Chapter Two - My Backstory
"Next time you can be more of a gentleman," I sharply comment, making sure he heard. He turns his head towards me and smirks, revealing his true nature of an utter piece of shit.
"Fuck you freak," he spoke with distain.
"The queers hang out on other side of town. This is the normal part of town, not for people like you," he continued, the tone of his voice filled with misunderstanding and hate.
I turn around in my seat before he aggressively grabs my shoulder, trying to make me listen to his hostile words. Tommy, the sweet and handsome bartender quickly saw what was happening and left the young blonde and came around from the bar and quickly got into the stranger's face. He doesn't look happy.
"Hey, what's the problem here," he asks as he pushes him awake from me with a sense of urgency.
"He, she, it, whatever doesn't belong in here," the stranger boldly spoke, not taking kindly to Tommy stepping in.
"It's Lucy, and yes SHE does," he counters.
"You're the one who doesn't belong here!"
The stranger pulled his arm from Tommy and threw his bottle of beer on the ground. The glass shatters on the ground as the dick head stranger heads to the door in a huff. Tommy made sure I was okay before turning his attention back to him.
"Yeah, you better leave," he yells out after him, before the bar door quickly closed. He turned his attention back to me, soon being joined by the young blonde, who sat down in the seat next to me.
"Oh my god, are you okay," the blonde asks as Tommy grabs a broom and dustpan from the back of the bar. He quickly cleans up the glass and joins us both. I nod and smile. Sadly this isn't the first time that this has happened here in the city of my small town.
I created a target on myself.
I finish the rest of my drink and call an Uber to come pick me up, knowing that the night took an ugly turn. I am done and ready to go home and take a long needed shower and get some sleep. I thank Tommy and the blonde, who's name I gathered is Tonya, grab my purse and headed outside for my ride.
The black Nissan is already waiting for me and got inside. A dark haired older woman is sitting in the driver's seat and spoke softly as I got in. I smile and give me my address and my card. She swipes it and hands it back to me and puts the car in drive.
"Long night," she asks taking in my appearance. She probably thinks I'm some kind of prostitute leaving the bar super late and dressed way that I am. Despite me having a good job at a law firm just down the road from the bar.
"You can say that," I mutter, not wanting to generate some sort of conversation with my Uber driver. Even if she does seem sweet on the surface. People can be deceptive though, just as the stranger was at the bar just a half hour earlier.
The city has made me hard.
Being transgender has made me even harder.
We pull up to my apartment building a few minutes later and she hands me a receipt for the $11 ride. We say our goodbyes and I head into the front gate of the building and clink it behind me.
Home sweet home.
I moved here when I first moved to the city. I got a job working for a lawfirm who knew of my story and who was open-minded enough to hire me, no issues and no preconceived notions of who or what I am. They hired me based on my merits alone, which was nice and refreshing. I have been there ever since.
I kick off my boots and unzip my dress and let it drop on the floor as soon as I get back into my third floor apartment. Relief hits me like a ton of bricks and I feel a sense of relaxation wash over me.
I unclasp my bra and throw on it on the back of my black leather couch and head into the bathroom where I removed my panties and turn the hot water on my shower. I adjust the water and get in and let the warm water cascade over me.
"Ahh," I let out as the stress suddenly leaves my body. After a short and quick ahower I grab my towel and dry myself off before letting it wrap around my now damp and wavy hair.
I saunter back into my dimly lit bedroom and open up the dresser and grab a pair of light blue and cream colored pajama shorts and a matching cream color tank top and put them on before heading into the kitchen and grab a pack of cigarettes from my purse.
I light it and sit down on one of the black chairs. I blow the smoke out into the air and close my eyes and smile. Being home makes me more happy than anything else. It is mine and it is the one place where I can always be who I really am.
Which was always the hardest thing growing up.
Do you know how hard it is being comfortable in your own skin? Or do you know what it feels like to not know where you belong in this crazy, fucked up, mixed up world? If you do then how did it make you feel, going alone with the struggle and the uncertainty?
Doesn't it make you sad sometimes?
Does it make you feel angry?
Growing up in a small town it was always hard trying to find who you are. When I was in junior high it started with my interest in women's clothing. First just liking the touch of all of the different fabrics, especially satin and lace mainly. I began stealing pairs of panties from women I knew, mostly my female cousins who I was always close to growing up.
It was never anything sexual for me at that age, but that would come much later. I would just put them on and they felt way more comfortable on my body than white cotton briefs and thin flannel pairs of buldgy boxer shorts.
Over time I began dressing in more than just the panties, going on to gradually include bras, panty hose, bathing suits, dresses, and learning how to do make up when no body was around. I would "borrow" clothing from my cousins and whatever girl friend I had at the time and would dress up when I had any kind of privacy in my house growing up, which I had plenty.
I got a job at 16 and began to secretly buy my own stuff from various stores under the guise that I was buying for a girl friend, for whatever excuse I could give, Valentine's Day, Birthday, or even anniversary. Within a few years I had amassed quite a collection.
It didn't just stop there though.
The clothes and makeup weren't enough. I still didn't feel like I was completely satisfied. I soon began to indulge in my urges of being with other boys, soon performing oral on a few of my classmates and eventually submitting myself for anal sex. Of course it hurt at first but I was one step closer to understanding who I am.
And what I could be.
The clothes felt right.
The act of being with a man felt right.
What didn't still feel right was the body that I felt stuck with. I didn't enjoy using my penis for sex for men or women, the mere 5 inches of it hard didn't provide much satisfaction for me other than to get myself to orgasm. That was it for me to get off. I didn't see the need when the act of being fucked felt so much better.
Coming out as gay was next which was a whole process in itself to be honest. Then came growing out my dark brown hair longer and longer until it fell slightly below my shoulder blades.
Dad was supportive, mom wasn't. But I slowly felt myself getting closer and closer to who I knew I was to become eventually. The first few years of college were ones of more self-discovery and coming to terms of who I was. I felt less like a man and more so a woman. So the next logical plan at the age of 20 was to go through the process of understanding the transgender world.
I spent the next year researching and reading everything and talking to whoever I could about the topic before deciding right before my 21st birthday to go through with it.
Conversations with the few friends I still had left after coming out as gay and my family happened and I decided to go through the hormone treatments, estrogen shots, breast growth, and other things that I knew would become a long and tedious process.
And I was 100% in control of my own life and rewritting my own narrative. I was more happy abd hopeful than I had ever been in my entire life. It was a new beginning for me.
And I wasn't looking back.