Men of the Skull Chapter 141 (out of order): Laying Out

I saw a facialbook post that reminded me of this chapter, which I hadn't yet posted.  Deb lived across the hall from me in Armenara Plaza during summer 1988.  In an earlier chapter (136) I described her:

"She wore a white one piece bathing suit and mirrored sunglasses as she relaxed on the lounge chair on the balcony reading a book.  She had a gorgeous body: huge breasts, perfect legs, and fiery red hair.  She was an absolute knockout- I’d never seen anyone like her in my life.  A woman among girls.  And she didn’t notice me- but why would she?  She was reading a book. [cut] Debbie was maybe five seven.  She had a round Irish face with prominent apple cheeks speckled with freckles.  She had almond shaped hazel eyes and a wide full mouth.  Her red hair touched the bottom of her shoulder blades and framed everything beautifully. [cut] I felt comfortable around Debbie.  As she was so far out of my league, I didn’t feel any pressure to impress her, and she didn’t have that snobby “hot girl attitude” that all the sorority girls had." 

The strange bit is that we felt comfortable around each other- maybe because I wasn't (consciously) hitting on her, and respected her intelligence.  Or maybe she, like so many other women, sensed that I was different (due to my "dark secret": transgender.)  In any case, this, like every other chapter was written before my "reawakening" in 2008, so it has a distinctly male point of view.  I present it here, as written.  I'll comment here and there, and those comments will be in italics.  

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Chapter 2.141: Laying Out

Thursday, May 26, 1988 U.S. breaks off talks with Noriega

            I was reading my homework when I heard a knock at the door.  I opened it to see Deb.  She was wearing her white swimsuit with a pale green towel wrapped around her hips and white Vuarnet sunglasses pushed atop her red hair.  She was so fucking hot!

            Me?  I still hadn’t showered and I was a wreck.  I was hungover.  Thanks George!

            “Hi Lance!  I’m going over to the HUB lawn!  Wanna come?”

            That was a loaded question!  (And she knew it.)

            “Sure!  Just let me get a quick shower…”

            “Just throw on a hat and grab a towel,” she said.

            So off we went to the HUB lawn.  I was going to hang out (and be seen) with a goddess!

          

HUB Lawn, May 1987.  it looked like this on the day off this chapter as well.

            The HUB lawn wasn’t too crowded so we found a decent spot away from the hacky-sack players and the Frisbee tossers.  Every guy on the lawn stopped to watch Deb settle down onto her towel.  She was graceful as she lay down on her back.  I clunked down like a puppet with cut strings.

            Someone nearby had a radio just to add to the atmosphere.

She's out of my league
Just a fool to believe
I have anything she needs
She's like the wind

            Thanks Patrick.  Like I didn’t already know.  (I was so fucking sick of Dirty Dancing.)

Anyway, we lay there talking about classes and stuff.  I was frying because I didn’t put on any suntan lotion.  I was ghostly pale so it was OK by me.

Even then, I burned instead of tanned.  This has become worse with time, as I now burn seriously hardcore in the sun.  I blame my northern European ancestry. 

            Deb rolled over to her stomach. 

            “Can you put some lotion on my back please?” she asked.

            “I guess” I said.

            Every guy on the HUB lawn wanted to be me at that moment.

            I rubbed it on slowly and firmly (why not?)  I had a perfect view of her incredible ass, and I was in no hurry.

            “Mmmm your girlfriend must love you!”  Deb said.

            “Don’t have one.  The last one cheated and everything went to hell.”

            “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to bring up a touchy subject,” she said.

            “No apology necessary.  Speaking of which, when do I get to meet your football player?”

            She smirked.  “Between classes and the weight room, I hardly see him.  Someday, I’m sure.”

            “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

            “It is what it is” she said, sounding very tired.  “So aside from suntan lotion backrubs, what other skills do you have to offer a girl?”

            “Well, I’m a trained bartender, I know how to ballroom dance, I can make a mean steak, and other things I’m not telling a football player’s girlfriend.”

            She laughed and smirked.  “Are you afraid you won’t measure up?” she said.

            I laughed.  “I’m not saying a word!”

            How could skinny little me compete with a varsity football player?  Wasn't happening and I knew it.  Yes, I know who he was (is) but am not saying.  

            Deb looked back at my towel, where I had the book I was reading for homework.

            “What are you reading?”  She asked as I continued massaging lotion onto her back.          

“Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin.  I’m reading it for my Victorian Lit class,” I said.

“Oh!  I read that!  What do you think of it?”  She said, almost purring.

I’ll spare you the rather long discussion about literature.  I don’t want to put you to sleep.  Speaking of sleep, my massage extended to her arms, legs, shoulders, neck, anywhere that wasn’t covered by bathing suit.  Part of me figured that this was going to be one of the highlights of my life, so I took it slow and enjoyed it.  The net result was that I was putting her to sleep.  She rolled over and asked me to do the front of her legs as well.  I noticed that by this time there were many other blankets with lots of guys nearby. 

Deb’s white bathing suit was a one-piece, and while it had no back, it covered the whole front.  I guess she needed that for support.  In any case, no tummy rubs.

After a minute or so, she said “So you make a mean steak?”

“Absolutely.  And I know which wines to select for it.”

Deb propped herself up on her elbows.  “I have a couple of good steaks.  Do you want to work your ‘magic’ on them?”

“When were you thinking?”

“Well, tonight.  I’d say you’ve had enough sun, Lobster-boy.  I supply the steaks and you show me what you can do.”

“Are you sure your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“He won’t know or care.  He already has plans for tonight.  So what do you say?”

I looked at her, but couldn’t see her eyes through the dark lenses of the Vuarnets. 

“Tonight!  Sure!  I can do that!”  I said, maybe a bit too enthusiastically.

“Great!” she said, laughing a little.  “Now lay on your stomach.”

“Why?”  I said.

“I’m going to rub some of this on you before you catch sun poisoning, you pale boy!”  Deb said.

Wow!  EVERY guy on the HUB lawn wanted to be me at that point.  I couldn’t believe my luck!

 

I spent the rest of my day cleaning the place, preparing the steaks, then showering in cold water as I had burned myself nicely in the few hours we were on the lawn. 

Deb knocked on my door at seven as agreed.  She wore a loose white top over a tight pale orange tank top and white shorts, none of which did anything to hide her body one bit.  Her hair was down and shone in the late afternoon light.  She was barefoot. 

I seated her at my table, decorated pitifully with the one candle I could buy and dishes that didn’t match.  I’d opened the merlot earlier (I’d bought it to share with Judy someday), so I poured that immediately.  At least the wine glasses matched.  I then served the steak (which I cooked Medium with Cajun spices) with canned green beans and canned potatoes.  If she was repulsed by the set-up, she didn’t let on.

Looking back, the table set really was pathetic.  Also, setting for two used every plate in the place.  I was embarrassed then and now.  Like I have much better these days.  Sigh.

After serving it all (and getting glasses of water in glasses that also didn’t match), I sat and offered a toast. 

“To new friends” I said raising my glass.

“To good friends” Debbie said raising hers.

Heaven.

 

And the steaks fucking ruled.

            Deb and I remained friends until graduation, then lost touch.  I even brought her to my homecoming formal that fall, but that's another chapter.  She went on to a great career, but for privacy sake I won't say doing what or where.

Next Chapter

Last Chapter 

First Chapter

Today

In my 55 years, I have been through heartbreak and loss after loss after loss loss nothing but loss... but I can say without reservation that today was the worst day of my life.

Mum

Helen Kandler died on January 13, 2022 at 8:35 am. (Today as I type this bit.) She was 82, and had suffered with Alzheimer's/ dementia. She was my mother.

Mum was born in Ayr, Scotland in October 1939. She once told me that one her earliest memories was her mother hiding with her under a desk as the Germans bombed the munitions plant nearby. She never liked sirens or loud noises her whole life. Mum was the middle child of three, and she also had a half-brother. Her father was Irish, and her mum was Scottish- Clan Macintosh, of which she was very proud, and passed that pride to me. Of her family, only her older brother survives her.

Mum in Scotland, 1972

She met my father some time in the early 60s while dad was stationed in Germany. They married in January 1964, and were married for almost 58 years. As a gift to dad for their 25th wedding anniversary, mum became a citizen of the US. I helped her study the voluminous amount that she needed to master to pass a citizenship test. (A test I think few in the GQP could pass.) She last saw her native soil in 1972, when she brought my brother and I over to meet our grandparents.  

Mum is survived by my dad, my brother and his wife, me and my Wife, and 2 grandchildren.  

All of those are the facts.  And the fact is I said my goodbye to her a couple of months ago while she was still cognizant.  

Right now, I feel numb.  I should feel more- after all, she was my mother.  She accepted me as Sophie.

When I dressed as a teen, there was only one thing of mums that I would wear- a gold necklace with a heart charm, inside of which is a picture of grandmum and a tiny seed: thistle from Scotland.  I wore it often.  When I stopped dressing in 1983, was the last time I wore it.

The Locket

My father told me to help myself to her jewelry.  Mum wore a lot of costume jewelry, but she had some real stuff as well.  She favored opals, rubies, and diamonds.  I immediately decided that I must only take half of the good stuff, as it wouldn’t be fair to my brother’s wife (or their daughter) for me to take it all.  It’s strange, I felt almost guided to check little containers away from the jewel boxes- tiny boxes and decorative jars (mum had a LOT of them), and that’s where I found her diamond rings- all gifts from my dad.  

While I was looking, dad entered the room, and I asked him if her could identify her engagement ring.  He quickly pointed one out- and I kept it.  Someday, I will give it to my daughter for her wedding (assuming I’m around.)  Then again, all of what I took will someday be hers.  

Mum meeting her daughter for the first time: Feb 2014.

I thought I’d finished, when I felt the urge to check under one of the mahogany jewel boxes (gifts from her father).  There I found two bags, one a pink silk bag and the other blue and velvet like.  In the pink one, I found a string of tiny pearls.  In the blue one was the gold heart locket.  I kept both.  I left half of the valuable items for my brother's wife, as it wouldn't be fair if I took them all.  After all, they have a daughter as well, and she deserves some of her grandmother's legacy.

Believe what you will, but I think mum wanted me to find these items and keep them.  That's not all.  Earlier in the day, my dad and older brother were both outside, leaving me alone in the house.  I decided to speak to her, and told her that I'd try to make her proud.  I then went into a room that used to be where her massage business was conducted, now empty.  The room smelled like her.  She hadn't been in it since at least July, but it smelled like her.  I felt she was there.  A few other times during the day, I felt her presence as well.  Dad's dog also saw her.  He'd look at parts of a room where no one was standing and wag his tail.  She was there- I know it.  

The day ended with a grueling five hour drive back to State College.  During that time, mum was cremated.  I was tired, and my back hurt.

Now her pain is over.  My dad is alone in the house he shared with her.  I'm back in State College while the snow falls outside.  I have homework I should be doing.  The world continues going as it will after I'm gone as well.  I've received many kind messages over the past days from friends and well wishers, and I appreciate them all.  

I'm relieved in a way.  I'd waited for months for the phone call I received Thursday, and now it's done.  Mum was stubborn to the end, and, in the end, she died alone, as no one was in the room.  That was her way when I think about it- she didn't want a big fuss.  

Dad will get her ashes tomorrow.  They will be divided in two boxes: 2/3 and 1/3.  I will take the 1/3 and send it over to my cousin in Scotland.  There, my Uncle will scatter them on the same ground with her parents and sister.  At least part of her will be home.  

Bonk Bonk On the Head

Well, up until an hour ago (4 PM), I was good. After going to buy groceries with eBay money, I opened the trunk to carry bags into the apartment. I heard a metallic POP! The load bearing strut holding up my trunk hatch snapped while was under it. Hard hit to the back of my head, knocking me forward.

As I was standing on ice, I lost my footing and collapsed into the trunk on top of the groceries, and the trunk then hit the back of my legs. Gravity at work.

What it's supposed to look like

I saw stars and tweeting birds (ready when you are, Raoul!). Now I have a nasty headache and a trunk that's hard to open and won't stay open.  

I took Aleve. If I start feeling dizzy or sick, I'll go to the emergency room.

I'll bet it looked funny as hell. At least I didn't crush the bread.

Ouch!

Broken

I stayed awake and sitting up, keeping busy.  Now it's later in the evening.  I'm going to take another Aleve along with my evening meds.

When I sell more on eBay, I'll buy a new strut and have a garage put it on for me, as I'm hopeless with car repairs (I was absent from guy school the day they covered that topic.)

I hope it's not a concussion, but I'll find out by morning I guess.

Christmas Night '21

So Christmas is over, thank God.  This tale begins on my last day of work at the LGBT Center for the semester.  As a thank you for volunteering to speak to classes, they gave me a $20 Starbucks gift card.  I don't drink coffee.  All of us working there got a small bag full of stickers and glitter pens and such.  A couple of days ago, my friend Aimee gave me a Christmas ball she knitted, which promptly went on the tree.

I've had insomnia the past few nights (what else is new?)  This morning, I woke up around 7, coughing my head off from this cold I can't kick.  It isn't Covid- I was checked.  I had a bowl of cereal, and went back to bed, having had only four hours of sleep.  Besides, Linda wasn't up yet, so...

I crawled out of bed again around 11:30.  Plopped on the couch until Linda was ready to open her gifts.  I bought her a book.  Linda's sister generously sent me a bag of small things, and my dear friend Jenny North sent me a DVD, an ornament, as well as a Disney + subscription.  She's far too kind.  In any case, that was my Christmas.  

Linda and I played a couple of games during the day.  I made dinner: ham and mashed potatoes.  We watched a movie.

11:30 and I still wasn't tired.  I took melatonin, but knew from experience that it would take time to hit. (it's 1:06 as I type this and I'm still wide awake).  I decided to take a drive downtown, so Linda wouldn't have to listen to me cry.  

And cry I did.  For the past few Christmases, all I've asked for from Wife for Xmas was for her and Daughter to come visit me for the day.  Hasn't happened.  Still.  I barely spoke to either of them, as while they returned one call briefly (as they were going to Wawa), the second call wasn't returned.  Guess they had better things to do.  I texted with Daughter a bit though.

Christmas Tree, College and Allen

I'm tired of the fact that they are Top Priority for me while I'm merely and inconvenience or obligation to them.  It's tearing me apart.  So, I cried like the weak little useless child that I am.  (Got a bloody nose out of nowhere as well.)  

I arrived at the main intersection in State College: Allen St and College Ave.  That's where the "gateway to the University" stands, as well as the Christmas tree.  I took pictures.  Downtown was empty.  No one on the roads, and maybe three people walking.  I walked half a block to take more pictures, and as I walked back to my car, I heard music coming from Zeno's, a basement bar I frequented back in the day.  It was open!  So I walked down the stairs, and had a beer.

Alone at Zeno's

There were a few Asian women at the bar wearing very short dresses as well as maybe six other people, plus staff.  I sat at a small round table, and quietly drank the beer.  Around 12:05, they started kicking people out.  I finished my beer, and walked over to the bar to pay my tab.  It was free- the bartender wrote "Merry Christmas" on the charge slip.  I had no cash to tip him.

I left him the Starbucks gift card, and went back to my car.

I hate Christmas, almost as much as I hate my life.

Stopped to see an old friend on the way home.

Holidazed

I've written many times here, on TG Forum, and on social media about my feelings about the Christmas holiday.  I hate it.  Absolutely and thoroughly.

Yes, I know- stop whining.

Like me, so many transgender people lose their families when they come out.  In my case, I lost my marriage as well.  My daughter was five when I was thrown out.  During the few years before that, I tolerated the holidays, because of the magic I saw in her eyes, especially on Christmas morning.  She loved Christmas and everything that came with it.  Does she still?  I have no idea.  I never see her on Christmas anymore- not in years.  

I just asked her via text.  She said "Yeah, kinda.  I like giving gifts."  

One of the major reasons I hate Xmas is all those years in the service industry: bartending, serving, wholesale, and the worst: retail.  Any of you who have worked retail during the holidays know how horrific people can be during that time.  During the last few years at the book store, working Xmas eve left me actively looking for ways to die after work.  People were that bad.  I would drive home sobbing and hating every breath and heartbeat.  Sleep couldn't come fast enough.  One year, my friend Katie insisted on coming over with bottles of wine.  She literally kept me alive that night.  

I used to enjoy Christmas when I was young.  Gifts from Santa were great.  Also, the whole family (dad's side) would get together.  I used to get along well with many of my cousins.  That kinda ended when we all started hitting our teens, and the oldest of the cousins married, etc.  When I hit my teens, I felt more isolated, because teen, but also because of my Dark Secret I needed to hide- that I was trans.  

In very late 1989, I met someone who loves Christmas.  We dated through spring and summer 1990, and she kept telling me that she was going to teach me to love the holiday, as her family was REALLY into it.  But she cheated, and by October it was over.  Then my first suicide attempt.  Thing is- I was really looking forward to seeing why her family loved it so much.  That added to the bitterness of the breakup and the holiday. That was over thirty years ago.  Yes, it takes me forever to get over some things.

Yesterday

For a few years, I did "Orphan's Christmas Eve" at my house in Baltimore and then when I moved back to PA.  That ended when I was thrown out.  I enjoyed that bit.  I think I already wrote about it somewhere.

Since coming back to PSU, it hasn't been as bad as that.  My roomie/bestie Linda and I watch TV Christmas eve.  Next morning she opens the gifts I give her as well as the ones from her sister.  The past few years, a dear friend has sent me a gift which I open Xmas morning.  That done, it becomes just another day.

Just another day.

But it's a day where everything is closed, everyone is busy (not that I have many friends around here- I don't), and there's nothing good on TV.  Some bars and such open that night, but by then I'm not in the mood for being social.  Maybe I will afford a decent thing to make for dinner, like a turkey or ham.  (Who am I kidding? It'll be Hamburger Helper.)

Thing is- I have it SO much better than so many people, especially trans women.  So many of us are homeless or worse.  In my case, at least I have Linda here, and maybe I'll be able to speak to Wife and daughter if they're not too busy.  Usually her brothers come over with their many kids (ten between them.)  So many of us have absolutely no one.

Maybe I'll have the money to buy a bottle or two and drink myself into oblivion.  Been a while since I've done that.  Besides, it's not like I'm doing anything the next day or so after.  I don't recover as well as when I was younger.  But Drinking, I'd go to sleep, and the day would be over.  

Face it, the only three spirits helping me with Christmas will be liquid, not Dickens-esque.

In any case, I know many of you enjoy the holidays, and for that I am grateful.  Enjoy them for me too, please.  

Be well.

Dreams are Personal

I can't think of anything more personal than dreams.  Nothing- not fears, intimate encounters, secrets, is more personal.  When one reveals their dreams, they reveal their soul.  Dreams are the ultimate secret. 

For so many transgender people, living their Truth, or surgeries are their deepest dream and darkest secret; a secret that many take to the grave.  How many transgender women needed someone to "scrub" their homes of any feminine clothing or things before family found out post-mortem?  How many pass never living that dream for even a moment?

A week ago

Some say I'm living the dream, as I am full time as myself.  I usually reply that, no, I'm living a nightmare.  But has living my Truth been my biggest dream?  My fondest wish?  

No.

My biggest dream, beyond any other was to grow old with my Wife.  Once I decided "yes, she's the one" that has been the goal.  Even before that- the idea of growing old with my life partner- if I could do that, then everything else would be at least ok.  I remember thinking on my wedding day, as I looked into Wife's eyes... this is it.  This is the rest of my life.  

Well, I screwed that up over 8 1/2 years ago, didn't I?  

Lately I've wondered if I should detransition- if we could be a family again.  But I already know the answer to that: we can't.  Wife doesn't want to.  So even if I wanted to detransition (I don't), it wouldn't matter, I'll still be alone.  I'll die alone.  I already know this- always have.  I just dreamed of living out my days with my Wife.  That isn't going to happen no matter what.  

So when someone tells you their dreams- listen.  They're revealing who they really are.  

But be careful!  Dreams, like Hope, lie.  

Late November Late Night Rambling

Thanksgiving was quite nasty, and I'm still deeply depressed from it.  But I'll see if I can write something that isn't depressing.  This is being typed straight in- I didn't write it longhand before.  See? I ended two clauses with prepositions- look at me go.

I had to drop a class this semester due to various issues- chief among them being that I was so far behind in the reading.  How did I get so far behind?  I spent a LOT of time lying in bed, either asleep or staring at the ceiling.  I'm guessing the depression meds aren't working.  That said, I doubt they've ever worked.

I'm taking a break from writing papers.  I have two due next week, both 20+ pages.  One is in my qualitative research class, and the other is in my Sociology of Gender class.  I really enjoy the Gender class, as it goes right into my research.  The other one... doesn't.

I wrote a TG Forum post for last week, about TDOR here at PSU.  In it, I wrote:

I then stood to speak at “open mic.” I don’t remember all that I said. I opened with “I don’t know what it means to be cisgender” then talked about fear. Fear of being caught dressing by parents, about Wife finding out, about losing everything because of coming out. . . and then there’s violence. In Detransition, Baby, Torrey Peters wrote that trans women of color are murdered, while if a white trans girl dies prematurely, it’s usually suicide. Either way, dead.

Death doesn’t scare me — never did. However, I wonder how long it will be until another person I know’s name is read at TDOR. A week doesn’t pass without word of the suicide of a trans friend or a trans friend of a friend crossing my social media feeds. Too many of us are dying. I read in an academic paper recently that the average age of death for a transgender woman is 32. I don’t remember which paper, but it was peer reviewed, so must be somewhat accurate. And none of those count natural deaths (miss you Katie!). I thought I was desensitized to loss, but as the number of dead friends continues rising. . . well, I’m not... [edit]

I remember one other thing I said — that I’m afraid that my life, or someone I care about, will be reduced to just a name to be read on November 20. And mostly forgotten by the next year.  

If you want to read the whole thing, I linked it above.  

Fat bitch reading

I've been thinking a lot of what I'll leave behind.  I have hundreds of books just taking up space in storage.  I doubt anyone will want them, like a used book store, and putting them on ebay would be more trouble than it's worth.  So when I'm gone, will they all just be thrown in a dumpster?  Each one of those books was a gift, or piqued my interest enough for me to buy them.  I'd guess 2/3 are unread- the pleasure and knowledge I sought from them wasted.  I remember all the times I'd go to bookstores with Wife and just browse, because I couldn't afford to buy.  

I miss those days with Wife- almost carefree in a way, as we had no daughter or pets.  Yes, I was still depressed, and drinking heavily, but I was young and it was Wife and I against the world.  Re-discovering my trans self in 2008 destroyed so many things.  Can I say transition has made me happy?  No.  It destroyed what little good I had left in my life.

I'm grateful for the friends I've made since that day in 2008, including some of the best people I've ever met, especially Lisa, Ally, and Linda.  I like to think I've done some good as well, but is that enough to justify all this pain?  Every single fucking hour of every day?  No therapist or medication has cured it (unless you count the fact that I'm still alive) after over three decades of work.  Dr. Osborne did the most, but then she retired.  

But back to the books in storage.  I also have a lot of games in the room where I type.  I think selling them would yield more money, especially since they'd hopefully go to a home where they'd actually be played.  My roomie/bestie isn't a gamer, not that I have time.  Nor do I have the inclination.  All I do anymore is stare through walls, watch tv, or nap.  And homework.  I have no hobbies any more.  It's been forever since I've written a story.  Or a blog entry (before this.)  And this one isn't exactly a bundle of laughs.  let's face it, I've become that boring person at the end of the bar that no one talks to because they're so depressing.  

I think I mentioned previously how I've already written the final entry of this blog- I did it five years ago.  I update it occasionally.  I think about the day it will be posted often.  I don't write here much anymore, primarily as I don't see the point.  It doesn't bring me any joy, and I'm bleeding subscribers as fast as I lose hits.  

And while I'm on that topic: Ruben Paixao, I'd appreciate it if you'd change your icon.  Nobody wants to see that gross display, and this is a family show.  

Thanksgiving passed, and it ended with me sobbing for days.  Like, still.  I try not to cry in front of Linda, as she has enough problems.  In any case, it's now the "holiday season."  I'm glad so many people find joy in it.  I don't.  Haven't in a long time.  I guess working wholesale and retail wrenched what little enjoyment I had right out of me.  Usually on Christmas, I just cry.  I've written about this so many times before, so I won't belabor the point.  

It's almost 1 am, and I'm still not sleepy.  And writing isn't helping.  Maybe I'll watch some tv or such.  I'm so fucking pathetic.  Sorry, I couldn't write something more uplifting.

In any case, thanks for reading, those who do.  I seriously appreciate it more than I say.  Makes me think someone actually cares.  

Be well.

Getting Caught

Thinking back all the way to when I first put on a piece of feminine clothing until, well, today to some extent, my biggest fear concerning being trans has been getting "caught."  Discovery.

It's something feared by transgender women from crossdressers to transitioned, but mostly  those who are closeted. (Heidi Phox has a fun video about this.)

When I first started, I feared being caught by my parents or my brother.  I knew that if my parents caught me, the punishment would've been beyond severe.  Possibly being thrown out or worse.  And if my older brother (OB) caught me, he'd instantly tell them while greatly embellishing the story to the point where the only true part would be the skirt.  (In reality though, when my brother caught me, it meant a huge bribe to buy his silence, combined with the knowledge that he had something terrible on me.  But to his credit, he never told.)

So I usually dressed when they all were away.  Sometimes when mum was away and dad was on night shift, so asleep during the day.  It really depended upon how bad my dysphoria was on a given day.  

Sometimes I'd dress if they were out running errands, but then it would only be hose or something easily removed and hidden.  During those times, I kept my ears peeled for the squeak of the front door, or the sound of one of the vehicles in the driveway.  I sort of miss those days, fresh with discovery and fear.  My adrenaline ran very high and senses were on edge.  At those times, the clothes felt extra silky and soft.  

But then that sound- was that the door?  The frantic scramble to unzip, unhook, don't rip it!  Hide it hide it!  God help me if I had on makeup!  That usually meant shower time- that was my excuse for all the washing.  

Close calls.  Oh, so many close calls!  The sound of my mother's voice shouting my name up the stairs... I didn't hear her come in!  PANIC!  Strip!  Oh don't come up here!  As I mentioned, I was only caught once, and that was by OB.  

After Halloween 2008, I was hiding from the whole world, especially my Wife.  I knew that the consequences for being caught now- with a family and career- would be catastrophic.  I took every precaution and thought through every move.  Motels paid in cash.  Post office box in another town. Storage site several towns away.  I was so cautious, and wasn't caught.  I realized an important fact: that no one would recognize me because they weren't looking for me.  Even if they were looking for me, they wouldn't be looking for me dressed as a woman.  They may recognize that I'm a crossdresser, but not who I am.

Of course, the problem happened because this blog was found.  I was Thrown out.

Since then, I haven't cared who found out.  And then in March 2014, I came out to the world.  Since then it's been misgender, misgender, misgender.  But no more hiding.

I know no one reads this anymore, but I'll ask anyway: have you ever been caught crossdressing?  What happened?

My Fault

Everything is my fucking fault. I can't do anything right. I'm never smart enough, strong enough, fast enough... whatever.

Want proof?

Ask my wife. Who destroyed our marriage?  Me.  Who couldn't find a good enough job so we could move out of her mom's place?  Me.

Ask my parents. If something happened in that house, it was my fault.  Period.  Never my brother's- mine.  After all- he said so, right?  I was the root of everything wrong and evil.

Ask anyone who I've failed, which is pretty much everyone I know. If I haven't failed you yet, give it time, I guarantee I will. Ask any of my teachers or employers. Li Longo didn't get past the primary because I sucked as a campaign manager. When BN or GW didn't hit a target, it was because I fucked up.

I fucked up so much at GW that they moved me out of sales and put me under someone who did his best to make me quit.

I never do anything fucking right, so why do I fucking bother even trying.

I'm fifty fucking five years old.  I'll be near sixty IF I finish this program.  No one will hire me.  So why am I bothering?  Transwomen are dying out there, and here I am learning adult learning theory.  Theories don't stop bullets.

I used to think transpeople may just survive the 45 junta.  We did- barely.  The GOP kills far too efficiently.  Ask the Latinos in the camps... or their children who have been sold off, oh I'm sorry- "disappeared."

Now they'll just legislate us out of existence.  And what am I doing about it?  Reading about Gramsci and ubuntu and qualitative research.  Useless.  I'm fucking useless.  Always have been.