The Wedding
Nikkie Silk
Trust me when I tell you I don't normally check the wedding announcements. I hate weddings. Ever since I was a page boy at my aunt's wedding, when my mother made me wear a pale blue tuxedo.
I was six, for God's sake.
`But, you look so cute,' she said.
Aunts and Uncles oohed and aahed at me as I walked down the aisle with the rings on a little satin pillow, but I hated it. You see, what I really wanted to be was one of the bridesmaids in their gorgeous frothy, frilly pink dresses. Even at that tender age I knew that I would rather be a girl than a boy.
There I've said it. It has taken me fifteen years, several therapists and a lot of heartache, before I could finally say that without flinching. My early years were spent wondering why girls got all the nice things to wear; dresses, blouses, skirts, pretty shoes and hair ribbons, whilst I was imprisoned in trousers and jumpers. When I asked my mother, she laughed and said, `Don't be silly, Samuel, that's just the way it is.'
I have two sisters, one four years older than me and the other two years older. All our birthdays fell in the same month of the year, so I swore our parents had a calendar date to have sex every two years. However, when I was eight, our father left us for a woman he met at his bridge club. So, I was surrounded by females from that age onwards. My sisters, of course, enjoyed all their pretty clothes although the younger inevitably had to deal with hand-me-downs from her older sister. How I wished they could have been handed down to me.
We weren't poor, but money was tight. At some point my father stopped paying support and my mother had to find a job. Our grandmother helped for a while by sitting with us, but she developed dementia and had to go into a home. Mother was still an attractive woman, and I think dated a few times, but as soon as the men found out about the three children they didn't hang around long. Both my sisters take after our mother and turned out to be very pretty girls. My eldest sister, Caroline, was the prettiest, but Sophie wasn't far behind. Mother used to joke that she had to beat the boys away from them with a stick.
She didn't use a big enough stick for Caroline, who got herself pregnant when she was seventeen. Actually, that's a strange phrase; surely nobody gets themselves pregnant. The father, a twenty year old student from Serbia, disappeared immediately and nobody knew where to find him. Anyway, by some freak of genetics, I also have my mother's looks. I was small and slender as a child and everybody said that I would get a growth spurt sometime and would shoot up later on. Well, the promised growth spurt never happened, and I have stayed small and slender ever since.
I have the family blonde hair and as a teenager I let it grow long, down to below my shoulders and resisted my mother's pleas to get it cut. I loved my hair, still do, and would sit in front of the mirror styling it into as many feminine styles as I could. There wasn't another boy in our town who knew as much about hair styles as I did. My sister Sophie wanted to be a hairdresser, and she used me as a model, not only eventually cutting my hair, but helping me to style it. She was the one closest to me, and we would sit together and read her magazines and talk about the different looks and what would suit her and me. I asked her recently if she thought it unusual and she said, no, it was just me being me.
I had also inherited my features from my mother to the extent that I would sometimes mistaken for a girl. In one photograph I have, the three of us look like sisters; the same toothy smile, blonde hair, freckles, and turned-up noses. It is one of my favourite pictures, and for so long I wished it could have been true. All through my teenage years I became convinced that I should have been a girl. I tried to tell my mother, but she yelled at me that I was a boy and that was that. I had to accept that God had made me a boy and the work of God couldn't be changed. It would be blasphemy to challenge the will of God.
Oh, yes, about this time she had found God. Not the kind of namby pamby God who spreads love and understanding and happiness, but an Old Testament God whom you had to kneel before and tremble in awe. So, no help there then. When I persisted she dragged me to see the Minister from her church who tried to cure me by laying on hands. He began by putting one hand on my head and one on my shoulder and wailing about the sins of the flesh and the weakness of the spirit.
It began to get strange when the hand on my shoulder dropped to my waist and then onto my leg, all the time giving it big about invoking God to cure me of my base addiction. His hand began to creep further up my leg and his fingers brushed my cock. I jumped, and he took his hands away quickly and glared at me. You must let me do God's business if you wish to be saved, he said. Frankly, I thought it was no business of God to be touching my cock and I told the dirty old goat so. He declared me wicked and a sinner and he would tell my mother that I had tried to seduce him with my sinful ways if I mentioned a word of what had gone on.
Knowing my mother would scarcely believe me over the word of God, I never told her anything about it. She kept on trying to cure me, and took me to several so-called therapists, some of whom were pretty bizarre. The more she tried to get more to accept I was a boy, the more I dug my heels in that I wanted to be a girl. I borrowed a few of Sophie's clothes that she didn't use any more and I would dress up in them whenever I could. She later told me that she suspected it, but she felt it was my business not hers. I tried on makeup and pretended to be a girl whenever I could.
School became a nightmare for me. I never settled in any one of them and because of my size and my feminine looks I would be constantly bullied, mentally as well as physically. I would inevitably be picked on by boys, and some girls too, for being a fairy or a queer. People told me to fight back, but I wasn't strong or brave, and I would end up yet again on the end of a beating. The teachers were useless, they didn't seem to care and would turn the other way whenever trouble broke out. I drifted into taking drugs to ease the pain and loneliness and eventually got expelled from school for the last time.
What saved me, strangely enough, was a new boyfriend of Sophie's. It seems that the females in our family have the worst taste in men possible. Caroline had her baby, a lovely little girl called Naomi, but then she hooked up with a string of losers who got what they wanted from her and then moved on. Sophie, my favourite, fared little better. She seemed to attract what used to be called bad boys. She got beaten up a couple of times, but always found another one who would treat her like dirt. But, one night she came back to the house with a new boyfriend. Marcus was different from all her previous boyfriends for the simple reason he was black, and big.
Our mother had a fit, of course. She wasn't overtly racist, but the thought of her daughter going out with a black boy was enough to send her off to her minister in high dudgeon. For that reason alone I already liked him. He seemed a nice guy, always said Hi to me and was respectful to Sophie as well, which again gave him a high score for me. One evening he came round to meet Sophie, but she had been held up at college. Mother had gone out to the church and Caroline was out somewhere too. I was looking after Naomi, happily gurgling away in her playpen.
Marcus asked if he might wait for Sophie indoors, and I said sure, come on in. I had on what I liked to call my lite girl mode; tight jeans, flat ballet pumps, and a crop top that showed plenty of my belly. I had my hair in a girl style ponytail, and I had dared to put on some lip gloss as I thought I would be on my own for this evening. I had a baggy t-shirt ready to slip on if my mother appeared unexpectedly. Sophie had seen me like this before and so had Marcus a couple of times.
I made him a coffee, and he sat down with me as I watched Naomi in her playpen. He didn't seem put out by the way I looked and we chatted about this and that. He came across as a nice guy and it was a pleasant change to spend time with someone who listened as much as he talked. He liked music and politics and art, and we talked about bands and how we thought the government was fucking everything up. He asked me my opinion of things, something that didn't happen a lot to me. He listened to what I had to say and didn't tell me I was wrong or stupid. He studied at night school for a Degree in community relations and we discussed how the police could do more to help minorities. Sophie eventually arrived an hour late full of apologies. She had forgotten that there had been a lecture that she had to go to.
As they left, Marcus said it had been good to talking to me and he hoped we could talk some more soon. Sophie gave me a funny look, and I heard her say, What was that about?' as they walked down the corridor. I heard him laugh and said, What? I like your brother, he's cool.'
Marcus became a regular visitor to the house and even mother began to relent, admitting that he was far nicer than the boys Sophie usually went out with. Caroline was now out nearly every night and paid me a little to babysit Naomi. I didn't mind too much. I didn't have too many friends, and she had become a lovely little girl, peaceful and serene. Where that came from I have no idea, but I adored her. I overheard Sophie tell Marcus that I was more of a mother to Naomi than Caroline would ever be. It made me feel funny inside, but I liked it as well.
Marcus and I talked whenever we got the chance, and I began to look forward to his visits. I have to admit that I took a little more care with the way I looked when I knew he would be coming round. Mother spent most of her time at the church these days and it gave me more time to indulge my girl look. I worked in a department store during the day and I could buy clothes and makeup with a staff discount. If everyone went out and left me on my own, I would go all out and wear a dress or a skirt and make myself up. My hair was never a problem as Sophie, doing a beauty course, would get me cuts at a discount at the college. I found I could have a unisex cut which could also be styled in a feminine way. I liked it in a girl type ponytail, high on the back of my head so I could feel the hair flicking around behind me.
If I knew Marcus would be coming, I would tone it down, no dresses or skirts but tight trousers and a loose top and some nice makeup. He never seemed to be bothered by how I looked and his visits began to mean a lot to me. He respected what I had to say, even if he didn't always agree. It felt good to have someone who I could talk to without being judged or criticised. However, I was still popping pills at the time and once when Marcus came round waiting for Sophie, I let slip to him that I wanted something to take the edge off.
It was the first time I had ever seen him angry. He shouted that simply because someone is black doesn't mean he has to be a drug dealer. I stared at him, totally stunned that I had upset him so badly. I didn't want to lose him as a friend and I apologised to him over and over again that I hadn't meant it like that and that I liked him and I would never think that of him. I started to cry, and he seemed to calm down and put his arm round me and said that he shouldn't have flown off like that. It was not me he was getting at, but the others who assumed every black guy was a thug.
It felt strange but nice to have his arm round me as it didn't happen to me that often, or ever really. We heard Sophie come in the front door and Marcus quickly took his arm away and moved to another seat.
`We cool, yeah?'
I nodded, `Yeah, no worries.'
Sophie came in and noticed I was wiping my eyes. She gave Marcus a funny look, but said nothing. She told me the next day that they had been in a big row because she accused him of upsetting me. He denied it but she said I had been crying. As Marcus didn't say anything, Sophie stormed out, assuming she was right. I told her that she had it completely wrong that it had been my fault and I told her exactly what had happened. She shouted at me for taking pills and then put her arms around me and hugged me as I cried my eyes out on her shoulder.
She made up with Marcus and a couple of days later they both sat down with me as I had Naomi that night. Sophie asked me how long had I been taking drugs and I told them both it was none of their business. Marcus asked why I had started and I said again it was none of their business.
Marcus began to talk about how drugs are often a reaction to other issues in your life and how you can't get off drugs until you resolve those problems. He didn't shout or lecture me, spoke quietly and calmly, and maybe because I was tired or needed to open up to someone, I told them everything in the end. It all came pouring out, the longing to be a girl, the loneliness, the isolation and the feeling that nobody cared, and that there didn't seem to be a place for me anywhere. I ended up crying by this time and so did Sophie, who came and sat next to me and wrapped her arms around me. She kept saying how sorry she was and she hadn't realised it had all been so bad for me.
Marcus stayed quiet for a while and when Sophie and I had cried ourselves out he asked me in a soft voice `Sammy, have you seen anyone about how you feel? A doctor or someone, I mean?'
I shook my head. I couldn't imagine going to see the old fool who was our family doctor about this. To be honest, I couldn't imagine talking to anyone about this.
Marcus asked me if I had heard of gender dysphoria and I shook my head again. He said that I wasn't alone and there were now ways to help people like myself who feel trapped inside the wrong body. If I wanted, he could ask some of the people he worked with if they knew a local place that could help. He wouldn't mention any names, merely see if he could find someone I could talk to. I nodded, thinking it would all come to nothing, but at least someone was listening to me.
A few evenings later I was at home, and as everyone else had gone out, I was in full femme mode; mini skirt, tight top, heels, makeup, and my hair in a messy bun which I had just learnt how to do. I heard a knock on the front door and I froze. I had always feared this moment; me on my own in full girl gear and a stranger knocks on the door. I grabbed Naomi, determined to defend her whatever happened. There was another knock and then the letter box rattled, and I heard a voice shouting through it.
`Sammy, it's me, Marcus. Let me in or the neighbours will be calling the police.'
I heaved a sigh of relief and hurried down the hallway, took the chain off the door and let him in. Only then did I remember what I was wearing. I went bright scarlet as he walked in and I wanted to curl up and die. All he said was, `Very nice Sammy, that skirt looks good on you.' I blushed furiously as he walked into the living room and said hi to Naomi, who stuck her arms out to be picked up. Marcus bent down and scooped her up In his arms and she started to giggle as he tickled her. I told him Sophie was out with friends and he said he knew but he wanted to talk to me.
He sat down with Naomi and passed me a piece of paper. He had done some asking around and he'd found two things that I might be interested in. He had to pause as Naomi stuck her fingers in his mouth. He grimaced as he found out she still had some of her dinner on them. I said it was only apple and pear, it would do him good. He laughed and went on. He said he had found an LGBT group that met locally, it provided help and support for all kinds of people. The word was they were a very good group. The second was a place which offered counselling and advice for people with gender dysphoria. I wouldn't have to see my doctor first, the telephone number was there if I wanted to use it.
He said he had to go, but he hoped I would follow them both up. I took Naomi from him and promised I would think seriously about it. I said thank you to him, it was one of the nicest things that anyone had ever done for me. On an impulse I stood on tiptoe and kissed him on his cheek. He giggled like a kid and said he was only too pleased to have done something to help. I put Naomi in her pen and walked him to the door. As he went to open it, he turned and said, `You know Sammy, when I came in tonight and saw you, I thought you were Sophie for a moment. You could be sisters.' I blushed once more, and he bent down gave me a kiss in the cheek and disappeared.
I didn't know it, but it would be the last time I would see him for five years.
To be continued.
Please let me know what you think of the story at nikkie.silk@outlook.com