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Prologue: "Take the next exit!" "Stop yelling! I know it's the next exit. We grew up here!" "If I wasn't watching you, you would have driven all the way to the Canadian border on purpose," I snapped back at my sister. "And I should, because this has got to be the stupidest, most harebrained idea you have ever talked me into," Ginny said. "No it isn't. I've talked you into much stupider things," I replied in a snit, not expecting to be challenged. "Ok, name one," she demanded, checking the side view mirror before moving into the exit lane. Growing up, I would constantly get my older sister in trouble, mostly by getting myself in trouble first. It was just the two of us and mom. Without a father around, Ginny was my primary playmate and protector outside the house. But that was a big responsibility for someone barely three years older than me. All I had to do was pout, look sad and whimper a little, "Please, please, please Ginny, pretty please. You are the best big sister in the whole world!" And she'd give in to whatever stupid stunt I had in mind. When it inevitably became a disaster (or at the least, an embarrassing mess), Ginny got blamed. Actually, more often than not, she took the blame. She really was the best big sister. She still is. And she still is just as susceptible to my well honed pouting skills. "Umm, let's see, what about the time we..., no...., hmm, or when....." Fuck, this really is the stupidest idea I've ever had. I could get myself killed. "Yeah, I knew you'd come up empty," she gloated, slowly breaking to a stop at the end of the exit ramp. Our dad left on my sixth birthday. Dad had tried to cope with having a son that was different. He really did try. But in the end, he left us. Even though he told me he loved me and always would, I blamed myself for him leaving. It wasn't until I was old enough to understand otherwise, that I knew I had no choice in the matter. Ginny would tell me then about all of the bitter arguments he and mom had. Dad accused her of turning his son into a girl. He didn't believe mom's biological explanation because she was "just" a nurse. So she arranged to meet with both a therapist and a doctor down in the city, but dad dismissed everything he heard as nonsense. To dad, everything was "black or white", "yes or no", and most definitely "boy or girl". I guess mom letting me wear a princess dress for my birthday and buying all the girl toys I asked for, was too much for him. Our school district couldn't or wouldn't accommodate me either. I had started in kindergarten wearing girl clothes. But after the third grade, I was home schooled. Grandma, mom's mom, was a retired educator. She used to teach math at the junior college over in the next county. Each morning she came to our house and I had better be prepared. If my homework wasn't done or not done to her standards, there would be, "None of grandma's award winning chocolate chip cookies for you today young lady." But she also made learning fun. We were always going on adventures where I could explore the world, test what I've learned. I'm pretty sure I inherited my penchant for getting in trouble from grandma. Academically, homeschooling worked out great. I had near perfects scores on my entrance exams and got into a really prestigious university. Socially though, I was and still am a bit of a mess. Mom became hyper protective of me after the "third grade swimming pool incident" that led to mom pulling me out of school. My class was having a year end picnic at the local pool. I had worn my swimsuit under my clothes so I didn't have to change. A boy, Charlie, was swimming underwater wearing his Aquaman goggles. He was swimming around looking for girls to harass. Every so often you'd hear one of the other girls squeal when they felt him touch them. The teacher was oblivious because Charlie was out of sight, stalking his prey like a shark. When I became his prey, he grab the bottoms of my two piece suit and pulled on them. He immediately arose out of the pool water like a whale breaching the surface, screaming, "Gretchen is a boy!" over and over again. Over the next few years, my opinion of Charlie as the sexist, bigoted demon offspring of troglodyte parents (the very parents who raised a big stink about me to the school board), was repeatedly validated. Since I wasn't attending school, I lost the couple of friends I had. They no longer came over to play. I was was pretty much forgotten about. At least a few of Ginny's closest friends, like Jess or Lucy, became my friends too. They always made a point to include me, letting me play with them. Also, if anything, they were as protective of me as Ginny was. I could go with them to the movies, the fast food joints, whatever, and I was simply the kid sister tagging along. In a way they were my role models. They helped me with makeup and clothes, even let me listen to them gossip about boys. The only person in the whole town who seemed not to have forgotten about me, was Charlie. If he saw me walking down the street, playing at the playground, in a store, it didn't matter, he made it a point to come up to me and say something disgusting. When I was younger, the taunts were mainly attempts to embarrass me, using male pronouns, trying to let anyone within earshot know that I wasn't a real girl. Although, I never felt embarrassed, just annoyed. That changed by my mid teenage years. I was on puberty blockers by then and was just beginning HRT. I think it came as a shock to Charlie that I was beginning to develop like any other teenage girl. The times he spotted me, he was often with his group of friends, all suffering from toxic masculinity. His taunts were laden with transphobic slurs. One time, I was physically pushed around by them, almost falling, very afraid and crying. For the first and last time, Charlie looked afraid himself. He told his gang, "Let's go, leave her alone, she's not worth it." For the remaining time I lived there, until I left for college, he never approached me again. I never realized the hate and animosity I felt for him until I spotted him last month. Chapter 1: The Plan "Say that again. You want me to do what?" Ginny seemed incredulous that I suggested that she attend her fifteen year high school class reunion. I should point out that by small town standards, Ginny is a celebrity. She is the weekend anchor and occasional investigative reporter for one of the network news affiliates here. Our home town carries her broadcasts on the local outlet. Mom is really proud of her. Of course mom is proud of me too. I might not be as famous as my sister, but I am a respected journalist in my own right. You just have to know where to look to find my published articles. You might suspect that I write about transgender issues, and I sometimes do, but mostly I'm a science writer. I'm a bit of a nerd (grandma might have also given me the math gene). Oh, I'm also a lesbian, so I write about that too. "Ok, here's my idea." I begin to layout my devilishly conceived plot to extract my revenge. Before you wonder why I'm wasting my time with some ignorant jerk from my childhood, let me explain. While my experiences were unpleasant at best and dangerous at worst, I survived, my psyche intact. But others like me don't. I want to share my revenge with them. "Attending the reunion, is just an excuse. And a ruse. An excuse ruse." I'm mildly pleased by my rhyming. "You're going there to do a report on your home town." "I am what?!" Ginny says. "My station manger is never going to ok that." "She doesn't have too. That's the ruse." "Start over, you're losing me," Ginny said, walking over to the wine rack in her kitchen, pulling out a bottle. "That's not going to help," I say, gesturing towards the now open bottle. "I'm getting it for you," Ginny then grabs a couple of glasses. "Oh, ok then, that will help, so...." I begin to explain as I take a sip of wine. "You let everybody think you're coming to the reunion in order to interview people for a potential news segment about how things have changed in fifteen years in your old home town. I will come along as your producer. What I want is your access. To be able contact people to interview. People who might know Charlie. I have a contract from a major news outlet to write an article about hypocritical attitudes toward LGBTQ people. Like evangelical ministers and conservative politicians who are caught in gay relationships. Charlie is going to illustrate my personal experience with people like that." Ginny is sitting, thinking, and drinking. It isn't until she grabs the bottle for a refill, that she speaks. "Ok, unlike a lot of your ideas, this one seems to have a modicum of rational behind it. Except it doesn't explain what the fuck that kid from the third grade has to do with it!" "You know, because I saw him at the club, when I was on a date, I'm sure I mentioned that on the phone last night." Ginny does have a habit of tuning me out when I start rambling. Then again, sometimes I tune out myself, like my brain wanders but my mouth doesn't get the message. "What? You didn't tell me anything about seeing anybody at some club. What club?" "You know, LGBTQ bar across the river, east side of town. I took you there once." "Ok, and why is any of this important?" At which point, the investigative reporter in her saw the connection. "Wait, got it. What was a transphobic bigot doing in a LGBTQ bar?" "That's what I want to find out," I say. "How do know it was him? It's been at least twelve or thirteen years," Ginny noted. "I asked the waitress if she knew his name. She only remembered the first name on his credit card was Charles. Same name, same boyish face that I can't forget, same long straggly hair." "What if he doesn't even live there anymore?" I had considered that. Since I saw him here, I did a white pages search, and he didn't show up. I know, it's not perfect. Even if he doesn't live there anymore, surely somebody will know about him. "Or what if he's gay and he's out, and the whole town knows. Is he still a hypocrite?" Ginny asked. I hadn't considered that. "Then we just go to the reunion, maybe Jess or Lucy will be there. Then I try to figure out a different angle to build my article around. How about it? Will you do this for me? Please, please, please Ginny, pretty please. You are the best big sister in the whole world! Please think about it." "Ok, I'll think about it. But now I want to hear about you having a date. Who is she? Are you finally in a serious relationship?" Ginny was sounding just like mom, always bugging me to settle down, get married, and provide more grandkids. Just because Ginny did, doesn't mean I have to (although I absolutely adore her little girl and wish I could have one). Chapter 2: Road Trip It's a twenty mile drive from the freeway exit to our home town. Now that we were committed, I was getting nervous that I had dragged Ginny into a deception that could hurt her career. After only driving a few miles, I asked Ginny to pull the car over to the side if the road. "I'm not sure about this. What if I ask too many questions and someone gets suspicious and calls your TV station. You could get fired." I was mad that I hadn't really thought through every possible scenario. This isn't one of my childhood stunts. I won't allow Ginny to take the blame. "I won't get fired," she casually replied. "But it's nice to know you are concerned." "You're being a little bit too flippant, what's up with that?" I wondered. "My station manager was not happy about the short notice when I asked for this weekend off. I had to give her a reason, so I told her it was to go to a reunion." "Ok, so she knows about the the reunion, so what," I said. "She tried talking me out of it. Told me her last reunion was a disaster. People had changed too much. Too fat. Too bald. Too political. And sadly, too dead. So I told her that was the whole point in going, to see how things change, old classmates, the town..." "You told her the about the ruse?!" I exclaimed. "It's not a ruse anymore, it's an assignment. She liked your stupid idea. I mean just the interview part, not the revenge part. I didn't tell her about that." I had nothing to say. No wait, I did. "Did you also tell her about me?" "I had to. She wanted to send a cameraman with me. I told her you were going to help me record videos on our phones because a cameraman would be too intimidating." "Fast thinking sis! Nice!" I was impressed. "Wait a minute, is this why you caved in to my pouting so fast?" "Maybe. You're not as manipulative as you think you are," she said, sticking her tongue out at me, before pulling back onto the road. About three miles out of town, we pulled into an old fashioned roadside motel. There was a slightly more modern motel closer to the town center, but it was already booked solid. "Nice accommodations Gretchen," Ginny said as sarcastically as she could. "I'm sorry, so it's not the Ritz Carlton, it's only for three nights," I said apologetically. "It's not like we're going to be spending a lot of time here." While I unpacked and browsed through the available cable channels, Ginny drove over to the other side of town and picked up gourmet dinners at the McDonalds. The room was not as bad as I was expecting based on the motel's outward appearance. It bordered on charming. I began to get worried when Ginny hadn't returned. I was just about to text her when she pulled up in front of our door. "Sorry," she said as she placed two paper bags on a small table, while I poured her a glass wine from one of the bottles we stashed in a suitcase. "The drive through was closed. I had to go inside and I got recognized. I had to pose for selfies." "The price of fame. We print journalists don't have that problem." Ginny didn't appreciate it when I attempted to take a selfie with her. She almost broke my phone. The next morning, after coffee and a donut in the motel lobby, we planned out our day. When Ginny emailed the reunion committee with her rsvp, it set off a series of events. The first one being a reception at city hall at ten o'clock. Ginny felt obligated to maintain her image. That meant wearing a dress and heels. Ever since I put on my first princess dress, I've been a real girly girl. I swear half my income goes for either shoes (mostly heels) and makeup. "No." Ginny pointed at the dress and strappy sandals I had laid out for myself. "Producers don't draw attention to themselves, they work in the background. Wear something plain, how about this top and your jeans and your sneakers." I began to affix my best pout. It didn't work. To add insult to injury, she reminded me that I shouldn't use my real name, so she was going to call me "Prudence". "Prudence the producer, it has a nice alliteration to it." Ginny was having way to much fun at my expense. Wasn't it bad enough she was making me dress like a boy! On our way into city hall, I stopped and pointed to a bronze plaque on the side of the red brick building. "Do you think they'll put up a plaque honoring you as the town's most famous non-criminal citizen?" I teased Ginny. "I can't believe it. That thing should have been taken down years ago," she laughed. Nope it's still there. It commemorates One-Eyed Ole Tolleffson, who during the depression, robbed the town bank and then went on the longest crime spree in state history. There's even a small display about him in the museum in the town hall basement. Apparently it's a minor tourist attraction. My first shock of the day occurred at the reception. I fully expected the mayor and city council to be the same old white men, with a replacement or two, who ran the town thirteen years ago. When introduced to the mayor, I almost shook hands with the old guy standing next to the actual mayor, a petite Latino woman. Half the council were women. One male council member was Black. There was a LGBTQ flag over in the corner of the room. Somehow, I've entered an alternative universe. "This is fantastic," Ginny whispers to me, "my human interest piece on how this town has changed is going to be great! I might win an award!" Fucking fantastic. My sister might end up with a Pulitzer while I end up with zilch. I spend most of the day interviewing people, always asking if anyone knows Charlie. I am beginning to come to a horrible realization. Neither he nor any of his family live here anymore, or the surname I remember is wrong. Mom might know it, but she's off backpacking with her current boy friend, and not answering her phone. By the end of the day I was tired and depressed. On the other hand, Ginny was having a grand old time. She was headed to the local radio station to be interviewed on air. "I'm heading back to the motel," I tell her. "You sure?" she asks. "If you can wait forty minutes I'll drive you back." "No, that's ok. I want to walk, get some fresh air, clear my head." "Alright, just be careful, it's getting dark out. Text me when you get there, ok?" I'm beginning to feel better when I start to feel a few rain drops. I hurry my pace, eventually breaking into a run, reaching the motel just as it starts to pour. Safely inside our room, I quickly shed my wet clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. I remember to text Ginny after pouring a glass of wine. I'm standing in the room completely naked, admiring myself in the mirror. I hadn't done that in years. After my bottom surgery, it was almost a ritual. Hormones had given me ample boobs, and feminine curves. A doctor gave me the missing piece of the puzzle. I would often gaze at his handiwork, my pretty pussy, my vagina. I took a bra and a fresh pair of panties out of the dresser and watched my self put them on. I slipped on the high heeled sandals. I picked up my phone and took photos of my image in the mirror. For some reason, I wanted a memento of this moment. The rain was pounding against the window. I heard faint rumblings of thunder in the distance. I picked up the dress I had laid out that morning and slowly pulled it over my soft skin. I went to the bathroom and opened my makeup bag. Liner, mascara, shadow, lipstick were applied with the skill obtained through years of practice. I settled into a soft chair, turned the on the TV, and browsed through the adult channels, selecting a lesbian offering. One hand holding a glass of wine, the other slipped into my panties, rubbing my sensitive clit, I sat back and relaxed, listening to the storm outside. As I felt my orgasm nearing, the lights began to flicker. There was a loud crack of thunder. I looked out the window. Trees were bending over. Then the lights went out. In the distance I heard the wail of a tornado siren. In a panic, I see there are still lights on in the motel lobby. The rain is lessening, the winds dying down. Not a good sign. I open the door and dash to motel lobby seeking shelter. The night clerk holds the door open for me. He takes my hand and guides me down the steps to the storm shelter. I hear the purr of a backup generator behind a wall. The night clerk and I are the only two here. I take a look at his face. I have found Charlie. Chapter 3: A Break in the Storm "We'll be safe down here," he tells me. He looks nervous. I can't tell if it's because of the storm or me. Not to be arrogant, but I'm self aware enough to know that I'm an attractive twenty-nine year old woman. I enjoy glaring at men trying to pretend they're not checking me out. Watching them nervously twitch and cast their eyes away. Charlie is doing that now. Several minutes pass before either of us speaks. I was sitting quietly, trying to coax my cell phone to find a signal. "I'm Charlie, by the way." Not offering to shake my hand, just a shy nodding of the head. I hesitated. Should I tell him my real name, or use the fake name Ginny gave me? I could not have anticipated confronting him alone in an underground shelter. What if hearing me say "Gretchen" triggers his memory, and he reacts violently, murders me and hides my body down here. How would Ginny ever find me? But assessing him now after all these years, he still looks like a boy. He didn't grow any taller or muscular. At five foot eight, I may even have an inch or two on him. Oh what the hell, "I'm Gretchen," and I offer him my hand. His eyes widen a bit as he shakes my hand. A hint of apprehension spreads across his face. But he doesn't say anything. Feeling safer now, I decide to drop a few more hints. "My sister Ginny and I are in town for her class reunion. It's been ages since we lived here." "That's nice," is all he says. After an extended silence, I ask him, "Have you lived here long?" Before he can answer, we hear the all clear siren go off. Charlie looks at the door at the top of the stairs, "I should probably check to see if there is any damage." But I'm sitting closer to the stairs and still a bit uncomfortable with the situation, so I start to ascended them first. Charlie is right behind me, before I push the door open, I glance down and see him staring at my feet. I pause, gently lift one foot and make sure he gets a good view of my pedicured toes and my strappy sandals. This is the second time I suspect him of leering at me. Why would he do that if he's gay? If he's not gay, what was he doing at a gay bar? Unless. There appeared to be no damage. I rushed over to the window. The rest of the motel is still without power. At least my phone has a signal now. I see a text from Ginny telling me she's safe. I text her back telling her the same. Charlie has been on his phone, looking for information. "No reports of a touch down. Just a lot of wind damage and flooding. The road into town is underwater. It might be several hours before power is restored." I began to text Ginny again. I thought I had better tell her that I was here, safe, but also with Charlie. I reread my text before sending, then deleted it. Ginny would try to get here, to protect me. She'd try to get across the flooded road. I could lose her. The mere possibility of that brought tears to my eyes. "Everything will be ok, you can stay here until they get things fixed," he tries to assure me. "It's safe here. I won't hurt you." Then he starts crying, "I'm so sorry," saying those words over and over again, his hands covering his face. Standing next to him, I realize with my heels on, I am towering over him. I reach down and carefully slip them off my feet, bring us almost eye to eye. Looking at him, suddenly reduced to a child crying, I can't decide if I feel happy, satisfied that I've won some sort of emotional victory, or did I feel sadness and pity for a damaged soul. "I don't know why, but I have a feeling I'm about to forgive you. Why do I feel that way?" I ask. Charlie smiles weakly, a tear running down his cheek, a tear running down a face that I've despised since the third grade. "I want to correct something I once said," he sighed, took a few steps back from me and said, "Gretchen is a girl!" I simply smiled, nodded my head, "Thank you. Yes I am!" "Can I say one more thing?" He asks. I'm not sure what's coming next, but I have a suspicion. "Sure." "Where did you get those shoes? They are absolutely adorable!" Well, I think I was expecting a little more circumspect admission. But it was a humorous way to make a statement about his gender identity. "I have a small apartment back there." He points to the door behind front desk. "It's more comfortable than standing around out here." "You live here?" I ask. "Only when I have to come up here. I inherited this place from my grandfather. I've been trying to sell it, but the market for old motels is not great. There are enough tourists during the summer to break even. The regular night manager quit last week, so I'm covering until I can hire someone. Wouldn't be interested would you?" "Tempting, but no," laughing at the thought. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Would you like some coffee, tea, water,...?" "What I need is shot of scotch." "I can do that. Do you have a preference." He threw open a cabinet with several bottles of single malt. "Ah a girl after my own heart," I chuckled. Charlie looked slightly bemused. "If you're trying to embarrass me, you'll have to do better than that." "I'll try harder next time." "You're being too nice to me. It's disconcerting." "Perceptive, I like that. Guilt is making me over compensate." Whereby, I tell him about my planned revenge. He sat back and took a large gulp of scotch. "Why do you feel guilt? I'm the one that's guilty," "Exactly. But I don't know yet why you feel that way. I wanted to let people like myself have a vicarious victory by outing you. However, you're not the person I expected. I think you're probably one of the people I was trying to help. But I need to know why you feel guilty." It was not an unusual story. Parents who conditioned him to reject any behaviors that were not overtly masculine. The most interesting thing was his version of our infamous pool encounter. Charlie said he was trying to express his happiness upon discovering that "boys can be girls" and that is what he should have shouted. I don't know if I totally buy that. But after this much time has passed, I'm positive that is what he remembers. It's also what I want to believe now. It did turn out that I misremembered his last name. I'm glad I did. I can't imagine a better or intriguing outcome. "So, you saw me at Cafe 101, next time stop and say hi, I go there pretty often, I live nearby. Although, most times I go there dressed, let's say a lot more stylishly. Most of the wait staff know me as Carly." "Hey that reminds me, you haven't told where you got these," he said, reaching down and picking up one of my shoes. "Get me a piece of paper and something to write with. It's an accessory store, mostly purses, but they carry some really cute shoes. It's in the Eastgate Mall, but it's kind of hard to find, I'll draw a little map for you." It took two hours for power to be restored. The road into town drained faster. We were on our second glass of scotch when we heard someone ring the bell at the front desk. Charle excused himself to check. As soon as he opened the door to the lobby I heard a woman panicking, "My sister, I can't find my sister. She's not in our room. She's not answering her phone. Help me please!" I pick up my phone. "Shit," I say when I see the battery is dead. I jump up and run to the lobby. "Oh god! There you are, I was so worried. Why didn't you answer your fucking phone?" Now she's more mad than panicked. I hold up my dead phone, "No power, couldn't recharge it," I sheepishly explain. Ginny looks at me like I'm an idiot, "Then what's making these lights work?" I shrug my shoulders. "Magic?" "Do have any idea how worried I was? I never should have let you walk back alone. A woman walking alone out here could have been a target for someone, just like that psycho Charlie you insist on finding." "Thank you for worrying, but we were perfectly safe and cozy right here," I reply. Ginny spies the glass of scotch in my hand. "So I see." Turning to the other person in the room. "Hi, sorry, l'm her over protective sister, Ginny. Thanks for taking care of her." "Your welcome. And I'm... well, I'm psycho Charlie." Chapter 4: Fixing Carly The rest of the weekend was uneventful. Ginny and I saw Jess at the reunion. Lucy couldn't attend. She lives out of state as was pregnant. I mostly followed Ginny around making videos of her talking to people. I have to admit, I rarely watch her on TV. Having watched her in action now, I wouldn't be surprised if she did win an award. We drove by our old house. Mom sold it soon after I moved out. It looked a little run down, but it is a decade older. We're not going to tell mom. I think we'll just remember what it looked like when we lived there. I saw Carly on Sunday morning when we checked out. I decided that Charlie was someone I used to know, but that Carly was someone I wanted to know. So we exchanged phone numbers. On the drive back I spent a lot of time thinking about what I was going to write. I was thinking about changing my theme to redemption. We texted a couple of times right after the trip just to establish contact. But after that, we really didn't have anything to say. The experience we shared was now history. History neither of us cared to revisit any longer. So I was surprised two months later by a voice message from Carly. "I have a job opportunity and I need some advice. Is there any chance we can meet?" I called her back and said I would be happy to meet. I suggested a coffee shop that was close to both of us. She suggested the LGBTQ club. I'd only been there at night when it was really noisy. Carly assured me it was quiet at lunchtime and she had a reason for wanting to go there. Now my interest is piqued. When I arrived at the club for our lunch meeting I scanned the room trying to spot Carly. There were less than a dozen people sitting there. It should have been easy, but it wasn't. I suspected Carly wanted to meet here because she would be dressed as her true self. When a woman with really long blonde hair stood up and waved, I could see that she definitely needed advice. Otherwise, if this was her true self, we were in trouble. The dress she was wearing looked like it escaped from a store for budding porn stars. I could see that Carly had nice, shapely legs. The problem was that I could see them almost all the way up to her crotch. Her shoes were cute, but ill fitting as was the blonde wig. And her makeup..... I wanted to compare it to Japanese Kabuki, but that wouldn't be fair to Kabuki. Ok, ok, I'm exaggerating. Slightly. "Hi Gretchen, thanks for coming." She spun around once. "You can see I have an obvious problem," she said before sitting down again. "Yes, you do." I allowed my self to giggle a little. "Ok, start from the beginning. I'm listening." "If you remember, I do contract web design, so I work from home. Ok, so, a client that I do a lot of work for, wants to hire me as a full time employee. And I really want to take the job." I was a bit puzzled and said, "That's great, so take the job. What's the problem?" "I'm getting to that. You see, it's for an online fashion magazine. The job requires working the majority of the time on site. That's either in their office downtown or sometimes at a remote location, like video streaming a fashion show. However, when I first started doing contract work, I told a little fib. They complimented me for the feminine feel I gave their web pages and hoped that didn't offend me. I told them I wasn't offended because I was transgender." "But you are, aren't you?" "Yes, but you know I'm just starting to figure things out. I only feel safe and accepted in this club. And then, I mostly hang out with a group of crossdressers. Anyway, I somehow gave them the impression I was living full time as a woman. I never corrected that impression. I mean, this should be a dream opportunity. Imagine, working for a company that recruits a transgender woman!" My immediate thought was, this could be a great story. I could sell it. After quickly chastising myself, I summarized what I heard. "It sounds like you really want this job. From my perspective, you have nothing to lose. I advise you to take the job. That is, unless you did something really stupid like giving them a photo of another woman and imply it was you." "No, they have no idea what I look like. For that matter, I haven't seen them either. I've only spoken to them over the phone so far. But they've invited me to join a video conference next week to give me a chance to meet them and ask any questions before accepting the job." "Good." Then I paused to think. "There is no right or wrong way to be transgender. Most companies only care about making money, and they need employees to do that. They really are not going to care what you look like unless it prevents coworkers from doing their jobs. And right now, you look a bit distracting. If we fix that, I think you'll find another place to feel safe and accepted." We ordered lunch and I began helping her layout a plan for a rapid transition. No, I phrased that wrong. It was more of a makeover, and I was confident that was doable. But we also needed a plan for a real transition. I transitioned at a very young age. I don't understand the difficulties of transitioning in your late twenties, but I do know trans women who do. But for now, making Carly feel confident presenting as a woman full time was the most important task at hand. Our first hurdle was the video conference. That was going to be relatively easy. We only had to correct Carly's makeup and hair, and make sure she doesn't wear a porn dress. While I can apply my own makeup, I've never tried to do somebody else's. So that evening, I called Ginny to ask for a favor. You know, it's very difficult to pout over the phone. I should've made a FaceTime call. But I finally talked her into letting me bring Carly down to the TV studio to see her hair and makeup person. Before picking her up, I gave Carly instructions on how I wanted her dressed for the makeover. I even sent pictures. When she came out from her apartment, she had on an outfit that was identical to one in the photos, a beige tunic top, straight jeans, and black kitten heels. Her face was scrubbed clean and no wig. Her real hair had grown quite a bit longer and she had it pulled into a ponytail. Compared to the last time I saw her, she looked cute. Actually, really cute. "I did a Google image search and found where to buy everything. Amazon did the rest," she said, climbing into my car. Carly was bubbling with excitement. This might be the first time I'm seeing the real Carly. "You know, I was sure this was another one of your harebrained ideas, I was wrong," Ginny said softly to me as we both watched Eva, her makeup and hair artist, transform Carly into an attractive young woman. The straggly dirty blonde hair in a ponytail had been replaced by a beautifully shaped shoulder length bob. Her makeup was subtle, perfect for a young female professional. Eva had set up a camera set up to record the makeover. Afterwards she handed Carly the memory card and a detailed list of recommended products, telling her to stop watching YouTube makeup videos. On the drive back to her apartment, I couldn't stop my self from constantly glancing over at her. I suddenly had another one of my stupid ideas. "Hey, let's stop and have a drink to celebrate the new you, my treat." "Really? That sounds fun. Ok!" Carly agreed. I'm pretty sure she thinks we're heading to the club. But we're not. I'm taking her out of her comfort zone, I'm taking her to a nearby wine bar I sometimes frequent. Chapter 5: Knowing Carly When it became obvious I wasn't heading to the club, I could sense Carly getting nervous, "Don't worry, I'm not taking you to some biker bar," I gently explained as I pulled to a stop in front of Molly's Place. Carly hesitatingly followed me through the front door, into a cozy one room bar filled with potted plants nestled around small wine racks. It wasn't quite happy hour yet, but there were a half dozen women sitting around quietly talking. "Hey Gretchen," the gal behind the counter called out to us. One or two of the other patrons looked up and waved, then went back to talking among themselves. I guided Carly to a nearby table for two. She cautiously looked around before whispering to me, "Is this a lesbian bar?" "Yes," I laughed, "and you don't have to whisper. We all know we're lesbians." "We haven't seen you in a while," Molly said to me first before turning to Carly, "Hi, I'm Molly, welcome. Watch out for this one, she's kind of a love'm and leave'm type." "Thanks loads Molly! Don't listen to her Carly! We went on a couple of dates, and she dumped me." "Just teasing," she tells Carly, "Gretchen here is one of the nicest women I know. So what can I bring you two lovers to drink?" Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. "I'm sorry Carly, I didn't think this through. I just wanted to take you to someplace other than the club. I wasn't trying to assume or pry into your sexual preferences. I'm so sorry." "Gretchen! Stop apologizing, you sound like me. I haven't given it much thought, but I suppose I probably am a lesbian. I mean, I've only ever been attracted to girls. I did trying fooling around with one of my crossdresser friends, but that was because he makes a pretty hot looking girl. So, what do you call it when you're attracted to femininity?" "Me? I call it normal," I said with a smile. Molly delivered our glasses of wine and said it was on the house. With each sip of wine, we both became more relaxed. I could see Carly begin to look at me the same way she did when we were in the storm shelter together. I was looking at her in much the same way. The face I once hated, I now found myself loving. The boyish features had revealed themselves to be in truth feminine. Without worrying about any of the ramifications, I leaned over the table, and softly placed my lips on hers. She didn't reject them, and leaned into the kiss. A slight smattering of applause from one of the other tables, broke the mood. We both blushed a bit, quickly finished our drinks, stood up, took each other's hand and hurried to the car. Ten minutes later we were inside Carly's apartment, our lips pressed together, our arms embracing each other. With our bodies tightly pressed together, I could feel Carly getting aroused. So could Carly. She broke our embrace and looked embarrassed. "I have been with other trans women before. We are not defined by our genitalia. Remember, that. It's nobody's business. Let me take the lead, ok?" I took her hand and walked her to the bedroom. I knelt on top of the bed. "Come, sit across from me. Sit still." I gently began to caress her face with my fingers. I traced the outline of her lips with the tip of my index finger, then slowly pressed it on her lips until it slipped in and felt her tongue. I removed my finger from her parted lips, leaned in let my tongue replace it. Her mouth eagerly accepted mine. As our kissing grew more and more intense, I took hold of her tunic and began to pull it over her head. We continued exploring each other's mouth as I took her hands and guided them to the top button on my blouse. We stopped kissing and smiled at each other as she exposed by white lace bra. When I looked across at her plain beige bra, I was surprised. "Wow, are these real?" I asked as I touched the cups of her bra. "I put on a lot of weight in my early twenties when I was really depressed. I lost the weight, but my breasts remained. They're not big but at least they fill an A cup," she giggled. I reached behind her and undid the clasp, removing her bra. I released my boobs from their lace enclosure. "See what estrogen can do," I laughed and playfully rubbed my swollen nipples against her. "I can't wait," she purred. I turned my attention to her jeans. But first, I ran my hands along her legs to her feet, slowly removed her kitten heels, exposing her toes adorned with pale blue nail polish. "Very pretty," I said excitedly, lifting first one foot and then the other, nibbling and sucking on each toe. I then unzipped her jeans and pulled them off. I moved on top, straddling her legs. I placed a hand on her panties and gently rubbed until her cock began to emerge from beneath the waistband. In a quick moved, I pulled off the panties and threw them across the room. Now kneeling between her spread legs, I put my lips on the tip of her cock and kissed it. I looked up and smiled, showing her my lips, my lipstick shimmering with pre-cum. Taking her fully into my mouth, I began steadily bringing her towards orgasm. Sensing when she was near, I kick off my heels and slipped my pants and panties off at the same time. I used the saliva and pre-cum dripping from my mouth to further lubricate my damp pussy. Straddling Carly's cock, I placed the tip against the entrance to my vagina and slowly pushed down until it was inside of me. Before I could start to work it, her cock exploded into me. "I'm so sorry," she screamed. I laughed. "No, my fault, I got you too aroused. However, next time I do expect to be fucked, even if that means using my strap-on. For now, change places and get busy woman!" I rolled over, spread my legs, and pointed to my clit, as cum began to drip out of my vagina. Chapter 6: Progress Carly insisted that I be there for the video conference. Before she logged on, I double checked her hair and makeup. Carly had followed Eva's makeup instructions perfectly. Her hair, not so much. I grabbed a brush and some hairspray and corralled several misplaced strands of hair. I assured her that most women can't replicate how they look after a visit to their hairdresser. I positioned myself behind her computer, out of camera view. I had a small whiteboard and a marker at the ready to give her instructions if need be. As she waited for the meeting to start, I reminded her, "Don't try to use your feminine voice. Remember, they've only heard your regular voice. Which isn't as masculine sounding as you think." Carly did a great job. I was really proud of her, even though I hardly understood what anyone was talking about. I only had to use the whiteboard a few of times. For example: Stop playing with your hair Sit up straighter, boobs out Smile! Stop looking at me I gave a huge sigh of relief when, as the meeting drew to an end, Carly smiled and happily asked, "When do you want me to start?" Of course this called for another celebration. This time Carly picked. Surprise, she picked the club. Carly wanted to share the news with her friends. I hurried home to get ready and called a couple of my transgender friends and asked if they could join us. Might as well get phase two started since Carly agreed to start at the end of the month. I pulled a couple of boxes out of my closet that I had set aside just in case. Then I waited for Carly to pick me up. For over a week now, I've had Carly wearing only female clothes. Not that she had any choice. I had confiscated all of her male stuff and donated everything to Goodwill. I also took anything that I wouldn't be caught wearing in public. I was tempted to destroy them (I certainly couldn't donate them). But then I got to thinking, I've never had sex with a porn star, maybe I'll save them for special occasion in the privacy of our bedroom. I got dressed up, slipping into a red halter dress and my favorite nude d'orsay pumps. When I answered the door, Carly was still in her jeans, plain top, and flats. "What the hell Gretchen! You didn't say we were dressing up. Not that I have anything dressy to wear anymore!" She looked mad. "I'm sorry, that wasn't nice of me. Maybe these will help you to forgive me." Carly looked bewildered as she opened the larger box. "Oh my god, thank you, thank you, thank you! I love it!" She gushed holding up a black lace shift. "And is this what I think it is," she said picking up to smaller box. "Yes! Oh they're beautiful." In a matter of seconds, she was standing in her bra and panties. "Before you put the dress on, do you want to wear stockings? I have thigh highs here if you do." She briefly thought about it, then took the package, opening it, as she sat down on my couch. Watching her pull the stockings on over her legs, started to turn me on. I had to look away, or else we'd never get to the club. She quickly donned the dress and then, with me holding her hand for balance, stepped into her new black four inch stilettos. "I love you, thank you," she said, her eyes moistening. "I hope you feel the same way after wearing those heels for several hours," I laughed. "Don't worry, I know how to suffer. Let's party!" I think I may have created a monster. On the way over to the club, Carly is bouncing in her seat, singing along to a song streaming from a playlist on her phone. Once again, I failed to work through all possible scenarios. I'm reasonably sure there are accident statistics related to women driving in stilettos. She assured there was nothing to worry about, "I've driven lots of time in high heel platforms and haven't had an accident yet!" I was not assured. I'm realizing that Carly never had the experience of being a teenage girl. So basically, I'm riding with a twenty-nine year old teenager right now. Getting Carly to be comfortable presenting as a woman, may not be the problem. Getting her comfortable being a woman might be. I have less than three weeks, before she starts her new job, to turn her into a responsible adult woman. Once inside the club, she made a beeline to her crossdresser friends, sitting at a large table in the back. I spotted my two friends and went over to thank them for coming. I didn't want to infringe on Carly's friends, so I casually stood by the bar after ordering a soft drink (I might have to insist on driving back later). After about five minutes watching Carly from a distance clearly showing off her new look, she seemed to be looking around the room for something. Which turned out to be me. She waved at me to join her. "Everyone, this is my friend Gretchen." Then she turned to me and whispered in my ear. I nodded my head yes. "My girlfriend Gretchen!" After a round of introductions, my girlfriend totally surprised me by saying to her friends. "It was good seeing you guys again. I just wanted to share all my news with you. If you'll excuse us, we're going to join some friends for dinner." Carly took me by the arm and we walked away. "Really? A soft drink," she admonished, upon seeing me without a glass of wine in hand. "I have absolutely no intention of having more than one drink. Besides, those were my old friends, I am far more interested in making a good impression on your friends. I plan to do my real celebrating in bed tonight, if you get my drift." I seemed to have underestimated her. She's more mature than I've given her credit. I'm the one who is now feeling like a horny teenager (I did get her drift). "So ladies, this is Carly," I begin introducing her. "Hi, I'm Samantha." "I'm Stacy, and I think we may have met once." I actually met Samantha because of my grandma. She suggested I look up a transgender math professor at a local college, that she had read about in one of her math journals. I did and we've become good friends. I want Carly to meet Samantha because she also runs a local support group for trans women. I met Stacy here at the club. Actually, it's her wife that I knew first, through a lesbian political action group. I thought that Stacy and Carly might have something in common. Looks like I was right. "I used to belong to the crossdresser group back there," Stacy tells Carly, "I think you might have joined them about the time I started transitioning." "Could be, sorry I don't remember, I was pretty shy and nervous back then," Carly admitted. Samantha gave Carly a little hug, then jumped right to the heart of the matter. "Well, I doubt that you're going to have too much trouble transitioning. You are already very passable, if you don't mind me saying. And I hear you're starting a great job. You just need people your can rely on to get you through the rough times. And sadly, there will be rough times. That's why Stacy and I are here. Most important of all, you have found someone who loves you, and from what I understand that is a fascinating story." As the evening wore on, I saw subtle changes emerging in Carly's demeanor, mannerisms, speech patterns. Perhaps she always had them, submerged under a repressed childhood, and now they're being liberated. I think we've made a big dent in phase two. "Didn't think I could have only one drink, did you?" Carly said as she drove us back to my place. Pulling into my driveway, she added, "Another accident free trip by a woman in heels. I don't know where you get your statistics." "And I suppose your feet don't hurt either," I said. "Nope, they feel great." "Too bad, I was going to offer to give you one of my special foot rubs." "Ouch, spoke too soon. Damn, I can barely walk. Help me up the steps and get these off my aching feet. I think they're going to need an extra special foot rub." "My extra special foot rub might not be legal in all states, want to take the chance?" Carly instantly kicked off her heels. "Definitely!" She grinned. Let's just say that my extra special foot rub involved removing my panties and that more than feet got rubbed. "That was really relaxing, feet feel wonderful," Carly sighed, "want to continue exploring our relationship in your bedroom?" "Absolutely sweetie. Absolutely," I giggled. After well over a half hour of love making, we were cuddling on the bed after my last orgasm. "Do you feel adventurous?" I whispered to Carly. "What do have in mind?" "I know a lot of women, a lot of trans women, who enjoy anal sex. I have a strapon. Interested?" "I tried it with that friend I told you about. But he wasn't able to, you know, get it inside me. Ok, I couldn't get inside him either. Umm, we weren't arousing each other enough." "My strap-on doesn't have that problem," I pointed out. "So you have experience?" "Yep, I have a couple of former girlfriends that can attest to my skills," I said confidently. "Well, in that case, sure, let's." Once Carly relaxed and began enjoying the erotic sensation of being penetrated, I got into a nice, prolonged rhythm where I could put pressure on my clit, so we both were being driven towards orgasm. We spent the rest of the night in each other's arms. Over breakfast the next morning... Ok, over coffee and a shared stale bagel, we made plans for phase three. Carly needed a full working wardrobe. She had no office attire, and because she would sometimes be off site at fashion shows, she needed a variety of dressier outfits and shoes. This was going to be expensive and Carly was adamant that it was her responsibility despite a recent cash flow problem. The reasonably priced options like consignment shops, second hand stores, even Goodwill, were going to take more time than we had, considering we both were still working during the day (I had deadlines, Carly had to finish contractual work). Buying strictly online, meant running the risk of clothes not fitting or of disappointing quality. Then a minor miracle happened. We were at Molly's Place, going over our options. "I don't see any other option," Carly sighed. "I just got it paid off, but I have to use my credit card." "You don't have to buy everything at once, you know. Just get things as you need them," I point out to her. "I know, but it'll all end up being charged either way. When that church group canceled their reservation at the motel last week, I lost a huge chunk of money. I need to cover payroll. It's just a big fucking mess." "You gals look bummed, what's up?" Molly asked while refilling our coffees. "Ok, you're telling me you own a motel next to a state park, during tourist season, and it's empty," Molly says, after hearing about Carly's financial woes. "Yeah, that sums it up." Carly pounds her head on the table. "Can your motel accommodate say eighty or ninety people for two weeks?" Molly asked. "I have thirty empty rooms, two double beds in each." Carly looks up at Molly, a puzzled look on her face. "Why?" "Give me a couple of minutes. I'll be right back." Molly runs away, disappearing behind the bar. Not too soon after, she reappears and yells, "Carly dear, can you come here?" Carly looks at me. I shrug my shoulders. I don't have a clue either. Several minutes later, a dazed Carly returns and sits down. "What?" I asked. "The Greater Metropolitan Alliance for LGBTQ Youth just booked my motel for their summer retreat. The resort they normally go to was closed by the Health Department last week for repeated violations. Apparently I own the only place in the state with empty rooms." I broke out laughing. "So, shopping afterwards?" Chapter 7: Success "Ok, one last check, twirl around." "Good." "Do you have your purse?" "Do you remember all of my safety rules for women?" "And for trans women?" Carly is about to leave for her first day of work. And I am freaking out. I can't remember being this nervous about anything other than maybe my bottom surgery. On the other hand, Carly is the model of composure. "You have trained me well Obi Wan," she tells me, hoping to at least calm my inner nerd. "How about I call from my office after I'm settled in." She gives me a kiss, gets in her car, looks at me through the window and mouths "I love you". When I can no longer see her car, I break into tears. I'm still standing there, staring into the distance when my phone rings. "Hi Ginny" "How did it go this morning?" "I feel like a mother sending her child off to their first day of school." "So you do have maternal instincts." "Ha ha" "You two have only been together for a month, is this serious?" "I'm as surprised as you are, but, yeah, I think so." "You've been hurt before. I worry." "This feels so different. I can't explain it. She makes me happy. She's great in bed, she's..." "TMI" "Hey, you talked to me about your sex life before you got married." "Married! You're not already thinking about...." "No! Don't be silly. "Want to meet for lunch?" "Sure." Epilogue: Two Years Later "Take the next exit!" "Stop yelling! I know it's the next exit. We grew up here!" "If I wasn't watching you, you would have driven all the way to the Canadian border on purpose," I snapped back at my wife. "And I should, because this has got to be the stupidest, most harebrained idea you have ever talked me into," Carly said. "No it isn't. I've talked you into much stupider things," I replied in a snit, not expecting to be challenged. "Ok, name one," she demanded, checking the side view mirror before moving into the exit lane. Talking my wife into going to her fifteen year high school class reunion was pretty easy. When I pointed out I don't get to have a high school reunion because of her, her little heart broke, and agreed to go. "Carly, sharing our love with the world is not stupid. It's the most beautiful thing we can do." "Now take me to our storm shelter and make love to me!"