, the three of us spent more time together, studying and discussing philosophy. Unlike most philosophical discussions on a college campus, this colloquium was not alcohol-infused. After my bender during the panty raid, I had sworn off ever getting drunk again. This resolution gained traction as Julie and I spent more and more time alone together; there was less time for drinking. We both agreed that sex in the morning was far more pleasing than a hangover.

Late one night Maggie was bemoaning the girls she would be sharing a place with next semester. Too many of them were still party animals, even in their senior year. Her feminist soul was further pissed off by two of the girls who were only in school to snag a man. They were rich bitches whose less-than-stellar personalities had found them still man-hunting going into their junior year. "The injustice of it all," mimicked Maggie. As they were being financed by their parents they didn't give a crap about graduating.

By now, Julie and I had mastered the art of telepathic communication via eyes and minute head movements, and the decision was easily made to invite Maggie to become our roommate.

"Really?" squeaked Maggie.

"Really, we both answered together.

"Two things to consider before you answer," I continued. "One, would you be comfortable with Connie as a roommate, I mean Connie in a dress and the whole works. I don’t know how far I'm going to go, but I am certain I want to live my life as a woman if there is any way to do it."

"I still can't figure out why a man would want to live as a woman."

"Because that's who I am. I wish I had been born a woman, but I wasn't and I don't think there's much I can do about that. I just have to be satisfied to look like a woman and do the best I can."

"And Connie is all woman, you won't have to worry about a man in a dress with a five o'clock shadow," added Julie.

"Hell, I hardly shave at all - at least my face. I shave my pits and legs like any woman."

"Watch it buster! Some of us don't take kindly to changing our bodies to please the men."

"I guess it's fortunate that I shave to please a woman, right Julie?"

"She's ticklish when she's shaved."

"I'm not so sure I want to know any more. You said two things?"

"Right, Number two is Julie makes an awful lot of noise when she has an orgasm."

"Want to know what it sounds like when Connie cums?" asked Julie.

"NO! You two are bad."

"Should we ask what you sound like when you have and orgasm?" asked Julie with a mischievous smile.

"That won't be an issue, as there's nobody in my bed to induce an orgasm."

"I thought you feminists swore that dildos were all a woman needs." Connie just had to poke the hornet's nest.

"Scurrilous accusations from testosterone infused male assholes. We mature feminists recognize that men have their place, and sometimes that place is inside a feminist. Or should I say in and out of a feminist. As long as he's washed first. I don't go for dirty old men."

"Or dirty young ones, it seems."

"You got that right! How much would my share be?

So we discussed the technicalities and said goodnight to our new roommate. Amazing how fast things change, isn't it?

 

And so, the cat began to claw it's way out of the bag. So far there were only minor tears, but a paw was sticking out and clawing fervently.

This might be a good place to stop and talk about the 90% of my life that isn't directly connected with being transgendered. Of course, since this in a memoir of my life as a transgendered woman, it isn't surprising that that's what I've been writing about.

In fact, just the other night Julie and Sam were over for dinner with me and Isaac so Julie could offer some comments about what I'd written so far. That boiled down to 'don't be so hard on yourself' and 'the sex was a lot better than you wrote, but please, no details!'

That's when we started trying to find a title. I was prosaic - My Life as a Transgendered Woman seemed to fit nicely. It was roundly panned by all the others present. So, for your edification and entertainment, here are a few of the suggestions. Obviously you know what the final choice was if you're reading this, but here goes:

Too Soon Old and Too Late a Lady

Connie: A Woman Born of Man

Connie: A Stealth Transition

Changing Gender is not a Con Game

Connie: Born Again But Not The Way You Think

Connie: A Life Skating on Thin Ice

Connie: Born Before Her Time
 

We got pretty silly, but it was a good evening together, and I see I've done it again. I introduced a topic and immediately skated off in another direction.

Naturally. I knew I wanted to be a woman as soon as I put on my first bra had a major effect on my life. But this was the sixties, transgender was a word that virtually nobody had heard of, including me. I spent five days a week in school. I played pickup baseball and terrorized the town with my buddies on our bikes. I was a slightly effeminate boy but nobody had the nerve to say much about it because I was obviously a boy and did the stuff boys do.

Most Saturdays I was a girl, and a few Sundays sometimes. As puberty hit each of my friends in turn, the casual comments about what boys and girls should do and say made it clear that I had to hide my feminine feelings or it could get sticky.

College was much the same, leavened with the growing feminist and LGBT movements, but transgender was still not on many lips or minds. Remember the panty raid that I started with? That sort of attitude was pretty common and I went along with it, hiding my growing feelings that this was just not right! I shoved Connie deep in the closet and locked her in.

Like I said, I had an active social life as Conrad, so don't get the idea that I was a loner or outcast - I wasn't. Considered a little weird, sure, but so were a lot of other guys.

It helped that my sexual orientation was tilted toward women, but I have to think I maybe was fooling myself. That slowly changed as my feminine desires grew, as you will eventually see.

Chapter 23 - The Mysterious Connie

OK, back to where I left off, with Connie out at the radio station and in the closet anywhere else, or so I hoped. That lasted about half an hour, about as long as it took to get back to the dorm.

If you're just hanging out on campus on a Saturday afternoon, a lot of the students have the campus radio station on in the background. Lloyd's show was popular, partly because he did manage to find interesting people to talk to, partly because he said outrageous things and loved to get a good fight going on the air. Long before outrageous talk radio went national, Lloyd was perfecting the format. It seems people were slavering to see what sparks flew with Lloyd's sour views of women and and an outspoken feminist like Maggie.

That meant a lot of people were listening. I should have figured this out when Julie and her roommate came rushing down to the station. The tech let her in because everybody knew she and I were an item, but fortunately, nobody else got to actually see me being Connie for the microphone.

When I got back on the floor, the conversation went something like this:

"Hey man! You missed it. Some chick gave Lloyd the business on his show."

"You don't say?" I replied, consciously trying to keep my voice in a lower register.

"Yeah, she knew her shit. Fuckin' bitch laid it all out and made it sound sweet. That chick of yours would love her."

"Julie did mention something about it."

"At least this Connie chick likes guys, not like some of those lezzie bitches. Hey! You work at the radio station - think you can get me a date with her?"

You get the idea. A good fraction of the students were the typical college troglodyte, interested in wine, women and song as my parents would phrase it. Booze, bitches and Rock 'n Roll in the patois of the time. I shudder to think of what that phrase has morphed into in the age of the Internet. Eventually I made my escape to my fortunately Arthur-free room. I lay in bed wondering what I had gotten myself into.

Suddenly I realized I wasn't depressed any longer. For one glorious hour Connie had taken the campus by storm, freed from her closet and on top of the world. Did I really want to push her back in again?

Nope.

But I wasn't going to just call up Sandra and have her ship Connie's falsies and clothes to me and come out with tits a-blazing. I called up Julie and told her I needed to talk. She just asked if I hadn't done enough talking to last an eternity that afternoon.

See why I loved her?

We returned to the scene of the crime. One advantage of being record librarian is you can go into the library and hide out if you're in a solitary mood. Nobody thinks to look for you there. When you need some alone time with your girl and you can't get rid of your roommate, there is a comfortable couch just perfect for snuggling. It's old and ratty, but at least the springs are still under the padding and not sticking you in the ass. The perfect place for a private talk.

Just how far did we want to go in letting Connie out into the world? As far as I knew on that day in 1971, the only clue I had that I wasn't unique was Sandra's mention of men who wanted to have breast forms. Since all this happened fifty years ago, and Isaac reminds me I have a problem remembering where I left my purse, I've spent a fair amount of time on Google researching the timeline.

If only Google had been around in 1971! I now know that The NY Times estimated there were some 3,000 transwomen living in 1973. 3,000! Gender correction surgery, while in its infancy, was already available, but I hadn't a clue. That was about to change.

I'm not sure how I managed to study in those weeks between Spring Break and Summer Vacation. From an anonymous student trying to get a degree in business I was catapulted into an icon.

I remember from one of my art classes that an icon was originally a representation of some sacred personage, such as Christ or a saint or an angel, painted usually on a wood surface and venerated itself as sacred. Just like the word 'love,' the word 'icon' had acquired a slew of different meanings. I sure wasn't feeling saintly, but a whole bunch of people seemed to be painting images of me on some very flimsy stock and venerating what they wanted me to be.

At first it was calls for personal appearances for this or that group. The station kept a log of these calls and the messages, not saying if they could actually get them to the mysterious Connie. The college paper wanted to interview me and run it with my picture. One professor even tried to track me down so I could be part of a study she was conducting on strong women.

Yeah, right!

There's an old saying that two can keep a secret if one of them is dead; with half a dozen people knowing that Connie on the radio was actually Conrad, the secret started to bleed out. I had been seen talking to Steve in the cafeteria - you know, that gay guy who whacks off in the pansy club in the basement. Steve just gave such assholes the finger, and speculated loudly just where the asshole would want Steve's finger placed. Not many could handle the derision and fled muttering.

Julie's roommate tried valiantly to spread the word that she had to find other places to be while I screwed her roommate, but that was met with raised eyebrows by those who just knew it was bullshit. Arthur was vastly amused by the whole thing, he knew damn well what Julie and I were doing while he was doing the same thing with his girlfriend.

I've already mentioned the feminist reaction, and mercifully the administration stayed silent.

I started being called Connie more and more. Some guys started avoiding me, some girls actually sought me out. Acutely aware of the campus rumor mill, that could be uncomfortable. Many of those girls were seeking advice on sex, thinking I was sort of both a guy and a girl so I must be an expert. Believe it or not, I had offers. Who would have guessed? I can only conclude that all guys considered themselves experts; not one of them brought up the subject unless it was scatological or pornographic.

I might point out that I did not dress as Connie or even change my normal, grungy college guy wardrobe one iota, but with all the foofaraw I longed to be wearing a bra.

But Connie was a hit. She was invited back as a guest twice more before the end of the semester and her no-nonsense approach and warm empathy toward troubled callers won her a growing audience. Even fifty-odd years later, here I am talking about myself in the third person. I was still trying to keep Conrad and Connie separate.

It got worse when Lloyd had to go for a job interview. The demo tape was responsible in large part, which frustrated and pleased Lloyd alternately. Guess who was invited to be the guest host? I refused until I learned it was going to be a phone interview, I wouldn't have to be face-to-face with the guest. I should have known better - someone started a damned fan club!

The station manager, perhaps knowing he would be graduated and long gone when the shit hit the fan, invited Connie Alfaro to host of a feminist-leaning call-in show during her senior year.

A couple weeks before exams, one of the guys from the student newspaper tracked me down and gave me a photocopy of an article from the Wichita Eagle. Lord knows how he found it, or found me; maybe such skills are part of being an investigative reporter for a newspaper. The article just blew my mind.

Once again, the course of my life was radically changed. My entire belief that I would be unable to do anything about being born a male while I felt like a woman was trashed by a few column-inches of text. You can see the actual article on line. I learned for the first time I really was not alone and there were doctors who could make me into a woman.

I read it, read it again, then walked like a zombie to Julie's dorm and let her read it. The article told how Paula Grossman had successfully transitioned from a man to a woman and was still married and living with her wife and children. The school board had fired her and she was suing. The article was only a few weeks old. This was really happening right now!

In reading the article, I found the name of Christine Jorgenson, so I followed up on that. To my amazement she had started her transition in 1951 - when I was only one year old. During my childhood she was a sensation in the national press before I had even learned to read.

She may have been a national sensation, but she didn't make the news in my home town. Mom and Dad had never heard of her. When all this was going on they couldn't even afford to subscribe to the local paper, let alone the NY Times or any of the nationals. By the time they had become moderately wealthy Christine was no longer in the news.

This time having a concrete clue to act on, I hit the campus library and found her autobiography had been sitting on a shelf there for the entire time I had been a student. Back then you just put your student number on a card in the back of the book and dropped it off at the desk before taking the book. There were a lot of numbers on that card, I was starting to realize that I couldn't be alone, not even on campus!

I cut class and read the book. I missed dinner because I couldn't be bothered. Arthur was understanding when I left the lights on for half an hour after he hit the rack so I could finish the book.

I didn't sleep much that night. I caught up with my sleep in class, which fortunately was a large lecture and I was in the back of the room. Julie lent me her notes when I handed her the book and told her she had to read it. She wouldn't cut class, but she did read it. She handed me the book the next day and said simply: "We have to have Mom find you a doctor when we get home."

The next couple of weeks were several years long, I wanted the vacation to start NOW, dammit.

Exams ended, we all were able to store much of our stuff in the garage of our new apartment. I left all of Conrad's clothes behind, leaving the only vestige of him on my body, to be removed a soon as we reached home. Indeed, Julie's home would be my home, Connie's home, our home. This time the bus ride was without incident, and Sandra was there waiting for us.

I could hardly get a word in edgewise as mother and daughter caught up on each other's lives. Mostly it seemed to revolve around the upcoming wedding in just three weeks. When we got home, Sandra smiled and said "I'm sure Connie needs to freshen up before we do anything else. Doug is taking us out to dinner at six, so give him a show, won't you?"

Four hours? We could do it if we tried. Sharing a shower saved water and time, although not as much as it could have if we hadn't messed around a bit under the warm water.

Our matching bra and panty sets, of course. Garters or pantyhose? Well Sandra did specify a show, so garters - hers red, mine black - but we both had on some sexy black patterned hose. In deference to my undeveloped figure, long, full skirts with a slit up to there to show off the garters. Julie chose a frothy yellow thing with a lining to protect what modesty we were going to have, I went with virginal white, the better to contrast the black garters. Of course it had a slit up to there as well.

Since Julie had actual breasts to display, her pale blue blouse displayed them nicely. I had to be satisfied with a bright red sort-of-Chinese blouse with a high collar and long sleeves. The night was warm enough for sandals (I hoped my long sleeves wouldn't be too warm!) so we painted each other's toes and fingernails, and Julie braided my hair and did the Alpine Maiden thing with the long braids wound up and pinned in place. I had long ago become adept at styling Julie's hair, so braided and pinned hers in place.

Half an hour left for makeup, no problem. In the interests of time, Julie did my makeup as I was still learning and it took me a while to get it right. Looking good. A quick trip to the jewelry box where I recovered my engagement ring and placed it where it belonged, on my left hand. Some wrist sparkles, silver necklace for Julie, gold for me, some long, dangly earrings and we were ready.

Sandra's home has a beautiful wooden staircase from the upper floor, all polished wood and carved spindles holding up a banister just made for sliding down if you were a kid. It's also perfect for the dramatic entrance of two young ladies dressed for a night on the town.We were handed down and our hands kissed by a courtly gentleman who had to be Doug. He had been out of town when I visited before so I hadn't had the chance to meet him.

"Julie, you're lovely as always, and Connie, such a pleasure to meet you. You will light up any establishment with your mere presence."

I could get to like this guy! Actually, I did get to like him. He and Sandra had a long and loving marriage, blessed with love and happiness for the rest of their lives.

"I can see why Sandra hasn't been able to stop talking about you, sir. If I wasn't taken I would be tempted myself."

A little flattery is never out of place. We exchanged pleasantries and spent a most enjoyable evening together.
 

The next morning we gave Sandra the articles and a copy of Christine's book that we had special ordered from the bookstore. Giving her time to digest the information, Julie and I went out to the bridal shop to have our bridesmaid's gowns fitted.

No, I'm not going to give you a blow-by-blow account, this memoir is long enough already. You know I was in heaven, even fifty years after the event, my first dress fitting (other than a skating outfit) is a landmark in my passage to being a woman.

I was nervous when we returned from our fitting, what would Sandy think of it all?

"Sit down, girls, we have a lot to talk about." We sat. "It seems there is a whole lot more to your desires than I had realized. Even being in the medical field I had never realized what progress has been made. My male colleagues were squeamish enough about fitting men with breast forms, I must assume they couldn't or wouldn't talk about surgery like this. I can promise you that on Monday I'm going to be following this up. I can also promise I'm going to find an endocrinologist who won't shy away from treating you; that is if you want me to, Connie."

"I was going to ask as soon as you'd read the articles. I'm still in shock that something I thought was impossible for all my life is actually being done. I suppose since I went to such efforts to hide myself it would have made it hard to find out there are others who want to be women badly enough to have surgery."

"There's only one thing I would ask, you need to be sure that you and Julie are in complete agreement on what you will do with your lives together. Marriage is a shared responsibility. I really want you to talk this through completely. Not to seem like a nagging mother-in-law, but you need to think about children. Obviously this will affect your ability to conceive children. That's not a fatal problem, there are treatments, sperm banks and adoption available. There must be a million other things you need to know and discuss before you decide on what you will do.

"No matter what you decide, I love you and I'm here for you. I'm pretty good at browbeating doctors and bureaucrats, so just point me at anyone in your way and turn me loose!"
 

Sandra must have been working on overdrive, when she came home on Monday I had an appointment with an endocrinologist with experience in gender issues on Friday. She refused to say how she made an appointment with a top specialist in less that six months.

Some things are best left unsaid, blackmail and bribery are such ugly words.
 

Friday
"Ms Connie Cobb?" asked the Doctor

"That's me," I gave the doctor a finger wave. "This is Juliet Wheeler, my fiancee. We're in this together."

"I see, such decisions don't affect just the patient. Welcome, Ms Wheeler."

This was long before HIPAA, so the privacy routines you'd go through today were absent.

"I believe you know my mother, Sandra Alfaro," replied Julie.

"Ah, yes! A formidable woman indeed. If you've inherited half of her determination you'll go far, indeed. Now, let me make sure we are all on the same page. Ms Cobb, you are here because you feel you are transgendered and want to make your body match your preferred gender?"

"That's correct. "

"You present very well, Ms Cobb. How long have you been dressing as a woman?"

"Since I was thirteen, whenever I was able to do so. I intend to make that permanent as of now, too many people have become aware of Connie and there is no purpose in hiding her any longer."

"That's a very clear statement of your intent. So you are interested in hormone therapy and eventual surgery?"

"I think so. That's part of the reason we are here, to learn what is possible. I only found out recently that such things are possible."

"Now that surprises me, Ms Cobb. If you have been dressing as a woman for… ah, seven years if my math is correct, I'm surprised your psychiatrist has not already gone over all the options with you."

"I don't have a psychiatrist, Doctor. I grew up in a small and isolated town where I was afraid to let anyone find out that I wanted to be a woman. My parents were very supportive and I was given the opportunity to be a girl on weekends and holidays. I have no doubts I am a woman. Connie has been ice skating competitively for some years and even won several awards. In all that time no one has realized that I was born a male."

"You've never seen a psychiatrist for treatment? That's very unusual. Most of my patients have serious issues to attend to because of their gender variance."

"Like I said, I grew up in an isolated area and my parents and I just did what seemed right for me. I'm not sure why I would need a psychiatrist as I have no doubts as to my course in life, nor do I feel guilty about what I'm doing. It works, and I feel more alive as Connie. I had intended to just continue dressing as a woman for the rest of my life, not knowing that there were doctors who could help."

"Remarkable! Would be willing to allow me and some few others to use your life as a case study. Naturally, your name and any identifying details would not be used if it were to be published.

"Why not? I just might be able to learn as much from you as you can learn from me."

"Thank you. I must say your are quite out of the ordinary. I haven't ever seen such confidence and flexibility in a patient before."

"Blame Julie, she's my role model."

"Ms Wheeler, you are to be congratulated."

"It works the other way, too. I think I have gained a lot from knowing Connie."

Well, before we can do anything about treatment, we need some hard facts. I want to do a complete examination of your body so I know where we are starting from. I'm afraid it will be rather intrusive. It also means you need to get completely undressed so I can examine you."

"I rather expected that and dressed for the occasion."

"Then I'll leave a few minutes to allow you some privacy and return with one of my staff. That way we will both be assured that you have been treated with respect and nothing untoward will happen."

"With Julie here it's hardly necessary, but however you think it will work best."

And so I was examined - and he was right about the intrusive part. When I got dressed a nurse drained a couple of weeks supply of blood from my arm to run whatever tests needed running. When the results came back a week later they needed a lot of explaining as much of the terminology was new to me, but that comes later in the story.

Sandra had arranged for our internship to start after the wedding, giving us some actual vacation time before we began to work. Besides, with a wedding in the works, two built-in assistants were a boon to the busy bride who also had to keep up with full-time employment.

Flowers, catering, dresses and tuxes, housing relatives, co-ordination of the multitude of old friends who were almost as excited to see Sandra wed as she was. We were constantly on the phone or hopping a bus to be sure one thing or another would go as it was planned and not cause a last-second emergency.

I also ran up the long-distance bill talking to my parents about the sudden possibilities in my life. We were fortunate that we were separated by a time zone, so that I could call after eleven my time and they would still be awake to talk at the reduced rates. Despite having Connie as part of their family for many years, they had never really considered that I would want to make her permanent, abandoning Conrad completely. They were still coping with letting go of their child, as all parents must, knowing that Conrad would be making his own way in the world after finishing college.

It had only been a few weeks since they had met Julie; our getting married made my independence all the more real. Since we were waiting on the test results, we really couldn't be very clear about what would be happening. I did make clear that, no matter what happened on the medical front, I was going to be living as Connie and Julie was completely approving.

Of one thing we were all certain, we were a family no matter what happened. Once again, my naive younger self didn't realize just how unusual that level of love and support was in the real world. I was going to need all the support I could get when I returned to the college - I just didn't know it yet.
 

At last the week was up and we returned to the endocrinologist to see what was next. I had a hard time not biting on my polished nails waiting to hear the results.

"Well, Ms Cobb, we have the results, and it seems you have a very low level of testosterone in your blood. Still within the normal range, but barely. Let me take a minute to explain testosterone to you, it's not something that most people know much about.

"Everybody has some level of the sex hormones - estrogen is the primary in women and testosterone the primary in men, but everybody a has some of both. The higher level of testosterone in men is what encourages hair growth, makes for his larger muscle mass and certainly affects libido.

Estrogen in women causes breast growth and hip development starting at puberty, and controls a whole chain of other hormones that prepare a woman to have children. By the way, the fluctuating hormone levels when a woman has her period are much of why some women experience mood swings. The subject is quite complex and we are still learning how the body functions. Also, testosterone in women has some effect on her libido as well.

"Too much or too little of either of these hormones will cause problems, which is why we have my specialty in medicine. The important part for you is that by artificially providing estrogen a man will begin to develop breasts and body fat will rearrange itself in the characteristically female distribution. It's not all positive for someone like yourself desirous of appearing as a woman, unfortunately. You would probably get to experience those mood swings even if you would not have a period. There are also some indications that estrogen therapy might encourage cancer, but that is far from proven at this time.

"But there are other considerations. I assume since you intend to marry you will be thinking of children together?"

"Of course!" answered Julie. Before I could formulate an answer.

"And here's the rub. I don't wish to be indelicate, Connie, but you are somewhat underdeveloped as a man. You said that puberty came very late for you?"

"Yes, it did. A little more hair, I hardly have to shave and my voice never changed that much."

"Considering your feminine desires, that must have been a blessing. The problem is that I would be hesitant to prescribe female hormones for you if you are planning to father children in the future. We really don't fully understand the complex interactions of hormones, I would be afraid that prolonged estrogen therapy might prevent you from siring a child when the time came.

"Now, there are ways around this, but they can be very expensive. You could store your sperm in a sperm bank, and then use in vitro fertilization to start your children, but that is a complex and expensive procedure, and one that doesn't always succeed. It would also involve some invasive procedures for you, Ms Wheeler.

"Another alternative is plastic surgery without resorting to hormones. I must say that you have taken on the female role exceptionally well, Ms Cobb. You might consider breast augmentation as a first step, leaving further changes until you have started your family. I'm sure you are aware of the difficulties of two women raising a family in our society. I seriously recommenced you both talk to a psychiatrist before you take any action. You are contemplating great changes in your lives, you need to be sure what you're getting into before you make any physical changes.

"I'm sorry I couldn't offer you better news, Ms Cobb, but you can't change the facts. I know I've given you a great deal to think about today, so take your time and discuss this thoroughly between yourselves. I can give you the names of several therapists who have some familiarity with men like you, please take advantage of their wisdom in making your decisions.

"It's been a pleasure, ladies. I just wish I could wave a magic wand and magically grant you three wishes, but so far medical technology hasn't been able to provide me with one. I wish you both the best, and a long and happy life together. When you have decided what you want to do, please call and we will discuss this further."
 

The trip home was very quiet. We were very quiet. It was a good thing Sandra had let us use the car because I don't think either of us could have coped with riding a crowded bus right then. I won't try to reproduce our conversation - a lot of it was tears and wordless hugs. A lot of it was talking about our sex life, and I'm not going to give you any details on that. Suffice it to say that I would never claim to be a stud of any sort. We found ways to enjoy each other's bodies very nicely, thank you.

Of course, Sandra was quick to pick up on the mood and quietly offered to talk about whatever was bothering us. I knew in a vague way that Julie and her mother were very open about sex, something that Connie and her mother (there I go in the third person again) were never able to do. I, for my part, was just going to give the bare bones of what we had learned, but talking to Sandra was very easy. She should have been a psychiatrist, the way she could draw out the intimate details without seeming intrusive. When we had run down she simply talked "Do you want my advice or should I keep my big mouth shut?"

"Of course we want your advice," I answered truthfully.

"Then start calling those shrinks and find one you can talk to. While you're doing that I'll get the names of several plastic surgeons who are using our new silicone breast implants. I hadn't mentioned we also are testing implants because I didn't think you were ready to consider a permanent change. Now that I know you are, and you both are in agreement, you have a friend in the business. I can get it for you wholesale!"

We needed a good laugh about then.

"I don't know if any of them work with transgendered patients, but I'll find out. You need to be looking at all your options."

"And how is a starving student going to pay for all this?" I asked.

"That can always be arranged. Health insurance, test study grants, indentured servitude, there are lots of possibilities there, too. Find out what's possible, then worry how to pay for it."

When you are young, it seems that there is always some lesson to be learned. When you are old, you can look back and laugh at how many times you had to learn those lessons, because the young always think they have learned everything they need to know and don't need further schooling.

For example, I had been dressing and acting like a woman for many years. It came naturally to me and, as far as I know, nobody had detected my underlying physical defects after the first year or so as a part-time woman.

At the ripe old age of twenty-one I knew that I had become a woman in all respects and was not going to go back to my old identity. Nothing was going to stop me, I had it all in hand.

Until I got involved in a wedding, that is. I could cite the arrogance and inexperience of one whose only brush with a wedding happened at around four years old, when I was bundled into a suit and tie (isn't he adorable!) and handed a pillow to carry down the aisle. I really don't remember the occasion, but Mom has told the story so many times it almost seems like I actually remember. I was imported for the wedding of a daughter of some friend-or-other, so it really had no meaning to me.

Now I was involved in another wedding, that of my mother-in-law-to-be. No, that needs to be said in more detail: I was a woman involved in a wedding, that of my mother-in-law-to-be. There are those that theorize there is a gene hidden somewhere on a chromosome buried deeply in the nucleus of each cell that is only activated by the word 'wedding' or one of it's variants, whose function is to turn off the higher functions of the brain until the words 'I do' reset it to inactivity. Perhaps I should have asked my endocrinologist when I was at his office, but I had other things on my mind.

Since it only seems to activate in women, it could be posited it was a recessive gene found only on the X chromosome, thus two X chromosomes would be required to activate. However, since I appeared to be a woman it had somehow activated in my body. Viral transmission, perhaps? Nobody had heard of gene therapy back then, but how else could I have gone gaga over the wedding?

I did, spending endless hours on fiddling details - seating arrangements, who got what size corsage with what flowers, would those candles be more appropriate than these candles. It seemed like a good idea at the time. When I wasn't nursing my wedding fever I was phoning doctors and attending to other medical matters, or calling Dad to find out just what our medical plan covered. Hey - he was an insurance agent, he knew all that stuff. For a wonder, I was actually glad to remove my bra and lay down in bed with Julie at night. Up until then I always had this feeling of regret when I had to remove my bra, it felt like surrendering the battle to the forces of masculinity. Now, after several 18-hour days in a row with my beloved, but weighty breast forms pressing into my chest, removing my bra was a relief.

The doctor's suggestion of breast implants was starting to look very attractive. I just hoped that I would be attractive after all that trouble and expense. I had run across a few horror stories of early implants that had gone wrong, like using sponges that hardened into rocks inside your breast or the implant migrating to someplace where it shouldn't be.

Well, Sandra had been right in everything so far, I would have to trust her. Anyway, there was no time for that now, I could hear Julie calling my name. I wondered what emergency had just occurred.
 

Friday, the rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner. The dress for such things is supposed to be casual, but that didn't cut any ice with either Julie or me. Think you can argue endlessly about wedding stuff? Try two girls who are determined to look smashing for a simple rehearsal dinner. Casual indeed!

The minister took everybody through the ceremony. Start here. Move there. Down the aisle with that ridiculous hesitation step. My wedding gene must be getting tired, I just couldn't get excited about walking like a horse about to shy from the starting gate. Stop at the altar, turn and step aside. Bow to your partner, bow to your corner, allemande left and do-si-do.

No problems, I could do it in four inch heels. I would be doing it in four inch heels or I'd be walking on the hem of my dress. I was looking forward to wearing that dress, Sandy wasn't one of those brides that make her bridesmaids look like clowns. Princesses maybe, but definitely not clowns.

Rehearsal done, we had the rehearsal dinner. With a light wrap around my shoulders, clutching my purse and smiling at the thought of a good feed, we entered the restaurant, to be astounded by my parents waiting at the bar.

What the heck were they doing here?

I felt Julie's arm drape across my shoulders as she said "See Mom, I told you she wouldn't have a clue."

"Connie, you really didn't think I would let you parents miss their daughter's first appearance as a bridesmaid, did you?" smiled Sandra.

"We wouldn't have missed this for the world," Dad said with a bemused look on his face. "How we ever managed to raise such a lovely woman is beyond me. Must be your mother's influence."

"Right answer, Lawrence. Darling, I can't believe how wonderful you look!" Mom gushed.

So the usual jumble of greetings were exchanged and we chatted for a few minutes until our table was ready. I was seated between Doug's son Stuart and Julie, who was next to his other son Eugene, thus the two temporary couples were seated next to the permanent couple. Naturally the brothers were interested in who I was and how Julie and I got together. They were a little tongue tied at first - how do you talk to a lesbian couple, anyway? - but we soon found they were nice guys and not interested in scoring either babes or points.

The food was good, the conversation convivial and we had a grand time. We left early as we did have a wedding tomorrow, we would burn the midnight oil then and rest this evening. We bid Mom and Dad goodnight to head for their hotel and headed for home.

Sandra's makeup was a bit mussed after wishing Doug goodnight. For form's sake they were spending the night in their own houses, even though they had been spending their previous nights in each other's beds quite constantly. They had decided to make their home at Sandra's place as it was a bit larger and more convenient for both of them to get to work.

This had actually shocked some of their friends. Really, there was still enough of the silly prudery of the forties and fifties hanging on that some believed a 'mature couple' shouldn't behave like that. I had to wonder what those gossips had to say about Julie and Connie.

Wouldn't they be surprised if they knew the whole story?
 

The wedding was beautiful, as all weddings are supposed to be. I danced with Mom and Dad, Doug and his sons, (I had never had the nerve to ask if the sons knew my past, although Doug certainly did) and a whole lot of men and a few women whose names are lost in the mists of time. Those four-inch heels started to hurt after a couple of hours, but I didn't want to admit they hurt because they made my legs look fabulous!

The newly wedded couple left well before the party ended, on their way to a honeymoon in the Caribbean. Julie and I finally struggled home pretty late, having the house all to ourselves for the next week. Heavenly.

"Tell me again why we are doing this?" I mumbled.

It was Sunday morning. Far too early on Sunday morning since Saturday night had gone into extra innings.

"Because you're taking your parents out to brunch at eleven. You're doing this because you're a good daughter and love your Mommy and Daddy."

"And you're doing this to me because you wake up cheerful and know I don't."

"Isn't it a lovely morning, lover? The birds are singing and the breeze is blowing and… That wasn't very feminine."

"I'm too tired to be feminine. I'm too tired to be masculine. And you're too damn perky to be real."

"Will you be this grumpy when you have your operation? Maybe they could implant something to improve your attitude in the mornings. You know, sort of like that controlled-release fertilizer Mom got for her garden."

"So now I'm cow manure?"

"You've given me enough horseshit so far. Up and at 'em!"
 

A shower helped clear my head, I was starting to feel almost human by the time I got dressed, but Julie was still too damn perky. We made it to the restaurant with minutes to spare - having the unrestricted use of a car was wonderful - we would have never made it if we had to get up early enough to catch the bus.

We talked about the things you talk about with parents. Naturally, our wedding plans were one of the topics, just having been in someone else's wedding only hours before. Then Dad hit me with a curve ball.

"So what do you plan to do with your trust fund when you turn twenty-one in a couple of weeks?"

Trust fund? Birthday? I had almost forgotten in the excitement of a summer job and a fancy wedding. June 24th and I would be of age to drink - legally, that is.

"I haven't got any idea, Dad. Things have been sort of hectic."

"I can't imagine why," Mom drawled. "Getting engaged, becoming a radio star, changing your sex, being a bridesmaid, getting a job. Nothing major to distract you."

"I wish you could have known my parents, Connie." said Dad. "They were so proud of you when you were born, but I left my family on the other side of the country when I married your mother and we didn't see much of them. By the time you were old enough to remember them, they were gone. In their will they left a trust fund for each of the grandchildren, and compound interest has made it a very nice chunk of change."

"Really? I never asked how much."

"A bit over twenty-seven thousand, last I checked."

"Twenty-seven thousand… dollars?"

"Yup. Should help pay off those school loans, eh?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Well, since they aren't around to thank them, just think some good thought about them when you use the money."

"That's one heck of a birthday present!"

"I never dreamed I'd have a twenty-one year old daughter, but I can't say how proud I am, we both are, of the brilliant young woman we raised, even if we didn't realize we were raising a brilliant young woman at the time."
 

Wow! Suddenly I was a woman and rich. Twenty-seven thousand may not sound like a fortune today, but in 1971 the median income was less than ten thousand. After that brunch I was as perky as Julie. It lasted until Monday morning, when we reported for our summer internships.
 

Chapter 29 - Working Girls

"Business casual," I complained. "Just what what in blue blazes is 'business casual,' anyway? My father always wears a suit and tie, nothing casual about that. My mother wore a decent dress when she was on the sales registers at the Woolworths. Now she wears a nicer dress. She's even been known to set the old biddies tongues wagging by wearing slacks on some days."

"Shocking, simply shocking!" came Julie's reply. "She'll ruin the moral fiber of the nation."

"I suppose if the old biddies knew I was wearing dresses…"

"And the rot spreads…"

"I'll have to use some extra perfume. So what is business casual?"

"One thing it's not is four inch heels, darling."

"You had to remind me!"

"I tried to warn you to bring another pair of shoes."

"I'd trip over my dress if I wore lower heels."

"Modern women think to bring a change of clothes to a dance party."

"There's the problem! I'm not a modern woman."

"But nobody had better know that. You'd be better off with a skirt and blouse combination, more flattering for your figure."

"Of which I am sadly lacking."

"You're slim and vivacious, don't complain."

"My feet still hurt, I want to complain."

"Try my violet skirt with the crinkles. It would go nicely with my white blouse with the ruffle."

"I do like that ruffle."

So do the men. Nothing like a ruffle in front of your boobs to get a man's attention."

"That's not my intention, and you know it."

"Well, I like thinking about what's under the ruffle."

"You like to think about my plastic boobs?"

"More like thinking about when they aren't plastic. Sexy."

"This is not helping me get dressed."

"Then get a move on, you might even be dressed by the time I've finished my makeup."

"Slave driver!"

Arriving at the building where I had been fitted with my beautiful new breasts, we entered the main door this time. We went up to the receptionist and told her who we were and she smiled and handed us temporary badges.

"Please put these on and I'll call Mr Raglan." she said with a smile.

Mr Raglan would be our mentor for the summer. A few minutes later a short, balding man with an already dishevelled suit and a tie loosened at the neck came forward and greeted us. Was this what they considered 'business casual?'

Naturally, we were introduced to the HR people. I had been wondering about the name 'Conrad' on my ID papers, but there was no problem. Remember, this was in 1971, long before the gestapo supposed to be guarding our borders sent out highly inaccurate lists of names and demanded photo ID and all that stuff. They took me at my word as to my social security number and I simply used C. Cobb where appropriate. No hassle at all.

Those were the good old days! Or so I thought. Mr Raglan took us into a very large room filled with desks, row on row. Each desk had a typewriter and several boxes for papers. Each desk also had a woman sitting behind it. It took a moment for my overwhelmed brain to realize this was the typing pool. Huh?

I shot Julie a look and she raised her eyebrows back at me. Mr Raglan started to explain the duties of a secretary in the typing pool but Julie stopped him mid sentence.

"Mr Raglan, there seems to be some mistake. We are not here as secretaries, we are interns in the MBA program and are here for advanced training in our fields of specialization."

He looked shocked that a mere secretary would dare to interrupt him.

"Nonsense, girl! We do not put girls in such positions. If you want to work here you will be a secretary and that's it!"

"I'll thank you to refer to me properly as a woman. I left grade school some time ago."

By now the clatter of the old manual typewriters had ceased. The fact that they were manual typewriters should give you a clue (at least if you are as old as I am) as to the conservative nature of that business. The IBM Selectric had been introduced a decade previously and had largely replaced manual machines. Hell, we had Selectrics all over campus by then. For that matter, the receptionist in Sandra's department had a shiny new Selectric II on her desk. No wonder Sandra bitched about the people running the company.

"That is quite enough out of you! I don't think you are fit to be working here."

"Mr Raglan, you have obviously been misinformed. I suggest we return to the HR department before you cause any further embarrassment."

One of the women behind his back raised her clenched fist in salute to the woman who had called this asshole on his stupidity.

"Very well! Follow me, madam." He spit that last word with some venom.

 

Mr Raglan did not take it very well when he was informed that indeed we were not secretaries, but interns. If he had bothered to read his memos he would have been aware of that fact. The woman in HR was obviously his equal or superior in the pecking order and summarily dismissed him, taking us to the right office personally and apologizing for the error.

The no-nonsense bitch I was going to marry had disappeared along with Mr Raglan and Julie the understanding woman had taken her place, thanking the HR woman for her help. I don't remember her name, but Raglan is burned into the synapses somewhere in my brain.
 

Despite this ragged start, our experience as interns was a positive one. We spent two week stints in several departments, getting a taste of how things like accounting, business ethics, strategy, finance, managerial economics, entrepreneurship, marketing and supply-chain management work in the real world. Perhaps the most valuable lessons were in how people worked together to accomplish these tasks.

My older, cynical self laughs at how my younger, naive self found out how women, especially young women, were treated in a business environment. There were the avuncular old guys who treated you like some pretty little thing who couldn't possibly be serious about an actual career. There were the younger hotshot guys out to impress you with what rising stars they were and did I want to go out tonight? There were some women who were sure I was just trying to get their job and treated me like shit. There were primadonas - both male and female - bullies, wimps, clueless managers, and even a few people who really knew their stuff and were a joy to work with. By the end of the summer I was a lot more aware of how the real world worked and how to get along in it.

On the personal front, things were moving along, too. Doug and Sandra returned looking tanned and relaxed. Doug was a chemist who Sandra had met at a professional conference. He had done some of the work on the materials they used in the medical business, and things had just clicked. He worked for one of the big names in that business (no, I won't name names!) and after almost twenty years without a partner Sandra had fallen - big time. For that matter, so had Doug.

Julie and I got a laugh about how the two of them had tried to hide the fact that they shared a bed on occasion until they figured out that our free-love generation didn't give a damn about such nonsense. We had never tried to hide our sexual activities - after all we had to bribe roommates to get some time for our sexual activities.

As far as advancing my hopes of a physical transformation toward womanhood, having a friend in the business was invaluable. With hormonal treatment out of the picture for now, the rapidly expanding field of implants seemed my best course. The first silicone breast implant was done in 1962, proving the concept. Of course there were problems and difficulties, but by 1971 Sandra's company was ready for trials of a new generation of silicone gel implants. The big problem was that several of the plastic surgeons simply refused to consider implanting breasts on a man.

Funny how for all those years I had patiently accepted there was nothing I could do to change my body from what I had been born with, but now I knew I was wrong I was utterly impatient to get on with the changes. I had pretty much abandoned church as a waste of time, and not just because god had given me the wrong body. But I had to wonder if there was something more involved to have the surgical skills, the materials and the money to use them just drop out of heaven all at the same time.

I still haven't got an answer to that one, but with Sandra calling in favors and a lot of calling and doctor visits I had a date - Monday, August 16, 1971 I would use a chunk of my trust fund and walk out of the hospital with breasts the following day. Oh sure, they warned me those breasts would be black-and-blue and funny looking, but they would be all mine and look just fine in a few months.

Isn't it nice when you're reading something like this you can just insert a row of asterisks and jump over a couple of months. I wish it had been possible in real life, but I somehow managed to live through those months without expiring of anticipation or having Julie kill me. I know I was a large pain, but that woman had empathy. Looking back on it from this distance I have to wonder just why she was so willing to let me get those breasts, especially in light of what caused our eventual breakup. There are not many people who are so blessed with understanding friends in their life, especially those of us with gender issues.

The time eventually came when, at a ridiculously early hour in the morning, I went into the hospital. Why is it that doctors are such dedicated morning people, anyway? I woke up with a weight on my chest. I also woke up to a massive frown from a nurse who was anything but nurturing. She just looked at me in disgust and walked out, her body language radiating disapproval. What brought that on? I was unconscious, fer cryin' out loud. What could I have done to piss her off like that?

The next time I came around, Julie was there and my mouth was dry as a desert. I croaked and pointed to my mouth and Julie figured out my sign language. Soon a straw touched my lips and I sucked in sweet refreshment.

In my still not-quite-aware state all I could think of was when I had been sick as a kid, Mom would fix me a cup of orange juice and ginger ale and put a bendy straw in it so it was easier to drink. That memory brought a flood of other memories of my parents, especially my mother, who had been so encouraging and understanding of my need to be Connie and not Conrad.

"Thank you," I croaked to Julie.

"Glad to see you looking better. You wouldn't believe what an ugly bra they put on you, though."

"All this money and no fashion sense. That's the medical establishment for you."

"If you can make awful jokes you must be feeling better."

"It doesn't hurt too much, but it feels stretched."

"Might be because those puppies stretched things out a bit."

"One good thing, though."

"What?"

"I'll get to see what bouncing breasts feel like from the inside."
 

One more incident to relate from my time in the hospital. Somewhere around lunch time I got hungry, after all they hadn't let me eat anything after midnight yesterday so it's not too surprising. Julie had gone to the cafeteria for some food when they wheeled the cart with lunch up into the ward, but nothing was delivered to my room. When Julie got back, still no dinner. She went to the nurse's station to ask and got the runaround.

That's when my favorite bitch-goddess made a guest appearance. Seems the nurse that had glowered at me didn't approve of trannys and was not going to be nursing one of those. My first inkling came as the volume out the door started to go up. Then it got really loud as Julie demanded to see the supervisor of this damned place. She was refused and it got quiet all of a sudden. About twenty minutes later it got louder again.

Julie the bitch-goddess had gone up to the hospital administrator's office and pushed her way in demanding to know what kind of idiots ran this place and threatening malpractice, mayhem and general havoc both legal and physical if something wasn't done about Nurse stick-up-her-ass right now!

I eventually got fed, but I wish I could have been there to see the show. I also got a nice letter apologizing and carefully asking me not to sue them or something like that. In writing this I found my experience was not so unusual for gender-conforming surgery patients in that era. I guess I got off lucky with just having to wait to eat.

Chapter 31 - Connie Goes to College

Sometimes I have a hard time believing how ignorant I was back then. I mean, really - I expected I would just go back to the school as Connie, inform whoever needed informing of the name change and finish my degree. I had had so little opposition to my growing identity as a female I just figured everybody would be like that.

Boy, was I stupid. Just the frequent use of that common exclamation should have tipped me off. The reaction by so many to Steve and my new gay friends should have tipped me off. If I had been paying attention to politics outside the campus, the (I'll put it kindly) debate over the ERA should have tipped me off. Then there were the hearings about the soon-to-be-passed Title IX: No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.

The problems started out slowly at first. We met Maggie and moved into our apartment together. That part was easier than it could have been. Doug and his sons had offered to drive us and our luggage to the school, no way we were going to be taking all our clothes and things on a bus. The big, strong men moved us in, and Doug even sprung for some furniture at a second hand store. The place looked pretty good by the time we were done.

Naturally we three girls talked the night away, and when we got to the subject of my new tits, nothing would do but to show them to Maggie. We were all girls here, weren't we?

The bruising was almost gone, and there they were, but mostly covered by the surgical bra. I could walk comfortably now, and was very happy with the result - as long as I had a bra on. I was still not ready to bounce my breasts very much.

So we had to cover all the gory details, the doctor visits, the fancy footwork by Sandra, nurse stick-up-her-ass, and the trust fund. No, we didn't mention any hard figures. One thing every college student learns is that there are those who would 'gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.' (If you don't recognize the quote, Google Popeye.)

I was fortunate that there was only one professor on my schedule that had me in his class before. The rest of them I 'corrected a typo' with my name and that was that - or so I thought.

Not so with the students. Enamored as I was with my new breasts, I wore a top that showed a little cleavage. Not much, there were still some bruises, but those breasts were not anything you would find on a college boy. (Don't you hate that undefined period around college age where nobody can decide if you're a boy or a man? Makes for difficulty writing, it does.)

After Connie-on-the-radio became a campus sensation, I could hardly be anonymous. The shy boys said like: "Conrad? Is that you?" to which I answered: "It's Connie now." the bold boys asked: "Are those real?" to which I usually replied: "Would you ask your mother a question like that?" Good thing you Momma jokes were safely in the future.

The girls were usually more polite, but they wanted to know if they were real, too. A considerable subset wanted details on how I did it, so I bet my plastic surgeon got a few calls when I passed out his name and phone number.

Several of the boys were convinced that I was doing this to get out of the draft. Remember, this was during the height of the Viet Nam war, a fact of which all males with a college deferment were acutely aware. Another method of avoiding the draft was to be a homosexual, but that came at a price. Everybody knew that the army wouldn't take pansy buttfuckers. Did I grow a pair of tits to get out of the draft?

Seriously, that never occurred to me. I grew a pair of tits because I needed them to become the woman I longed to be.
 

When the time came for Connie's first call-in show, it was beginning to sink in that I could not be just another student lost in the mob. Julie, Maggie and I arrived at the station to find my fan club waiting, but my fans had a problem. Rumor had flown with its usual speed that I now had cleavage, but nobody was too sure just what I looked like.

Oddly, it was Maggie's presence that tipped the fans, she being a well known feminist spokeswoman and a friend of Connie-on-the-radio. I tried my best to smile and be polite, but I was embarrassed to be the center of attention.

The radio station was flooded with calls for Connie's first call-in show. We did have a topic, but nobody wanted to talk about it. I was the topic, like it our not.

Julie and Maggie were there to offer their support, but after the first couple of calls that asked about what Julie or Maggie thought about me, they each got a mike and joined in.

Talk about your three ring circus! This was before the infamous 'seven dirty words' decision (Google George Carlin) so we didn't even have a tape delay. We had to cut off a few callers who asked questions that would make a sailor blush. Maggie tells me that I did blush a few times. The station manager made an on-the-spot decision to extend the Ask Connie Show and additional half hour because the phones showed no signs of stopping.

Then we had to escape the station. There were all kinds of people in the basement, waiting for us to leave, not just my fan club. Most of them we friendly, we signed autographs and I got kissed by people who I had never met before. Hell, Steve kissed me and he's gay! There was one hairy moment when the Julie-the-bitch-goddess was almost invoked; some religious wacko started in on us but his buddies calmed him down before a holy war started.

Quite an exciting day.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised to get a message from the dean when I went to my morning class. The professor excused me with a smile and wished me good luck - a summons from the Dean usually meant you would need all the luck you could find.

Until that morning I had very little contact with Dean Santos other than seeing him on a podium at some formal college event. His secretary seemed friendly enough - a good sign - and sent me on in to his office.

I politely knocked and he called "come in." I think 'bemused' would best describe his expression. He was maybe in his forties, tall and rather good looking - and yes, I was starting to notice such things. Since the accepted wisdom of the time was 'don't trust anybody over thirty,' I really hadn't too much experience in judging the age of such ancient fossils.

"Please sit down, Ms Cobb. I suppose I should call you Ms Cobb, anyway. You seem to have created quite a tempest in our little teapot."

"I didn't mean to, sir."

"If you knew how many times I have heard that phrase from people sitting in that chair you would be amazed. Somehow I suspect your story will be unique among the many that I have heard from the students here. I would like to hear it."

Whew! He didn't seem like he was going to expel me without a hearing.

"I'm afraid it's rather complex, sir."

"No doubt, but please continue."

By this time I was able to tell my story in a coherent fashion, having started with Julie, then Sandra, then Doug, then the various doctors. It did take some time and he was a good listener.

"To be truthful, Ms Cobb, I don't know what to think. While I have no doubt that you wouldn't have made such a major change in your body or your life without a very good cause, I am forced to look at the wider aspects of your presence here. If the reports of the mob scene at the radio station are correct, by now you should have realized you can't just be one more anonymous student. You have become a public figure. I'm sure you're aware of the current debate about the ERA."

Funny how things come full circle. As I'm writing this the ERA has just been ratified by enough states to become a part of the constitution, but that foolish time limit is now headed for the courts. And of course several states are trying to take back their ratification. Just as I couldn't simply become a female student at college, the poor amendment can't be simply added to the constitution. The forces of regression and male dominance are going to keep kicking and screaming no matter what happens.

But back to the dean. Of course I was aware of the ERA, no way Maggie would let me be uninformed about such an important topic. If you think a bunch of scared old white men are upset now, you should have seen the mess back then. To the everlasting shame of my adopted gender, that brings up Phyllis Schlafly.

She started as a communist hunter and member of the John Birch Society, but left them because they weren't conservative enough. Running out of communists to hate, she decided to hate women who didn't want to be doormats for men.

So all right, I don't like the lady, but she brings out the cattiness in me. She was the darling of the old white men quaking in their boots over losing any of their power and control. They just loved a misogynistic woman spouting their propaganda for them.

So how does this connect with my interview with the Dean? Let's continue the conversation.

"I'm afraid you leave me with a problem. According to Mrs Schlafly, you are exactly the monster that the ERA will allow to stalk the nation's lady's rooms. To them, you are obviously dressed as you are for the sole purpose of lurking in the women's bathrooms to prey on good Christian women. Please don't get angry with me, I realize the weakness of this foolish argument, but I'm afraid that leaves both you and the college vulnerable."

"Dean Santos, I never…"

"I realize that, Ms Cobb. After talking to you I am convinced of your sincerity even if I am unable to understand what drove you to this decision. The problem is that our fates are not solely decreed by our own actions, but by the perceptions of others. You could easily be swept away in the current charged atmosphere of war protests and the changing role of women in our society. It is my job to be sure that the college is not sucked into the tempest."

"I understand, dean. I don't want to be a cause of trouble, but I do want to finish my education here. What can I do to keep the situation calm?

"A very good question. And I wish I had some good answers. I will be frank and say that your decisions have tested my liberal ideals. I have supported the idea that women and men should have equal opportunities and pay, but the thought of a man wanting to become a woman disturbs me at a deeper level. And yet one of the core values of an institution such as ours is to examine and challenge such fundamental beliefs. You have made me acutely aware that I am as prone to hidebound thinking as those who would see our world as an unchanging and unquestioned artifact."

"I'm sorry, Dean Santos…"

"No, don't be sorry, be true to your values. That's another of those core principals we try to instill in our students. Somehow I'd forgotten that we need to have our complacency kicked in the fundament every so often. It can be painful but it does concentrate the mind wonderfully. But on to practical matters."

"Yes?"

"I see from your schedule that you have no PE requirements, so locker rooms will not be an issue. You're living off campus so dorms will not be an issue, either. I assume you don't wish to become a talking point for Mrs Schlafly's campaign, so I would urge you to avoid using either the men's or women's bathrooms. I realize this will be a trial, but we do have several 'one holers' as it were, and I will see you have the use of them."

"I understand completely. I've never been questioned yet, but I'm sure that someone will try to use me to illustrate their point-of-view."

"Protest has become a way of life, it seems. The other issue is your personal safety. While incidents against women are rare on our campus, they do occur. I'm afraid you may become a target. I'm sure your roommate Ms Vanhoose will be able to enlighten you about the things a woman must think about for her safety, things that a man would hardly consider. I wish it were not so, but we must live in the real world. Please don't put yourself at risk."

"I don't intend to, dean."

"One other thing. The word is that by next year the federal government will be imposing requirements for treating men and women equally, in fact there are congressional hearings going on right now. We do not intend to be left in the dust when they get around to creating their requirements, so we are forming a committee of faculty and students to discuss what would make sense and how we can implement a fair policy for all. I would like to invite you and Ms Vanhoose to be part of that committee."

"I would be pleased to do so, and I'll talk to Maggie tonight."

"Of course we'll be issuing formal invitations soon, but let her know."

"Thank you, Dean Santos. One thing I need to ask."

"Yes?"

"My name is now legally Connie Cobb, so I need to have my school records reflect this."

"You know where the registrar's office is, I assume. Just stop up there and they can tell you what needs to be done. And Ms Cobb…"

"Yes?"

"I caught the last hour of your broadcast yesterday. All three of you women have a bright future ahead of you. Well done."

Chapter 33 - The Attack

Of course it wasn't as easy as a talk with the dean and everything fell into place. I had long ago gone through learning how to be a woman back home. My body was androgynous, before I had breasts the clothes I wore made a big difference in how I was perceived. Acceptance ran from 'welcome, sister' to 'do I have to sit next to that thing?' After the first rush of excitement, I was mostly able to just try and study and finish my degree.

Julie and I applied to several grad schools, but hoped to get in to the one near where Sandra lived. After much suspense, we were both accepted in three different schools, but chose the accelerated program near Sandra. Living with her and Doug would save a of of time, money and grief. Besides I liked them a lot.

Two other things happened in our last semester that need telling. First, I had started skating again at the college ice rink and Julie wanted to learn so I started giving her lessons. Maggie soon joined in and the three of us had a marvelous time, even if my roommates came home with sore ankles and sore bums. During our second lesson we ran into a guy named Isaac, who was an accomplished skater himself.

Now I started this life as a guy, so I completely understood how irresistible it would be to offer to help three beautiful ladies, two of whom were obviously still floundering. With Isaac helping Maggie the lessons went considerably faster and before long my roommates were able to skate by themselves without looking like newborn fillies.

While the girls were resting Isaac offered to try a few moves (skating ones, not the kind you're thinking of!) with me and we did a sort of ice dance together, laughing at our attempts to synchronize our movements. That doesn't happen immediately, it takes lots of practice. Neither of us had the time needed to put together something professional, but it was fun.

(Just as an aside, if you want to see what real ice dancing looks like, check this You-Tube clip. Makes me jealous of what a real professional ice dancer can do.)

Isaac became a frequent guest at our place, and for a time I thought something was happening between him and Maggie, but it never really gelled. I must have been truly a woman by that point, I tried my best to pair Isaac off with Maggie, but I was a failure as a matchmaker.

The other incident was not so pretty. Dean Santos was all too right - three drunken frat boys accosted me. I had just come from skating and was wearing my skating outfit, which is of course very brief and designed to show my panties when I twirl. Since I can't use the locker rooms to change I had been going back and forth in costume and had never had a problem. The night was warm enough that I didn't need a coat, so I was pretty visible.

I almost made it past the guys when one made a grab at me and I reacted without thinking. I swung my skates at him and he screamed as the razor sharp blades bit into his forearm. The scream attracted attention quickly and we were soon surrounded. The cut in his arm was bleeding profusely, and nobody knew what to do.

Except me. First aid is something essential when you handle sharp blades on skates. Every so often there is an accident. I dug into my bag and found a scarf, which I wrapped around the cut and then applied pressure.

"Someone get to a phone and call an ambulance!" I ordered. That wasn't as easy as it is today, 911 was still being deployed and hadn't reached us yet. No cell phones, whoever made the call had to find a pay phone or someone to let them use their home phone. I never knew which it was, but eventually the police and an ambulance showed up and the drunk was taken to the hospital and I went to the police department to answer questions and fill out reports.

If you ever want to feel out-or-place, try sitting around a police station in a skimpy skating outfit with a couple of rapidly sobering drunks and talking about slicing up some guy's arm with your skate blade. There was one asshole cop who ignored my story completely and tried to get the drunks to press charges against me! Fortunately his supervisor caught on quick and he was sent on his way while I told my story, which the two drunks rather fuzzily confirmed.

 

So we finally graduated, all three of us summa cum laude would you believe? We walked across the stage (in high heels, of course) and got our diploma frames (diploma to be mailed in a week or two) as all our parents watched with pride. We were graduated!

So, two weeks to celebrate and we start grad school.

Whopee!

Arlo Guthrie's Alice's Restaurant was a major hit on a campus full of guys who were only one deferment away from having to schlep halfway around the world to try and kill people they didn't even know while those people were trying to kill them. Even though the Vietnamese weed was reported to be killer stuff, nobody wanted to be a killer to get it. Well, maybe some of the ROTC guys did, but they didn't like me and I didn't like them.

So imagine my surprise when I got a letter in the mail from the Selective Service saying, in essence, YOU GRADUATED. YOUR NUMBER'S UP, KID!

My number was 31 because I was born on on June 24, 1950. That deferment was a necessity.

Wait a minute! I'm still in school, I have a deferment! Besides they don't draft women. But they didn't know I was a woman. Stealth transition, remember? I had never bothered to inform the Selective Service because I had that deferment. I can only guess that since it was
Connie and not Conrad attending grad school that the Selective Service got confused.

It wasn't like today where a gender-conflicted kid has a reasonably defined path to switching sides in the war of the sexes. I didn't know what was impossible, so I just did it. Back then the whole 'show your ID' craze wasn't so prevalent. I did go to court to legally change my name, the motor vehicle people accepted the note from the court and changed it on my driver's license with no problem, but that little 'M' was still on there somewhere. With my androgynous looks the awful picture on that license, taken before my new breasts were implanted, didn't really give anyone a clue.

Nobody asked to actually see your Social Security card back then, you just reeled off the numbers that you had memorized after giving it every time you applied for a job. Nobody checked. Nobody cared.

Those were the days!

I showed Julie the letter and she damn near died laughing."Can you imagine what they'd do when you went down for your physical?" she screamed.

Remember the scene from the Alice's Restaurant movie at the Induction Center, where they lined up all these boys and went down the line grabbing privates and demanding they 'turn you head and cough?' If you don't remember, the entire movie as available on You-Tube, I kid you not! Julie and I had only watched that movie a zillion times, we could even quote dialog from it.

"Now that would be a movie that somebody should make!" I laughed.

"You ought to do it! They'll never call on you again, fer sure!"

She shouldn't have oughta said that. I may have considered myself a woman - I had the breasts to prove it - but somewhere deep in my psyche was a macho jerk who couldn't resist a challenge.

"I just think I'll do that!" I replied.
 

So, on Friday morning October 20, 1972 I dressed carefully for my date with Uncle Sam, not knowing that on Sunday, October 8, 1972 Corporal Klinger made his fashion debut on national television. We didn't watch MASH with any regularity - too busy with accelerated coursework for the MBA.

Naturally I chose a red garter belt (six clips, may as well go whole hog) patterned black hose, four inch blue pumps with rhinestones, my sexiest, laciest bra-and-panty set in black along with a secure gaff to make things perfectly smooth, ankle length blue chiffon skirt with a slit to be sure the garters and hose were exposed, thin white shell to better show off the bra, naturally with a nice ruffle, unbuttoned to expose my cleavage. Silver earrings with little diamonds hanging off fine chains that tinkled as I moved my head, silver bracelet on the left wrist, silver lady's watch on the right, hair in a upswept bun and just enough makeup to set it all off.

I was stunning, if I do say so myself.

Julie and Sandra delivered me, fighting for a parking space that finally opened up. We entered the Federal Building and I presented my letter, fully expecting to be told to get the hell out of there in no uncertain terms.

It didn't quite work that way. The guy at the desk didn't even blink and said "Christ, another Klinger!

Say what?

"I think there's been a mistake," I replied.

"Yeah, and you've made it. It won't work, brother. In there," he pointed again." Strip to your shorts and wait for the doctor."

Turning to Julie and Sandra, who were looking like they had just walked into a home for the insane, I said "I didn't know the army kept blind men on duty, did you?"

"Look asshole," growled the sergeant, "You're the forth one this week thinks he can put on a dress like that fucker on the television and get out of serving his country. Well, it won't work! My orders are to tell you to go through that door and strip to your shorts no matter how how are dressed. You may look better than most, but you got a callup and by damn you're getting called up. Get your ass in there or I call the MPs and throw your ass in jail for evading service."

OK, if that's the way they want to play it, let's see what happens when I take off my bra. Any modesty I had was overcome by the bureaucratic idiot at the desk. So I went through the door and found myself with a dozen shirtless guys on benches waiting for the doctor. To say I caused a sensation would be vast understatement.

I started unbuttoning my blouse and the place went nuts. Shrugging out of the blouse there were no doubt that my tits were the real thing, as far as anyone in there could tell, that is. Reaching back I unsnapped my bra and let them loose. The room was completely silent.

"The sergeant out there didn't believe I got my letter by mistake. The army doesn't make mistakes, I'm told, so here I am. Any idea how long it takes to see the doctor. Maybe he can tell the difference between men and women."

From the tents in several pairs of shorts, they had no doubt. Stepping out of my skirt about caused a riot. Something about black underwear and all those garters just drives a man wild. I sat demurely on the wooden bench, thinking just how much fun it would be to film this scene for a remake of Alice's Restaurant.

I sat there for about ten minutes and not a blessed one of them had the nerve to say a thing. Eventually a man in the typical doctor's coat came in and stopped dead.

"What the hell is going on here?" he roared, looking directly at me.

"The sergeant out there seems to have a problem with his sight. I tried to explain that someone had made a mistake by sending me that letter, but he wasn't having any of it. Something about a guy in a dress on the television, I think. It just seemed easier to do what he said rather than argue. He threatened to put me in jail if I didn't."

"Thank god I'm a civilian. Please get dressed and we can straighten this out, madam."

"Thank you, it is a bit chilly in here."

Yeah, my nipples were sticking out quite nicely.

So I gave them a show by putting back on all I had taken off. It was hard not to burst out laughing. For that matter, most of them were noticeably hard by the time I was done. I had to wonder - that had never happened to me. I could get hard enough to make love to Julie, but it was always at the end of a long session of mutual stimulation. It worked, but not like you see in the porn movies.

"I've had this problem most of my life," I told the doctor. "Someone made a mistake and the bureaucrats hate to admit any mistakes. My driver's license still says I'm male despite the evidence. Do you suppose your sergeant worked for the DMV before he enlisted?"

Pretty cute, huh. I was proud of myself for that line. I dug my license out of my purse and showed him. Eventually someone higher up got called and I was told to go home. I can't tell you what the rank of the higher-up was because I never could figure out what all those whatchamacallits they like to pin on uniforms mean. The only way I knew it was a sergeant at the front desk was because his nameplate said 'Sgt Asshole.'

So, with a big grin on my face we left the Federal Building and headed home, while I related the experience in four part harmony with circles and arrows on the back of each phrase.

We didn't know it then, but by December the Draft would be no more. I don't know if I should be happy for a story that I can tell or annoyed that I had to flash my tits at those poor guys because of an obstinate asshole.

Forgive me if I touch lightly on the year and a half we spent in grad school. It was a whole lot of work. Interesting, important, but it really doesn't touch much on my life as a transgendered woman. Nothing changed much on that front.

Where things did change was that Conrad was no longer around visit his parents on the holidays. The time had come to reveal Connie to my small town friends. In the nine years since I had first tried on a bra, the town had changed quite a bit. The transition to being a bedroom community for the larger town nearby was going on apace. Improved roads had cut travel times significantly and the Interstate highway system was being built.

While Mom's Woolworth store was prospering, the first signs of doom were on the horizon. In the sixties, Woolworth had spun off Woolco, Kresge opened K-mart and Sam Walton started Wal-Mart. The big box stores were starting to cannibalize the small town five-and-dime operations because those new roads let people shop there and live here.

There were new families in town, many of my generation had moved away. Hippies and free love were not just in California any more. And Connie came out of the closet.

Since we had spent my first Christmas as Connie with Julie's parents and we were living with them, it was only fair to spend this Christmas with my parents. We were all a bit nervous, but Connie was here to stay and there was no more hiding who I was. It was a very long drive despite the improved highways, and we arrived dead tired. We crashed early that night, but woke up refreshed the next morning. As planned, we dressed and went to meet Grandma Gladys and Grandpa Dave at Sharon's Diner for breakfast. If you want to send a message to the entire town, then stop for coffee at Sharon's and the jungle drums will start beating before you finish your first cup.

We didn’t have long to wait, my old buddy
Alvin stopped over to ask my parents if Con would be coming home for Christmas.

"I'm already here, Alvin." I said.

How's that for a conversation stopper?

"Close your mouth, Alvin. You'll catch flies."

Grandma Gladys smiled because I stole that line from her. It's one of her favorites.

"Alvin, this is my partner Julie. Julie, this is my best friend from high school Alvin. He's married to that blonde over there and I have to assume that's their kid beating his high chair tray with a rattle."

"You're kidding me?" asked Alvin tentatively.

" 'Fraid not, old buddy. I've changed a little bit since high school."

"What? Why?"

"Remember ogling those Playboy centerfolds in the garage? Bet you thought I was wanting to get them in my bed. I was really wanting to be them. It took a little work but I'm almost there and I don't have to worry about a staple in my navel."

"Geez! I feel like I've been smoking something really good and I haven't touched a pipe since the kid was born."

"Good for you! Come over to the house sometime and we can talk. Kinda crowded in here for catching up. And bring the family, please."

"Whoa. I got to think about this."

"Take your time, Alvin. We'll be here until the day after Christmas. Then we got to head back to Julie's place and do New Years with her folks."

"Right."

Alvin wandered off in a daze. I won't reproduce any more of the conversations I had that morning, they all pretty much went the same way, although some were not nearly as pleasant. Only got accused of being an abomination once, though.
 

All this was just a preliminary round, the main bout was going to church on Sunday morning. I know, I know, I haven't said much about church so far because the only time I went to church since I left for college was when I was home with the folks. Then I reverted to being a good boy and went with them, since they expected it of me. Funny how you revert to a child when an adult goes back home to visit Mom and Dad.

Likewise, church played little role in my new family's life. Doug was a lapsed Catholic, Sandra gave up on god after her husband was killed and Julie had only gone to a church as part of the Scouts or the occasional weekend visit with a family that believed. Bunch of heathens we were, it didn't bother any of us.

However, in any marriage - or almost marriage since we couldn't get married without losing our aid until our final financial aid check had cleared - you make compromises. So we went to church as a family, three generations dressed in their Sunday best. Remember the outfit that I wore to get inducted into the army? Yup, that's what I wore. Of course I buttoned the blouse just a tad bit higher - this was church, after all. If you're going to shock the congregation, just hit 'em with both barrels and let god clean up the mess.

The usher, Mr Petrie, offered us a wan and tentative smile as Julie and I led the family into the sanctuary. Of course every soul in the place knew that Conrad was going to be wearing a dress and they just had to be there to see for themselves. I felt like the Queen, doing the smile and finger wave bit as we walked down the aisle to the front of the church. No hiding in the back pews for us, up front and proud before god and everything.

No lightning bolts, no floods, locusts or rains of toads or frogs or whatever those plagues were in ancient Egypt. Must have had a new organist, the playing sounded better than I remembered.

I sang along with the hymns, my voice doesn't scare small animals or create panic. I smiled at those who looked in my direction while I was singing. Julie, having never sung in church, just smiled and moved her lips a bit. She has a good voice, but is more at home with belting out 50s rock & roll. She can do a mean duck walk, too.

At that point in my life I had yet to encounter the verses from the bible that transpeople were routinely flogged with and, it seemed, neither had reverend Carter. The sermon was straight Christmas story and not very inspired.

After the service we had Christmas cookies and the usual refreshments. I did my well behaved young lady act, introduced Julie as a friend from school (No, I was not going to explain we intended to get married - get real!) and tried to soothe frazzled nerves. I'm sure Mom & Dad and the grandparents would be talking to a lot of people they hadn't seen in some time over the next week.

We both ate too many cookies - nothing soothes a nervous tranny and his fiancee like some really good Christmas cookies.

There's not really much to say about our time in grad school except it was all-consuming. What did touch far more on our lives was Sandra's increasing frustration with the male-oriented bullshit of the company she worked for. From her point-of-view, as well as our growing understanding of the business world, the company was missing obvious opportunities and playing turtle while technology and marketing opportunities passed them by. This culminated around our spring break in 1973, when Sandra and Doug uttered that immortal line: "We've got to talk."

I don't know about you, but when my parents said that it usually meant I had been caught red-handed at something I didn't want them to know about. My alleged adulthood vanished and I was a guilty ten-year-old in an instant.

"Uh-oh," smiled Sandra. "I recognize that look. My daughter used it frequently when I caught her doing something naughty. I won't ask what you feel guilty about, even though it might be an interesting conversation, but this is the good kind of 'we have to talk'."

Things at her company had come to a head and the higher-ups had decided to sell off Sandra's division. "Under-performing" was the buzzword, but with the mismanagement from corporate Sandra couldn't see how anything else could have happened. The upshot was that Sandra the manager, Doug the research chemist and several of the dedicated workers in her division had put in a bid to buy the division, which had been accepted. If all went as planned, somewhere around September or October the deal would be done and Sandra would be the new CEO of what had been the women's products branch of the company.

Sandra and Doug thought a pair of bright young women with shiny new MBAs would fit right in with their plans. I had chosen to specialize more in financials and marketing, Julie in supply management and the nuts-and-bolts of production. Were we interested?

Does the pope shit in the woods, to use an anachronism for the times. A guaranteed job after our summer courses were over, working with a team determined to provide women with the best health products on the market? What could be better? The high-fives flew fast and furious and we drank a toast to the new venture as Doug and his harem celebrated at a very nice restaurant.

While we were all nice and mellow, Julie and I hit them with our own "we've got to talk." Once the summer semester was paid for there was no reason to put off our marriage. We quickly agreed that the ceremony should be held here and not in my home town, two women getting married might be a bit much for the town to handle. My parents and grandparents could make the trip and celebrate with us far more easily.

Turned out that Doug's son Stuart, my escort at their wedding, was actually an ordained minister in one of those oddball churches that you write away to and for a few bucks you get a fancy certificate that says you're a man of the god of your choice. Since Stuart was also a lawyer, he assured us it was perfectly legal.

Which was how, long before same-sex marriage became legal, two brides walked down the aisle before a small audience of friends and relatives and said "I do" to each other.

I do have to mention one particular wedding present, a framed copy of Jacob W. Greene's 1889 patent for the "Bosom Form". It hangs in my office to this day, reminding me of just how far technology has come in fulfilling a woman's dreams.

We were gifted with a short honeymoon in the Caribbean between semesters (Doug and Sandra thought it was a fine place for a honeymoon) before finishing up our academic careers. In an excess of optimism we packed light, leaving all means of contraception behind. We were married, we wanted children, and we gave it the good old college try to get one started.

Life couldn't be better.

Things were a bit lean as we worked to revive and expand the company we now all had an interest in. Julie and I chose to take much of our compensation in stock and other deferred payments, as we were happily living with Sandra and Doug. We all put in long hours and it paid off, two years in the company was profitable, so Julie and I decided to go house hunting.

Eventually we found a nice duplex at a reasonable price, three bedrooms, nice yard and the rent from the other side would be welcome in keeping up the mortgage payments. Whenever we needed work done on the place we called Eugene, Doug's contractor son and got a family discount. Moving to our own place was bittersweet; we were very close to Sandra and Doug, but it was time to strike out on our own.

The only fly in the ointment was Julie was still not pregnant. Not from any lack of trying, but two years and no results. Eventually we consulted our GP and - no surprise - he ran lots of tests.

Julie was perfectly normal, but my testosterone was still low and my estrogen still a bit high. The kicker was sperm viability - zero, zip, nada, nothing. I was never going to be able to father a child.

Cue the gloom and doom. We were still very much in love, but this was a serious problem. I certainly wanted children, but Julie really wanted children, and I was not going to be able to give them to her. We talked about adoption and fostering, but Julie wanted children born of her body. We even talked about artificial insemination, but she wanted me to father her children, not some stranger or anonymous test tube from a sperm bank.

Sometimes love just isn't enough; Julie sank into a depression and I couldn't reach her. Our sex life suffered, knowing it would never result in a pregnancy. We tried counseling, it helped but not enough. Despite our love for each other, our marriage was failing.

In a strange twist of fate, Stuart - the man who had married us - handled the divorce. We remained friends, in fact Julie moved into the other side of the duplex and lived there for many years. We still worked together without a problem and Sandra and Doug loved us both and weren't going to let either of us pass out of their lives.

It took a while for the hurt to heal, but our friendship endures. When I started hormone therapy Julie put up with a neighbor subject to mood swings. This time around I did see a shrink, transgender therapy was becoming more common and by then any further stealth in my transition would not be possible.

I think I confused the poor guy at first, he had a hard time believing my life story. Quite frankly, we spent as much time straightening out the aftermath of the divorce as we did on gender issues.

Obviously I had well and truly exceeded the one year real life test, so early in 1980 I went in for the final operation to make me as much of a woman as I could be. Julie was there for me, even though she was getting serious about a guy named Sam Park.

Sam is a jewel among men, able to understand that Julie and I would always share a bond but it would never come between him and Julie. When they married, I was Julie's matron of honor.

When I had completely healed from my surgery my muscle tone was shot. What better way to exercise than to start skating again. Besides, I no longer had to tuck to wear my skating outfit, and I could stand inspection in the lady's locker room without a problem.

Well, there was one problem. I had gained a bit of weight since I last wore the outfit, it wasn't a good fit. I wasn't fat, but between the hormones giving me a bit more in the hips and bust and my now middle-aged body I needed to get a new skating outfit. The skirt was a bit longer, the neckline a bit higher, but the mirror showed a pretty good looking woman in her thirties looking fit and happy after a few months at the rink.

The rink was crowded that day, people whizzing around and having fun. I was pretty much gliding around to warm up, doing the occasional jump, when a little girl of maybe six went down right in front of me. The thought passed through my mind that I wished I could have grown up as cute as this little urchin, but I was more concerned with not running over her. I checked my motion in a shower of ice and helped the little girl up.

Brushing the ice from her two long pigtails with the adorable blue ribbons holding them together I did the usual 'Are you all right, honey?" and such nattering that an adult uses with children. Fortunately, only her pride was hurt.

She looked a little unsteady, so I took her hand and offered to skate with her for a while as she regained her poise. I was rewarded with a shy smile and we skated around the rink together. I couldn't help but think that this could have been my daughter if the world had not been as it was. I would have loved to be able to teach my daughter to skate just as my mother had taught me.

After a few minutes she seemed ready to fly on her own, so I released her hand and sent her on her way, laughing at the determined set of her body as she skated around the rink.

I felt rather than saw someone come up beside me.

"Thank you for rescuing my daughter, I couldn't get to her in time but you were sweet to skate with her.

I knew that voice even though I hadn't heard it in years. And so it was that I once again met Isaac, my skating friend from the last few months as an undergrad. A smile grew on his face as he recognized me and invited me to share a cup of coffee after our skating. And my life changed radically yet again.

We had hardly had time to do more than exchange a chorus of 'what are you doing here' before a small whirlwind came clomping over with her braids a-flying. She enveloped her father in a enthusiastic hug, and to my surprise I found myself in her embrace a moment later.

"Daddy! I jumped and didn't fall down!"

"That's great, princess! Keep at it and you'll be a star. Do you want some hot cocoa?"

"Yeah!"

"Then you stay here with Connie and I'll get some for you."

"Do you know her, Daddy?"

"I do indeed. We skated together when I was in college."

"Neat. She's nice."

From the mouths of babes…

"Do you like skating? I really do. Daddy's teaching me how to jump, but I fall down lot. He's really good. You have a pretty dress, I want to learn to spin around so that my dress can go up in the air like they do in the Olympics."

Apparently I was not going to have to figure out how to talk to a small child, as she was perfectly capable of handling the conversation all by herself. Isaac returned with a cup of cocoa and a bemused smile.

"I haven't seen her this happy since Ellen died," he said quietly to me.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Isaac."

What could I say to that? Nothing, so I just let a companionable silence grow between us as his daughter, whose name turned out to be Marya, kept us entertained. Not having any children in my life, I hadn't a clue about much of her conversation, but the occasional smile or encouraging word was all that was necessary.

Our drinks finished, we skated around the ice with Marya holding one of us in each hand. Once again I was wistful for the family that never came to be. Eventually Marya tired and we changed to our normal clothes. Marya insisted that she come with me to the lady's lockers 'because she was a big girl and shouldn't be in the men's place.' How soon we learn to separate the world into male and female.

"Isaac," I said, "it's been wonderful to see you again. Let's not lose touch."

"Then come home and have dinner with us. Marya and I baked a cake this morning and we could use some help in eating it."

"How could I refuse? What kind of cake, Marya?"

"Strawberry! With pink frosting and sprinkles!" came the enthusiastic answer. Marya was getting her second wind.

So I followed them to their home and we had supper together, including a strawberry cake with pink frosting and sprinkles. Somewhere around seven Marya faded and it was bedtime. Just as I remembered from my own youth, Marya tried every trick in the book to put off actually going to sleep.

As it always does, she ran out of excuses after getting a story from each of us, a glass of water, her stuffed puppy and all the rest. Kissing that child goodnight brought tear to my eye. As Isaac closed the bedroom door I could see tears in his eyes as well.

"God Connie, it's been so hard. I loved her so much and…"

I couldn't help it, he was in pain. I gently gathered him in my arms and held him, both of us weeping. It isn't at all clear how we made it back to the living room, but we talked for hours. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to hold each other as we sat on the couch.

He spoke of Ellen; how they met, their plans and dreams, her death from a massive septic infection that came without warning, the bright penny we had gentled into bed. For the first time I felt comfortable telling someone besides Julie or a shrink the intimate details of my longing and need to become a woman, of what growing up in a small town was like. Of course he knew I was transgendered - the entire college knew that, but I was able to tell him some of the details.

For a wonder, he seemed to understand. I spoke of Julie, our love and how our inability to have children had come between us. Somewhere around one in the morning I finally said: "Isaac, I've got to go home. It's late."

"You don't have to. Stay with me, please"

"Isaac, are you sure?"

"Yes."

He didn't say any more because our mouths were busy.

I'll only say that the doctors had done the job well, my new body was quite responsive and sex with Isaac was everything I could hope for.

The changes came thick and fast after that. In a few months I had been enthusiastically accepted as Marya's new mother and I was sleeping in Isaac's bed as much as my own. I was completely blindsided when Isaac proposed to me after a romantic dinner alone. Marya was at her grandparent's house for the night.

"Isaac, you know I'd say 'yes' in an instant, but we can't get married. In the eyes of the law I'm still a man."

"Screw blind justice, I want you to be my wife and Marya's mother."

"I'd rather you screw me, darling."

"That will happen soon enough."

"The law won't let us be married, but I vow that I will love you and stay with you and be everything a wife should be for as long as we live."

"Then that's how it's going to be. For as long as we live."
 

It wasn't as simple as that, but about the time I told Julie I wanted to sell my interest in the house she was trying to find a way to tell me the same thing. She and Sam had gotten together by then and the pregnancy test had just come up positive.

In an excess of emotion we promised to be each other's matron of honor at the ceremonies and suddenly Marya was to be a flower girl twice over. The house sold quickly when we put it on the market and I moved in with Isaac permanently and while Julie and Sam found a new place together.

And there life settled for a few years. Marya grew up, Isaac and I adopted little Menachem, after an epic court battle. Once again Stuart's legal expertise came to my aid. He argued brilliantly as to why his stepsister's tranny ex-husband was fit to be a mother to this child who had been shuttled from home to home for most of his young life. It took a while, but we all won, especially Menachem, whose nickname soon became Mac and we got to observe sibling rivalry firsthand. Sam and Julie's two became as close as cousins and exchange of babysitting duties became a way of life.
 

In 1991, Sandra and Doug decided to retire and I became the CEO of our now very successful company. Julie gladly ceded the CEO position to me - she had no interest in that kind of work. Being a CEO and raising a pair of rambunctious pre-teens was quite a challenge, but Isaac and I survived the experience.

In 2010 we accepted an offer to buy out the company, none of our children being interested in taking over. (We had an artist, a computer nerd, a hotshot salesman and a pilot between the two founding families.) Isaac and I are comfortably retired and travel a great deal, visiting our children and grandchildren who are scattered around the country.

At long last, in 2015, Isaac and I were legally married after thirty five years together when the Supreme Court finally told the conservative assholes and religious zealots they can't stop people who love each other from getting married. Sadly, Doug passed away just before we were married.

The ceremony was performed by the ever-reliable Stuart before a rather large audience of friends, children, grandchildren, godchildren, parents, and ex-wives. I wonder if the Guinness book has a category for someone who said the words to marry, divorce and remarry the same bride. There can't be too many people who have done all that.

Life has been very good to me and to those I love. Mom and Dad are gone now, as are Grandma Gladys and Grandpa Dave, and Sandra is playing the merry widow in Florida, raising cane and chasing alligators. Seriously, she's works part time at an alligator farm and has been known to wrestle alligators. She tells me that it's not unlike being the CEO of a corporation, but at least the alligators can be counted on the be direct in their intentions. She's a model for strong women everywhere.

Next time we visit her, I may just see if we can do a tag-team wrestling match with a gator and I can see if she's right. The audience would love watching two old ladies have a go at one of those buggers.

I'll leave you with a piece of advice for any boy child that just knows that there has been a mistake and he is really a girl. Don't put off doing something about it, there are people out here to help you. Same goes for a girl child who is really a boy. My stealth transition is so out-of-the-ordinary as to be almost insane, but it worked for me. I hope you can live as long and prosperous a life as I have found.

Peace be with you, my friends.