I take the elevator to the ground floor from Jess’s apartment, an elevator lined with mirrors. It doesn’t hurt to look at them. Seeing myself in the mirrors I look happy. Not smiling. Not grinning or anything. Simply content. This is fine. I look like me in the mirrors. Me going on forever in reflections reflecting back on each other. I kinda like me in the mirrors. I look fine. I do look fine. I’m doing... This? Whatever this is I’m doing this. I’m me. I hope I’m me. I am me. Whatever I am... Just for today...
Leaving the elevator I go past the mailboxes, and step onto the street. Me, a normal kind-of woman going home on a normal Saturday, I tell myself. I assure myself. I shout inside my mind. I guess I really am Toni, at least for today, at home, and tomorrow, too, probably. Just at home. I am!
I walk towards what appears to be a bus stop, to check out the routes and schedules, and while I’m making my way there people pass me by, mostly paying no attention. Well, that isn’t quite true, men look at me, I guess, glances mainly, but some of the women, especially women my own age, flash me a quick smile. It’s barely noticeable but it’s definitely there. The third or fourth time it happens I smile back, and by the time I reach the bus stop knowing I am on a route that brings me home I decide I’ll instead take the opportunity to walk. It’s not hugely far, an hour or so, but I like being smiled at. I like being seen. No-one’s ever paid a blind bit of attention to me before. Why shouldn’t I appreciate this? Is this what I want? People smiling at me? Liking me? Is this all it is?
Eventually I’m approaching my building but I’m a little sweaty, and I was definitely sweating last night; I probably stink. If I shower my hair will be ruined so I need some of the gels or mousses Jess was using. And I’ll need some proper deodorant. My tummy has been growling for the last thirty minutes or so, too, so I need something for breakfast.
I pop into the little store just a minute from my apartment block before I think of the workers who might recognise me. Then I decide Fuck it! They’re not my friends. I’ve never said more than Hello and Thanks to them, what do they care about me?
I walk towards the front of the store where the small selection of hygiene products are and look for the mousse Jess used. I can’t find it but there are some that say they’re mousses. I pick one up that’s not too expensive, well, it’s expensive enough, along with a gel, a scented body wash, then some roll on deodorant. As I’m picking up a pastry and a banana I think about the roller on the deodorant getting stuck on my pit hair and know I’ll need a razor to get rid of it, I just can’t find any.
I walk up the counter with just me and the worker in here, a guy I vaguely recognise, assuring myself he doesn’t give a hoot about me, and quietly say, “Razors?”
“We keep them behind here,” he says. “Theft, you know?”
I place my items down and say, trying to remain calm, “Yeah, of course, makes sense. Some razors, then, please. Decent quality, please.”
He turns behind him, takes a pack and places some pink women’s razors down after checking them into the till.
“You look very nice today,” he says, looking up at me. I smile. It’s a proper, bright eyed smile.
This is the first real compliment I’ve had, at least from someone I don’t know, even if he is just being pleasant. “Back from travelling?” He points towards my suitcase.
“No. I was with a friend last night,” I say.
“Lucky man,” he says.
I blush. “Female friend.”
“Well she’s very lucky, then,” he says with a deepening to his voice.
“Oh! Not like that. No... Just somewhere to sleep after a party.”
“I’m Ro,” he says.
“Toni,” I say. He smiles and begins packing my items into a paper bag, something he’s never done for me before. I watch him as he does it. He’s stopping and glancing at me every few seconds, with a cute smile, and I notice I’m smiling back, and a little turned on. Well, more than a little. A bit, maybe.
“I hope you had a very enjoyable shopping experience, Toni. It’s lovely to finally meet you,” he says as he’s handing me my items.
“Yeah...” I say as though I’m dreaming. “You’re cute...” I take the paper bag and leave the store as if I’m walking on a cloud.
I’m not thirty seconds down the street, still in cloud cuckoo land, when I hear my name being called out. I turn to the voice and it’s Ro chasing after me.
I stop, concerned. Did I forget to pay?
He slows down as he gets close to me and holds out a card. “This is the security company the store uses, along with a few of the other stores around. Some of the women here...” he waves at the buildings towering over us “...have their number, too, in case, well... It’s not the safest neighbourhood at times. If you feel unsafe at all, ever, or anything happens, just call them. They’re on a shared contract.”
“Oh! Wow! Thank you,” I say. I didn’t even think about safety. Certainly not for women. I just thought about, well, me. I look up and see him smiling at me and think I should give him a kiss on the cheek, as thanks, but that’d be way too weird. I can’t do that. Why did I think I should do that? I wonder what he smells like.
He turns and walks back to his store with me left standing staring at the number for a security company.
I guess that’s a real risk, now. I should probably start thinking about it more.
I turn the card over to see if there’s more info and on the back, hastily written in pen, is the name ‘Rohit.’ With a phone number next to it!
My eyes open wide and I desperately want to turn around to see if he’s watching me but I’m far too afraid. There’s no way he means... He was just being friendly! He’s definitely not watching me but then I think What if he is?!
I smile to myself. I feel like I could dance. I feel like I should dance and I more or less skip the rest of my way to my apartment.
I nearly collapse into the security, and privacy, of the elevator; my heart pounding. And this time I do see myself beaming and wide-eyed in the mirror but walking through my front door I see nothing has changed. It’s the same as ever. The room is still the same dull, renter’s magnolia. My couch and armchair are arranged around my old flatscreen resting on a recycled coffee table. My small, flatpack dining table is up against the wall that leads to the tiny kitchen; the table holding my always-charging laptop. My bedroom is, well, I suppose it’s a mess. No-one came in to clean it like they somehow cleaned out whatever thoughts — worries? — were going through my head last night. Am I worried? I don’t know what I am. But whatever I am the apartment is still bare.
And whatever colour entered the lattice pattern keeping my chest from collapsing during my walk home has returned to monochrome.
I don’t really know why I expected it be different. Was it just because I changed? But I think to myself if I have changed. Am I different? Do I really feel different? I don’t know what I feel. Happy, I guess. Do I feel lighter? I was nervous all the walk home but I felt sharper. More aware and noticing things, but... Distant? Like I wasn’t trapped in a rush.
Now I’m just me. Me in my same old apartment.
I flop back into my ratty couch and think about how I feel different, and if I really am different.
My phone beeps. I should probably charge it but plugging it in I see a notification. I pull it up, “Please message Jess when you get home. She worries. Then message me you’ve done it. Sally.”
I guess this is just what women do? Rohit did say the neighbourhood can be unsafe. I message Jess that I’m home; I took the long way back to enjoy a walk. Then I message Sally that I messaged Jess. I suppose Jess really does worry.
I fire up my laptop but figure I should really, really shower.
First I unpack the suitcase with my clothes from last night. I’ll have to figure out how to wash the dress. Probably dry cleaning. Nothing I own needs to be dry cleaned but that dress was fancy. Wow!
I place my heels down next to my bed, next to my man shoes. Yeah, they’re definitely way prettier. And I take out what else Jess packed.
My disgusting, stained thong and pantihose I throw in my laundry basket with a smile, remembering. I can’t believe I’m smiling over that.
I shiver. As if I have a choice in the matter.
Then I do take out the little black dress and look at it. And I confirm the stains are there, too. Big stains. Damning stains! This isn’t all a dream. This definitely happened. People saw and heard me. Me being...
No, I tell myself. Don’t! I don’t have to think about other people. Not at home, all alone. I can just be in this, for now, by myself. It’s just me in private. Me being...
Jess must have packed my underwear for me with a look of disgust on her face, along with giving me the multipack of her colourful, cotton panties when she saw all the clothes I’d ruined. I can do all this alone. By myself. No-one needs to see what I do. If... When? If I do this by myself.
I guess... I don’t know... I suppose she was the cause of some of the... Mess... She was part of it! It’s not just me! She wanted, well, me. Or whoever I was last night. Who I get to be in my apartment whenever I feel like it. I can do this in my apartment, I guess. It’s just me alone!
I tell myself blaming Jess is weak but with everything placed away — me throwing thoughts out of my mind — I carefully begin to take off my clothes, laying them on my bed. I’ll be putting those on again right after I dry. Why not?
I take my newly bought hygiene products and put them in the little shower stall ready to wash.
I’m normally a fast showerer, in and out, but this time the hot water feels soothing; the heat penetrates to my core. Even as I shave my pits, with the small amount of hair washing away easily, I don’t feel like this is all functional, like it’s just getting clean. It feels invigorating; it feels deep. I feel fuller. I feel my chest fill as I take a steamy breath. It feels easy.
I let the water flow down me and just feel me being. Me being OK.
I turn to my crotch, running my fingers through there and think of what a wild night I had, and it was a woman doing it me! It really was! But despite water running over me for what must be at least twenty minutes my pubes are still caked in cum. My cum, sure, but it’d be easier if there was less hair, wouldn’t it?
I pick up the razor and start cleaning away just a few stray hairs but then I go further, and a little further. If I don’t stop now I’ll be completely hairless down there. I’d like running my hand through thick pubes, I think. To find and feel a...
I haven’t of course. Ever, I think, talking myself out of a daydream. I didn’t actually do anything with G last night, which I think back to. I didn’t actually touch him. I saw saw him. I wouldn’t mind, though. Being honest with myself, just here, alone. I guess I wouldn’t mind. No-one knows what I’m thinking. Just to try it. Just the once. And Rohit is cute, I suppose. He’s...
And I notice I’m leaning back against the tiled wall, massaging myself.
I remember back to smiling at Ro. And he looked at me. I have a handful of myself. It was like a dream. I said, “You’re cute...”
My god! I said, “You’re cute...” grinning like a fool, nearly drooling. To a man! An actual man who doesn’t know me! Who isn’t just messing with me!
He must think I’m a freak! Some kind of sweaty, disgusting freak!
I cringe with the memory in my mind shouting at me!
And now my dick is as soft as a wet noodle, and not much bigger. That’s that! That is that. Keep this private.
I finish my shower, quickly, put on my striped red and black bathrobe and leave the toilet.
Sitting on my couch — still thinking of acting like a dopey, smitten schoolgirl in front of Rohit — I pick up the mousse to distract me. It says apply to damp hair which is just about what mine is now. I take it to my bathroom sink and look in the mirror above it, testing my hair, teasing it into place. I style it with its moisture to sort of how Jess had it. It’s not as good, nowhere near as good, but it’s OK, I guess, for a first time, just for at home. I’ll get practice at this, at least when I’m in my own place.
Sort of happy with how it looks I rub the mousse in, twisting it into shape a final time, securing it properly. I hope I used enough. Or not too much. I’ve no clue really. I sigh, thinking if I’d been a girl as a teenager I’d already know all this.
Looking at myself I check all over my face. I really want makeup if I’m going to do this, like last night; it really helped me look...
And my eye catches on my upper lip. At the shadow there. Some fuzz! How long have I been walking around like this? Was that since this morning? I don’t have much facial hair but it’s not none. And I last shaved yesterday! I’ve been walking around in a dress and tights and boots with beard hair on my face! I feel sick.
I groan and close my eyes, my head falling forwards. I really do feel sick.
I look at the toilet bowl and groan again.
My stomach rumbles and I know I should eat.
I walk to where I left the banana and pastry, taking a side trip to look at the clothes laid out on my bed but I turn my head away when I think of me walking around with a moustache while wearing my new clothes.
I go to the kitchen, make a coffee, sit down and eat my breakfast. My stomach gurgles the whole time I eat and after I finish I’m still hungry. I don’t know if I’m still sick thinking of walking around with a beard.. But wouldn’t anyone be?
I look at the clock and it’s mid-afternoon, well past lunch time. I guess I am just hungry. No wonder I’m so hungry! It is just hunger. Definitely!
As I’m making some instant noodles I hear my phone ring. Looking at the caller ID it’s Sally. I pick up, “Hello?” I say, with a sigh.
“Do you know Light Avenue?”
“What?” I say.
“Light Avenue? It’s the café bar.”
“The gay bar?” I ask.
“Well, no. It’s not an LGBTQ+ bar, it’s just, you know, accepting. They don’t tolerate intolerance, everyone is welcome. Friendly, and safe...”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” I say.
“Can you be there in, say, ninety minutes?” Sally asks.
“Go out?” I respond, perking up.
“Yeah, ninety minutes. Two hours, if needed. But ninety minutes if you can.”
I think of my moustache. “I can’t,” I say, groaning.
“Oh no! What happened? Did someone say something? Did something happen?”
“I was walking around with a moustache!” I whine.
“What?!” Sally says.
“Yeah, a moustache right across my lip, since this morning. And me wearing a dress, and looking like an idiot.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Sally says. “There’s no way Jess — master of disguises — would have let you leave her studio with a moustache.”
“I saw it!” I say.
“Sorry, if anything it’s a little fluff. Emphasised by whatever particular light you caught yourself in.”
“I can’t go out like this,” I say.
“If you said you were busy doing research online, or you were thinking things over from last night I would have said fine and we’d meet tomorrow. But now I know you’re being down on yourself I have to see you. I’m not letting you mope all night.”
“But my...”
“Just shave it,” Sally says.
“I have no makeup,” I whine.
“There’s time enough for that, we’ll talk about it when you get here so meet me at Light Avenue in ninety minutes. You know where it is?”
“Yeah...” I say.
“You’re worrying over nothing. You’re gorgeous. Ninety minutes. Two hours at most! I’ll be here.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m worrying over nothing. I did have a moustache on my face but my facial hair is blonde, so only those people on the street saw me. And Rohit...
My stomach turns thinking of Rohit seeing me with a beard. But I suppose he still gave me his number, I guess. I can shave it off if I’m going out again. Sally said we’d talk about makeup which will actually cover this kind of thing in the future.
I decide I should eat my noodles before worrying about all this. Maybe I am just hungry? I hope it’s just hunger.
I think I’ll definitely be at the bar within the ninety minutes Sally said, I’m sure. Even allowing for a fifteen minute ride there if the traffic is bad I’ll be on time, I think. I’m already waiting for a taxi outside my apartment block; me freshly shaved, hair styled, in my dress, boots and Steve’s jacket.
He’s way bigger than me — stouter — so I guess it looks like I’m wearing a boyfriend’s jacket.
I think of people thinking of me as having a boyfriend and it feels OK, at least with how I’m dressed now. Would I like a boyfriend? Just pretending, like, being seen with a man. Being seen with a guy looking like my boyfriend? If I was to hang around men when I’m like this, dressed like I am — if I was to do this — it’d be me looking like someone who has boyfriends. Me being a woman, and them being men. With men and women things between us. Would it be easier if I just did this with Sally and Jess, as stupid fun? Just messing around? Going to kinda accepting bars... With men there, I suppose...
I let out a deep breath still thinking of Steve. I don’t know how he’ll take this, take me.
The wind on my legs feels right right now. The air around me feels more like air. I feel like this is something I want to do, despite the nerves, and the craziness of it. I wrap Steve’s jacket around me. It’s just... I don’t know.
The bar I’m going to is a kind of gay bar, really just accepting more than... Like Sally said. This is just messing around. I’m still a guy. But how do I explain to my best friend, my oldest friend — my male friend — this is going to be a part of my life, at least at times. That I’m going to be a girl going to bar. Just playing, really, with Sally, and Jess. Fucking around. Just... Do I have to tell him? Do I have to..?
Will he even want to be seen with me? Would he want me to be like this just in private? Based on his reaction as I left his apartment he... He was a fucking dick! Would a woman even want to tolerate that behaviour? Do I want a man like that in my life?
A taxi pulls up and I sit in. “Light Avenue, do you know it?” I ask. He recites the address in a rather friendly tone. “That’s it,” I say, with with a wobble in my voice.
Pulling out into traffic he asks me, “Have you been to this bar before?”
“No, never,” I say.
“My niece likes it. She goes there fairly often, says she feels very safe there. You’ll be fine.”
I nod, and smile, feeling better about myself.
Double-parked near Light Avenue’s entrance I pay the driver and he says, “Have fun!” I thank him, get out, look up at the sign above the door of the building and pull down my dress before walking in.
For a café-bar it’s much bigger than I expected. Much bigger than the outside would indicate. Much deeper, I guess. I just saw it through the window when passing other times, not really paying attention. But there’s an area where the lighting is low once you get beyond the last of the sunlight streaming through big glass windows at the front. A deep area, intimate but not date-nighty, and the air is warm; comfy; I feel heat on my legs. There’s curtains hanging in a lot of places, drawn back.
There’s a long and wide area stretching away from me, past a deep archway. I just saw people drinking coffees and beers at the front when I was passing. There’s far more to here than I thought.
I’m about to walk into the hideaway of the back and find a seat when I hear my name.
I look in the caller’s direction and Sally is sitting on a low couch with another couch opposite her, both couches perpendicular to a brick terracotta wall in an alcove that’s set into the tunnel of the wide archway to the deep back.
There’s a sturdy, dark, well-worn wood table between the couches and candles set on it in a row, flickering in the gently moving, warm air.
Sally stands and hugs me. “Did you find the place OK?” she asks.
“The taxi driver was nice, he knew here.”
“That’s good. What do you want to drink?”
I look at the table and Sally has an almost empty, big glass of red wine set in front of her so I guess we’re drinking. “Just a beer for me, please,” I say.
I sit on the opposite couch while Sally gets the drinks and I keep looking around. There’s some people at the bar and others on high stools with high tables that I can see in the front area when I crane my neck, as well as some high partitioned, cushioned bench seats with tables and more chairs in front of them. Everyone in here is stylish. And an equal mixture of men and women.
The bar is diverse, not just in race but in, well, everything. It’s metropolitan, but not business-y or formal. I haven’t been in a bar like this pretty much ever.
As I’m people watching, now looking towards the back, I notice I’m staring at one particular woman, much, much deeper in the bar. A trans woman; a good few years older than me. She glances at me and I quickly look away before looking back but she’s returned to her conversation with the woman she’s with. I hope she didn’t see me staring, I think, as Sally places a beer in front of me and sits down with her fresh glass.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m early though, and you’re already here.” I glance back at the woman who caught me staring not knowing why I’m looking.
“Yeah, I had to come early to get these seats,” Sally says. “But how are you, Toni? Toni with an i! We meet again!”
“Yeah,” I say, and smile.
“Oh, I’m so happy you’re here,” Sally says, squeezing her whole body up and wriggling.
“I am too,” I say, feeling nerves.
“How was your walk home?”
“Jess worries?” I ask, thinking of having to message her.
“Yeah, she’s a worrier. For all her bravado she’s really quite delicate. You’ll get to know,” Sally says, waving her hand as though she’s dismissing the thought. “If you’re with her just always, always message her once you’re home safe. Do the same with me but especially her.”
I nod. Not really knowing what to think, but Sally’s staring at me, and I look back at her, confused. “So?” she says.
“So what?” I ask.
“You’re a woman, now. Finally! Thank god! What’s new? What’s different? What have you noticed? How does it feel? Are you happy?”
“Nothing’s different,” I say, a little shocked at myself.
“Nothing?” Sally asks, sounding a little incredulous.
“I mean... I’m terrified every minute someone’s going to laugh at me and call me a freak, or worse. I’m constantly on edge and have to force every fear that’s bubbling up down to my toes. The whole thing is all wrong but I feel fine with it. I really don’t know...” I say, trailing off.
“Wow, that’s a lot,” Jess says. “The whole thing’s all wrong?”
“I’m all wrong,” I say.
“How?” she asks.
“Well, I’m not actually... You know. I’m not a real... Real woman... I’m...”
“So? Anyway, don’t think that. You look fine to me.”
“It’s not just about looks,” I say. A thought I didn’t realise I was thinking.
“OK, alright, that’s beyond my ability. Did you have time to go on the internet?” Sally asks.
“No. I just showered and ate. I really did take a long walk home.”
“Tomorrow then, or tonight if you can’t sleep, do some searches. There’s doctors and the like who can help. The woman’s clinic I go to has—”
“No! I can’t go—”
“Has therapists you can talk to,” she continues. “About things like gender, and sexuality, and what it means to be a woman like you.”
“I’m not a...”
“You’re not what? A woman? Do you really think of yourself as a some smelly boy?”
“I like the smell of some boys,” I say. A little joke to change the subject.
“Oh my god, you’re unbelievable!” Sally says, rolling her eyes.
“What do you mean?” I ask, fear rising, but this a sharper fear, a less existential fear.
“You were flat out denying you’re a woman fifteen seconds ago then you immediately pivot to saying you like how boys smell. All the while you’re sitting in a dress and boots, hotter than the sun, checking out every man who passes by. You’re as woman as me, if not more so!”
“I’m not checking out men!” I protest.
“Don’t deny it! I can see you. I’m doing it too. Everyone’s doing it. It’s one of life’s great pleasures.”
“But I’m really not,” I say.
“You were doing it last night!”
“What?!”
“Your eyes were sucking down Big-G!”
“I... Well...” She’s kind of right. I look away thinking of my earlier shower.
“You just did it again!”
“What?”
She emphasises with her head towards the man with a short and thick but maintained beard, lumberjack shirt, faded, flared, black jeans and black cowboy boots, but they don’t look like an affectation on him. He does look hot. Strong, I suppose. Masculine. And he has a package...
“You might as well be sitting in his lap!” Sally screeches.
“No. I just... I just looked him,” I say. “He was passing.”
“Yes! That’s what I’m saying. You’re checking out men. You’re doing it now. You’ve been doing it since you arrived. You were doing it last night!”
“Maybe... What if I’m gay?” I say.
“You’re sitting in a dress with your girlfriend. Your other girlfriend, Jess, fingered you to a screaming orgasm last night. But most of all, deep down, do you think of yourself as a gay man?”
“I need to use the toilet!”
“Then go,” Sally says, pouting, but also laughing.
“But which do I use? The men’s or the...” I ask.
“I’m not helping you with this one. If you’re a man, use the men’s. If you’re a woman, use the women’s.”
“OK, fine! At least tell me where they are?”
“Nope, not saying a word!” Sally says, folding her arms across her chest, turning away from me.
“I get the message,” I say, and stand, and walk to the bar at the front.
It’s sort of early and relatively peaceful but I still stand a little way away from the counter until the most stunningly attractive, roughly thirty-five year old woman I’ve ever seen sees me as she’s mixing a cocktail.
“Toilets?” I ask.
“At the back. To the left, hun,” she says, distractedly.
I try to focus on how hot she was, letting whichever toilet I use just come in a split second with the distraction, but as I’m walking towards the back, then down to the left I decide I’ll just use the men’s. It’s easier, it won’t offend anyone. It’s zero hassle. I won’t have to worry.
Getting to where the bartender said to go I look around and can see the women’s but can’t find the men’s. As I’m searching for them a woman opens the lady’s door from the inside and holds it back for me, with a smile. I guess I have no choice now.
I go in, do my business and quickly wash my hands. Thankfully no-one else is there when I’m in there so I get away safely.
I walk back to our table, feeling relieved for that to be over with, and actually relieved, wondering what me and Sally were talking about.
“At the back, to the left...” Sally says.
“What?”
“Is where the lady’s is. The men’s is at the back to the right.”
“I didn’t... The bartender sent me—”
“Yes, because she saw a woman. Because you’re a woman!”
“Why is everyone being so nice about this!?” I plead. “I’m a—”
“Not everyone will be, not everyone is.”
“But...”
“Why do you think I picked this bar?” Sally asks.
“Because it really is an LGBTQ+ bar. And I’m—”
“No. It’s not. It’s a modern bar. With accepting people, like people should be. Like normal people are. I feel safe. Me! I feel safe here, and you should too. That’s what matters.”
“What about me?” I ask. “What about me feeling safe in me?”
“Do you think I’d hurt you?” Sally asks.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Well now I actually am offended,” Sally says, with annoyance in her voice.
“Oh, stop that!” I say, sitting up in the couch. “I only met you last night. I have no reason to believe you’d hurt me, and you’ve given me no reason to think you would. You’ve not done.... But even then you might... Well... Even unintentionally, without knowing.” I pause, but Sally doesn’t seem to want to interrupt this time. “Even unintentionally I’d be the one hurt, and I don’t want that, for me. This is all new to me, and I’m figuring things out. And anyway, I could know someone else for two days, and judge them completely wrong, and actually be hurt, be really hurt, or worse. I need to keep myself safe. Safe with whatever this is.” As I stop I realise I’m sucking in breath.
“Oh, wow, that was good. Our first fight. How do you feel?” Sally asks.
“What?” I ask, still with my chest pounding.
“You’re right. You have to look after you. But you also have to trust people. And you’re right not to immediately trust, you’re right to keep yourself safe. I didn’t think of how vulnerable you must be feeling, and how new that must be to you when it’s a way I’ve felt most of my life. And it has been most of my life. The same for most women, which you are. I guess I’m a little jealous, and annoyed at you.”
“I do trust you,” I say. “And Jess. I’m scared too. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of what you go through. What women go through. What I might have to go through, if...”
“Please, please Toni! Look up a therapist! You’re going to have to learn all this so fast. Or you could end up learning a hard lesson. I’ll take you to my clinic if you want. They’ll be much better at this than me,” Sally says. “I can’t give you all the help you need. It wouldn’t be fair on you or me. I’m just doing my best, trying to be your friend.”
“You are my friend. Still? I hope?”
“That was a baby fight. But I want to avoid any more for tonight,” Sally says. “But it does bring up something Jess said to me.”
I freeze. Now is when the Gotcha! moment comes. I know it. They’ve all been talking about me. She’s told me to feel safe now she’s going to show me why I shouldn’t feel that way. Why I’m an idiot for doing this, whatever this is.
Sally opens up her purse and takes out a pen then grabs some napkins.
“Jess told me you asked her when she first thought you were a woman. Now that’s a boring question, because we’ve established you are a woman.”
“No, we ha—”
“For the purposes of this you’re my friend who’s a woman. I can’t help you with all the trans stuff because I’m not trans, and have never been friends with trans anyone, so most of the time I’m going to treat you like my female friend because that’s who you are to me.”
“I see some problems with this but I’ll go with it for a while,” I say.
“Détente, on it then. A temporary accord, for the sake of the children,” Sally says.
I nod.
“So I know you’re my friend and I’m going to be bold enough to say you thought of me as your friend pretty quickly. I want to know when you first thought that.”
“How do you mean?” I ask. I uncross my legs, lean in over the table, looking at the napkins and pen sitting between us, curious about this being a friend thing.
“You asked Jess when she first thought you were a woman. I want to know when you first thought of me as a friend; when you first started to feel the friendship I know we have for real, now.
“Especially given we’re fighting stupid fights already! I’ll answer the same question about you and we’ll both write down our answers and swap them.”
“Like that couple’s game-show?” I ask.
“Now I know you watch terrible TV,” Sally says. “But yes.”
“I thought you didn’t want another fight?” I say. “Because this seems like it’ll—”
“I bet it won’t,” Sally says.
“OK, fine,” I say and pick up a napkin, curious, if nervy.
Sally keeps her napkin hidden while scribbling then hands me the pen.
“Let me think,” I say.
“Take as long as you need,” Sally says.
I pause for a few seconds then write on the napkin, in big letters, ‘In Steve’s toilet.’ Going for broke.
“Swap,” Sally says. I fold the napkin over and she folds hers over and we exchange them. “OK, open.”
I open up the napkin but look away feeling sick. This is going to be the reveal of the trick.
Steve is going to jump out and laugh at me for being a small dicked man, or some kind of tranny. Then I’ll be stuck here, in a dress, with everyone knowing my shame. Everyone thinking me disgusting. Sally will have written, ‘I’m not your friend.’
“Go on, look,” Sally says and I see she’s already unfolded my napkin but her tone and face reveal nothing.
I force myself to look and see written down, ‘Toilet!!!’ with two hearts drawn after, along with some Xs and Os.
“See?” Sally says as I feel a weight lift off me, and actually quite loved. I think...
“Why?” I ask. “Why there?”
“No, you go first.”
I’m biting my lip, trying to think back to what I felt when I was in Steve’s. What I felt when I was in the toilet.
“I know it wasn’t when you looked in the mirror,” Sally says.
“No. It was after,” I say, feeling breathy.
“Same for me.”
“I was amazed at myself, in the mirror. I saw a person I’d like to be, I think. Well... And you and Jess shared in that with me. But it was more than that. It was support. And... I don’t know. I guess it just felt natural. I didn’t feel ashamed with you, or confused. I was really there with two friends. It was a real feeling. A realness I’ve never had before, not like that. And the moment I actually felt I was with friends was when I sat down to pee.”
“What? Why?” Sally asks. “Was it this big, I’m peeing with women thing?”
“No,” I say. “It has to do with why I was in a dress. Why do you think I was actually dressed like that?”
“It was the bet, I suppose,” Sally says. “And there was a part of you that secretly wanted it...”
“I think there was a part of me that wanted it, I guess. I mean, look at me,” I say. “But the most forward reason was, well, you saw how big, or really how small I am. You know, in the department...”
“Your little, itty bitty clitty?” Sally says.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Oh...” Sally says. And thinks. “Oh, OK! You agreed to wear a dress, and thong, and heels, so people wouldn’t see your thingy and judge you?”
“Yeah, as simple as that. And I didn’t care with you. It just felt fine. It didn’t matter. You weren’t going to laugh at me or think any worse or lesser of me, or hold it against me. I really didn’t care because I could trust you. You were my new friends. As I was peeing I really didn’t care if you saw me, or knew me. If you knew everything about me.”
“For fuck’s sake, Toni,” Sally says, shaking her head and giving me a slow blink.
“What?”
“You’re saying you’re now a woman — given everything that happened since the start of last night — because you wanted to avoid people thinking of you as less of a man.”
“Yeah. That’s it. You get it,” I say, and laugh.
“I need a drink after that one!” Sally says.
“Let me get them,” I say.
“No, it’s your birthday,” she says.
“It’s not my birthday!”
“You’re right, it could have been last night. You need to decide, though, while I get a very stiff, celebratory drink.”
While Sally is at the bar I’m mulling over in my head if I’m a woman because I’m not a man or if not being a man is enough to make you a woman.
Before I’ve even really formulated the question properly Sally is back down. “A shot and a beer,” she says.
“What shot?”
“Whiskey, of course. A warrior’s drink!” She holds her hand cradling the glasses out to me while she places the beers down, I take one, then we clink glasses and both knock them back.
Sitting down she asks, “So, which day is your birthday?”
“Technically it is today — I guess — but I decided I deserve a birthday weekend.”
“Why today? Why not last night?”
“Last night I would have done anything to keep all this going,” I say.
Sally nods. “I’m with you so far.”
“But today I’m realising it’s up to me to keep it going if I want, I realised I’m allowed to keep it going, because of you, and Jess. Last night was insanity. Today is reality. I can be me, sometimes. And I can maybe keep it going.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“It’s not all drinking in bars with your pals at the weekend,” I say. “And checking out men.”
“True,” Sally says.
“I have to go to work on Monday.”
“No work talk,” Sally says.
“Agreed,” I say, imagining myself being normal Tony on the bus to work on Monday morning. “Now you answer the question.”
“What?” Sally asks.
“When? Me. Friend. Toilet.”
“Oh. OK. Yeah, it was partly the mirror thing. That was when I knew you weren’t pretending at this. For real, I mean. There was no way you were playing a game, with that. Your reaction was all genuine.”
“It was,” I say.
“So then I knew you were a woman, which ties into the friend part. You’d just cum on my friend’s knee.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, but at least I don’t blush. I am cringing, though.
“No, Jess enjoyed it. She needed to get some, it’s been a while. And Jess didn’t care. She did enjoy it. Which made me happy. And because you made my friend happy, making me happy, you became my friend. It was just all around happy vibes. It was natural, and chill and there was no edge to it. It was just friends, together. Friends doing crazy bitch stuff.
“Jess trusted you — trusted you like I’ve never, ever seen her trust someone — so I trusted you and we were just being ourselves with no worries. Like, absolutely no worries at all!”
“So it’s literally because I got Jess off?”
“Well, she didn’t get off, really, but she had fun. So I suppose you could say you did, sort of?”
“Who knew the secret to making women your friend was getting them off?” I say, feigning shock.
“That’ll rock the world if people find out!”
“Is that how Jess made you her friend?” I ask. “When she...” I make the face I vaguely remember making when Jess made me cum. Then I cringe again picturing what I look like to everyone in the bar.
“Jess has never gotten me off,” Sally says, looking indignant.
“But you said—”
“We say lots of things. The one about bisexual Jess getting her straight friend off is saved for big occasions.”
“I guess I should feel privileged.”
“We’re retiring it now. For marriages, births and deaths, only. And I hope there’s none of them for a long time.”
“It was a birth last night.”
“Oh, that’s a good bit to add to the story,” Sally says. “You’re being promoted to the role of straight friend who the lesbian friend got off, and if we told people it was a one off birthday treat it might add something. I don’t know, we’ll have to workshop it. Keep an eye out for an opportunity.”
“I wonder if I am straight?” I ask, thinking out loud.
“Well you definitely like men,” Sally says.
“No, I mean if I’m straight instead of bi. I can’t be a lesbian if I’m... Well... The thoughts I’m having, I guess.”
“No...” Sally says. “Probably not with you screaming Big-G's name. And I believe Little whore, or something like that.”
“What is Big-G’s deal?” I ask.
“He’s one of the nicest, most decent men you’ll ever meet,” Sally says, and as she says it she looks kind of calm. Almost like she should be backed by a meadow full of wildflowers and lambs. “Go get us another round of shots and I’ll tell you what I know about The G.”
“Fair deal,” I say and walk to the bar, thinking of Big-G.
At the counter there’s a bartender in black pants, white shirt and black tie, with little black waiter’s apron tied around his waist already waiting to take an order as I get there, “Two shots of whiskey, please,” I say.
“I think I need to see some ID,” he says with a smile.
“Oh. OK,” I say. I didn’t think of this, but besides anything else my voice gives me away. Obviously. “Just a second...” I say, fidgeting with my purse.
“I’ve got all day,” he says, and I look at him and smile. He continues to smile at me, looking me up and down, and I feel kind of weird. Not nice at all. I dismiss it. I’m just unable to get my damn purse open!
“Tom!” a stern voice says, causing me to twist my head around.
“Yeah?” the bartender serving me says.
“They need you in the back,” the stunning looking blonde woman from earlier says.
She’s wearing tailored black slacks, a tailored white blouse, opened down a little, and has a simple, silver stud in her nose. Earlier I thought she was one of the hottest women I’d ever seen but now she looks like one of the most formidable.
“I’m just checking this—” the bartender begins.
“Now, please,” the woman interrupts. “I’ll take this order.”
I’ve got my ID out as she stands next to him, seemingly moving him back and away with sheer force of presence. I hold out my passport card, “It really is me,” I say.
“I’ve been running bars long enough to know you’re old enough, just about,” she says, still looking quite stern. “Two shots?”
“Whiskeys. Please,” I say, afraid I’ve annoyed her.
She goes to shelves and pours, walks back, and brings the shots and two napkins down before me all in a smooth motion. “Sorry about that. We have some new staff this week and now is the only chance we’ll get to show them the keg room before it gets busy.”
“Of course, thanks,” I say, but I’m actually quite unsure. “How much?” I really shouldn’t stiff this woman on a tip lest she hate me more.
“They’re already on your new friend’s tab,” the woman says.
I mutter, “Christ, Sally,” under my breath and put my ID away.
Carrying the shots back to the table I wonder how the woman knew I was Sally’s new friend.
“Sorry,” I say to Sally, setting the whiskeys down. “She’d already put them on your tab before I could pay. I’ll settle up with you straight.”
“Not tonight you won’t! It’s your birthday weekend. I’m buying. And you’re going to have a lot of expenses very soon so don’t do anything stupid like buying a bottle of champagne on the sly to celebrate.”
“Oh yeah, expenses. Purchases! You were going to explain makeup to me, or at least my beardy lip,” I say rubbing it, wishing I hadn’t.
Sally spends the next ten minutes on various makeup products and basics to me. I’ve actually heard most of this before I just hadn’t thought about it. There’s still a few nuggets in there, though.
Finally, she inhales deeply and says, “But like I’ve said about ten times already it’s all on youtube and you’ll just have to put in the practice. You’ll get there. You’re already my gorgeous friend Toni. You’ll be living your fullest, best life soon enough!”
Thoughts of everything I’m going to need — even just in makeup alone — are weighing my brain down. And how to figure it all out. How do I do all this!? I’m twenty-six! I have a job, I have responsibilities. It’s not like I have time after school to play around with practising simple, basic living as a girl.
“This is going to be expensive,” I say. “Especially as I have no clue what suits me.”
“It will be so put off buying anything until you absolutely have to. Once you start buying there’s no going back. Get as many samples as you can. Go in with a suitcase, find a friendly cosmetologist, ask them to load you up.”
“Where do I go for these?” I ask.
“Some department stores are fancy, therefore expensive, so a pharmacy will be better. The literal store brands and brands you see advertised to teenagers won’t really do testers so you’ll have to go a little upmarket, but not too much. The big pharmacies will have somewhat affordable stuff and enough samples you could fill a truck with them. You know the giant one on Ross?”
“Yeah, they have a big enough branch near me. But I won’t be buying anything, though. You just said. Why would they give me loads of samples?”
Sally looks struck by something. She rubs the side of her nose as if it’s a compulsion and her eyes are wide as though she’s having flashbacks to Vietnam. She begins to speak as though she’s far way. “The workers there are strange, strange women,” she says. “Some are total bitches, some are the nicest people you’ll meet. If one is nice, for whatever reason, they woke up on the right side of bed, sucked enough blood, you literally cannot know or predict until you’ve built a relationship with them... But if she’s the right one, in the right mood, she knows if you get hooked on their particular brand of juice you will be buying that brand for the rest of your life. That company will make back from you what they give out in samples, and this is no exaggeration, literally thousands of times the cost with what you eventually spend in total.”
“You’re making this sound like some big screen fantasy film where evil is women’s cosmetics.”
“That’s a good way to put it,” Sally nods, and rubs her jaw, still in ‘Nam. “Maybe you’ve been exposed to some of it with the latent woman in you but now you’re part of the machine. Women are a goldmine for businesses. They prey on us. And we enjoy it. You’re two days into this and already asking about makeup.”
“I suppose. And I need clothes. Jesus!” I say, and rub my knee. “At first I thought this would be terrifying. Then I thought there might be some fun parts. Now I’m thinking I’m going to be destitute.”
“Don’t forget the waxing. And threading. Nails. Your hair. Razors. Perfume. Shampoos, soaps, cleansers, moisturisers, and on and on. It’s tough being as hot we are.
“I think you end up taking the same medication as me, which is another cost. But you don’t have to worry about hygiene products, which is a definite saving, unless you have a night with Jess again.”
I laugh at that, then blush, ignoring the medication part.
Sally smiles a sweet smile and tilts her head. “Awww! That was your first giggle. You’re so cute!” she says, like she’s looking at a puppy, but she’s still kind of distant.
“Please! I’ve definitely giggled before. That certainly wasn’t my first.”
“Don’t take this one from me, bitch!” Sally says, finally breaking out of her war PTSD.
And we both laugh.
And this feels totally normally.
If you'd like to support me by donating to the charities I support, or if you'd like to be extremely generous and splash out on something for me, you can read about the charities I like, and my wishlist, on my About page.
If you'd like to offer feedback or kind words — or just give a big Thumbs Up! — you can contact me on Bluesky at Swolle