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The Secretary Experience Chapter 1 I was a pudgy, straight A student all through high school and my good grades carried on into college where I was able to earn my four-year degree in less than three years. I thank my parents for my work ethic. Thanks to them I was able to put aside frivolity and focus on my studies. Thanks to them I was able to do what I wanted to do; thanks to Bonnie, I was able to be who I wanted to be. But I'll get to her. I graduated from Auburn University - go Tigers - with a degree in business administration. It wasn't the most masculine of degrees, I didn't set out to become a high-powered lawyer or a top-notch neurosurgeon, but that was the point. You see, I'm a cross-dresser and have been most of my life, well at least the part I can remember following a lucky discovery when I was a much younger man, and I didn't want a stressful job. I wanted something far simpler. I longed for something different than most men I knew. I guess I should back up a little bit and at least introduce myself. My name is George McNeill. Or at least that's my given name. George is the name I no longer use; I use the one Bonnie gave me. But I'll get to that in time, too. I was born, to quote an old, bad joke, at a really young age. I grew up in southwestern Alabama near the Mississippi line. My mom was a housewife; my dad built ships in Mobile. I remember him coming home one day with a grin on his face and a bottle of champagne in his hand, boastful how he was working on the Navy's newest destroyer and how, thanks to him, the commies were going to be sorry. His smile was infectious, and I miss it. My parents died in a car crash nine years ago. They were around to see me graduate from college and then, less than four weeks after that joyous day, a drunk driver sideswiped their car, spinning them around and sending them over a steep embankment. I got the call that I was an orphan the day after I was hired as a junior manager at a relatively large retail store chain. I wouldn't be working at the stores, not at all. I would do administrative work at the corporate office handling spreadsheets instead of customers; handling memos instead of sales. I didn't want anything more than that and after getting the news about my parents I didn't need anything more. I had a simple life doing a simple job that I handled with ease. The death of my parents left me numb for about six months. For half I year I went through the motions of life. I woke in the morning, long before the sun came up. I went to work, not really caring how I looked or what the day would bring. And I would go home, fix me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a bowl of cereal or if I was feeling especially depressed, I would skip dinner entirely because getting off the couch seemed to take too much effort. Work was simple but my heart wasn't in it. I was written up, twice, and then a third time. Then on a dreary Friday afternoon, Mister Howser, my immediate supervisor brought me into his office, told me how sorry he was about my folks and that I should take some time getting my head right. What did he know? Had his whole life changed with one single phone call? Had he ever had to answer the phone and hear a stranger apologize for the call and then receive news as tragic as anything written by Shakespeare? "I'm sorry, George, but we're going to have to let you go?" I heard what he said, and I understood the words, but I didn't really care. I think that was the point and that was probably why I was let go. I did not care. Everything I had cared about had been taken from me by a careless drunk moments after he reached for the warm beer in the cupholder, pulled it to his lips and took one long, disgusting pull. The driver attempted to put his beer down, missing the designated spot and dropped the beer onto the floorboard on the passenger side of the car. "Shit," he said, slurring the words. He glanced at the road, not really seeing anything but his warm beer spilling onto the stained floor mat out of the corner of his eye. He reached down, cussed again, looked at the road one last time, and then fumbled for the beer can that was just out or reach. He turned the wheel, moving closer to the beer; closer to what he needed more than anything in the world. That's what was written in the police report. The officer on scene, the same one that had called to give me the heartbreaking news had penned the words exactly as the drunk had slurred them. That warm beer, spilling onto a beige carpet stained with old ketchup, mud, and booze had been what that careless driver had needed more than anything else. For that he took my parents and left me an orphan. "George?" I looked up, seeing Mister Howser wearing a sad frown. "Sorry." "Look, I get it. But this is a place of business. I can't tell you what to do but if I can offer you some advice?" When I didn't say anything he continued, "take care of yourself. Do something for you. If you need therapy, get some. If you need to go away, then go away. You need to find something, anything, that makes you happy. Search for it. Find it. Latch onto it. You're not really living; you're just getting by. Try to find a life." Did my boss, my ex-boss, just tell me to get a life? "Uh huh," I said, sounding like a teenager even though I was twenty-two years old with a degree in business administration and a minor in law. He was right. I only lasted as long as I did because the work was so simple. Maybe the work was beneath my skills, but I looked at it as a steppingstone to something far greater and something far more desirable. I guess I'll get to that as well. My boss shook my hand and wished me well. It was a final dismissal. I thanked him for his time. Another gift from my dead parents. Manners. It was something else I wished I could thank them for. As far as I could tell they raised me right. Only after they were stolen away had things turned wrong. I left the office, giving the six-story building I'd worked at for almost half a year one final glance. The experience would look good on a resume, should I ever need one. Leaving work for the last time that day I didn't know that I'd have my own run in with a drunk driver and how my life would change again because of a can of beer. ***** The light in front of me turned green. I looked left and right; a habit that had been amplified by the death of my parents, and moved into the intersection. I watched the road, looking for the disaster I knew had to be heading my way. Didn't tragedy come in lots of three? First, I lost my parents then I lost my job. Okay, maybe that was unfair as there had been a six-month delay between those two things but that was where my thoughts were spinning. I was expecting tragedy and if there is such a thing as a self-fulfilling-prophecy then Fate or God or the Universe surely had a great sense of comedic timing. It happened in slow motion, as if time was a liquid thing that was slowly freezing. I was driving past a Walmart, the parking lot overly full, when I saw it. A large SUV, one of those black one you see in movies that the villains always drive, was coming towards me, bouncing over the median that separated our opposing lanes. The SUV bounced, scaping over the concrete curb, sending a spray or orange sparks flying from the vehicle's undercarriage. The metallic spray looked impossibly bright in the early evening gloom. The SUV kept coming. I heard a horn, another. I heard the brakes from some unseen car locking up as some driver tried to avoid was swiftly approaching. I glanced to my right, at the lane next to me. I could see another car in my blind spot, casually oblivious to what was coming. I couldn't turn into them, not at the speed I was going. I braced myself, slamming on the gas. The SUV was close, too close. I thought if I hit the brake, like that unknown driver I'd heard a moment before, then the inevitable collision would be head on. No, I needed to go faster, to paint the rear of my Corolla as the target and not the part of the car where I was sitting. I hit the gas, lurched forward and then felt the collision. The SUV struck the door behind me. I felt the lurch and spun to the left, my face inches from the terrified face of a young man with impossibly short hair. His eyes were wide and red, and his cheeks were as ruddy as Rudolph's nose on Christmas Eve. Our two vehicles spun in unison, locked together now as one large, clumsy unit. I felt a terrible agony in my right arm, hearing a bone crack. I could smell burning rubber now but couldn't tell if it was from the accident or from that earlier driver that had locked up his wheels to avoid the accident that I had seen coming both with my eyes and my prescient heart. We kept spinning and now I was facing the wrong way. In front of me half a dozen cars were stopping but one wasn't stopping fast enough. I watched, trying to brace my arms against the steering wheel and failing when a fresh wave of agony raced along my broken arm, as another car moved forward, hitting mine head on. I lurched forward, feeling the seat belt crushing my ribs. I felt the steering wheel shift inward. And then the world went dark. ***** "Welcome back, mister McNeill," I heard a voice I didn't recognize. The words were muffled, like I was hearing them from someplace far away. "There you are," I heard, this time the words sounding clearer. Finally, they sounded normal, "do you know where you are?" "Hospital," I said. "Not sure which one." "That's good, that's very good. I'm doctor Raine and you've been in a terrible accident." I tried to nod but couldn't seem to. My head felt at once heavy and light. I couldn't move it, but it seemed to be floating like that red balloon in that movie by Stephen King. The one with the scary clown. I shut my eyes, blocking out the overhead fluorescent lights that were far too bright. I could feel my nose wrinkle. My mouth tasted like charcoal left over from some holiday picnic. My lips were dry and cracked. My head hurt; my arm hurt more. I could feel it inside a cast. "How bad," I said, not surprised that it came out strained and weak and saddened by the fact that it did. "You've been in a coma for three weeks. It was pretty bad." He went over my injuries, from the trio of broken bones in my right arm and the broken wrist in my left. He told me about the crushing injury I received in my chest as the head-on collision collapsed my steering wheel and airbag into my body. He told me of the lacerations on my face and how my head had sustained some severe trauma when my head snapped into the headrest of my seat. "Three weeks?" He shrugged. "Almost four." A month. I'd nearly lost a month of my life because of some reckless driver. Somehow it made perfect sense. Tragic events happen in lots of three and this horrible accident completed my trifecta. Doctor Raine was a thick man with even thicker glasses. He had short, gray hair that was spiked on top with a cowlick that he couldn't quite tame. His lab coat had a small mustard stain just above his name badge. I looked at the mustard stain, at its strange, odd shape and wondered if my car looked anything like that little, yellow smudge. "When can I go home?" He gave a little chuckle. "We'll see. I'm keeping you here at least another two days. We've got to get your strength up. Do you have anyone who can help you at home." He nodded towards my prone form, "those casts aren't coming off for a few more weeks." I thought of my parents, lying in side-by-side graves down in Alabama. I thought of Clark, my best friend, a guy I met in college. He lived in Idaho doing agricultural experiments on potatoes. I thought of my boss, Mister Howser, and how he'd apologized when he told me that he'd have to let me go. I didn't have anyone; I was alone in the world. That thought filled me with a claustrophobic sense of grief. Just thinking about it made me cry. I couldn't help it and I couldn't stop if I wanted to. I felt my head begin to hurt even more and my bruised ribs seemed to scream in agony as I hitched a deep, anguished sob. I shook my head. "Sorry." Doctor Raine said nothing. He flashed me a smile that I couldn't understand. Was he being kind or apologetic? Did it even matter? "We'll work something out. I'll send someone in to take your vitals. I can't sign off on solid food yet. Maybe tomorrow." He checked the machines that were monitoring my life. Everything about me was summed up by the little numbers and graphs on the small boxes hooked to my body. Is that all I was? Just a machine whose systems could be monitored like a gauge on a cars instrument panel. That thought depressed me even more, sending a few new tears falling from my dark green eyes. I lay there feeling sorry for myself and feeling ashamed for breaking down in tears. I hadn't meant to, and I couldn't really say what prompted my emotional outburst. Was it the medicine they were feeding more or was it more than that? Was I depressed? I thought about what my doctor had told me; I'd been in a coma. Did the reality of that fuel my sorrow? I didn't know and lying there I didn't really care. I didn't care about anything. And that was it. I recalled how Mister Howser told me to get a life, admittedly in a far kinder way. I thought of the life my parents lost and how mine was almost snubbed out as well. Maybe my boss had been right. Maybe I did need to find something more. Something that would make me whole and well. Something that I could look forward to and actively accomplish instead of going through the expected motions, not really caring about what I was doing. Hadn't just existing led me to getting fired in the first place? A uniformed officer knocked on my door, interrupting my thoughts. "Mister McNeill?" "Yes?" I said, licking my lips and trying to moisten my dry mouth. The officer was a large black woman. She looked to be about thirty, maybe thirty-five. She had dark black skin with even darker hair. Her teeth were arctic snow white and when she smiled her whole face lit up. She had a genuine aura of niceness about her, like she would give you the shirt off her back in the middle of a busy shopping mall even if she was naked underneath it. I smiled back at her. I couldn't help it. Maybe the same universe that laughed with comic timing, sending a car careening into yours, could send an angel just as easily. Just seeing her smile somehow lifted my spirits. "Can I help you?" She introduced herself before saying, "I came here to get a statement about the accident. Are you up for it?" I tried to nod, failed, and gave a wan little grin. "Sure." "Great!" She pulled up a chair. Somehow her face became even warmer, like that of a grandma seeing her granddaughter for the very first time. It was radiant. She pulled out a pen and paper and prodded me to tell her what happened. I brought my arm up to dry my eyes, taking in the weight of my cast. It seemed heavy. Everything seemed heavy, from the blanket draped over my body to the sorrow I was somehow feeling. I used the blanket to wipe my face and coughed into the crook of my elbow. "I'd just been fired," I admitted, feeling a fresh bout of shame. Was getting fired another way of saying that I was a failure? I cast the thought aside; my mood was already low enough. I told Officer Hutchins about the accident, how I'd seen it coming and how I spotted the innocent car in the lane next to me and knew I couldn't swerve into them. I told her how I'd braced myself for the impact, holding both of my fractured arms in the air for emphasis. I finished the admittedly short story with finding out that I'd been in a coma not ten minutes before she walked in. She pulled out a photo. "Do you recognize this man?" I did. It was the same man that had hit me only in the picture his cheeks were a lot less red. He was gray and lifeless. I nodded and this time my head did move. Not much, but surely more than it had when Doctor Raine had told me about my injuries. "Is he the one that hit me?" "Yes. His name was Charles Lipman." Was. I heard the word and matched it with the cold, gray face. "Did he die in the accident?" "Yes. And now, thanks to you, we can close this case." She explained the accident and the outrageous blood-alcohol content of driver with the ruby cheeks and the terrified eyes that had targeted mine as our cars did a pirouette, locked together like fingers in a Chinese finger trap. She pulled two business cards. "If you should have any questions," she said, "you can reach out. And this," she pointed to the card on top, "is the number for Mister Lipman's attorney. There's a settlement set up." She gave another of her warm smiles. "It's pretty big." I thanked her, holding the two business cards between a pair of fingers. With my casts, I couldn't hold them any better than that. My fingers would have to do. "I'm glad you're okay, Mister McNeill." I smiled and it was genuine. "Call me George." She smiled again and gave me a little nod. "Thanks, George." It was the last time I ever asked someone to call me by that name. I lay in bed thinking about what Officer Hutchins said. I was to receive a big settlement from the accident. The money would be nice, but I really didn't need it. I guess that's a pretty good problem to have. After my parents died, I was the sole recipient of the half- million-dollar life insurance policy that my mother had on her and the two-million-dollar policy on my father. Couple that with being the beneficiary of my dad's retirement account and I had well over four million dollars in the bank. I didn't work because I needed to. No, I worked because I wanted to, and I had had a goal, one that was interrupted by the death of my parents and my ensuing depression. Now it seems I'd have even more. "Try to find a life," my boss had said on the day he let me go. Lying there in bed, my thoughts returned to what he said and what I had wanted to do for as long as I could remember. I think I've mentioned that I'm a cross-dresser. I love women, yes, and everything about them but I love their clothes most of all. From silks to lace, from skirts to heels. The more feminine the better. I learned this about me a long time ago, well before I could put words to what it was that made me feel good. It was more than sexual, though that is a big part of it, probably the first part of it. The part that started it all. Chapter 2 Three days after waking from a coma I walked into my house. It had a musty smell and felt overly hot and just a bit oppressive. I could feel the weight of the place, like it was scolding me for being away for far too long. If I had known how depressing the inside of my house would feel I'd have taken far longer to unlock and open the door, not that that had been easy with both of my arms in casts past my elbow. The Uber driver had offered to unlock the door, telling me on the drive how shitty I looked and that she'd be happy to help. Just that offer, tinged with some underlying pity had made me snap. "I got it, thanks," I'd said, sounding every bit as harsh as I felt. Now, standing in my kitchen I felt even worse. My house smelled stale and I could almost taste the thick air. I made me way from room to room, struggling to open every window. Fresh air rushed in and I was happy about that. Or as happy as I could be. Since being discharged I'd felt nothing but anger, frustration and sorrow, like I was living my parent's death all over again. I didn't know why. I didn't understand what was driving me down. I glanced at my imprisoned arms and thought maybe I had a reason to feel the way I did. With the windows open and all the ceiling fans on as fast as I could get them to go, I made my way back into my kitchen. I leaned against the island and looked at the refrigerator, almost too afraid to open the shiny silver door. With how bad my house already smelled did I really want to open that icy prison and make it worse? No, I didn't. "Fuck it." I turned away from the refrigerator and walked into the family room. I plopped myself down on the couch, picked up the remote and turned on the tube. I flipped through the channels, finding nothing that held my interest. The Oriels were playing the Braves and I didn't care. Penny was being scolded by Sheldon for some imaginary slight and I was more than disinterested. Some superhero was blowing up a building trying to save the world from Armageddon, and I found myself dropping the remote and rooting for the villain. That would at least match my mood. The movie ended and another one began. Jennifer Lawrence was shooting a bow and arrow and I wondered what it would take for me to be her target. Before the movie ended, I found myself sitting in a slightly less stuffy room staring at a large television screen and not really seeing what was on. Outside the sun had set, coating the whole night sky with my mood. My stomach growled and that sound soured my already black outlook. "Fuck it," I repeated, climbing to my feet. Back in the kitchen I braved the refrigerator, opening the door. The light came on and I wish it hadn't. Some vile smell assaulted me worse than the one that had been attacking Steve Rodgers. It was bad. Worse than bad. It was a vile, putrid thing that had mass. I could almost hear the flies buzzing that should have been there. Roadkill probably didn't smell that horrible. I shut the refrigerator, deciding that I'd have to buy a new one. Fifty minutes later I was eating pizza on the patio listening to the sound of some frog croaking in the pond behind my house. Even that sound, one I normally enjoyed, seemed as somber as a sad country song, the kind of song where the love of your life dies after some long, lingering illness. Something was wrong with how I was feeling. I knew that in a deep part of me, the part that hides your secrets from everyone including yourself. I didn't normally feel so morose but following the accident, I awoke from a coma hearing I'd lost a month of my life. That was both fresh and distant. As far as my mind knew I'd been fired just two days earlier and so that wound was new as well. The coma and coming home to an oppressive, smelly oven was just icing on an already shitty cake. I finished my pizza and sat in the dark. The moon was barely a sliver and I didn't know if it was coming or going. I hadn't been around to watch its trek. That was another dark thought. I kept having those. Every little thing reminded me of what I missed. I threw away my empty pizza box and went around the house, closing the windows I'd only just opened a few hours earlier. I locked the doors and went to bed hoping I'd wake to a new day feeling more like my old self, the me I was before I'd lost both my job and a month of my life. If I needed to find something to make me feel better than I would search forever if that's what it took. I couldn't go through life feeling like I did. If I did my life wouldn't last much longer. I'd end it just as surely as a drunk driver had taken the lives of both my mom and dad. I would search for something positive. I didn't have to search. Bonnie found me. ***** I awoke to the sound of someone ringing my doorbell and knocking at the exact same time. Knock, knock, knock; ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. "Ugh," I grunted, sitting up. I glanced at the alarm clock. It was almost noon. Had I really slept that long? Why did large swatches of my life just up and disappear? The chorus at my door repeated. "I'm coming!" I shouted but doubted whoever was at the door heard me over their incessant banging and ringing of the bell. I donned a pair of shorts that were now hanging from me. Another byproduct of being in a coma, I guess. I had lost nearly forty pounds. Where I had once been just a tad on the heavy side, I now looked to be far too thin. Maybe I was at a healthier weight, but my reflection hadn't look right. I hadn't look like me. That was something else that was stolen from me by my thankless coma. I thought I was too skinny, like that of some macabre scarecrow in some B-grade horror movie. The doorbell rang out again followed by another trio of knocks. I made it to the door, throwing it open as the doorbell rang again. Standing in the doorway was a lovely woman maybe a few years older than myself. She had hair that was both blonde and brown, the two intermixing like she didn't know what color she wanted. It seemed to fit her, gently framing her warm face. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a simple baby blue cardigan. Her purse, a simple brown Michael Kors bag was hung on her shoulder. "It's about time," she said, her smile lifting her cheeks and making her face shine. "I thought I'd be out here for...ev...er. Do you know how long forever is George? It's like," she brought one hand up and lifted one finger, then another, a third, counting out something in her head, "a really long time." I had to smile. She had an air about her that was playful, and I found myself drawn to her. My smile faded as soon as I saw the ring on her hand. She was off the table. Not that it mattered much. I wasn't really in the right frame of mind to date anyway. Besides, what woman would have me with the things I had long wanted but had never truly pursued. "Can I help you?" I asked. She'd said my name, so she knew who I was, but I had no clue who was standing at my door. She held out the hand that had rang the bell, "I'm Bonnie and I'm your home healthcare provider, your physical therapist, your shrink and, oh, anything else I need to be." She smiled again, even larger than the one she'd first given me. "Oh, don't look so scared. I don't hardly bite." I tried to take in all she said but she was two steps ahead of me and I'd just woke up. My mind still seemed to be struggling to find neutral while Bonnie had already shifted into high. "Home what?" "Oh, invite me in." She raised her eyebrows. They were brown not bicolored like the hair atop her head. I stepped aside. "It smells in here," she said. She had a slight accent that I couldn't place but it was lovely. She brought a hand up to pinch her nose. Then she laughed. It was high and light and full of merriment. She wasn't scolding me it seems. She was making a joke. "I'll have someone here tonight to clean the place." "Why, I mean who, I mean, what's going on?" Bonnie ignored me. She walked into the large family room, glancing at the tv and the remote that was sitting on the floor. She looked out the twin French doors that led to the back yard before turning right and walking into the kitchen. She placed her purse on the marble countertop. "You've got a nice place, George. A little stuffy but we'll take care of that shortly." She pointed at the refrigerator, "let me guess - don't open that." I had followed her into the kitchen. "No. It's a lost cause. I'm going to buy a new one." She made a noise, "I'll have it taken care of, too." "Who hired you?" She laughed again; it was a lovely sound. "You did, silly." The look I gave her caused her to frown. "You don't remember?" "No. I'm sorry." She pursed her lips, looking at me quizzically. "Come here," she reached out and took my hand. She pulled me to the living room. She picked up my TV remote and set it on my marbled coffee table. "Sit down, please." I sat, feeling apprehensive and confused. Bonnie had been overly playful but now she had an air of concern and an equally stern look on her attractive face. She sat on the coffee table across from me. She had me follow her finger with my eyes, moving it from one side of my head to the other, from my chin to about six inches above my head. While moving her fingers she said, "Remember the following: fire truck; ice cream; chihuahua; nineteen." She chatted with me, her hands on my knees, watching me. I felt like I'd been stuck between two pieces of glass and placed under a microscope. She was studying me, taking in my responses to her questions. "What did I ask you to remember?" "Fire truck," I began. "Um, ice cream. And nineteen." Nailed it. "Great," she said but the look on her face showed that it hadn't been great. I'd gotten it wrong though I couldn't see how. "I missed something, didn't I?" "Chihuahua," she admitted. "How are you feeling?" I told her I was feeling fine but a little confused, "I didn't remember you saying chihuahua. Is there something wrong with me?" "Not at all. These short-term memory lapses are common after head injuries. Don't worry about it." She squeezed my hands and gave me a warm smile. "Now, why don't you give me a tour so we can see what needs to be done." I wasn't ready for that. "Did I really hire you?" Bonnie took my hands again, having released them in preparations of the tour she'd requested. "Right before you were released from the hospital we met. Doctor Raine would not sign off on your release without it. It was a lovely introduction; we hit it off right away." She regarded the look on my face, "okay, then. Hi," she dropped my hands to hold one aloft. She waited until I took it, "my name is Bonnie McPherson and I'm going to be your home healthcare provider." She was so casual and didn't appear worried, but I was more than worried. I was almost in a panic. She said we'd met but I couldn't recall her or the conversations we'd had prior to my being released from the hospital. I chewed my lower lip, contemplating everything Bonnie had told me since she came storming into my house like a happy little leprechaun about to grant some wishes. She knew me and there was a warm camaraderie between us like we'd met and gotten along just fine. But why couldn't I remember her? I had asked that question as I shook her hand. Manners dictated that and my parents taught me manners long before they died. "The brain is an amazing thing," she said. "It can recover from so many things. Right now, you're what, a little befuddled? That's nothing. Give it time, George. You were in a coma for weeks. Give yourself time to heal. Your memory will recover. Trust me, okay?" I didn't know her well enough to trust her, but I knew me and if I thought she was okay then she had to be okay. She did know where I lived, she knew my name, and she was pretty, so having her around wouldn't be horrible. Far from it. "Okay, I guess." "Great!" She hopped up, no longer sitting on my coffee table. "Now, how about that tour so I can see what we need to do." I led her to the left side of my house. A short hallway off the family room revealed two bedrooms and a tidy bathroom decorated with a trio of shells hanging on the wall. A light blue towel hung neatly on a silver hook opposite the toilet. A matching rug rested in front of the tub. Opposite the bathroom was a linen closet full of towels and sheets, washcloths and blankets. To the right of the bathroom was my office. A small laptop computer sat on my desk with a single lamp resting on the desk. A pair of bedrooms sat at the opposite end of the hall. Each room was decorated the same. A single queen-sized bed covered in a soft yellow bedspread, a nightstand and a dresser at the foot of the bed sporting a large-screen television set. "I'm prepared for guests," I admitted. There were paintings on the wall of orchids and roses, cherry trees and one covered bridge with missing shingles spanning a small, bubbling stream. "Very nice," Bonnie said. She opened the closets and checked under the beds. "Very tidy." I basked in the praise. "Thanks." We crossed to the opposite side of the house, passing the kitchen that overlooked the family room. She peered into the cabinets and the drawers as she went bye, taking in everything. Opposite the kitchen was the dining room where I had a large white hutch holding the China I'd inherited from my great-grandmother the year she died. Six tables encircled the oblong table and a simple, empty vase sat in the middle of the table. We continued, passing the door that led to the laundry room and moved into the master bedroom. A king-sized bed dominated the room with a pair of nightstands straddling the bed. Opposite the bed another large screen television sat on an equally long dresser. My bed was unmade; I'd been sleeping until Bonnie had banged on my door and rang my doorbell. Another door led into the master bathroom. I kept telling Bonnie what each room was as if she couldn't trust her own eyes. She kept quiet, only a soft smile told me how amused she was. She peeked into the walk-in closet off the master bath. "Oh," she said, her eyes getting big. I let out an odd little sound, a cross between a squeak and a groan, "Shit," I said, racing to shut the closet door. "Too late, George." "Coffee?" I asked, trying to entice her from the bathroom and the now closed closet door. She could sense my discomfort. I'd be unable to hide it if I wanted to. 'Too late, George,' she'd said. She had seen my closet, the one place I never let anyone see. Was my brain so scrambled that I'd forgotten what I had both hanging in the closet and sitting on the floor or had I been so, what was the word Bonnie used, befuddled, that I hadn't expected the tour to include every room in the house. Hadn't she just opened the closet doors in my two spare bedrooms? Why had I not expected her to look in my closet as well. "Coffee," I repeated. She smiled, "sounds great." I let out a little sigh, thankful that we were heading back into the kitchen. She sat in the breakfast nook, at a small wooden table with matching chairs while I set my coffee maker to brew. Soon the smell of coffee filled the room. Through it all Bonnie was watching me. She kept her eyes on me, watching my movements. "What are you doing?" I asked, feeling like I was an animal in an exhibit. I knew she'd seen my closet and what I had hanging within. How long until she asked about it and what would I say? "I'm watching you make coffee. You're not hesitating at all; your movements are as sure and as concise as they can be considering your casts. You've not forgotten how, and you are coping very well, so I don't think you're a danger to yourself." She gave me a smile. "That's a very good thing." She sounded so reasonable but what was she thinking? She had seen what I had not wanted her to see. Should I mention it? Pretend it didn't happen? Would she say something? My body went through the motions of making coffee, muscle memory guiding my actions. My mind was firmly latched on Bonnie and when she would ask about all that she had obviously seen. 'Too late, George'. Would those words now haunt me? Suddenly I was feeling as helpless as I had the night before after coming home to my stagnant home. A simple lapse caused by what, a scrambled brain or the remnants of an unwanted coma, had led me to reveal what I should have kept hidden? I finished making the coffee and took a seat opposite Bonnie. I sat there, sipping my coffee, waiting for the inevitable and dreading what I'd say. "Thanks," Bonnie said. She asked about my family, focusing on my words. She seemed satisfied by what she heard. I got the impression that the questions were part of a test and that I was passing. After finishing our coffee, she asked if I could have a friend spend the night for a few night nights. "If not, I can stay. I'd just have to let my husband know." "He wouldn't mind?" "He knows it's part of my job. I have a bag in the car." I asked, "why do I need someone here? I did okay last night." But had I? Hadn't I thought of ending my own life, even if that thought had been fleeting? Maybe Bonnie was right. Maybe I did need to be watched. At least for a bit. "You don't. Not exactly." She explained her reasons and I understood them even if I didn't fully agree. Or maybe I didn't want to. Still, she was the one trained in people recovering from comas and severe brain trauma. If she thought I needed a live-in babysitter than I guess I did. It dawned on me that we'd probably had this conversation already. "It's just a precaution, right?" "Right," Bonnie agreed. "It's not mandatory but I think it'll be beneficial. Have you taken a shower yet? Have you gone to the bathroom yet? You may need help, and someone should be here for you. At least for a few days." I admitted I had not done either, at least not in the capacity that she meant. "Why don't you, then," she said, taking a sip of her coffee that was more sugar and creamer than anything else. The only milk I had was sitting thick and rotten inside the fridge. "You can call out for me if you need any help." I looked at my arms. My right arm was in a cast halfway to my shoulder while my left arm was encased in plaster up to my elbow. I could move my fingers in my right hand, but my left hand was mostly immobilized courtesy of my broken wrist. Making coffee had been challenging but not impossible. Bonnie was right; things were going to be tougher until I had my casts off. "Okay," I agreed. "I need a shower anyway." The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. "Good. While you do that, I'll have someone come clean the house and the refrigerator." "It's a lost cause," I mumbled. Bonnie tilted her head, "nothing is ever a lost cause, George." Somehow, I thought she wasn't talking about the refrigerator. What was she commenting on? Me? It felt like she was speaking to a deeper part of me, far beneath the mostly superficial way we'd been conversing. It seemed her words held an underlying meaning, or was I just looking at them that way? Was there even a difference if her words had me wondering? She took a sip of her coffee, her lovely brown eyes watching me over the rim of the cup. She put the cup on the table, "shoo," she said, rising to her feet to grab her purse. "I've got a call to make and you have to bathe. It'll be a good test." And it was. I had no trouble stripping off my shorts and T-shirt. Starting the water was simple as well. My right arm was mostly useless, locked at the elbow and my left hand could only do so much when I only had my fingers free. It took me far longer to take a shower than I had anticipated and when it was over my casts were soaked even though I had tried to keep them out of the fine, heated spray. Still, I thought the shower was a success. I dressed again in the same shorts and a different T-shirt, blue instead of green. I made my way back into the kitchen. Bonnie had washed our coffee cups and had set them to dry next to the sink. "How did it go?" She was talking before I even turned the corner. "Fine, I guess." "Good." She was sitting at the breakfast nook table again. "I'll have a cleaning crew here in less than an hour. Now, would you like me to stay?" I considered it but somehow it felt wrong inviting a married woman to stay over. I doubt I'd let her stay even if I thought I truly needed it. "No, thank you. I'll be fine." She was quiet for a few moments, regarding me silently. I had no way to know what she was thinking but I felt uncomfortable under her silent gaze. Finally, "okay. Good." Apparently, I had passed another test. "I'll stop by to see you tonight." With that, Bonnie stood, gave me a little hug and then grabbed her purse. "I'll bring dinner and then we'll go grocery shopping, get you some food in the house." She smiled again, a soft chuckle escaping her lips, "and you're right, the fridge is nasty." "Told you." "Oh, you told me a lot of things." I did. I told her too much. I showed her far too much. "And I think in time, you'll be okay." True to her word, Bonnie had a cleaning crew show up to my house not twenty minutes after she left. Three women appeared, two were older than I and one was a teenager barely out of high school. They appeared carrying brooms and mops and one industrial strength vacuum cleaner. I did my best to stay out of their way as the swept and mopped the floors, dusted my furniture, my few knick-knacks and all my ceiling fans. They cleaned the bathroom and made the mirrors sparkle. The vacuum was every bit as ferocious as it looked, sucking up the scented powder that they'd put down. They three women cleaned and slowly my house began to smell fresh. They kept the windows opened after they cleaned them, letting in some warm, fresh air. The youngest girl tackled the refrigerator. She pulled everything out, throwing away everything that had gone past its expiration date. Watching her throw out the spoiled food depressed me. It had all been fresh when I'd gone into work that morning and now it had all exceeded its usefulness, and watching it go into the trash left me feeling a tad melancholy. I had missed so much, the evidence filling two large trash bags. The young girl pulled out the drawers and the shelves, washing them in the sink with bleach. When she was done the refrigerator was pristine again. I guess I was wrong. It was salvageable after all. If my refrigerator was going to be okay, then maybe Bonnie was right, and I would be as well. It was something to consider. "Thank you, George," the leader of the three-woman-crew said as they were leaving. "Hope you get to feeling better." "Thanks," I said. I searched for my wallet and pulled out a few twenty- dollar bills. "No need, it's been taken care of." I started to ask how and then thought better of it. I already knew the answer. Bonnie. She didn't miss much. 'Oh, you told me a lot of things,' she had said. And I'd shown her even more. Things I hadn't wanted to reveal. Not to her. Not to anyone. Even the three cleaning ladies respected my wishes that they stay out of my walk-in closet. Bonnie was bright and far too observant. I suppose that made her good at her job. The cleaning crew left. I went to the fridge. Inside were two beers, a bottle of honey, a small plastic tub of mustard and an eight-pack of double-A batteries with two of the batteries missing. That was it. That was all that had survived my run in with a drunk driver on the day that I'd been fired. Still, it was a far better outcome than how my parents had achieved. Wasn't it? I walked to the living room, a cold Heineken in hand. I sat on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table next to the remote control that was now sitting there instead of on the floor. The windows were once again open, and a soft breeze blew in from the outside. My home smelled clean and it looked good. The cleaning crew had been great. I'd have to see if I could hire them out regularly. I finished both beers, making the refrigerator even emptier than it had been. My stomach growled and I had nothing to eat. It was too early for Bonnie to arrive for dinner and I didn't have a car to go get anything to tide me over. I'd have to take care of that soon. It dawned on me that Bonnie had already thought about it. I smiled thinking I'd test that theory. I checked the pantry. I had a few cans of green beans, peas, corn, and mixed vegetables. I was hungry and it was better than nothing. I struggled to use the can opener on a can of corn but after a few false- starts I was able to open the can and pour the contents into a pan. A little heat and some salt and pepper later and I was sitting alone on the couch, eating a can of corn for a belated lunch right out of the saucepan. I felt my mood darken at the reality of it. I washed the two dishes and put them away. I sat on the couch, flipping through the channels, not finding anything that held my attention, until Bonnie returned seven hour later. ***** "So how are you getting along, George?" Bonnie asked the moment I invited her in. I shrugged, holding up my twin casts. "Well enough." "It'll get easier," she said sounding confident. "Are you hungry? I hope Thai is okay." It was okay and it was good. I sat at the dining room table while Bonnie went through my cabinets. She found the plates and the silverware easily, as if she already knew what cabinet or drawer held what. Had she looked through them when she was here earlier? I didn't think so but seeing her move about my kitchen with such fluid ease made me doubt my memory. From where I sat it looked like she knew where everything belonged. Bonnie opened the small Styrofoam containers and dished out a helping of pad Thai and a generous serving of Thai Basil chicken. Between the two items she set out a dollop of jasmine rice. My stomach was growling even louder than it had before I'd made my sad lunch of whole kernel corn. Bonnie set the two plates down and then made two glasses of ice water. She took a seat and began to eat, watching me with her focused gaze. She was studying my movements, making sure that I was okay by myself. She watched as I lifted my right arm to my mouth, my elbow locked in place by the cast making it easy. The pad Thai was tasty, the Thai Basil delicious. My nose began to run. When I sniffled, Bonnie laughed. "Maybe I should have gone mild," she said, "but I think it's better the spicier it is." I took a sip of water, "I usually get Thai hot," I said. She smiled, "me too but since I didn't know." We continued to eat. We chatted about her job and when she asked about mine, I felt my cheeks flush. I wished I could blame it on the food, but I couldn't; it was a bout of shame that brought the color to my cheeks. "I'm between jobs," I admitted, I hefted my broken body parts, "and I guess it'll be a while till I look for another one." "How are you doing for money?" I didn't need to answer that question, did I? I had millions of dollars across multiple bank and investment accounts. Maybe she didn't realize it because I lived in a modest house, but I didn't need more. I didn't want a thirty-room mansion with a swimming pool and a pair of tennis courts. No, my simple three-bedroom, two-bath house with a built-in office was more than simple enough for me. "It's nothing to worry about." I said. The same Fate or God or Universe that had caused my extended hospital stay spoke up again the moment I said that because at that moment the lights went out. ***** When you don't pay your electric bill, they turn off the power. That was why my lights went out. We finished eating in the gloom and then I watched as Bonnie showed me exactly what she did and how good she was at it. She was on her phone and ten minutes after we finished eating my power was back on, my cable and cell phone bills were current. I surprised Bonnie when I admitted my house was paid in full. "That must be nice." I shrugged. Bonnie watched as I did the dishes. Finally, sitting on the couch, she asked again if I needed her to stay. "No," I said. "I'm good." She considered that. "Okay. How about we go shopping. Get you something for that refrigerator that you thought was a lost cause. I'll head home after that. You have my number; call me at any time." "I do?" I couldn't recall Bonnie giving me her phone number. Her head tilted. "You don't remember, do you?" I shook my head. "Nothing to worry about," she said, trying to put me at ease. I felt the frown on my lips; I kept forgetting things. Had Bonnie given me her number? It was programmed into my phone, so she obviously had. When she'd skated through the kitchen, grabbing silverware and plates I knew without remembering that she'd peeked into my cabinets and drawers during our tour. What else was I forgetting? I felt frustrated just asking myself that question. How do you cope with not knowing what you've forgotten? If you forget something did you even know it in the first place? I let out a little groan. Bonnie moved next to me on the couch. "George," she said, taking my hands. I could feel her tantalizing warm palms against my fingers. "Listen to me. Brain injuries like you had can be bad. Real bad, but like I said, the brain is an amazing thing. Here, let me show you something." She got up and grabbed her purse before returning to the couch. She reached inside and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. I watched as she drew a triangle. Inside the triangle, taking up three vertical lines she wrote a few words. She held it up, "what does this read?" I looked. The word "Paris" was written on the first line. "Paris in the spring," I said. She smiled. "Try again." I studied her drawing. Paris was alone on the first line, at the narrowest part of the triangle. The next line down held the words "in" and "the." I said it again, "Paris in the spring." "Strike two." The bottom line, written on the fattest part of the triangle held the words "the" and "spring." Once again, I read it aloud, "Paris in the spring." "Strike three. But you're proving my point. Read it aloud, one line at a time. Slowly." "Paris," I read the first line. "In the," I said, reading the middle line. "Shit," I said, feeling stupid. "The is listed twice." She was still smiling. "And the brain got rid of the extra word. It knew it wasn't needed. You'll be fine, George. Scouts honor." "Were you a scout?" "Nope." She stuck out her tongue. I glanced at her little drawing again. She said the brain knew to discard the extra word. I thought the brain could be tricked. Still, the brain was an amazing organ and she was the expert. At least I thought so when I hired her even if I couldn't remember doing so. "Come on," she said. "Let's get you some groceries. Tomorrow we'll have to see about getting you a rental car until we can make your insurance claim." I guess she had thought about it after all. She got up, glancing around my spotless house, "They did a good job, didn't they?" They had and I admitted as much. Bonnie was all smiles. "Told ya!" She watched as I locked up the house. An hour later, the groceries put away, Bonnie wished me a good night, reminding me once again to call if I had any problems. "I will. I promise." "Good. Goodnight, George." "Night." And then she was gone. Chapter 3 "I'm afraid you have the wrong number," the man told me on the phone. I verified that I dialed the correct number, but my mother didn't answer the phone. Instead, some stranger, sounding indignant that I had called so early, informed me that I'd dialed incorrectly. "Thanks," I said. I disconnected the call. Had my mother changed her number without telling me? That didn't sound like her. After three consecutive tries of using the number saved to my cell phone, and getting the same bitter man, I finally deleted the number from my mother's contact knowing I'd amend it later. Dialing my father's number, I heard an electronic voice tell me that the number had been disconnected. That didn't seem right. How could both my mother and my father have their phone numbers either changed or disconnected? I was suddenly worried about them. I made plans to drive to lower Alabama to visit them once work let out on Friday. I deleted that contact as well. I glanced at the clock. "Shit." I was going to be late. I slipped on my jacket and raced to my car. I had a new Chevy; it was the only thing good about the accident. Bonnie had gone car shopping with me, surprised when I insisted- we'd buy a new one instead of getting a rental. I think we test drove about two dozen cars before I settled on a new Silverado the cobalt blue color of the deep ocean. The seats were both heated and cooled. I paid for it with a credit card making Bonnie roll her eyes and smile as if to scold me and cheer my success simultaneously. I drove to work, crooning with Dolly Parton about a coat of many colors. Dolly was replaced by Faith Hill who was followed by her husband Tim. Tim and I sang about a heart not forgetting something like that. I arrived at the six-story building where I worked and parked in the back, far away from the other cars. I didn't want to park my new car near anybody else knowing they'd carelessly open their doors and ding my new paint job. It still had the new-car smell and the new-car shine, and I wanted to keep it that way as long as I could. I walked into the office, waving to the people I knew and frowning at the new faces. There must be a lot of extra work coming, I thought, seeing all the fresh faces. The people I knew were looking at me with surprise or shock or amazement. Not a single face watching me gave me a smile. I found that odd. Even odder was the strange woman sitting at my desk. She looked up at me. "Can I help you, sir?" I looked amongst the cubicles, confirming that I hadn't miscounted. The large room held about forty cubicles and mine was the fourth one down and sixth one in. I could hear the chittering of fingers dancing on keys; I could hear people talking into the phone and I could hear the anger in this strange girl's voice. "I think you're at my desk," I said. I began to smile but the look she gave me caused it to fade away. She held my gaze, her lips taut. "No, sir, I'm not." She would be pretty if she wasn't wearing a sneer. I heard a voice behind me, "George, what are you doing here?" I left the pretty girl with the ugly glare and turned to Mister Howser. He was standing at the door to his office with his hands on his hips. He was shaking his head. "I'm sorry I'm late, sir." His lips quavered slightly and then he stepped into his office. "Come in here, George." "You're at my desk," I scolded miss angry face before making my way to my boss' office. "George, is there someone I can call for you?" I couldn't think of anyone or why he had even asked. "No, sir." I stood by his desk, looking at him and the clutter. On the carpet I could see the end of an ink pen. Blue ink. A perfectly formed circle made of coffee stained the calendar on his desk. Outside the office I could still hear the chattering of fingers dancing across a keyboard, I could still hear an occasional phone ring. It all seemed so loud. He took his seat at his desk and bid me to do the same. "Are you okay?" Where were these questions coming from? "Just wanting to get to work. I am sorry I was late, but I was trying to reach my parents. They're not answering their phones; my dad's has been disconnected. It's kind of weird." The questions Mister Howser was asking were just as strange. "George, you don't work here anymore. You haven't for over a month." He said it with such certainty but for the life of me I couldn't imagine why he'd say something like that even if he was trying to be funny. "Very funny," I said, knowing it had to be a joke. Sure, my job was easy, and I was just going through the motions, but still, the look on his face. It was full of pity more than anything else. "What do you mean, 'a month?'" "Take a seat, George." This time I sat. "George, you were fired a month ago. Don't you remember?" I opened my mouth to speak then shook my head. "No." Mister Howser told me about that Friday a month before and how I'd been replaced. The surly woman hadn't been sitting at my desk. She was sitting at hers. "I'm sorry, George. Truly I am. Do you have anyone that can help you?" I stammered out Bonnie's name. He waited, expecting more. Finally, "I'll call her." I left the building, trying to absorb the news that I'd previously come to terms with. The wound was fresh. What bothered me, more than anything, was how I still couldn't recall being fired. That memory wasn't there, it was lost to the cosmos. That had me worried. I thought maybe I needed a doctor. Was I developing early onset dementia? Or was I suffering some lingering complication from my coma. Both thoughts made me tremble. Bonnie answered on the third ring. She could hear right away that something wasn't right. She asked me what was wrong, and I could hear the compassion in her voice. "I got fired over a month ago." "I know," she said. "We've talked about it." "Then why did I go to work today?" It was the first time I heard Bonnie cuss. "Shit. Where are you now?" "Sitting in my car, staring up at the building where I used to work." "Stay there. I'm on my way." I sat there, staring at the place I no longer belonged. I struggled to recall getting fired but the memory wouldn't come. I could almost see myself going to work the day before. Getting up, taking a shower, grabbing a McGriddle at the golden arches on the way into work. If I'd been fired a month earlier than why did I remember going to work the day before? Something was wrong. My brain was scrambled. Hadn't Bonnie and I talked about that? Was that yesterday or never and why were the two suddenly acting the same? On the radio Lee Greenwood crooned about God blessing the USA. The lakes of Minnesota sounded far better than the outskirts of Atlanta where I was currently living. Maybe I needed a change of scenery. Lake Lanier was lovely, and felt even better in the heat of summer, but it wasn't feeling like home. Nothing was feeling right. And why had my parents changed their phone numbers without telling me. That made as much sense as going to work at a place you no longer worked. Bonnie pulled up next to me. She got out of her car, a sporty little grey Nissan, and raced to my side. I opened the door for her. She looked a tad disheveled; her bi-colored hair, normally finely coiffed was mussed and it appeared that she wasn't wearing makeup. "Are you okay?" I asked. "I think I should be asking you that." I guess she had. "I don't know." Then, more honest, "No." "Okay. Come on," she held out a hand, "let's get you home." I started to protest, telling her that I could drive but she wouldn't let me. The timbre of her voice told me that she wasn't going to let me drive and that she was worried. Very worried if I had to put her tone to words. "Don't worry. I'll have someone bring your truck home." I knew Bonnie well enough that if she said she'd have something done then it would be done. "Okay." I got out of the car and ten minutes later I was sitting in my living room with Bonnie sitting opposite me. She was talking on her cell phone. She shushed me when I started to ask her a question. Finally, ending her call, she turned to give me her unwavering gaze. She was studying me. "Tell me what happened." I told her about the strangeness of my parents not answering their phones. I told her about my altercation with miss crabby pants over why she was sitting at my desk. "Only it wasn't my desk. Not anymore." "No. It wasn't." It stung me then as much as it had a month earlier. I'd somehow been fired twice from the same job. Could things get much worse than that? As it turned out the answer to that was yes. Bonnie and I chatted for about twenty minutes when there was a knock on my door. Bonnie got up to answer it, leaving me sitting befuddled and shamed on the couch. My memory was playing tricks on me; a side-effect of the trauma my brain took. How many more lapses of memory was I going to have to endure and what did it mean for my future? "George, this is Doctor Gloria Helene. She's here to give you an examination." "A doctor that makes house calls? I didn't know those still existed." Doctor Helene was as skinny as spaghetti with straight black hair and thick, iron bound glasses. She was wearing a dark blue suit with a white blouse. A butterfly broach was sitting on her left breast, shining blue and green, yellow and red, in the early morning light. "Most don't," she confirmed. She gave me a soft smile, "but Bonnie's a friend of mine." Gloria gave me a physical, probing my neck, looking into my eyes with some bright light on a silver post, all the while talking about my memory. She asked me to remember a short list of nouns and ten minutes later I was able to repeat the list back verbatim. The smile Doctor Helene gave me was genuine. "These lapses of memory, George," she began, "can happen. Do happen. It's nothing to be overly concerned about. I need to get you in for an MRI, however..." When I started to speak, she held up a well-manicured hand, "it's just a precaution. Bonnie will set it up." Bonnie gave a nod. She didn't miss much. "Good." Doctor Helene handed me her business card. On the back was a handwritten URL. "That website," she said, pointed to her own writing, "has some great memory exercises I want you to do." "I like that idea." Gloria touched my hand and gave me a smile, "Good. I'll see you in my office," she paused, "next week." I returned the smile, "Okay. Thank you, doc." Bonnie and Gloria chatted for a moment, hugged, and then Gloria left. Bonnie came over and took a seat next to me. "She's great." "She seems to be." "Give me the information on your mom and dad. I'll find them for you." She continued after my nod, "I really don't want you to stay alone tonight. I'm going to crash here for a day or two." "You really don't have to do that." She let out an exasperated sigh, intentionally vocal for emphasis, "and you really don't have a choice." I doubted that was true, but I could tell that she was determined, and I had hired her, and she had come to my rescue when I had truly needed her. How could I deny her when she was looking out for me? "Okay. Okay." Bonnie went out to her car and brought in a small, beige suitcase. A large pink and white lanyard hung from one handle. She carried it to one of the spare bedrooms, setting it on the bed. "Relax," she told me. "I'm going to call Paul and tell him I'll not be home for a couple of days." I felt guilty taking her away from her husband and told her as much. She rolled her eyes as if to tell me that I was being silly. "It happens and he understands." "Maybe we can all go out for dinner. My treat. A way to apologize." She rolled her eyes again. Then she gave a warm, caring smile and it lit her face. "That sounds delightful. I'm sure you and Paul will get along perfectly." And we did. We went to dinner at Bonefish Grill, a pseudo-upscale restaurant that had good food and good drinks. I met Paul at our table; he'd arrived ten minutes earlier, giving a coy smile when he admitted that he hated being late for anything. "Me too," I said, shaking his hand with Bonnie's introduction. A glass of water was sitting alone on one side of the table and two glasses of merlot sat side by side on the other. Bonnie and Paul kissed, both smiling. He seemed genuinely happy to see her and after they sat down, they seemed to share a palpable connection. The two were always touching. He would hold her hand or she would place her palm on his forearm. When they broke contact to take a sip of wine or a bite of dinner they'd separate briefly and then they'd be touching again, seeming always in contact. I doubted that they were aware of it. I noticed and it made me sad in a way I wasn't expecting. Paul told me about his job working for Delta Airlines. Living in Atlanta I wasn't the least bit surprised. He made it sound exciting and watching him talk animatedly made me feel a little bit jealous. I'd been fired from my job, not once, but twice, and Paul seemed to enjoy his. I knew I needed to find something to do, something I was excited about, I just didn't have any idea what that could be. I didn't need to work, money wasn't really a concern, but I did need something to fill the day. Something I could enjoy without going through the motions. It was something I'd have to give some serious consideration. We ate and we chatted. With my casts I struggled to cut my steak; one arm locked at the elbow made it more difficult than it needed to be, but not only was I able to do it I felt a sense of smug satisfaction that I wasn't going to let my casts hinder me. Bonnie watched me, studying my movements. Her eyes seemed to be always on me as I sat across from her and her husband working bites of mashed potatoes or asparagus into my mouth. "I heard about your job. I'm sorry," Paul said as we were finishing dinner and waiting for desert to arrive, "any idea what you're going to do?" I shrugged, "I was just thinking about that. I'm sure I'll find something. I'll probably start looking but until I get these casts off." The rest didn't need to be said. Paul was an amenable man. He told a racy joke that had the three of us laughing and then sidled into a story about a little infant that had been left in an airplane lavatory, abandoned there by a woman far too young to have a child on her own. He talked about how he liked to both snow ski and water ski and then joked how waterskiing was easier because "the mountains were smaller." I think I snorted at that one, not because it was funny, but because of the innocent way he told it, like it was the most reasonable thing to expect water to be mountainous. I liked him and I liked his wife. After dinner, my guilt for stealing his wife for a few nights making me offer to pay, Paul kissed Bonnie good night and then she drove me home in her sporty, red Camry. I left her alone to get ready for bed while I did the same. I washed my face and the fingers on my hands that weren't captured in plaster. I brushed my teeth, finding that task just a bit harder thanks to my casts. I stripped off my clothes and then, standing naked in my closet I pulled out a simple night gown. I was yellow, soft and silky with white lace piping along its neck and truncated shoulders. I slipped it on, and then I made my way into the bedroom where I opened my underwear drawer and pulled out a matching pair of yellow lace panties. I slipped those on as well. "That looks lovely," Bonnie said, standing in my doorway. She was wearing a dark red robe, the color of a pomegranate over a pair of white pajamas. Her hair was straight and tidy, looking far different than it had when she'd come to my rescue. I looked down at what I was wearing and then up to Bonnie who was smiling but in a way that wasn't derogatory at all. She seemed amused, but more that that. She seemed accepting. "Did you forget I was here?" Even her tone wasn't mocking; it was full of worried compassion like she was a doctor giving a lollipop to a crying child that had skinned her knee bad enough to require stitches. "No," I admitted, "It's just..." My voice trailed off. What was it? Did I want to admit that I wore either a nightgown or a teddy to bed every night. That muscle memory had a way of overwriting conscious thought? I simply put on what I always wore. There wasn't any thought involved. I probably should have given it some thought, but my mind had been preoccupied with everything I've forgotten. Why would I spend time worrying about things that I did not need to focus on? "Well, it looks lovely. And when I saw your closet the other day. You have good taste." My lips rose in a faint smile. I could feel the heat on my cheeks as embarrassment seemed to be all I was feeling in that moment. "Let me change," I said, hating the way my voice wavered a bit like heat rising from a desert highway. "Don't be silly. This is your house and you should be comfortable." "Right now, I'd be comfortable if you didn't see me like this." "Okay." She didn't argue. She didn't push. She just backed away from my open bedroom door and let me change into a pair of black shorts and a simple blue t-shirt. My throat seemed tight and my bedroom seemed to be far too warm. I could still feel the sting of shame on my cheeks. Why hadn't I shut the door? Why hadn't I thought about what I was doing? How was I going to go out and face Bonnie? She'd seen my closet and that had been bad. Now she'd seen me dressed in a comfortable yellow nightgown and that was even worse. I sat on the bed and put my face in my hands. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to disappear. Instead, I sat there, mute and ashamed, lost and confused. Too much had happened far too quickly. I looked at the nightgown sitting on my bedroom floor. I wanted to wear it. I felt more like me wearing it. Bonnie had already seen me wearing it so why wasn't I? She had not seemed shocked or offended or angry; she hadn't uttered one word of condemnation. No, that came from me alone as I berated myself for the slip up that hadn't been a slip up. It had been me being me and why did I now thing that was wrong? That was simple; I'd never revealed what I liked to anyone. From the kitchen I heard Bonnie call, "you okay?" I didn't answer. I sat there, starting at the nightgown, wanting to wear it because it was mine and I liked it and it was part of me and I did not need a reason but ashamed to face Bonnie wearing what a man just did not wear. "George?" "Yeah, coming." I got up, picked up my nightgown and returned it to my closet, feeling a bit jealous of the clothes hanger, knowing that piece of cloth should be hanging on me. In the kitchen Bonnie was steeping some tea. "You did not have to change for me." I wasn't sure I agreed but I didn't exactly disagree either. "Maybe not," I shrugged. "Want to tell me about it." "Oh, hell no." Bonnie laughed at that and that at least forced a genuine smile. "You sounded like Will Smith." If I had it wasn't intentional. "If you say so." "I do." She held up a coffee cup, "would you like a cup?" I shook my head. "No thanks. I've already brushed my teeth." I opened a cabinet to grab a glass and filled it with ice and water from the refrigerator. "So, George?" She let the unasked question linger. I knew what she wanted to hear. I would be just as curious. But it wasn't something I wanted to talk about. Not at all. "Want to watch TV?" She smiled again and took a sip of tea. "That would be lovely." We spent the evening watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory. We both laughed. Bonnie told me her favorite character was Bernadette while mine was Howard. Bonnie laughed at that, "see, we make a good team." I smiled and took a sip of water. Occasionally Bonnie would glance at me. I had to wonder what she was thinking. Was she worrying about my health or was she instead focused on what she'd seen me wear and what I wanted to be wearing? Did I have to hide it from her? Hadn't the damage already been done? I'd kept my secret hidden for so long but wasn't my goal not to be hiding in the dark like some nocturnal animal but out in the warm, open light? Bonnie had not seemed disgusted. In fact, I was more disgusted with myself for revealing what I'd always kept hidden. Still, she'd seen my closet and she had seen me and what did it matter? Maybe it was time to do what I wanted to do. I was alone in the world and my brain was scrambled. What did it truly matter? I took another sip of water. A third. Finally, as Raj was allowing his little dog Cinnamon to lick his face, I said, "What do you want to know?" Bonnie clapped her hands, squealed, "Oh, goodie," and sat up, setting her coffee cup full of tea on the coffee table. "Tell me, tell me, tell me." She was as giddy as child entering Disney World for the first time, taking in the splendor, the sights, the sound and the joy. It had been eating her up. I was truly impressed that she'd been able to just sit there watching TV with me after seeing her reaction. "Well..." I began. Chapter 4 It was a serendipitous discovery. I found a magazine one afternoon as I was walking home from school. It was the kind of magazine that teenaged boys hoped to find. This was before the internet, before teenaged girls dressed so provocatively. Back when, how does that song go, a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking. I was walking through the woods that separated my middle school from a trio of nearly identical subdivisions lined with nearly identical houses. There were paths that went around the woods, paths that skirted close to the cloying, cool canopy of trees, but those paths were frequented by just about everyone and during my early teenaged years I was more of an introvert than anything else. I enjoyed being alone. I liked quiet solitude with a book or napping or even staring up at the clouds and imagining what shapes those clouds hid. I saw a bunny rabbit and a tea bag, a duck and a dog. Mostly I saw boobs covered with white, frosty nipples. I remember picking up a stick to poke the moss that grew on only one side of the trees. I chased a bug with a twig, trying to pick it up to examine it closer only to watch it fall to the ground and flitter away beneath a blanket of decomposing leaves. The air was hot but under the canopy of trees it was far cooler. I could hear kids screaming as they ran or walked or rode their bikes on those concrete paths while I enjoyed the somber presence of a forest that was alive. I heard the chittering of squirrels, the buzzing of insects and the crunch of leaves and twigs under my feet. I enjoyed the gentle sigh the forest made as the wind caressed dark green leaves. It was peaceful. I heard an odd sound and turned my head. That's when I found my magazine. The summer breeze had ruffled its pages. The once glossy magazine was dirty and stiff but that didn't matter. What mattered is what joyous images I discovered in my new treasure. There were pictures of naked women, showing breasts covered with real nipples, not like the white, frosty ones I imagined in the clouds. They showed more than that, they showed everything; some with hair and some without. I enjoyed those, both on an intellectual level and a primal one as well. The tightening in my pants proved that. What I found even more interesting, and a little bit disturbing if I was being honest, was the odd fact that I enjoyed the earlier pictures in the photo sets so much more. The obscene ones, showing wide open pink, aroused me but the ones showing the women wearing lingerie, bras and panties, and delicious garter belts appealed to me so much more. Backing up, turning the stiff, bloated pages, back to the pictures of the women wearing skirts pulled up just high enough to show a glimpse of lace between their thighs enticed me even more than the pictures that were meant to be the most arousing. Flipping through the pictures, watching the women dress instead of undress was far more meaningful and alluring. I sat down, my back pressed against the rough bark of a tree and flipped through my newest treasure. I started each picture set at the back, when the lovely women were stripped and spread, revealing the soft treasure between their thighs. I shifted, my hand adjusting my rigidness, and turned the page backwards, folding a stiff, muddied page over, hiding the lovely brunette with a tattoo of a scorpion on her left shoulder. She was now sitting on the bed, one hand covering her breasts and her legs slightly parted revealing a soft, moist cleft. And earlier picture had the dark-haired lady bent forward her breasts hanging down while her bra was just hiding the tips of her nipple. Another picture showed her panties sitting at her thighs, the gusset hanging on just a bit higher as the woman slowly peeled them down. I turned the page anew. Now the woman was standing in front of a mirror wearing her lacy black panties and matching bra. Her stockings were sitting on the bed behind her while the delicate straps of her garter belt hung limply down her lovely thighs. I stared at her lingerie. The bra was tiny, far too small to hold the entirety of the young lady's breasts. I could see the bright nub of her nipples peaking through the thin lace. I ran one finger along the muddied page, slipping my finger along the line where her breasts met the bra. I could feel the rough edge of the lace not caring that it was dirt and grime I was feeling under my wandering finger. No, it wasn't dirt, I told myself. I was feeling her bra and the soft, warm flesh hiding beneath it. The bra was black with tiny cups and thick straps. I could see some gentle floral pattern in the tantalizing lace of the cups. A tiny purple flower rested between the cups adding a small flash of decorative color. I ran my finger along the rough page again, wanting to hold the bra in my hand. I couldn't explain why, but I wanted to touch the bra. Hold it. Smell it. I wanted to wear it. My fingers slipped down the woman's stomach to her tiny thong. A ribbon of lace topped the panties and an equal line of tatting raced lower to snake between the woman's thighs before coming up the back again. The panties were as thin as the bra and I could see the faintest trace of the velvety softness hidden by that lace. I wanted to wear those panties, too. Maybe more than the bra. Overhead a squirrel made a loud noise that sounded like a snort. I looked up, seeing the overhanging leaves and a few specks of blue that wasn't quite hidden from view. I never saw the squirrel. I turned back to the magazine, flipping the page again. She was dressed now, wearing a short orange tartan skirt and a white sweater with a large, orange capital T embossed on the breast. Her brown hair was pulled back into a single ponytail somehow looked lighter than it had on the previous page. She wore the faintest wisp of a smile. Her cheeks were red and her blue eyes seemed to hide the answer to so many unasked questions. I looked at the skirt for a full two minutes, imagining how the hem would feel toying with my own thighs. Would it flit and flounce as I walked as I'd seen happen on so many of the girls in school? I was sure it would, and I was equally certain that it would feel amazing. I sat there on the leaf covered earth, my back against a tree, with my eyes shut trying to figure out why my mind had latched onto the idea of wearing the skirt and bra, the sweater and panties. Why had those thoughts taken over, pushing aside the thoughts of what I could do in bed with a woman like that buxom brunette? I couldn't recall ever being so enamored by women's clothes, but I couldn't deny my thoughts or the racing of my heart or how my pants seemed so much tighter as I pictured pulling that simple pleated skirt up my thighs to fasten it around my waist. The magazine fell from my lap to flutter on the ground. I reached for it, never opening my eyes. Instead I kept the thought of wearing that skirt dancing through my consciousness. I knew I'd have to try it, just to know that I didn't need it anymore. It would be a passing fancy, just a random thought that wormed into my brain and laid about a million eggs. Putting on a skirt or maybe a dress would hatch those eggs and send these alien thoughts away. I was sure of it. I was wrong. ***** "So that's when you knew you liked lingerie? And women's clothing?" I gave Bonnie a weak nod, finding it so very hard to move my head at all. "And when did you wear some for the first time?" I didn't hesitate with my answer. "Two weeks later." ***** I was old enough to stay home alone. That's a huge milestone in a young man's life. My parents were going out of town for the weekend, promising to return Sunday night. "You have grandma's number," my dad said, sounding serious but smiling. He, too, knew a corner was being turned. "Call if you have any problems." "I promise," I said, meaning it. I was a little bit scared. I'd been home alone for a few hours and once, I'd put myself to bed before my parents made it home so that had felt like I'd been left alone for almost a full day but this time my mom and dad wouldn't be just a few minutes away. They were visiting my grandmother who lived in Savannah nearly four hours south. Close enough but not that close. It was a big step. My mom gave me a kiss on the cheek; my dad kissed the top of my head. I watched them leave, somehow not believing that I had the house to myself and finding myself a little overwhelmed at the thought. It was a simple taste of freedom and it was delightful. I could do what I wanted, eat what I wanted, and stay up as late as I possibly could. There wasn't anyone there but me to tell me what to do. Glorious. I turned on the television and sat in my dad's favorite chair. It was a dark blue recliner that was starting to fray at the twin cushioned armrests. We'd had that chair since before I was born. I could just imagine the stories it could tell. I flipped through the channels, not really watching anything but watching everything. I held the remote; I decided what to watch. Dinner time came and I made a bowl of ice cream. Why not? It was my choice. Ice cream had never tasted so sweet. Mostly because it wasn't what one should eat for dinner. That made it so much better. On TV, Radar was looking for his missing teddy bear. I flipped channels. Andy was teaching Opie some life lesson. Flip. A woman was browsing through a rack of blouses. The remote control fell from my hand, bounced off one still slightly intact armrests, before falling to the floor. I stared at the TV, watching the woman shop for a new shirt. I glanced to the closed door that led outside. My attention reverted to the TV. I looked down the short hallway to my parent's bedroom and then back at the screen. The woman was holding a cream-colored blouse to her chest, picturing how she would look wearing that fashionable top. I stood up, not knowing I was going to until after it was done. My mouth was dry, and I was trembling. Watching that woman holding the blouse to her breast had triggered an idea that couldn't be denied. How would I look in a blouse? A skirt? Both. More importantly, how would I feel? Surely, I would discover my intense fascination was fleeting, and once my curiosity was satisfied then the strange thoughts I had been having while staring at the soiled magazine currently hiding amongst the dust bunnies beneath my dresser, would fade away like stars disappearing to the dawn. I double-checked that the house was locked. I did not want anyone barging in and even though my parents were a few hundred miles away I was still terrified that they would arrive home unexpectedly and catch me doing what I knew was somehow wrong. I shouldn't want to wear a skirt or a dress, panties and a bra, but now that the thought had entered my mind, I couldn't shake it. A tick biting flesh didn't grip as hard as the idea of sneaking into my parent's closet and trying on my mother's clothing. My mother's favorite dress. I walked down the hall, an electric charge in the air. I felt the little hairs on my neck standing up as an undercurrent of anticipation raced along my spine. I was a kid at Christmas, a little girl catching her first fish, a young man touching himself for the first time, not knowing or caring why it felt so good. I was all those things wrapped up tight like a Cuban cigar waiting to be smoked. My parent's bedroom was cool. Dark curtains blocked out what little light that crept in from the outside. I paused as I reached for the light. Would anyone be outside to see that the light was on in that particular room? I doubted my neighbors would notice or even understand that this room should be empty but still the thought stayed my hand. I turned and flipped on the hallway light. The light chased away the gloom. I snuck into the room and opened the bifold doors. My mother's clothes took up two thirds of the closet. My dad had the rest. I ran my hands over my mom's clothing. There were blouses and skirts, pants and dresses. My mind was already fixated on one. It was short and black with thin spaghetti straps with delicate lace piping along the fringes. It was the one my mom called her date-night dress and when she spoke about it, she would always smile. That dress made happy or at least the memories of it did. I had not seen her wear it in a while. I pulled the dress from the closet. It felt heavier than I expected but I thought that was because of how it made me feel. I was nervous and excited, scared and dismayed. I felt my whole body trembling. I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry. My lips felt cracked and my breathing came in short, staccato bursts. The anticipation was killing me. I stripped off my jeans and t-shirt. Standing at my parent's closet, wearing nothing but my underwear and a pair of socks I took that pretty dress off its hanger. And the dress was pretty. I unzipped the back and raised the hem to my head. I pulled the dress down, shaking my hips to settle the dress in place. The thin straps eased onto my shoulders. I tried to reach behind me to pull up the zipper, but I couldn't reach. I gave a nervous laugh. How many times, in movies and television shows, had a woman asked a man to zip her up? Now I needed someone to do that for me. The room felt cold and I was sweating. The dress was a little tight at the waist and hung limply at my chest. I didn't quite fill out the dress but that didn't matter. How if fit was secondary to the fact that I was wearing a dress and that I knew at that moment it would not be the last time. I was confused by everything that I was feeling. I still felt nervous and scared, the idea that I could be caught never far from my thoughts, but those feelings were being replaced by other, stranger notions. I felt comforted and comfortable, calmly nervous which seemed like a contradiction but still somehow made perfect sense. It felt like I was wearing what I should have been wearing my whole life. My jeans and t-shirt, sitting at a lump at my feet, felt alien, like something that should be shunned and avoided. I took two steps to stand in front of the large dresser that sat opposite my parents' bed. I had to see how the dressed looked. It hung low, almost reaching my knees. The waist that I thought was too tight now seemed to fit me perfectly, like the dress was supposed to be snug. I guess it was. I didn't even remotely fill out the top, but that I could fix. That I had to fix. I was a junky with a drug, racing to shoot the poison into my veins. I opened the drawers to the dresser in front of me and found one of my mom's bras. In no time I had it on, tugging the top of the pretty black dress lower to do so. I fastened the bra around my chest, spun it around so that the trio of clasps were in the back and then settled the straps into place. It was a little loose; I had just barely grown taller than my mother, but I wasn't as thick. With the bra in place, I rushed out of the room to the linen closet just outside my bedroom. I threw open the closet door and fished out a stack of washcloths. They were small and varied in color, from blue to green, from brown to yellow. I stuffed the cups of my bra with the washcloths, not caring that my faux breasts were misshapen, only that they were there. I filled the cups, and satisfied, I pulled my dress back in place. The top fit so much better. I walked back to my parent's room. Standing in front of the mirror I loved what I saw. The dress hugged my new form. I turned left and right and left again. At once I would smile only to frown a moment later. I reached under the dress and pulled down my underwear. I had visible panty lines only I wasn't wearing panties. I had a raging need to fix those ugly lines. I became focused on the illusion I hadn't known I was seeking. I opened the drawer below the one that held my mother's bras. Dozens of panties stared back at me, mostly hidden by shadows. Still, I was reluctant to turn on a light, relying only on the light coming from the hallway. I looked at the panties. So many colors met my eyes, looking drab in the room but still shining in my eyes. I wanted them. I needed them. I put my hand in and pulled out a pair. They were simple and yellow, with a bit of black lace piping. A tiny black bow decorated the panties just below the lacy edging. They were smaller than I imagined, far littler than my own discarded briefs. I felt my hands shaking as I held them to my waist. They would fit, I knew that, but they would still show beneath my beautiful dress. I knew that, too. I rummaged around my mothers' panty drawer, pulling out panties of various colors and styles. Blacks and reds, yellows and even a few whites that looked far to similar to my own underwear. I pulled out briefs and boy shorts and finally I found a few thongs. It was at that moment that I knew why thongs were invented. It wasn't because they were sexy, though they were. No, it was to hide the tattletale lines that other, bulkier panties made beneath skin-tight dresses. I sorted through a few thongs, trembling slightly when I latched onto a red pair made of some soft, shimmery fabric. Pulling that red, satin thong up my legs felt like quenching some unimaginable thirst. I tried to swallow again but my throat was tight. I heard an electric buzzing in my ears and felt like my skin was crawling with ants. I shuddered in the partial gloom as I settled that thong into place. My knees buckled, sending me to my knees as I ejaculated in those panties. I had never felt such excitement. I had not realized such excitement was even possible. I was disgusted with myself and I didn't care in equal measure. I stood up, my hands balled into fists, and stared at my reflection. I stepped forward, paused, moved backwards and smiled, satisfied as I was able to hide my head above the mirror's frame. From the neck down I looked like a girl. I grabbed the hem of my dress and swayed side to side. The dress was a little bit too tight for that, but it was so feminine, and so natural, that I loved the reflection that came back to me. From that moment I was hooked. I spent the rest of the night first cleaning myself and then trying on everything I could. I tried on skirts and blouses, keeping my stuffed bra on but replacing my soiled thong with a different pair. The second thong was black with equally black lace around the waist. They weren't made of satin, but cotton and lace and I didn't care. They made the tight dresses look better. I tried on my mother's shoes as well, working to complete my outfit. I wobbled as I paced in front of the mirror, finding it easier to take smaller steps. I practiced walking further and further, finally marching from one end of the house to the other. My calves started to ache, but I found that slightly painful feeling to be deliciously intoxicating. The sound my heels made as I walked across the tile in the kitchen was one of pure delight. Still, I needed more. I searched the dresser and found pantyhose. Those went on next. I tried pulling them up my legs like socks but found that nearly impossible. Bunching the nylons into a taut tube and then unfurling them up my legs worked and soon I felt a new overwhelming sensation that caused me to soil a second pair of panties. I couldn't help it. The feelings were too intense, something like a car battery jump starting every never ending in my body. A third pair of panties, white decorated with orchids or tulips or some such flower, this time donned over my pantyhose, finished my outfit. I was wearing a white jumpsuit, my huge breasts jutting outward hiding my feet now back in a simple pair of black pumps with a three-inch heel. I strolled through the house, aware of everything and stunned by it all. My legs tingled in my hose and my calves burned in a way I was certain I'd still feel in the morning. I went to the kitchen and made me a drink of water. I was parched. A glance at the clock told me how late it was. I'd have to go to bed soon though I did not feel tired. I was wired and bouncing with anxious energy. Still, another new idea reached my overtaxed brain. I returned to my parents' room, once again enjoying the sound of my heels on the tile. In the bedroom I searched the same treasure chest I'd been raiding and found a stack of silky nighties. It was time for bed, but I'd sleep dressed in lingerie, not in my ugly, slightly stained briefs. I fished out a nighty. It was soft and silky with thin straps with three tiny little bows down the front. I stripped out of my jumpsuit. Doffed the black panties and pantyhose before pulling the panties back up my legs. I shimmied into the nightgown. It hung down just below my behind and when I walked, sadly barefoot now that it was time for bed, I enjoyed the way the hem toyed with my naked thighs. I went to bed, falling asleep quickly, with my overly stuffed bra making it hard to get comfortable and that discomfort led to an even more noticeable distraction inside my black panties. Not wanting to soil another pair of panties, and amazed I'd stained two already, I tried to ignore my erection. And failed. I took care of my need in my normal way, cleaning myself with a discarded sock and then tried to sleep again. It was slow going but finally that first day alone, a day full of discovery, faded away. ***** Bonnie looked at me. "Have you ever been caught?" "Just once." I didn't need to say anything more than that. I had never been caught until I woke up from a coma and let a simple tour of my home give me away. The look Bonnie gave me made me bark out a surprised laugh. It was one of shock and incredulity. "You believe that, don't you?" I nodded. I knew I was right. She laughed at me, "your mom knew the day she got back from her trip." I shook my head. "No, she didn't. I put everything back exactly as I found it. I washed everything I wore. I was careful." Even as I said the words, I was pondering what Bonnie was telling me. She had a look of absolute certainty on her face. She believed what she was saying, but so did I. So why did it suddenly feel like I was lying? How careful could an overly hormonal teenager be discovering what would turn into a life-long awareness of who he was? I wanted to protest. I started to but even as I began to speak the words just melted away leaving only doubt and uncertainty in its place. "Trust me, George, she knew." "She never said anything." Bonnie smiled at that, too. She got up to make a fresh cup of tea. I sat in my recliner, staring at the television set. Bernadette and Howard and the rest of the Pasadena gang had been replaced by Conan O'Brien. I turned off the TV. We weren't watching it anyway, having turned down the sound when I started my... my what? Confession? Maybe that's a good a word as any. Bonnie returned with a steaming cup of tea. She set it on the coffee table and then grabbed my cup of water. She carried a cup of ice water into the living room, setting it next to me. I took a sip as Bonnie took a seat. "Where did you get all those clothes? If you never got caught, were they all bought online?" I nodded, "Yeah. Where else?" "Haven't you ever wanted to go shopping? Try things on?" Bonnie chuckled as my voice cracked, "God, yes. That's part of the dream." She leaned forward. The couch creaked as she shifted in her seat, "Oh, so there's a dream. This is getting good." I felt the heat rush to my face. I'd said too much and had now revealed even more. "It's nothing." Bonnie knew I was lying but like before she didn't push. I liked that about her. More than that, I respected her for it. Instead she said, "can I see your closet now?" I sighed, "why not." "Goody!" she squealed, jumping to her feet. Her leg hit the coffee table making her cuss and spilling a bit of tea. "Ouch!" she said, not really sounding like she was in pain. I teased her, "poor baby." She stuck out her tongue and raced me to my bedroom. Chapter 5 I mentioned that there are worse things than getting fired from the same job twice. Two days after Bonnie promised to investigate my parents surprising disappearance, she showed up at my house wearing a look on her lovely face that was part pain and part despair. Normally she wore a smile but that morning she was wearing a frown that aged her just a little bit. Her eyes were puffy, and her nose held a slight red hue. Had she been crying? "Are you okay?" I asked, stepping from the door so that Bonnie could enter. She took my hand and quietly led me to my recliner. "I have to tell you something." I knew it was going to be bad. The look on Bonnie's face was one thing but the way her voice cracked was something else entirely. She stood above me. I could see the beginning of fresh tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, George." Pulling a piece of paper from her purse, she explained the accident that had taken my parents life so many years earlier, showing me a news article print-out from the Mobile Register. I felt the weight of her words pummeling me like I was in a boxing ring with Muhammad Ali or George Frasier. Each word struck me harder than the one before. I started to cry and then sob, pulling my legs higher so that I could hug myself like an infant in its crib. The pain I felt was fresh and unwavering and I think worse the second time around. I had made peace with my parents passing but now I was living it anew, only now I had the fresh pain of knowing that I had forgotten what had happened. It somehow made it worse. Fresh pain intermixed with the pain of forgetting. Bonnie dropped to her knees and hugged the same legs I was hugging. She pressed her damp face against my jeans, crying right along with me. I can't say it helped but the sentiment was appreciated. I tried to thank her but couldn't seem to find the words. My parents had died and now I had felt that horrible pain twice and both times it was fresh. It took twenty minutes for my sobbing to stop. During it all Bonnie stayed on her knees, consoling me, holding me, rubbing my fingers and telling me how sorry she was. It helped. Had I had anyone to comfort me when they had died the first time? I don't think I did. Once I had my crying under control, I made myself to the kitchen to make Bonnie a cup of tea. She sat at the little table in the breakfast nook and talked with me for over three hours about my parents. I told her all about them. I told them how they met their second year of college when my dad had accidently backed into her as she was taking a sip at a water fountain, sending her head bobbing downward onto the spigot. "She came up coughing with water up her nose, ready to fight," I said, smiling and wiping my eyes again, "but laughed instead when she saw the guilty look of terror on my dad's face. He was trying to apologize and didn't understand why she was laughing." I told her about their life together, about how she loved being a stay- at-home mom and raising me while my dad built his ships. "She was proud of him and he loved her." Telling Bonnie the story of my parents made me feel better. We both cried. We both laughed. I did not have this cathartic conversation with anyone after they died the first time. The second time was made a bit easier thanks to Bonnie. I have much to thank her for. My wife most notably. Bonnie introduced us on the last day I ever saw her. Three days later I was lying on a table having a fresh MRI of my brain. The technician handed me a pair of black headphones with clear tubing running from the cups instead of wires. He asked me what station I wanted to listen to, and I chose the local rock station. AC/DC and Poison and Eminem all wailed at me, each trying and failing to block out the loud banging the MRI machine made. I lay on the table, my eyes closed for nearly forty minutes, trapped inside a tight sarcophagus while strange angry noises assailed me, drowning out other bands like Pink Floyd or Metallica. "You're all set," the technician said. He was round, almost as tall as he was fat. He reminded me of a basketball. "Thanks," I said. I was glad to have the test behind me but afraid of what the results would bring. Still, knowing was better than knowing. With knowledge you can make a battle plan. A week later my MRI came back clean which was more of a relief than I was expecting. My memory was not bothering me as much as I hadn't noticed any odd lapses and I had not had a repeat of that humiliating trip to the office where I no longer worked. I doubted I would make that mistake again as I had written a note and stuck it with a brown and white magnet that read Wossamotta-U, the fictitious university from those old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons, onto my refrigerator. The note simply reminded me that I needed to find a new job. I didn't need a blunt reminder that I'd been fired. The simple note telling me to search for something new was direct enough. Each night I did the memory exercises Doctor Helene had recommended. Mostly they were fun, and I liked some more than others. The ones that seemed less clinical were best of all. I spent about forty-five minutes a night doing those brain games. I can't say they helped but they didn't hurt, and they helped pass the time. Time is what I had a lot of and as the note on my refrigerator reminded me, I needed a new job. Or at least something to help pass the long, endless days. Bonnie visited me every day, checking up on me. We chatted about everything and lately we spent more and more time pouring through women's magazines from Marie Claire to Cosmopolitan to Glamour and the like. We talked about fashion and makeup. It was lovely to have someone to share that part of me. I wasn't fully recovered from my lapse in letting her make that uncomfortable discovery, but she seemed accepting and I needed acceptance. She kept hinting that she wanted to take me shopping fully dressed up "how I wanted to dress" but I was more than reluctant. "Okay," she relented. She didn't seem upset or disappointed. Just accepting. I finally let Bonnie see me dressed up about three weeks following that first shameful discovery. We were sitting at the kitchen table, Bonnie sipping a cup of hot tea from an olive-green coffee mug while I drank a large glass of orange juice. We were flipping through an Ann Taylor catalogue where I pointed out the dresses I liked, and Bonnie would do the same. We laughed when one of us would make a noise of disgust over some of the less flattering outfits. "You have good taste," Bonnie commented as I pointed to a pin-stripe skirt and blazer combination that I really liked. "Thanks," I said, feeling a bit of joy at her praise that was immediately swallowed by embarrassment. "I have one just like it." Bonnie nodded, "I remember. Why don't you put it on? I'd like to see you all dressed up." I created faster-than-light travel with how quickly I balked at that idea. I shook my head. "No. No. That's okay." Bonnie smiled, her brown eyes taking me in, "why not?" "It's embarrassing." "Why?" "Men don't wear women's clothes!" I didn't mean to raise my voice. It just happened and I felt a little guilty about it, but that guilt didn't last. Bonnie argued that I was a man and if I wore women's clothes than I was lying to her and she didn't like being lied to. She said it in a way that told me she was playing but I still felt a little bit like an ass. "I've seen your closet, George. You have more women's clothes than men's and yet every day I visit you I find you wearing the same thing." "What's that?" I was wearing khaki shorts and a pink Ralph Lauren T- shirt. I looked good in pinks and reds. The day before I'd worn jeans and sweatpants the day before that. She hadn't seen me in the same thing for at least a few days. "What you don't want to wear." She had me there. Around the house I wore skirts and dresses almost exclusively. A few times I'd been surprised by some uninvited guest coming by the house forcing me to change, but typically as soon as I arrived home from work, I'd doff my suit and tie and put on a dress or a skirt and blouse. I'd replace my camisole with a bra that held a pair of very expensive breast forms. Depending on how late I worked would decide if I wore makeup or not. After years of practice I was pretty good at makeup. It's amazing what you can learn from YouTube. And it is a bit humiliating to reveal I learned how to do makeup from watching young girls, barely in their teens, doing makeup lessons for their friends as I practiced right along with them. I protested. Bonnie would smile and make another reasoned argument until I finally relented. It wasn't her badgering me, it wasn't her curiosity, it wasn't how she kept scoring logical points. No, what made me finally agree was the same thing as every time before. It was her acceptance. Until Bonnie I never know that was what I'd needed the most. As before, when I finally agreed, Bonnie clapped her hands together and squealed, "Oh, goodie!" "This might take a bit," I said. She laughed, "it does take us women longer to get ready, doesn't it?" I felt a rush of joy in the way she absently called me a woman. I couldn't help but agree. "That it does." "Take your time. I'll clean up." I nodded, taking a final sip of my orange juice. I needed it; my mouth was dry. I rose from the table and slowly left the room. I had relented but I still wasn't anxious to show another person how I looked dressed as a woman. No matter how much I liked it, how much it was a part of me, it was something that I had hidden my whole life fearing ridicule, embarrassment, derision and hatred. How though, could something that was such a part of who I was, something that made me feel wholly human, be wrong and cause such worry? Was it society or was it me? I started in the shower. Naked, I ran a razor over my legs and arms, pits, ass and chest. I keep myself clean shaven from neck to toe; I was getting rid of stubble. I like the way my skin felt when I added lotion or put on a tantalizing pair of high denier stockings. Wrapping the towel around my chest like women did, I stood in front of the mirror and ran my hand over the glass, clearing a space so that I could see my reflection. I fished my tweezers from the top drawer between my twin sinks and proceeded to clean up my eyebrows. They were not that thick to begin with and I would love to make them thinner but when I went out, I had to represent my male self. I hated it but we all do what is expected of us. Dry and freshly shaved I stepped into the closet that I'd accidently let Bonnie see. Standing amidst my skirts and dresses, my blouses and my heels I opened a small dresser tucked into the corner and donned my favorite bra. It was white, decorated with violet orchids. I pulled on a the matching full-cut panties. My pulse, already racing from what I was about to reveal, seemed to slow a bit as I settled into my happy routine. I put my breast forms into the cups of the bra and settled them into place. I had some glue I could use but that wasn't great for the skin. I only used the glue when I was going to be wearing them for a while. I liked the way the forms pulled on my chest when I wasn't wearing a bra. The glue made them feel more real. I slipped a white camisole over my bra and then made my way back into the bathroom. The mirror was clean enough that doing my makeup was easy. I started with a light concealer. I rubbed it in, happy that I wasn't feeling any stubble on my face. I let it sit for a few moments before adding some rouge to my cheeks and blending it in, moving my brush higher and higher up my face. I turned left and right, evening out the sides. I wanted this to be perfect. With my face done I began to work on my eyes. I was dressing for the office, so I proceeded with some sexy subtlety. I added a bit of teal to my eyelids and then added eyeliner, highlighting my own green eyes. Mascara came next, thickening my eyelashes, making them pop. Lipstick came next, a color halfway between the red brick of a firehouse and the subtle pink of cotton candy. It was called prom night and I had found the link to order it from one of those pre-teen makeup videos I'd watched on YouTube. I puckered my lips, blotted them against some toilet paper, and finished them up with a tube of liquid lip gloss, making my lips shine. Entering the closet again I opened another drawer of my hidden dresser and pulled out the garter belt that matched my bra and panties. It felt good to be dressing up again. With Bonnie visiting me every day and coming at unpredictable hours I'd been reticent about going all out and now, even though I was afraid of Bonnie mocking me, that fear was cast aside as I dressed exactly how I wanted to dress. Bonnie had been right about that. I had not been dressing for me. I grabbed a pair of jet- black stockings and bunching them up into a tight ball, I pulled a stocking up each leg, savoring the tantalizing feeling of the stockings on my freshly shaved legs. I affixed the stockings to the garter belt loving the taut pull of the garter tabs against my thighs. I grabbed a white blouse and buttoned it in place. The buttons were easy, finally appearing to be on the correct side. Men's shirts for some reason had the buttons turned the wrong way. I grabbed the pinstripe skirt I'd just mentioned and stepped into it. I pulled it in place, fastening it behind my back. I tucked my blouse into the waistband, smoothing everything as I went. The skirt toyed with the top of my knees; anything higher wasn't appropriate for the office and when I dressed in my business attire that is where I wanted to be working. At an office. As some businesswoman's secretary. I'm not sure where my fascination with secretaries came from. I'm sure it came from my youth. Aren't we all just victims of our past? Isn't every decision made just one more thread in the tapestry our lives? I remember watching TV as a teenager, after that warm day when I found my treasured magazine still hidden among the cobwebs, and seeing the secretaries scurrying about in their tiny skirts and too-tight blouses just added to my adolescent fantasies. It was a job that only women seemed to do. I imagined myself getting coffee for some demanding boss, feeling her hand upon my ass, and knowing that I had no choice but to accept those unwanted advances, or I'd lose my job. I know from experience how horrible being fired can be. Maybe it was the heated thoughts of being stuck in that job, making barely enough money to make ends meet, that made the idea of being a secretary so exciting. That putting up with harassment was necessary to keep food on the table and a dry roof over my head. I think it was the "have to" that made my fantasy "want to" so exciting. Countless times I'd find myself rubbing that excited part of me imagining going to an office, wearing a skirt that was too short because my boss demanded it of me, deciding that I was to be eye-candy to anyone who would visit. With the fascination I had with women's clothes, I desperately wanted to be seen in them. Not that I really wanted that to happen, but the thought of it made me bubble with aroused excitement. But it was more than that. Every TV show that I watched showed the secretaries to be almost invaluable members of the office staff. Work would grind to a halt if the secretaries were absent. It was the dichotomy of being unnecessarily needed that fueled my fantasies and the idea that I would have to endure every harassment that came my way just to eat that tripped me over the edge. My thoughts would set back feminism a billion years but those were the fantasies that carried me from adolescence into college and into my adult life. Those were also that thoughts that got me in shape. I grew up short and quite stocky. I grew up wearing pants and shirts that were larger than the ones my peers wore. Finding that magazine lit some fire in me. I started watching what I ate, and I started jogging. My dad grinned at me the first morning he caught me at five A.M., leaving the house in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. "Where are you going?" "Running," I admitted. With that grin on his face, he could only nod. "Good for you." I didn't need his encouragement. I had all I needed from a simple magazine. If I was to fit in those dresses, the sleeker ones, the sexier ones, I would have to be much thinner. I wasn't overly tall, and I couldn't control that anyway, but I could lose weight. It took a while, nearly two years. During that time, I grew a little, but lost all the fat I carried. I didn't lift weights; I didn't want to be made of muscle. I wanted to be skinny. Jogging turned into running coupled with yoga. Going into my senior year I was at my full height of five foot eight inches with barely any fat on me. My mothers' clothes still fit, and I still snuck into her closet every time they left me alone. I looked forward to their date nights. Now I had my own closet of clothes. The blazer came next. Once, long ago, I happened upon a magazine that led to my current desire to dress as a woman. At that time, I was a chubby kid, probably thirty or so pounds overweight. Studying the lingerie those pretty women wore in that mud coated magazine I had imagined dressing like they did, inside and out. I had accomplished that goal. Now, I was dressing for someone else to see. I wasn't going to be some bosses' eye-candy this time but that thought was there. Bonnie called out, "are you almost ready. You're killing me!" I chuckled and yelled back, "almost!" Lastly, it was time for my heels. I slipped my feet into a pair of black pumps with a three-inch heel. I could walk in them with practiced ease. Four-inch heels were simple as well. I had a bit of a problem with heels above five inches, but I only owned one pair that high that I bought from the internet in some masturbatory fueled shopping extravaganza. I stepped from the closet to study myself in the mirror that was now free of steam. I turned left and right, running my hand over my skirt to smooth any rough edges. My blazer hung perfectly; my blouse looked crisp. My skirt shook as I shifted left and right. I smiled and the feminine face in the mirror smiled back. I looked good. Not perfect, there was always something that gave me away. Maybe that's the reason I never went out in public or maybe I was just too hard on myself. My shoulders were a little wide; my Adam's apple a little too pronounced; my fingers a little thick. There were many, tiny imperfections that told the story of my true gender. I was simply a man in a dress. I returned to the closet and opened my jewelry box. I needed a few accessories. It was one of the things I'd studies when I was learning what it meant to dress as a woman. Women accessorized. They added necklaces and bracelets, rings and broaches. Little things to draw the eye away from imperfections and towards parts they thought looked good. I put three golden bracelets on my right wrist and two on my left. I put small golden hoops in my ears and a doubled over long chain around my neck. Back in the bathroom I ran a brush through my hair. I kept it longer than most men, usually pulling my hair back into a small ponytail. That length allowed me to brush my hair and have it hang almost to my shoulders. It wasn't completely feminine, but it didn't give me away either. It was an acceptable compromise. Like I said, I have an image to maintain when I go out. I gave myself one more glance before calling out, "promise not to laugh?" I heard Bonnie give a good-natured laugh which gave me the answer. I licked my lips, tasting my lipstick and lip gloss. I could feel a small knot in my stomach like I'd eaten my Thai food far too hot and was paying for it with a bout of uncomfortable indigestion. I swallowed twice, trying to ease my discomfort. Why had I agreed to this? I pondered that for a moment, and it came down to the same answer as before. Bonnie had accepted everything she had learned. Didn't that entitle her to know even more. There was a trust between us, one that started when my befuddled self had hired her and that trust had grown. We were becoming friends if we weren't there already. That led to other, more discomforting thoughts. From the kitchen I heard Bonnie, "I promise." Bonnie pulled me from my musings. "Okay. I'm coming." I walked out of the bathroom, feeling my legs trembling like that one time I'd returned from a cruise to the Bahamas. On that trip I got of the ship and felt the ground under me moving slightly as my legs continued to compensate for some motion that was no longer there. Sea- legs transforming back to shore-legs. I swallowed again as I left the bedroom. My heels made that enticing sound as I stepped onto the tile from my bedroom. Bonnie could now hear me coming. I turned into the kitchen. Bonnie was standing at the island, leaning against it. Her hands came up to her mouth; her eyes went wide. I watched her, ready to run if I thought she was going to ridicule me. I wasn't sure I could handle that. "My God, George," she said, dropping her hands to show me the huge grin on her face. "You look like a woman." "Thanks," I said, feeling my own face turn up in a smile. I turned to the left and right and when Bonnie asked me to spin around, I did a little pirouette. "And you never go out dressed like this?" "Are you kidding?" She had to be kidding. She shook her head, the smile never falling from her face. "No. Not at all. If I didn't know any better, I would never know. Stay there." I stopped moving and watched as she moved to the bay window to take a seat at the simple kitchen table. She studied me, directing me to move about the kitchen. She watched how I walked and how I moved my hands. "It's uncanny," she said. "Your makeup looks great." Beaming at her compliment I admitted, "I've had a lot of practice." "Where did you learn?" "YouTube." That made her laugh. "You don't move your hands enough," she said. "You're a little rigid. I'm looking for signs and there are a few that I'm going to help you with but, George, really, you could go out right now and nobody and I mean nobody would notice a thing." I stopped moving and grabbed onto the marble island in the middle of the kitchen. "Yeah, I'm not going out like this." "Why not?" The answer to that was simple. Fear. I was afraid. I tilted my head as if to say that she had just asked the dumbest question ever. "What if someone found out?" She shook her head. "Impossible." I beamed at that, too. "I so want to go shopping with you. God, it would be so much fun." "No," I protested, too terrified of the idea to consider, but equally enamored by the idea to just cast the thought away. I wanted to be a secretary. It's not like I could do that from my living room. If I were to become a secretary, and satisfy that life-long fascination I had, then I would have to leave the house at some point, and wouldn't it be better to have an accomplice when I went. Someone to help me if things turned bad? I'd taken a huge risk showing Bonnie how I looked, and she was more than impressed. She seemed to be in awe. Still, I'd kept my secret hidden every bit as long as I had a secret. It would take more than a little goading to get me to risk more than I already had. "I can't." She eyed me critically and shook her head. "Yeah. You can. Nobody would know." "I would." I wanted to. I really did but fear is a powerful thing and so is habit and I'd kept myself indoors from the first time I tried on my mother's clothing. "I promise, George, nobody would notice and if they did, so what? You look great. But it's your choice." She gave a little laugh, shaking her head. "You look like a professional woman. God, you could go to any large downtown office in America looking like that and everyone would just know you're..." "A secretary," I said, interrupting her far too quickly. Her eyes went up. "A lawyer. A CEO." She eyed me, looking at the embarrassment rising to my face. "Is that how you see yourself? A secretary?" I'd said too much. "I'm going to change." "Please don't. Come," she motioned to the empty chair at the little wooden table. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, leaving thin lines across the dark surface of the table. "Sit with me." I hesitated. "Please. I can see your uncomfortable, but I don't want you to be. I really don't." She waited as I decided what to do. Finally, I took a seat. I think it was the look of amazement on Bonnie's face that had made the decision for me. "George, God, I can't call you George. Do you have a name you use?" I shook my head. In my fantasies I was always Ms. McNeill. "Ms. McNeill, can you get me a cup of coffee," or "Ms. McNeill, I need you to type up a letter for me." I had never needed a first name. "No," I finally said. "Well you need one." "Why?" She shushed me. I sat there, my hands folded in my lap, fidgeting under Bonnie's gaze. She was scrutinizing me, studying me like a middle- school student studies a frog splayed wide on a dissection board. Her face still held a lovely smile and her eyes didn't show disgust or disdain. I could read fascination, awe and bewilderment on her face. There wasn't anything negative that I could see. I opened my mouth to speak but she shushed me again. I shushed. "Autumn," she declared. "Autumn McNeill." She held out one hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Autumn." It was a lovely name. A beautifully feminine name and I liked the way Bonnie said it without any animosity at all. I took Bonnie's hand and when I shook it Bonnie's smile somehow became even larger. "Autumn," I said, tasting the name for the first time. It sounded just as delightful when I said it and having a name made me feel a tad less defensive, a bit less scared. "Autumn," I repeated. The third time made Bonnie laugh. "You look great, Autumn, but you're right, we can't go shopping with you dressed like that." My smile fell. What did she see? What was I doing wrong? Bonnie laughed again, "I'm far too underdressed," she said. "You'll have to change." I looked down at my pinstripe blazer fastened just below my breasts. "Okay," I said, then, "No, I'm not going shopping. I can't go out like this." "I know," Bonnie agreed, "I'd look out of place next to you." "No, I can't go shopping." "Autumn," she said, using my new name with ease, like she'd calling me that since the day we'd met. That day I no longer remember. "I promise you that nobody, and I mean nobody would notice anything out of place. You look like a professional businesswoman," she giggled, "a secretary, and I can't wait to hear about that. Now tell me, honestly, have you never thought of going out dressed as you are?" "I've thought about it a lot." There was no denying it. "I've thought about getting a job dressed like this." "As a secretary?" Again, I was amazed at how accepting she was. There was nothing derogatory or derisive in her words and her tone was one of bemused interest tinged with wonder. Bonnie was a friend being a friend. It was at that moment that I knew we were friends. I nodded, too afraid of what I'd say. She stood up and took my hand, "Come on," she said, pulling me after her. "Let's scope out your closet." "Why?" "You need to change. We're going shopping." Chapter 6 What's that saying? In for a penny, in for a pound. I guess I was in. Bonnie grabbed my hand and pulled me to my closet, my heels noisily slapping the tiles as we raced from the kitchen. She'd seen what I had hanging once when I'd absentmindedly given her the tour of my house. Now she was going to see everything. Did it matter anymore with how I was dressed? No, I guess it didn't. She raced into my closet, yanking me after her. She let go of my hand to turn on the closet light. She stood there, taking in my skirts and my blouses and my dresses. She ran her hand over everything, "Oh, this is nice," she'd say, or, "this is a little slutty; I love it." She pulled the hanger holding a long, sexy dress that had strips of fabric alternating between equally long strips of nothing, "Oh, now this is sexy," she said. "You can't wear panties with this, can you?" I shook my head, too nervous to speak. She pawed through my clothes, pulling some dresses down to hold them against her body. She cooed at some and laughed at others. "God, Autumn, you have more clothes than I do. And you're such a girly-girl," she said, adding, "there's not a single pair of pants to be found." I didn't bother reminding her that I was a very wealthy man. And that I preferred skirts and dresses to slacks and jeans was evident as well. My closet gave that away. It revealed so many secrets. She picked up a simple jean skirt. "Here, put this on." She waited until I grabbed the skirt before returning to my clothing. I opened my mouth to protest and then stopped. She was having fun and truthfully, so was I. I had taken a huge step revealing myself to Bonnie dressed how I longed to dress and it seemed like I was going to be taking a far greater one, but the way Bonnie had reacted and the absolute certainty that I wouldn't be discovered had reignited a fire in me. I did eventually want to go in public dressed as a woman and Bonnie had been right when she said it would be easier with a coconspirator. Having a shield with me would make it far easier to hide what I really was. Bonnie was to be my beard. I stepped from the closet and returned a moment later wearing the jean skirt. It was shorter than the one I'd removed, ending just below the tops of my stockings. Bonnie was still searching my closet, pushing one hanger aside to see what was revealed only to push the next one further along in an ever-expanding chain of discarded choices. She settled on a long-sleeved blue and white striped blouse. She held it to me, "put this on, too." Once again, I left the closet to change what I was wearing. I removed my blazer and my work blouse and donned the striped shirt Bonnie had given me. I'd worn the same combination before. I returned to Bonnie's side. She was crouched down now, looking at my shoes. She picked up the pair that had the biggest heel, they were hooker shoes. That was the best way to describe them. They had a nine-inch heel with a three-inch platform. They were bright red with three little straps across the top that attached to three golden buckles. "Can you walk in these?" "Barely," I admitted, a little wry grin on my face. She laughed at that and put them down. "I'll have to see that one day." She looked at me, tilted her head, and grabbed a pair of brown open- toed heels that laced up the front. They had an opening in the back revealing the heel of my foot. They had one-inch platform and a four- inch solid heel made of bamboo. They were my favorite wedges and they went with my jean skirt perfectly. Bonnie had a good sense of style. "Here," she said. I swapped out my black heels for the wedges. "That's better," Bonnie said. "That's a much more casual look." She pulled me from the closet and stood next to me, studying how we looked side by side. She was wearing frayed jeans with a hole in both knees and a black, untucked shirt that was just a tad shorter than the jean skirt I was now wearing. Side by side we looked like two women getting ready to go have brunch. Bonnie shook her head, "You look good, Autumn." I beamed at the praise. And blushed at the same time. "Seriously. I can see a few things," she said causing my face to fall, "but that's because I know to look. If I didn't know any better, God, you look just like a woman." "Thanks." "You don't sound like one though." I raised the timbre to my voice and dropped the volume, "how's this?" I watched her nod in the mirror. "Better." She laughed then. "YouTube?" I shrugged and smiled and left it at that. "A woman has her secrets," I said in my normal voice. I switched my tone again, "does it help?" "Yes." "Good." Staring at me in the mirror, Bonnie said, "do you have any perfume?" I laughed and opened another drawer between the sinks. Bonnie shook her head and began pawing through the nine bottles of perfume and eau-de- parfums and eau-de-toilettes I had stashed away. She pulled the cap off them all, sniffing them. "I like this one," she said, spraying her neck and wrists. "Which one is your favorite." When I hesitated, Bonnie flashed me a look that told me to stop being silly. "All women have a favorite scent." Did they? I wasn't sure about that. I reached into the drawer and pulled out a pink square bottle that had a dark green applique showing the name. It was Bloom by Gucci. "This one," I admitted. I handed the bottle to Bonnie who shook her head and handed it back. I took the hint and opened the bottle. I aped Bonnie's movements, adding the fragrance to my neck and wrists. "Just like a girl," she said, laughing. I put the cap on and returned the perfume to the drawer. "Okay," Bonnie said. "Grab a purse and let's go." Standing next to me she felt me stiffen. Intellectually I knew we were going to go shopping and I was looking forward to it, but fear and habit were hard to overcome. I'd kept this part of myself hidden for so long, since I first tried on that little black dress hanging in my mother's closet, that the reality of overturning my history wasn't easy to overcome. I wanted to, I did, but I didn't want to almost as much. Maybe a little bit more. "I'm not sure," I said in my normal voice. "I'm not sure I can." Bonnie put her hand on my wrist. I felt her toying with the trio of bracelets that decorated my arm. "Trust me, Autumn," she said, watching me in the mirror, her eyes locked on my reflection. "Nobody will know and if someone were to figure it out would that be the end of the world? No," she said, not giving me time to answer. "Most people will see exactly what they expect to see. You're a lovely woman and that's the image you'll present to the world and so that's what people will see. People are so self-absorbed that they won't even notice you unless you give them a reason to and trust me, there is no reason for anyone to see anything but what you show them." She considered my reflection. "And with the casts, people will notice them more than anything." As far as pep-talks go, that was a pretty good one. Still, I hesitated. I licked my lips, tasting my lip gloss. I felt the wedges on my feet and how they made my calves sting in a way that was both pleasant and unpleasant. I felt the stockings on my denuded legs. I felt the hem of my skirt tickling my thighs. I felt Bonnie's hand on my arm and how my bracelets moved under her touch. I felt the cloying heat of the room and the huge goosebumps on my skin. Everything was too bright and too loud. Everything was far too real. I reached forward to grab the edge of the sink. "I don't know," I said. "Okay. How about we just go for a drive. Baby steps." That sounded better but still frightening. It was a big enough step just showing myself dressed to another person. Since day one I'd kept my secret, or at least I thought I had. Maybe my mother did know and maybe she didn't. In my mind I was sure she was unaware of my frequent trips into her closet and maybe she had noticed those red satin panties had gone missing, having taken up residence in my own dresser. I wore those everywhere. Once, just because I thought it would be fun, I wore those red panties underneath my Boy Scout uniform at one of our weekly meetings. It was such an amazing thrill to be wearing panties at a meeting that emphasized the things men and boys did from camping and fishing to rowing and woodworking. Not that women couldn't do those things but during my adolescent years those actions were considered things that boys did. Wearing panties was something boys simply did not do and doing it sent chills down my spine. I'd kept my secret, revealing it to nobody until one lapse had changed that. Yes, I had fantasies but just because one had a fantasy did not mean one wanted to act it out. There were countless videos I've watched on the internet when my ardor was high and my body in need. Videos that linked to other, darker, scarier things. Just because I would sometimes masturbate to some video did not mean I wanted to act out what I was watching. Fantasies did not have to become reality to be good. Sometimes fantasies were best kept in the world of fantasy. "Autumn?" I raised my head and looked at Bonnie. She was still holding my arm, squeezing it now to offer support. I could barely feel it there under my cast but the effort was appreciated. I shook my head and that was all I could do. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I felt trapped like an opossum that had just received a fright. Bonnie read my face, "okay. How about you change while I make us lunch." I nodded. Bonnie let go of my arm and left the bathroom. If she was disappointed, she did not let it show. I heard her in the kitchen, moving about, opening the refrigerator door before shutting it again. I heard a pot hit the stove. I didn't know what she was making, and I didn't care. I could only stand at my bathroom sink, my hands digging into the cold marble, as my breathing slowed with all the speed of a glacier. Bonnie called out to me a few times, making sure I was okay. I was finally able to call back after her third inquiry. "I'm fine." I moved into the bedroom and glanced at my pinstripe suit lying on the bed. I looked at my khaki shorts and discarded pink t-shirt sitting in a ball at the foot of my bed. I picked up the shorts and thought about putting them back on. Bonnie had asked me to change and that sounded appealing but wearing my skirt and blouse was just as enticing and I was more comfortable dressed how I wanted to dress. My discomfort came from the idea of showing someone else what I'd long kept hidden. Bonnie had seen me; did I really need to change? I dropped the shorts and moved into the kitchen. Bonnie smiled when she saw how I was dressed. Or maybe she smiled at me, seeing that I wasn't rendered catatonic from fear. "Grilled cheese okay?" "Yeah," I answered with a nod. "Sorry." I took a seat, smoothing my skirt as I did. Bonnie made a guttural grunt, "don't be silly. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." She smiled, "we can always go shopping later." "I don't think so." Her smile turned into a laugh. "Silly girl." She turned back to the stove, flipping the two sandwiches in the pan one after the other. I sat at my little black table and watched as Bonnie cooked. She grabbed two glasses from the cabinets and filled them, first with ice from the refrigerator door and then with water from the tap. She set the glasses on the table, one in front of me. I thanked her and took a sip. Bonnie finished making our sandwiches. We sat opposite each other, eating our grilled cheese sandwiches and sipping our water. Bonnie watched me eat, correcting little movements that might give me away. "Not like that, Autumn," she said. "Take smaller bites." She guided me through the small meal, telling me to sit up straighter, "men hunch over," she said, "we women sit proud, Autumn." I wasn't sure if that was true, but I took delight in what she was telling me. I was having fun. "Don't you dare drink all of that at once. Autumn, sip it, don't chug it." After lunch, I cleaned up. Bonnie sat at the kitchen table commenting on how I moved. I listened intently when she said to take more deliberate motions. "You're doing great, Autumn," she said. She said my name, my new name, far too often for it to be accidental. I think I heard her call me by the name she'd given me more during that one meal than all of the times I'd heard her call me George since we met. "Of course, silly girl," she said when I asked her about it. "You need to get used to it. If I call you Autumn while we're out, you need to know I mean you." I nodded at that. "Okay." With the kitchen clean, Bonnie had me walk in front of her, giving me further pointers. She had me sit and smiled when I smoothed my little jean skirt. She scolded me when I brought one ankle up to set it on my knee, telling me that women "don't make it a habit to flash their panties, Autumn." She showed me how to sit; how to move; how to walk; how to hold my hands. She practiced with me, always smiling. She was having fun with her new girlfriend and I was having fun with her. In the back of my mind I knew what she was doing, that she was training me for my public debut. It was something I wanted and so I listened intently to every critique, taking them to heart, and savoring every bit of praise, feeling proud when she told me how good I was doing. We chatted about fashion and what was happening on the Jersey Shore. She laughed when I admitted that I didn't watch The Bachelorette and scolded me for it. "You should," she said, laughing even more. She made sure I used me higher, feminine voice. "It'll have to be second nature, Autumn," she informed me. "You don't want to slip up at the wrong time. How embarrassing would it be if someone mistook you for a man?" She wasn't being insulting. She was having a blast and the truth of it was - so was I. That time with Bonnie was the most I'd ever felt like a woman. During those three hours after I did the dishes I felt like I had always wanted to feel Going to work had been a chore; being me with Bonnie felt heavenly. We chatted while I sipped water. I made tea for Bonnie, moving as gracefully as I could. I was aware of every motion my hands made. I focused on walking as Bonnie had directed me, adding a subtle sway to my hips. "You want nothing to give you away," she said. She was heavy with praise. "You're doing great, Autumn." And she was heavy with my lovely new name. I loved the name she gave me. I liked saying it, but I liked hearing Bonnie say it more. She began or ended most sentences with my new name. She talked about how great it would be when we could go shopping. I still balked at the idea though my protests didn't deter Bonnie in the slightest. I knew she was training me for that inevitability, but intellect, instinct, and self- preservation can trump wants with ease. "I have an idea." "Oh?" I asked. We were sitting on the couch where I was practicing smoothing my skirt, taking a seat, and crossing my legs to sit exactly as Bonnie was sitting, with one knee over the other, my legs perfectly closed, my panties deliberately concealed. The skirt was short enough that the lacy tip of my stockings was just peeking out of my skirt, but my panties were hidden. As they should be. Bonnie stood up. "Come on," she said, leading me to my computer. I followed her into my den. "What's your idea." "My niece, Haley, went off to college last year. She needed a credit card for emergencies. My brother got a secondary card added to his account in her name." I felt my lips rise in a smile, liking her idea. Maybe I'd never use a credit card in Autumn's name, but it would be so very fun to see one. Bonnie and I spent about ten minutes adding Autumn as an authorized user to my bank account and ordering her a debit card to my house. Just the idea of ordering my dresses online as Autumn instead of George set my nerve-endings abuzz. "That was fun," I admitted. "Wait until you use it." I laughed, "Oh, I'm going to order something the second it arrives." Bonnie snorted, "my ass. You'll use it at the mall." Sitting at the computer, Bonnie and I browsed the websites I had saved over the years. We looked at fashions from about two dozen sites. I'd point out things I liked while Bonnie did the same. We overlapped quite frequently though when Bonnie would point out a handsome pantsuit I'd shrug noncommittedly. Bonnie would laugh at that, "God, Autumn, you really are a girl." I shrugged and smiled, happy with her words. "Autumn, I've got to get home," Bonnie said. "This was fun." "It was." "I'm glad. Now you can dress however you want when I come over." She paused, forcing me to glance away from the computer screen. "Um, Autumn," she said, still using my new name in just about every sentence. She grabbed my hands and spun my chair around so that she could look at me. Her eyes clouded over and her lips quivered. Something was on her mind, causing the smile she'd been wearing to disappear. I frowned. "Um, Bonnie?" "I can't work for you anymore." I reached up to squeeze her hands. The seriousness of her tone gave me pause. "Why?" Tilting her head, she said, "because it wouldn't be right." I thought about what she was telling me. She saw it as well as I did. Bonnie and I were friends now. She was no longer an employee, or she no longer could be. She couldn't accept my money because of it. "Okay," I said, understanding where she was coming from. I gave her hands another squeeze. "I'll still see you tomorrow, right?" The brief storm cloud that marred her face dissipated with a smile. "You bet. And I can't wait to see what you'll be wearing." "Oh, I'm sure it'll be something boring." "Ha! I doubt that." She considered me for a moment. "You know what? Why don't you come over for lunch tomorrow, Autumn," Bonnie said. "Paul's been asking about you. We'll grill out. Steaks, burgers, whatever you want." I smiled, "that'll be great. What can I bring?" She waved her hand at me, making a strange noise like a compressor has sprung a leak. "You don't need to bring anything." "What time?" "Noonish?" I smiled again, "sounds good." Bonnie left me alone for the night, hugging me the way women do. I hugged her right back, liking the way it felt. I made my way to my bedroom. I hung my suit back in the closet and put my discarded shorts and T-shirt into the washing machine. With the wash going I sat at the computer and watched some more videos, working on my voice. Afterwards, I did my brain exercises, wondering if they were helping. I couldn't recall if I'd had any more memory lapses and that thought made me laugh. Maybe I had and I just didn't remember. That was funny and scary in equal measures. I locked up the house and went to the bathroom. I washed off my makeup and stripped off my clothes. I washed my breast forms and put them on a towel to try. They were expensive and maybe just a tad too large for my frame. The first pair I bought were cheap things that were attached to an invisible bra. The bra broke and rendered useless within ten minutes of trying them on for the first time. A lot of what I bought was like that. At the onset I didn't know my size. I remembered the first order I ever placed. I ordered a simple black skirt with an elastic waistband with about two dozen pleats that hung straight down. I ordered five skirts in sizes four to fourteen. Why not? I had the money and I was feeling a desperate need to wear a skirt. None of them fit. Turns out I'm an eighteen. Other purchases over the years were made the same way. I'd order a style I liked in a few sizes until I was finally able to home in on what size I wore in just about everything, from skirts and dresses, blouses to bras. With my breast forms I'm a 40-D. I probably should have a C cup but I liked being stacked. I put on a camisole and wearing it and my panties I slipped into bed. It had been a long, strange day. I'd dressed for someone else for the first time in my life. Did Bonnie cause me to do that or did I do it myself out of some long-hidden need to be seen as who I really was. Bonnie had been great, accepting me dressed as Autumn. She'd even given me my name. Over the course of the day I'd lost an employee and gained a friend. It was a fantastic trade. Chapter 7 I searched through my contacts, trying to find the number for my mother and father. Both were oddly absent. It had been far too long since I'd spoken to my parents. My mother's birthday was a few weeks away and I was hoping, that since I wasn't working, I could go visit them for a week or so. I know she'd be exciting for me to visit, but I didn't want to just show up unannounced. Dad had to work, and Mom was active in the church and I'd hate to drop in if they were going to be busy. I scrolled through my contacts again. They weren't listed under mom and dad or by their first names. I didn't even have the unlikely entry of Mr. and Mrs. McNeill. How had that happened? I looked through the other numbers programmed into my phone and I couldn't tell if there were any additional missing numbers, but I didn't think that there were. Why were my parent's numbers missing? I went to the computer and searched my emails. I didn't have any saved messages from my parents as well. That was odd. I stared at empty space between my twin monitors, trying to recall the last time I'd spoken to either my mom or dad. It had been a few days, at least. Did I tell them about my accident? I don't think I did though I couldn't remember for sure. I figured I didn't want them to worry but now, having their numbers missing from my phone, I was starting to worry. I tried to dial the numbers from memory but that was futile. Nobody remembered phone numbers anymore that weren't their own. I'd have to look into that. I briefly thought to ask Bonnie but then I remembered that I had fired her the day before. Or maybe she had quit. Either way she was a friend, a good friend, and I didn't need to burden her with work any longer. I'd investigate myself even if I had to drive down to lower Alabama just to surprise them with my visit. Glancing through my phone one last time I decided that I'd do just that. Mom would love it and it would make a great birthday present. If they had plans then the visit could be brief, at least I'd be able to get their phone numbers programmed into my cell phone again. Once I got my casts removed, I'd take a drive south. The casts would make the accident seem far worse than it was. I took a shower and got dressed. I had to stop and buy a bottle of wine. Bonnie had said I didn't need to bring anything, but you didn't show up as a guest without brining something and a nice bottle of wine would be perfect. My somehow absent mother had taught me that. I arrived at Bonnie's house just before noon that Saturday morning. The sun was high in the sky, its heat baking my skin. I parked behind Bonnie's car, grabbed the bottle of wine I had bought on the way over, and made my way up the front walk. I was wearing a pair of jeans that I was already regretting even though I had to keep my hairless legs hidden from Paul, and a simple T-shirt emblazoned with Bugs Bunny holding a carrot and asking, "What's up doc?" I rang the bell. Paul opened the door, "George," he said, standing aside to let me enter. "Good to see you again." I shook the hand he was offering, "thanks for having me." I dropped his hand and held up the bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild I'd bought at the upscale package store a few miles from my house. Paul led me into the kitchen where Bonnie was standing at an island mixing up a pasta salad. She had mayonnaise on her hands and on the knife she was using to dice an onion. "Morning, George," she said. I had been worried that she would call me Autumn and was both elated and disappointed when she didn't. "Morning, Bonnie." "Look what George brought," she said, showing Bonnie the label on the wine. "Well, that's just silly," she said. "You don't bring a wine that good to a bar-b-que." Her lips turned up in a smile, "Thank you, George." I beamed, "You're welcome." "Can I get you a drink?" Paul asked as Bonnie returned to the pasta salad. "We have beer, wine, water, pop, even some hard stuff if you'd like." He smiled at his wife, "Or tea. Both hot and sweet." Being from the south the idea of a glass of sweet tea on a hot summer day sounded heavenly. "Sweet tea, please." "Coming right up." Paul filled a glass with ice and pulled a pitcher from the refrigerator. He filled the glass and handed it to me. I could hear the ice cracking in the glass. I took a sip, smacked my lips, and took another. "Thanks." Paul put the pitcher away. "Help yourself if you want more," he said. "Come on out back. I need to get the grill going. Steak okay I hope?" It was and I said as much. He led me through the strangely familiar family room attached to the kitchen. On one wall a huge television was hung. The sound was turned down, but they had it tuned to GAC. George Strait was on screen singing about the state where all his exes lived. He opened the sliding glass door and led me onto a pool deck. The pool was huge, spanning nearly the length of the house. Four lounge chairs sat to my right, looking out at the pristine blue water. To my left there was a huge brick cooking area that contained a grill, six burners, a double-oven and an open pizza oven. "Wow," I said. Paul donned a goofy, happy grin. "It's something, right? Bonnie didn't want me to have it built at first. She thought it was too big, but now we cook out here more than we cook inside. I think she likes it because I do most of the cooking now." "It's impressive," I said. The pool deck was entirely covered by a huge screened enclosure. One door opened out the side behind the lounge chairs and onto their back yard. Along the privacy fence Paul or Bonnie had planted a garden. I could see a few green tomatoes growing on a trellis. Next to the tomatoes I saw some tall green plants with some budding yellow flowers. Okra. Next to the okra they were growing some cucumbers, their vines spilling into the yard. Some peppers came next and finally I saw some large bushy vegetable that I couldn't place. I think it was cauliflower, but I wasn't sure. Paul attended the grill, turning on a trio of burners. "How's it going with the casts?" Standing next to Paul I shrugged. "Not bad. I get them off on Wednesday. I've learned to cope pretty well. I think showering was the hardest part. Not having a job helps. Means I can take the extra time that things take now. Getting dressed is harder than it should be, but I get by. Bonnie helped through the worst of it, while I was learning to take care of myself again." He nodded. "She's already got two new clients. She's really good at her job." He looked towards the sliding glass door and then back to me. Speaking in a conspiratorial whisper he added, "just don't tell her I said that." The pride in his voice was evident. Paul was a man who knew what a find his wife was and wasn't afraid to let others know he knew. We both laughed. "I think she already knows." "You may be right," Paul agreed. He fussed with the grill for a moment more. I watched as he opened a cabinet built into the impressive outdoor kitchen and pulled out a set of metal tongs. He set the open end on the grill, allowing it to heat up just a bit. I took a sip of my tea, moving away from Paul to look out over the well-maintained lawn. The garden was ablaze with color, the yellow flowers of the okra providing a lovely contrast to the rich, verdant greens. The overhead sky was clear and a lovely shade of blue that reminded me of the frozen ice of an arctic glacier. I spotted a solitary cloud, white and thin, hovering near the horizon as if savoring the perfect summer day. "You've got a great place," I said. "Nice garden." "Thanks. Bonnie's chopped up some cucumbers and tomatoes from the garden, added some onion, and put them in some vinegar with some oregano, I think. It's a simple salad but with the fresh vegetable it tastes great." He looked at me, "did you bring your swim trunks?" "No," I admitted, not telling him the reason why. It was the same reason I wore jeans. "I can loan you a pair." Before I could stop him, Paul called out to Bonnie. "Honey," he moved from my side and skirted the pool to open the sliding glass door. "That's not necessary," I said but by then he was a man on a mission. "Can you get George a pair of shorts or some swim trunks. He's got to be roasting." Paul looked over his shoulder, "you'll love the pool on a day this hot. I know you can't swim with the casts, but wading in the water is really, really nice." Bonnie appeared at the door. "Come on, George, let's get you kitted up." I hesitated. I had worn long pants for a reason. How was I going to turn down their generosity? Bonnie would understand; maybe she'd help me come up with a reason not to accept Paul's offer. I made my way inside and followed Bonnie down a short hallway into the master suite. Much like my house, the master bedroom and bathroom were on opposite sides to the remainder of the bedrooms with the main living space sandwiched between the two halves of the house. Out of earshot of Paul I said, "I can't wear shorts. My legs, remember?" Bonnie glanced down the hall, confirming what I had already checked. "Autumn," she said, smiling at the name, "you can wear whatever you want." She crossed the room and opened two dresser drawers. From one she pulled out a pair of blue swim trunks that look like they had been stained by bleach. White streaks swirled haphazardly on the fabric, giving the trunks a juvenile quality like they'd been pained by a three-year-old. "You can wear these," she said. She reached into the second open drawer and pulled out a simple two-piece yellow bikini. "Or you can wear this. I know which one you want to wear." She giggled with that. She knew because I was staring at the bikini. Of the two it was the one I wanted to wear. I wondered how it would fit; how it would look. Mostly I wondered how it would feel. Would my skin race with excitement? My mouth was going dry just thinking about it. "No," I said, my voice coming out as a weak squeak. "I can't wear that." I glanced at Paul's swim trunks. "I'll just stay in my jeans." My eyes returned to the bikini as I finished speaking. I was like a cat watching a mouse, my eyes locked on that ball of yellow in Bonnie's hands. When her hand dropped my eyes followed. "Autumn," Bonnie said. "You can wear this if you want to." "I don't think it's a good idea," I said, liking the idea but scared of it too. Was I really considering it? No. I was just stalling for time, looking for an excuse to laugh off Bonnie's obvious joke. "Why not?" "Paul, for one." Bonnie laughed. "He won't care. Honest." The way she said it had me worried. My lips pulled into a taut line. I felt my eyes squint shut. My hands pulled into tight balls. Anger started to bubble inside me. I could feel it rising, like a ball of gas from those tar pits out in California my parents took me too when I was barely nine years old. "You told him, didn't you?" My voice was harsh, already knowing the answer. They'd laughed at me. Made jokes about me behind my back. Mocking the strange man that liked to dress in women's clothes. What a pervert. Is that what Bonnie said? Bonnie dropped the shorts and the bikini. "No! I didn't say a damned thing, Autumn, and I resent the fact that you think I did. First off, you need to drop the attitude and apologize." She stared at me, defiant. I could see the same anger I was feeling rising on her face. "It's not my place to say a damned thing and I didn't, and I hate the idea that you think I would. Apologize or go home." I looked at her, at the anger on her face that had somehow surpassed my own. She was staring at me, glaring with a molten intensity, defying me to doubt what she was saying. "I'm sorry," I said, my hands unfurling. Bonnie's face stayed rigid, her eyes focused, the smile she'd been wearing while showing me the bikini replaced by an angry sneer. "I'm sorry," I repeated. "I've hidden away my whole life and I assumed..." "Yes, you assumed, and you were wrong. Apology accepted. Autumn," her voice softened when she used the name she gave me, growing kinder and forgiving, "it's not my place to tell anyone your secrets. But I meant what I said, Paul won't care what you wear." She stepped closer to me, dropping the swim trunks and the bikini on their bed. She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bed. She and I both sat, "you need to be who you are and let the rest of the world be damned. Paul really wouldn't care what you wear but even if he did, so what?" I started to speak, to say something, but Bonnie kept going. "You want to become someone else, and I say bollocks. You just want to dress as you really are. You don't need to become someone else; you just need to be yourself. And if that's wearing a damned two-piece bikini then that's what you should wear. Got it?" I nodded. "Got it?" She repeated. "Yeah." "Good. Now, which is it going to be?" I wanted to try on the bikini. More than anything else. If I were a stronger man, then maybe I would have but I'm not. Far too many years hiding behind walls, keeping my dressing secret was far too strong a force to overcome. I reached towards the two bathing suits and grabbed Paul's swim trunks. "These will be fine. Thank you." To her credit Bonnie didn't push the issue. "Great. We'll see you out by the pool." She grabbed the yellow bikini and darted towards the master bathroom. "I'll wear this one." She stuck out her tongue. "Your loss." She was laughing as the bathroom door clicked shut. While Bonnie was changing, I quickly doffed my jeans and pulled on Paul's shorts. They fit just fine. My naked and denuded legs seemed to shine in the light spilling in through the open blinds. Would Paul notice my hairless legs? Would he say something? Bonnie had been certain that he wouldn't comment if I wore a woman's bikini so why would he say something about my legs being without hair? If I trusted Bonnie, and except for my brief doubts a few minutes before, I did trust her, then Paul would be oblivious, or he'd notice and keep it to himself. "I'll be at the pool," I called to Bonnie, not waiting for a response. "Those have to be cooler than those jeans, George," Paul said, still fussing with the grill. "You should try the water. Let me get you a towel." "No need," I said. I sat on the edge of the pool and dropped my feet into the water. The water was warmer than I expected but so soothing. It came to just about my knees, hiding most of my legs from Paul's gaze. He may not say anything, but I didn't have to show much, either. When Paul whistled, I turned my head. Bonnie looked stunning in her two-piece bikini. I felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing that I could be wearing that bathing suit but my stubborn refusal to be caught had won out over my needy curiosity. Paul left the grill to approach his wife. He looked at her, his smile at seeing Bonnie in that tiny, yellow bikini fading like fog burning away with the promise of an overly hot day. "What's wrong?" Couples were like that, especially close one. He could tell that something was on her mind, something that had unsettled her. It was instinctive and when Bonnie shook her head, he understood exactly what she had left unsaid. "What do you think?" Bonnie asked, turning side to side to model the bikini, leaving Paul's worry unanswered. Paul made it to her side. He pulled her into an embrace, one hand slipping along her side to cup the gentle swell of her ass. She made no move to swat it away, content to let him cup and squeeze the pliant, welcoming flesh. "We have company," she giggled, not pulling away. "He can get his own date," Paul replied, his hand kneading Bonnie's shapely behind. It was a lovely, if erroneous thought. I've dated, of course, but never for long. No matter how well I was getting along with a welcoming woman, once the thought of introducing her to my closet took hold I would find some meagre excuse to break it off before it could become something real and long-lasting. My closet meant being alone. Bonnie giggled, gave Paul a kiss that seemed to last longer than that one old Meatloaf song, before pulling away. He stopped her, whispering something in her ear. She shook her head and smiled. I guess our brief spat was behind us and forgiven or maybe she'd just tabled the discussion. Not that it mattered, when they separated, Paul was smiling, seemingly content with whatever subdued conversation that they'd had. Bonnie went inside and emerged a moment later with a stack of towels. She set them on the end of a lounge chair before diving into the water. The yellow of her suit, the bikini I could be wearing, seemed to catch my eye more than her full breasts and curvy behind. She swam under the water from one end of the pool and back again. She was halfway through a third trip before she broke the surface, blowing a stream of water from her mouth like a Bellagio fountain. She swam to the edge of the pool, bobbed her head under the water and came up again, blowing another heavy stream at Paul, splashing his bare feet. He jumped, all smiles, and then leapt into the water, pulling his knees up, "cannonball," he screamed, acting out exactly what he proclaimed. I had to laugh. The two were acting like children, having fun, being playful and playing with each other. I could tell that they were connected and that made me feel even more jealous of Bonnie. First the bathing suit and then the relationship. I'd seen snippets of them together before and knew how well they gelled, but I wasn't truly envious until witnessing them acting like children one minute, playing in the water, and then overly hormonal teenagers the next, caressing each other as they stood in the pool, the water up to their chins. They belonged together more than any couple I'd ever seen and that included my parents who were still together after forty years. I was looking forward to seeing them again. Paul and Bonnie nuzzled each other for a few lingering minutes. Bonnie pushed Paul away before splashing his face with a forceful shove of her hand. Paul laughed, stuck out his tongue and when he reached for Bonnie, she swam away making a raspberry sound. Paul laughed again, racing after Bonnie with greater determination. She slowed, not exactly letting him catch her, but not hindering his efforts either. "Got you!" They embraced again. Kissed again. It was like I wasn't a bystander, taking it all in. I was invisible. This was a couple in love and not afraid to show it. "Get a room," I joked. "Good idea," Paul said. "Later," Bonnie said and the way she said it told me that she meant it. They kissed one last time before Paul climbed from the pool. He grabbed a towel, dried off, and set the towel on the back of the lounge chair. "When should I put the steaks on?" Bonnie thought about it. "I'd say in about twenty minutes." Paul took a seat, leaning against the wet towel. We chatted, both of us watching Bonnie swim a few laps. I kept my eye on Paul. The way he stared at Bonnie and the coy smile on his face told me what he was thinking, and I knew from her earlier comment that she was amenable to his advances. I had to wonder what Bonnie would think of Paul if he shared the same peccadilloes that I did. Would she be so obviously in love if he liked to wear women's dresses and he had unexplored fantasy of living his life as a needed, unneeded secretary. I looked away, glancing at the garden along the back fence. Was there any woman out there that could put up with that? Put up with me? Bonnie emerged from the pool, squeezing her bicolor hair in both her hands like wringing out a mop. She grabbed a towel, dried her lovely form, and made her way into the house, calling out to Paul that it was time to start the steaks. Lunch was delicious. Paul knew his way around a grill, but one didn't spend what they did on an outdoor kitchen if they were just going to flounder using it. Bonnie's pasta salad was delicious, and the ears of corn were hot, moist and delightful. We talked about my casts and how much I was looking forward to Wednesday when I'd finally have them removed. Paul asked about my job hunt and I admitted, with a slight rose color on my cheeks, that I hadn't started looking, holding up my hindered hands as the reason. "You'll find something," he said, sounding confident. I nodded in agreement. "Once I start looking." I didn't tell him that I didn't need to look, and Bonnie had kept that secret too. I felt guilty about my earlier accusation all over again. We ate. We chatted. I helped Bonnie with the dishes while Paul cleaned the grill. She was wearing cutoff shorts over her bikini bottoms and a Grateful Dead t-shirt over on top. I was drying the plates that Bonnie washed when she said, "I told you he wouldn't notice your legs." "Maybe he did. Maybe he just kept it to himself." Bonnie laughed, "You'll have to play poker with Paul one day. He can't hide anything. If he noticed he would have said something." She nudged me with her shoulder, "And he still wouldn't care." Maybe he wouldn't but I did. I still wasn't ready to reveal my secrets. Coming out to Bonnie had been bad enough and that was only because of an errant accident that had sent my brain into a topsy-turvy tailspin that had taken a month to right. How much better would it have been if Bonnie hadn't seen my closet? Hadn't seen what I had long kept hidden? I made a noncommittal noise causing Bonnie to nudge me again. After lunch we sat at the dining room table, sipping wine, talking and playing three-way cribbage. Paul was good, Bonnie was better. I won one game to Paul's two. Bonnie won five, skunking both of us on two consecutive games. She played cutthroat. When I missed a five-card flush, forgetting to notice the overturned cut in the crib matched my run of hearts, she was quick to take my errant point. "Brutal," I said, waving my hand as if she'd slapped it. There was no pity in her mocking me, moving her tiny red peg, "if you don't want 'em," she scolded. "I'll take 'em." Paul laughed, admitting he seldom won. Then he leaned over to me, talking loud enough so that Bonnie knew he wasn't hiding anything. "But when we play strip cribbage, I don't really lose." Bonnie smiled. Paul smiled even bigger. It was official. I liked them both. Chapter 8 Even though Bonnie didn't work for me any longer she still showed up early that Wednesday morning with a smile on her face and a large canvas bag decorated with a yellow applique sun shining down on a purple umbrella protecting a green and white Adirondack chair, draped over her shoulder. It was the perfect bag to take to the beach. "Ready to get those casts off?" I was more than ready. I'd grown very good at maneuvering around my life with them on my arms. I could do so many things one handed that I'd always done with two. The cast that held my elbow immobile made so many things difficult, but I had learned to adapt, moving my arms as whole instead of flexing it in the center. Simple things were made tough and I was more than ready to return to my normal life. "You have no idea." Bonnie nodded, "Oh, I had a cast when I was a little girl." "You did?" "Sure. When I was a kid a group of us would ride our bikes down this long trail that ran behind our elementary school. It was a narrow asphalt trail that started about two hundred feet above the school and sloped down," she held out her hand, miming the angle of the trail, "oh, about this much," she said. I thought it had to be an exaggeration, her hand had to be sitting about fifty or fifty-five degrees. "You could get some speed racing down that thing." "I bet." "When it was my turn, I went, peddling as fast as my little legs would let me. I was panting with exertion. I was flying!" She smiled at the memory. Exaggerating or not, it was real to her and she was back there again, telling me the story. "I raced passed trees and shrubs. I thought I saw a little rabbit, but I was going way to fast to be sure and I wasn't about to turn around and look. I definitely wasn't going to stop. "I stopped peddling, pulling my legs free. The pedals were flying every bit as fast as I was. I raced down the trail, getting closer and closer to my elementary school. The pink and white streamers attached to my handlebars flapped in the racing wind. I heard some chattering that I thought was cheering. The cheers turned into frantic shouting that I could barely hear. I looked up seeing my friends waving at me, well," she shrugged, "waving to me to stop. To turn. Something. "At the bottom of the hill, right before the faculty parking lot they'd put up a chain to keep the cars out when school wasn't in session. The chain was almost invisible against the black asphalt. I came racing down the hill and went straight into that chain. The chain caught the bike, flipped me up and over the handlebars, sending me cartwheeling forward onto the hard ground and sending my bicycle flying over it a moment later, causing it to land on me. I tried to brace my fall, holding out my hands. I heard the bones break." She held up her right hand. "Three breaks in my right arm and two bones broken in my left wrist. My face hit the ground so hard that I broke my front tooth in half. I was crying and bloody and in so much pain. "My friends helped me to my feet and carried me up that same hill to my house. I was in casts for almost two months." She opened her mouth to show me her tooth. Pointing she said, "it's an implant I had put in after I got my permanent teeth." "Wow," I said. "Yeah," she held up her arm and showed me a scar on her wrist. "I still have a little memento of that day." She laughed next, "they stopped putting the chain up after that. Because of me." She sounded proud and I thought maybe she was. She had affected the world around her, making it change. That had to be empowering for one so young. There had been a fondness in her voice as she told the story. Painful as it had been there was still something grandly nostalgic about it. "That was the first time I ever went to the hospital. The way they took care of me is what got me into the medical field in the first place." "That's some story." She shrugged but the grin on her face and the wistful look in her eyes told me that to her it was more than a story. It was something that defined who she was. It reminded me of that Disney / Pixar movie Inside Out. In that story there were certain memories that shaped a person, defining them as to who they were. In the movie those were called core memories. That speedy trip down an asphalt hill and into an invisible chain was one of Bonnie's core memories. I had my own, of course. Trying on my mother's clothes when I was left home alone when I was a teenager was just as formative to me as that bike meeting a chain had been for Bonnie. That was one core memory. And probably the biggest. "Shall we go?" Bonnie asked. "Yeah," I said, holding up my casts. "I'm ready to get these things off." "Good. And then I have a surprise." "You do?" She just grinned, her whole face lighting up with it. She didn't say anything else, she just spun around and left through the same door that I'd opened just a few minutes before. I locked up the house and climbed into Bonnie's grey Nissan. She got in and soon we were on our way to my orthopedics' office. I asked Bonnie twice what the surprise was and both times he wasn't the least bit vague in telling me that she wasn't about to spoil her secretive plans. I pestered her and she laughed. I goaded her and she told me to shush. It was fun and playful and by the time we parked the car at the doctor's office I was ready for my "reward for being a good patient." Forty minutes after arriving at the doctor's office we were leaving again. The casts had been removed and a trio of new x-ray's taken. I was given a clean bill of health and a half-dozen printed pieces of paper telling me how to exercise my limbs to help rebuild my strength. My arms looked thinner and so pale. I could see a strip across my fingers where the cast had been, a blinding stripe of skin about four shades brighter than my fingertips. It felt good to flex my arms and bend my elbows. I kept folding my arms inward and straightening them out again as if it was something I'd never done before. Once, after going to the dentist and having my face full of Novocain, I left the dentist and was amazed at how I couldn't feel it when I bit into my lower lip. I kept chewing on my lip, amazed that I couldn't feel it and how foreign it felt to not feel anything. I ended up biting through my lip, causing blood to drip down my chin. My fresh arms were like that. Alien and odd and impossibly light, like they weren't a part of my body even though I could command them to move and they'd do as I bid. It was eerily strange. We left the doctors and Bonnie said, "ready for the surprise?" "Yes, please." I flashed a big, fake grin full of teeth. Bonnie squealed, smiling even bigger. Whatever she was planning she was having fun. She jumped on the interstate and got off two exits later. She zipped past a couple of strip malls, two McDonalds, one Popeye's fried chicken and a Chicken Salad Chick before turning into another strip of stores and shops. She parked the car in front of a building advertising Two- For-One tanning specials. Still smiling, she said, "I knew your arms would be that sickly color, so I booked us time in the tanning booths." Her smile grew even bigger. She had more up her sleeve, the grin on her face, like she was a teenager that had finally pulled one over on their parents without getting caught, told a much bigger story than what she was saying aloud. She got out of the car and grabbed her beach bag. The anthropomorphized sun sporting eyes and a toothy grin was giving me the same look as Bonnie. It was as if the two were in cahoots and were watching their scheme unfold flawlessly. "What are you planning?" I asked, shutting the door behind me. Even that felt better without my casts. Everything had. From putting on my seatbelt to scratching an itch on my nose. It felt good to be without my casts and Bonnie was right, my skin could use some sun even if it was artificial. "Come on," she said avoiding the question. We entered the shop. A tan girl, barely out of high school was standing behind an iPad set up as a register. "Welcome to Suntans. I'm Casey. Can I help you?" She asked with an effervescent bubbling to her tone. She was far to upbeat. "Yes. Bonnie and George. We have an appointment." Casey tapped on the iPad and nodded. "Absolutely. Let me get you two set up." She escorted us through a beaded curtain decorated with a beachy scene. It was almost the same as the picture on Bonnie's beach bag right down to the wooden chair and the beach umbrella. We slipped through the curtain and into a hallway loaded with doors. Seashells and starfish were affixed to the walls keeping the faux beach feel. I was escorted into one room and Bonnie shown the one next to me. Twin mirrors sat on opposite sides of the wall, making the room seem far bigger than it was. Casey gave us both instructions on how to operate the large coffin-sized clamshell tanning booth. She explained the controls - the ones that set the timer and the one that set the intensity. It was fairly simple. She showed us the headphones attached to another iPad affixed to the wall. "We have thousands of songs to chose from," she said, beaming. She clearly loved her job. I pondered that. I had been in a dead-end job doing something I hated just to past the time. Is that how I would act when I finally started doing what I longed to do? I hoped so. Casey left us alone. Bonnie checked the hallway connecting the twelve separate tanning rooms. Satisfied she turned back to me and reached into her cheery bag. "Here," she said, holding up a tangle of yellow cloth. "What is it?" I asked knowing the answer. I had to know. I felt my heart racing and a tickle in the back of my throat. "You'll figure it out." "I can't wear this," I said, holding up the two-piece bikini Bonnie had filled out so well at her backyard cookout. She didn't say anything. She just smiled, waggled her fingers, and left me alone holding the bikini she had offered me just a few days earlier. I shut the door, turning the lock to make sure I wouldn't be interrupted. I unfurled the fabric, taking it in. The bikini top was just two tiny yellow triangles joined together by four long strings about as thick as a straw. I wanted to wear it and I wanted to throw it aside like it was something poisonous almost as much. The bikini bottoms were smaller than I thought they should be; there didn't seem to be much cloth there. I couldn't wear them. That thought was followed by one wondering how well the bikini fit. I vacillated between the two extremes. I wanted to try it on. I wanted to throw it aside. "Fuck it." I stripped off my clothes. The decision to try it on had been decided since I'd locked the door. I stared with the top. I tied the strings at my chest and then spun the bikini around so that the cups were in front. I grabbed the two remaining ties and looped the strings together behind my neck, knotting them in place. I adjusted the top in place, centering the tiny triangles over my nipples. Down below I felt the excitement standing proud. My arousal made putting the bottoms on harder than it needed to be. I felt a tightening in my chest as I tied the bikini bottoms in place. My erection made them look both inappropriate and out of place but standing in front of the mirror, seeing countless copies of me, erased the feeling of unease that had started to build. I loved the bikini and even though the bulging in the bottoms looked out of place and felt slightly uncomfortable, I didn't care. That bikini leapt forward to become the best bathing suit I'd ever worn. I turned sideways, regretting that I didn't have my breast forms. The bikini would look so much better. Next time. Following Casey's commands, I set the controls. Bonnie had known I'd need to darken my arms following my time in the casts. Her ideas, both the tanning booths and the bikini, were spot. I turned the dials, punched up some Meatloaf on the iPad, donned the earbuds and the tiny protective eyewear and jumped into the clamshell booth. The top of the booth came down on its own, stopping about six inches above my chest. Light blue light filled the room. I shut my eyes, listened to Meatloaf croon about Paradise by the Dashboard Light, and fell asleep. I awoke to Taylor Swift singing about some teardrops on a guitar. How many songs I missed I couldn't say. I rolled to my side and checked the timer. I'd slept for nearly half an hour. I still had another ten minutes of tanning. I shut my eyes again. Taylor Swift gave way to Queen who yielded their song, telling me how they were going to rock me, to James Taylor singing about fire and rain. The clamshell lid rose silently when my allotted time was up. I removed the earbuds and sat up. My skin was warm and tingling. I stood up, smiling at my reflection in the mirror. My erection had waned, giving the front of the biking a more natural look. I reached into the bottoms and tucked myself between my legs, trapping that needy part of myself between my own thighs. I stood up, holding my legs together, my penis held in place by my legs. The look was even better. Almost natural. I turned sideways, looking at my ass in the multiple reflections. The bikini bottoms, already small on Bonnie was even tinier on me. I tugged at the fabric, smoothing the bottoms in place. I nodded, agreeing with myself that I had a new favorite bathing suit. It would be hard to return it to Bonnie, but I knew I'd be ordering one as soon as I got home. A knock on my locked door startled me. "Almost done?" Casey asked. "Just getting dressed." "Okay." I took off the top and stared at my reflection. It was slight but it was there. I stepped closer to the mirror. Yes, it was minor but visible, like the last bit of fading light at the end of a beautiful summer day. I could just see the tiny triangle of paler skin around my nipples where the tangle of yellow cloth had covered my body. Tan lines. So very faint but so very intoxicating. I could barely see that my skin was darker where the bikini hadn't been, and that discoloration left me feeling lightheaded. I felt a rising down below as I stared in the mirror and witnessed the front of my bikini bottoms bulging outward. My tan lines were exciting. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and got dressed again. I heard movement in the booth next to me and called out, "just about," when Bonnie asked if I was ready to go. I opened the door to my booth and handed Bonnie her bikini, hating to let it go. "Did you?" She asked, putting the bikini in her beach bag. I wasn't sure if my voice would crack so I simply nodded. "You can keep it," she said. "I've made us both appointments for the next two weeks. Every three days." I nodded again and then croaked out a weak, "thanks." I held up my pale arms. "I'm sure it'll help." I wasn't thinking about my arms or how they would look after another four or five sessions. I was thinking of my tan lines and how the pale skin would contrast with the darker skin not covered by that tiny yellow top. Would it look ridiculous? Maybe. Was I anxious to see how it turned out when my tanning sessions were completed? Ten-four, good buddy. Bonnie just smiled. Was she thinking about my tan lines as much as I was or had that thought eluded her? For me, that idea was paramount and arousing, causing me want to lay out in my own back yard just to speed up the darkening of my skin. We left Suntans and drove to lunch. We chatted like girlfriends, sipping wine and sharing gossip. Bonnie told me about her newest client, a young boy that had broken both his legs and temporarily lost the use of one arm thanks to an accident and a poorly installed child safety seat. "That's horrible." Bonnie agreed. Our salads arrived. It was one of the things I still did to maintain my thin physique. Fitting into my feminine attire took a lot of work. No matter how good a juicy cheeseburger would taste, a tiny chef's salad with a drizzle of vinaigrette was far better for my waistline. We ate and chatted. When we were alone, and no one was near us, Bonnie would call me Autumn. Around others or if she wasn't sure, she called me George. I wasn't sure which one I liked the most. George was given to me by my parents and I would always be George, but that new name, the one Bonnie gave me made me tingle and grin. "So, Autumn," Bonnie said. "Are you ready to go shopping yet?" I shook my head, "No." She pouted. "You know you are. How about we go down to Macon? You won't run into anyone you know there. It'll be fun." "That's a little far, don't you think." Macon was just under two hours south of where I lived. Bonnie was right - I wouldn't run into anyone I knew but since I didn't get out much and I wasn't employed, the odds were slim I'd meet someone who knew me no matter where we went. Still, I doubted I could go. Bonnie took a bit of her own salad. "Absolutely. Since I know that no one will notice you I think we could go shopping anywhere and you'd be fine. I'm just trying to help you." I thought about it. I wanted to go. I did. The thought was just too terrifying. "I don't think so. I doubt I'll ever be ready." Bonnie shrugged and took a sip of her half-and-half tea. "We'll see." Five days later Autumn went shopping. Chapter 9 Standing in front of the kitchen sink I popped two aspirin, paused, and then took a third. I had gone to bed the night before with a headache and it had grown stronger overnight. I had the lights off; my head hurt too much to keep them on. I turned on the tap, grabbed a clean glass from the dishwasher, and took a long sip, washing down the aspirin. They would help. I should have taken some the night before. I sat in the dark living room, waiting for my headache to subside. I turned my head, left, right, then left again, wincing when my neck cracked. That seemed to ease the pain I was feeling but only momentarily. I shut my eyes, waiting for the aspirin to kick in and my headache to wane. I groaned when my phone rang. I glanced at the number on my phone. I didn't recognize it or the area code of the number that was calling. Who did I know in area code 251? Where was area code 251? I wasn't expecting a call and since I didn't recognize the number, I hit decline, sending the caller to voice mail. If it was important, they'd leave a message. I had more important things on my mind. I wasn't working and Bonnie was coming over; it was time to go tan again and then we were going to the mall. Only this time it would be different. I'd be going as Autumn. I had protested. I had wailed, fighting every logical point Bonnie made with an emotional response that didn't quite score the same points Bonnie's did. If we were on opposite sides of a televised debate, Bonnie would have won. Point and weaker counterpoint. I waited twenty minutes before my headache started to subside before moving into the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror again, looking at my darkening skin. My arms looked better, but it was the faint triangles around my nipples that had me infatuated. We'd been to the tanning booth twice now and both times I'd worn Bonnie's tiny bikini. I had, as I had told Bonnie I would, ordered my own but it hadn't been delivered yet. While Bonnie's was yellow, the two-piece bathing suit I had ordered was a deep plum colored dotted with tiny white hearts. I couldn't wait to wear it. My phone rang again from the same unrecognized number. As before they didn't leave a message. I blocked the contact. Problem solved. I glanced at the time on the phone; I had to get ready. I was going shopping. Well, Autumn was. I'll admit I was nervous, but I was looking forward to it as well. I still wasn't sure how Bonnie had convinced me, some argument about how much I trusted her finally winning me over. I knew my addled mind had trusted her, had even hired her long ago at a meeting I couldn't remotely recall, so if she could be trusted then I had to trust her. Isn't that how it worked? "Trust me," she'd said. "Nobody will know and if anyone suspects, we'll bug out and go straight home." Finally, I consented causing her to jump up and down, clapping her hands, and squealing happily. "Goodie!" I began getting ready. It took women a long time to prepare to go out. It took a cross-dresser even longer. Women had a natural beauty about them, a gentle softness that seemed to make them exude some hidden confidence. As a man, dressing as a woman, that had to be faked by makeup and an attention to detail that had made me good at the job I had hated. I hadn't cared about the job, but I was good at it. I'd be good at being a secretary, too. I started with my breast forms. This time I glued them on. They fit easily in the cups of my bra but when I wanted the illusion to be its best, I went full tilt. I applied my medical glue to my freshly shaved chest and added another layer to the back of my breast forms. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, admiring my tan lines, waiting for the glue to become tacky to the touch. I ran my finger along the lighter line on my skin, smiling as I did. Who knew tan lines could be so cool? With the glue sticky, I placed one breast form over my left nipple, holding it firmly, waiting for the glue to set. I pulled my hand away, feeling the weight of the silicone breast pulling downward against my skin. I repeated the process with the other form, leaving me standing there with a pair of breasts. I grabbed some concealer and began the process of blending the ends of the breast forms against my skin, first smoothing the form into place, working out any folds or wrinkles and then coloring both the breast forms and my skin until the two blended together. The seams were visible but only barely. I put on my favorite bra. I'm sure every woman has one and while not a woman I had my favorite too. It was a deep blue, darker than the ocean lined with a trio of black stripes that followed the gentle curve of the cup. It had lace scalloping along the top and a tiny black bow stitched between the cups. I loved it. I put on the bra and then the matching thong panties. I did my makeup next, getting it perfect. Concealing blemishes and shading my eyes and cheeks to give myself a refined, feminine look. I didn't do my makeup too dramatically. That would be for clubbing or out on the town. No, for simple shopping in the middle of the day I went subtle and subdued but still enough to show I was all woman. Pantyhose came next. I had shaved my legs not an hour earlier, but years of experimentation had shown that I could hide any imperfections with stockings, faint flaws that would be noticeable on bare skin and creating my illusion required a focus on the tiny, imperceptible details. Bonnie had been helping me, showing me how to move my hands when I spoke, or how to stand and sit that weren't blatantly masculine. The details in my outfit were every bit as important as the details in my movements. All the pieces, working together, created Autumn, keeping George hidden and, more importantly, undiscovered. I dug through the closet, deciding what to wear. The first time Bonnie and I were going to go shopping she had selected a jean skirt and this time I did the same. It was casual and comfortable and the one I chose was a little shorter than that first one. The skirt stopped well above my knees. I liked how they fit, and I loved the little unicorn stitched on the back pocket. I donned a cream-colored blouse, buttoning it in place. I tucked the blouse into the skirt and grabbed a thin lime-green belt, fishing it through the belt loops before fastening it in place. I heard the doorbell and suddenly felt a rising tide of nervousness. Getting dressed was easy; facing the world was much harder. The doorbell rang again. "Hi," I said, finally reaching the door to let Bonnie in. She regarded me, "You look good." "Thanks," I said. "Ready to go?" She said, still looking me up and down. Was she looking for clues that would give me away? I felt like an insect pinned to a corkboard. "No. Not really." She took my hand, "You'll be fine. I promise." I finished getting ready, putting on my cork wedges and grabbing one of my many purses. I stuffed in some lipstick and my eyeshadow, a bit of the concealer I wore and a tube of mascara. I could repair my face if something happened to cause my real self to show through. I paused and threw a bottle of aspirin in the purse as well, fearing my headache wasn't quite done with me. Bonnie was still standing at the front door. "You really do look good, Autumn," she said. She was back to using the name she'd given me. "Do you have your bathing suit." I had the yellow bikini in my purse next to my lipstick and mascara and my wallet containing the debit card with Autumn's name on it. When that had arrived, three days after ordering it, I'd sat on my couch, holding it in my hand, and running my fingers over the raised letters like a blind woman not only reading braille but finally understanding it. I had held the card to the light, turning it over and back to the front, taking in the name Autumn McNeill. Or maybe Ms. McNeill like I'd always imagined when playing out my secretary delusions. Just seeing that card had somehow lifted my mood even though I had not realized my mood needed elevating. "Yeah," I said. "I'm all set." "Do you have an extra tampon in your purse?" She was laughing as she said it. "No. Why would I?" She laughed even harder. "All women carry an extra tampon in their purse, Autumn. You never know when you'll need it for yourself or someone else." The male part of me, the part that I was used to most of all, asked, "How could someone else need it if all women already have one?" "Emergencies, Autumn. Here," she opened her beach bag, the one with the happy sun and the blue Adirondack chair and pulled out a trio of tampons. "Put these in your purse." I grabbed the paper wrapped sticks and put them in my purse next to my aspiring, my makeup and the wallet holding the credit card in Autumn's name. Closing my purse Bonnie beamed, "Good. Now let's get going." She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my house. She stood next to me as I locked the door, chatting about how much fun we were going to have. "Have you ever sent something you ordered back?" Bonnie asked as we walked towards her silver Explorer. "Sometimes," I said, climbing into her SUV. "Mostly if I order something and it doesn't fit, I just throw it away." She flashed me a look with wide eyes and a tremor of her head. "Why not send stuff back?" "It's just easier," I said and left it at that. Bonnie was backing down my driveway now. She put the Explorer in gear and then started driving away. I looked in the side-view mirror, watching my house getting smaller and smaller. What was I thinking? How could I go out dressed as I was? The sun was up, rising in the sky. There were no clouds, only a pristine blue backdrop stared at me as if the universe wanted nothing to block the worlds view of the freak in a dress. I felt my legs start to shake and my hands ball into tight little fists. "I can't do this." "Don't be silly. You want to do this, and it'll be fun." "Do you promise?" Was that weak little voice my own? "I promise." That didn't settle my nerves, but it gave me something to focus on. My house was a distant memory, replaced by the thought of what was to come. Bonnie kept asking me about my online shopping, telling me how much more enjoyable it was to discover something new, to find that it fits, and to take it home. "It's like good sex," she said. I gave a forced laugh but had to appreciate what Bonnie was doing. Her chatting distracted me from where we were going and how I was dressed. She could tell I was uncomfortable. "We're going tanning first," she said. "It'll be a good test. If their employee can't tell, then nobody will. Trust me, Autumn." A noncommittal grunt was all I could give but it was enough. Bonnie turned on the radio, asking me what I wanted to listen to. When I didn't give her and answer she flipped through the stations finally setting on Roar by Katie Perry. "Pay attention, Mason," she said. "Just be yourself." The song was upbeat and positive, and I found my foot, sitting in my too-tall wedge, bouncing to the beat or as close to the beat as I could get it. Either way it was close enough. Katie Perry was replaced by a trio of songs by Beyonc? before changing to Ed Sheeran and then Taylor Swift. Bonnie kept chatting, telling me not to worry as if that would make me not worry. The effort was appreciated, and I smiled when I felt it was appropriate to do so. Hopefully Bonnie appreciated me as much as I did her. Exactly as Bonnie had predicted, Janice, the woman working at Suntans, didn't comment on my attire. If she noticed I was a man in a skirt, she didn't say anything. She just smiled, showed us to our own booths and asked us to call out if we needed anything. I thanked her in my girlie voice and Bonnie did as well. After forty-five minutes I was certain my tan lines were even more pronounced. How much darker would they be when we finished our ten full treatments and why was I anxious to see that enticing contrast? Tanning wasn't exactly fun but the results sure were. Maybe that's why people did it. My arms did look better with some color on them. Bonnie had been right about that, but she was right about so many things. She seemed to know exactly what I needed and more than that she seemed to know exactly what to say to get me to go along with whatever she had planned. She knew me well, far better than I thought she should. It was nice to grow closer to someone that was so like me. We left the strip mall, putting Suntans behind us. Bonnie once again turned on the radio, singing along with the songs she knew and butchering the ones she didn't by singing whatever word she thought would fit. It was fun and funny, and I laughed more than once. She drove about twenty minutes before pulling into Green Fern Plaza, home of the Green Fern Mall. Four anchor stores set the points of the mall. Inside were about ninety shops that sold everything from shoes to books, dresses and makeup to hats and scarves. My mouth was dry, my throat tight. I ran my tongue over my cracked lips. My hands weren't exactly shaking but they were tingling in nervous anticipation. I wasn't sure I could do it, but Janice had been oblivious, why should I expect anything different. Hadn't Bonnie said that most people were only concerned with themselves? Why would anyone notice me? "You can do this, Autumn. And it'll be fun. Better than sex." It had been far too long since I'd had that experience, so I just smiled and said, "okay." I reached down and opened the door. So far so good. I pushed the door open. Nobody screamed or laughed or pointed or mocked. It was a great start. I stepped from Bonnie's Jeep and slammed the door shut. I jumped when Bonnie set the alarm, locking me away from that safe haven. I knew she'd let me back in if I pushed the issue, but by setting the alarm she let me know that we were committed. With my purse draped over one arm I followed Bonnie across the parking lot. My eyes took in everything from the light blue of the sky to the deep green of the grass. I could see discarded soda cans littering the parking lot. I spotted a used diaper folded and flattened on the ground. The colors were vivid and far too bright. I heard cars in the distance, racing to points unknown. I head a dog barking at something I couldn't see. I hear a car alarm blaring, pausing just long enough to think it was done, before it started shouting again, an annoying braying that was a cross between a siren and a nightmare. I heard Bonnie chatting, but couldn't focus on her words. My eyes were locked on the door leading into a Dillard's. They had nice clothes; I think I had a dress or two back home that I'd bought from their online store. "You're doing great," Bonnie said, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze. Her voice was far too loud. The siren behind us was too loud. The dog barking was too loud. It was all too much. I felt like a deaf man that was finally hearing for the first time and not finding a way to turn off the sounds that I'd never heard before. I flexed my hands into fists, let out a long, noisy breath, and then thanked Bonnie for her kind words. She flashed me a smile, squeezed my arm again, and led me into the mall. The store was far too bright. It felt like there was a spotlight on me, showing me to be a fraud. "Look," the overly lit store seemed to scream, "look at the sissy in a skirt." My throat tightened forcing a cough from my mouth. I felt hot and cold, goosebumps raced down my spine. I felt my hands shaking in nervous fear. I was an insect in a jar, a smear on a slide being observed by some mad scientist through a microscope, I was a monkey in a cage. It was all too real. Bonnie stood next to me, pushing her shoulder into mine, "You're fine, Autumn. Look around, the place is mostly deserted." Breathing through my mouth I glanced around the store. I saw two older women looking at perfume with an attractive woman attending to them. To my left I saw a man in jeans and a dirty t-shirt walking away, his head held low, oblivious to what was around him. Off in the distance I saw a woman pushing stroller while looking at a collection of Michael Kors purses. She, like the man walking away, seemed lost in her own world. Bonnie was right, nobody was paying attention to me. "I can do this," I whispered, more to myself than to Bonnie. She heard me anyway, "duh. Come one." She took my hand and yanked me after her. We started something better than sex. I lost count of the number of hours I spent trying on clothes, sometimes with the intention of buying them and occasionally just to see how something would look. I tried on skirts that were frumpy and some so short that my panties were visible as I stood motionless in front of the changing room mirror. I tried on blouses and skirts, shoes and earrings. We went from store to store to store, from changing room to changing room. My arms were full, lugging my purchases. I bought three dresses including one tiny little thing that hugged my fake breasts and just barely covered my ass. It was the epitome of a little black dress and I loved it. Bonnie had squealed when I came out of the dressing room, telling me that I'd have to fight to keep the men off me. I smiled at that. Not that I wanted men to come onto me, far from it, but because at that moment, by the way Bonnie acted and the words she chose, she saw me as a woman and nothing more. I loved her for that. I bought two pairs of heels. The first were made of some burgundy suede that had a golden zipper that ran up the back. The other were strappy and black with a tiny five-inch heel that both Bonnie and I knew would just go superbly with my new black dress. We shopped for makeup and bracelets, earrings and necklaces. I bought panties and five new bras. Trying them on was an experience I would never forget. Standing topless, my glued-on breasts feeling heavy on my skin, in the curtained off room at the Victoria's secret, knowing that I had my own secret, was exhilarating. It was good. Better than sex. We spent just over four hours shopping before stopping for a late lunch. I ate a salad with French dressing while Bonnie sipped tea between bites of her burger. I wasn't even jealous. Trying on clothing had been an experience and well worth all the meals I'd skipped and the salads I consumed. "Ready to go?" She asked, after I bought our lunch. "Sure am," I smiled. We bought so much stuff that I had to sit in the back as Bonnie drove me home in her dark blue Lexus. My clothes took up the seat next to me and most of the passenger seat as well. Bonnie dropped me off, telling me she'd had a blast. "Me too," I said, still grinning, my arms laden with my purchases. "I had a great day." "I told you nobody would say anything." She'd been right about that. If anyone noticed that I wasn't a woman they kept it to themselves and as far as I was concerned that was the same thing as them not noticing. A watched pot never boils, a broken clock is right twice a day, and a negative opinion kept is one not given. The day did give me the confidence to know that I could pull off what I wanted. I could appear in public, dressed as a woman, and no one would say anything derogatory or negative. Bonnie was right, most people were so self-absorbed that a stranger walking through a mall was nothing worth noting. Bonnie left and I spent another couple of hours trying on my new clothes and walking in my new heels. The black heels with the pencil- thin spike were sexy and I loved the sound they made as I walked across the tile in my kitchen. The solid click, click, click was both arousing and soothing. I strutted through my house, pausing in front of every mirror to stare at myself in my little black dress, new jet-black stockings held on by a lacy garter belt, with matching bra and panties. I was a sexy woman ready for a night on the town. Why not? I wondered. Today had buoyed my confidence. I walked into the bathroom and fixed my makeup. I added more eyeliner and mascara. I darkened my lips. My makeup, subtle for my mid-day shopping trip became far more dramatic for my nighttime excursion. I added a bit more color to my cheeks and a bit of shine to my darker lips. I stood in front of the mirror, a tall woman in a tiny dress. I turned, eyeing myself critically. My Adam's apple was a little more prominent than I'd like. I darted to my dresser and pulled out a black lace choker, fastening it around my throat. It covered that prominent bump and gave my sexy dress an adorable flair, making me look both gothic and innocent at once. Thanks to my nagging headache, I popped three more aspirin before I left the house, this time driving my new Silverado instead of being a passenger in Bonnie's car. I didn't have a destination in mind, I just wanted to continue the experiment, to see if I could get away being dressed as I wanted in public without anyone calling me out or giving my secret away. My earlier trip to the mall had elevated my confidence, I wanted to see if I could get it even higher. I stopped at a high-end steak house and got me a quiet booth. I ordered a class of merlot and a small sirloin steak with a side salad and broccoli. When the waitress, a pretty little thing named Megan, offered me some bread I turned it down. To maintain my illusion, I needed to stay thin. If Megan noticed anything odd about me, she kept it to herself. Did she notice? I don't know and I didn't ask. I did focus on my movements, making a clear effort to move gracefully. I took small bites of my steak, setting my knife down frequently. I took delicate sips of my merlot, enjoying the stain my lipstick made on the rim. A man came to my table, eyeing me appreciatively, and asked, "mind if I join you?" I felt a pang of fear but an even stronger sense of delight. How much did I look like a woman if a man approached me? That, more than anything, told me that I was ready to try and be myself, and to get the job I always wanted. I smiled, warm and genuine, not that I was interested, but because of how his simple question made me feel accepted and proved that my illusion would stand up to the even the harshest scrutiny. At that moment I wasn't a man in a dress. No, I was a woman having dinner in a quiet, upscale restaurant and I looked good. I declined the man's offer, thanking him and giving the lie that I was meeting my husband after dinner when his plane arrived. "I dressed up for him," I said, still smiling a grin full of happiness at being so accepted. Bonnie had told me that nobody would say anything about how I was dressed, and she had been right but being approached by a stranger was a much better test and one that left my heart racing and my head a little light. It was a better buzz than I'd received from my one glass of merlot. "Lucky man," he said, walking away. "Thank you," I whispered to my would-be paramour. I finished dinner and left the restaurant. It had been a day of tests that I'd passed with perfect scores. No one at the mall had commented on my attired. I couldn't even recall one derisive comment, or a nasty look thrown my way. Dinner had been even better. That man, whoever he was, finally unfurled my sails, letting me take that journey I'd often fantasized about. Tomorrow I'd start looking for a job. Chapter 10 I woke to a new day. I'd come to a conclusion the night before and the warm light spilling into my bedroom window refreshed those same thoughts. I needed a job, not financially, but I needed something to fill the day and I had a long-standing fantasy I was anxious to fill. It was time to start looking for a job where I could wear the clothes in my closet, where I would be called Ms. McNeill as I was ordered to fetch coffee or make copies of some document or another. I shivered at the thought of it. My head was still hurting so I made my way into the bathroom where I downed three aspirin, paused, and added a fourth. I couldn't recall how many aspirin I'd taken the day before. I remembered taking a few as Bonnie and I were shopping, and it seems I'd need more today. I ate a light breakfast of toast and a dozen strawberries, too nervous to eat anything heavier. Naked save for a thin pair of red bikini panties I sat at my computer and revisited my resume I had updated the night before. I wondered if Mister Howser would give me a reference and thought maybe he would, adding his name to my resume as a valued contact. I doubted I'd be able to hide my previous job anyway. I printed out two dozen copies of my resume and transferred a copy to a thumb drive I had sitting in my desk. With the boring stuff behind me it was time to get ready for my long day of job hunting. It was going to be fun, getting dressed exactly how I planned to go to work. I started with a shower, shaving my legs, and pits, chest and face. It was easy going, having barely any stubble. I ran my hands over my naked legs, enjoying how soft and smooth they felt. I shaved my arms as well, trailing my fingers over my skin to ensure that I hadn't missed a spot. I stood naked in front of my bathroom mirror and began working on my face. Concealer and eyeliner, blush and lipstick, lip gloss and eye shadow. I decorated my face, going far lighter than I had the night before where that kind stranger had offered to join me for dinner, making me feel more like a woman than I ever had in my life. I studied my features, adding a bit more mascara before deciding I looked as good as I could. Moving to my closet I started with a new pair of dark black stockings. I coiled them into a tight little ball before working them up my legs, enjoying the electric tingle I felt. I smoothed them into place, snapping the lacy top against my thighs. I donned a black garter belt, affixed the little latch and spun the belt around so that the little crimson bow was in the front. I attached the tabs of the belt to my stockings, savoring the taut pull. I loved that feeling. My breast forms came next. I'd taken them off the night before; it was better to let your skin breath as much as possible. I'd only worn then overnight twice and once I wore them for a week straight just to see if I could. By the time that week was over my skin had developed a nasty little rash and an even uglier smell. I hadn't worn them overnight since. I glued my breast forms into place, feeling the harsh pull on my skin that was scary, exciting and had just a tinge of pain. The good kind, like a loving spanking or a heated pull of hair in the throes of passion. I donned a black bra and matching panties next, pulling the panties in place over the four fingers of my garter belt. I settled my faux breasts into place, bending forward so that they fell into the cups of my lacy bra. I stood up and gave my fake breasts on last adjustment. Satisfied, I looked through my clothes. I had so many, all perfectly suited for the office. I ran my fingers over my skirts and dresses, blazers and blouses. I settled on a simple Navy skirt that was pleated at the bottom and snug at the waist. I loved it. I pulled the skirt of its hanger and pulled it up my legs, zipping it into place. I grabbed a silky blouse the faint yellow color of French vanilla ice cream and buttoned that into place, tucking the ends into my blouse. I followed that with a blazer that matched the skirt. My heels came next. I chose a pair of black heels with a wide two-inch heel. They were comfortable and their shorter height helped to mask that I was a man. While the taller heels were far sexier, and the ones I enjoyed the most, the lower heels helped with my illusion and would allow me to more easily fit into an office environment. I stood in front of the mirror, eyeing myself critically. I added two bracelets on each wrist and a string of pearls looped twice around my neck. The pearls distracted the eye from that little tattle-tell bulge at my throat. The practiced art of an experienced crossdresser was the same used by talented magicians: misdirection. The pearls pulled the eye from what I wanted hidden and highlighted something flashier. I spritzed my favorite perfume on my wrist and neck. Bonnie had been right about having a favorite. Bloom was my go-to scent. I grabbed my purse, my freshly printed stack of resumes and left the house. I'd already done my research the night before, sitting at my computer, browsing want ads and filling out applications online while popping aspirin for a headache that wouldn't quite go away. It would wane some, almost fading to memory, before coming back. It never quite left me and now, as I drove to my first choice at a large law firm downtown, my headache was coming back with its terrible vengeance. It popped back like an angry dog barking at some innocent pedestrian that just happened by. I pulled the bottle of aspirin out and dry-swallowed three more of those gritty tablets. I had two interviews scheduled; it was amazing how much work could be done on the computer without ever leaving the house. I had searched the job boards and the want ads posted online and had set up my interviews and had planned a couple of cold calls all while wearing nothing but my panties. The drive was short. Less than ten minutes after leaving my house I was pulling into the parking lot of a nine-story building. I checked myself in the rear-view mirror, put on a genuine smile, and walked into the building, feeling the weight of what I was doing. How had I come so far? A short time ago I'd been to terrified to leave my house dressed as a woman and now I was arriving at a downtown law firm for an interview to be the secretary I'd always fantasized about. Was it because of Bonnie? Had she helped me come from my shell? She had helped build my confidence. Maybe that was all I had needed, a gentle push to get me moving. An object at rest tends to stay at rest, isn't that one of those scientific laws? Bonnie had given me a little accepting nudge that turned out to be not so little. It was something else I'd have to thank her for. I rode the elevator up twenty-one floors. A receptionist directed me down a narrow hall with bland walls and a stained beige carpet. I had to wait for ten minutes in a small office filled with three chairs, one lumpy couch and a coffee table filled with magazines about ten years out of date. A fake fern sat in the corner that held a light coating of dust. If I got the job would it be my responsibility to dust the fern and update the magazines? The idea was kind of appealing at how mundane and unimportant those tasks would be. There were two doors in the room; the one that came in from the hallway and another leading deeper into the building. "Ms. McNeill," I heard as the inner door opened. I looked up and beamed at hearing the words I'd so often wanted to hear. My name with the feminine salutation in front of it. "That's me," I said, in my practiced lilting voice. "This way please," an attractive woman said, introducing herself as Linda Chapman. She was as tall as I was, though her heels were higher. Did she do that to appear more menacing? More in charge? Maybe I needed something shorter than my two-inch heels. She was wearing a crisp yellow blouse with a lone button at her throat. Her black hair was combed and fell half-way down her back. She had cute bangs that were both playful and severe. I followed the woman down a short hallway and into a conference room. A deep mahogany table dominated the room. There were six chairs at the table, three on the side opposite the door and three right as you came into the room. A long table filled with two coffee urns, one labeled DECAF and the other reading HIGH TEST sat next to a pitcher of water and a plate of powdered donuts. On the opposite wall was a large picture of some tall building in Manhattan or maybe Los Angeles; I didn't really know. The woman offered me a chair with my back to the door and took a seat opposite me. She smiled and asked if I wanted something to drink. "I'll get it," I said. I got up and approached the refreshment table, "what would you like?" I made us each a cup of coffee, adding two sugars to Linda's and three to mine. We both took milk. I delivered the coffee, "here you go, Miss Chapman," I said, setting the coffee down on the table before returning to the seat she'd offered me before. Somehow, I had made a good impression. Linda was kind and warm, telling me about the job and about the company. She admitted that the work wasn't glamorous, but it wasn't hard, either and that the man I'd be working for was mostly harmless. "Mostly?" "We all have our days," she said, leaving it at that. It was a political answer and quite vague. She floored me with what she said next. "Will you come dressed as you are now?" "Pardon?" "Are you transitioning?" My face turned pink then red, becoming hotter than the coffee sitting on the table before me. How had she known? Why had she said anything? I felt my palms grow damp and my throat tighten. I licked my suddenly chapped lips. I took a deep breath, letting it out in short, noisy bursts. The room suddenly felt stifling and far too bright. Everything seemed to speed up and become far too loud. I heard my breathing; I heard talking in the hallway behind me; I heard the air conditioning kick on. The room was far too hot, far too loud, and far too bright. Seeing the panicked look on my face, Linda smiled. It was warm and not full of malice. "George," she said, then, "Autumn," she corrected herself. Or maybe she had it right the first time. "I'm sorry I startled you, but I had to ask. The name on your resume says Autumn, but you didn't change the file name when you uploaded the file. The disparity was confusing until I saw you. Don't worry, it wasn't anything obvious." Her words were kind, but they weren't getting through to me. I heard the door open behind me. "Autumn?" I jumped, startled to hear Bonnie's voice. I turned, looking at Bonnie standing at the door, a frown on her face. I started to speak but Bonnie was quicker, "You're going to be fine. Did she besmirch you?" Bonnie wore her hair down. It fell just below her shoulder blades with crisp bangs. I didn't remember her telling me she was getting her hair done. I thought to tell her that her hair looked nice but decided that my interview wasn't the place. Instead, I simply shook my head at her question. "Exactly," Bonnie said. "Linda is being very accommodating. Answer her questions. You'll be fine." I turned away from Bonnie, "no," I said, finally responding to Linda's question. "I'm not transitioning and yes, I plan on working as I am now." Linda smiled at that before giving me a nod. "That's good." "It is?" She nodded again, flipping through a small manila folder. She wrote something on a piece of paper before shutting the folder. Was it good or bad that they had a file on me? And that Linda was taking notes? She went on explaining the job in far greater detail than I'd read on their website. It was exactly the kind of meaningless meaningful work I was looking forward to. I was going to finally, after far too long, be the secretary I had always secretly longed to be. The thought of it made my headache fade slightly. It didn't disappear completely, but it did seem to have waned just a bit. I turned to Bonnie to offer her a smile, but she must have slipped out. I hadn't heard her leave, being too focused on my interview. I had to wonder if she was waiting for me outside. I guess I would find out soon enough. Linda explained the pay package and the benefits I was to receive. The way she was talking had convinced me that the job was mine. Why else would she tell me about the sick days and the vacation days, the health care plan and the 401k matching that the law firm offered if I wasn't going to get the job? "Do you have any questions for me?" "When do I start?" I had thought the question was glib but when my voice cracked, I realized how excited I was. Was it happening? It was happening. She nodded, smiling, offering me her hand. "Welcome. And is Monday okay?" It was. I shook her hand, smiling ever larger than she was. The room that had been far too hot and bright finally cooled and dimmed. The air that had been stuffy now seemed lightly scented with the smell of clothes drying on a line in the deep South of long ago. "Thank you," I beamed. "Thank you so much." "You're welcome, Autumn. And that is such a lovely name." "Thank you," I said, grinning, "my best friend gave it to me." Linda handed me that same manila folder she'd peered into earlier. It wasn't a file on me after all. It was a welcome package and an offer letter. I was surprised to see it filled out. Linda hadn't jotted down a note on me after all. She had filled in my name. "Read through this," she said, "if everything is okay, fill out the forms, sign where I've indicated and bring it with you on Monday." I thanked her twice more as she walked me out. I was floating happily, beaming with pride and an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. I had done it, done what I had longed wanted to do. I was going to be a secretary. It wasn't going to be glamorous and that was part of what appealed to me. It was how menial the job was while being desperately needed as well. I think what I liked most about the job is that the job was going to be there, the person filling it was inconsequential. Hadn't I been offered the job just because it was that easy to fill? I wasn't entirely sure why that thrilled me, so I just know it did. Bonnie was waiting for me in the lobby. "How did it go?" She squealed when I told her and gave me a hug. A man in a business suit gave me an odd, disgusted look as he passed. What? Did he think we were lesbians and so what if we were? Was bigotry really so rampant in the office environment? Or could he read me? I smiled at the dawning realization that my second thought was being read. Maybe I was ready to face the world daily as Autumn. Not that it mattered; I had a job and Autumn is who I was. Bonnie and I left my new office building. We were surrounded by busy pedestrians and loud traffic. Tall buildings jutted towards the heavens casting long shadows and trapping the summer heat. I was still all smiles as Bonnie and I walked down the street, her arm draped in mine, talking about my new job and how thankful I was that we'd gone shopping. I had a closet full of clothes ready to reveal to the whole wide world. Other people gave me strange, questioning looks. By the time Bonnie and I reached the parking garage where we'd both parked, I was certain that glares that had been thrown my way were because people could see I wasn't a woman at all. Each step as that realization dawned caused me to walk even faster, hastening to hide myself away, pulling away from Bonnie. Maybe I couldn't take the job after all. No matter how much I wanted it, the shame of being found of was far stronger. "What's wrong?" Bonnie asked, now racing to keep up with me. "People are giving me nasty looks. Surely you've seen them." Bonnie reached for me. "And? Who cares if they were? What did Linda say?" "That I had a lovely name," I said, causing Bonnie to smile. "Anything else?" I shrugged, "she asked if I was transitioning. She noticed, too." I pouted at that. "I guess I'm not as good at this as I thought." "Bull," Bonnie said, grabbing both my hands in hers. The manila folder in my hand started to fall but I was able to catch it. "Listen to me. You want this. You need this. It'll be good for you. You need something to do with your life. So what if some strangers could read you. Linda hired you knowing what you are. Which do you think is a better test? That some idiot you'll never see again may have suspected or that a place of business thinks you're more than acceptable?" Her argument was sound so I fought back the only way I could. With petulant emotion. "I bet I was nothing but a quota hire." I snorted at that, daring Bonnie to deny my own logic. "Who care if you were? They're in business to make money and they're not going to risk that on a whim." Somehow that made even more sense. Still, how had I been read? Even standing there arguing with Bonnie I was receiving queer looks from passerby's. The only bright side, if you can call it that, was when a septuagenarian couple walked past. The elderly woman glowered at me, causing her husband, an older man wearing a bowler hat and rainbow suspenders to mutter, "pay her no mind." At least he thought I was a woman. He was probably going blind. Bonnie continued her logical assault, finally wearing me down. Or at least steering me where I wanted to go. That was probably why I finally relented. I wanted to. "Fine," I huffed. "Good," Bonnie smiled at me. "I'm glad we agree." I didn't argue further. We parted for the day. Bonnie was heading home to Paul and I was heading to the tanning booth. My tan lines were coming in nicely and I liked seeing them. The lighter tones in my skin made it look like I was wearing that bikini even when naked. It appealed to some deep part of me that reminded me of that first day long ago when I raided my mother's closet and panty drawer. I liked it and it suited me. I tanned for an hour, positioning that tiny bikini precisely. Every minute under those blue lamps darkened my skin save for those delectable triangles over my nipples and the tiny bit of fabric over my genitals and ass. I listened to the music, Pink Floyd and The Rolling Stones, and kept my eyes closed beaming at the fact that I was finally a secretary. Would it be as menial as I hoped and as exciting as I feared? I couldn't wait to find out. An hour later I was pulling into my driveway. A car was parked there, some old, rusty pick-up truck with a small dent in the right rear bumper. I pulled in next to the truck. I watched as a vaguely familiar woman climbed from the passenger seat and raced to the front of my car. An older man, bald save for a few strands of white hair emerged from the driver's side. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt stained with red paint that for a moment I thought was blood. I parked the car. The woman rushed to the side of my Silverado. She gave me a look, frowned, and backed away, stepping off the driveway and onto the grass. "Can I help you?" I asked. The woman looked familiar. Had I seen her before? I rubbed my temples, feeling my headache coming back stronger than ever. I had wanted to come home, open a bottle of wine, and celebrate my new job. First, I'd have to contend with these two strangers that reminded me of something long forgotten. "We're looking for George." The woman's voice quavered. Something was bothering her and why was she looking for me. "Are you his girlfr..." Her voice broke and her hand came up to her throat. She glanced at the man who was standing at the front of my new truck, giving it an appreciative look. It was a nice truck. The woman stepped forward, reached her hands out, then took another step towards me. "George, honey, are you okay. We've been so worried." Tears were bubbling in her eyes. Eyes the same shade as mine. Familiar eyes. Eyes I never thought I'd see again. "Mom?" She stepped forward and embraced me. I held her back. Hard. My father, standing at the front of my car moved closer. It was good that he did. He caught me as I fell to the earth. The day had gone dark. Chapter 11 I awoke to the sounds of ESPN playing on the television mounted to the corner of my hospital room. My mom was standing next to my bed, holding my hand and absently stroking my thumb with her own. My father was sitting in a small green chair with wooden arms watching a segment on the upcoming NFL season. He had always been a Falcon fan though living in lower Alabama he thought he should like the Saints. "George," my mom said. I looked at her face. Had she been crying? I looked at her, over to my father who was now staring at me instead of the television screen, and back to my mom. My blurry vision become even fuzzier as tears bubbled and streamed down my scruffy cheeks. "Mom? Dad?" My voice broke. I sobbed, coughed, blew my nose against my hospital gown and felt my mom embrace me. I shook in her arms feeling the weight of their deaths evaporate and overwhelm me. How were they alive? They died nearly a decade ago? It had to be a hallucination but if it was it was remarkably real. I could smell the lilac scent of my mother's shampoo. I could feel the warmth of her body as I sobbed into her chest. I felt my father approach the bed to place a comforting hand on my ankle hidden by the heavy hospital blanket. "You gave us quite a scare, son," my dad said. Was there an accusatory tone in his voice when he called me son? Was he mocking me? Or was I just expecting the worst? I could still recall the people that had given Bonnie and I such nasty looks and I could still hear that old man mutter 'pay her no mind,' as he and his wife whisked passed us. "Sorry," I said, not lifting my head. I was too ashamed at how they found me, too broken to speak more than one word. I felt my mom caressing my head, soothing me like she had done so often when I was a little boy, every time I'd scrape a knee, cut my skin, or that one time I broke my arm riding down the hill that led into the elementary school's employee parking lot as fast as I could only to do a cartwheel over a nearly invisible chain blocking off access. My mom was there then, and she was here now. But how? I looked up. Bonnie was standing to my right. I smiled at her, "Hi." "Hi," my dad said at my feet. "Have you met Bonnie?" I asked. My parents exchanged a look. Couples, especially married couples that had history develop a silent means to communicate. In an instance I knew my parents, long dead but somehow not, were holding one of those mute conversations. My father answered my question in a way I did not expect. "Let me get the doctor." He turned and left the room in a hurry. I watched the door open. I watched the door close. I heard the door latch into place. It seemed so real, but I had to be imagining them. They'd been dead for so long. I could still picture their funeral and how it was the first time I'd ever been a pallbearer. I remembered sitting next to my Aunt Molly and her husband Bob in the front row staring at the pair of caskets sitting side by side. I remembered the bad breath the priest had and how it had taken a lot of effort to keep that information to myself. I recalled the chill in the morning air as I stood alone at their graves the day the headstones were installed, wanting to be the first person to put some flowers down. I remembered it all with the same clarity I had watching my hospital room door open and close. If it was a hallucination, it was a damned good one. My accident. It had to be that. I'd been in a coma for nearly a month. Maybe I had more damage done to my brain than I thought. It sure seems like it. "We're so worried about you, George. When you wouldn't take our calls and then when they stopped going through. We were so very worried." My mom started to cry then, holding me as I held her. I sobbed into her chest while her tears moistened the bandage on my head. Next to me I heard Bonnie speak, "Autumn," she said, using the name she'd given me. "I thought your parents..." she didn't go any further to save herself embarrassment or to save me some pain I didn't know. "Mom," I said, lifting my head from her breast. "This is my best friend, Bonnie." My mom shook her head, "Georgie," it wasn't good to hear her call me that. She used it only when things were bad and she needed to soften a blow, "there's nobody there." "Are you okay, Autumn?" Bonnie asked. "You look pale." Both Bonnie and my mom focused on me. My mother glanced to where I was looking and back to me. The frown she wore told me that she didn't see Bonnie. What was wrong with me? Surely, I was seeing things that weren't there. Was my mom an apparition? Was Bonnie? If Bonnie was then had she ever been real? But I remembered going to my parent's funeral. As much as I remembered my dad walking out just a few moments earlier. I shook my head, feeling the warmth of my mother against my face. "Something's wrong," I admitted. "It'll be okay," Mom said. "You'll be fine, Autumn," I heard Bonnie utter. I felt her hand on my shoulder like I felt my mother's against my cheek. I could smell my mother's perfume, the scent she always wore. It was her favorite, like Bloom was mine. I looked up at my mother and her wrinkled face. I turned my head to see Bonnie standing behind me, offering me a comforting smile and a tender hand on my spine. The door open and my father came in. Behind him was a tall, black man with warm brown eyes and an unruly mop of gray hear on his head. "Mister McNeill," he said as he came in. I spotted a small brown stain on his lab coat. Old blood from an earlier patient perhaps. There was an ink pen in his pocket, and I could see the spiral binding of a thin notebook sitting behind the pen. "I'm doctor Townsend. How are you feeling?" What had my father told him? My father crossed the room and took my mother's arm. He led her away to let the elderly doctor examine me. I glanced from my parents to Bonnie, to Doctor Townsend, back to my mom who was wearing an unmasked look of terror, before returning my gaze to Bonnie who was nodding kindly, offering whatever support she could give. I shrugged, "I don't know." Townsend turned to my parents, "can I have the room please?" He told me so much when he never addressed Bonnie. I looked at her. She stood by my side, next to the little machine hooked to my arm, revealing my blood pressure and pulse. Townsend didn't send her away. He didn't see her. She wasn't real. Which means that my parents were. But how could that be? I remember burying them and visiting their grave. I remember feeling the pain of their passing, once long ago and again just recently when Bonnie told me all about it. How can something that felt so real be imagined? "George?" I shook my head. Bonnie said, "you're going to be fine." "Thank you," I said, looking at Bonnie. Doctor Townsend frowned. "Who are you talking to?" I looked at him. I reached up and took Bonnie's hand. It was warm to the touch. She squeezed me every bit as tightly as I squeezed her. How could she not be real? Maybe it was Doctor Townsend I was imagining. I glanced up. Opposite my bed was a whiteboard marked with thin black lines. Doctor Townsend was listed as my doctor. Emily Cooper R.N. was listed as my nurse. After my accident I remembered seeing the same board listing my doctor and nurse. I focused on the board. Bonnie continued to caress my hand. Doctor Townsend was looking at me, his head cocked, as I stared at the white board. Something hazy was swimming towards my consciousness. Something big. "Mister McNeill?" "Autumn?" I ignored them both. I shut my eyes, picturing my previous stay in the hospital and the white board opposite my bed when I awoke from my long slumber. My doctor had been Doctor Raine and his name had been printed in blue ink on the white board opposite my bed, positioned so that I couldn't miss it. My nurse's name had been listed there, too. Bonnie was the name of the nurse that treated me in the hospital. I could still see her name printed on the whiteboard opposite my bed. The whiteboard was divided into rows and columns, making dozens of little boxes. At the top of the box, stuck to the whiteboard in black tape was the word DOCTOR. Next to that, written in blue ink, was Doctor Raine. Below that, also stuck to the board in black tape was the word NURSE. And there was her name. Bonnie. I'd latched onto that, using her name to feed my imagination, supplementing the unreal with the real, eking a whole out of a fragment. I glanced at Bonnie, seeing her smile at me. Seeing her bicolored hair looking perfectly coiffed. She was wearing blue hospital scrubs. Is that what she wore when I first saw her in the hospital, when she was my nurse so long ago? She stood there, smiling, holding my hand. I could feel the warmth of her skin and see the concern in her eyes. She wasn't real but she was so very real to me. "I don't know," I finally said, looking at Doctor Townsend. "But I think there's something wrong with me." That opened a thunderstorm of activity. Dozens of doctors and nurses came in. I had more blood drawn; had more tests done. Bonnie stayed at my side, offering support and making inappropriate jokes. My parents stood outside my room, peering in when they could. The look of terror on my mother's face broke my heart knowing that I was the cause of her concern. Bonnie couldn't quite comfort me enough to erase the shame and hurt that I felt. A new doctor came in. He was as round as a water tower. It was as if his girth was trying to compensate for his diminutive height. He had a thick beard and equally thick glasses. He wasn't wearing a lab coat; he was wearing a light blue shirt buttoned to the collar and a gray and blue paisley tie not quite fastened at his throat. He looked disheveled but I got the impression that it was a practiced look, like he wanted to give off a frazzled appearance. "Hello, George," he said when it was only Bonnie and I in the room. "I'm Doctor Gustafson, and I think it'll be good to get to know each other." His smile was genuine; his cheeks lifted with his grin. He flipped through a file in his hand. "I've ordered up an MRI. You'll be taken down shortly. Are you okay with that?" I wasn't sure how to answer that question. I knew there was something wrong, but did I want to know how bad? Was it better to live in denial? No, I decided that it was better to know. "Yeah. I think that'll be good." He didn't mention Bonnie, but I knew that she wasn't really there. I could see her. When she made a joke, I'd laugh as if the joke was made exclusively for me. Exclusively by me. I could feel her comforting hand on my shoulder and how she'd give my arm a squeeze when she would hear something I knew to be disturbing. If she wasn't real, then she was a damned good facsimile. Gustafson sat with me a few minutes. He didn't say anything, he just observed as I lay in my hospital bed, my brow creased with worry. He'd nod when I would look away from his stare and towards Bonnie or the TV in the corner now playing the weather channel. Looks like it was going to rain all weekend. I had my MRI and three hours later Doctor Gustafson was back. This time his slightly dopey facade was gone. "We're going to have to go in, George. You've got some pressure building up and you're bleeding internally." The tone in his voice told me how bad it was. His answer to my next question confirmed it. "When?" "Now." And that thunderstorm became a hurricane. Doctors and nurses and orderlies swooped in like a buzzard on a decaying carcass. The wheels on my bed were unlocked and I was whisked away down a crowded hallway into a much more deserted part of the hospital. I was moved from my bed onto another table, this time with surgical lights hovering just out of view. Bonnie was there with me, telling me everything was going to be okay. "I'll keep you safe, Autumn, honey," she said. It wasn't the last time she spoke to me. That came later. I spent the night in a medically induced coma and was pulled out of it on Friday morning, three days before I was to start my new job. Bonnie was standing by my bed, holding my wrist. She was checking my pulse. Had the real Bonnie done that? Isn't that what those machines were for? My mom was sleeping in the chair opposite my bed. My dad wasn't anywhere to be seen. "Mom?" I said. She didn't stir. "You're awake," Bonnie said, smiling at me. "I'll get the doctor." I nodded though my head felt watery and lethargic. I watched Bonnie leave the room. I saw the door open and close. I heard it click shut. Exactly as it had when my father had gone to find a doctor prior to my surgery. "Mom," I said again, no louder than the first time. My throat was sore. My mouth was dry. My lips felt cracked. "Mom," I tried a third time. Bonnie came in and a moment later a nurse whisked in behind her. "Hello, Mister Sweet," the nurse said. "I've got your back," Bonnie said at the same time. "It's good to see you awake," the nurse concluded. "How am I?" The nurse smiled, informed me that she'd have Doctor Townsend up in no time. She checked the machines attached to my hands and arms. Checked the catheter affixed down below and the half-full urine bag hanging off the bottom of the bed. She made some notes in my file and left the room, offering me a smile as she departed. I took that as good news. Mostly because I wanted to. I looked at the apparition standing by my head. "Can you wake my mom, please?" Intellectually I knew she couldn't, but I wasn't exactly thinking clearly just then. Besides, hadn't Bonnie just fetched the nurse? A hallucination couldn't exactly do that, could she? Bonnie crossed the room and shook my mom. As far as hallucinations went, it was a damned good one. My mother's arm moved under Bonnie's ministrations. How had she done that? I knew she wasn't real. Or maybe I just thought she wasn't. I still wasn't entirely sure. "She's really out of it. She was up all night worrying about you," Bonnie said, returning to my side. Somehow, I took solace in Bonnie being unable to rouse my mother. "It's okay," I said, feeling comforted by my own words. I looked at Bonnie, studying her. I was certain she wasn't real, that she hadn't been real since the day I supposedly hired her. I thought about that. I hadn't hired her but my brain, that supremely powerful organ, had filled in some minute detail to help explain my imaginary friend. The brain was like that. There was this meme I saw about a year ago. It showed a sentence with all the letters garbled, leaving only the first and last letter in their correct spot and most people, without too much trouble, could read the mangled text. The brain filled in the pieces just as my own mind was doing for me, sometimes taking snippets of my life to complete the story. "What do you drive?" I asked, latching onto a fresh thought. "A blue Silverado," Bonnie said. That was my car. The one I bought following my accident. "Not a grey Nissan?" I asked. Bonnie shook her head. "No, why?" "A red Camry? A blue Lexus?" I remembered being driven home in Bonnie's Lexus, riding in the back because all my recent purchases were sitting in the front seat. Thanks to my mangled brain it hadn't seemed odd at the time, but now, lying on a hospital bed, my head wrapped in a bandage and a catheter bulb inflated inside my bladder it seemed eerily strange. "Nope. Why?" Got you, I thought. Bonnie dropped it because I did. I wondered about that, too. She'd convinced me to go out in public dressed as Autumn. Had she convinced me, or had I convinced myself. I always capitulated to her argument and now I knew why. I had merely led myself down a path I wanted to go. That told me something, too. Doctor Townsend came in. He glanced at my mom sleeping in her chair, ignoring Bonnie totally. Why wouldn't he? She wasn't there. "How are you doing, George?" I glanced at Bonnie, not wanting to hurt her feelings even though she was nothing more than a figment of my fragmented mind. "You tell me." He explained the brain bleed and the rising pressure inside my skull. He explained the operation performed by Doctor Gustafson, omitting the goriest details when my face turned white. "We'll keep you under observation for a few days. Maybe let you go home on Wednesday." So much for my new job. "Could my injury cause," I glanced at Bonnie feeling awash with shame for asking what I had to ask. "Cause me to see things that aren't there." Doctor Townsend had worn a neutral face when he filled in the details about my emergency surgery. That face disappeared, replaced with one of worried curiosity. He pulled a penlight from the pocket of his lab coat and flashed it in front of my eyes, first the left and then the right. He had me follow his finger using only my eyes. "Are you hallucinating?" I nodded, trying to avoid hurting Bonnie's feelings even though she wasn't real. That didn't matter. I thought she was real, and my mother taught me long ago that you didn't purposefully hurt someone. "Okay. I'm going to send up another doctor. Doctor Helene. She's a psychiatrist. I think she'll be helpful." "I think I've met her." I regretted saying it the moment I did. "I mean," I said, trying to backtrack, "maybe I did." "Well, I'll have her up here soon enough. You can get reacquainted." "Thanks, doc," I said. I felt Bonnie squeeze my shoulder. My mom, now softly snoring, shifted in the chair but didn't wake up. "You're going to be fine," Bonnie said, giving my shoulder another reassuring squeeze. I nodded to her. "I know." Doctor Helene came in about twenty minutes later. The doctor Helene I'd met in my living room on the day Bonnie first came to visit had been as thin as an icicle on the last day of winter. The doctor that came in wearing a nice navy skirt and a silky yellow blouse wasn't skinny. She was muscular, with thick arms and small, athletic breasts. She had brown hair that was parted on the side with a gentle curl at her shoulders. Her blue eyes weren't hidden by black glasses though they did sparkle with unfettered intelligence. "Hello, Mister McNeill. I'm doctor Helene." We shook hands; her grip was firmer than mine. I chalked it up to brain surgery. "Hi," I said, looking at Bonnie. This was about her and even though she wasn't real I found myself loathe to hurt her. She'd helped me, I had to admit that, so I didn't want to damage her. I felt guilty and sad and just a bit confused. "Doctor Townsend says you're hallucinating? That's not exactly unheard of with your injury. What are you seeing?" Putting words to it would admit I had a bigger problem than I did. Naming things gave them power. Keeping my eyes on Bonnie, I asked, "she's standing next to me. Her name is Bonnie." We talked for nearly forty minutes. During that time my mother kept snoring and Bonnie kept giving me warm, affectionate squeezes. Bonnie would make a few comments as I spoke, never contradicting me. Instead, she offered up bits of information that I'd forgotten or hadn't committed to memory in the first place. Not that I could tell those two things apart. Finally, "am I going to be okay?" Doctor Helene laughed at that, "yes," she said with no hesitation. "I suspect she won't be around much longer." I felt like an executioner when I took the first antipsychotic Doctor Helene prescribed. Bonnie didn't seem upset at all even though I was killing her. Or maybe I was killing part of myself. That thought was depressing. Mom woke up about twenty minutes after I took my first dose of drugs to treat my hallucinations. She smiled and pulled her chair closer. She took my hand in hers, asking me how I was doing. I glanced at Bonnie, still standing by my bed, before answering, "better," I said. "I have a headache," I admitted but considering my surgery that was to be expected. Both Bonnie and my mother said the same exact thing which made me smile. My dad came back with take-out. It smelled good but I wasn't hungry. Mom and Dad ate. That they didn't offer anything to Bonnie was yet another indication that she wasn't real. My parents sat with me until the sun went down. I sent them to my house, giving them the garage door code that would get them into the house. "Please," I said when my mom argued with me, telling me she wasn't going anywhere. "I'll be fine. I'm in the hospital and I have all the help I need. I'm sure you'd like a shower and a warm bed." It didn't take much to convince them to leave me alone. They promised to return in the morning, agreeing to return with both my laptop and my cell phone. I had a call to make and a job to postpone if possible or cast aside if necessary. I smiled sadly when Bonnie politely escorted them from my hospital room. Nurses came in and checked on me. Two different doctors came in to check my IV and examine the bandages around my head. I tried to sleep, and maybe I dozed off once or twice, but I couldn't say. Bonnie was sleeping in the same chair my mother had used which saddened me more than I expected. I was going to miss her, assuming she finally went away. I couldn't exactly say if I wanted her to go. She'd been good for me. Her and Paul. I thought about her husband. If Bonnie wasn't real than Paul wasn't either. I'd been to their house; that had also been a lie. I thought about the tour Bonnie had given of their home. Their layout had seemed eerily familiar to mine and lying there I reasoned I now knew why. We'd had a pool party at my house and only my befuddled brain had masked that reality. I found myself pouting at the thought. I made it through the night and when my parents arrived the next morning with my laptop, toothbrush, and cell phone, I was happy to see them. They spent the day fawning over me and telling me stories about life down in lower Alabama. I smiled when it was appropriate and laughed when I should. Bonnie laughed at the right time just like I did; she, being me, was in on the inside jokes. "You have a lovely closet," my mom said when my dad stepped out to get lunch. My face went white. I had never revealed that side of myself to them. Well, that was no longer true. They had come to my house and seen my dressed the day I got a new job. I looked away, humiliated. "You've got good taste," my mom said, squeezing my arm. "You really do," Bonnie agreed. She was standing in her spot to my right, her hand resting possessively on my shoulder. "I can't wait to meet my new daughter. What's her name?" There wasn't any condemnation in my mother's tone. I heard support and curiosity and even a bit of happiness, like she was looking forward to knowing this side of me. I tried to answer but couldn't find the words. Purposefully hidden things were hard to pull out of hiding. Finally, after far too long, I said my name. The one Bonnie had given me. "Autumn," she said, "That's a very pretty name." "Thank you," I blushed. "You didn't surprise me." I turned to face my mom, "huh?" She gave me an even warmer smile. "How many times did you raid my closet growing up? I stopped counting." She bent down and kissed my bandaged forehead. "You always tried to put things back just so, but I could always tell." "Told you," Bonnie said. Bonnie had known. So, of course, I had known. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice trembling in shame. "Don't be. It's just who you are and there's nothing wrong with you." We talked about fashion for nearly twenty minutes, stopping only when my father returned with subs from a local deli. They ate; I wasn't allowed anything that substantial yet. My dad turned on the TV and watched LSU battling Alabama. He was rooting for the Tide. My mom sat by my side, just touching me as if she was afraid that I was going to disappear if she wasn't close. Bonnie told me that she loved my parents. I agreed with her. Doctors came and went; nurses checked on me every thirty minutes. After dinner, a fresh IV for me and fresh sandwiches for my parents, they changed the bandage on my scalp. They showed me the stitches and staples in my head with a small mirror before covering my damaged skull again. It looked horrible and itched like crazy. My job was safe. I'd made that call earlier in the day, explaining my surgery and apologizing for having to miss my first day of work. "I'll understand if you have to give the job to someone else," I'd said, feeling sad for having to say the words. "Oh, don't worry about it, Autumn," just hearing that name bolstered my post-surgical spirits. "We're always needing help. You get better and come on back as soon as you can. Okay?" "Deal," I said. Standing next to me, Bonnie was delighted. Doctor Helene came and chatted with me, sending my parents out of the room; Bonnie was allowed to stay. We chatted about Bonnie and about the antipsychotics I was now taking. Doctor Helene promised that Bonnie wouldn't be around much longer. I admitted how much that made me hurt, clutching my heart as I said it. "You'll be okay, George," she said, taking my hand in hers. "I'll help you through the whole thing." "Thank you." I said, looking at Bonnie who was smiling at me. Bonnie wasn't sorry she was going away. Maybe that meant I had nothing to feel bad about. It was something I would consider long after my parents when to my house and the hospital went to sleep. My string of doctors dwindled to just two. Following surgery, I only saw Doctor Gustafson once, his work complete. He was satisfied with the sutures and promised I'd have minimal scaring. Doctor Townsend visited me once a day, checking on my progress and agreeing to let me go home a day later than his original estimation. Doctor Helene visited me twice a day. Each time she'd send my parents out so that we could talk freely. She asked about Bonnie and soon we were talking about my new job. She seemed surprised when I admitted to being a crossdresser but it didn't faze her beyond that little look of stunned interest. Soon we were talking about that, too. I came to look forward to her visits. Over the few days I remained in the hospital Bonnie would start to disappear for long, curious absences. I'd look for her and find that she wasn't in the room. At first, I thought she'd stepped out without me noticing but gave that thought up for the truer answer; I was losing her. I cried the first time I looked for her and found her absent. It felt like I was losing part of myself, a part I wanted to keep even knowing giving it up was the right thing to do. She still had one gift for me, however. One that I hadn't expected. "Autumn," she said to me. I'd been sleeping as well as I could. The hospital was dark and quiet. My parents were sleeping at my house, having left just after dinner. I glanced at the clock above the whiteboard that still listed Doctor Townsend as my doctor and Doctor Gustafson as my surgeon; it was just past three in the morning. The early birds were still asleep as were the early worms. Bonnie was standing in her usual spot. She was wearing a t-shirt decorated with bright pink flowers and a short skirt, showing off legs I wish I had. I looked up at her, "Hi, Bonnie." "I've been spying on the nurses," she said to me, hovering low and whispering like we were conspiring against the State. "You should ask one out." "Oh?" I said, not quite believing what I was hearing. Now Bonnie was a matchmaker? "Yes. Nurse Phillips. Catelyn. She's single and she thinks you're cute." "How can you possibly know that?" "I'm not just a pretty face, you know," was all she said in response. "Trust me." Trust me, Bonnie had said those same two words on the first day she'd come to my house. I had trusted her because I trusted myself. I needed to keep doing that. Doctor Helene and I had talked about trusting myself. If Bonnie knew Catelyn to be single, then of course I knew it, too. Maybe I'd overheard a conversation that I couldn't quite recall. There were enough gaps in my memory that it was certainly possible. Bonnie badgered me until I relented. I have a date set for the second Saturday following my discharge. I wonder where that will lead? Turns out I'm curious to learn the answer to that question. Chapter 12 I cried two days after Bonnie disappeared for what I could only presume was the final time. She had slowly been showing up less and less and staying for far shorter periods of time. First, she was absent for three hours, then six, seven, then I went a whole day without seeing her. I went to bed with having her visit early in the morning, knocking on the door wearing torn, bleach stained jeans and a simple white t- shirt just before lunch, staying for about forty-five minutes. "I'm going to get a drink," Bonnie had said, walking into the kitchen. She returned the following morning wearing gray sweatpants and an Auburn University hoodie. I recognized the top; it was one I owned. She'd been absent for that intervening time, having vanished as she walked from the room. That next morning, she sat and asked me if I was ready for my upcoming date. I told her I wasn't, and she proceeded to tell me why I was and that I was going to be fine. She was a perfect cheerleader, always telling me exactly what I needed to hear. When I got up to use the bathroom, Bonnie told me to hurry back. I returned to an empty living room. I waited for her to return and when she didn't, when I'd gone more than two days without hearing from my best friend I sat on the couch, my bandaged head held in my hands, and sobbed, feeling like I had lost a part of myself and that without it, without her, I could never be whole again. I cried for hours, awash in melancholy sadness. Every time I though I had my feelings under control I would think of something Bonnie would say, some piece of advice she'd offer and feel a new wave of despair wash over me. How was I going to live without her? It was hard to let go knowing that there was the possibility of her returning. Every night following Bonnie's final appearance, I would stand in my bathroom and look at my antipsychotics. Would Bonnie return if I dumped the dwindling pile of pills down the drain, or had my surgery cured me and the pills were just secondary? Just having that lingering doubt made it hard for me to get used to the idea of her being gone. I kept looking for her even as two days became three and three became four. That hope kept her absence fresh. "I miss you," I said to my reflection, taking one of my prescribed pills. It hurt that she was gone but it was right, too. Sometimes it hurt being an adult. A child could just hang on to the fantasy; I had to let her go. I cried myself to sleep just like a child, curled up on my side, hugging my own knees. I half-hoped Bonnie would appear and tell me that she missed me too. But she never did. I still remembered that last day, sitting in my living room, with Bonnie telling me that I'd do fine on my date and that I needed to tell her about Autumn. "I can't do that," I protested, foolishly arguing with myself. "You have to." "Why." And she told me, and she made perfect, unambiguous sense. I lost my final argument with Bonnie and then I lost Bonnie and I was so very sad. Two weeks after being released from the hospital, my bandages no longer encircling my head, being reduced to a simple gauze and four strips of tape, covered by a hat, I went on my first date with Catelyn. She was smart and witty, quick with jokes that were far too inappropriate which made them all the funnier. She doted over my bandage a little and over me quite a bit more. I liked the doting; I hadn't realized how much I needed it until then. We talked about my accident and my surgery. She told me about her mom and stepdad living in northern Minnesota and how she couldn't wait to visit them when ski season hit, and the slopes were awash with fresh powder. "They have mountains in Minnesota?" I asked. She laughed and confirmed they did. "Not like the Rockies but good enough for me." She was a simple girl with simple tastes. After dinner we went to a karaoke bar where Catelyn surprised me with her voice and even more so with her song choices. She liked to sing the somber ballads of country men: George Strait and Keith Whitley, Garth Brooks and Dierks Bentley. I sang Meatloaf, crooning that two out of three wasn't all that bad. Together we did a George Jones and Tammy Wynette duet, mixing it up so that I sang Tammy's part. We received raucous applause. On our third date Catelyn asked what was bothering me. She could tell I was distracted. My new job, what I'd been working toward since I'd first raided my mother's closet, was scheduled to start on a Monday, just over a week away and three days after I was to get my stitches and staples removed. It was on my mind. That and what Bonnie had told me the sad day she disappeared. "I have something to tell you," I paused, took a sip of my unsweet tea, "or maybe I should show you." Her eyes went wide, "ooh, finally." She clapped her hands together, looking at me with joyous expectation. I wasn't sure what she was expecting. "I'm not so sure you'll like this surprise." "I bet I will." I promised to show her, knowing Bonnie was right and that Catelyn deserved to know. Autumn was a big part of me and would soon be much bigger. I'd be living part of my life as her, out in the real world, doing real world things. I'd no longer keep her confined to a closet. "You have to tell Catelyn about Autumn," Bonnie had told me. I protested, explaining all the reasons I thought it was a horrible idea. "Yes," she agreed, "all those things are true, and you can't change them. But, Autumn, listen. What if you like her? What if she likes you? Don't you think it's better to tell her early, before she gets attached? You'll never be able to hide Autumn, not ever. If it comes to it, and she can't handle your dressing, let her hate you before she loves you. You can't break her heart." I imagined a single man with impotence had the same problem when he started dating someone new. Bonnie had been right, or at least my unconscious mind had been. I had to tell her before we both got too attached to break away free without tears. Catelyn followed me to my house, parking her Toyota behind my Silverado. "This is going to be fun," she said. I doubted she'd feel the same after my terrifying disclosure. This wasn't like TV where the big reveal was made with happy, joyous squeals. No, this one would be met with derision, the same I'd encountered on the city sidewalk as an old man told his wife to pay me no mind. To ignore the crossdressing freak talking to himself. I led her into my house, giving her the same room-by-room tour I'd received when Bonnie had been real, and I'd driven to my own driveway for a lunch date with her and Paul. We went from room to room, pausing just long enough before moving on. As we stood in the master bathroom, my closet door hanging shut, I asked, "are you ready?" "Yes, please." She sounded giddy and I was about to take that away. Only I didn't need surgery or a pill; I just needed to be me. I opened the closet door. Catelyn went in and examined my clothing. On the left hung my male clothing; the things I normally wore, like the jeans and maroon and white button-down shirt I was wearing now. Along the back wall and the right-hand side were Autumn's clothes: dresses and skirts, blouses and blazers. Below Autumn's clothes, my clothes, were my heels. I had nine pair now thanks to my shopping excursions. They were stacked left to right from lowest heel, at nearly three inches, to an exaggerated platform with a six-inch heel and a four-inch platform. I had to duck leaving doorways wearing those. Autumn cycled through the hangers like she was shopping at a mall. "Oh, this is nice," she said looking at a deep-blue blouse with tiny felt buttons down the front. She kept looking making appreciative comments at some things and laughing at others, "Oh, now this is slutty," she said looking at a red dress that had the right-hand side held together by nothing more than tiny golden straps. "You can't wear panties with this, can you?" "You can," I said, blushing, "but they're visible if you do." She laughed at that. "You've got great taste." "Thanks," I said, drawing the word out as I looked for something else to say. She didn't seem disgusted; she wasn't running from the room. She wasn't making derisive comments full of hate. She was smiling as she pawed through my closet. I wasn't sure how to take it. I thought back to dinner and how she'd said 'ooh, finally.' What had she meant by that? I tried to ask her but couldn't seem to get the words out. Catelyn flipped through everything and glancing at the shoes she asked if I could walk in them. Blushing, still rendered confusingly mute, I nodded. "Can I see?" It was then that she noticed me. No longer distracted by the clothes in my closet she looked into my terrified and befuddled eyes. I couldn't tell if she was angry or sad, teasing or teasingly accepting. It was one thing to say, "what a sissy," your voice full of derision and another to say the same thing in a tone of playful support tinged with merriment. My confusion was evident as was the fear that I was ruining what could be something great between us, all because of Autumn, someone important that I'd kept hidden. Bonnie had been right, though, I had to tell her before she and I became an us. "George," she reached out and took my hand. I looked down at my feet, at the heels lined up like soldiers, afraid to look anywhere else for what I'd see on her face. "George," she said again. She tugged my arm, pulling me from the master closet and into my bedroom. She had me sit on the bed. I kept looking down, now at my knees clad in their denim and my white tennis shoes. "Look at me," she said. She waited until I complied, never letting go of my hand. "I knew about this, okay. I knew." "How?" I couldn't understand and if she knew then why did she accept the date with me in the first place? She sat next to me, holding my hands. I felt the warmth of her skin. I smelled the lovely floral bouquet of her perfume and wondered briefly what it was called and if it was her favorite. "You came in by ambulance wearing a dress. I was working an ER shift that day; we rotate through," I remembered her telling me that on our first date when she told me all about her job and I told her I had recently been fired and had found a new job that would start following my recovery. "I couldn't believe it when your dad told us your name was George. You certainly didn't look like a George at the time." I took it in, hearing her words and not truly believing them. Still, the warmth in her tone and the playfulness in her brown eyes told me more than her words. She wasn't mocking me. "It's funny," she said, "I remember standing outside your room, looking in on you as you slept when my friend Susan, you'll meet her soon enough, came by and asked what I was doing. I told her nothing. She glanced into your room and smiled, calling me a stalker and telling me that I should ask you out. I protested, saying it wasn't appropriate. I was happily surprised when you asked me." I thought of Bonnie and how she had said she had her ways. "I think I heard you. Maybe not consciously, but I think, yeah, maybe." "I can't wait to see you dressed up. Can you do that? For me?" She practically whispered those final two words. Mouth dry and shaking slightly I nodded. I think she was as nervous as I. "Goodie!" An hour later I told Catelyn my name. We made love for the first time that night, with Catelyn unzipping the back of my skirt and my own trembling fingers unfastening the buttons on her blouse. Her bra was plainer than mine a fact that both tickled and delighted her. "You're such a girlie girl, Autumn," she said, her hands in my hair and her lips on mine. She kissed me. Hard. I admitted that I was. That was important. Being truthful. My parents taught me that; Doctor Helene confirmed it. When Catelyn removed my bra, she laughed at my tan lines and I had goose bumps race down my spine as she ran her finger along the fringe between light skin and dark. "I love it," she said, before kissing me even harder than she had before. Afterwards, both of us lying sated on my disheveled bed, Catelyn learned the story of Autumn, from those first tentative days stealing into my mother's bedroom to raid her closet, being oblivious to the fact that my mother knew, to the times I bought clothes online, slowly learning my size and being too terrified to go out in public, to having my accident and my post-coma hallucination, a manifestation of that hidden part of me pushing me to finally be myself, to finally naming myself. She learned it all, asking questions and laughing at the parts she found funny. I blushed. I gasped. I continued being truthful. And I was accepted. I hadn't expected that. We lay there until the day went to bed and the night was almost gone. I told her everything. The next morning, after another round of bliss, Catelyn made breakfast while I sat at the breakfast nook table. She was wearing one of my shirts, one of George's shirts, and nothing more, and she looked sexy as hell. Her hair was disheveled from our early-morning tryst and her skin had a nice glow. She looked happy. She was scrambling eggs when my phone rang. I grabbed my cell, "Hello." I listened, "okay." Then, "Tomorrow is great. Thanks. Bye." "Who was that," "Doctor Helene's office. They want to move my next session to tomorrow. I see her twice a week." "She's great," Catelyn said. I disagreed. She's better than that. Doctor Helene is a treasure. Even with the few sessions we've had, she's helped me with so many things. The loss of part of myself being the biggest, but she's helped me understand some things, too. We talked about that older couple that Bonnie and I had met on the street, and how the old man had muttered, pay her no mind. He had meant me, of course. It was Doctor Helene who suggested I write this journal, to both help my brain recover and to put my thoughts and feelings to the page. "It'll help, George," she said. "Trust me." I did trust her, and I began writing my story, starting with losing my job and the accident that followed. I left nothing out. Not the shame or the fear or the doubts. None of the negative got omitted, but none of the positive things either, like hope. I wrote it all down, thinking of everything that had happened, putting the weight of my reality onto the printed page. Writing everything kept Bonnie alive; that was another positive thing. I wrote it all down, feeling shocked at some of the things I've done and what I was still going to do. Writing helped me reassemble myself. I thought of the remote that Bonnie had picked it up off the floor on the day we met. I thought maybe that was the first thing she did to start putting my life back together. That was the day I started putting my life back together. I couldn't recall picking up the remote. To this day I would swear on a billion bibles that Bonnie had picked it up, but that had been impossible, so it had to be me. I wrote that, too. Catelyn finished making our eggs. They were good. She sat, gazing into my eyes, a smile on her face. "You still have some eyeshadow on," she said. I smiled, took a bit of the tasty eggs, and shrugged. "We can shower after breakfast." Catelyn smiled in agreement and later, after I did the dishes, she helped me wash my body and my face after I washed her hair. We spent the day together, talking and laughing. Having fun. I promised to go shopping with Catelyn, as Autumn, after my bandage was fully removed and my hair had grown back. The part they had shaved looked horrible and I didn't own a wig. "I can't wait," she said, offering me her lips. I took them. Epilogue "Ms. McNeill," Linda Chapman said, holding her hand, "It's so good to have you aboard." She glanced at my head and at my new, shorter hair, coiffed into a cute little bob. I had added some auburn highlights since she'd seen me last. I had had to get my hair cut short; it wasn't grown out near fast enough. "Nice haircut." "Thank you and thank you for having me," I smiled, taking great delight in hearing her call me Ms. McNeill. I doubted I'd ever get tired of hearing it. She led me through the building, our heels clicking in unison on the tile. She led me through the process of starting my new job, working with me to fill out the appropriate forms to start my insurance and my direct deposit and all the myriad company polices I'd be expected to follow. I loved signing Autumn's name on every single form. I must admit, because Doctor Helene stresses honesty above anything else, that I had practiced that signature, working out the loops and whorls. I even tried putting a little heart above the "I" in my last name but gave that up as too childish. Every time I signed Autumn McNeill, I felt a tinge of joy. I was wearing a crisp white blouse, a black skirt that stopped just below the knee and a sharp blazer. Underneath I was all girl with black panties, a black half bra, my breast forms glued on, and a white camisole. My stockings, jet, were held up by a black garter belt. Catelyn had shown up earl to help me dress, promising that she couldn't wait to help me disrobe when I got home. "And I can't wait to hear about your day," she beamed. "It'll be boring," I said, then smiled, "it'll be great." She shook her head. "Why a secretary?" I gave the truthful answer, "It's who I am." "Girlie girl." "Yep!" For the first time since I can remember I had been looking forward to going to work. As I settled into my new job, sitting at my new desk and logging into the computer system as Autumn, I finally felt like the life I had been putting back together had finally become complete. A girlfriend, a job, and Autumn. The only thing missing was Bonnie. But she was a part of me. That was enough.