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Grandma and the Bear By Ricky Grandma was right. She used to say to me "Sherry honey, there ain't nothing so bad it don't have a ray of hope hiding down deep inside it and there ain't nothing so good that it don't have a little devil hiding somewhere to make you feel just a tiny bit nervous about the whole thing." So the good news was that after waiting far too many years to be sure the wonderful man I married had really and truly and irrevocably become a world class jerk he was out of my life. The good news was I could still lie about my 30th birthday and get away with it and I got the house. The bad news was the lawyers got just about everything else. Thus it was I found myself with a mortgage and taxes and only one income to pay where there once had been two. Since much of his income had gone for booze and women it wasn't that much of a difference, but it was enough that it hurt. After a few months of waiting for my paycheck to clear and breathlessly running into the bank 5 minutes before the late fee was due I decided I had to find some extra money somewhere. I had this nice, big house with only me in it so the logical thing was to rent a couple of rooms to someone nice and take the pressure off. I sure wish Grandma had some sage advice about that topic; it could have saved me a whole lot of grief! I now know that being a landlord means being a confessor, drill sergeant, bill collector, big sister, scolding mother and psychiatrist. It's been what my mother used to call a "Learning Experience". I always hated her Learning Experiences but with what wisdom I have acquired I can see her point these days. I learned that there are a lot of people in this world that look perfectly nice and speak well and make a good first impression but have no conception of how to clean up after themselves or don't get that the rent being due on the 1st means that the money needs to be in my hands on the 1st. It took a few tries but I finally found a gem by the name of Martha who had been with me for three months and we got along very well indeed. She was young, in her early 20s, and paying off her school loans before she went on to grad school. I liked her passion, her unabashed feminist attitude and her choice of friends. The house was a lot less lonely after she moved in and I really liked that. So with one good roommate keeping the bills paid I figured a second would let me do a little remodeling and fixup around the place. I put another ad in the paper, but somehow I forgot to specify I wanted a female to join our little household. I probably would have told him "NO!" if I had taken the call, but since Martha was the one who answered her staunchly unbiased gender views held true and she told him to come over that evening to talk to us. Well, nothing for it but to talk to him. I suppose the good side was if I didn't like him it wouldn't take a lawyer to get rid of him this time, but I really didn't want to have to deal with a man in my house quite yet. I waited nervously until the bell rang and opened the door. On the steps was a huge, hairy black bear. What had I gotten myself into? After a few seconds I realized the bear was wearing jeans and a rumpled shirt and spoke English. "Evening, Ma'am. I'm Richard. I called about the room you have for rent?" I was surprised. I was expecting a forest shaking rumble but when he spoke it was in a clear tenor. A soft Southern drawl tinged his speech. I stammered an invitation to come in and hastily called Martha down to be with me. Granted she would have to live with whoever I picked and she deserved a vote, but mostly I didn't want to be alone with this large and hairy man. At least I think I had convinced myself he was a member of Homo Sapiens and not Ursa Americanus. The three of us settled at the kitchen table after the usual Coffee? Tea? (Definitely not me!) routine. "So, Richard, why do you want to live with us?" I swear his ears turned red, which were about the only thing above his neck, other than his nose, not covered in hair. He wore a small, green gem in each ear, which particularly stood out against his flushed earlobes. I had never seen an embarrassed a black bear before! "Well ma'am, I don't rightly mean to live with y'all, not like that. I just need a place to stay when in town. I'm a field tech and spend a lot of time on the road. My wife and I just split and neither of us can afford to live in the house alone so we're selling it and finding other places to live. She moved in with her boyfriend but since I spend so much time traveling I figure renting a room makes more sense for me, at least for now." Part of me could sympathize over the cost of running a house alone, but part of me screamed, "He's another rotten looser drunk! Kick him out! Now!" "So tell me something about yourself, Richard." I guess he was lucky Grandma's influence made me look at both sides because I let him go on sitting at the table. "Well, I don't drink. I don't smoke tobacco or anything else. I wash my hands before meals and behind my ears each night. I'm a fair to middlin' cook, read a lot - mostly SF and mysteries, love folk music, hate the TV and I can fix a toilet or plaster a wall whenever necessary. Oh yeah, I'm a computer nerd and gadget freak, but I'd keep that stuff in my room." I was taken aback. I had been expecting something on the order of a Hell's Angel and got a cherubim instead. His soft, self deprecating humor and twinkling eyes belonged on a pixie, not a giant. I could tell Martha was just as taken with him as I was. She took up the conversation. "What do you like to cook?" "Well, when there's time I like to go through the cookbooks and create a meal with dishes from very different cultures that somehow go together. That's not too often these days, so I'm afraid I resort to thawing a piece of meat from the freezer and microwaving some veggies while it cooks. One of the good things about being on the road is the company pays for the meals and I get to eat pretty well." He patted his ample stomach. "And - I get away without having to wash the dishes." So he did have a flaw after all, but then again no one ever accused me of liking to wash dishes. I told him a bit about myself and Martha did likewise. "Can you handle sharing a bathroom with two women, Richard?" "I shared a bathroom with my wife and two teenage daughters, I suspect it won't be a problem. Besides, I've worked dirty jobs most of my life and had to shower as soon as I came home. That makes for a lot less congestion in the bathroom in the mornings. By the way, how do you feel about the occasional visit from my grandchildren? I don't want to disrupt you household too much but I'd hate to miss time with 'em " Was this man a saint or what? Grandchildren! "Richard, you are the most unlikely looking babysitter I've ever seen. Of course they're welcome. The next thing you'll tell me is you can sew and are knitting them mittens for the winter." He turned red again. "There's lots of free time in motels in my life. I finished the mittens and I'm working on sweaters right now. And I do sew but not much lately." "My God!" cried Martha. "A renaissance man. Do you have any faults, Richard?" He suddenly looked very sad. "I'm afraid I couldn't hold my marriage together despite swearing to stay with her 'till death do us part. She had other ideas and it still hurts." The mood in the kitchen suddenly changed. There was an obvious, painful sincerity in his voice. This man was either the world's most accomplished liar or he truly regretted having his marriage break up. Well, I suppose I once felt that way about my marriage, but by the end I was thrilled to have it behind me. "Richard, no one goes through a divorce without a lot of pain. I've been there myself and I will never take sides when a couple split. I'm sure you did the best you could no matter what the situation." I reached over and took his hand, much to my surprise. It just seemed like the thing to do and I did it. I glanced over at Martha with a quizzical look and she shook her head 'yes'. I took my hand back and went over the details of rent and house privileges with him. "Good. Write me a check for the first month's rent and the deposit and you can move in whenever it's convenient." Why was I doing this? Was I really inviting this man to be a part of my household? "And call me Sherry, ma'am seems silly from someone almost old enough to be my father." "Yes Ma' - Sherry. I'll probably bring some things over the next couple of days then. I'm going to be in LA next week so you won't see much of me for a while." I gave him a key and after the usual pleasantries he left. I turned to Martha and looked at her quizzically. She returned the look. "Martha, did we really just tell that man he could live here?" "Honey," she said in her best drawl, "that man could talk a cat into barking like a dog. We sho' nuf did that." --- By that Sunday Richard had moved in but, as promised, we didn't see him much. Over the next week I had plenty of time to kick myself for being weak. How could I have let a man talk me into renting a room in my house? I damned my weak will, the culture that lets men dominate women and that great bear of a man with the silver tongue. I violated my first rule of having housemates and looked in his room, but all I saw was a pile of neatly taped boxes in the middle of the floor. Were they full of dynamite and timers? Maybe drugs or guns or... Good grief! At this rate I was going to work myself into a first class tizzy. Control, woman, control! He's nothing but a big, fuzzy Teddy Bear who is paying you for a room he isn't even using! Get a grip, girl! So I took a deep breath and went on with life. Nothing had really changed, so I just went to work and life went back to normal. When he was home he proved to be a pleasant housemate. Unfailingly courteous, he helped with the housework, and even folded our laundry when he took it out of the dryer. I started to notice Martha spent a lot of time with Richard when he was home, they would talk for hours sometimes. I knew she was having boyfriend trouble (not too hard to notice with grumpy phone calls and stormy partings every few days). The suspicious side of me worried that Richard would take advantage of my young housemate, but I gradually realized he had assumed the role of father in her life. I knew Martha had never met her father, her parents were divorced while she was a small child and her father had disappeared completely. She even started to call him Pop, along with Richard's own daughters. My own relationship was more ambiguous. I was really too old to be his daughter (unless he was very damn precocious!) and a bit too young to be his contemporary. A funny thing emphasized the age gap on evening over a game of Trivial Pursuit. I got the question, "Who are Alvin, Simon and Theodore?" I didn't have a clue, really I didn't. I was born just at the wrong time. Richard was old enough to have seen the original Chipmunks and Martha knew them from Saturday morning cartoons. The next night I was treated to a Chipmunks marathon on video. Can't say I missed much, but they were laughing like crazy people. Did I mention he was a musician? I had never really known anyone who played, I grew up listening to the radio; the music in my life came out of a box. One evening I heard a guitar playing a soft, simple melody. My first thought was: "What radio station is that?" I tracked the sound to his bedroom and, since his door was open, I looked in. He was intent on his instrument and didn't notice me until he had finished. "That was lovely! I didn't know you were a musician." "Yeah, I noodle around a bit." "Do you mind if I listen?" "Pull up a chair - I love an appreciative audience." So I sat and listened for a while, and he even got me to sing with him. I hadn't really done any singing since I was a kid in the church choir, but the songs had easy choruses and his face lit up when I found a harmony line. Martha heard us and soon joined in. It was one of the nicest evenings I have ever spent, and whenever Richard was in the mood we always enjoyed joining him. I was half expecting sex to rear it's ugly head, but Richard's sweet, Southern charm and abiding consideration never once made either me or Martha feel uncomfortable. Even when the inevitable happened and Martha neglected her robe when running to the bathroom he simply turned beet red and averted his eyes. Not that he didn't appreciate us as women, he certainly did, but he never once crossed that nebulous line between appreciative looks and leering. In fact, it got to the point where I sought his approval before going out for the evening. If he appreciated my outfit I knew it would please my date. Boy, could he cook! I found room in the kitchen for his spice collection (I didn't even know there could be that many spices!) and it got so Martha and I were actually looking foreword to his return to see what exotic tidbit he brought with him. One Saturday morning he arrived from a stay in Houston with a large box, which he set on the kitchen counter it was full of fresh produce, but half the stuff I had never seen fresh in my life. "I couldn't resist bringing home a little bit of Texas from the farm market. Would you ladies be interested in a Mexican feast tonight?" Did he have any doubts? He pulled out exotic ingredients like a boy opening a Christmas present. I had to ask, "What in the world is all that stuff?" "Tomatillos, Nopales (cactus leaves to you gringos), chili peppers, jicamas, chayote squash and all the fresh spices to make everything taste like old Mexico. Have you ever tasted real Mexican cooking?" "Does Taco Bell count?" He made a face, or at least I think he did because his beard moved in several different ways at once. "Philistine! Well, you won't get real Mexican from me either, because I can't take the hot spices any more. But it's going to be a lot closer than anything you get at a Mexican restaurant. Hi, Martha! You got dinner plans tonight?" Suddenly I looked at my watch and realized I was late. "I've got a meeting," I said, "but I wouldn't miss dinner for the world. I'll be back just before dinner, Richard. I wouldn't miss it for the world." It wasn't until I was on my way home, a bit earlier than I had expected, that I realized I had forgotten my clothes in the washer with all the excitement of having Mexico delivered to the kitchen. Damn! In this heat the stuff probably smelled like crap after sitting in the washer all day. I trudged down the stairs to try and limit the damage and found Martha standing by the dryer. I was pleased to see my blouses neatly hung next to a huge white shirt that made them look like baby clothes. My panties were tidily folded (something I never do!) on top of the drier and my bras were even neatly looped around hangers. "Thank you, Martha! I forgot all about the laundry when I left this morning." "Don't thank me, I just got home. It must have been Richard." Just then the dryer clicked off. "Well, I really should return the favor, shouldn't I?" I pulled over a half full laundry basket opened the dryer. I reached in and hung up another shirt, but was surprised when the next thing to come to hand was a pair of flowery blue panties. Panties? Yup, there were more of them in the dryer, along with a slip and a couple more shirts. I looked at Martha. "This is weird. Could he be doing a girlfriend's wash?" "Not likely, Sherry, with the divorce he's certainly not dating other women yet. Haven't you figured out that Pop is a crossdresser?" No, I hadn't figured it out. "You don't think it's me leaving black hairs in the tub when I shave my legs, do you? Not that he doesn't try to clean up but there's always a few hairs that escape. Haven't you noticed the panty and bra lines under his pajamas?" "Martha!" "Honestly Sherry, you are a complete innocent!" An innocent? Me? This from a kid who had just finished college. "Go on - check the washer, oh innocent and naive maiden." I opened the lid and sure enough it was full. A nightgown, stockings, bras; all big enough that they could only fit Richard. I started to laugh as I pictured bushy bearded Richard wearing a slip. I took out a tiger striped bra big enough to wrap around both me and Martha together and stared at it. He certainly had good taste, the damn thing was prettier than most of mine! Suddenly I heard footsteps and before I could think he was standing there stunned, looking at me with his bra in my hands. His mouth worked but no sound came out. "Thank you for taking care of my clothes, Richard." I handed him the bra. "Here, hang this up, will you?" He took it like a zombie and I turned back to the washer for another handful, but mostly I needed a pause to get a grip on myself. This was one of the strangest situations I had ever been in. I had to say something, I was the landlady, the authority figure in the household. The only problem was I didn't have a clue what to say. He started to stammer something at my back but I turned and put my finger to his lips. "Not now, Richard. Take ten deep breaths, help us take care of this laundry, then take ten more deep breaths. Then we go upstairs and talk when we all have had some time to stop being surprised." Just what my shrink advised: when you don't know what to do, do the necessary and wait for enlightenment. Sort, hang, set the timer, push the button, walk, climb stairs, make tea. Everyday physical actions done by rote while the brain tries to recover. At last we were seated at the kitchen table with mugs in our hands. "Richard, it's got to be 90 degrees outside, why in the hell did I just make tea?" "Sherry, I don't even drink tea! Why the hell did I take a cup from you?" Release! Relief! God, it felt good to laugh. "Because we both don't have a clue what to do next. Those are your clothes, aren't they? "Yes, ma'am." Back to type under stress. "Sherry!" I said it automatically. "Martha tells me she's known you are a crossdresser for a while now, but I'm afraid I just figured it out." "You knew?" He stared hard at Martha. "I was trying to be careful, really I was!" "Your red pajamas are pretty thin, Pop. You should wear a robe if you want to hide the lingerie." His ears turned red again. "Martha, Sherry - I'm sorry. I truly hadn't intended to make you cope with my problems. I thought I would be able to dress up in my motel while I was on the road and that would be sufficient. I guess I was wrong and I'm sorry. I'll be leaving as soon as I can find a place somewhere else." "Who said anything about having to leave? Richard, I'm not mad at you, just confused. My grandmother always told me that nothing is ever purely perfect or completely awful. Can you trust us to talk about it now or do you need some time?" Talk he did, like a dam that finally burst after a month of steady rain. He told us of his childhood and how he had become attracted to women's clothes. "I was just plain scared of girls, really I was. I couldn't get the nerve to ask one for a date, I got all tongue-tied. The other guys would boast about how they were feeling up their girlfriends and I lied with the best of them, but I never even got close to touching a girl. It was driving me crazy but I still couldn't figure out how to ask a girl out. One night I saw my sister's bra in the hamper when I finished my bath and I picked it up just to see what it felt like. I really don't know what made me do it, I wrapped it around my chest just to see what it felt like and I was hooked." "I was afraid to wear it out of the bathroom in case someone came along (I guess that doesn't bother me any more, does it Martha?) so I wrapped it in my bath towel and took it to my room. I'd hide under the bedclothes at night secretly wiggle into the bra and sleep in it until dawn. I had to be up early enough to tiptoe into the bathroom put it back in the hamper. Sometimes I was able to stay home alone and I tried on all her clothes. I was starting to play the guitar and I'd sit around in my sister's clothes and pretend I was Connie Francis. I loved the feel of the guitar pressing against my padded breasts, I sang my heart out and the audience would cheer back. "That didn't last too long because I kept growing and my older sister didn't. I was having a hard time getting the hooks to snap around me when I realized that the Sears catalog had bras in it. I figured out my size from the instructions in the catalog, spent hours deciding which one I wanted and filled out the order form. I got a money order from the bank and sent the whole thing off. Since we lived in a very small town we had to pick up our mail at a box in the Post office, so I made damn sure I was the first one there to pick up the mail for the next two weeks. It finally came and I was in heaven! It took just about all my underwear to stuff it because naturally I ordered a D cup, I really wanted big tits! Hell, they were so big it was hard to hold my guitar - I sometimes wonder how Dolly Parton manages. "I could still wear my sister's skirts, what with her bigger hips, but I eventually outgrew them. I was lucky and found some of my grandmother's old clothes in the attic. She was a big woman and some of the stuff fit me. I still remember that old, green skirt. It made me feel like a beauty queen. It was tight and on my much taller body it was just above my knees. I had a sweater that almost matched it and I spent hours in that outfit when I was alone at home. I got so I could play every song Connie Francis had ever recorded, I idolized her and I really practiced hard! "I was really upset when my voice broke, Connie's songs just didn't sound the same in a squeaking tenor. Besides, I wanted to do Connie for the school talent contest but my voice changed too soon. "Anyway, ladies, that's how I started dressing." About the only thing I knew about crossdressing before that afternoon was watching an interview with RuPaul once. It was not a subject I had ever really thought about. I won't say I became an expert on the subject but I was starting to understand. He talked of having his father find out, how he tried to hide it from his wife and how he eventually found the strength to tell her. "We had our troubles, but Emily never had a problem with my crossdressing. She even made me clothes. She and the kids gave me one day alone each month. They went out to a movie or something and I got to dress up. Both the kids and their husbands know and it doesn't bother them." "Pop," Martha asked, "I don't get it. If your everyone knows you dress up and are OK with it, and you obviously still want to do it, then how come you have a beard?" "I hate to shave!" "Bullshit! C'mon big guy, it ain't that simple." "Yes, ma'am. "Sherry!" I growled. "I am not a ma'am! So answer the question, already." "Sherry, look at me! I'm 6'2", weigh 270 and have a major league potbelly. The only way I could ever really look like a woman is in my dreams. If I tried to go anywhere but a Halloween party I'd cause a riot. Besides, it was my way of promising Emily that she was more important to me than the need I felt to dress. As long as we were married I would be her husband and would be a man for her." His wistful tone of voice spoke volumes. "So now what?" Martha asked. "You're living with us now. Does it really matter if your body isn't going to win any beauty contests? Don't be practical Pop, tell us your dreams! Do you want to become a woman?" "No, Martha, that's one thing I'm sure of. I think if I had a choice I would rather have been born a woman, but I wasn't. I enjoy being able to let the feminine side of me out sometimes, but my life has been pretty good and I really don't want to make any radical changes." I didn't know about Martha, but I have to admit I was relieved. I had come to be very fond of Richard but I hadn't even considered the possibility of a sex change until Martha brought it into the open. For that matter it had been less than an hour since I realized Richard was anything but the nice guy he appeared to be. I was relieved that all he wanted to do was wear women's clothes sometimes. I surprised even myself when I spoke. "Richard, you have no obligations to your old life and I don't really give a damn what clothes you wear around the house as long as you're decently covered. Any objections from you, Martha?" "Of course not! Pop, you're sweet, I wish you were my father - or mother if you want to be. How can a feminist object to a man who wants to explore his feminine side?" Indeed! I felt the need to try and lower the emotional level a bit so we all could all recover our composure. "So Martha," I asked, "what's the proper Postmodernist Feminist take on the subject?" "Actually, I don't think the Postmodernists have really considered the subject, they're too busy with debunking Western Culture and all. I suppose that most Postmodernists would consider that 'Men Are Scum!' to be sufficient even if the man was in a dress. That's one reason I'm not a Postmodernist. That's also why I got straight C- in my Womyn's History course." Such cynicism in one so young! See why I like her so much? "Actually, feminists seem to ignore us by and large." Richard replied "About the only thing we have in common is a preoccupation with the word 'gender', and we use it in startlingly different contexts. I think most feminist thought tends to center around the power and control aspects of gender in a societal sense, with an emphasis on the differences between men and women. Transgender types are more apt to see gender as a continuum, a bridge between the sexes and a defining personal quality. I suspect this is one of those words like 'Love' that the English language imbues with multiple and unenlightening meanings." "But Richard," Martha responded, "I'm sure you realize that defining gender roles is one of the most crucial aspects of a society. If you blur the lines it causes all kinds of problems. Just look at what happened in the business world when women started to hold management positions. It's been 20 years but we are still arguing and trying to understand what effects it has on business and society!" What had I started? I was starting to feel like I was holding a symposium in my kitchen! In this case I was literally saved by the bell, the doorbell that is. I left the two of them to the more esoteric reaches of gender identification and opened the door. I was greeted by a head of blond curls with wide eyes and a beaming smile. "Hi Aunt Sherry. Where Papa?!" The grandkids were here, no more deep discussions, just a lot of excitement and hugs. Martha and I got our share, but Papa Bear was the true center of attention. --- One of the nicest parts of having Richard for a housemate was the family visits. Both of his daughters were lovely people, and I really enjoyed having the children around the house, even if it meant having to hastily remove small, breakable things from the lower shelves. It was times like these I regretted never having children. Oh, I realize it would have been a disaster with a drunk for a husband, but still... I guess being Aunt Sherry will have to do. I quickly grew fond of Richard's daughters. Camille was not all that much younger than me and I really liked her. If we had grown up together she would have been definite best friend material. In fact, she and the family had come over a couple of times while Richard was gone because we enjoyed each other's company. Rose, his younger daughter, lived quite a ways away so I didn't see her as much, but I liked her too. One day Camille confided in me. "I'm so glad Dad found you and Martha to live with. When he moved in I thought he was crazy! I was so scared that you would freak out if you found out about his dressing. He may look like something out of a monsters-r-us movie but he's really sensitive about how people will react when they find out. "Rose and I practically had to drag the secret out of him with hot tongs when I was about 15. We knew something was going on with that locked closet in the basement when we were kids. It wasn't too hard to find where he hid the key and see what was in the closet. Ugh, he had horrible taste! Ugly fat lady dresses and jumpers and stuff like that! It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on, anyone who watches TV knows about crossdressing. Besides, he had a stack of magazines in the closet and he had even written a biography. It was odd reading that, but even talking about dressing in women's clothes he sounded just like Dad. I suppose we kind of crossed the line reading his personal stuff, but there was no way we could NOT read it when we found it. "I have to admit that I was a pretty rebellious kid back then and I really got off on shocking my folks. Problem was they were both so liberal and understanding it was pretty hard to do. Even bringing home Biker Boyfriends didn't work, they just treated them like normal people. You can't imagine how frustrating it was! "I thought this would be a sure fire, guaranteed way to cause trouble. It was just before school started and we were talking about shopping for new school clothes. I said something like 'When we go Pop, Rose and I want to help you pick out a pretty dress so you won't have to wear those ugly things you have downstairs.' "He was so funny, he had no idea we had figured it out, not a clue! Mom was trying real hard not to laugh. I love him dearly but he does have some big blind spots. He blustered and tried to deny the whole thing but we wouldn't let him get away with it. I'm glad now I had the sense not to quote some of his biography at him, that would have been too much, but I came damned close! Anyway, he finally talked about it a little, but not very much. What we didn't expect was that he gave us a book about the subject and told us we had to read it before we talked any more. I guess he was trying to find a way to tell us or he wouldn't have had that book, but by the time we got done we never again considered trying to stir up trouble like that again! "Anyway, Rose and I had a great time shopping for school, it was the first time dad wasn't looking at his watch and rolling his eyes while we tried to find something that wasn't totally ugly! We got him a real nice dress, too. Royal blue crepe with a high waist (you've noticed his tummy) slit skirt, high neckline and long sleeves. He kept arguing with us but we wouldn't give in - but he just wouldn't wear it around us. "After that it wasn't hard to convince Daddy to go shopping with us as long as we helped him pick out something pretty for himself. It took a while but he started to show some interest in fashion and he threw out those ugly dresses. Mom even made him some stuff, but he still wouldn't let us see him wearing any of it. It wasn't until years later, after Mom left, that I got to see him dressed up. Rose was away at school and I had moved in with Finian by then, so he had the house to himself. I have to admit I deliberately didn't warn him I was coming to visit and timed it knowing he would be dressed up. Hell, that wasn't that hard because I knew he would be dressed up every solid minute while he was alone! I still had the key so I just opened the door and walked in. You ever notice how his ears turn red?" I heartily agreed! "Well they practically burned off his head. It was sneaky but someone had to convince Dad we could love him no matter what he was wearing, especially with Mom gone. Besides, I was very curious to see what he looked like, so that's just what I did, I wouldn't let him into the bedroom to change and made him sit down and talk to me. Damned if he didn't scoop his skirt and sit gently with his legs together, he must have been practicing. I told him I wasn't leaving until he told me all about why he likes to dress up. It took a little work but I finally got him talking and we spent the whole afternoon together. "I think that's when we started treating each other as adults. It's hard to get your parents to realize you've grown up, some people I know have folks who still treat them as babies and they just let them get away with it. Not that Mom or Dad were all that bad but now that I have kids I know how hard it is to let go, and my oldest is just starting day care. We really talked, not only about crossdressing, but about everything. We were both surprised at how differently we felt about some of the incidents growing up. I told him some of the things he never found out about, like the party when he and Mom went away for the weekend. He wasn't as naive as I thought, though. He knew damn well when I started smoking, and when I got smart and stopped, too. I thought I had hidden that perfectly! "Anyway, he didn't hide and change clothes when we came over after that. When Finian and I got pregnant and had to move back in with Dad he just dressed any way he wanted to and everything was cool. He was working 2nd shift when the baby was born and he would happily entertain Erin all night while we slept. It wasn't until she started getting aware of the world around her that he stopped dressing up around her, but by then he started working days about then so we never really talked about whether Erin should see Papa in a dress. "Sherry, I'm not really sure how I feel about Erin seeing Pop dressed up! I don't want her to grow up prejudiced, but you know what he looks like in a dress, what's a little kid going to think?" "I don't know what Erin would think, but I've never seen a dress on him. I don't think Richard trusts me that far yet." "You haven't? The silly old bugger! He trusts you Sherry, believe me he thinks the world of you. I feel like you could be my sister. I guess it's that Southern aw-shucks upbringing he can't seem to get rid of. He hates to do anything to hurt anyone and sometimes he goes overboard" "Well, I'm happy to wait and let him do what he wants when he wants to. I made a vow when I started renting rooms I would stay out of my housemate's personal life, but that was before I realized what having housemates means you ARE each other's personal lives. Besides, I'm not so sure I wouldn't get the giggles seeing that beard over a dress!" "Yeah, it is pretty funny. He did shave once when I was a kid and he looked so strange! I actually cried when I saw him and refused to be seen in public with him at first. That was before we knew about the dressing. I don't know why he refuses to shave it off. I mean, he'd still be the world's ugliest woman but at least he would have a chance! I guess Dad's just weird." "It's more than that, Camille. He once told me it was his way of letting your mother know he wouldn't hurt her with his dressing." "That sounds like Dad. I wonder what he'll do when the divorce is final?" "I don't know, he's still pretty broken up about the whole thing." "I guess. He and Mom are wonderful parents, but they just couldn't live together. They've been cool about not running each other down and Rose and I try to do the same. I'm glad they can at least be together at the kid's birthdays and such." "Yeah, I never would have believed it after my divorce. Your mom seems to be pretty nice from the couple of times I've met her. I couldn't spend more than 5 minutes alone with my ex without screaming but your folks are downright civilized about it! Too bad they couldn't have worked it out." "Don't I wish, but it was brewing for years. Rose and I knew Mom was going to split long before she could admit it to herself. They both tried but there was just too much to get past. Well, I have to get home or the babysitter will start screaming. It's been a great afternoon, Sherry. You're the greatest!" --- Things really didn't change very much for a while. We did talk about his crossdressing sometimes, and it provided wonderful opportunities for secretly shared jokes. Then one night about 1 AM I was down in the kitchen satisfying a sudden craving for bagels and lox. I was really hoping to fall asleep soon so I hadn't turned on the lights, the little nightlight was enough. As I sat at the kitchen table I heard footsteps on the stairs. The kitchen light blazed and there was Richard, wearing a very pretty blue flowered nightgown and bunny slippers. Naturally his ears turned red when he realized I was in the kitchen, they always do when he's embarrassed. Having heard him coming I was ready and determined to be accepting. "Hi Richard." I said blinking in the sudden light. "Want to join me for some lox and bagels?" "Oh - Sherry!" "Well, don't just stand there, silly, sit! You must be hungry or you wouldn't have come down. I like the nightgown, it's very pretty." "Uh, thanks." Well, at least I wasn't being ma'amed! That was progress of a sort. It was a bit odd at first to be sitting at the kitchen with a bear in a nightgown, but I soon stopped noticing. This was just my buddy Richard after all. He still flew about the country like always, came home with culinary goodies and was the perfect housemate. We talked a bit, noticed that the food was gone so he toasted a couple more bagels. I watched as he moved around the kitchen. Strangely, he reminded me of my grandmother, who had been a rotund woman with a potbelly much like his. Unlike Gram, who was blessed/cursed with massive breasts that spilled out of the largest bras she could find, Richard was nicely proportioned. There was something odd about his breasts, however. I could remember being a small child and watching Gram jiggle and wiggle whenever she moved. Richard's were too still, they didn't move properly. We nibbled our bagels and talked some more. I noticed a bit of cream cheese had fallen off his bagel and was resting on his breast. I tried hard not to stare, I really did, but I couldn't help it. Damn! I was getting as bad as the jerks who think my breasts were put there for ogling. Stop staring, girl! I couldn't help it, I reached out with my napkin and brushed it off. "One of the hazards of being a woman, Richard." There went the ears again. "Richard? Uh, how do you... I mean what do you use to..." I trailed off, feeling more awkward than I've felt in years. "They're fiberfill, quilt stuffing from the fabric store. During the day I use a pair of mastectomy inserts, but they're too heavy for sleeping; they keep falling out." "Oh. You actually like to wear a bra when you sleep?" "Yeah, Emily couldn't figure it out either. By the time we went to bed she was always happy to take her bra off. Not that I wore mine when we were together, we both agreed my crossdressing would stop at the bedroom door. But yeah, I really like to wake up and feel a bra around me. I'm not getting too personal for you, am I?" "Silly man, of course not. Richard, I like you, you're a good friend and a wonderful person. I said it before and I mean it, I don't care what you wear around the house. If you're comfortable wearing a dress with us around we don't mind. You have very good taste in clothing, by the way. If I could fit into them I'd love to borrow some of your outfits. You must spend a lot of time shopping." "Well, I do have a lot of time when I'm on the road. What better way to use it than finding a good bargain? I have my favorite shops in most of the big cities where I can find nice clothes big enough for me. It's been kind of a tradeoff. Years ago there were lots of little places run by independents but the designers only made things in my size out of black or ugly floral prints. These days I can walk into just about anyplace and find a colorful plus size dress, but all those little independents are gone and the cities have lost most of their regional flavor. Big malls and chain stores just aren't as much fun for shopping!" "A man who likes shopping? Richard, you are a gem!" "Aww, Sherry..." "Aww nothing. Martha and I both think you have great fashion sense, it's a shame to leave those pretty clothes hanging in the laundry room. This weekend you can show me how that red number with the vest and pleated skirt looks. I'll loan you my ruby earrings to go with it. Deal?" "I just don't know..." "Richard, you are the most exasperating man. Rose and Camille and their families tell me you're cool about dressing up around them, and I consider them the sisters I never had." I picked up the knife and wiped the cream cheese off it. "I hereby anoint thee Sir-rogate Daddy to all in the Royal Household of Queen Sherry." I touched his left shoulder. "You are enjoined by the Queen to treat her as you would your natural daughters, hiding nothing from her royal self." I touched the other shoulder. "You are commanded by the Queen to appear in proper court attire or suffer the consequences!" "I quake in fear at your majesty, oh Queen. May this humble servant inquire what the consequences might be?" "I'll smash this damn bagel into your beard if you don't do it!" Do queens giggle? I couldn't help myself. So much for the haughty Queen Sherry. "I'm going to bed, Sir-rogate Daddy, see you tomorrow!" --- My little bit of impromptu theater worked. Saturday he wore the red dress. Martha and I were simultaneously pleased and just a little bit amused. We had asked for this but he really did look funny. We were careful to compliment him and tried hard not to make a big deal out of it. Funny thing was, by the time evening arrived it seemed almost normal. Granny always said you could adjust to anything given time, but I was amazed at how little time it took. I wonder what she would have thought of Richard. He was always considerate of our needs, tactfully being sure he wouldn't upset any of our plans, and we made sure he knew if we were going to have anyone over to the house. Not much different from before, we just had another reason to talk to each other and keep the communication flowing. We went shopping together sometimes, and we always got a kick out of helping him pick out something new. We both grew to value his advice as well, he did have very good taste. We settled into a nice routine and the months passed quite amiably. --- The letter came while he was away. It was very thick and had the return address of his lawyers on it. I knew it had to be the divorce papers, it wasn't that long ago when I got an envelope like that myself. When my divorce was final I threw a party, but I knew Richard wasn't going to be happy when he got the news, even though he was expecting it. His family meant the world to him, and my first thought was to call Camille. He was going to need all the support he could get when he got the news. It wasn't until his Camille answered the phone that I realized it was their mother who was the other half of the divorce and this might not be the best idea, but I plowed on. I told her about the letter and she confirmed it, Emily had gotten her copy yesterday. We couldn't decide what to do either, but she promised she and Rose would be over Saturday. Martha came home and found me moping at the kitchen table. "Why the long face?" I pointed to the letter. "The divorce is final. God, I never thought I could feel so sad about a divorce! Poor Richard, he's going to be miserable." "Well Sherry, it's up to us to help him through this, isn't it." Not a question, just a statement. What else are friends for? "What can we do, Martha?" She made face. "Sherry, how does Richard cope with stress? He's been here almost a year now, you know?" "He has, hasn't he? Well, he gets kind of quiet and pulls into his shell for a while until he works it out. He cooks up a storm. Sometimes lately he even talks to us about it." "And..." "Okay, okay, he gets dressed up!" "Bingo. So what is he going to want to do when he reads the letter?" "Cry when he thinks we can't see, then get dressed? Right?" "Right! But this time is different. Something very dear to him is over and won't ever come back. He's going to look at it as the end of things. I think we need to help him see this is a start, a rebirth, not an ending. He just needs a little push to do what he really wants to do." "So what do we do - rent a bulldozer? He's still the most stubborn guy I know when he sets his mind to it." "What we do is make damn sure he knows we're his friends and we care about him. We treat him like a king when he comes home, show him that he is a wonderful person and make sure he has the support he needs to keep going." "Martha, we don't treat him like a king, though. We treat him like a queen, or better a debutante. If this is the start of a new life then we need to do it right." "Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" "Martha, would you ever have dreamed of not only living with a man old enough to be your father but conspiring with your landlady to help him be a woman for a little while? Would any sane person think of that?" "I repeat - why didn't I think of that? However, I can think of something else we need to do." I waited. "If we're going to stage a coming out for him then he's going to need a party dress. I say we should find him something special and do this up right. And we buy him a razor and make it clear it's time to use it. Deal?" "Deal!" --- So we went shopping. Sizes were no problem, do you really think I hadn't looked at the tags in his clothes? Size 3X dresses, 48C bra, panties size 9, pantyhose 4X. The numbers boggled my mind. The difference between 36 and 48 doesn't seem all that much until you hang my bra next to his, when the bigger one looks like it is three times the size of the smaller. It was a good thing Richard had mentioned his favorite stores for bargains because, while we wanted to do something special for our friend, money was still tight for both of us. I did have the fleeting thought that I had rented my rooms to make money, not to spend it on dressing up their occupants. Having friends can lead to some funny contradictions, can't it? We found a perfectly lovely, very feminine two piece at Dots. It was light summer outfit in cream and light brown with an ivy and floral pattern. (No, it wasn't even remotely like those silver on black fat lady prints he had talked about!) The fabric was sheer with a satin lining, ruffles at the sleeves, neck and hemline. The skirt was ankle length and it had and it had a loose, full fit that suited a mature figure. Of course we both found something for ourselves, with Dot's prices it's hard to get out of there without both arms loaded with goodies. Mine was pale green which sets off the red highlights in my hair and Martha chose blue. These clothes just shouted "Garden Party!" so that's what we planned for Richard's homecoming. We hit the mall next. When you need expertise you go to the experts, so we hit the cosmetics counter at the big department store. Have you ever tried to buy cosmetics for a friend? It's not as easy as it sounds. Descriptions are chancy - black hair, skin tone somewhere between her and me - not much help here. It was painful. As a liberated woman I'm not sure Martha even uses mascara, let alone the array of powders and potions behind the counter. I use makeup sometimes, but not too often. Not that I was a novice, as a teenager I used a year's supply every week, but with maturity comes a modicum of good sense. I look pretty good in just my skin and I damn well know it. I'm not going to get painted up to catch a man (Mom's taken over from Grandma on that score) because that would only mean I'd catch a man who wants a painted women. I already got rid of one of those, thank you. Do you perhaps have a picture? The saleswoman stared as we both broke up. What the hell - I pulled out Richard's picture and showed it to her. "He's shaved since this was taken." I hoped I had a straight face. To my everlasting surprise she simply started giving us advice. We left with a package of war paint of suitable strength and the address of a firm that sold a cover especially made to hide men's beards. Who would have thought such a thing would even exist? They had even more advice on how to turn Richard into the woman of his dreams. The next stop was a small artisan's mall. This was one of my favorite places. It was an old factory that had been converted into small shops with an astonishing array of handcrafted merchandise, none of which would be found at a chain store. When I had gotten married the wonderful jeweler there had made our rings. I still wore mine (on the right hand, silly!) because it was just too beautiful to leave in a drawer. We found a superb pair of amber colored earrings with matching necklace to go with Richard's dress. They dangled and swung, catching the light and sparkling. As we left I had to laugh, it struck me as supremely hilarious. Here we were, two women who wore skirts once in a blue moon buying and ultra feminine dresses so we would not clash with a bejeweled man in a dress. I wondered if Grandma would have any words of wisdom for this situation, but her voice remained silent in my head! --- On one hand we couldn't wait for Richard to come home so we could show him our surprise, but every once in a while we remembered we were doing this because he was going to be hurt. The days dragged, that damned letter just sat there on the table in the front hall and it stared at us each time we passed by. Grandma's voice was quoting platitudes like: "Don't borrow trouble" and "Waiting for ice cream is much more pleasant than waiting for the jury" in my head. It was distracting. We knew his plane was arriving at early Saturday morning, so Martha and I found excuses to be waiting in the living room when he arrived. At last there came the sound of a key in the door and he was home! We heard the thud of his suitcase, the rustle of paper as he picked up the mail. Martha and I silently rose and went to join him. There were no words, they weren't necessary. His eyes were shining, close to tears. For the first time since he moved in I hugged him and Martha was right there with me. I felt very small next to this bear of a man, but between us Martha and I let him know he wasn't alone. His friends were with him, to share his pain and be with him. I felt his arms move around us as he accepted our offer of love and support. Finally the moment ended, as all things must. "Richard, we know it won't make up for what you've lost, but today we want to treat you to something special. You're our family now and we intend to pamper you like you've never been pampered before." Martha removed the letter from his hands. "There's a present from us upstairs. Just this once don't argue and let us be nice to you, please?" "Yes ma'am!" She gave him a little push and he went up the stairs shaking his head. Just this once I didn't mind being called ma'am at all. We followed him up and steered him toward the bathroom. The shade was drawn, the scented candles were burning, filling the bathroom with the aroma of strawberries. In the glow of the candles I turned on the water and poured in the bubble bath. Martha handed Richard a small, gaily wrapped box, complete with bow on top. Take a nice long bath, we want you to be totally relaxed and peaceful so you can enjoy the evening to the fullest. It's our turn to treat you to a garden party in the back yard and it's going to be formal so we expect you to dress for the occasion! If you use this present we have another it waiting for you when you're done, but that's up to you and we love you no matter what you decide." We closed the door and left him to take his bath. "Will he do it?" "I hope so, Martha. We couldn't have hinted harder if we tried. If giving him that fancy razor and shaving cream doesn't work then nothing will." There was nothing to do but wait, so we changed into our party dresses and waited, but we did so in the kitchen. Since we had planned a picnic there was no time pressure. The Martha and I chopped salad veggies, the chicken was marinating for the grill. We had searched Richard's cookbooks with determination. Serbian potato salad with ham and beets and aromatic spices, curried garbanzo beans, a pasta and vegetable salad with homemade dressing and baklava for dessert. The wine was chilled, the grill ready for a match. He didn't have to call us, as soon as I heard the bathroom door open (it squeaks rather loudly) we practically flew up the stairs. Would he or wouldn't he? He was waiting for us with a silly smile on his face, which we could see clearly for the first time. "All right you two, you win. Maybe we all win this one. I've wanted to do this for quite a while now but just couldn't break my word. You'll have to forgive me if I scare the local critters or the neighbors but here I am." "Richard, you couldn't scare a flea!" replied Martha, giving him an impulsive hug. "We want you to be happy, and this is your day to start a new life. We handed him the box with the dress in it." "Yeah, right. Even if I found a princess to kiss me I'd still be a frog. I am never going to be beautiful or even feminine, no matter what I do." I couldn't let this pass. "Richard, let's get one thing straight right now. Beauty is a concept that comes from within. It has very little to do with how your body is made. It isn't defined by fashion or your hairstyle or your waistline. Beauty is spiritual, and you have more beauty in you soul than anyone I know. You may be old enough to be my father, but I want you to listen when I tell you that the woman in your soul is a beautiful part of you and we cherish and love all of you. Right now we intend to help that woman come out and be free, but you have to be willing to let her out." Martha continued when I ran out of words. "Sherry's right you know. Being feminine isn't all about looks. You've heard me go on about beauty contests and the screwed up fools that run them, don't let that sick sense of fashion make you feel unworthy! Richard, if wearing women's clothes helps you feel beautiful then we want you to cherish that beauty. This is all about what you feel, not about what anyone else will think. "Now open the box, already!" He did and the tears began to leak from his eyes. "Stop that." I gently chided. "If you're crying you'll mess up your makeup. Now get changed and come into my room, we need work on the exterior beauty for a few minutes." I guess Richard has some things to learn about being a woman, he was dressed and ready far to quickly; I had barely finished Martha's face. She had conceded that just this one time some makeup would be appropriate. He knocked on the open door. I was pleased, the dress suited him well. "Come in and sit down, Richard." He did. "It seems funny calling you Richard right now, you know." "I go by Rachel when I'm on-line or writing letters." "Well Rachel, let's see if I can do a credible job on your face." I ran my fingers over his now hairless cheeks. "Nice close shave there, but you're a bit irritated." You try shaving for the first time in 15 years and see if you don't get a bit testy yourself!" "Smartass! Well, no makeup would ruin our plans for your debut so I'll try to be gentle. I think you had better let your face get used to shaving before using it regularly, though." I spread moisturizer on her cheeks and rubbed it in. "Let that sink in and we'll do your hair. What do you think, Martha, shall we tease it up and puff it out, or should we do a perm and give Rachel some nice, tight ringlets?" Okay, I was being nasty, but Rachel was so much fun to tease. It only took her a few seconds to realize I was joking but that newly bare face was quite expressive! We settled on adding a bit of body and wave with the curling iron and sweeping her hair back so the new earrings would be displayed nicely. So much for the romantic part. To put it bluntly I was glad I had my teenage experience with heavy makeup to guide me, because beard cover or no that dark blue beard shadow did not want to be concealed. I practically had to use a trowel to layer on the foundation. I was beginning to see why some fantasies are best left unrealized. I persevered, blending and brushing until I was satisfied at last. Rachel watched wide-eyed in the mirror as if trying to memorize each and every step and nuance of what I was doing. She hardly could sit still when I had her close her eyes to do the eye makeup. Martha was standing by with the last of our little presents and when I finished she handed the package to her. "No tears, Rich - Rachel, remember your makeup. We wanted you to have this to go with the new you." Like a kid at Christmas she flung the wrapping paper into the air as she opened the box. The amber jewelry glowed as she deftly removed her own earrings and installed the new ones in their place. She stood and clipped the necklace around her and examined herself in the mirror. What she saw in her heart of hearts I don't know, but what I saw was an unusually ample but nicely dressed matron. The illusion was far from undetectable, but the bear who had showed up at my doorstep so long ago was nowhere in evidence. "Sherry, Martha, I simply can't thank you enough. You're the best friends I have ever had. I have wanted to do this for almost 40 years but there was never the opportunity to indulge myself without hurting those I loved. If I believed in God I would have to believe he had sent me to you, and it's in moments like this I can understand the power of believing in the deity." She hugged each of us, an experience that made me recall being a child in my grandmother's ample arms. Grandma was smiling approval somewhere in the back of my brain. "No opportunity to do a kindness is ever wasted, Sherry. Even if it's ignored you still profit from doing it." "Rachel, let me fix my face before I start blubbering. Lunch will be ready as soon as we get downstairs." --- For once everything went flawlessly. Martha grilled the chicken while I brought out the rest of the picnic. Have you ever seen pictures of those grand social events from the 1020s, the ones filled with women in flowing dresses and outrageous hats? That's what I felt like as I strode between the kitchen and the porch laden with dishes. Somehow, in helping Rachel to get in touch with her femininity I was rediscovering my own. I couldn't help but wonder how Martha felt, I would have to ask her later, but it felt remarkably good to be a woman at this moment. In the hustle of everyday living you forget just how nice it feels to get all dressed up in frills and frippery. I truly hoped my companions were feeling the same euphoria! Not much was said at the table, at least while any of the food remained uneaten. Sated at last, we both basked in Rachel's flattery, praise from an expert has a certain extra something to it. "Rachel, I would love to hear something from Connie Francis. Could you get your guitar and play for us?" As if I had to ask! We spent a marvelous time singing with Rachel, three ladies enjoying the perfect summer afternoon. In the silence after the latest song I heard the gate creak and the patter of fast running feet. "Papa!" piped a small voice. In our whirl of planning I had completely forgotten that Camille and Rose were coming over to be with their father. A bouncing ball of energy shot across the yard and landed in Rachel's lap, the guitar barely having been removed in time. Two year old Charlie, completely oblivious to any change in his Papa, snuggled down happily and proceeded to tell everyone about the cows they saw on the trip here. At a more sedate pace the rest of the family arrived. Did the girls warn their husbands that their father in law might be a changed person? In any case they didn't raise an eyebrow and willingly hugged Rachel along with the rest of the women in our household. It's traditional at this point in the story to say, "When things calmed down..." but those storytellers did not have three young children in their cast of characters. Since Rachel's lap was still occupied Erin (the three year old) brought over her book and we read about Clifford the Big Red Dog while Martha made faces and noises at baby Morrina. That' s Erin's younger brother if you're trying to keep things straight, which isn't easy. When reading palled the lawn sprinkler kept them amused for quite some time. Perhaps my gaffe was the best thing I could have done. Rachel didn't have any time to get nervous about what her children would think. I was worried at first that the presence of two outsiders might be unwanted while they worked out how Rachel fit into their family, but I needn't have been concerned. Like I said before, Camille had become the sister I never had and in a strange way Martha and I were Rachel's new family. We were welcomed without reservation. When we noticed we were again getting hungry Finian joined Martha and me in the kitchen to see what we could put together. He was as at home in the kitchen as Richard; we companionably scrounged the cupboards for pasta and whatnot. We danced around each other like it was choreographed, stopping every once in a while to see what caused the latest squeal of glee in the back yard. This usually involved a youngster chasing or being chased by Rachel. I tasted the sauce Finian had whipped up approvingly. "As good as anything Richard has ever produced! Camille is one lucky woman, Finian." I paused and couldn't help adding "You don't share any of her other proclivities, do you?" "Quite a few, in fact, but I'm not going to be accompanying her to the ladies room if that's what you mean. I'll leave that particular quirk to her." We all laughed at he sardonic tone and deadpan delivery. "Isn't it amazing how the kids totally ignore the way Papa looks?" "No more so than what you two have done for Rachel. I had to come to terms with her, we were broke and about to have a baby and had nowhere else to live. Pop was as considerate of us as possible but after all, it was his house and we really couldn't ask him to change to accommodate us, could we? But you two didn't have to." "I don't think that's exactly true." Martha replied. "By the time we realized he was a crossdresser, Richard was family. He's more my dad than the man I never met. I know Sherry well enough to know she wouldn't hurt a friend, and Richard is our friend!" "She's right Finian. Somehow I can't imagine living without these two in my life anymore. Maybe from the outside it seems perverse but, Richard or Rachel, they're the same person once you get used to it." "Yeah, it's funny. It didn't take long to get used to seeing him dressed up, and on those nights he let us sleep while he took care of the baby he could have been completely naked for all I cared. I do have to say, though, while Rachel isn't going to win any beauty contests she looks a lot better than Richard in a dress. I was starting to think he would never shave that beard off!" "You and