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Pretty as a Picture By Cassandra Morgan Sometimes, all it takes is a photograph to put one's life into focus. I have lived as long now as I had before I saw the photo, but I have never forgotten it. I was a junior in high school at the time, one of those background students you barely noticed. I was an inconsequential football player for Forbes High School in a town called Smiths Station, Alabama, a quiet town just outside of Auburn. I was Ryan Sutton, but no could tell you that unless they had a game program. Like most of the guys in Smiths Station, I played football. Sort of. I was a spare-parts defensive back, a guy who never got to play unless someone led 45-0. But I liked being a part of something, clowning with the guys like I was one of them. Our secondary coach was a guy named Roy Hanning, a profane little bully of a man who liked to spit chewing tobacco and act as if he was one of us. But he was authority, and so he was a fixture at Forbes. He was that older teacher who called injured players "pussies" and "fags." One day in the spring, the off-season, we were all working out in the weight room when Coach Hanning happened by with the photograph. It was a full color picture, evidently cut out of some magazine. The lighting was nice, and the picture was surprisingly high quality. In the photo, a pretty brown haired woman was looking into the camera and smiling with perfect teeth and a twinkle in her eye. Her perfect breasts were exposed for all of us to see, large and perfectly symmetrical. Her hair fell perfectly on her shoulders, as if she was doing a shampoo ad. There was a next-door-girl look to the girl, clean and flirty and wholesome. Coach Hanning shoved the photo toward three of us. The bottom quarter of the page had been folded upward, a clue that something was amiss. So I reached down and straightened out the photo. And there it was. Her cock. It dangled, thick and long, beneath her legs, plump and tantalizing. It seemed out of place, foreign, wonderful. It was mesmerizing, hypnotic. Something caught in my throat. I was hard to tear my eyes away. But I somehow managed. I tossed it on Coach Williams desk. I acted as if I was disgusted. "We got a new quarterback, coach?" said Eddie Dixon. "I bet she doesn't have the balls to play cornerback," said Frankie Yeomans. Everyone laughed. I said nothing. I just shook my head and walked toward the bench press as Coach Hanning's laughter trailed behind me. "She's free for homecoming, Charlie," he yelled at me. "Take her to the dance." I started to work out. A few minutes later, Williams walked past me. He dropped the picture on my chest without a word. I sat up, and saw the weight room was empty. I reached down and picked the picture up off the floor. I folded it and slipped it into my backpack. I would tell you my attraction to it wasn't sexual, but I was erect. I admit it. I was intrigued. I was curious. I was a fascinated. I do not know what the years did with that picture. I kept it for the longest time. I stared at it every night for months. To be honest, I had heard of transgender people even then. I didn't live under a rock. But I had never seen one. Pornography was harder to find in those days, and the internet sites hadn't taken over. Caitlyn Jenner was a decathlon champion named Bruce. Laverne Cox was a guy named Roderick. Oh, Christine Jorgensen was famous, and Candy Darling was in a Lou Reed song. But that felt a long way from East Alabama. Most people didn't change genders in the deep south. Then again, I had photographic evidence. Upon reflection, I have no idea if it had been photo shopped. I just knew she was beautiful in her duality. I studied all parts (so to speak) of that photograph. Her brown eyes. Her perfect breasts. Her navel. And, of course, her penis. I studied the veins on it. From that moment, my life changed. My imagination was widened. When I closed my eyes and stroked myself, I'd do it with my brunette in mind. Was I gay? No, not exactly. I don't know what I wanted to do with the girl in the picture. Was I straight? No, not remotely. I wouldn't learn the term "admirer" for years, but I was hooked by my gorgeous transsexual. I didn't tell anyone -- not then -- but I could not close my eyes without imagining that picture. I am in my 30s now. I still remember that picture. I still remember the way it made me feel. You can call me names if you want. They're just labels intended to evoke emotions. Then again, so are photos. * * After that, I tried to learn more about the transgender lifestyle. There were movies -- Boy Meets Girl and The Crying Game and, recently, the Danish Girl. There were essays written about Candis Cayne and Caitlyn Jenner and Laverne Cox. There were TV shows -- RuPaul and She's a Lady. The internet has so much information on transgender women. When I was still 18, I went to an adult movie theatre. They had books and magazines in their lobby. I remember picking up a pair of trans magazines. I dropped them on the counter, embarrassed to buy them but powerless not to. The clerk looked at my purchase, then at me. "You like the chicks with dicks?" he said, smiling. I glowered at him. "Sluts with nuts?" he said. "Um...they're okay," I finally said. "Do you wear dresses, or do you just look at others who do?" he asked. I was a little annoyed at the conversation. "I like to look," I said, almost whispering. He nodded. He turned and picked out a couple of magazines from behind the counter. "Try these instead," he said. "The ones you picked are great if you're transgender yourself. They show a lot of girls in nice clothes. But if you want to see ... stuff, you'll like these better. Is that what you want? You want to see their dicks?" "Ye...yes," I stammered. "Then buy these. You can imagine you're sucking them off for hours," he said. "Try reading them while wearing a butt plug. You'll like it." I blushed again. I was embarrassed that anyone knew of my ... preferences. Even a sleazy clerk in an adult book store. "You'll be back, Sheila," he said. "We get a new shipment every Thursday. And, hey, don't be ashamed. We all have our kinks." I nodded. I rushed out of the store. I threw my purchases in the back seat. I laid my head back and exhaled. This had been difficult for me. I was ashamed of myself, ashamed of my magazines, ashamed of my desires. Finally, I reached back and grabbed my magazines. The clerk had been right. There were beautiful girls in various states of undress, most of the pictures focusing on their penises. The photos weren't as sharp or as professional as the first one, but they were good. There were men were posed a inch or so away from their cocks, their mouths open as if to invite penetration. There was a photo of one man licking the small penis of one of the models. I was instantly hard. Why? Why did transgender women affect me like this? Girls -- girls by birth -- were pretty enough. They were sweet and they smelled nice. So why was I attracted to one with a cock? Was I twisted? Was I weird? Was I the guy that all the boys had joked about at lunch break? I discovered there were movies. There was an actress -- Sulka was her name -- who I found fascinating. I imagined holding her, kissing her. I imagined her making me perform oral sex on her -- if she made me, I wasn't responsible, right? * * Before I turned 18 I got a girlfriend. Kathy French, a bubbly brunette. It was true that I would have preferred a transgender girl, but they weren't exactly available in the want ads of my morning newspaper. Kathy laughed a lot, and she was pretty. I could do worse. But I do have to admit this. On Saturday nights, when I would park my truck and we would start to kiss, my mind would wander. I imagined she had a penis. I imagined that she would demand that I kiss it. I imagined her naked, showing me her breasts and her dick. I knew what my buddies would say. They'd call me gay and a fag. But that wasn't quite right. I looked at guys, considering them, and nothing happened. I looked at girls (besides Kathy), and nothing happened. But I looked at the magazines stuffed away in my closet, and I could dent steel. I decided there was a DMZ between straight and gay, and that's where I lived. One night, after a movie, Kathy and I were alone in my bedroom. We started making out again. She placed my hand on her breast. She grabbed my crotch. "Nothing?" she said. "I'm sorry, Kath. I'm tired. That's all it is." "Is it me?" she asked. "No, baby. You're great." "Is it you?" she asked. "No, no," I said. "I told you. I'm worn out." She scowled. "You were worn out last week, too." "I'm sorry, Kath." "Ryan...would you rather be with someone else. A guy maybe?" "God no, Kathy. I'm not gay. I swear." She shrugged. "Well, something is going on. You need to be honest with me." I nodded my head. I stood and walked to my closet. I pulled out my magazines. I told a deep breath and tossed them to her. "Oh, my God," Kathy said. "What the fuck? These women are freaks. What are you telling me? You'd like me better if I had a dick?" I stared at the floor. I didn't say anything. "Are these real trannies?" she asked. "You like trannies?" "I...I can't explain it," I said. "Please don't tell anyone." "Shit, I ought to tell everyone. You're one of them." "I...I think they're girls, Kathy. I don't think of myself as gay." "They have dicks, Ryan. You have a dick. That makes you gay." I looked at her, the hurt in my eyes showing. "I've never been with any of them," I said. She laughed abruptly. "I don't think we have those in Smiths Station," she said. "Maybe Timothy West. I think he's gay." "Little Timmy?" "Yeah" she said. "No," I said, quietly. "What if he were to wear his sister's dress? Ah, you like that idea, don't you? Timmy used to go every Halloween as a girl. As a princess or a witch or a bride or a maid or Catwoman. Maybe there is something there. Why? You interested?" "Kathy...I love you." She smiled. "No, but we're too young for that shit anyway. Ryan, I'll be your friend, okay? You're going to need a friend if you're going to date girly boys. So what do you do with them? Kiss their dicks? Fuck their butts?" "Kathy...I don't know. Kiss, I suppose. Touch." She shook her head. "So," she said. "You want to wear my dress?" I sighed. "No, Kathy. I don't want to be a transgender girl. I just like them." "Have you tried it? You could wear my cheerleader's uniform if you want. My prom dress from last year? What do you Ray-Ann?" "No thank you. That's not my deal. I'm weird enough without that." "Well, if you change your mind, I'll make you pretty. And you think about calling Little Timmy. I'm sure he'd love to fuck a football player." She got up. She walked out of my bedroom. Someone else knew my secret. I hoped she wouldn't tell. * * I saw Little Timmy after English class the next week. I stopped and casually asked him how he was doing. "Why?" he said, clearly nervous that a football player was talking to him. "Just wondering," I said. "We don't talk much these days." "Don't hurt me," he said "I'm not going to hurt you," I said. "I'll help you with your homework if you want," he said. "But can I wait til tomorrow?" "I don't need help with my homework." "I don't have any money," he said. "Timmy, calm down. I was just being friendly. I just said hi." "The last time someone said hi, I went home without any pants on," he said. "Well, that's not me." "Okay...whatever you say. But can I go now?" "Just relax. We're just talking here. I was wondering. I heard something about you. Are you...I mean....Are you gay?" "Oh, God, you're going to beat me up. I knew it." "No, damn it. I'm not going to hurt you. Kathy mentioned you were gay. I wanted to tell you that's okay." "It...it is?" I shrugged. "People are different." "Are you ... gay?" Timmy asked, "No, I'm not," I said. "Not really. Timmy ... can I ask you something? Do you ever wear women's clothes?" His eyes darted around. "What have you heard?" "I heard that you can be pretty," I said, fudging the truth. Kathy hadn't said anything about that. "I also heard that you like coffee. Maybe you and I could go drink coffee some time." Maybe that was too far over his head? He looked at me. "Do you like boys who dress like girls?" he said. Damn. Now three people were going to know. "If they're sweet," I said. He seemed to stand a little taller, as if he knew he was in control now. "You can pick me up on Saturday," he said. "We'll drive across the Georgia state line. We'll have a date." "Well, coffee anyhow," I said. "A date," Timmy said. "Complete with a goodnight kiss and everything." I swallowed hard. "Okay," I said. He smiled at me. "If you want," he said. "The goodnight kiss doesn't have to be on the lips." * * I swung by Timmy's house about 6 p.m. on Saturday. I wanted him to come out to the truck. He didn't, so I slowly walked to the front porch of his modest home across from Highway 431. I knocked on the door. I was scared. And nervous and curious and excited and aroused and hungry and titillated. I was going on a date with a boy in drag. I wanted to run away, and I wanted to toward him. A pleasant looking woman answered the door. "Oh, you must be Ryan," she said. "Please come in. Tammy is still getting ready. You know how girls are." I blinked at her. "Timmy is Tammy when she's a girl," Mrs. West said. "So. How long have you two been dating?" "Ma'am...we're just going out for coffee. This is the first time we'll be ... going out." She smiled. "I think it's sweet," she said. Then she became more serious. "Do you know how many boys have asked Tammy out? Zero. Oh, a carload of the rough kids used to come by on the weekends to ... have their fun. But Tammy has led a lonely, lonely life. So don't you hurt her, Ryan. I know gay people force the sex issue. They sleep together before either is ready for it. But, emotionally, take it easy on my girl." "Mrs. West...has Timmy...Tammy always been like this?" "Always," she said, smiling. "He was the sweetest child. He liked dolls, and he liked dresses From the time he was a toddler. We never really had a choice. It was reject her or accept her. We chose to accept her. There are gay people everywhere, Ryan. And there are people who hate gay people everywhere. I'm just waiting for someone who can love Tammy for who she is." I nodded. "He's lucky to have a mom who cares." "Maybe he's lucky to have a boyfriend who cares." I smiled. "I'm not his boyfriend," I said. "But you might be yet," she said. "I can see your nervous, Ryan. But don't be. Gender doesn't matter. I used to think it did, but it doesn't." There was a noise from the back of the house, and a pretty young girl stepped into the kitchen. She had long blond hair, and small breasts, and legs to die for. Her lips were pink. She was wearing a blue dress and heels. And I was mesmerized. My heart fluttered. "Tammy?" I said, standing. "Hi, Ryan," she said. "I wasn't sure you'd make it." "I asked you, didn't I?" I said. "I guess I'm going to have to learn to trust you," he said. I grinned. "Don't do that. I'm a scoundrel," I said. "Good word," Tammy said. "Now caffeine me, and maybe I'll take advantage of you." I blushed. I looked over. Mrs. West was smiling. "Be ... good... to ... her," she mouthed as we left. * * Tammy slid over on my truck's bench seats until her hip was touching mine. She looped her hand into my arm. "I told everyone we were lovers," Tammy said. "You...what?" I said. "I told everyone we had a date and that I was going to suck your cock," she said. "I told them I couldn't wait to put my dick in your ass." "You didn't," I said. "No, I didn't. Of course not. I was scared you were going to be a no- show, remember? But would it bother you if I had? Would it scare you?" "A little," I admitted. "I know it shouldn't. But I'm not ready to be known as that gay guy dating the other gay guy." "I understand," she said. "But what if I get pregnant from your big manly penis?" "Stop it," I said, laughing. "I'll stop it when you pay child support for Ryan Junior," she said. "You're insane," I said. "A little," she said. "I'm just happy. I haven't had a date since Tommy McCloud last year." "Oh. Your mom told me you didn't date." "What a mother doesn't know..." he said, giggling. "Tommy is a good kisser." I grinned. "It's your life," I said. "Strange life," she said. I squeezed her hand. She reached up and kissed me on the cheek. I pulled the truck over. I learned over and kissed Tammy on the mouth. It was impulsive and bold and reactionary, and loved the feel of her lips on mine. Yes, this is who I was, and this was what I wanted. "Fuck coffee," she said, sliding her tongue into my mouth. Oh, eventually, we did make it to Starbucks, and we had a nice time. We talked about The Society on Netflix, and Auburn football, and Alabama football, and sexual preferences. She had a frappe. I had a mocha. We held hands. I kept glancing at the door, afraid of discovery. She smiled, knowing what it was like. "You got lucky with me," Tammy said. "Most gay guys don't dress up. You know that, right? But I do." "I know I was desperate," I said. "Gee, thanks," she said. "No, not like that. I'm the way I am. I needed to find a partner. I am glad it was you." "Me, too. Tonight is worth four years of being gay." "Only four?" "Tomorrow, we can go for four more." I kissed her hand. "Can we leave?" I said. "Tired of me?" "Tired of Starbucks," I said. We ended up parking on the river under the full moon. Like all young lovers, we were a bit clumsy, a bit rushed, a bit innocent. But Tammy went down on me that night. And, yes, I went down on her. She filled my mouth, and I sucked her as hard as I could for as long as I could. If that made me gay, well, okay. I preferred to think of me as a man whose girlfriend has a cock. "Can I?" I asked. "Please." "I've read some trans don't like it when you mess with their thing." "It's a cock. And I love it. You're just kissing a part of me that I love." I discovered I loved it, too. It left me off-balance and skittish and nervous and , yeah, a little ashamed. But no longer was I confused. * * On Monday evening, Tammy came over. My parents were out of town, so we had the house to ourselves. Timmy was dressed as Tammy, with a gray skirt and a black blouse. She looked fantastic. We kissed, and I led her to my bedroom. She lay on the bed. I lifted her skirt, and I saw the outline of her penis in her panties. It was a lovely sight. I kissed it while she was still in her underwear. A word about the human cock. It's lovely. It's responsive, and it can be soft like water or hard like ice. I loved putting it in my mouth soft, and feeling it grow. Tammy didn't have breasts, but hey, some women are flat. I could live with it as long as she was feminine. Dicks are sweet, and they're soft, and they're warm. You can tickle them with your tongue or kiss them with your lips or suck them with your mouth. You can lick the balls or tongue the shaft and you can make them hard or make them soft. You can coax out the sperm as if was an oil rig. Straights will never understand how the weight of a dick feels in your mouth. I stroked the backs of her legs. She was wearing stockings, so it was a delicious feeling. I kissed her thighs, intent on working my way upward. I was in heaven. Tammy rolled over. Clearly, he wanted to talk before we fooled around. "I saw Randy Godwin today," he said. Randy was captain of the football team. I raised my eyebrows. "He just wanted to call me names," Tammy said. "But he didn't say a word about you. About us." "What could he say?" "He would ask me about my homosexual lover," he said. "He could call you a fag like he does me. Aren't you ready to come out yet?" "God, no," I said. "Why do we have to do that?" "Because it's honest," he said. "Because you like my dick. Because you're my boyfriend." I fell back on the bed. "Tammy, these are my friends. I don't want anyone to know how I feel. It's not their business. It's our business." "You're lying to yourself," he said. "You need to come out. You'll feel better about yourself." "I won't," I said. "I'll feel worse because everyone will know I'm a dirty cocksucker." Tammy flinched. "Is that what you think of me?" "Of course not. But this is a small town. I don't want that to be what I'm known for. I have enough trouble looking in the mirror." He smiled. "You're ashamed of me," he said. "Worse, you're ashamed of you. And until you get over that, I don't think we should see each other anymore." "Baby, don't be like that." "Look, it's my loss. I know that. I can go back to cruising Victory Drive for lonely soldiers. If you change your mind, if you accept who you are, call me. Otherwise, no dick for Ryan. Got it?" Tammy left. She closed the door with authority. And I was alone. * * The next day, I ran into Kathy again. Strangely, she acted like our previous conversation had never happened. "Hey, Rhino," she said. "How's my baby?" "I'm...I'm good," I said. "How are you?" "I'm great," she said, touching my chest. "I've got the best boyfriend." "Kathy...I went out the other night," I was speaking in a loud whisper. "With Tammy. I mean, Timmy." "Did you get it out of your system? I hate blowjobs. I figure if you gave one, you'd be done with that girly boy thing." "Kathy, it's not like that." "Rhino...come into the women's bathroom with me!" "I don't want to get caught." "Screw that. Come on." She pulled me into the C wing women's bathroom. It was empty. She grabbed my hand and tugged me into the last stall on the right. She dropped her skirt. "Kathy, we can't." "Hush," she said. "Now look at this." She dropped her panties, and there is was. A very large, very angry strap-on dildo. "Touch it," she said. "Kathy...what are you thinking?" "I'm thinking my boyfriend likes dick. So I drove over to Fort Benning and bought one at this sex shop. Do you like it? Want to kiss it?" "Kathy...it's not the same thing." "But if you close your eyes, and I fuck your ass, won't it feel the same?" "It'll feel ... fake," I said, "I appreciate what you're doing. But it's like a model airplane and a real airplane." "Oh, hush. Bend over." "Kathy. I'm not going to ..." "Why not? This is all for you." "Kathy, we need to think about this. It hits me wrong, I've got to tell you." "What if I give you liquor to get my dick drunk?" "Kathy. No. I mean, I'd love it if this did it for me. But it doesn't. I've had too many fake relationships in my life. I don't want sex with a plastic dick." "Fine. Fuck you. There are plenty of guys who want me. Well, guess what? They're going to get me. I want you to think of that. Think of Larius on top of me. Or Bobby. Or would you rather think of them on top of you?" She sighed. "My boyfriend is queer. Jesus." She spun. She walked out. A tall black woman walked in and looked at me. "Can you leave, perv?" she said. "I got to pee." I hurried away. I still wasn't sure where I was going. * * * Over the summer of my senior year, my family went to New Orleans. Interesting culture. Great restaurants. Bourbon Street, the kinkiest street in the South. There are the voodoo shops. There are the strip bars. There are the jazz houses. There is the Cafe DuMonde. The entire French Quarter is sin on parade. It was odd being there with my parents. But they were early sleepers, and by 9:30 p.m., I was walking the streets by myself. There was one shop in particular that called to me. It was called Shalimar, and it was in the place the famed Gunga Din used to have its business. If you're interested in trans girls at all, well, this was Mecca. A lot of famous drag queens, I read, worked at the Gunga Din. Outside, they had photos of their dancers. Most of them were very pretty. But I was only 17, still too young to enter. I was standing there, looking at a photo of Sheena McDowell, when a man approached me. "Pretty, isn't she?" "Yes. She is." "You like?" "She's very nice," I said quietly, as if being in New Orleans wasn't enough protection. "You don't want to go in here." he said. "Tourists go here. Hell, half the dancers here are real women who couldn't get a job dancing anywhere else. Go to Uncle Betty's, which is farther down on Royale. That's more of a lounge, and you can talk to the girls. Get to know them." "I'm only 17," I said. "No one will check," he said. "And if you don't want to go to Betty's, well, my girl Denise will take care of you." He nodded his head. A very tall black woman, clearly a hooker, winked back at me. She had a hard look to her. She was clearly born male, not that that bothered me a lot. "Fifty bucks, and you don't have to play any games," he said. "She will blow you, or you can blow her." "I...I don't have that kind of money," I said. "Your loss, kid," he said. "But it's okay. The Rotarians are here from Little Rock. Denise will find a friend soon." He disappeared into the night. And I started to walk down Royale. Uncle Betty's was next to a Cajun Restaurant. It was unassuming, and its sign was small. It seemed to suggest that tourists were welcome, but that the joint wasn't chasing them down. I slid in the front door. It was a friendly place, music from the jukebox, women and men scattered around the room. Some of the women were more convincing than others, but most of them smiled when they saw me. At once, I was at ease. I took a stool at the bar, by myself. I wanted to soak it in, to drink a beer and get comfortable. "How about a diet Coke instead," the bartender said. "Ah, hell, give the kid a beer," a large woman said, sitting next to me. "I'm Daisy. And you are..." "Ryan," I said. "Pleased to meet you, Ryan. Are you from anywhere?" "Alabama," I said. "Roll Tide," she said. "Other school," I said. "What school is that?" she said. "Tuskegee?" I started to say something, but she laughed. "I'm kidding, Ryan," she said. "I'm a big college football fan." I looked at her. "What? A guy can't like panties and a football?" "No, it's not that. I just didn't think I'd be talking football in a place like this." "Hell, we can talk about all sorts of subjects, Ryan. The smartest women I've ever known started out as men. There are girls in here who can talk about rifles and hunting and the new line of heels from Prada." "I'm sorry," I said. "I just..." "It's okay, Ryan. So why aren't you dressed?" "Oh I ... I don't dress. I like the girls who do, though." "Oh. An admirer, huh? I've never quite understood a man who will date us but doesn't want to wear a dress. I mean, dresses are the best. Hell, I even let my wife borrow mine." I guess my eyes grew wide. "Yes, I have a wife," Daisy said. "Tess. Most of us like girls, you know. Studies show that. My wife and I have been married for 13 years. This isn't a big problem in our marriage." "Tess sounds nice," I said. "You got somebody?" Daisy asked. "Not anymore," I said. "She wanted me to come out. I wasn't ready." "I"m thinking about coming out," she said. "I mean, I wear dresses and heels every day, and my makeup is pretty good. You think people are ready for me?" I smiled. "I think they might have a clue, Daisy." "Damn. I try to be discreet, too." Daisy stood. She motioned to a young girl across the way. "This is Janie," Daisy said. "She's the prettiest girl here." "Aw, Mama," Janie said. "You're so sweet to me. Hi." "Ryan," I said. "Hi Ryan," Janie said. "Is Mama trying to hook us up?" I grinned. "I don't know," I said. "You're out of my league." "And what league is that, Ryan?" Janie said, grinning. "Mostly a league in my imagination," I said. "I did have one girlfriend, but I let her slip away. I wasn't ready to come out." "It's hard," Janie said wistfully. "I had to come out three times to my parents. They just wouldn't listen to me. You know how people from Texas are." "Probably a lot like people from Alabama," I said. "Hey, do you dance?" she said. "Not well," I said. "Dance with me," she said "I like a guy's arms around me." And so we held each other, and we kind of swayed to a slow song. Janie smelled nice. She felt nice. Were those breasts? Real ones? Her hair fell across her forehead, and she grinned. "You'd look good in a dress," she whispered. "Not me," I said. "I don't wear women's clothing." "You will for me, though. Won't you?" "Maybe. But I won't get anything out of it." Janie looked at me. "You want to get out of here." she asked "Of course I do," I said, hardening. We walked out. Daisy smiled as we left, as if she had been a successful matchmaker. We walked into the night air. I thought Janie was going to take me to her apartment, maybe to a late-night coffee shop. Instead, she took me to darkened elementary school. She sat on a swing-set and twirled. We talked for hours. About the way she grew up. About the way I grew up. About the trans women she admired (Michelle Headley, Jamie Howell), and the ones she didn't (Caitlyn). We talked about New Orleans. Finally, she walked up to me, rose on her tiptoes and softly kissed me. "I'm not going to fuck you," she said softly. "Not tonight. Tonight is G-rated. Tomorrow I'll rock your world. But I want you to like me first." I kissed her again. As it turns out, she was 23, a former student at Tulane. She had had four lovers -- three men and one trans woman -- but she thought of herself as innocent. In the days to come, we made soft, sweet love repeatedly. Her penis was small, but it was still active, and she wasn't one of those girls who thinks it should be ignored. She had the cutest tiny testicles, which I loved to nuzzle. She was the person who taught me about the joy of receiving anal sex. I grew to love it. She had her own breasts, and she was proud of them. She wore a plug in her butt. She owned s bondage collar. Her biggest kink? One night, she pulled down her panties, and she was wearing some sort of contraption over her self. "It's...it's under that?" I said. "Yes, baby. It's my chastity belt. I wear it to keep me aroused." "But it's got a lock on it." I said. "Yes," she said. "But I have the key. But first,I want you to play with it." And so I tugged on the tube, and I tried to get the lock off. I tugged and shifted it. I tapped on it. It was immovable. She giggled. She handed me the key. I unlocked it, and pulled off the tube. She sprang to life then, free at last. I kissed it. She grabbed my hair and pushed my face deeper onto her. She fucked my face furiously. Me? I just submitted to it. "I know you don't like being a girl," she said. "But will you wear lipstick for me?" I nodded. I could do that much if she wanted it.. "I love you," I told her one night, the night before we left Louisiana. "Stop that kind of talk," she said. "But I do," I said. "I want you to come home to Alabama with me." "That's a silly idea," she said. "I live here. You live there. Besides, aren't you the boy who wouldn't even come out? Now you're going to bring home a girlfriend who isn't a girl?" "No one will know," I said. "Baby, everyone would know. I'd tell them. I'd brag about it." "I could move here," I said. "You're 17 fucking years old," she said. "Who's going to pay me to babysit? Time isn't right for us, Ryan. You know that." I wiped away a tear. "I'll be back," I said. "I know," she said. * * * When I was 26, I finally went to a professional. Her name was Mistress June, and she was a dominatrix. I was nervous about it. I envisioned whips and chains and a bitchy attitude. Still, sex is hard to come by when you live in a small town. I had heard about her in a gay bar in Columbus, however, and so I dialed her number, and she invited me over. I showed up at her door, looking like every rube from Alabama. I should have been wearing a straw hat. An elegant looking woman in a black dress opened the door. "Are you my appointment?" she said. "Yes, I am." She smiled as if she was about to invite me in for tea. "It's Mistress," she said. "Mess up again, I'll cut off your balls." She was still smiling, and her eyes danced. But her voice came from hell itself. I had no doubt she was serious. "Sorry, Mistress," I said. "I should tell you about me..." She turned and walked away, leaving her door ajar. I stepped inside and closed it. I followed her to a large room with leather chairs. I stood in front of her, saying nothing. "Let's start over," she said. "I am Mistress June. I do not care why you are here, or what you want. I am a transexual mistress, and I will look into your soul and decide what you need. If I decide you need the crop, then you shall have it. If I decide you need to dress in a wedding gown for a family reunion, you will only wonder how big your veil should be. Are we understood? "Yes, Mistress," I said, not understanding at all. Didn't she want to know that I fancied trans women? Didn't she care that I liked cocks? Or, somehow, did she know already? She fastened a collar to my heck. She had me disrobe and kneel onto the ground. She hung a "Sissy" necklace around my neck, even though I didn't think it belonged. I wore a maids dress. I cleaned. I curtsied. I wasn't trans, but Mistress said the submissiveness was the important thing. "When you submit to me," she said. "You will do so completely. If I feminize you, I don't want to hear that you don't normally do that. If I lock you in my dungeon, you will merely hold out your arms and accept it. We don't do conditional surrender. We give up. Clear?" "Yes, Mistress," I said, wondering what I had gotten myself into. I didn't want to get feminized. I didn't enjoy bondage. I wasn't even sure I liked Mistress June." She stood in front of me. "Do you wish to escape?" she asked. "Your eyes keep darting around as if you are looking for an exit you can use to get away. Is that true, Ryan?" "..No...No, Mistress," I said. "Okay. We will begin slowly. There is a maid's uniform hanging in the spare bedroom. You will shave, and you will put it on. Then I will spank you, and we will go from there." I swallowed hard. I had not signed up for this shit. But slowly, I dragged a razor over my shins. I put on panties, a bra and then the dress. There was a blonde wig on the nightstand, and so I put it on. Hose. Heels. Again, I got no sexual thrill from any of it. But being commanded to wear it was different. I shuddered as I thought about her. I walked into her great room, and she smiled. "Did I tell you to wear the wig?" she said. "But I thought..." "It's okay, girl. I'm just giving you a hard time. I was going to spank you anyway. So I need you to lay across that footstool. I want your panties down. Now." I hurried into the commanded position. I felt a stripe of pain at her first blow. There would be 10 of them, all deep enough to leave a mark. She approached me again. She pulled down her panties, and once again, there was a strap-on penis there. She used me, hard and fast, me whimpering all the time. Tears were rolling softly from my eyes. I continued to lay on the stool. Mistress June looked at some index cards. Finally, she frowned. "Wait," she said. "You're Ryan? You're my two o'clock, not my 1 o'clock. Right?" "Yes, Mistress," I sniffled. "Well, shit. I've got the wrong victim. I mean, the wrong appointment. Will you ever forgive me?" "Yes, Mistress. I ..." She burst into laughter. "That gag gets them every time. There is no fucking mix-up Ryan. I just believe you have to break the will of your customers before you can make any progress. Now slide off this stool and suck my cock, and afterward, you can fold my laundry." I looked at her. She was pathological. And I was in over my head. I was at her mansion for two weeks. I never got out of my maid's uniforms. I cooked and I cleaned, and at night, she locked me away. She dragged the submission out of my soul. On Thursday, the doorbell rang, and I scurried to get it. At the door was Jamaal Lucas, one of my old football teammates. He entered, then he did a double take. "That you, Rhino?" he said. I bowed my head. "Yes, sir," I said. "Well, aren't you the pretty one?" he said. "I always knew there something about you. You fucked Tammy, right?" "But no one knew..." "Fuck that," he said. "Everyone knew, cocksucker. We used to joke about it at practice." "Shit," I said. "Sir." He chuckled. "Some boys are meant to be girls," he said, looking at my uniform. "It's not like that, Sir," I said. "It's exactly like that," Mistress June said as she entered the room. "Ryan is now Breanne. She's my maid. If you want, she will suck your cock at dinner. You will have your soup, and she will have hers." Jamaal grinned. "That sounds like a perfect meal, doesn't it, Breanne?" "Yes sir," I said, softly. "Then kneel in front of his chair and put on your shackles," she said. "You need a sparking. Be a good girl, and I won't forget to give you your titty tablets tonight." I knelt. I felt hot tears. I opened my mouth. She looked down on me. She laughed. "By the way," she said. "Tammy says hi." * * When is a maid set free? It is when her Mistress becomes bored with her. I was out now. I was wearing boys' clothes again, and no makeup. Again, I had no natural inclinations toward that lifestyle. I just wanted to find a nice girl someplace east of San Francisco, somewhere, without enlisting in the Navy and flying to Thailand. It was time I went home. I walked slowly toward the house near 431. It seemed smaller somehow. The neighborhood seemed rougher. I knocked at the door. And there was Tammy. Older. Prettier. Happier. "Hi," I said. She looked at me, and then her eyes hardened. "It's about fucking time," she said. "I'm sorry, Tammy. If I had been braver..." "Then we might have had a happy life," she said. "I know," I said. "You broke my heart," she said. "I was ready to be yours forever, but you wouldn't claim me." "I should have," I said. "I'd like to now." She stared into the distance. "My mother died," she said. "She never knew if I would be okay or not. I've spent all these years here being the neighborhood queer. I dressed in women's clothing, but I never had my operation. I do have my own boobs now." I nodded. "I had to grow into knowing who I was," I said. "I made a lot of mistakes along the way." "Most of us do," she said. "So are you grown up now?" I swallowed hard. "I think so," I said. "I am what I am." "Okay," she said, making up her mind. "We take it slow. We go to church together. We hold hands on the walking trail. You get my name tattooed on your ass." I grinned. I nodded. "We announce our engagement in a month. I'll wear white. You wear a tux. Or maybe one of your maid's dresses." "Ouch. You heard about that?" "Everyone heard about that, Breanne," she said, laughing. "June is a friend of mine. She knew we had a past. It was easy once she found out you were a client. She swore she'd get even." "She did." "So are you ready for everyone to know who you are?" I nodded my head. "I'm not afraid anymore," I said. "I'll take care of you, Tammy." "And I'll take care of you, too. Now kiss me and tell me you love me." And I did. And I do. Copyright, Cassandra Morgan 2019