Dress Code, Part 4 (the end)

The next week, I returned to the mall to have my ears pierced. I had been wanting to do that for a long while, and the brief painful pricks were well worth the two gold studs that now shone from my lobes.

As I walked towards the exit, I heard a familiar voice. It was Bill again, still pestering people with the never-ending marketing surveys.
"Hey, can I ask you a few questions? Yeah, you! Don't pretend you can't see me! Oh, that's real mature..." Bill was a natural.

I wondered what I should do. After our last conversation I really didn't feel like speaking to him again, but on the other hand I figured I should tell him that Charlie and I were through. Just in case he felt like spilling the beans.

He seemed shocked when I said hello. For a few moments we stood, sizing each other up like Jerry Seinfeld and Newman. Finally, I broke the silence.
"Bill, I want you to know that I'm going to leave Charlie alone from now on. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Thank you," said Bill, and he sounded sincere.

More awkward silence.

"Listen," said Bill, "I'm sorry I blew up at you the other day. I didn't want to insult you personally, I just was worried about Charlie."

"I understand, Bill. I didn't want to admit it at the time, but you were right."

"Er, uh, Lee...can I ask you a personal question?"

"What?"

"Why? I mean, why are you doing this? Becoming a woman, I mean."

I glanced around at the myriad of people wandering around. "Can we go somewhere more private?"

Bill looked at his watch. "Yeah, let's go to my car."

He bought us each a soda, and lead me out to his old Vega with the 'Byte Me' and 'I've Got the Hardware if You've Got the Software' bumper stickers. We sat on the trunk.

"I guess you think I'm pretty weird," I told Bill.

Bill looked me over, my skirt, my long hair, my makeup, my newly pierced ears. "Lee," he said finally, "I'm the last one to accuse someone of being weird. I guess I just don't understand what you are trying to accomplish."

"Bill, what sex are you?"

"Uh, male."

"Right. It would never occur to you to answer any other way. But with me, it's different. As long as I can remember, I've thought of myself as a woman, and that my male body was a mistake. Now I've finally been able to start living the way I need to. For the first time in my life I can tell the world what I already knew: I am a woman."

"So what are you going to do now? Have one of those operations?"

"I hope so. My doctor has to give her okay first. I'm taking female hormones right now."

Bill shook his head, as if to clear it. "Lee, I guess I'll never understand why you want to do this. But listen...if I hadn't known you before, I'd have never guessed you weren't born a girl. You'll do fine."

I smiled. "Thank you Bill."

"Just stay away from Charlie, okay? Not just for his sake, but for yours."

"I promise. So do you have time for a game of Mortal Kombat, or is your break almost over?"

Bill looked confused. "Break?"

*

My life soon fell into the routine of a normal high school girl. Studying, football games, trips to the mall, preparing for college...at times I could almost pretend there was absolutely nothing abnormal about me, that I really was just a sixteen-year-old girl.

Of course, my life differed in several major respects. No dating, of course. While I passed Charlie in the hall several times a week, we would only nod and say hi, nothing more. Not to brag, but other guys asked me out as well; several of whom I wouldn't have minded dating, but I couldn't complicate my life. 'Wait for college,' I kept telling myself.

Another way I was different was my biweekly psychologist appointments and estrogen injections. In a way, I began to feel embarrassed every time I went...it was like a reminder that I wasn't a real girl, that I was different.

Still, it was nice to have a place where I could talk out my problems, and be of help to other people.

Rachel had completed her sex change, she had proudly shown us her new, updated birth certificate with the sex stamped 'female.' She now only attended our group once a month. Perhaps she was trying to put her maleness behind her as well. Denise, on the other hand, had just suffered through a non-contested, though emotionally-draining, divorce. There's only so much you can expect a wife to tolerate.

One night, maybe six months after I had started living as a woman, I stood in the bathroom naked. I regarded my nude figure in the mirror. There were changes going on, that much was certain. A little more fat around the hips. A little more silkiness in my hair. A little more softness in my skin. My breasts, too, were changing. The nipples were darker, and more sensitive. They stood out erect in the cold. I could feel the fatty deposits starting to grow behind them. I knew that the changes were far from over. My one big frustration, however, was that estrogen couldn't give me real breasts. I'd grow 'A' cups if I were lucky. What I'd have given to get breast implants. To have real breasts...But it was not to be. I didn't know how I was going to afford the eventual sex change. I couldn't go spending money on a boob job as well.

My relief came from a sudden and unexpected source. In December I took the ACT test, which is the Midwest's answer to the SATs. While this test is normally taken by seniors, I signed up in advance for practice. I good score, they told me, would be a 22. I got a thirty-one.

I felt on top of the world. Bill informed me later that he had only gotten a 28 and had to take the test two more times before he got thirty.
The thirty was a magic number. Besides looking great on a college application, it meant that I would receive the Missouri 'Bright Flight' scholarship, which provided two-thousand dollars a year, cash, for up to five years of college.

The thing was, my college was already paid for. My father had set up a trust fund for me that would more than provide a college education. So now I had eight or ten thousand dollars of my own (author's note: The Bright Flight Scholarship of Missouri does exist, as I have portrayed it here).
I did some calculations. I could withdraw some of the money from Dad's trust early, and use the scholarship money to make up the difference. I could get a job in college to cover any additional money I would need.

Breast implants, I knew, cost between six and ten thousand dollars. I knew Dr. Odom could recommend a worthwhile doctor. With my sudden windfall, real breasts were within my grasp.

My head swam as I pondered why life would be like, breasted. I could wear a halter top, a low-cut dress, or a bikini top! I would have to wear a bra, and one that wasn't padded! I could change in a locker room with no worries!

There was one problem. How would Mom react? Would she allow it? She seemed to have come to terms with my new life, but something this permanent? And what would Dr. Odom say? I knew how vehemently she had opposed Katie's decision to take estrogen; what made me think she'd allow me to have surgery?
I brought it up to Mom, first. When she asked me what I wanted for Christmas, instead of saying some clothes as she had probably expected, I told her I wanted permission to have breasts. I related my plans to her.

She thought for a while. "Well," she said, "I have a feeling that this is something that will eventually happen, whether I give my permission or not. And a girl your age should have breasts by now...they might prevent you from being found out."

"So you'll let me do it?"

"I didn't say that. I want to talk to Dr. Odom about this. If she agrees, and if she can find a surgeon we both like, then I suppose I'll give my permission."

Dr. Odom took my request as she had taken most of my previous ones: she said she'd have to think about it.

"You see, Lee," she began, "you are a unique case. I fully expected you to have at least some degree of uncertainty or regret when you began your life as a woman, but I've seen no evidence of that. You're a textbook transgender, Lee."

I wondered if I should be proud.

"But," she continued, "you are also very young. Normally I wouldn't feel right allowing surgery like this for a minor. If this ended up being the wrong choice, it could traumatize you."

I started to protest. Dr. Odom held up her hand. "I haven't said no, yet. I need to think about this, talk it over with some other doctors. As always, I won't use your real name."

*

Shortly after New Years, I came home from school to find Mom waiting for me. "Dr. Odom just called," she said.

"And? And?!" I shouted.

"She said that despite your young age, she and her colleagues felt you were mature enough to make this decision."

That night we went and picked out a low-cut dress for me. You know, to celebrate.

The next week, I met with the plastic surgeon that Dr. Odom had recommended. His name was Dr. Jagdish Patel. His office was in a large hospital in the downtown area.

When Dr. Odom first recommended Dr. Patel, I was a little worried. She said he was an excellent plastic surgeon who could give me a lovely pair of breasts. But had he even given breasts to a male before?

Dr. Odom laid my fears to rest. "Don't worry, honey. He's helped out several of my patients in the past. You have nothing to worry about." Much later I found out that he was the one who had done Rachel's breasts.

Dr. Patel was East Indian, forty-something, with a large beard and a big smile. I instantly felt at ease with him, maybe more so than with Dr. Odom. He had a wonderful bedside manner.

"Now, Ms. Cambiar," he said with his lightly-accented speech, "I'm sure that I do not have to tell you what a permanent decision that you are making here. I would normally never do this for someone as young as yourself, but Dr. Odom assured me that you are mature enough to handle this. But I feel I must warn you again.

"The bruising from the surgery will not subside for about three months. After that, no one who sees your torso will think you were ever a man. I don't mean to brag, but you'll find it hard to believe you didn't achieve your breasts the natural way. I want you to consider this, and consider it seriously. With breasts, you are taking the penultimate step in achieving womanhood. Only the GRS is more permanent. If you ever decide you don't like having a woman's body I can remove the implants, but it is a costly and painful procedure, and it will leave scars. I beg you, if you have any doubts whatsoever, now is the time to voice them."

The doctor's speech rattled me a bit, but I never considered backing down. This is what I wanted. "Doctor," I said, looking him in the eye, "this is what I've needed for sixteen years. Someday I will have breasts, and I hope that you will be the one to give them to me."

Dr. Patel smiled. "You are very determined. Much like the other young ladies I have treated with your (ahem) condition. Very well, please disrobe. Only your blouse will be sufficient."

I felt surprisingly uncomfortable removing my top in front of him. I had been totally naked in front of male doctors before, but after months of living like a girl, I was very aware of my toplessness. Nonetheless, Dr. Patel was quite professional.

He examined my chest. "Dr. Odom informed me of your estrogen use. It seems the effects are progressing nicely. I suspect that after the surgery, you'll be indistinguishable from a genetic female."

I thanked him.

"Have you given any thought to what size breasts you would like?"

"My mother and I discussed this. I wanted to get D cups, but mom recommended smaller."

"I would be inclined to agree. Many women come to me asking to have their chest size reduced; by choosing a smaller size you reduce the risk of back pain. Not to mention you'll avoid many of the morons who obsess over the size of a woman's bosom."

After a lengthy discussion, I finally settled on a C cup. It was about size of the padding I had been wearing. Maybe I'd find them too large, but what the heck, in for a penny, in for a pound. We scheduled the surgery for early February.

*

I woke up from the anesthetic with Mom holding my hand. I was miserable, groggy. I tried to speak, Mom touched my cheek. "Shhh, honey. It's all over."
All over. I had done it. Now there really was no going back.

Much to my irritation, Dr. Patel refused to allow me to remove the bandages for a week, even after my two nights in the hospital recovering. "You have to let them heal. Besides, you don't want to see them now, they are too beat up." For a week I walked around with what seemed like a wiener dog bandaged to my chest. I felt like I was carrying extra weight up there, but that was about it. Seven days never passed so slowly.

Finally, the day came. Dr. Patel cut the bandages. I followed his recommendation that I not look until he had cleaned off the caked blood. Finally, he told me to open my eyes.

There they were. Bruised and bloody, giant stitches on the underside, but they were real. Real and mine! I had a woman's chest! C cup breasts! Cleavage!
No longer could I look straight down to see my toes. Two wobbly mounds of flesh stood in my way, I had to lean over slightly. My nipples stood out, pink and erect (though black and blue as well) and hardened in the cold examining room. I could feel the strange sensation as they bumped into each other. I looked at myself straight on, in the mirror, in profile. Today I was a woman! Well, almost.

All too soon, Dr. Patel insisted on rebandaging them. While I had only begun to explore the wonderful things, he assured me that I would have the rest of my life to get used to them.

In the following month I learned more and more about my two new friends. Even before the bandages came off permanently I had to get used to the extra load up front. Mom had been right, there is something to be said for small breasts. I found myself constantly bumping into things with my new and very sore additions. Clothes that had fit me before were too tight. And Dr. Patel was correct, many men seemed to be talking to my breasts rather than my face.

Still, it was worth it. Every week, when I changed my bandages (I did it at home now) I would take about a half an hour and just look at them. The way they hung down to the bottom of my ribs. The way they gently swayed when I walked. The jiggling when I laughed. And of course, the extra sensitivity. Sometimes I had to restrain myself from just laying back and playing with my nipples, to experience the erotic, extra sensitive sensations. But I knew that I would have plenty of time for that.

Mom surprised me with her reaction. I half expected her to behave as if I had gotten a tattoo: disappointed, but resigned. Instead, she seemed as excited as if she were the one with the breasts. She was constantly asking me how they felt, did I like them, if I enjoyed having them...One day she admitted to me she rather enjoyed having a daughter to talk to. She didn't expect it to happen at the beginning, she thought she would always think of me as her son. "But," she said, "you took to womanhood more readily than you ever did manhood. You do make a wonderful daughter, Lee. You'd make any mother proud."

It was then that I knew that when I had my sex change, there was no danger of Mom forbidding it.

The girls in the support group were proud of me. Rachel told me my chest looked almost as good as hers (meow!). Katie told me she hoped hers would turn out as good, which brought a chastising look from Dr. Odom. Apparently Katie was considering bucking the doctor's authority and getting her breasts done abroad.

As for Dr. Odom, she seemed a little nervous after my surgery, as if she was afraid I'd regret it and place the blame at her doorstep. I remembered to be extra cheerful in the following weeks.

None of my friends at school noticed, why would they? I had always been a girl in their eyes, and the padding I had worn (and had now thrown away) convinced them I was amply breasted. I couldn't wait till the summer when the bruising had gone and I could wear a swimsuit. I wondered how Bill would react. Or Charlie.

Finally, it was over. The stitches came out, the swelling went down, and the bandages came off for good. I could wear my bras now, my tight sweaters, my halter tops...and once the discoloration went down, look out world!

I stood in front of the mirror every night, wearing only a pair of men's boxers to hide my penis. The combined effects of the estrogen and the implants...well, I was a woman. The hair in the pony tail, the absence of an adam's apple, the lack of muscles, the well rounded figure, the soft skin...I looked eagerly to the future.

Finally, the day came when I had to pay Dr. Patel for services rendered. It was a hefty hunk of cash but well worth the price. I could have mailed it in, but I wanted to give it to the doctor in person, and to thank him one more time.

It was a lazy Sunday and the doctor wasn't seeing any patients at the moment. "Ah, Ms. Cambiar," he said. "How lovely to see you."

And how lovely to get his check, I thought with a smile.

"Doctor, I just wanted to tell you again how..." I was interrupted when a male nurse came running into the office.
"Sorry to barge in, doc, but there's an emergency case on the way."


"Emergency?" asked Dr. Patel, "I'm a cosmetic surgeon!"

"It's a cosmetic emergency. Some drunk plowed into a motorcyclist on the highway. The guy left half his face on the asphalt."

"Goodness!"

"Well, he's lucky he was wearing his helmet or it would have been half his brains."

"I see."

"Anyway, Dr. Fromme is in surgery and Dr. Dealy is out of town. You've got to put this guy's face together again or he'll look like Frankenstein's monster for the rest of his life."

Dr. Patel turned to me. "If you'll excuse us," he motioned to the door.

I quickly left the doctor to prepare for the emergency stitches or skin graft or whatever would be required. As I was leaving, and ambulance pulled up in front of the hospital. Two EMTs gingerly took a stretcher out of the back and wheeled it through the door. Obviously, this was the guy who had faceplanted on the road. He was wheeled right by me and I got good look at him.

He was a wreck. Most of his face had been scraped raw, it looked like hamburger meat. One eye had swelled shut, the other wandered aimlessly. His nose was broken and he had lost at least two teeth. Plastic shards of helmet visor stuck out of his cheeks and forehead.

For one brief, brief second our eyes met. Then he was wheeled into Dr. Patel's office.
"Are you allergic to Novocain?" asked the doctor.

"No," came the mumbled reply.

"That's a good thing," said Dr. Patel, as he brandished a syringe that looked like it had been designed for cattle. Then someone slammed the door and they vanished from my view.

I sat numbly in the office until Mom picked me up. The motorcyclist, the guy with the wrecked face, had been Charlie.

*

Two days later, I stood in a hospital corridor, a bouquet of flowers in my hand. 'I'm just here to look in on him,' I told myself. 'I just want to see how he's doing. That's all. The same as I'd do for any friend.'

"I would have made a good Pope." -Richard Nixon, 1968

Charlie lay on the hospital bed, staring at the television. Most of his face was bandaged, as was his wrist. He looked like hell, at least what I could see of him. Timidly, I knocked.

Charlie turned his head painfully and squinted. "Lee!" he said, in a surprisingly robust voice, "c'mon in!"

Nervously I tiptoed in and sat down. "These are for you, I said unnecessarily, as I placed the flowers on his bedside table. He smiled a gap-toothed smile.

"So how do you feel?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"Like hell. Over 500 stitches, just fifteen short of the hospital record."

"How awful!"

"Well, the doctor said scarring should be minimal. Hell, this story could have easily ended with 'and now I have to pee through a tube for the rest of my life,' so things could have been a lot worse." I giggled, and the tension was broken. Soon, despite Charlie's injuries, we were laughing and talking. It was so good to be with him again.

"So why were you in the hospital?" he asked, eventually.

"To visit you, of course."

"No, I mean the other day. When they brought me in here." I was shocked, I didn't think he had recognized me.

"Oh, ah, female trouble." 'Female trouble' was more or less the truth, and I knew that no guy on earth would ask for a more detailed explanation.
When it was time for me to go, a middle aged couple walked in. The man looked like a Ward Clever clone, all he needed was a pipe. "How's it going, sport?" he said to Charlie with a plastic grin.

The woman looked like she was straight out of the Eisenhower administration as well. "Oh, my poor baby," she almost sobbed, "my poor, precious boy."
Charlie looked acutely embarrassed. "Uh, Lee, I'd like you to meet my folks."

I giggled, to think of the macho, motorcycle-riding football player sitting down at Sunday dinner with his two white-bread parents.

The next day I went to visit Charlie again. I know what you're thinking, but I just wanted to make sure he was still doing all right. A lot of people in his condition can have relapses, you know. No other reason.

"If I do not receive three million dollars, then the Lord will call me from you." -Oral Roberts, 1987

When I walked in, Charlie smiled a genuine smile. "Lee, it's so good to see you."

"Thank you, it's good to see you too." If I wasn't mistaken, he had combed his hair around his bandages and was wearing after-shave. Maybe he just felt like looking nicer that day. Maybe.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked.

"Yes, there is actually. Sit down."

I took a seat, wondering what he would ask.

"Listen, Lee. I know you said you didn't want to be romantically involved anymore, and I respect that...but listen." I sat in rapt attention, not sure what he was building up to.

"I'm not getting out of here for a while, and well...look, you don't have to do this if you don't want to, but, uh, well, I wanted to go to junior prom this year and this accident has kind of put me out of the dating circuit for a while. Would you go with me to prom? Just as friends of course," he added, unconvincingly.

"Yes, of course I'll go!" My God, prom! To wear a dress, no, a gown! To receive a corsage, to make myself up perfectly, to dance with Charlie...

It wasn't until I left that I began to question the wisdom of my hasty answer. There, at the door, stood Bill. He regarded me dubiously as I exited.
It took me nearly a week to convince Mom to let me go to the prom. For some reason she had it in her head that I was only doing this so I could go on a date with a cute boy, and not for the humanitarian favor to a sick friend that I had portrayed. Finally, after much cajoling and talk of how poor old Charlie would have to sit at home on prom night, she relented.

Once I had her permission, I had another problem: Bill. Bill had sworn he would tell Charlie the truth if I ever went out with him again. Bill and Charlie were such good friends that it wouldn't be long before Bill knew exactly who Charlie was going to go to prom with.

Surprisingly, I had nothing to worry about. The next time I visited Charlie in the hospital he asked me how I would feel about double dating with Bill and his date. I assented, confused. I had figured that Bill would have blown his top when he found out I had broken my promise, but apparently he was okay with it. I put the nagging doubts out of my head, and with the help of my friend Angelica, I began shopping for my gown.

When the big night came, I knew all my efforts had been worth it. I had picked a teal-green gown, with bare arms and spaghetti straps. I wore my hair up. When you looked at me, with my stylishly done hair, my makeup, my almost-bare shoulders and pert little breasts (makeup covered what was left of the surgical bruises), you'd never have guessed that I was a boy going off to prom.

When the doorbell rang I nearly jumped out of my skin. My date was here! I rushed to the door. Mom shook her head, clearly she didn't believe I considered Charlie just a friend.

He looked absolutely handsome. His crisply pressed tux, his shoes shined, he hair slicked back, and a big grin on his face. His scars still hadn't healed of course, and he kept nervously sucking on his new partial bridge, but he looked like Prince Charming to me.

"You look beautiful," he said as he attached the flower he had brought to my wrist.

Mom, while against the whole endeavor, still insisted on snapping several dozen photos of us before we left.

Bill and his date were sitting in the front seat of his junker. Bill, in contrast to Charlie, was unshaven, rumpled, and bored. He had managed to find a tuxedo the color of a traffic cone somewhere. His date, a hippie girl from my school ostensibly named 'Rosebud,' was wearing some weird, second-hand looking dress, with lots of fringe and short sleeves. She had not, I noted, shaven her armpits.

"Let's get this sham of a night over with," grumbled Bill.

"What's wrong?" I asked, afraid he was referring to my true gender.

"Prom," replied Rosebud, "It's nothing more than a corporate sham to get us to spend money and conform. Screw it."

Bill had apparently met a girl of like mind. Though I did wonder, if they both hated prom, why they bothered to go in the first place.

There was little conversation on the way there. We all sat up, rigid and uncomfortable in our finery. I hoped that Charlie would hold my hand, but he didn't. I wished I could ask Bill why he had the change of heart about Charlie and I, but there was no opportunity.

When we came to the darkened, crepe paper festooned gymnasium, Bill and Rosebud went off in their own direction. The DJ was playing a soft number. "Well," said Charlie, "shall we?"

It was just like the first time I had danced with him. His arms around my waist, my head on his chest, his breathing in my ear.

After a few dances, we sat down to enjoy the complimentary soda and peanuts that came with our expensive tickets. I was having such a good time. I noticed that Bill and Rosebud, despite their initial objections, were tearing it up on the dance floor. I also noticed Paul, dancing with (but not touching) a plain looking girl from my school.

I guess time got away from me. Eventually Bill tapped Charlie on the shoulder while we were dancing and told him pointedly that it was time to go. He was right, there were almost no couples left.

We piled into Bill's car and sped off. It had been such a magical night, I thought, as I lazily rested my head on Charlie's shoulder. But the night wasn't over yet.

When we came to our stop I realized that we were not at my house, or Charlie's. We were in a city park near the woods, the local lover's lane.
"So, Rosebud," said Bill with forced casualness, "want to go look at the stars?"

"I dunno, it's awfully overcast."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Want to go into the woods and make out?" he asked bluntly.

"Yeah, sure." Just like that, they were off, leaving me alone with Charlie.

"So..." he said.

"So." I replied. He looked nervous, it was kind of funny to see that in a guy his size. I knew what he was thinking : 'Should I or shouldn't I?'
I wanted him to make a move. I really did. But I knew we couldn't. It would be playing with his emotions. I wanted to be his girl, to kiss him, to let him hold me, caress me...I was interrupted from my thoughts by the touch of Charlie's rough fingers lightly touching my naked shoulder. He had put his arm around me. He looked at me uncomfortably. He had broken the just friends promise, and he wanted to see how I would react. I reacted by snuggling just a little closer to him. And when he began gently running his fingers over my skin, I wasn't shocked at all. Nor was I when he kissed me.
I knew I should have stopped, but at the same time I was powerless to. With every press of his lips my resistance lowered. The feel of his scratchy cheeks, and his warm, warm, probing tongue... I can still feel it to this day. And before I knew it he was unzipping the back of my dress. I breathed harder as my bare chest was exposed to the faint moonlight.

Charlie didn't do anything for a long time. He just stared at my erect nipples in awe and wonderment. Finally, a tentative hand reached out and stroked one. "Oh, oh Lee..." he kissed my shoulder. Then he kissed lower.

I felt like I was in a trance. All I wanted to do was lay back and let him touch me. To let him hold me. I was dimly away that now his bare chest touched mine. Gently he tried to lean me back in the seat...

No! Damn it! I couldn't let him. I wasn't sure what I would have done if I were an actual girl, but the fact remained that I still male genitalia. I pushed him away.

I don't know why I did what I did next. Charlie wasn't angry, he didn't look hurt or anything...now that I think back on it, I guess I wanted to prove to him, as well as to myself, that I could satisfy his needs like only a woman could. I unzipped his rented pants and carefully took out his manhood. He gasped. I bent my face over his lap and...

A few minutes later I was out of the car, running, as I tried to straighten my disheveled dress. What had I done? My God, what I had I done?
When I was out of sight of the car I stopped and hyperventilated. I hardly knew the man! Oh my God, what a slut I had turned into! I was a whore!
No, no, that wasn't right. I rinsed my mouth out at the drinking fountain. No. I was intimate with a man, but what of it? I cared for him, I just wanted to get close to him.

A million thoughts raced through my mind. One thing was for sure, I couldn't just leave him in the car, wondering what he had done wrong.

On the way back to the car, something caught my eye and made me stop. It was a station wagon, half hidden among some bushes. I recognized it as Paul's. What was he doing up here at make out point? As I crept closer, I noticed to my shock that the car was rocking. I heard a female voice cry out "Oh, God yes! Oh, sweet Jesus! Rock of ages! Oh, Lamb of God, I come! Oh, Christ! I COME!"

Not wishing to hear any more, I ran back to the car. Charlie was jogging down the path, trying to work a flashlight and his zipper at the same time. "Lee!" he called when he saw me. He rushed over to me. "Lee, I'm so sorry!"

Despite my conflicting feelings, I embraced him with both arms. "I know you just wanted to be friends, I didn't intend to come on to you like that."
"Shhh," I broke in. "It's okay. I...I enjoyed it. It's just that I'd never done anything like that before. I'd never even been close."

Charlie held me. "Same here."

I was utterly shocked. I had always assumed that Charlie was one of those guys who had lost his virginity at age twelve. And yet, I was the first 'girl' he had been with. I felt very special right then.

Charlie took my face in his hands. "Lee, I want to be more than friends. I want you to be my girlfriend. I love you."

"I love you too, Charlie." Dangerous words, yes, but for once I was being truthful.

I came home to find mother watching TV, pretending like she wasn't waiting up for me. I tried to act casual, but when she asked me how the date went, the tears came like rain. She ran over to me and held me.

"What's wrong, honey? Tell me." I told her. I told her everything. I had gone too far this time. She'd never forgive me.

"It's okay, honey," she said to my surprise. "It's OK. This is just the first time you'd been with a man. It's like this for every woman. Shhh, there now. It's going to be okay. It's scary at first."

Mom wasn't angry. We stayed up until dawn, talking about boys, men, safe sex, and respect. She never broached the subject of my gender.

"Mom," I finally said, "I really like him. I mean, I guess I'm his girlfriend. What should I do?"

"I take it leaving him is not an option?" I shook my head.

"Then you have to tell him the truth."

"I can't tell him that! What if he tells everyone?"

Mom looked at me tenderly. "It's once choice or the other, honey. That's how it is in a relationship. You were intimate with him, you can't lead him on, or lie to him."

"I guess I have no choice."

"No, not after last night.  Just make sure you tell him in a public place, so he can't get violent."

The next day, I thought about what I had to do. Jesus, telling him I was pregnant would have been easier. Worst case scenario: he hates me, and tells everyone my secret. Of course, after what we had been through, he probably wouldn't. He wouldn't want to be known as the guy who went to prom with another guy. Best case scenario: he doesn't mind. Yeah, right. Like he wouldn't mind that I lied to him about my gender.

I came up with two possible outcomes of my upcoming confession: he would hate me and never forgive me and never speak to me again. Or, less likely, he would hate me, but in time realize that I was a woman at heart and could love him like one.

I began to plot where I could tell him. The mall or a public park seemed to be the most likely candidates. We could talk privately, but he wouldn't be tempted to hurt me if things went bad. I tried to rehearse the conversation a few times, but gave it up. 'Telling your boyfriend that you are a pre-op transsexual' is just something that wasn't covered in Speech 101. I decided to blurt it out and hope for the best.

There was a knock at the door. It was Charlie. He awkwardly thrust a box of chocolates at me and smiled nervously. Knowing that I shouldn't, I reached up and kissed him.

"Lee," he started, "about last night."

"It's okay. I was just nervous. But listen, I want to take things slower for a while, physically. I'm not ready for much more of that right now."
"Okay. I'm cool with that. But...uh, do you still want to be my girlfriend? I swear, I can keep my hands to myself." It amused me how Charlie continued to blame himself for everything that had happened, it was hardly his fault.

"Charlie, of course I want to be your girlfriend. But I don't think you will want to be my boyfriend (what a sweet word) after what I tell you. Have a seat." I knew I shouldn't tell him this alone (Mom was at work), but I couldn't keep putting it off.

"Charlie...geez, where to begin? Listen, I have something important to tell you. I have...a secret. Something horrible."

"What, that you're really a boy?" he asked, casually.

I felt like I had been slapped. He hadn't been joking. There he sat, grinning, and had just blurted out the secret that I would have moved heaven and earth to keep.

"How...how did you know?"

He chuckled, as if he had just found out my real name was Petunia or something. "Bill told me."

"Oh, my God! He promised that he wouldn't!" I said, forgetting that I had promised Bill to stay away from Charlie.

"Don't be too hard on Bill. When he found out we were going to prom he gave it away. He was only looking after me. Told me if I hurt you or told anyone else then I'd have to fight him."

"But, if you knew my secret...then...why?"

He placed his hands gently on the sides of my face. I couldn't look away. "Lee, you've met my parents. You can guess what my family is like. Right out of Father Knows Best. I'm their son, the football star. They expect me to marry the pretty little girl next door and live happily ever after. No one suspects that…well…I go both ways.” He grinned, sheepishly.

"I have a hard time admitting that, even to myself. I figured I’d never act on it. When Bill told me the truth, I was stunned, of course. I had a hard time believing it. So I broke into your file at the hospital. I've never met anyone like you before, Lee. You're beautiful, funny, smart...and I don’t care if you’re a man or a woman. I've fallen for you hard, Lee."

"What did you tell Bill?"

"The truth. I love you just the way you are."

"Wasn't he shocked?"

"Nothing shocks Bill. Mildly surprised, I'd say." That explained why Bill never brought the subject up again.

"Charlie, does this mean..."

He kissed me. "I love you honey. If you were born a girl I'd love you, but quite frankly, I could care less who you used to be." He kissed me again and we were still kissing when Mom came home, several hours later.

Epilogue: several years later

I was sitting in the airport coffee shop when his flight was announced. Flight 203 from New York. Which had originated in London. Which had come from Athens. Which had started from Cairo. Which had begun in Nairobi.

I saw him as he cleared the security gate. He was wearing an uncharacteristically loud Hawaiian shirt...and his eye patch.

"Paul!" I called to him.

"Lee!" he hollered back, running up to me and hugging me, "Thanks for picking me up, it is so good to see you! Hell, after sixteen months in Africa, it's good to see any of my old friends!"

"What happened to your glass eye?"

"Traded it for a gallon of gas in M'bamba."

"You're in a good mood."

"Well, the hospital is up and running. Never thought the church could pull in enough funding, but there's real doctors and everything."

"Wonderful news. I don't know too many guys who'd be willing to make a sacrifice like you did for humanitarian reasons."

He grinned, like he had some kind of secret. "Oh, it wasn't all humanitarian."

"C'mon, spit it out."

"I'm getting married."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"To who?"

"A Canadian girl named Laura. She was over there with the Campaign to Ban Landmines, and well...we clicked." He handed me a photo.

"Which one is she?"

"The one with all her limbs."

"She's lovely."

Paul stretched out in the seat next to mine. "So c'mon now, the mail service over there is horrible. Give me the lowdown on everyone."

I briefly outlined the current lives of the people we both knew: Luthor on his college's wrestling team, my mom, recently promoted to store manager, Mr. Elmer, taking early retirement.

Paul shook his head and smiled. "So what about Bill?"

"Oh, he's still in prison."

The smile rapidly left Paul's face. "What?"

"I guess you never heard."

"In prison? For what?!"

"Computer piracy, data trespassing, credit card fraud, electronic theft, that sort of thing. Mircoflacid computers finally had him busted."

"That's horrible!"

"Well, he told me at his sentencing that there was a bunch of stuff he never got caught for."

"How long will he be in for?"

"Two year sentence, he'll be out in six months with good behavior."

"But prison? They'll eat him alive!"

"It's minimum security. Non-violent offenders, rip-off artists, scam men, sleazy characters...Bill's kind of people."

"This will ruin his life! He'll be lucky to get a job at McDonald's after he's released."

"Actually, he already had a forty grand a year job lined up."

"Where?"

"Microflacid computers."

"The ones who busted him?"

"Yeah, they know talent when they see it. He's says he could make VP in five years."

Paul shook his head. "I leave the country for a year and a half and everything falls apart." He looked up. "So...is it true what I heard? I'm not the only one getting hitched?"

I held up my finger and displayed my engagement ring. "This August."

Paul pecked me on the cheek. "You and Charlie G. make a good couple. Congratulations."

"Well Paul, I wasn't just being nice by picking you up here. I want to ask you a favor."

"Shoot."

"Will you perform the service?"

"Of course I will. I'd be honored." He picked up his suitcase. "But I have one question. When I left, you were planning on having a full sex change. But then you said maybe Charlie would prefer you to stay the way you were. What did you decide?"

"Sorry," I replied, "private matter."

Paul smiled and we headed off to my car. The decision whether to have a sex change had been a hard one, but in the end, I know I made the right choice.
What choice, you ask? Wouldn't you like to know…