My hopes for a relationship with Larry were dashed the next day. In fact, my hopes for a lot of things were.
It all started when the rumors began circulating that Eugene and I had 'queered off' in the locker room after gym. As I would learn later, the rumor was that we had been 'doing it' while the other boys showered and they had caught us in the act. All the gory details were in the rumor, even the part about me masturbating in my own mouth. Both Eugene and I took the instant brunt of the entire schools revulsion. I thought the day would never end and allow us to escape the taunts and jeers.
But what really changed things came later in the day when we were both summoned from class to Mr. Kemp's office. According to him, one of the boys had seen us and turned us in. I knew it wasn't true, but I didn't even try to correct him. As he continued to lecture us it became more than apparent that he wasn't going to be swayed by anything either I or Eugene had to say.
This was, as he put it, 'the straw that broke the camel's back' and he knew exactly what had to be done.
By schools regulations we had to be suspended for at least 5 days. In my case, since I had been caught in another embarrassing situation, it would be two weeks.
My parents were called, Eugene's mother was called, and the afternoon became one living hell for me. This time it was my dad they called, and the ride home, after Mr. Kemp's private conversation with him, was stone silence. I knew that there was no need to try and make this go any better than it obviously would go. In retrospect I think I made the only decision I could.
I had been caught. Found out. What most everyone at school thought, well now my parents would know. It was time for the truth, and I would just have to see where that led.
Where it led was to a protracted series of arguments, accusations, orders to 'straighten up' (whatever that meant) and eventually to my first session with a psychologist. Under the misguided impression that something like that could change me, my parents accompanied me to this session. When everything that had happened at school was explained by my parents the doctor, sensing that I was not going to open up in front of my parents, suggested that it might be a good idea to conduct the next few sessions between me and him.
I was grounded, of course, and that only added to the misery I felt. No longer able to spend time at Eugene's - in fact no longer able to spend time anywhere but my house - put my new found sex life in a downward spiral. My only enjoyment now was the fact that I could spend the entire day dressed. As soon as my mother and father left for work I transformed myself from the slouchy teenager into whatever feminine mood struck me. Some days I was content to lounge around in bra and panties all day, others I dressed in skirt and blouse, and still others I went all the way, applying my mother's makeup, nail polish, and lipstick, taking care to remove it all before they returned home. I pilaged my sister's wardrobe, selecting a few favorites that I vowed to make mine in due time.
My sister stayed at college more and more now, returning home only between semesters, and she didn't seem to pay much attention to the clothes she had left at home. As a matter of fact, her college 'uniform' seemed to be jeans and baggy sweatshirts now and I doubted if she even cared a thing about all the neat clothes that she had left me. I often wondered what she would think if she knew I had worn just about every item of clothing in her closet.
By the second session with Dr Brown I let my guard down completely, and when he asked I told him everything. From the beginning. In detail. It came hard at first, but then as I talked about it things seemed to come more naturally. Strangely enough, I found it easy to relate these experiences to Dr Brown. He listened politely, not interupting, drawing my thoughts and feelings out in the open for the first time. And once in the open, surprisingly, they sounded like...............well, like me. That's the only way I can describe the feeling of listening to myself describing what I had done, and how I felt about it. And another thing I learned was that, in fact, I felt good about it. Talking to Dr Brown allowed me to air these feelings without shame, without fear. And he was good. He listened. The only time he spoke was to encourage me to say more, to delve deeper inside for my reactions to this and that experience. And not only the good ones. He guided me patiently as I described the embarassment, the humiliation of being caught by Mr Kemp in the bathroom. Of being dragged down the hallway, in front of what seemed to be the entire student body, in a dress. Or of the fear turned into humiliation when I was forced to go down on Eugene in the locker room. And thru it all he gently, kindly, encouraged me to go on, asking me how I felt.
Our third session saw Dr Brown taking a more active role in the discussions, asking me questions about my preferences in clothes, makeup, hairstyle. And boys. We delved into my experience with boys. My feelings towards them. How I perceived myself when in a group of boys, things like that. I couldn't make sense of where he was going, the seemingly random, unconnected questions coming one after the other. I tried to answer honestly, like he told me, in the hopes that, wherever he was going with this, something clear would come out of this.
The fourth session was nothing more than a series of 100 questions to which I answered 'yes or 'no' and then another 50 multiple choice. These were really 'out there' as far as I was concerned, and I had no idea what that meant.
"Transvestism, or cross dressing" Dr Brown explained as we began the fifth session "is what you do, Leslie. But that is too simple an explanation for the complexity of your pyche. Of what you are feeling when you do that. Homosexuality is another description of your actions, but I believe that is too simple as well. I think your inner feelings, which drive your actions by the way, better fit the profile of a transexual."
"A..........a what?" I questioned. Of course I knew I was, but the way he put it - directed at me - caused me to question him.
"A transexual. Simply put, you identify with the female gender. Your thoughts, your inner feelings, are feminine. You project this by dressing as a girl. And by having sexual relations with boys. You are more comfortable in the role of a girl because, in your mind, you are one."
"I.......well, I........" I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. I felt an overpowering mental block. I couldn't fully process what he was saying, even though I saw a spark of truth in it.
"You're confused?" he said. As I acknowledged by nodding he continued "yes, of course you are. You were born a male, you've been raised as a male, but all along this disparity that's now surfaced has been there. Confused is an apt description of what you're feeling. And you've handled this confusion until you couldn't keep it inside any longer. You began experimenting with cross dressing, but it wasn't an end in itself as it would be for a transvestite. It led you to experiment with boys, but that in itself wasn't the issue either. It only comes together when you are, in your mind and in your appearance, a girl. Not a homosexual. A girl. And only then does it all seem right to you. Am I correct in that assumption?"
"Yes" I answered, honestly. He was right on target.
"Well, first let me say, and I mean this seriously, that what you're feeling is not beyond the realm of reality. Transexuality has been studied very seriously for the past 20 or more years, and a lot has been learned. It is not homosexuality per se. It is something, and I hesitate to call it a disorder, while not overly common, does occur. An imbalance between your apparent gender and that of your feelings. Of course it can be treated, I'm not sure how effectively in your case. If you want to That choice is entirely up to you."
"If........I want to be?"
"Yes. And I want to make it perfectly clear that the choice is your's. If you want to undergo counciling it's available. But, and this is a big but, no amount of counciling will change anything if you don't want it to. And I don't...................I mean, do you want to change?"
"No" it was almost a whisper. But in fact it was an adamant statement. If I wanted to change at all, it was in the opposite direction of where he was suggesting.
"Sure?"
"Absolutely" and that was the truth. If I had the choice, as he was suggesting, I knew exactly what I wanted.
"OK. Well, and I'll deny this if questioned, I didn't think so. Your profile, and I know these are always open to question, fits more closely with a female than a male. I can council you as you go forward with this."
"I........." I searched for just the right words in this situation. I don't know if I found them, but I did - for the first time - find the words coming from my inner self "I want to be a girl."
"Alright. I'll have your parents in for a talk. Without you." And with that, our fifth and final session came to an end.
My parents, of course, had a cow. I mean, how can you blame them. How can you prepare them to hear that their son, who they had raised from birth, wanted to be.....no, felt he was......a girl. No, they reacted in the only way possible. Disbelief. Shock. Denial. It took Dr Brown two sessions with them and then finally a session with all of us present, before they started to come to grips with what was happening. And even then I wasn't sure they didn't think I could be 'straightened out'.
I give my parents high marks for how they handled me during this difficult period. The love overcame the shock and horror and we all, more or less, moved on with life.
I was still grounded, able to attend school during the week, and kept a close eye on at night and weekends. We did things in twos, either my mother or father with me everytime I went out. Given the pain that I knew I had put them thru, I didn't rebel.
School was as ever. Eugene and I continued to be ostracized by the student body as 'queers' and 'homos'. We were both kept out of gym class, I guess as a precaution against any other 'deviant' behavior that might traumatize the other boys, and put in study hall instead. If we had been close before, the way we were treated made us even more so. It was like life in a cage, with all the student body watching us.
And then, finally, June came. And with it graduation. Liberation is more like it, as Eugene and I made secret plans to get out of this oppressive small town enviroment for good.
I had received almost $500 in graduation 'gifts' and Eugene had nearly that amount too. By pooling our resources, we reckoned, we could make our escape to freedom and live the lives we both so desired. And so we planned. What we sold, or nearly in my case, to our parents was a plan to move to another town, get jobs, and live the summer away before returning to attend community college in the fall.
Roanoke was the closest city to us. It didn't seem far enough for me, given that my parents were still concerned and might just 'visit' me there. But it was far enough for Eugene, whose mother had come to complete grips with his lifestyle. In the end it was far enough as my parents would give me, wisely, the lattitude to 'find' myself over the summer.
It wasn't the greatest of places, larger than our small town - true -, but it had one thing that made it almost irresistible to two 18 year olds with limited resources. It had May. May was Eugene's aunt, living alone in Roanoke, and she invited us into her home with all the love that only an aunt can. No rent. We had our own rooms. And May could cook - my god the woman could cook. She had divorced shortly after her marriage and lived alone in a modest ranch style home in the city. It was a lovely neighborhood of middle class homes soon to be overtaken by a lower class. But for now it was salvation, and both Eugene and I settled in immediately.
May worked at the big hotel near downtown, she had been a waitress all her life and now she had a very good position in the upperclass resturant that was the hotel's landmark. She arranged a job for Eugene there, and thru friends found me a job busing tables in on of the popular resturants across the tracks from the hotel.
Busing tables is mindless work, but I took the opportunity to heart and did my best. I worked 5 to midnight six nights a week at minimum wage, plus my share of tips. As a busboy my share was the least, but with the pricey menu here my share wasn't shabby. For the first time in my life I was making my own money, and it felt good.
Eugene worked, roughly, the same shifts as me, while May worked during the daytime. We all fit nicely into her house and schedule. While neither of us made any secret of our sexuality, it was never an issue with May. She dated, sometimes almost nightly, and went about her life as we did ours.
Eugene and I resumed the relationship that my unfortunate grounding had interupted. We weren't really lovers, we couldn't be given the different role each wanted, but we did make love, providing for each other the sexual relief that only 18 year olds need. And there in Roanoke, in that neat little house by Wasena Park, Eugene introduced me to the joys of receptive anal sex, as I lost the only cherry I had left. And with it the last shred of innocense I could claim.
The city, to two small town boys at least, was a veritable eye opener in many ways. Eugene's work at the hotel brought him in contact with other 'fairies' who worked there. The stories they related only wetted our appetite for adventure, and as Eugene repeated them to me we both felt the urge for adventure. Apparently the city was a magnet for gay, lesbian, and bi sexuals from the surronding areas who made the trip here in search of illicit sexual encounters. There were two active adult book stores that provided not only a steady supply of available men looking for sex, but also the secluded venue for it. There was at least one gay and lesbian nightclub and one cafe that catered to them. There was the Blue Ridge Parkway which ran close to the city on it's way from near Washington to the VA-NC state line. The numerous overlooks provided rendezvous points for sex in cars or the woods nearby. And there were the city and county parks, scattered around the valley, where, supposedly, you could hook up with a variety of men either waiting in their cars, or strolling the secluded paths that ran along the river.
It seemed that we were children let loose in a candy store.
But, in reality, it turned out that we were underage children, and we couldn't even get into some of the stores to sample the candy. The bookstores, and the night club 'carded', meaning that they required proof of age. Neither admitted anyone under 21, which left us out. The Parkway required a car, which of course we didn't have. That left the parks and the cafe.
We tried the cafe first, Eugene got directions from work and we found it just after midnight, in a rather seedy looking cluster of car repair shops not far from the city courthouse. It could have been on the other side of the world as it turned out.
It was a small place, no more than 10 people crowded inside, with a bar and juke box. Of course we couldn't order a beer, but just being there was enough for us, and we settled into a booth to sip our sodas and check out the crowd. And some crowd it was, a few very obvious queers and even more obvious lesbians. But, having said that, it was a warm place. We were amoung our own kind for the first time ever, and we soaked in the permissive atmosphere like two sponges. In less than an hour we had become 'members' of the Back Street Cafe. 'Jail bait' as they put it, but members just the same.
We went back the next night, welcomed warmly again, and the next. And every night that week found us sitting among this band of 'perves' as they put it, enjoying ourselves immensely.
And then, on a dark, warm, and humid Wednesday night in July I saw something that forever changed my life. She came in from the darkness of the street to the greetings of her friends before I had a chance to notice. When I did she struck me immediatley. She was tall, I would guess five nine, slender, with the longest legs you can imagine. From the hem of her mini skirt to the bottoms of her six inch steletto heels, those legs just seemed unbelievable. Dark stockings disappeared underneath her skirt, and my eyes swept upwards from there, across her full hips, past the tiny waist, the open back of her dress highlighting the smooth whiteness of her back and the long black hair that fell almost to the middle of it. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and a pang of jealousy hit me as she made her way to the bar. God, she was beautiful.
As my gaze followed her she returned to a table near our booth with her drink and sat down, crossing those beautifully proportioned legs in one fluid motion. She sipped her drink thru a straw as I sat, transfixed at the display.
"How's the trade Amanda?" the voice from the booth behind me said.
"Shitty" she replied, her husky voice loud enough for me to hear, but just barely "bad to shitty."
"Well hell, it's Wednesday, what do you expect?"
"Yeah, well.........." her voice trailed off in mock disgust as her eyes finally met mine "Hi"
"Uh...hi" I tried to sound unaffected. Ineffectually.
"I'm Mandy" she continued as my heart stuck in my throat.
"Uh....Leslie" I finally got out.
"Nice name. Your parents give you that?"
"Uhh.....ye.......yes"
"Shit. Wish mine had the presence of mind to give me a name like that." Her voice was low and husky, sexy as hell.
"What did...........I mean what..........?" obviously flustered.
"Herman" she said in real disgust now.
"Herm...............an?" it didn't make sense to me. A lovely girl like.............I mean........
"Yeah sweety. Herman. Can you imagine a tranny named Herman? God." Oh shit..........
"A......a.........a........I mean..........."
"Yeah, a tranny. I go by Mandy, short for Amanda. A......Man........duhhhhh?" Oh, oh , oh shit. She was...........like me.
"Ohhhh...............I mean, oh. Yeah. I mean, yeah, ok........" I sounded like a child I know, but the surprise simply blew me away. This lovely looking girl was a transvestite? Transexual? Oh my god.
"So anyway, you're new here, huh?" and now I knew why her voice sounded so husky.
"Yeah......I, uh..........I just. I'm one too" I blurted out, surprising myself.
"One what?"
"Tran.........trans........transexual. I'm one too" I couldn't stop myself, and upon hearing my confession Mandy got up and came to the booth, scooting into the open seat I made for her. Up close she was even more beautiful to me, full lips red with lipstick, dark slender eyebrows, and the most captivating set of brown eyes I had ever gazed into. And she smelled so..........so like a girl.
"Well now, are you? Of course, your face, your hair, your features. Oh my but you're cute. Now what has you here and how come you're dressed like that sweety?"
"I just got off work" I explained "I work at Billy's"
"Ah......yeah, couldn't show up for work there in drag now could ya?"
"No.......I mean, well, to tell you the truth, I haven't dressed much since I've been here. Where do you work?" I asked innocently.
"Out there" she said, motioning with a nod of her head toward the street.
"Huh?"
"The street, sweets. I hook" and then, as I continued to give her a confused look "Hook? Hooker? Prostitute? Ever hear of any of those?" Boy, was I stupid. Of course. The black mini, the stiletto heels, the dark hose. Her comments to the guy in the booth behind me. Of course she was a hooker. But...........did...........oh my god. I had to learn more about this or I'd bust a gut.
"Oh yeah, sure. But, I mean................you..........you can, I mean do guys really pay...........?"
"Damned straight, no pun intended, they pay. I mean, if you get a look at the quality of GG hookers we get around here you'll see why"
"GG?"
"Genetic Girl. You know............well, anyway, the ones that end up on the streets here, well they're about a slight cut above monkeys. Mostly strung out druggies that wouldn't make it anywhere else. So, the trannies look a helluva lot better. Dress better. And these rednecks don't care who's mouth they fuck in the dark." I was speachless. The idea of it all.................could I..............omagod.
"And............and you..............make money.......and?"
"Ennnnnnngh" she snorted "you don't make a fortune, but I'll tell you, I make a helluva lot more than at that shitty dishwasher's job I had before. Maybe $80 a night. On a slow night. Maybe twice that much when there's a convention in town. Not bad for 4 or 5 hours work."
"Where?..............I mean, where?"
"Right up the street. Either Campbell, up past the Park, or three blocks over. There's an alley over by one of the garages. One or the other. Usually both,back and forth staying ahead of the cops."
"The cops?"
"Yeah. They can't arrest you for being dressed. I mean that's not against any law, even in Virginia. But they know the score, and they know if they watch ya long enough you're gonna get picked up by some john. And if they see ya gettin picked up, they'll just follow the john's car til they catch ya doin it. So I move from spot to spot and it makes it harder for them to keep an eye on me. I mean, they can't spend all their time down here with all that drug shit goin down in NW. And then I've got some regulars and some secret spots. If I see them cruisin by, I just head for one of those spots. All in all, I'm pretty good. Only been busted once, and they let me go on that one with a warning."
"God. A hundred and sixty bucks? In one night? I barely make that in a week."
"Yeah, don't I know. That's why I ditched that stupid day job when I found out about this."
Mandy was 19, barely a year and a half older than me. She had come here as a teenager, from a small town to the east of here, cruising all the popular spots looking for the excitement of annonymous sex. She had met a man, several times, in Wasena Park. After she graduated from high school he had talked her into coming to live with him. 'A fucking slave' as she described her situation with him. 'Stayed at home all day, cleaning. And when he came home, well he was ready for dinner, and it had better be on the table. After dinner it was on the couch, or in the floor, spreading my legs for him. And when he was finished with me it was back on the couch for him and fetching beers for me.'
It was during those long days at home that the urge to dress overwhelmed her and she started. A quick trip to Goodwill, or DAV, or any of the thrift shops built up her wardrobe from the cast off of others. She began dressing during the day, taking care to be back in her 'boy' stuff by the time he came home. Until the day he came home early and caught her cleaning house in a skirt and blouse, panties and bra underneath.
"He had a shit fit" she explained "called me a TV whore. Said I belonged to the other TV whores down here and loaded me in the car and dumped me not three blocks from here. Told me he would pick me up at midnight and all the money I made was his. Well, I was scared shitless, just tried to find a place to hide. All the GG hookers told me to get the hell off their block or they'd cut me up. I wandered around, trying to find a hole to crawl in and finally ended up behind the Park. One of the TVs came over to where I was standing and started talking to me. I was crying and all, and she tried to calm me down. Then another came over and said she had seen what he had done, dumping me out on the street and all, and how it was a shitty thing to do. Well, we talked and talked and meanwhile these cars kept cruisin by, real slow, and every now and then one would stop and one of the TVs would go over and talk to them. And then they would get in the car and it would leave. Well, I was so stupid I didn't know what was going on and I asked. "'They makin the rent, sugah. They suckin dick and makin the rent'".
Mandy had accepted the invitation to move in with the four TVs who lived together in an old apartment house. She had sneaked out of her lover's house the next day while he was at work, and moved in. At first she worked as a dishwasher at a local diner, but after a few weeks (and a few tips from the 'girls') she was working the streets. 'Makin the rent' and all that goes with it.
"And..........I mean...........do you, you know.......enjoy it?"
"God yes. I mean, where else can you go to work dressed? And make money doing what you enjoy doing?"
"But...........I mean, the men. You have to.......?"
"Go with them? Yeah, but that's OK. You'd be surprised at how many good looking married 'straight' men pay for it. I mean, well the drugged up GGs don't turn them on. Their wives won't, or don't blow them, I guess, or don't blow them often enough. So a good looking illusion like me? Honey, they come round, know what I mean? And besides, truthful answer now.................ever met a cock you didn't like?"
"No" I admitted. That was true, but I had never met as many as Mandy had in her short time on the streets.
"Nuff said. Alright girl, now you've got to come by and meet my girl friends. They're gonna die over a sweet looking thing like you." And to tell you the truth, I was excited at the possibility. It was as if I had found a soul mate in Mandy. If the other girls were anything like her I knew I would like them too.
"Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice" I said. And with that the die was cast.
to be continued lesli99@hotmail.com