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Standard warning and disclaimer: All characters are fictional. If you see
yourself, buy a new mirror. Contains subjects some people may find offensive. If
you are one of them, why are your reading this? Protect your kids. If you are
worried about them reading this sort of material, please censor free speech and
use a safe surfing program such as net nanny. Or better yet, teach them early
and lovingly to understand and accept different lifestyles. Before they learn
they from bad experiences.
This is not as fictional as I would like. Much of this happened. The who, where,
and other salient details have been changed to protect the guilty. It is not as
smooth or well-written as my newer stories. But it says what I thing is
important.
All constructive comments are welcome. Please e-mail to me:
[email protected]
Finally, this is a piece of adult fiction. If you are underage, or if you find
it offensive, please go elsewhere. Quickly.
---------
Thomasina
Copyright 1997 by Samantha Michelle
I had been in the military too long. Too much bureaucracy, way too much of the
"new peacetime all volunteer force". In other words, how the government had
managed to increase the level of mediocrity. True, all the new recruits had at
least some light in their eyes, but to quote from a Goldie Hawn movie, the
lights flickered. It was even worse trying to hire civilians.
I was, again, in the process of interviewing the group of misfits and mental
cripples that Civilian Personnel had deigned to send us. The job was relatively
hard and required dedication, but was only a GS-4. When the outfit gained
another Colonel, he needed a receptionist, and so they gave him our GS-5
position to answer phones and look pretty.
I had just finished interviewing the only two people who were interested, and
was on the telephone with Civilian Personnel asking for more. I got the usual
reply. Pick the best one. I told them there was no best, just a least worst.
They said I was stuck with them. Another waste of taxpayer money. Just before
the end of the day, I got a rather frantic call from Tim, the assistant director
of Civilian Personnel. It seemed that they had been amiss in helping out the
local VA office in placing vocational rehabilitation candidates, and someone had
gotten to a sympathetic congressman. They said they could provide another
interviewee if I was willing to at least consider someone trying to qualify as a
GS-3. They said they had a second candidate if I was willing to work with a
less-than-complete history, and accept some rather unusual employment
requirements.
I had the feeling I was getting the bottom scrapings of a very deep bucket. I
smelled something a bit cheesy about the second person, but decided to take a
chance. They said they would set the interviews up at their offices for 0900 and
1100 tomorrow. Having the interviews at the personnel office was decidedly non-
standard, and I suspected there would be unwelcome visitors.
So I dug out my interview checklists, to ensure that everyone received the exact
same questions and was rated in the same manner (I believe in EEOT, but there is
a reality check needed). I went back and filled in checklists for the two I had
already interviewed, and closed up the office late.
At 0800 the next morning I was at Civilian Personnel preparing to review the two
applicant's folders. The first individual was ex-navy, with less than two years
service. The folder was clearly flagged for special handling, and had a strong
EEOT smell. It did not take much effort to determine that whoever he was, he was
not qualified for the job. His SF-171 was almost illegible, and full of
grammatical and spelling errors. Since no other language skills were listed, if
English was his primary language he had skipped school since third grade. I
completed the appropriate portions of the pre-interview listing, and asked for
the folder on the second candidate.
Instead of a folder I got the assistant director of Civilian Personnel. We
already knew each other, and kept our respective distances when possible.
Holding the folder firmly in his hands, he told me that the individual was a
special case, and that much of the information I would normally have available
from the personnel folder was confidential. I asked if the person was in the
witness protection program, and he shook his head. He then told me that there
would be a senior VA EEOT representative at the interview, and that my selection
would have to be based entirely on, and supported by, the interview and the
information he was about to provide. I told him I had already figured this out,
and shrugged.
He then added that there might be a need for special accommodations for the
person, and that these would be provided by his office immediately and without
hassle if she was selected. I told him our building was fully accessible, and he
muttered that that was not the type of accommodation he was referring to. He
then handed me a typewritten summary of what I would normally find in the
individual's records.
The candidate was in her mid-thirties, with over six years active Air Force
military training and experience in several non-clerical fields, including
aircraft maintenance and electronics. She had just completed with honors an
associate degree in management from a junior college, but had absolutely no job
experience listed outside of her military service. This puzzled me, and I looked
for service dates and found they were missing. Her civil service tests were very
recent, and the scores were outstanding. Her curriculum vitae was detailed, and
yet did not list where, or when, she had attended each of a long listing of
differing courses.
I noted she formerly held a secret clearance, and the paperwork indicated that
she would not accept entry into any position requiring top-secret access. When I
asked who she was, as her name was not on the sheet, I was told that her name
was Thomisina Alina MacAllister. Something about the name triggered a dim
memory, but not enough to grasp. I asked him if there was anything else, and he
remarked that he would be very, very happy if she met our requirements. I got
the feeling that it meant getting her and the EEOT types out of his hair and
into mine.
We conducted the first interview in the main meeting room, with a dour looking
VA representative present. The interview was short, and to the point. I remained
professional throughout, and thanked the individual for the interview, telling
them I had to complete all interviews before making my decision. After they had
left, I handed Tim my check-sheet and asked him to total the score. Out of 200
points the candidate managed just over 30. He nodded, and handed the same sheet
to the VA representative, who also nodded his head in agreement. Tim said the
second candidate was already in his office, and he would bring her in
momentarily.
When Tim returned, he was escorting a stocky, well-dressed woman who stood over
6 feet tall in her heels. Tim seemed to be trying to stay as far away from her
as possible. She neither plain nor pretty, with a face that was both hard and
sad. She moved with exceptional poise and grace for someone of her size.
Extending her large, well-manicured hand to me in an almost formal manner, in a
rather deep and throaty voice said her name was Thomisina MacAllister, but to
please call her Tommie. She added that she was pleased to be a candidate for the
position in my office. Something did not feel right. I looked at Tim, but he had
already moved to the other side of the table, and was looking at the folder in
his hands. I asked her to please take a seat, watching as she made a production
of sitting carefully and neatly. The nagging feeling that something was screwy
grew stronger.
Keeping my eyes on her face and body language, while listening to her replies, I
worked through my checklist. It was clear after a few minutes she was
intelligent, well read, and had thoroughly studied the job description. She was
extremely well mannered. Too well. Everything was amplified, or it struck me,
almost like it had been rehearsed. Even her voice and diction were over-correct.
And she never broke eye contact. Almost like an animal trying to make sure it
was not about to be attacked. I began to wonder if she was a psycho case they
were trying to place.
When I reached the final, open question phase of the interview, I decided to see
how much additional information I could accrue. So I asked her where she had
been stationed. She looked distressed, looked at the VA rep and Tim, and
answered that she preferred not to say for personal reasons. Tim nodded. I tried
a different tact. I asked her if she had any combat zone experience, and she
nodded, then stiffened, looking frightened.
BINGO. A woman with combat zone experience, at the time very unusual. She again
looked at the VA rep and Tim for assistance. Tim immediately asked if was
finished with the interview, and I told him in no uncertain terms I was not. The
VA person looked nervous, but they both knew I was following the regulations,
and had spent far less time with her that the previous candidates. So I then
asked several general questions that would require long, yet non-threatening
answers. And disengaged my ears and thought. And it hit me. I felt that I had
met her, or her alter ego somewhere before. And it was almost certain that she
did not recognize me. But if I was wrong, I did not want to embarrass her, or
get myself into a tight spot with the EEOT types. As she finished a carefully
worded answer to the last of my smoke-screen questions, I looked at her, and
mentally stripped off the long hair, makeup, and fashionably tinted glasses.
Thomisina Alina MacAllister and I had been stationed together over ten years
ago, in sister units. But I knew her as Tom. And that explained all the secrecy.
But I needed confirmation.
So I looked her in the eye, smiled, and decided to ask her a couple of questions
that would have no meaning unless she was actually Tom. I first asked her if she
played pinochle, she looked surprised, but nodded, and I got the next question
out before Tim or the VA rep could say anything. "Have you ever lost to someone
with quad aces and triple 'nuks'?" She absently nodded, then looked absolutely
horrified and collapsed to the table sobbing uncontrollably. Tim looked puzzled,
then shocked and disgusted, and the VA rep hurried over to her. I got up, pushed
the VA bozo out of the way, and putting my arm around her shoulder, said
quietly, "It's OK Tom, I don't know what has happened, but you still are my
friend." I could hear Tim mutter "Oh Shit".
A moment later Tom/Tommie had her long arms wrapped around me and was crying her
heart out. I asked her if she knew who I was, and she stammered out "no". I
asked if she remembered the Sergeant that used to run the best wargames in
Korea. She yanked herself upright, looked at my nametag, stared me in the face,
and said "Sam?" I smiled. She grabbed me again and still crying, tried to
apologize for her behavior and for embarrassing me. I finally told her to shut
up. That got her attention, and I said that whether she was a she or he did not
matter to me, this started her on another crying jag. The VA rep finally decided
to butt in, and told me that the interview was obviously over, there was no need
to continue, and that I should forget everything that happened.
I looked at him, and asked if the military had forgotten to issue him his
sensitivity. I then told him to leave Tom, or Tommie, alone until she was ready
to move. I think my continued use of the female pronoun got to him and he
muttered something about "another damn don't ask, don't tell" as he walked away.
Tim was giving me a disgusted look, and her one of loathing. I told Tim to go
get Tommie a Pepsi and a box of Kleenex, and that if he said or did anything
stupid, he would be the one up on EEOT charges. Tim knew I almost never bluffed,
and did not want to challenge me, so he was back in a few minutes with both.
Shortly Tom/Tommie regained her composure, and when I had assured her that her
secret was safe with me, she started to mechanically repair her appearance.
I decided that the charade had gone on far too long. Looking at both the VA rep
and Tim, I told them that Tom/Tommie and I had been stationed together in sister
units almost ten years ago, and had been friends back then. I said I was going
to take her to lunch off-base, and I would bring her back to the CPO after lunch
so she could fill out the paperwork to accept the job at my office. Tommie
grabbed me and hugged me, and then drew back as if she had done something
terrible. I realized that she was still uncertain of her role. I pulled her
close, and told her that emotional displays were not considered to be
appropriate when I was in uniform. She broke out with the first real laugh I had
heard. I told Tim I was going to have a long talk with him later about
professionalism, and he looked like he had just eaten a toad. A very warty,
lively one. We headed out to lunch.
I took her to the local Denny's, and got a private booth in the back. She spent
far too long in the ladies room, and when she returned her makeup was repaired,
and the lines from her crying were gone. Without fanfare she launched into how
she had completed her second enlistment in the service, but was so depressed
about her life that she got out and drifted from part time job to homeless
shelter. Finally her health deteriorated so much that someone who knew her got
her to the VA, and they hospitalized her and began on therapy. After about a
year her lifelong desire to be a woman surfaced, and she realized that she had
entered the military because it she thought it would make a man out of her.
We both shook our heads sadly about that. After another year in therapy, she
decided to become a woman, and started on hormones and living as a woman full
time. That was a little over a year ago. She said it took a congressional act to
get the VA to pay for her to get special help in learning how to act like a
woman, and she still was not good at it. She was able to get breast implants
with some money she recently inherited, and told me that they were the real
turning point. Smiling, she said that even her hair was real, and the implants
gave her what other girls grew up getting. "Now when I get up in the morning, I
look at least a little like the woman I have always felt I should be, not a
woman trying to impersonate a man."
I asked if she had completed SRS, and she shook her head, and said that she had
another few months before she would meet the Harry Benjamin standards for SRS.
When I asked what that meant, she explained, and I nodded understanding. She
said that the VA had been forced to agree to pay for the surgery, and she would
probably be off work for a couple of weeks after. She looked downcast, and asked
if I had offered her the job out of pity. I laughed, and explained that she was
by far the most qualified candidate. I got another hug, and a kiss, with which I
had a more than a bit of trouble. We then headed back to the base, and at
Civilian Personnel I pinned Tim and the VA rep down and read them the riot act
behind closed doors. When I left I had their assurances that they would support
whatever Tommie and I worked out for her history, short of breaking the
regulations, and that she could start on Monday.
Tommie worked at my office for almost a year before I forced her to move on to a
better position. There was a lot of speculation about her history and
orientation from some of the less-liberal types in my office, but only once did
I have to use official channels to eliminate a problem. When I escorted that
particular SSgt asshole back from the Wing Commander's office, he looked like he
had been castrated. With a dull butter knife. He went from mean to meek at Mach
III. Perhaps the threat of courts-martial was enough. But he really changed
spots when I told him if he went to jail I would make sure that his interest in
"faggots" was well known to the other inmates. For some reason he did not decide
to continue in the service when his enlistment expired. Good riddance.
Tommie is now post SRS and is so much happier. It took her almost two months to
be back to her energetic self after surgery, but from then on she was a new
person. I helped her develop a really good history that was given the official
stamp of existence with the help of the VA. It was sort of like playing a war
game. It had to be real without being verifiable. A couple of more classes in
the evening, and her resume and recommendations from the base got her hired as a
trainee legal secretary, and shortly as an office manager for a local law firm.
I lost track of her when she left the state to attend law school somewhere in
the Midwest. But I have received postcards and letters without a return address
from her over the years, even after I retired, and she says that when she passes
the Bar in her state, which she described as the most homophobic group of bigots
she had ever encountered, she would send me her address, and perhaps we could
get together and discuss old times.
--- Finis
Bess
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