Date: Sun, 25 Mar 2001 19:12:40 -0500
From: lesli 99 <lesli99@hotmail.com>
Subject: Transgendered - Leslis-story - pt 8

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