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By Abigail Genevieve · Posted
They put her in a room with soft walls, low lighting, even a soft floor, for observation. The bed was fastened to the wall and the blankets and sheets on the bottom and far side could not be pulled out. There was a built in pillow. There was a stainless steel toilet with a tank on the other side of the wall and a stainless steel sink where you had to put your hand under to start it. Lukewarm water. Soap dispenser with the tank on the other side of the wall. Small black half-globe in the middle of the ceiling. Soft grey walls. If this did not drive someone crazy, nothing would. No clock. Just the ventilation constantly humming and no outside noises, no window, no clue as to the time of day. She had a hospital gown on and paper underwear furnished by the hospital, lest, she supposed, she find a way to kill herself with her regular underwear. That would be a sad way to go. "Please put my gi in cold water. I don't want the blood to set," she said to the camera, but there was no response. Act normal, she told herself. You want out of here. This was the low-stimulation therapy chamber, supposed to calm people down. She had read about it. Nothing to read, nothing to look at. Finally she looked at the bands on her wrist. The bright orange one said UNIT 304. She closed her eyes and thought about the map of the hospital in the ER room. It had all three floors. ER on one, operating rooms and stuff on two, maternity and an unnamed area on 3. It might as well say PSYCH WARD she figured. Or LOONEY BIN. If she was here much longer she would go nuts. She looked at the other band, a white band with black lettering. Arial font. Nicely spaced borders around everything. Text above and the UPC code or whatever below. She thought maybe she had time to crack the code and be able to figure out what it read. She read the text. JONES TAYLOR A. Correct. DOB. No periods, just the letters. 04-03-2000. That was correct. Nice they kept the zeros so these things would be consistent. F. She stared at that. F. The next line was MICHAELS A. That was her doctor. The F could only be gender. He was some kind of a specialist in the field of sex and he had called her F. Her drivers' license and medical insurance and Social Security card and birth certificate, even her Voter ID, had M. She went over and over it. There was no M anyway that would indicate gender. Only F. She had plenty to think about. Lunch was a tasteless hamburger served by an expressionless somebody who obviously had orders not to talk. She also got grapes, somehow rendered tasteless and chips and a plastic glass of lemonade. When she was done the somebody took them and exited a door that she had not noticed. She searched the wall but could not find any hint of where the door was. Well, in the future she would be able to understand what it means to be in a psych ward. Dinner was similar. There was a breakfast, too, and sometime later the door opened and a nurse smiled and called her out to the hall. There was Dr. Michaels. "I see no reason to keep you, so I am sending you home. My notes have been sent to your therapist and she will be talking to you soon. If not, call her." "Thank you. Oh, my gi." She was given scrubs to wear home and a bucket of cold water that they had been soaking her gi in. "You need to wait for discharge, miss." Miss. Here's proof. The other documents would be easy to change. She waited in a waiting room. They gave her lunch at noon, and at 2:00 the discharge papers finally arrived. "I will need some way to get home." "He's downstairs in the lobby. You can meet him there." "Great." ----------------------------------------------------- "What are we going to do about Marketing?" this was the Chairman of the Board. He had been asking this for years. This Saturday afternoon the Board had dropped their golf game in light of the sudden drop in sales. This was not quite an emergency, but close. There was debate. They finally agreed that since Gibson had been given something that they now considered a raw deal, and turned it into a cash cow for the company anyway, he deserved promotion. They needed to ramp up Marketing and Sales because the traditional products were market laggers now and there was pressure to open up the forty acres of industrial facilities they had closed when the jobs went to China. They needed to find a way to create jobs. Gibson would be moved from Marketing to be the new Vice President of Marketing and Sales. A key job would be identifying new markets they could enter and expanding product appeal. "So who gets his job?" Discussion. Obviously it needed a college graduate. There was only one in Marketing, this Taylor person. Should they promote a transgender? HR spoke up and said that since she was the only one in Marketing with a degree, it would be almost a fatal flaw not to promote her if they could. Policy was to always promote from within if possible. She was beginning to work on her Master's. Point in her favor. She brought fresh, young blood to the company. Another point. Everyone liked her. Quick learner. Sharp. Emotionally stable. Positive. They had confidence in her, even if she was new to the company, that she could handle the job. When could HR have the paperwork ready? Good. This would be announced first thing Monday morning. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bob found himself at a loss as to what to do with himself. He made himself coffee with the new coffee maker and the new coffee, made a PBJ with the new bread, the new PB and the new jelly, and ate an apple, all at the new table. It was almost like she was there. He even did the dishes and put the clean ones in the dish rack and made his bed. He threw himself into work that could have waited for Monday. He worked on a financial projection and his personal budget and then went over to the hospital. No, he would not be allowed to see her. She was fine. Don't worry. He went for a walk this nice spring day. He just happened to walk around the hospital, hoping she would be standing at a window somewhere. Nope. He ate a TV dinner she had bought him and tinkered with his motorcycle and went to bed. The next day he ate a breakfast that happened to be there from the stuff Taylor had bought, which made him miss her even more. He went to the church they had visited Wednesday night, partly because he was curious, but mainly to sit next to the chair she had sat in Wednesday night, as if that would make her appear. Worship was similar to Wednesday night and Brother Mike spoke. Before he began he saw Bob and in surprise said, "Sir, I wanted to catch you Wednesday night but I didn't. Can I ask you please to stay afterwards and come up here and talk to me?" That was fine with Bob. They also had information no one in town had. The sermon, altar call and closing song over, Bob made his way to the front. Brother Mike came over to him. "Sir,I want to ask your forgiveness for want it must have seemed like to you Wednesday night. And on behalf of my wife, for Tuesday. She had Taylor confused with someone else. Will you forgive us?" Quite the start. "Sure." "In 2015 I was the youth pastor at Hutton Church." [Hutton is a little village outside of Roosevelt, consisting of a church, half a dozen houses, a gas station and a Dollar General Store. The kids go to Roosevelt schools.] "Small world." "I remember there was a terrible assault on one of the youth at the high school, and there was a prayer campaign for that boy. He made a full recovery. I recall a number of news articles even though the family requested privacy. I remember a Bob being mentioned as a close friend of the assaulted. You strongly resemble him, and I am puzzled by your companion. She looks like the boy a lot. That is why I kept looking in your direction. Not in accusation." "She was him." "Really." "This is the same Taylor people are talking about - who changed from male to female?" "I think she was never a male, actually." "Really. Well, I didn't build this church by accusing anyone or making anyone feel bad, and I think both those things happened with you and - Taylor. I want you to know you are welcome here. If there is anything I can do to help, let me know. Did you know that over half this church came forward Wednesday night with sexual issues of one sort or another? You are not alone. Excuse me, that is presumptuous, that you have such issues. I have no right to pry. But thank you for coming back." Not bad, Bob thought. Not bad at all. A quick fast food lunch and he was at the hospital. Was she being discharged? He was her ride, so they were willing to tell him. He could wait. And he did. -
By Adrianna Danielle · Posted
Was excited today,my new toolbox has been shipped out,Snap On dealer told me this.It took this long since it was ordered to get it.My other co workers and I were right about the new employee that started yesterday,He was fired this afternoon.Was on his phone again and boss caught him do it.Plus he did call me an offensive word,the C word my boss hates.I did report that to my boss.My boss believes in treating women right -
By Sally Stone · Posted
ss, I can't say that my image in the mirror has helped me understand why I am bi-gender. I'm pretty certain the reason I identify as bi-gender has to do with how I feel inside. About mirrors though, I do clearly see my inner woman when I look at myself in the mirror. -
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By Abigail Genevieve · Posted
The tornado called Taylor ripped through Bob's apartment. After a trip to a laundromat, two trips to grocery stores for cleaning supplies and what Taylor opined were Basic Staples, everything was scrubbed within an inch of its life. A new dish drainer with a new hand towel and dish cloth were by the side of the scrubbed out sink; motorcycle parts were in a box under the newly made bed. Floor, shower, toilet, sink had been hit in the bathroom and new towels hung there the way Taylor liked them. "I don't recognize the place/" "So move out." Taylor was sitting on one of the new kitchen chairs. There were four of them around the little wooden table. In the middle was a flower arrangement. Bob had made his last trip to the dumpster. Not a pizza box remained. A row of card board boxes with books had been replaced by shelves full of neatly arranged books. "Look at this." "I am not going to do this all the time. You clean your own place from now on. I am bushed." "Many thanks, babe." "No problem, Big Guy." "Hey, I wanted to talk to you about exercise. Karate in particular." He pronounced it ka-ra-tay. "I am a second Dan black belt and there is a certain obligation there to teach other people." "Kara-tay? I don't know." "A friend of mine runs a dojo here and needs my help. He talked to me already. Tuesday and Thursday night and Saturday mornings." "Oh. So you will be there then." She looked disappointed. "I'm hoping you will be there." "Sounds dangerous. But I could use the exercise." "And self-defense would be good. It might help." "It might. Huh. Saturday morning?" "8 AM I need to be there. Classes run until noon. I don't need to be there the whole time." "Is there an intro class or anything?" "Yes. 10 to 11." "How about if I try that." She was not very enthusiastic. Punches and kicks and stuff. Saturday morning they arrived together. She wanted to watch the Green Belt class that met then just to see what she was in for. Sensei Mark came to the front of the room, before the big American and Japanese flags. Between them was a picture. "I am honored to introduce to you Sensei Bob. He is a second Dan black belt. He has actually beaten me in tournaments. I have known him through tournaments. You will listen to him as you listen to me. Sensei Bob, take the class. The two sensei bowed to each other. Sensei Bob pointed out that Sensei Mark had beaten him, as well. Taylor was sort of standing against the back wall, scrunched up, a mouse in her crisp new beltless gi. Her t-shirt was off white underneath it and she was hoping no one would notice. "I am Sensei Mark. You are Taylor." "Yes, sensei!" she stood at attention and shouted it. He laughed. "This is not Cobra Kai and we are not in a Karate Kind movie. You do that here only between bows. Bob tells me you are a complete beginner." "That is an understatement." "Here, let me fix your gi." She had it on a little incorrectly. She drew back. "What's the matter?" "I am pretty touchy." "Okay. Untie the straps in front and tie them the other way, like mine." "I don't have a belt." "There. That is right. You will get a belt after three months and passing tests on kata, kumite and karate knowledge." "I don't know what that is." "And we touch a lot here. Not romantically. You see how Sensei Bob is going around and adjusting people's stances and arm locations." "Yes, I see that." No enthusiasm. "You are Sensei Bob's girl, right?" "Yes. What is important to him is important to me, so here I am." He wished her well and told her to go see Margie, who handled registration at the little table. "Hi, I heard about you." Margie began. "What does that mean?" "It means we treat everyone here with respect. That was the wrong way to start." "I'll say. Try again." "Good morning. How can I help you?" "I want to register for the beginner class." "You are Taylor, right?" "Right." "Sensei Bob paid for your lesson today." He would. She gave name, address, age, height, weight, and they came to gender. Margie asked it twice. "Put down female." "The only other choice is male." "Then that is it." "Earlier I was thinking about tournaments, which are big here. The rules are that boys fight boys and girls fight girls - there are Men's and Women's Divisions. I know you look like a woman, but they go by the birth certificate." This was awkward. Really awkward. Down at the other end of the room they were moving in unison when Bob said HAI!, turning, punching, kicking, etc. "I don't plan to go to tournaments. One step at a time, shall we?" "Okay. And I meant it when I said respect. We bow to each other. You will see. As a sign of honoring other people." Margie bowed slightly, sitting down. Taylor returned the bow and smiled. The class moved into sparring, breaking into twos and practicing moves against each other. Bob was moving among the pairs, adjusting positions of hands, hips, feet. Taylor was unsure about someone touching her like that, her hips particularly. The green belt class ended as new students came in for the beginners' class. Down at the other end the brown belt class began. The room was large enough you could do two classes at the same time. The other beginners, nervous, lined up at Margie's table. People got into gis, the men in their big area and only woman in the little restroom that was for them. Sensei Mark greeted them and showed them where to stand: on the little x's on the floor. He explained the School Code. They would recite it at the beginning of class and they needed to memorize it for the white belt test, at which time they would, of course, receive a white belt. He explained some terms. They warmed up with some basic, easy stretches. They learned a kata called Taikyoku Shodan, involving blocks, punches and some movements. This was not bad. She was now paired off with Judy. Things were going well and this was not too bad. Judy was sixty years old and had been told to exercise by her doctor. Taylor said her boyfriend was teaching the other class, which was impressive, and he wanted her involved. "You remember the gedan barai - downward block?" They did. Everyone showed him and he went around and made sure everyone had it down. "And the lunge punch?" They did. "Now we are going to put them together. One of you will punch and the other block it. Okay?" Taylor squared off against Judy. Her heart was pounding. She practiced her gedan barai as Judy practiced her lower lunge punch. Then they faced each other. "Okay, first partner, lunge punch. Second partner, lower block. Slowly. Go!" Taylor saw the punch coming at her, but instead of blocking it her eyes welled up with tears and she dropped to the floor, weeping uncontrollably. "Oh God, Oh, God, Oh God, make it stop, make it stop" she shouted to parties unseen. Fetal position, rocking back and forth. Crying hysterically. "I didn't go near her," Judy said, bewildered. "Taylor?" this was Sensei Bob. Both classes had stopped and were looking at her. She kept crying. "I am here, "Bob told her, not touching. "Oh Bob you need a wife who can be a real woman to you. I am making you into a monk or something." And she continued crying at full volume. "You need someone better than me, someone who can give you kids." Everyone could hear this. They were turning away, trying to pretend they could not hear this. "I need to get her out of here and take her." Bob said, and he and Mark bowed to each other. He scooped her up and she bawled into his shoulder. She clung to him. First hug ever. Death grip, more like it. "Judy, would you get her things?" "I did nothing," Judy said, and moved towards the restroom, stunned. "Nothing." "I know what she was wearing," Margie said, and got them. "I've got a gym bag. It 's red and it says Roosters on it. Can you get it? Mark got it. He accompanied them to the car. Taylor was non-stop crying deeply, clinging to him for dear life. Mark unlocked the car and together they managed to pry Taylor off of him, even though it took both of them to do it. She was in the car seat and they managed to buckle her in it. "I am going to take you to your apartment," he said. "No. Emergency room," she said. "Maybe the psych ward." He didn't doubt it. She calmed down in a few minutes on the way. "Well, that was embarrassing." "Everyone remembers their first day of karate class." "Bob, what I love about you is your sense of humor." "I love everything about you." "Even this?" "Yes. Even this." She managed to walk into the ER. They were both still in gis. "Karate accident?" "No. I am Taylor and I am a nut. I wear a gi all the time. I make my boyfriend wear one, too." "She had a triggered event. She's had some difficult times." "I see. Do you you know are bleeding?" "No." Her crotch was wet with blood and the blood was seeping down both legs. She was wheeled away. "Sir, please wait here." He did. He had no legal right to see her right now. After a while a nurse came out and said he could come on back. There she was in a hospital gown. "Seems like old times." "yeah. We gotta stop meeting like this." The nurse buzzed around and left them. "They are running tests." "I bet they are." "I got an MRI. On a Saturday morning, too." First ever. "You rate. But why?" "They figure some of the old scar tissue - you know, from the- from the past - ripped open and they need to see what is going on." "We know what is going on,"said a doctor, stepping in. He looked at her. "I am Doctor Michaels. They called me in. I just happened to be in the building and they wanted me to see this and take the case. My specialty is Disorders of Sexual Development. But what I am seeing is little in the way of disorder. Look at this." They looked at the image. "This is a perfectly ordinary uterus." "Uterus?" "Yes, your uterus." "What?" "That is not all. This is a cervix, and this is a vagina." "It's blocked up." "Yes. It looks like you had surgery to do exactly that when you were an infant. They used to do that." "This is me?" "You." "Really?" "I imagine this takes some getting used to. "Can it be undone?" "Absolutely. I mean, I cannot guarantee it, but it is more than likely. I would like to run some tests." "And the bleeding?" "It looks like the hormones you have been taking have kicked of a regular monthly cycle. Then you did a whole bunch of exercise. Not surprising." "What?" "I want you to come to my office next week for follow-up. Have you ever had a genetic test of any sort?" "No." "Well, your testes - one looks at first glance more like an ovary." "Ovary. Can I have kids?" "Too soon to tell. You look happy." She did. "Bob, you look stunned." "I am." "Given what happened earlier today we want to keep you overnight for observation. I understand you are a trauma victim and something triggered it." "I got a punch thrown at me in kara-tay class, is all. I am a wimp." "Well, I will let you two talk for a minute and they will come and get you shortly. No bad news here." "They are coming to take me away, hah-hah, they are coming to take me away," Taylor chanted. "Bob, I am not done with kara-tay. I want to at least finish a first class. I mean, you paid for it and I want you to get your money's worth." "I think I got that." "Kiss me, you fool," she said, and he did, with energy. -
By April Marie · Posted
These arrived in yesterday's mail. I'm out working in the yard today so just old clothes. I'm looking forward to wearing this t-shirt dress when the weather warms up a bit more. -
By missyjo · Posted
Ashley I've known busty girls who wore b nice bras tl work n such then like a sift sports bra to lounge or sleep in hugs -
By missyjo · Posted
your nails b hair came wonderful congratulations enjoy -
By Willow · Posted
The one thing about this position, if you want more hours just wait and be flexible. I’m now working until 7:30 pm instead of 4:30. -
By Ashley0616 · Posted
I hope your head cold goes away soon! Sorry you have to cut grass with that. Love the new t-shirt I love that one. What Jeep would you want to get? That is awesome about your wife getting better! -
By Ashley0616 · Posted
Welcome Mattie! I would recommend the first step is finding a gender therapist and see if you are or aren't. Then one of the biggest steps if you are do you want to start hormone replacement therapy. The decision should be thought long and hard. There are irreversible effects. Looking forward to your next post! Take care! -
By Ashley0616 · Posted
Congratulations on being able to pick up a cancellation! I hope to hear more updates about your transition. -
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By Ashley0616 · Posted
Spending time with my kids and eventually will be adopting a dog next month.
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