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And so I introduce myself to the world... Renee... walking alone... without supervision... without the guidance of an authoritative woman’s hand.
***
For some reason, I find excitement in the inquisitive looks of boys. Appearing prepubescent with my limited stature and flat chest, there is not much expression of attraction from grown men. I appear too young. And girls... well I believe I received some critical glances... my make up skills not yet up to par... some possibly thinking that I should not be wearing make up at my perceived age.
I grab a sandwich at a deli and go to the park. I cannot help wondering if I will come across the trollop of weeks past, she offering the risqué hand job, the catalyst for my counselor’s demanded transformation.
The thought brings to mind Friday’s counseling session. I lied naked on the couch, my counselor encouraging me to toy with the faux phallus. As always blunt words were offered, encouraging a forthright spewing of my thoughts as I stroked the large hideous cylinder of rubber.
‘How does it feel, Renee? Would you indeed like to handle a man’s penis... a real man’s penis?’
Perhaps psychosomatic, I felt my own organ shrink... imaginatively disappearing from between my legs.
‘Why not give it a lick... see what it tastes like?’
It was revolting... but there also came the twinge... and my counselor seemed to know what I felt.
***
I stroll home, one foot before the other, hips swaying as trained. My building fortunately has no doorman and I am not overly friendly with neighbors. I doubt anyone will recognize me... and my transformation.
For the first time I have a phone message to call my counselor. I dial. She speaks abruptly as always.
“Miss Lalique told me you had a very good Saturday... lots of nice things for a boy without testicles.”
“Yes, ma’am,” ignoring the taunt.
“I’m going to talk to your immediate superior first thing tomorrow morning. My file indicates it is a ‘Mr. Thompson’, is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You are to delay reporting to work until I have an opportunity to apprize Mr. Thompson of your issues. I’ll need to remind him of your rights and the various laws protecting your... your new status. So arrive sometime after ten a.m. But Renee, do look pretty. He will be expecting you that way. So use the time to doll up very nicely.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I suggest blue... a nice pastel blue blouse and indigo skirt... short and tight.”
Easy to comply. That’s the only style and size available in my collection.
“And heels, Renee. Don’t disappointment Mr. Thompson. He’ll be expecting a cute little girl.”
***
I don’t sleep well, probably as restlessly as months ago knowing of my scheduled orchiectomy. I cannot help pondering the reaction of Mr. Thompson and my coworkers... leaving the office late Friday afternoon appearing male... arriving Monday morning appearing not as a woman but as a girl.
Sleep not fully relieving me of my woes, I arise early Monday morning. I shower. I begin to shave and find it is completely unnecessary. I begin to well up, the emotional roller coaster plunging. I cheer myself by putting on the awkward heels and sashaying about the apartment naked. I excite myself when I pass a mirror and the roller coaster begins its ascent.
Then, with the realization dawning on Sunday when I planned a walk in the park, primping to my new look requires time. I must begin to prepare for the office. Hair to be groomed. Make up applied. Nails to be touched up. The false eye lashes require great effort.
I take my hormone pill, that seeming to be non effective. I twist my ear studs and once again sense disappointment with the presentation. I do hope the openings heal quickly. I may as well walk about with nails pounded through my ears.
Before I know it, nine thirty arrives and I dress, heartened to find that I can slip my panties right over the four inch heels without having to take them off and then redo the crisscrossing straps about my calves.
The blouse, pastel blue of course, the indigo skirt, are easy.
I search for my brief bag, forgetting that it has been confiscated. The black over the shoulder bag will more than suffice. It matches my shoes.
My new life begins.
