Monday, September 23
Every day, I need to remind myself that I'm super lucky. I've got a Mom and her friends who understand and support me. I've got a gang of girl friends (for some strange reason, they've started calling themselves the sister wives') who are supportive and in fact maybe a little too enthusiastic to treat me like their dress up doll. I've got a guy friend' (boyfriend?) who is amazingly supportive.
So why did I wake up in tears, shaking like a leaf?
I had nightmares all night about what the day held. First, Mom and I were going to meet with Ms. Weston before school started. There was no way this wasn't going to go over like a bombshell. She could do anything, from kicking me out of school (I know, not very likely, but she could) to telling me I needed to stay in `boy mode' for the next four years. I simply couldn't imagine her doing anything else.
Then after a day of school - with the normal 9th grade shit like homework and tests and more homework and more tests -- I would head for Dr. Preston's office and needed to face the music on my `progress' for the past week. Sure, I'd done a pretty good job of living like a girl over the weekend, but how would all these puzzle pieces fit together in the reality of a ninth-grader's life?
Sigh...
For school, I was back in semi-boy mode. Girl undies (I picked out plain white cotton really conservative undies, because really cute panties simply let me get my hopes up), boy outer clothes, my little ear studs (which were uni--sex anyway), boring tennis shoes, but with cute socks that no one would ever see, and combed my hair boy-fashion. My only outward female affectation was the lip moisturizer, which looked for all the world like chapstick but wasn't.
Mom came in the room as I was dressing, and asked me to pick out what I'd wear to Dr. Preston's this afternoon. I told her I'd planned to wear the yellow flowered romper and a sweater, which I packed in a small bag for her. I also tossed in my purse, a brush, a hair clip, and a small makeup bag. I figured `girl mode' for the doctor would just be some lipstick and powder, and Mom agreed.
Mom and I rode to school in more--or-less silence. When we got to the parking lot, a few minutes early, the entire sister wives squad was waiting for me. They all mobbed me and offered great encouragement. It really picked me up. Madison, poor, dumb, Madison, wanted to know why I wasn't wearing a skirt. I tried my best to explain to her that this was a very slow process. She didn't quite seem to understand. Brie just took me by the arm, and walked with Mom and me to the Headmistress's office, again more or less in silence, but when we got there, she kissed me on the cheek and said, "you know, whatever happens, we're your friends." That meant a whole lot to me. I caught myself smiling for the first time today.
Ms. Weston was expecting us, and Mom and I took seats in front of her desk. I though about how few times I'd been in this office, and how masculine it looked for a female headmistress's office. I suddenly started wondering how much I knew or didn't know about Ms. Weston. She was taking on a bit of a Minerva McGonagall image in my mind, and focusing on how little I knew about her distracted me from how little I really knew about myself and how the day was going to turn out. I suddenly had this vision that I was Harry Potter, for what that was worth.
"So, Maggie, what seems to be the matter with our little wizard today? I thought Harry was settling in well in Gryffindore." I don't think that's exactly what she said, but it was kinda what I heard.
"Harry's actually doing great in Gryffindore, Jean. Plenty of friends, and studies are going pretty well. There are a few struggles with Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions, but didn't we all have that problem?" Again, that's probably not EXACTYLY what she said, but that's what I heard.
Jean, let me be blunt. Deep down inside, our little Harry is really Hermione. I've taken him -- or maybe her -- to a counselor who's also a physician, and he thinks we have a potential issue of gender dysphoria here. Away from school, Harry's been falling comfortably into a Hermoine mode, and seems a lot happier and better adjusted in that role. Friends have been coming by the house, and everyone seems to agree our little wizard may really be better adjusted as a witch.
There was more, but I kinda drifted in and out.
Ms. McGonagall... ahhh.. Ms. Weston seemed to take all that in and leaned back in her chair. "Maggie, this isn't the first time I've seen something like this, and in fact, gender dysphoria is something educators all over are grappling with now--a-days. I don't claim to be an expert, and as far as schools are concerned, there's no one--size-fits-all. You're lucky. We're a fairly progressive private school with similiary progressive families and students. We don't have a bullying problem, and students are generally accepting of, let's say, variations in student behavior.
I perked up at hearing that. Yes, I knew several gay students who fit in very comfortably, although there were small cliques. No one seemed to hassle anyone else. There were goths, and geeks, and one girl who insisted on wearing her hair like Princess Leia, and everyone got along just fine.
"What does... should I say `her'? What does her doctor say?"
Hearing Ms. Weston say `her' perked me up more than I expected.
Mom says, "Her' is fine for now, I guess. We're visiting Dr. Preston again this afternoon, and he wants Christy showing up in total girl' mode. She's going to dress in the car on the way over."
"Bill Preston?"
"Yeah. You know him?"
"I know his reputation. Christy's not my first dysphoria student. Bill Preston is very good. He's aggressive, but good."
"So what does Christy do here at school?"
"Do any of her friends and classmates know?"
"Actually, yes. She has a small gaggle of ninth--grade girls she hangs with. She's never really made friends with boys. Anyway, her gang of girl friends all know about this, and are enthusiastically accepting it. They all met her at the car this morning to give her encouragement."
"That is actually great to know. Depending on what Dr. Weston says, that can make some sort of in-school transition a lot simpler. Christy, you've been silent through all of this, what do you have to say?"
"What about the dance Saturday?"
"What about it?"
"My friends all want me out' by then. They've even picked out a dress for me to wear. Ms. Weston, I'll admit to you I'm scared to death. I really don't feel comfortable as a boy. I can't imagine going thru boy puberty'. But, I also can't imagine walking out of this office today in a dress and makeup. I'm not just confused, I'm scared."
"Christy, it's OK to be scared. I'll let you in on a little secret. Whenever I have to deal with a student who has a problem, like yours, I'm a little scared too, that I might not make the right decision. I'll tell you what, though, I've heard really great things about your doctor, and I'm here to help back up whatever recommendations he makes. If you and your mom don't mind, I'd like to talk about your situation with a few people later today. Your teachers, for one, maybe a couple of parents on the board, and some of the student leaders. These are all people who would have to help you facilitate your change. What do you think?"
"Again, Ms. Weston, I think I'm scared, and now I'm going to have to get up from here, and walk into potions class and I'm pretty sure I'll cast a the wrong spell and turn someone into a toad."
"Huh?" Mom and Ms. Weston looked at me like I was crazy.
"Yeah, I'm just a little crazy right now. Sorry. Algebra, I mean, and I promise not to use a quadratic equation to turn anyone into a toad."
"Christy, you promise to tell me if you start having..."
"Hallucinations, right? Yes Ma'am. I promise. And no turning anyone into a toad."
Ms. Weston took a deep breath, and looked at my Mom. "Maggie, your child -- daughter? -- appears to be perfectly normal. She's a pleasure to have as a student. I'm positive we'll get thru this just fine."
Mom breathed a sigh of relief, and stood up. She and Ms. Weston shook hands, and both looked at me and Ms. Weston said, "Well, Christy, you head on off to class, and your Mom and I need to talk again tomorrow morning."
With that, I grabbed my book bag and walked out the door and headed down the hall. Brie, bless her randy little soul, was waiting for me outside the office. It was almost class time. "What? Here to help identify the body?"
"Bitch. How'd it go?"
"She apparently knows my doctor, and says he's a good dude. I'm wearing that romper you gave me to see him later today."
"Cute. Now, let's go figure out how to factor a quadratic equation."
The rest of the day went pretty normally. My gender issues sorta fade into the background when I'm trying to learn Spanish and write an in-class paper on my favorite American author (currently, Ursula LeGuin, but that could change tomorrow), and memorize the first ten presidents of the US (Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Adams, Jackson, van Buren, Harrison, and Tyler) and draw a pencil sketch of a mitochondria. As it turns out, 9th grade teachers are basically agnostic to whether I'm a girl or a boy.
At lunch, I shared a half of a ham-and-cheese with Emma-red's half of a roast-beef-and provolone. The sister wives were in full Monday mode, and Brie was giving them the play--by-play on the weekend at my house, with four-part harmony and full accompaniment. Apparently, according to her, if she hadn't been there, I would have thrown myself at Jason and done the dirty deed right there next to the pool with Princess watching. I tried to correct her, but I was enjoying the story too much and no one was taking it very seriously.
Emma--red finally broke the ice. "Sister Christy..." (we were all addressing each other as "sister something" now). "Sister Christy, I don't mean to pry..."
"So pry away, Sister Emma."
"But, ahem, you are presently, ahem... taking on the persona of a young, gay boy." Sometimes, when Emma--red wanted to be funny, which she was not, she spoke as if she was a British actress, which she wanted to be one day. "That said, and I am positive we are all wondering, is there a time in the near future when we will look upon you and..."
"Shut the fuck up," Brie said. "Christ, when ya gonna drop the boy thing?"
Emma-red gave Brie that look that reminded us why they were not best friends.
"Mom and I met with Ms. McGonagall.... Ms. Weston this morning, and I need to see my doctor this afternoon. Mom and Ms. Weston will talk again tomorrow. I dunno. I'm in a holding pattern, and it's not fun.
"McGonagall? Oh gawd, I'm going to use that", said Emma-brunette, who had been strangely quiet all this time.
Emma-red said, "Aren't you and Eric a thing now? Why are you even here?"
Emma-brunette says, "I love you, my sister wives. I only LIKE Eric. I'll let him stew for a while."
I was beginning to think that Emma-brunette was actually a 30 year old divorced woman in disguise, but I let it go.
After lunch, classes were a blur, and Mom was waiting for me in the parking lot. She knew I was going to be a mess, and so she had my favorite -- a Dairy Queen Oreo Blizzard -- waiting in the car. Wow...
I climbed in, and quickly attacked the blizzard. She reminded me we had a 30 minute drive and I needed to dress (in the car!) and dab on a bit of makeup before showing up at Dr. Preston's. We've got a big huge mini-van, which I am not looking forward to taking my drivers test in, so dressing was pretty easy. I slipped between the bucket seats to the back seat, popped off my shoes, slipped off the `boy' pants and shirt, and fumbled thru the bag for my bra. Sipping into the romper was pretty easy, and then I just needed to pop my shoes back on. I pulled down one of the handy vanity mirrors in the back, and powered my face. I added just a touch of blush and powdered again. That, plus some pink lipstick, would have to do. I ran a brush thru my hair and added a hair band, and in a flash, I was back on the front seat, finishing my blizzard. The blizzard, and some Billie Eilish music, passed the time on the way to Doc Strange's secret laboratory.
Now, I'd been out `as a girl' before, and yes, this was my gender counselor's office, but I still felt wildly strange walking in, like every eye was on me. Despite him being my therapist and counselor, I was really nervous about what he'd say. I had no idea what was about to happen.
After a few minutes waiting, the `nurse' (or PA, or whatever) came out and escorted me back to the examining room. I'd only met in his office before, so this was new. She took my vitals, right out of an episode of Grey's Anatomy. (Why did they kill off Izzy? I loved that character!!!) and told me to wait for Dr. Strange (errr.... Preston). After a few minutes, he came in, all clinical like, and looked at the computer screen. Lots of nodding and tongue-clicking. Nothing I could even possibly understand.
Then he turned to me and said, "Christy, do you masturbate?"
Wow.... Like, get right to the point, huh? "Ahhhh.... Once."
"Tell me about it."
Wow... Talk about ripping off the bandaid. I found myself spilling my guts. I told him the whole story, about rooting thru Becky's dresser, and finding the penis-shaped vibrator, and `humping' my pillow and having to clean up the mess. I was totally red faced through all of this, but, well... he asked...
Dr. Strange (errr... Preston) just nodded, and after an endless pause, said, "I've been going over your labs. I suspected just what you've said. You're on the cusp of boyhood, and if transitioning is what you really want, we need to put a halt to the testosterone flood that's about to hit your system. I'm particularly intrigued with your story, Christy. Your story tells me you are not just transgendered, but also sexually predisposed to males. Do you have anything else you want to tell me?"
I told him about Jason, and how I opened up to him and ended up with him hugging me and me laying my head on his chest. Dr. Preston (see, I got it right this time) just nodded, and said, "Yes, I can see that."
We talked for about a half hour. He pressed me on how I felt in `boy mode' versus how I felt today. He asked more about my friends and how they were accepting me. He asked about my school, and my schoolwork. He even asked some truly dumb questions about life and death and if I'd ever known anyone who'd committed suicide, and what I thought about that. Told him how very, very lucky I felt, and how I knew I had a tough journey ahead, but had some good friends to help.
I impressed myself with my command of the English language. Now, if I could only translate that into answers on tomorrow's English grammar exam.
He pressed the intercom and said, "Please send Christy's mother back. We need to talk."
After a minute, Mom came into the exam room, and took the spare seat. Dr. Preston got right to the point. "Ms. Dancer, I've been talking with your daughter about some personal matters, but now I need to bring you into the conversation."
I was completely floored with the word `daughter'.
"How has she been this week, regarding her gender identity?"
Mom thought for a minute, and said, "Every time she can, she dresses and acts like a 14 year old girl. Her girl-friends are all very supportive, and her friend, Brie, spent the weekend and really were indistinguishable as two young teen girls."
Dr. Strange injected, "Does Christy show any romantic interests in her friend Brie?"
I jumped in at that, and said, "Brie's probably gay."
Mom jerked her head toward me, muttering, "What?"
"Yeah, she and I are just friends, and she's still working out her own sexuality." Then I told Mom about Jason and how he'd hugged me and we cuddled on the sofa.
"Well, that would all have been great to know before now."
"Yeah, Mom, we've been talking a lot. There's a lot going on my life right now."
Dr. Strange stepped in, and said, "Ms. Dancer, her blood tests and my exam tell me she's on the precipice of male puberty. After talking with Christy, I suspect she doesn't want to do that."
"Amen," I said.
"So," Dr. Strange continued, "I'm going to give her a shot today, and prescribe some once-daily puberty blockers. This won't stimulate `girl puberty', to use layperson's terms, but will keep her from growing pubic hair, keep her voice from changing, and forestall her genitalia from taking on adult male characteristics. Do you approve, Ms. Dancer?"
Mom looked at me, and I couldn't have nodded my head any harder.
"Yes, of course. Please do what you need to do."
"Ok," he said, "now, this is going to sound like a very strange request, but Christy is also going thru some questions regarding her sexuality. You know that gender and sexuality are very different, right? Well, gender-wise, she is a classic case of a male-to-female transgender, and fortunately enough, we're capturing that at just the right time to deal with it properly. However, it is also clear that she is sexually attracted to males. If Christy had not transitioned, she would have probably emerged as a highly effeminate, and somewhat frustrated, gay male. So, anyway, I want you to buy her a dildo."
Mom said, "what?"
"Not for the purposes you think. I want you to buy her a penis shaped toy, silicon, with a feel as close to an actual male organ as possible, and of typical average size for a teen boy. I can promise you, if not, our Christy is going to be overwhelmed with the need to hunt out some live ones on her own."
Mom was flustered. "Why? What will she do with this... dildo?" I was getting a kick out of this, wondering just what was going thru my mother's mind right about now.
"I think she just needs it. Call it a pacifier."
Mom nodded and looked at me strangely. "Pacifier."
"Yes. It will help with the cravings and desires she will feel as she grows older. In my experience, we'll probably need to expand her toy collection, but for now, a simple life-like penis will be a good starter."
I don't think I'd ever seen Mom blush, but here she was, blushing now.
"I know where to shop. We'll head there after we leave."
"Finally, I want Christy to begin presenting as a female as soon as is practicable. I know you've probably got some issues to work out with her school, but if she's serious about this, I really can't begin serious medications and hormone therapy until she's actually 24/7 presenting. Do you follow me?"
Mom said, "I already had a chat with the headmistress at Christy's school. Jean Weston. She says she's heard good things about you, by the way, and she's going to work on facilitating that at school."
"Good. Now, I'm going to want to see Christy again every other week. Let's say, two weeks from today unless something comes up?"
Mom headed out to the waiting room, and the nurse or PA or whatever came in and told me to bend over the table and drop my romper. I did as told, and she pulled down my panty bottom. The needle hurt just a bit, but at the same time, was the best needle shot I think I'd ever received.
Mom drove somewhat silently to Martha's, and finally said, "Is there anything else you're not telling me?"
"Not really, Mom. Things are happening so fast, I really don't know ... I'm not trying to hide anything from you, but things happen, and I don't really know how to process them.
"OK. I understand. I just want you to be happy with the changes you're going thru. But let me say this -- I can't help you if I don't know what's going on in your head."
"Mom. Thanks. It may not seem like it, but that means a lot. Really. A lot."
We got to Martha's store, and it appeared to be the busy time of day. Martha, as it turns out, had a helper named Susan for busy times. Susan for all the world looked like a display case for tattoos. Even though she looked like she was more-or-less in her early 20's, she also had this look on her face like she'd seen it all, everywhere. Mom pulled Martha aside, and the two of them had a chat while I was casually admiring lingerie that I would never fit into. This stuff required bulges where I didn't have them, and didn't accommodate the bulges I did have. Sigh... nonetheless, it was fun to shop and dream.
Susan came up behind me and said, "Martha says you're a trannie."
I recoiled a bit, but decided to go with the flow. "That's not really the word we like to use, but yeah."
"Cool. My roommate's a trannie."
"Is that what she likes you calling her?"
"Him, but no, I get it."
Huh... Susan had just pulled back the curtain on a whole different aspect to what I was going thru. I'd file that away. "Do you get many... ahhh..."
"Male to female trannies? Yeah. A surprisingly lot. Martha's got a lot of stuff, mostly in the back room and upstairs. C'mon, I'll show you."
We bolted upstairs, into a room I hadn't seen on our last visit here. It was more of an art gallery -- full of paintings, furniture, and, well, contraptions. It looked like the set of a really high budget porno movie. "Wow," I said, "Is there a market for this stuff?"
Susan replied, "More than you know. There are lots of houses decorated with this stuff, and we've furnished more than a few dungeons."
"Excuse me. Dungeons?"
"Yeah. Hey, you're what, 16?"
"Fourteen. I'll be 15 in January."
"Yeah, maybe I'm breaking a dozen laws just showing you this stuff. Look, there' a whole world out there you haven't seen yet."
"Susan, I'll try to Clorox my brain on what I've seen. Lemme just say, the biggest thing I've got on my mind is wearing a dress to my school dance on Saturday."
"Yeah, cool. You're wearing gel pads in your bra, right?"
"Yeah."
"Did Martha show you how to tuck and use tuck tape?"
"Yeah."
"OK. You're ahead of the game. What brings you in today?"
"I... need... a.... Vibrator."
"You mean a penis, right?
"Yeah. My doc told my Mom to get me one. It's a long story."
"You don't need to tell me. I've heard it all before. Did he say anything about a prostate massager?"
"What? Huh?"
"Yeah, kinda like a small but long butt plugged. Did he tell you to get one yet?"
"No. I mean, what even is that?"
"You'll learn. Boys don't come equipped with a vagina or a clitoris, but you do have a prostate. You're doc is probably going to put you on some kind of puberty blocker, and that's going to kill your male sex drive. In other words, you won't be able to jerk off soon, at least not the way you can now. But you can still massage your prostate and get kinda the same response."
"I'm listening."
"Hey, I'm talking out of turn. Maybe next time."
"Maybe...".
Anyway, Susan and I came downstairs and Mom and Martha were chit-chatting away. I knew Mom had only just met Martha last week, but there was something about their conversation that sorta acted like they'd known each other for a long time. My Nancy Drew instincts were triggering my Spidey-Sense, or something like that. No biggie.
While Susan went off to fetch me a `penis', Martha spoke first, "Your mom tells me you're hoping to go to the school dance in a cute little sleeveless minidress with a lace bodice. I may have the thing for you. What color is the dress?"
"It's more-or-less peach."
"Great, come here," and she led Mom and I over to a counter. "If it has a lace top, you'll need this", and she pulled a peach colored A-cup strapless bra out of the counter. She flipped it over, and showed me how the gel inserts would fit into the inner sleeves of the bra cups. "This one has a bit of magic -- see these little plastic tabs at the top of the cups?" She showed me some very thin, clear plastic tabs. "Since you don't have anything to `hold up' the bra, you'll use some two-sided body tape to hold these in place, the same stuff that young actresses use on the red carpet to prevent any unwanted wardrobe malfunctions."
I immediately thought about `wanted' wardrobe malfunctions, but kept it to myself.
"Here's a roll of that, and here's a peach colored thong with a little pocket in it for your `package" cover -- the same one you use in your swimsuit bottoms. This really isn't necessary, unless you have an accident or get caught in the wind or something. Plus, the thick thong strap will accentuate your bottom."
I was in full blush mode by then, but thanked her and Susan for everything. Mom checked out, while Susan and I chatted about nothing and everything. She was extremely sympathetic, and despised being a (I think they call them `cis-girls'), she seemed to have a lot more experience than the sister wives and was w-a-a-a-y closer to me in age than my Mom and Aunt Lilly. I was hoping to find some excuse to talk with her again soon.
On the ride home, Mom said, "It's getting late, and I know you have tests tomorrow. How `bout I just pick up some burgers on the way home?"
For reasons lost in ancient history, my school generally considers Tuesday to be test day. Teachers try to coordinate and not give too many tests to the same grade the same day, but it never really works out. English and Spanish were my assigned torture chambers for tomorrow. "Yeah, that's great. I can swallow a gut grenade at my desk while conjugating some Spanish verbs."
"That's the spirit! Dr. Strange sent your potion prescription to the apothecary on Diagon Alley. I'll pick it up tomorrow." Or at least that's what I heard her say.
The rest of the night was a total bore. I studied English. Then I studied Spanish. Then I got the two confused. Then I put on a loose t-shirt and typed up this diary entry.
Given the way I feel, I presume after I hit `return' I'll fall dead asleep. G'nite, me.