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Becoming Zandra - Intro
🕑 Added 2022-09-30 13:42:16 +0000 UTCALL STORY LIST | PARTS - PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7
Autor - N. Crescent
Note - This story is being posted with the author's permission. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means.
About Author - Hi. I spent half my life as a boy as described in my autobiography, ‘A Strange Life’. A short while ago someone who read it said ‘What was so strange about that?’ Well, he is a ‘straight’ man, very content in his skin, and seems to have no conception of the torment suffered by transsexuals, denied the right to react and act in what seems an alien world. Unfortunately, I was born at a time when changing sex was unknown.
Yes, people cross-dressed and even lived their lives as the opposite of their natal sex, but it was done surreptitiously and men were liable to arrest, conviction, and imprisonment for ‘impersonating women.’ Not so for women dressing as men.
The Health Service sought to cure me, with offers to put me to sleep for months to see if I would wake up ‘right’, their exact words, or give me ‘aversion therapy’ which included electric shocks and ridiculously, suggested amateur dramatics as though dressing up was all I sought. None of their treatments were effective, so in the early 1970s, the World’s medical profession decided the only answer is to change the body to match the mind and character. Some churches do not recognize sex change, yet they have no alternative therapy to offer, but then religious leaders are notorious for arriving at wrong conclusions. This novel is fiction and the characters do not represent any known real persons, unfortunately!
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I don’t know where to begin really. Oh yes they always say, the place to start is at the beginning, but for me, was it my birth, my schooling, or the death of my parents? Was it finding out that dad had been a fraudster, playing the millionaire with other peoples’ money?
I don’t know. There are so many things I don’t know, why for example, could I not cope after my parents’ tragic and early death, their car found at the bottom of a ravine on a little used Alpine pass? Why were they on that route? Was it suicide and was it a pact or did mum have no choice?
Had my father, as usual, made the decision and thereby murdered my mum? The newspapers and TV had found a new story to push, day after day, my father’s past, the discovery that he was bankrupt in all but name. The vision in my mind of the car going over the precipice and my mother’s horrified, screaming face haunted me in my dreams and yes, in my days too. This image I fear will shadow me all my life.
I have mixed thoughts. Father just loved driving and he liked wild places. He had no fear of heights and he rather liked a dare. Mother hated heights, she wasn’t that keen on wild places either. Mum was a town girl, cathedrals; old houses; museums and art galleries; malls; were her idea of a successful touring holiday. How and why had the car gone over the edge?
Dad was a good driver, skilled. He had in his younger days been a rally driver for one of the lesser teams. He had driven in the Welsh Rally and the Monte Carlo, Swedish, and even the East African until he met mum and she became pregnant. There could really only be one answer to why the car had left the road. He loved cars but he was not a good businessman. He had put his money into a car dealership. When he died, the business folded. The accountants found the books were fictitious and he actually owed over a million personally and much more in the business. There had been no figure set on that yet; accountants are still trying to calculate the total.
The manufacturer he had represented took everything, all the business premises, the family home, and the house I occupied while at Uni. I have left a penniless orphan. When it happened I’d been at university just over a year, living in the house provided by my father, with three other guys. It was dad’s name on the deeds, so it too was taken. My housemates found other houses. I had a breakdown. I spent three months under medication with an aunt, my mum’s older sister. She was kind but eccentric but found me, in my depressed state, difficult.
I was, I mean I could not help it, but a nineteen-year-old man crying, is not a pretty sight and after a time, who would want to throw their arms around me because that human touch actually did not comfort me, so what would be the point. When I overheard aunt Ellen and uncle Richard discussing me and sighing, I knew I had to go. An old school friend who went up to university with me had phoned regularly to see how I was.
She, Gemma was in a rented house with two other girls. We had been good pals at school, with no romance, just like minds who helped each other out in our studies. She was a cut above, and even though I was what was referred to as an oddball, queer, sissy, Gem stood by me. I did not identify with the boys. We were both known as swats, teachers’ pets at school. We were not popular in a school not known for its academic successes.
Since the breakdown, Gemma had phoned at least once a week. Last week she told me they had a small fourth bedroom and I was welcome to it until I could find somewhere else. In desperation, I rang her and she made the offer once more. ‘Thanks, Gemma. Really, I mean I’m not good company. Do you want to run that by your housemates first?’
‘So you are interested. Well, that is a good sign. I have mentioned you Alex, and we sort of discussed it, but yeah, I’ll talk to them tonight, and get a definite yea or nay, phone you tomorrow. You are not going to do anything stupid, are you? You’re not; I hate even saying the word, suicidal? I don’t think we could cope with that.’ ‘No, I realize that this is a stage in my life and I have to get over it. I want to get my degree, because now I know I haven’t dad’s money to fall back on, I have to be a success. In any case, I want to be a designer and that means finishing my course.
As it is, I think I may have to do another year to catch up. It will be good to be with people my own age.’ ‘Well, at least you are feeling more positive. It is no good dwelling on tragedy, it only damages you. We are all sympathetic Alex but we will try to get you out of your pit of despond, not pamper and pander.’ ‘I think that is what I need, some normality.’ ‘Good! And you will have to pay rent, I mean not straight away, but you can’t live here for free Alexander, it wouldn’t be fair to my mates.
We all pay into a budget too, for food etcetera.’ ‘Of course, I’ll have to get a job.’ ‘That might be difficult. I’ll keep my ears and eyes open for an opportunity. One more thing and something we have never really discussed, we always danced around the subject. If you are gay, then we would not want a series of gay lovers coming and going. Are you?’
‘No, I’m not, not as far as I know. I like girls, I like their company. I don’t think I even understand boys.’ ‘OK. I’ll phone you as soon as I have had a chat with Sue and Jacquie.’
Gemma didn’t phone the next day and I fretted. I’d taken a long walk in the afternoon through the woods and down to the river Mole. From there I made my way up a beech tree-covered slope where no one seemed to go. I lowered my backpack to the leaf-strewn floor in a hollow. I took off my sweater and tea shirt, then trousers and socks, until I was just in my underwear, suspender belt, stockings, pants, bra, and a slip. I danced like a ballerina, bare feet in the mostly dry rustling leaves, the wind blowing in my long hair. Blonde tresses floated across my face as I pirouetted.
For a time I just lay in a dry leafy hollow, listening to the wind in the trees and the sounds of the forest, the coo of wood pigeons and a blackbird singing brightly. I lay on my back in my sweet sheltered hollow, looking up through the bare winter branches and watching clouds scudding across the sky. I was hyper-alert to any foreign sounds that might spell discovery or danger. Would I ever be happy I wondered? I never had been, not really, there just seemed to be something lacking in me, apart from this, my obsession. I did not respect myself.
I knew that cross-dressing went on, but it was not a label I wished applied to me. There were other labels too, pervert, failure, sissy, words that my father had used in his tirades when I failed to please. I found relationships difficult, I had been as a child, really shy, and I mean blushing shy, not good in a boy. I was also an only child, only and lonely, living in a converted barn about a mile from the village. I had always wanted to be a girl, not something my father would have understood.
I think mum knew but tried to ignore it, to keep, as she saw it, the peace within our small family. Frightened of discovery, I dressed, wearing my boy things over the top. I walked mobile in my hand, waiting for a call from Gemma and it did not come. When I returned I asked my aunt whether there had been a phone call, but no luck there either. I was disappointed and I thought the worst. Gemma’s pals had said no, I surmised, and she didn’t want to tell me the bad news. I went to bed early. I took a needle and flamed it with my gas lighter.
I pushed it through my penile skin and cried. I took one of the sleeping pills I had been prescribed. I awoke to wind lashing the windowpane, actually drumming on it, driving in upon that side of the house, the strands of Virginia creeper smacking the pane. I got up and showered in the family bathroom that was used solely by me as Aunt and Uncle had their en suite. I decided to shave, something I did only rarely because my facial hair grew slowly still and was quite fine and sparse.
I dressed and went down for breakfast. Aunt made me porridge and while I ate that, she boiled two eggs served with soldiers. ‘How are things today Alex. You seem more down after your walk yesterday.’ ‘I’m waiting for a call from my friend Gemma, but she hasn’t phoned. I’m a bit disappointed.’ Of course, it wasn’t only that, I was disappointed with myself that I had indulged in my obsession and then punished myself. I knew because I was quite sane although troubled, that unless the pressure was removed, I would self-destruct. I hoped that living with a household of girls would help.
Certainly, the constrictions of my own house with three male lodgers had not been helpful, in fact, it had been hateful. Living with Aunt and Uncle was equally difficult. ‘Perhaps she has been busy or hasn’t had an opportunity. Is it important to you?’ ‘Oh, it’s just the chance of a room. If I get a room I can get back to my studies and I think if I do that, I will be able to shake off my depression. I hate being like this Aunt Ellen. I’m sorry I have been a burden, a wet blanket on the house.’
‘Well it has not been easy, but it has been understandable. Bad enough for me losing my sister, but for you to lose both parents, home, and a roof over your head. It’s been an awful time for you. Is there news of your dog and cat?’ ‘Mum’s cleaner kept feeding them for a week and then they were sent to an animal shelter. They have been rehomed.’ ‘Oh dear, you were so fond. So you feel well enough to get back to college?’
‘Yes, I think I need hard work, bury myself in it with some young people around me. I can’t thank you enough for having me, both of you.’ ‘The least we could do and don’t think you have to rush away but I think you are right, you need work and the company of young friends. You know Alexander, hard work is the best medicine for depression. This Gemma, is she a close friend?’ ‘Not like I think you mean. We were at school together and stuck together in the face of the philistines, the idiots who thought school was for mucking about.’ ‘Well, I have a job for you today Alex, something to occupy you. I want you to mow both lawns, they have grown in this mild weather.
You know how to use the mower?’ ‘Oh, I can do that OK.’ That occupied most of the morning. Their back lawn was huge, with about three tennis courts with ornamental trees set in neat circles. The mower was an old twenty-four-inch Webb, but it cut well. The main problem was emptying the box. Two runs up and down and it was full, I then needed to empty it on the heap another fifty meters at the bottom of the garden. I also had to do all the edging and leave it tidy. I kept my phone in my pocket, but there was no call. I debated calling Gemma but resisted the urge.
I knew if she had news she would phone. In the afternoon I clipped part of the large yew hedge that bordered the neighbors. More clearing up. By five I was quite exhausted but it had been good to be occupied. I walked across the mown lawn and felt pride in the accomplishment. Just as we sat down to dinner my phone started buzzing and jumping. I excused myself and went into the hall. ‘Alex? Gemma. OK, Alex, you can have the room. It is only small, you have a bed in there and a desk to work at and there is a sort of built-in tallboy, but that is about all.
We all use it but we can get our stuff out. There are rules. The rent, we thought £40 a week? Then this is a girl’s house, so respect our privacy and if we occasionally appear half dressed, try not to leer. You have to be tidy. You have to be clean and you share the chores. I don’t think you are a smelly boy but you have to get with the program and be as clean as us.’ ‘No problem Gemma. You know that.’ ‘Yes I do, but I just had to make the point.
The girls are here now with me, listening on speaker, and they want to be sure you know the ground rules. So you promise?’ ‘I’ll obey the rules. I just can’t thank you enough, all of you. When can I come?’ ‘It’s Wednesday. Say Friday, gives us time to clear the room and that gives us all four the weekend to get used to each other.’ ‘Friday then, Gemma thanks and Sue and Jacquie too, thank you. Oh, what time?’ ‘Sue and I work Friday afternoon at Pizza Hut, but Miss Moneybags will be here. Jacquie will let you in.’ A shout of ‘Hi I’ll be here,’ came over the phone distantly. It was a musical voice.
I told Aunt Ellen and Uncle Richard the news. ‘Well if you are ready dear, I’m sure it’s the right thing to do but keep in touch, we want to know you are well and coping.’ Friday, I packed my old BMW Mini, my last possession from mum and dad’s time, and set off for University. Jacquie met me as arranged. I knew her and Sue but only slightly through my contacts with Gemma. She was an attractive girl, slightly Italian looking, with dark hair, flowing, looking like polished mahogany, with some lighter strands of chestnut in it. Her eyes were blue though, quite piercing.
I had an instant liking for her. She was intriguing. My immediate impression was of a bird, her fine features and quick movements gave that impression, though she was not beaky. It was hard to explain the bird thing. ‘Hi I’m Jacquie Coles, you remember we met? OK, Alex, I’ll give you a hand with your stuff.’ ‘I can manage thanks, about three trips should do it.’ She looked at me quizzically. ‘No, I’m offering. This house is a team.
Just because you are a boy, don’t think you are on your own. One family. You are now an honorary girl. I’ll take the suitcase and leave it outside your room so you know which it is, you can bring another armful.’ She departed, lugging the suitcase across the pavement and through the front door. I grabbed a pile of bedding and followed her.
When I reached the stairs she was just coming down. ‘Here, I’ll take those you go back to the car and prepare the next load.’ Soon everything was in and my little car was locked up safely. ‘The bed is OK but you may want to get another from the second-hand place down the street sometime. Here, I’ll help make it up.’ She stood close to me, something she did, I mean I was used to keeping people at arms reach, she was in my space and I caught her perfume in my nostrils.
I breathed it in. I would have to get some. We made the bed and I put my few clothes in the wardrobe, a sort of tallboy with drawers and a section to hang as well. I surreptitiously put my few girlie things in a drawer and covered them with PJs. Jacquie sat on my newly made bed and watched, chatting about her drama course. She was full of it for she had just done a spot in an advert for national TV. ‘Wow Jacquie, that’s good. Will that get you noticed?’ ‘My agent says so.’ ‘You have an agent already?’ ‘You don’t get anywhere without one. You are doing fashion, surely that is much the same?’ ‘A bit different. I have to catch the eye of someone at the degree show.
I am selling my creations more than myself.’ ‘Oh, I ‘spouse. Tea? We have some hot cross buns, would you like one? Something to keep us going until we have dinner. We thought we would all have dinner together tonight to celebrate your arrival.’ ‘Tea and a bun would be good, thank you. You are very kind.’ Even with this exchange, I felt my cheeks redden.
‘You are not going to cry, are you? If you do, I’ll give you a good slap. Hey, that’s better a small smile. Come on, toasted bun, inside and out? How do you like it?’ ‘That’s fine toasted in and out. Thank you, you are so welcoming.’ ‘And why wouldn’t I be. As far as I am concerned you are not on trial here, you are a housemate and to a certain extent, we look after each other.
When one is down we try to bring them back up. ‘So this is the sitting room. The couch is quite comfy. Sue likes that chair opposite the telly, complains she gets a crick if she sits elsewhere. I don’t believe her but it doesn’t matter to me. Gemma usually has the other easy chair as she doesn’t like TV that much, she prefers to read. So it is you and I on the sofa. It’s cold now after having the door open. I’ll put the gas fire on for a little while.
We’ll be nice and cozy.’ She made tea in an old ultramarine blue pot and rattled mugs covered in cats onto a tray. I washed my hands and looked after toasting the teacakes. I caught her smiling as if there was a private joke. ‘Sorry, did I do something wrong?’ ‘No, you did something right. Are you sure you are a boy?’ ‘Last time I looked. Why?’ ‘You washed your hands. And your hair, it’s way down your back. Are most on your course a little weird?’
‘I‘m weird? Oh! Fashion design? I suppose we are different, encouraged to be different and creative, and depart from the norm. We have to think out of the box, blue sky all those clichés. While I guess you have to be mostly conforming, acting normal. Some of us have tattoos and piercings, and I have long hair. I don’t like marking my body. Now I suppose you are going to say, ah, that explains it and you suspect I am gay.’
‘Oh, are you?’ ‘No, but people assume anyone in fashion is.’ ‘So have you a girlfriend now?’ ‘No.’ I blushed. Damn. She was so direct. ‘Have you ever had one?’ ‘No, not really.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Never met anyone special.’ ‘How about me? Do you fancy me?’ ‘Are you always like this?
Are you looking for a compliment or what?’ She laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking at me from the side of her eyes. She was so vivacious, and lively, with the face of a beautiful animal or bird, large blue eyes, and long thick dark lashes and she knew how to use these assets.
Some girls I had observed, use their eyes like men, turning their heads to see you, some, sexier girls, swivel their eyes, looking from below lashes or from the side of their eyes. I didn’t know whether this was just her nature or whether she was being provocative, making a pass.
