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Withdrawal By Cassandra Morgan Some nights are perfect. Some nights are carved out of heaven. This was one of those. It wasn't too cold, and it wasn't too hot. It wasn't rainy, and it wasn't snowing. There were no clouds, so the stars were out, mixing in with the firewood from the Riverfront. If you could order 359 nights a year like this one, life would be perfect. Tonya's eyes glistened like the new diamond ring on her finger. She was laughing, and her face was crinkling up, the way it did. She was a pretty girl, filled with life, smart and kind and reasonable. There was a purity in the moment. They were young, and they were in love, and nothing could hurt them. It was a night for the truth, Matty Hudson thought. On a night like this, no deceit was allowed. They walked back to their car, hand in hand, laughing at nothing and at everything. They would joke about the people walking past. This guy's hat. That girl's shoes. That couple's similarity to each other. They would suggest secrets the passers-by had. That woman cheats on her husband. That guy wants to be tied up. This guy dresses up like a vampire. That older lady likes to be tied up. And so forth. They drove back slowly to his apartment on 41st Street. They had been engaged for a week, so Tonya had yet to give up her place. But they'd go back and have a glass of iced tea -- Tonya didn't drink since winning her last battle against pain-killers -- and maybe watch a movie. Maybe Tonya would stay over. They walked into the apartment, clean for a bachelor's pad, and Tonya dropped her purse on the couch. She ran her hair through her brown locks. "So you want one of your superhero movies? Or can we watch something that requires brain activity?" she said, grinning. "We can watch whatever you want," he said, hesitantly. "Something wrong, Matty?" she asked, stopping and looking back at her fianc?. "You sound funny." "Um, we gotta talk, Tonya." "Uh-oh. When has that ever been a good thing to hear? Are you tired of me already Are you breaking up with me??" "What? No. No, of course not. I'm so glad that we're getting married." "Then what is it? Why do we have to talk?" Tonya deepened her voice, swinging her arms in front of her, making fun of how serious he was. "'We've got to talk!" she mimicked him. "We, uh, well, we do. Please sit." Tonya did. She looked quizzically at Matty. Whatever could this be about?" "Um, there's something you don't know, Tonya. But you need to know before we get married." "Do you have another wife? Kids? Are you dying? Are a spy?" Matty shook his head. "Nothing like that," he said. "It's just that...um..." "I'm listening." "Tonya...did you see 'The Danish Girl'?" "No. I saw the previews, though." "Well, I'm kinda of like the Danish Girl, Tonya." "You're from Denmark?" "No," he said, fighting to say the words. "I...um...well, I ... sometimes, I wear women's clothes." Tonya was quiet for a long moment, looking at Matty. Then she said the two words he did not expect to hear. "I know." "You....you know?" "Yes, silly. Lat week, at our engagement party, your sister told me. She thought I should know." "Cindy told you?" "No, Jen." "Jen told you?" "Well, she was the first one to tell me. Then Cindy told me. Then Ally and Kate and that tall girl with the blond ponytail." "Hanna?" "Yeah, that's her. You evidently got around. All the girls know about you playing dress-up. They thought I should know." "Well, I like to be honest..." "Well, you're that," Tonya said. "Honest as the skirt is long." "Are you...are you gong to break up with me? Ally did. And Hanna." "Why would I break up with you for something you used to do, silly? We all have a past. We'll just close the door and move on." Matty blinked at her. Tonya was acting like this was over. "Tonya...what if I can't move on?" "Well, of course you can, Matty. Hell, after my car accident, I was so hooked on Percocet that I couldn't get through the days. But I kicked it. Rock stars overcome heroin addiction. There are people who go through alcohol rehab all the time. People beat tobacco. Wearing panties can't be that bad. It can't leave your body in pain. Otherwise, there would be rehab clinics for it." "Yeah, but it's hard...." Tonya looked at Matty lovingly. "I know it won't be easy, Monkey," she said sweetly. "But I don't want to be married to a girl. I don't want to walk down the street and have our friends say 'Her husband wears dresses.' I just don't. Don't I have that right?" "Um, I guess, but ...." "Matty, I've thought about this since Jen told me, and I feel strongly about it. Boys are boys, and girls and girls. I love you, but I want a husband. I don't want a wife. One pair of panties per couple. That's the limit." "I understand what you're saying, I guess," Matty said. "Matty. I shouldn't have to ask this, but are you gay? Is that what you're telling me?" "God no, I'm not ... I promise." "Be honest. You've never even ever kissed a guy?" "Kiss? Well, yeah. Once. But it was by accident." "Jesus. My fianc? has kissed another guy. What do you mean by accident? Did he slip and his tongue just fell into your mouth?" "He's...his name is Greg. He's a bartender at Sequins. It's a nightclub. We were joking around, drinking, and ... he kissed me last year at a party. That's all that happened. I'm trying to be honest, Tonya" "But he wanted to put his, um, his dick into your ass? Is that what you're telling me?" "I...I guess. But we never did anything but kiss.. Just one kiss." "Well, still. That shows that he finds you attractive. So no more skirts for you. You got that?" "I....I'll try." Tonya patted his hand. "Good," she said. "That's all I ask. Try hard. I hear a lot of guys stay out of their wife's bras all the time." She snickered. "What...what do I do with my stuff?" he asked somberly. She paused, thinking. "Bring it in here," she said. "Let me see what you have" "Do..um..do you want me to wear it for you?" Tonya made a face. She shook her head. "That won't be necessary," Tonya said. "I don't need to see. Just bring them in here, and I'll get rid of them." Matty sighed, then disappeared into his bedroom. A few minutes later, he came in with an armload of dresses, skirts, and underwear. "Is this all of it?'" Tonya asked. "There's a little more," he said, turning and heading back toward the bedroom. The second trip, he brought more dresses: A-lines and sheets and tea dresses and cocktails.The third time, he brought slacks, and a wig, and pair of breast forms. He brought six pairs of high heels. He brought a makeup case. A jewelry box. He looked at the colorful pile of dresses. The red evening gown with sequins. The white shift. The short yellow skirt. The pink bikini. The black dress. It was all there -- his secret, delicious life. These were the clothes he had quietly dressed in for years. Now, they were out in the open. Matty guessed he was, too. "I think that's all of it, Tonya," he said. She grinned, and picked up the breast forms, weighing them in her hand. "You wore these? Really?" "Yes," he said. "I paid a lot for them. They're top of the line. Please don't throw those away." "But, Monkey," she said. "There are dozens of homeless men who are dying to have a set of whammers for their very own." She giggled. "Tonya, I've spent a lot of money on this stuff," he said. "And I spent a lot of money on drugs," Tonya said. "Eventually, you've got to flush them and go on. It's for the best." Matty looked longingly at the pile of clothes. There was an ivory nightgown that was new. A blue skirt. Several pairs of hose. There were assorted panties and bras. There was the blond wig he had bought at Mellie's. "Shrinks say it's hard for cross-dressers to stop," Matty said, weakly. "That's because if they stop, they're cured, and the money stops," Tonya said. "It's to a psychiatrist's advantage not to cure their patents." "I don't believe that's the way it works," Matty said. "Really. Of all the transvestites in the world, you don't think any have been cured?" she said, her voice rising. "EVER?" "Well, I'm sure some..." "I just care about one, Matty. My man. I didn't say 'my woman' or 'my sissy.' I said 'my man.'" "I told you I'd try," Matty said. "I want you to do more than try. I don't want you to wear any more frilly shit. It's just a game. It's not a serious addiction, not like mine was. I want you to give up all those blowjobs in the men's rooms." "I'm ... I'm not gay, Tonya." "Right," she said. "That's what you say. You just want to wear fucking lipstick and wink at a sailor. Why the hell would a man want to dress like a woman except to seduce men?" "You've got being trans all wrong, Tonya It's just a harmless hobby. A lot of straight guys dress up." "Maybe you're the one who has it wrong, Matty. Maybe I'm trying to get you right. You have to decide: Do you want me, or do you want to wear a dress?" Matty exhaled. "We'll do it your way," he said. "I'll give it up. I want you" "Good. Now let's load this shit in my car. We'll put the good in Goodwill." * * * "Brunch is the perfect meal," Cindy Hudson was saying. "You get champagne and bacon. Who can beat that? And Eggs Benedict are the bomb." Tonya smiled at her future sister in law. She had called Cindy and Jen the night before. She needed to better understand Matty and this ...perversion he had. She remembered her own addiction, and all the pain that withdrawal included, but she didn't know about men who wanted to dress like girls. It was only fair that she try to understand. "So, Tonya," Jen said. "Did you buy your wedding dress yet?" "No, not yet," she said. "Did Matty buy his?" Cindy said, giggling. "Not funny," Tonya said, grinning anyway. "I'm going to break him of this silly little habit." "Hey, good luck with that," Jen said. "Mom tried for years before she died. Some boys are just more comfortable in skirts. I think they're born that way." "I don't believe in being born that way, but that's what I wanted to talk about," Tonya said. "When did Matty start this?" "Oh, God," Cindy said. "Ages ago. He must have been, what, four or five?" "I don't remember it being that young," said Jen. "My first recollection was when he was about 8..." "The girl scout uniform?" Cindy prompted. "Yeah. I had just finished with girl scouts, and Matty wanted me to give him my uniform instead of throwing it away. It was this little green dress, as I remember. It fit him perfectly." "He was cute," Cindy said. "That's when he became Maggie." "Maggie?" Tonya said. "Yeah. He used to go around and take cookie orders from the neighbors. He never gave them any cookies -- he just took the orders." Cindy laughed. "He liked walking around in his little dress. He didn't care who saw him." "He was a sweet little girl." "Still is," Cindy said. "Were there other instances?" "Oh, there about a hundred," Jen said. "Not so much with uniforms, but you couldn't buy a new dress without Matty trying it on. If you were missing clothes, Matty's room is where you went to find it." "I had a royal blue prom dress in high school," Cindy said. "When I came home and saw Matty posing in front of the mirror, in a bra and makeup, I lost it. I was swearing and throwing things. I went nuts." "I remember why you were so mad," Jen said. "Yeah. Because he looked prettier in that dress than I did." "Yeah. You were afraid Tony would want to take him instead of you." The sisters laughed. One story followed another one about their brother- who-would-be-a-sister. The first time he went to the beauty parlor. The part-time job he got in the dress shop. The time he was caught in his mother wedding gown. The Halloweens when he was Sleeping Beauty, or Supergirl, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Shit, Tonya thought. Was he ever dressed like a boy? "Did he have ... boyfriends?" Tonya asked. "No," Cindy said. "Matty's not gay. I tried to hook him up with guys for years, but he doesn't swing that way. He just likes girls' clothes. He's always dated girls. And when he met you, Tonya, he fell hard." "Right on his panties," Jen said,grinning. Tonya sighed. "I think he used to have a boyfriend. A guy named Greg. He said nothing happened but a kiss, but I wonder." "I don't know about Greg," Jen said "But Matty wouldn't lie." "I still don't get all of this. So down deep, is Matty a boy or a girl?" Tonya said "He's both." Cindy said. "And he's neither. He's what they call gender fluid, Tonya. He's girlish, but he's the most loyal person I know. He doesn't cheat, and he doesn't deceive. So what if he wears dresses?" "And lipstick," Jen said. "And bras." "And dresses." "And heels." Both now, all three women were laughing so loud they could barely talk. "Mom always said that Matty was the biggest girl in our family," Cindy said. "Tonya, I know a woman who's a shrink," Jen said. "We went to college together. I can give you her number. You might want to to ask her about this stuff. She's kind of an expert." "Yeah?" "Yes. Her name is Sharon Stewart." Jen fished in her purse and found a business card. "Call her. Tell her I told you to." "Okay. I will." "Oh, and she used to have this red leather skirt." "Yeah?" "If she still has it, see if Matty can borrow it." * * It was noon on Monday. Matty had left the Apple store, where he worked, and had walked into the center of the mall. He bought a coffee and sat down. He spent a lot of Mondays like this, watching the women walk by in their dresses as they shopped. A woman might wear slacks to work or jeans at home, but a lot of times they dressed nicely when they went to the mall. Matty was sad, his bones aching after only two days of not being able to dress. He looked at the old women, the teenage girls, the housewives as they walked past. Many of them were dressed smartly, their heels clacking and their purses swinging as they moved. Matty studied their makeup, their hair, their nails. It was the purest form of voyeurism. Except that the women didn't matter as much as their attire did. After about 15 minutes, Matty couldn't stand it anymore. He walked down the hallway and into Macy's. He went to the women's section. He ran his hand across the dresses on the racks. He held up a lavender dress, as if he were shopping for a girlfriend. He went through the makeup aisles and inhaled deeply. The perfume was heavier there from the samples the salesgirls were giving out. He went to the shoe rack, and he examined the rows and rows of wonderful footwear. He had cut out an ad, and he kept glancing at it, as if he was a guy shopping for someone else. None of the sales clerk paid him much attention. For Matty, there was such a lure to femininity. He went to Victoria's Secret, his favorite store, and looked over the racks and racks of bras and panties. It was all he could do not to stroke the fabric. "Hey, I know you," a salesgirl said. "I'm Vivian. Remember me?" "Um, yeah, I guess." "You've bought here before. Matty, right?" "I think you have me confused with someone else." "Hell, Matty, it's okay. You can be open with me. The manager's office is empty if you want to try anything on." "Um, I better not," Matty said. "I'm trying to quit." "Yeah? Do they have a patch for that? Like for smoking?" "No, I'm afraid not. Thanks anyway, Vivian." "Look, Matty. I've seen guys try to quit before. You'll be back. Just keep me in mind when you need some help, okay?" Matty exhaled deeply. "Thank you, Vivian. But I can't do it anymore. Not ever." He wen to the hats at Dillard's. Damn, Matty loved hats. He would have been a great 50's girl, peering out beneath the brim of her hat at the camera. But it would be bad form to actually try on a hat, or a pair of heels, or a dress. Besides, he had promised Tonya. He was determined not to break that vow. Matty licked his lips. Why is that when you're told you can't do something, your desire is stronger than ever? It's like someone telling you that you can't have liver-flavored ice cream; suddenly, nothing else is what you want. Matty closed his eyes, and could feel himself pulling hose up his legs. He could almost taste the lipstick. Matty went to the lingerie department. This was his favorite section, the delicious varieties of panties, the assorted bras, the nightgowns, and the corsets. Could he somehow get Tonya to change her mind? Were there some rules she could live with -- only on weekends, maybe. Only when she was out of town? Only at Mellie's, the drag store on the other side of town? There had to be something to satisfy the yearning. Matty shook his head. Never had he so badly wanted to slip hose up his legs. Never had he wanted to adjust his wig quite so badly. He was dying for some lipstick. Damn it. No matter what Tonya said, this had to be tougher to beat than pain-killers.. * * Tonya sat in the back of a small recreation center in the middle of Cincinnati, watching the proceedings. Surrounding her were women, and then there were the other women, the women with bigger hands and squarer jaws. There were young women and older women, black women and Hispanic. Yes, there were real women and trans women, most of them extremely convincing. Tonya had not been around enough trans women to get comfortable with the others, but she tried to withhold any judgment. She sat and listened. to the stories. Many of them were the same, the young boy who liked to dress up, the husbands whose wives caught them in their clothes, the guilt revealed and the hope expressed. The moderator, Dr. Sharon Stewart, sat to the side, smiling and applauding as each woman gave her testimony. Some of the speakers were trans women, telling their stories. Other women were their wives and spouses, talking about how they had learned to accept their mates in a way that enriched both of their lives. Tonya was skeptical -- what they hell were they supposed to say -- but she remained silent. No, she thought. She couldn't imagine Matty in front of the room, parading around in a dress for everyone to see, wearing pearls and heels and thick red lipstick. She tried not to feel sorry for the men .... Women! They chose this, she thought. But why would would the women, the real women, stay with them? Love? Loyalty? A lack of options? A woman, if you want to call her that, who called herself Nancy Alworth was talking now. She was talking about how her wife had encouraged her to wear her clothes, and how she had discovered that she liked them. She said she had just come out at work, and everyone in the audience applauded, especially her wife. She said her kids knew, and they accepted her. My God, Tonya thought. Kids? Damned if her kids would have two mothers, she thought. And on it went. Andrea Jenkins came up and talked about her wife's boyfriend. Sue Nesbitt, one of the wives , talked about how much more gentle her husband Betty Jean was these days. Nadine Smith talked about how she was going to have breast augmentation surgery. On it went. Tonya was amazed at how committed all of these women -- the wives, the husbands -- were toward this lifestyle. Tonya tried not be judgmental, but deep down, she thought it was a twisted way to live. Finally, the last speaker was done, and the crowd filtered toward the coffee, breaking out in cliques. A tall black woman approached her. "Hey. I'm Jana," she said. "Which one of these are yours?" "I'm Tonya. I'm just ... checking it out. You know?" "Oh. I see. You've got one at home?" "Not really," she said. "He...he'd like to be, but I don't want him to be." Jana laughed. "I didn't want Sherry to be, either," she said, nodding toward a pretty black woman who was getting coffee. "But if they start young, you can't break them of this shit. And you know what? I like Sherry. She's cool. wait till you meet her." Tonya shook her head. "You never tried to stop him...her?" "Oh, hell. Of course I did," Jana said. "We used to fight like hell. I called her all the names. Fag,, bitch, homo. But when you get down to it, really, what's the harm? They're just clothes. If he wants to wear a skirt while we watch TV, who's to judge?" "That....would be hard for me," Tonya said. "I ...." Tonya was interrupted when Dr. Stewart approached the two of them. Sharon and Tonya had met briefly before the meeting, and had said they would talk after. "Hi, Tonya," she said. "Did you enjoy the meeting?" "Oh, it was... interesting," Tonya said. "Informative." "I've asked a few of the girls -- the wives -- to hang around and talk to you. Will you join us, Jana?" Tonya nodded, her eyes pleading toward Jana. She had just met Jana, but she felt the two of them had a lot in common. Jana agreed, then told Sherry she needed a few minutes. Sherry nodded, then went back to her conversation with another trans woman. Five women entered a side room -- Dr. Stewart, Tonya, Jana and two women named Didi Cohen and Annette Lopez. They pulled chairs into a semi- circle. "Everyone, this is Tonya. Her husband is ... interested in our lifestyle. Tonya is looking for some feedback on what it's like." "Matty is more than interested," Tonya said. "He's cross-dressed for years. He wants to keep doing it, but I'm trying to get him to quit" "We've all been there," Annette said. "The threats. The lawyers. The parents. The counseling. Everything." "In the end," Didi said. "You give up the fight, or you give up the husband. You've go to adapt." "Actually, it's kind of fun. Did. you ever see sissies kiss?" Annette giggled. "I was telling Tonya outside," Jana said. "It's not a big deal when you get used to it. It's kind of nice, really. Trans husbands are gentler, more caring. Some of them are actually quite feminine." "But...they're play-pretend women," Tonya said. "Not quite," Jana said. "No one is playing. But I understand what you're saying: they're not lumberjacks, either. But do you really, really need someone to cut down a tree for you? I'll be honest. If Sherry told me she wanted to dress like a man again, I'd fight her on it. I like her the way she is."" Tonya shook her head. "I don't want to make love to a woman." "And Matty. Does he want to make love to a man?" "He says not," Tonya said. "But he hangs around this guy named Greg. I think they like each other. It's gross." "Oh, sweetie." Jana said. "Nothing's gross. You can make love to whoever you want . That's part of the lifestyle. Once the hormones go to work, your husband won't be as good down there as he used to be. It's accepted that you find other outlets." "You ... cheat?" Tonya said, amazed. "Not all of us," Annette said. "But I screw around enough for two." "Slut," Didi said, giggling. "Jealous?" Annette said. "Maybe," Didi said as the laughter rose. Sharon raised her hand in a calming motion. She was been content to be quiet for most of the conversation, but she wanted to make a point. "Tonya, it's not all about sex," she said. "Some people try to make it about that. But it's about life and love and finding a way to make sense to all concerned. Some of our...women... are gay and don't sleep with their wives anymore, not in the traditional senses. Some are bisexual. Some are asexual. It's whatever works for you. We're all just skin and nerve endings, you know?" "But these guys wear your panties..." Tonya said. "No, they don't," Jana said. "Sherry has her own, thank you very much." "But how often do they dress?" "That depends on the person," Annette said. "My Donna dresses most of the time now. She's very girly. Sometimes, I forget she was ever a boy. We're comfortable together, Tonya. We fit" "Julie has her own wardrobe," Didi said. "Her own boyfriends, too." "She... she has boyfriends?" "Lord, yes. She's a sissy, Tonya. Of course she has boyfriends. And they have her." "I couldn't deal with that," Tonya said. "Again, you find what you can deal with," Sharon said. "There is a wide spectrum here. Some trans women want to have surgery and become ... complete. Some want to date guys. Some just want to wear underwear under their working clothes. It's all good, Tonya. It's all love. Every woman here is here because they value their relationship and want their partner to be fulfilled." "Some women do get divorced," Jana said. "Some women can't deal with it." "Then why not break his habit?" "Because they keep coming back to it," Didi said. "Julie quit a dozen times. Purged her wardrobe. Swore to me she would never try on another bra. But two months later, she was back at it. It's an addiction." "But addiction can be beaten..." "It can," Sharon said. "It's just me, but I always call it a compulsion more than addiction. With addiction, there are usually chemicals in the substance, the pills or the drugs or the booze. Once you eliminate the chemicals, it's better. With trans women, the only chemicals are hormones. Take those away, and a transexual is still a transexual. There are trans women in all cultures, all countries, throughout history. It's really quite common." "You ever see someone who gave it up?" Annette said. "They're fucking zombies. Their personalities have been zapped. They're dull, lifeless creatures." "Tonya," Sharon said. "What we're saying is this: You can probably break him of this, but there is a price. It'll change him more than being trans. Do you want that?" "I ... I don't know what I want, Sharon," Tonya said. "I just want Matty to be normal." "And what if being normal," Jana said, "means being pretty?" "I don't know what to do..." "And that's the truth," Annette said. "None of us knew what to do. There's not a guidebook for the wives of sissies. Just make sure that if you let him wear dresses, you get something out of it. You have needs too." "My boyfriend sent me on a vacation to Hawaii," she said. "You can get a good lei there." "I have that new Accord in the parking lot" Annette said. "Sherry keeps our house clean," Jana said. "She's a sweet little maid." "Maid?" Jana laughed. "Tonya, a trans relationship means growth by both of us," Jana said. "It means compromise. It means giving up stuff and getting back other stuff. Ask yourself: If Matty gets to be one of our sissies, what do you get?? "You shouldn't say 'sissies,' " Sharon corrected her. "Trans women." "Them either, " Annette said. She looked at Tonya and winked, then added in stage whisper. "Sissies." "If you want to stay with Matty, you have two choices," Didi said. "Ignore it, or embrace it. Otherwise, you'll be taking away part of what he is." "She's going to be a boy who dresses like a girl," Jana said. "Or a girl whose dying to get out of being a boy. You have to decide if you can support her, Tonya." Tonya drew in a deep breath. This was going to be a harder than she thought. * * Matty sat on a stool in the corner of Sequins. He was alone as he nursed a scotch. More and more, Matty had been drinking. He hadn't smoked in years, but he was doing that again, too. He knew it was all a diversion from the hobby he really wanted to indulge in, but he had promised Tonya. He would be good. Damn, it was hard. Every time Matty closed his eyes, he could feel the pantyhose on his legs. He rubbed his face, and he worried about his makeup. But he was no longer wearing makeup...or pantyhose. Every day he put on guy's clothes, he felt more empty. He dressing had changed, but his desire had not. He blinked through the semi-light of the bar, and he watched the girls move around, laughing and talking. Sequins was his favorite transgender bar, but for once, he wasn't dressed when he came in. Greg, the bartender, recognized him anyway. "Hey, Maggie. You're in drab today?" "I....I'm taking a break, Greg. I don't think I'm going to dress anymore." "Shit, that's a shame. Why not?" "Tonya doesn't like it," Matty said. "Tonya doesn't have to do it," Greg said. "I know, but I love her. I'd rather have her than the clothes." "Why is it a choice?" Greg asked. "Because she wants me to choose, Greg." "Hell, that ain't right. Has she seen how pretty you are when you clean up?" "She doesn't want to see." "Damn. I feel for you, girlfriend. When we were together, I never made you choose." "Greg We were never together. You kissed me once. It was a mistake." "And you like mistakes, didn't you? As I remember, you kissed me back. Wasn't that your tongue in my mouth?" "You were sweet. But I like girls, Greg." "One night with me, and you'd never go back to girls," Greg said. "I'm perfect." "You know, Greg, you kind of are. A perfect friend." Greg laughed. "Can I get you another drink?" "That would be perfect, too," Matty said. "One more for the sad and lonely. Greg, did you ever think that someone could be a mental transvestite." "What do you mean...mental transvestite?" "You know. Someone who thinks about dressing every damn day, but doesn't do it. Someone who reads all the stories and looks at all the pictures. Someone who doesn't dress, but dreams about it. Someone who longs to be pretty, but he's trapped on the other side of the mirror." "Hang with it, Matty," Greg said. "I'm your friend. You can always talk to me, no matter which side of the mirror you're on." "It's kicking my ass, Greg," Matty said. "I don't sleep at night, but in the mornings, I have a hard time getting up. I just want to lay there all day." "That's depression, Matty," Greg said. "You need to get laid. I think I'm due for a break in an hour." Matty tried to smile. Greg moved down the bar, waiting on other customers,. Matty glanced across the bar. Rhonda was there. He and Rhonda had known each other for years. She walked over to him and grinned. "Hey, Maggie," she said. "Matty," he said. "Oh. It's like that, huh?" "I'm afraid so." "So you won't be going to Mellie's anymore?" Mellie's was a trans dress shop on the west side of Cincinnati. The girls would go into Mellie's and try on vintage (used) clothing. If you bought something, fine. If you didn't, you left a tip -- Mellie had to make a living right? After the girls were dressed, they would sit and talk, like everyone does, about politics or religion or gossip. "I think Mellie's is off limits, Rhonda. I'm not wearing dresses anymore." "You know that won't last, Maggie." "I think it's going to have to. I don't want to lose Tonya. Being a girl isn't as important as being alone." "So what happens if she catches you dressed?" "I think she'd leave me, Rhonda. She thinks it's a perversion. That's why I won't do it." "It's you, Maggie," Rhonda said. It's who you are." "Not anymore, Rhonda. Not any more." * * In the worst of times, Matty and Tonya had always made tender, caring love. But that, too, was off. Tonya thought that Matty resented her stance on cross-dresssing, and maybe he did. Matty thought Tonya thought he was less masculine, and perhaps he was. Regardless, much of their intimacy was gone. He kept saying he was okay, but Tonya could see something was eating at Matty. He was distant, withdrawn. He seemed to be losing weight, and there was a gray hue to his skin. There were bags under his eyes, and he kept rubbing his fingers together in a nervous tic. He rarely had anything to say. "You sure you're all right, Matty?" "Yeah," he said. He forced a smile. "You don't look okay." "I'm okay. I haven't been sleeping well." "And you haven't been eating, and you aren't working out, and you smoke too damn much." She knew about his smoking. Shit. How did she find that out? "Is this all...about giving up the clothes?" "No. Not all of it I just haven't felt great." Tonya exhaled. "You've got to be strong, Matty." "You keep telling me that. It's hard to be strong when you're having tremors." "Tremors?" "Yeah. I've been running a fever. I think I'm coming down with the flu." Tonya knew better. She knew the signs of depression, the symptoms of withdrawal. She would not have thought you get a physical reaction from an emotional need, bu there you had it. Matty was a mess. She tried to change the subject. "Matty...I went to a trans meeting the other night." "You what? Why would you do that?" "I wanted to know what you were feeling. I talked to some of the wives." "Yeah? Did they tell their husbands they couldn't dress, either?" "No, Matty. Just the opposite. They seemed to like their lives." He looked at her. "Lucky them," he said. "Is it really so bad, Matty, being a normal couple? I mean, you don't miss it that much, do you?" "It's okay. I'm okay." "No, be honest. Tell me, what do you miss. I'd like to know." Matty sighed. He looked at Tonya with those great eyes, with that pretty chin. "If you really want to know, I miss everything," he said quietly. "I miss waking up with a nightgown spread across my legs. I miss the feel of my hose rubbing together. I love the panties sliding up my legs. I love the smell of lipstick, the feel of it... I miss dancing and feeling the hem of my dress bound on my legs. I love the way heels make my legs hurt. " I miss the little things, just sitting around and looking at my nails. I miss shaving my legs, if you can believe that. I miss feeling my breasts jiggle. I miss the wind in my hair. I miss meeting new people, and I miss it when they're surprised I'm not genetic.... I miss ... living." Tonya looked at Matty for a long moment. She wasn't heartless. She honestly felt Matty's pain. She took a deep breath. "Maybe...maybe we can compromise, Matty." "Compromise?" "Well, I admit that I don't really want to see you in a dress. This woman named Jana and I have been talking since the meeting, and she suggests I should get something in return for my allowing it." Matty looked at her for a moment. "What something would you want?" Tonya paused, then said" "I want permission." "Permission to do what?" "I want your permission to have a boyfriend. If you're getting your jollies, I should get mine." "What? Hell no. I won't do that. Flesh is a bigger deal than fabric. I'll just stay out of dresses. I can do it. I mean, it's hard, but I can." "It's wrecking your health, Monkey. Look, I don't want to actually have sex with someone...now. But if you keep wearing the clothes, and I have to live with it, I want your permission to change my mind. Some trans women lose their desire for sex. I just want to be able to take care of myself...of my needs. So I want a get-out-of-jail free card. Just in case." "I knew there was a catch," Matty said. "Well, thanks Tonya, but no thanks. If you want another man -- or a woman -- we should end this before we get married. I have never slept around on you. I couldn't stand it if you slept around on me." "Think about it, Matty," Tonya said quietly. "I'm doing this for you. It would be a way for you to wear panties again. And lipstick. I never threw away your falsies. You could have boobs again. You could be ... Maggie. All the time." Matty was quiet, as if thinking about it. "I can't do that," he said. "I can't picture you with another guy. It tears me up even thinking about it." "You know I could just do it," she said. "I don't need your permission to screw someone else. But I'd like to have it...I'd like you to know that I could date someone at any time." L "It's too one-sided a deal," Matty said. "My habit is harmless. Yours would be infidelity. Let's just forget we had this conversation." "I would have thought you'd jump at the deal," Tonya said. "It's a way for you to be girly again." "Tonya...don't get me wrong. I'm glad you're willing to compromise. And I miss dressing. But thinking of you and someone else twists me up inside. I'll just stay the way we are." With that, Matty walked toward the bedroom. As he left, Tonya could hear him cough. * * On Sunday, Matty decided to go for a drive. He didn't feel like golf, and he didn't feel like staying home. So he drove. His mind was wandering. Hell, Tonya wanted to sleep with other people. Why the hell should he marry a girl who wanted someone else? Shit. If she had ever had an affair, well, hell, he thought he could forgive her. But this premeditated, scheduled deal was all wrong. It was like he was encouraging her to shop around, to find a guy who would fit better into her world, who would replace him in the bedroom, in her heart. As much as he wanted to go back to dressing, he couldn't deal with that. He made a left-handed turn and pulled up at red light. He looked up, and on the opposite corner was Mellie's. Hell, subconsciously, he had driven to the transgender clothing store. He exhaled and pulled into the parking lot behind the store. Mellie -- or Melody -- had been in business for a decade. She was an older trans, and she took her job seriously, clothing those like her. She loved the daily conversations from her regulars, who would put on a dress and sit for hours. It didn't make a lot of money, but it was fulfilling nonetheless. Matty walked into the shop door, and he heard the overhead bells ring. "Be with you in a minute," Mellie's voice rang out. "We have a special...oh, hi, Maggie." "Matty," he said by reflex. Mellie nodded. "Matty," she said. "We have some new Ann Taylor dresses. You want to try anything on?" "I better not," Matty said. "I just wanted a little conversation with the girls." "Well, come on back. Nancy is here. And Missy. And Claire." Matty walked to the back, and the girls were sitting around, jabbering away. "Hi Missy," he said. "Hi Claire. How are you, Nance?" "Hey, Maggie," they all greeted her. "Matty," he said again. "Maggie," Missy said. "I haven't seen you. Are you still going to be a bridesmaid for me next month? Tell me you will." "Missy...I'm not dressing anymore." "Well, hell, that won't last," Missy said. "You know and I know. So just try on the dress. It's lavender. Gorgeous." "I...I better not. I just thought I'd stop by." "You know, I gave it up once," Nancy said. "It lasted about 10 minutes." "I'd never give it. Up," Claire said. "If I did, Randy would have a hissy fit." "So what's worse?" Missy said. "A hissy fit or a sissy fit?" The girls all giggled, and even though he was in jeans and a t-shirt, Matty felt better. He wasn't in his element, but he was with his friends. Missy was wearing a soft green dress. Nancy had on a white skirt andale blue top. Claire was Westin a rose-colored bridesmaid dress.Marty felt himself grow Erica at the clothing. "You know," Nancy said. "You could try on a dress, and Tonya would never know." "I'd know," Matty said. "I made a promise." "Me, too, when I was a boy scout," Missy said. "Just one dress. Come on. You remember how." "Maggie, most of us started out dressing in secret anyway. What's the difference. Tonya will never find out." Nancy and Missy grabbed each of his hands and led him to the dressing room. Claire picked up a lavender dress -- similar to the colors of the bridesmaid's dress -- and followed. "Do you have on panties?" she asked. "I don't have on anything," Matty said. "Well, hell. What size bra do you wear?" "Um, a C. A 38-C." She picked out a bra and matching panties. Missy found her a pair of lavender heels. "Just slip this on," she said. "No one will get hurt." Matty stood in the dressing room and looked longingly into the mirror. Could he do this? He unbuttoned his shirt, and he slid down his jeans. He sighed, and peeled off his boxers. Then he picked up the panties. They hovered over his groin, as if they were begging him to step into them. And Matty's hands began to shake. His throat felt dry. There was a dull ache across his arms and legs. Softly, he started to cry. In the end, he could not bring himself to put on the panties, or fasten the bra, or wear the dress. He sat in the dressing room, shaking, clutching the clothing. He felt trapped between two realities. He was a cross-dresser who could no longer cross-dress. He was doomed to be a guy, all the time, forever. Damn, he suddenly wanted a cigarette. And a drink. * * Tonya had never been to a drag bar before, and so she was a bit intimidated as she stepped into the Sequins. The guys looked at her as if she, too, was a queen in search of some company. But she walked quickly to the bar. She sat there, and a heavy guy with a beard immediately sat next to her. "Damn, you look good," he said. "I can't hardly tell you're a guy." "Excuse me?" "Well, maybe the chin. And you're hands are kinda big. But that just means you have a nice dick." "Sir, please go away. I'm a woman. A real woman." "Shit. A woman. A guy can't even pick up a queer without some fag-hag trying to beat him to it. Shit. I hate a tranny without a dick." The guy stalked away. The bartender looked at the scene with some amusement. "Don't mind Cyrus," he said to her. "He's harmless." "Really?" she said. "Can I get a white wine?". "Of course you can," he said. "Welcome to Sequins. My name is Greg." "Oh, you're Greg," she laughed. "I think you know my fianc?, Matty Hudson?" He grinned back at her. "I know Matty very well. We've hung out before." "I'll bet," she said. "Meaning?" "Oh, a girl doesn't meet her fianc?'s boyfriend very often," she said, giggling again. "Matty's not my boyfriend," Greg said. "Never has been. And you are...." "I'm Tonya," she said, offering her hand. "Matty and I are engaged." "Hi Tonya," Greg said shaking her hand. "Matty and I are just friends. We watch soccer together. We play golf. But he's faithful to you, Tonya. You should know that." "You kissed him." "Her." Greg protested. "I've kissed a lot of girls. Besides, she's very pretty." Greg shrugged, as if that explained everything. "Greg, what makes a guy want to dress like a girl?" "I don't know," Greg said. "Not really. I don't dress myself. But it's something psychological, I think. What's the harm? Some of the girls just feel more...themselves...when they do. Everyone thinks its about sex, but from what I've seen, it's mainly about conversation. And wearing the right clothes. The women who come in here, Tonya, well, they're ultra-feminine. I like some of them a lot." "Have you ever seen Matty dressed?" "I better not say," he said. "Well, there's my answer," Tonya said. "So you never wanted to fuck him?" "I never said that. I said I never had. We're of an age where lust doesn't mean love, Tonya. I've always thought Maggie...Matty...was attractive. But she turned me down flat." "Unrequited love," Tonya said. "Same old story." "Yeah," Greg said. "But let me tell you. If Matty was mine, I'd never give him up. I don't care if he wanted to dress like Batman." "So he's pretty?" "Yeah," Greg said after a pause. "He's a lot better looking as a girl than a guy. Great legs. Great smile. Haven't you ever seen him?" "No. I told him I wanted him to give it up. Did I make a mistake?" "I can't say that. It's your life. Yours and his." "I have to tell you, Greg. I think I"m warming to the idea." "You'll be surprised how much it changes you, too, Tonya. It'll make you both better people." "I do want him to be happy." "Be careful, Tonya. If Matty starts dressing again, he'll never stop. You can't do the yes-no, yes-no game with him. If you love him, Tonya, you'll think about this. You'll make it work. You'll both be better off." Would they? Tonya let the images go through her head, of Matty in a dress, or Matty wearing a nightgown, or Matty in heels. She still thought the pictures in her head were silly. But maybe they weren't quite as silly as they had been. * * "Matty, what's a sissy?" Lying in bed, Matty clinched. He looked at Tonya. Why the hell would she want to know that? "A lot of trans girls use it as self-description," Matty said. "It can be an endearing term. But clinically, It's a sub-category of trans women. Some girls like being girlish so much that they go to extremes, with teenage dresses or maid's uniforms. They're mostly submissive, so they find a man or woman to guide them. A dom or a domme. Most trans women aren't that way. It's just a stereotype of a trans, an exaggeration. Transvestism mixed in with submissiveness." "Matty...are you a sissy?" "No, Tonya. I never have been. I'm not a submissive. I'm just your old average trans girl. At least, I used to be." "Matty...do you dress anymore? I mean, in secret?" "No, Tonya. I made a promise. And it hasn't been easy. The other day, I had a dress in my hands, and I was ready to put it on. But I couldn't. Not after the vow we made." "Matty...what if I said you could?" "I'm not going to agree to you fooling around, Tonya. We've talked about this." "But what if you gave something else up? What if I could still get something in return for allowing you to dress?" His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" "Well...I could use a maid." "Jesus. Are you kidding? Do I look like a maid to you? You want to look down on me? Would me wearing a dress make me something less than I am?" "No, not less," Tonya said. "I'm talking about a compromise, Matty. You'd get to wear a bra and panties every day, and I would get a clean house. We'd have a reason for you to be in a dress." "Are you still trying to get me to let you fool around?" "No," she said. "I won't insist on that get-out-jail-free card. That would be up to you."" "So you want be one of those bossy women in leather?" Tonya laughed. "Not quite," she said. "I would be what they called a gentle domme. I wouldn't belittle you. I wouldn't be mean." Matty sighed. He had always laughed at the sissy boys in Sequins, the ones on leashes who got off on being little more than property. He thought they were cartoons, trans girls who were trying too hard. But Tonya at least had taken a step. He didn't want to reject her out of hand. "I'm not a domestic, Tonya," Matty said. "You're asking too much." Tonya had a twinkle in her eye. From beneath her side of the comforter, she pulled out a pair of red panties. She dangled them above Matty, the lace barely grazing his skin. "You could wear these," she whispered. "All the time." Matty moaned. He was like a heroin addict being offered a fix. "You could put on a bra. Every day. Imagine how that would feel, Matty." Matty bit his lip. He was unprepared for this. "Think about wearing a nightgown. Or a dress. Think about lipstick. Think about having your hair done. It could all be yours, Matty. Be my maid, and you get to be a trans girl again." "Please...stop," he said. "Please," Tonya said. "Or please stop? Which do you mean?" Matty had an erection by now. His head was twisting to and fro. His breathing was irregular. "Tell me you'll be my maid, Matty," Tonya whispered. "Tell me you want to be a girl." "I...I'll be your maid." "My domestic?" "Yesssss," he said. "My sissy?" "God, yes," he said. "You'll wear a uniform? You'll curtsy? You'll call me ma'am?" "Whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want." "Yes, Tonya said. "You will." * * The next morning, Matty woke early. Instantly, he remembered everything. He had agreed to be Tonya's maid. Crap. Why would he agree to that? Was that a fate worse than deprival? "Good morning, maid," he heard Tonya's voice. "Um, good morning, Tonya," he said. "So how are you as you enter this next act of your life, Matty?" "You aren't really going to make me a maid, are you?" "Damn right," Tonya said. Matty bit his lip. He knew that if he refused her, he would never wear dresses again. It would be over. "You want me to clean? And to cook?" "All of it, Monkey. I want to be in charge." "I won't play with toys. I don't want a cage, and I don't want a plug in my rear." "Eventually, you might. But I won't make you unless you ask me to." Matty shook his head. He stood up and walked toward the bathroom, then he turned around. He started to say something, then stopped. Hell, Matty didn't want to mop floors. He didn't want to scrub toilets. Hell, ironing clothes baffled him. But it was a way to bring Maggie back. Could he say no to that?" Lots of guys settled for being maids. Hell, lots of guys begged for it. "Can we try it for a while?" Matty said. "How long is a while?" Tonya said "I was thinking about two weeks past forever. But I'll settle for a year." "Six months?" "Nine months," Tonya said. "And three days. The extra three days is just for fun, Matty." Matty looked at her, and in her eyes, he saw the look of compromise. Hell, Tonya wasn't getting everything she wanted out of this deal, either. Was she? Finally, he nodded his head. "Call me Maggie," he said. * * The first time she put on a maid's uniform, Maggie was a bit embarrassed. He loved the underwear, but the dress felt odd. He glanced into the mirror, and he felt as if he was heading to a costume party. The black dress, the short white apron, the silly white lace hat on her head. Tonya's voice tinkled like a spoon in a glass. "You look wonderful, Monkey," she laughed. "Or should I say Maggie? Wash my dishes, Maggie? Then vacuum the living room." Maggie dipped her head, then looked at Tonya. "It's a little silly, isn't it?" Maggie said. "I mean, I know I'm a maid and all, but why do I have to dress like ... this?" "Because clothing is a symbol, Maggie. The apron, the hat. It tells the world who you are. And why I'm letting you dress like a woman." "Don't get me wrong. I love the way the underwear feel, but this sissy shit is a little overwhelming." "Hey! That sissy shit is your life from now on." "Well, for nine months." "At least. You may decide you like it." "Yes, Ma'am." "Call me Miss Tonya when you're in uniform, Maggie. I command it." "You command?" Tonya laughed abruptly. "Damn right, girl. If people are going to see I have a sissy husband, then there isn't going to be any doubt about it. Mom, Dad, Jen, Cindy. Everyone's going to see you curtsy, maid. You're mine now." "Be nice." "I'm always nice, Maggie. I hardly ever spank." Maggie looked at Tonya, who grinned. Would Tonya really spank her? It was hard to tell sometimes whether she was kidding. "Oh, lighten up, Mags," Tonya said. "You know I'm kidding. Just act like I'm in charge when you're in uniform. It's fun. You're an actress. You're getting into character." Maggie curtsied. "As you wish, Miss Tonya." "You know, Mags. When I banned you from wearing the clothes of one gender, I was right. I just picked the wrong gender. This is our do- over. Isn't that right, sissy?" "If you say so, Miss Tonya." "I say so. I say you're a sissy. Say it." "I'm ... a sissy." "My maid." "Your maid." "My bitch." Maggie grinned. "Yes," she said. "I'm your bitch." * * * The next morning, when Maggie dressed, it was like a thirsty wpman getting a drink of water. His nerve endings were live wires with every article of clothing she pulled on. The panties crackled as they slid on her crotch. By the day, the bra embraced her perfectly.The hose felt like angels stroking her legs. The makeup felt like paint, her face like a canvas. It was as if she was alive again, as if she was released from prison, as if her broken wings had healed and she could fly once more. Yeah, there was the maid thing. That wasn't going to come naturally to Maggie no matter how hard she tried. But when she looked at Tonya, she felt a mix of gratitude and love, so she was determined to make this work. It was her bridge to being who she was supposed to be. Two days after she had begun to wear her uniform, Maggie called her older sister Jen. "I don't know if I can do this," she said into the phone.. "Well, why the hell not?" Jen said. "I'd think you'd be over the moon." "Jen...I'm a domestic. I'm a fucking maid. I'm the lowest creature I know." "What did you think you were going to be?" she said. "The Duchess of York? Maggie, Tonya is letting you dress like a woman She's didn't want this, but she's letting you follow your dreams. You should embrace this. Think of every chore as a way of saying you love her." "I just wanted to dress," Maggie whined. "Now you can," Jen said. "You can dress until you're 90 years old. They'll bury you in an apron, Maggie. This is who you are. The sooner you get your head out your ass, the better." "I guess I'm wrong," Maggie said. "Just remember that," Jen said. "You're wrong, and she's right. It's a good guide to your life, maid Maggie. Hell, do you think the maids at the Marriott love their lives? It's sacrifice. It's compromise. If you change the way you think, you'll realize this is a good thing. You get to be Maggie all you want. You just have to meet Tonya halfway." Maggie paused, then laughed. "Yes, Ma'am," she said. In the days that followed, Maggie worked at being a maid, but it felt odd to her. Sometimes, when she was in the right fame of mind, she thought she was getting better at it. She was still terrible at mopping, and she gagged when she did the toilets. But she loved getting dressed every morning, applying her makeup. She loved flouncing around the apartment in her maid's dress. The thing that surprised Maggie was how much she grew to enjoy it when she was exposed to family and friends. She thought that would be mortifying -- in all the months Matty dressed, he had never been out -- but when her sisters saw Maggie, when Tonya's mother saw her, it was a slice of reality that was thrilling. She loved the gentle laughter when people saw her first curtsy.. On her off-days, she loved dressing up and going to Sequins. She felt complete, natural, real.And the job gave Maggie purpose. He wasn't a typical submissive, and she wasn't a typical mistress. But to Maggie, that was the lesson. Nothing's typical. Couples carve their own relationships out of their circumstances. Slowly, despite not being good at it, Maggie learned to embrace her role as a domestic. It was a job, but it was more than that. It was the basis of her marriage.. She was a woman; so what if she had to curtsey every now and then? As barters go, it was acceptable. After a few weeks, it became life. This was the way it worked. She was meant to serve. Tonya? It's quickly how much a diversion becomes part of your life. Tonya enjoyed their life, the sweet way that Maggie had about her. Tonya teased her, but she was never mean, never hurtful. She was the perfect wife, guiding, directing, leading. Theirs was the perfect life. And one morning, four months later, Maggie understood what she had to do. Magic came into the bedroom as Tonya was reading.. She curtsied to Tonya, and she giggled. "What's up, Moonbeam?" Tonya said. "Just this," Maggie said. And she tossed a fistful of cards onto the bed. Tonya's hand went to her mouth. Somehow -- maybe she had bought two or three dozen Monopoly games -- Maggie had collected a huge stack of get- out-of-jail free cards. They lay on the bed like an orange blanket. "What is this?" Tonya asked. "It's freedom," Maggie said. "You have permission. I mean, if you want it." Tonya smiled. She picked up one of the cards and handed it back to Maggie. "Keep this one," she said. "For you and Greg." Copyright 2021. Cassandra Morgan