Letters from a Friend in Paris Letter 1
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The Letter: A True Story free porn video
The Letter: A True Story
By Terri Main
One time my therapist asked me what would have to happen
before I transitioned. I told her that I would have to
disclose at work and to tell my parents. Little did I know
they would both happen in the same week. I don't want to
ever have another week like that.
I must say that of all the blessings God has given me
during this transition, I doubt if any of them are as
wonderful as the one described in this story. But be
warned. You'll probably need to have a box of tissues
handy.
Cindy sat in the car and stared at the American Eagle on
the Express Mail envelope. "Extremely Urgent" read the
logo. Cindy knew it was best this way. Next day delivery.
No waiting and wondering when the letter would arrive.
Nevertheless, she wished it could wait. This was one letter
she didn't want to mail. Yet, it was perhaps the most
important letter she would ever mail.
Cindy was feeling good returning from her psychologist's
appointment when she saw the message light flashing on the
answering machine. She had been telling the counselor how
well things had gone in her meeting with the officials of
the college where she taught. Next year, Carl Martin
disappears and Cindy Martin appears in the district. The
president of the school was arranging a possible transfer
to another school in the district for a year to smooth the
transition.
His words still rang in her ears, "You have a job with us
no matter what your gender is. We want to make your
transition as smooth as possible."
Now, she wondered what the flashing light meant. In thirty
seconds she found out. "Chuck, your Dad was checking
something out in your car and found some credit card
receipts. Who's Cindy Martin? Are you using a pen name for
your writing or something? Please call. We're worried."
Cindy was just two and a half months away from the end of
spring semester and the beginning of the real-life test
when she would begin living full-time as a female. She
planned to tell her folks then.
"Well, that moves up the time schedule," she whispered as
she removed an earring and began to dial the familiar
number.
"Hi, Mama. Yeah, I got your message... Well, look it's a
bit complicated to go into over the phone right now but
there is nothing to worry about..." Cindy stammered.
"Well, your Dad was worried. He worries a lot. So, I wanted
to call," she said then added laughing, "You haven't gotten
married and not told us."
"No, I haven't." And I'm not likely to anytime soon, Cindy
added silently.
"And you aren't leaving for Sweden to get an operation?" It
was getting harder and harder to avoid lying. Cindy hated
lying to anyone especially people she loved.
"Not right away," she said truthfully, but with silent
tears welling up inside.
"And you aren't going around with a blonde wig and high
heels?"
"No, no blonde wig." I got rid of the blonde wig months
ago, Cindy thought. It would almost be funny if it weren't
so hard.
"Look," said Cindy, "I'll explain everything when I get up
there for spring break. It's nothing to worry about."
"Well, dear, we weren't prying. We were just concerned. I
know you're nearly forty but you're still our little boy."
After hanging up, the tears became less silent and more
abundant.
As Cindy sat looking at the envelope, she remembered making
the tape inside. She worked for several years in radio, but
this was the most difficult tape she had to make. Her
mother had limited eyesight so any letters to the family
had to be taped. Cindy broke down six times trying to make
the tape. After the last take, she threw herself down on
the bed and cried for a half-hour.
The letter was an idea proposed by Cindy's counselor. It
ensured that she could finish what she had to say, and it
could remove the effects of someone being shocked and
saying something they would regret later. It seemed like
the cowards way out to Cindy, but then she never claimed to
be brave.
Suddenly, Cindy pushed open the car door walked quickly to
the mailbox and deposited the envelope. As the door to the
box closed she felt an instant of panic, then a feeling of
sad relief. Whatever happened now, happened. It was out of
her hands now. By this time tomorrow, things would be
radically different. Maybe better, Maybe worse, but
definitely different. She didn't look forward to tomorrow.
Back in the car, the tears overflowed again. The balance of
the day passed in a sort of fog. She did something to the
car. She bought something at the grocery store. She graded
some kind of papers. But the details of what she did
blurred into the kind of fog she was familiar with living
on the Coast. That thick billowing fog rolling in off the
ocean drenched the skin and obscured everything cloaking
every landmark in gray nothingness, hiding the road signs,
devouring the road just a few feet in front of you. You
could only go slowly, trust your instincts and have faith
that you would make it through.
Faith. That's what this was all about wasn't it. Faith in
God that he could complete what he started in Cindy's life
concerning this transition. Faith in her parents that they
were mature enough, intelligent enough, loving enough to
make an attempt to understand. Faith in herself that she
could deal with any response there might be.
That last one was the most difficult. The horror stories of
parents completely refusing to talk to their children,
disowning them, refusing to acknowledge their existence
came flooding in on her. It was possible that this might be
the case. She couldn't really believe it. Their
relationship had been so close, so special. Was it possible
that...
She couldn't even continue the thought. No, that was very
unlikely, but still there was the other side of the coin.
This could hurt them deeply. And it could embarrass them
among their friends. How would their church react? Cindy
had a wonderful acceptance at her church, but would others
be as accepting? Did she have the right to lay this on
them? Perhaps she should not have told them. Perhaps she
should have just crossdressed for her visits with them as a
male. But how long could she have kept that up? A few
months, perhaps. Besides what about when they came to town
for their next visit. No, honesty would have to come
eventually. She had just hoped eventually was a few months
in the future.
Cindy lay on the couch much of the night, lights low, face
buried in hands crying and praying then crying some more
and praying some more. Even the extra estrogen tablet she
had taken couldn't reduce this anxiety. When she couldn't
lie still any longer, she got up and paced through the
apartment. Sat down. Tried to watch some TV, but nothing
was appealing. 11:00. She should call the folks. Tell them
a special letter was arriving. It would be a difficult call
to make. To sound as if nothing was wrong, with tears in
her eyes would tax every drop of vocal control 20 years of
training could muster.
"Hi, Mom. How's everything going up there?
A few moments of casual conversation continued, Cindy
breathing deeply in a futile effort to relax. Finally,
taking a deep silent breath, Cindy said in what she hoped
was a casual tone, "Oh, by the way, I sent you a tape
today. It's nothing to worry about. You should get it in
tomorrow's mail."
"Oh, all right. Is there anything I should know?"
"No, nothing's wrong. The tape will explain everything."
"Well, I'd better let you get to bed. We love you."
"I love you, too."
Cindy replaced the receiver like it was made of flawed
crystal. She listened to the synthesized ticking of the
electric schoolhouse clock on the wall as it measured out
the remaining hours of her old relationships. In less than
12 hours the last pure domain of Carl' existence would
cease to exist. This at once excited her and scared her. It
was exciting because she was moving forward. It was
frightening because she didn't want to leave her parents
behind as she moved forward.
Her rhythmic breathing which had regulated her vocal tones
began to falter and quicken. She collapsed sobbing dry sobs
into a blue ruffled pillow she bought at a Women's
Ministries Christmas Boutique. Exhausted she looked back at
the clock. It was nearly midnight. She had early classes
tomorrow. She would have to try to sleep.
Cindy slept surprisingly well. Nervous exhaustion overruled
tumultuous anxiety and plunged her into a deep dreamless
sleep that only ended with the steady bleating of the alarm
clock at 7:00 the next morning. She lay listening to the
clock for about 30 seconds, feeling that getting out of bed
was an almost impossible task. She thought about her
accumulated sick leave, but that wasn't the Martin family
way. They plowed right ahead and did what needed to be
done.
So, pressing hard against the mattress, Cindy got out of
bed, deposited her earring studs into her jewelry box, and
got dressed once more as Carl. Just two months and twenty-
five days more of male life, Cindy thought, then I will be
able to be me all day every day.
Her first class breezed by, Cindy teaching on automatic
pilot not really aware of the class or of anything else.
Back in the office, she began to call her home number to
check the messages on her machine. If she knew anything
about the folks, she knew there would be a call as soon as
the tape arrived. But as she picked up the receiver, her
office mate came in complaining about a broken copier.
Cindy almost laughed thinking about how important a broken
copier would have been to her last week and how unimportant
it was to her at this moment. She replaced the receiver.
Chatted with her colleague for a few moments hoping she
would leave. But she didn't.
Finally, Cindy left her office to go pick up her mail in
the mailbox across the campus. As she trudged along the
path she tried to imagine the scene when the tape arrived.
Were there tears? Was there anger? What was said? How did
her mother react? How did her father react? What would they
say on the tape? Outside the administration building was a
phone. Cindy reluctantly picked it up, slowly dialed the
number and listened to the ringing. One ring, two rings (if
it rang another time no message would be on the machine).
No further rings.
"We're awfully sorry we missed your call," began Cindy's
purposely androgynous message. Cindy pressed the secret
code, stopped the voice and heard the synthesized music box
rendition of "No Place Like Home" telling her the tape was
rewinding. Perhaps it was just someone trying to sell her
insurance.
"Honey, we got your tape," it was Cindy's mother's voice.
"We listened to it," she continued her voice cracking with
emotion. "It doesn't matter to us whether you're Carl or
Cindy. We love you regardless. Don't you know that? We love
our daughter as much as we loved our son. Listen I'll call
again tonight. We love you very much."
Once again Cindy's eyes filled with tears as she slowly
replaced the receiver on the hook, but she kept the sobbing
back and for once felt thankful for that male stoicism
society implants in men.
Driving home from school that afternoon, Cindy noticed that
the orchards were in bloom. It turned out to be a pretty
wonderful day after all.
Trish
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