Glory Beyond the HolebyYKN4949©
Chapter 1: Pressure Valve
"Hey uh, Rose," a voice said from behind me. I swiveled my chair so that I was facing out of my cubicle. I had my no-nonsense face on and I raised my eyebrows as if to ask, "what?" I didn't recognize the person standing in front of me. I guess that wasn't much of a surprise, I worked at a place with a good deal of turnover and it wasn't unusual to see new and unpleasant faces. This particular face belonged to a man slightly younger than me, maybe 22. He had that shit-eating grin that all college graduates had when they first started working here, despite the fact that he was working entry-level in data-entry and was carrying about thirty extra pounds, mostly in his ass.
Despite my best efforts to non-verbally encourage him to say whatever he was going to say, he just looked at me blankly. He briefly looked over his shoulder at a group of my co-workers. I looked down at my watch and saw that it was 5:15 on a Friday afternoon, so I knew what this was going to be about. I crossed my arms in front of my breasts and placed my hands on my knees.
"Yes new guy, how can I help you," I said brusquely.
"Oh, uh," he said. I saw his eyes move over my legs and then to my cleavage and I rolled my eyes. You'd think the company-mandated sexual harassment prevention video would be enough to keep a guy on his toes, but I often found the mouth-breathers in the office had a hard time keeping their eyes to themselves. But men had always looked at me, I suppose. At the time I was 26 years old and at the absolute peak of my bewitching (but cursed) powers. I was 5'3 and around 110lbs. I had very long brown, almost black, hair that I wore straight with short bangs. I had (and have) large dark brown eyes and a small nose. My lips were pouty and a deep red color. My skin was flawless, if a bit pale, and I had a long, delicate neck. My breasts were small, probably 32-B at the time, but they were very perky and fit my slight built. My hips flared slightly wider than my breasts and I had somewhat short and delicately constructed legs. That day I was wearing a white button-up blouse under a gray suit coat and a knee-length gray skirt that had bunch up a little as I'd sat in my chair all day. So I knew what the guy was looking at, even if I didn't appreciate it.
"Oh, uh?" I said after letting him sputter for just a couple of seconds.
"So," he said, looking a bit embarrassed and jumping right in, "A couple of us are going out for happy hour, you know, since it's Friday. And I just thought, I'd, you know, ask if you wanted to go out with us. I think we are going to Winston's but someone said something about Carter's..." I lifted up my hand to stop him from speaking.
I hated this. I had no desire to do what I was going to do next. But, it was what I had to do. They forced me into this shit, so this was what was going to happen.
"Listen..." I said and looked at the guy inquisitively.
"Dan," he said.
"Listen Dan, you are new here I assume. So I am going to make this as painless as possible," a lie, "If you and I and all of our friends here went out for dinner together we would have a great time. You all would get to know me: the sexy ice queen of the office. But what do I get out of it?"
"I...uh," Dan started.
"Quiet Dan, a grown-up is talking. You see, you'd get to know me. But I wouldn't get anything, because I already know you. I knew you the instant you interrupted me from closing down my computer so I could go home. I looked up at saw an overweight man-child with tit-magnets in his eyes. But I saw more than that. I saw that you don't know that you can't wear black shoes with a brown belt. I saw that you put your clothes on for the day before you brush your teeth and then don't check to see if you drool all over yourself. I saw that you don't shave the corners of your mouth, giving you strange little whiskers. And I saw that you are an idiot, like most of the people who work here. I don't need a night out drinking while you awkwardly attempt to hit on me; I've already figured you out. You're a buffoon. I don't want to have a conversation with you about your favorite TV show, your favorite video game, your favorite fishing hole, or your favorite sexual position. Every instant I talk to you or one of the other morons who works here is an instant I don't get to do something better. So please, thank the people who put you up to this for making both of us feel shitty, and then kindly don't speak to me again," I said.
A look of complete shock was plastered across Dan's face. He'd been relatively polite and felt he'd gotten put through the ringer for no reason. My stomach turned a little, because whatever wounded feeling he had was absolutely correct. I had gone over the line. But I had to. Suddenly, his features twisted into a scowl.
"Fuck you, you frigid...cunt!" he spat at me, closing the circle. Then he turned around and walked into the waiting (and giggling) crowd standing at the door. It spun my chair back around to face my computer.
"Sorry to do that to you man, it is kind of a tradition," I heard another entry employee say, "Rose is a fucking trip, so we unleash her on the uninitiated."
"I was just trying to be nice," I heard Dan say as they walked out the door.
"She might look good, but she is poison," another voice added.
"Some people are incapable of being decent," a woman's voice responded, "Rose just wants to keep all of us out, she thinks she is better than everyone else." Then I heard them all pile into the elevators and soon I was alone in the office.
The girl who'd spoken last, Carol I think her name was, was only half right. I absolutely did not think I was better than anyone else, in fact, it was the opposite. But I certainly did have an almost obsessive desire to keep people out. I'd built a wall completely around my life and there was absolutely no way I was going to let anyone in. It was just... too dangerous.
As I turned off my computer and stood up from my chair, I thought about how I hadn't always been that way. In fact, I imagine my co-workers would have been very surprised to find that I was an absolute social butterfly in high school. I was class president, I joined clubs, and I was even voted homecoming queen my junior year. I hadn't figured out how important it was to be a raging bitch until after college.
It had actually started in college, my "difficult" personality. I'd gone to college as a virgin (trust me, this isn't completely out of left field, it will make sense). I wasn't a prude or anything. I'd done the normal teenage stuff, maybe a little less than most but not by a huge margin. I'd given a couple of guys handjobs in the backseats of cars or in basement rumpus rooms and I'd been felt up, but I'd never had sex. Part of it was that I wanted to wait for the freedom of college, away from the prying eyes of parents. The other reason, I suppose the bigger reason, though I didn't think of it much back then, was that I was (and am) transgendered.
That might not seem like a little detail to tuck into the end of a paragraph, but I swear, up until college it always seemed so...unimportant. I'd known I was a girl from the instant that the concept was possible in my mind. I just never considered myself anything else. My parents were very supportive and started me on hormone therapy at the youngest possible age. I developed just like all the other girls in my class: breasts, flared hips, delicate features, the whole nine yards. The only thing different was a small amount of flesh between my legs. And that never came up. Like I said, I had no interest in having sex before college, so I never had reason to expose anything beyond my breasts to my boyfriends. High school girls, little known fact, don't spend a whole lot of time discussing their genitals with one another. So, after 18 years of just being myself I went to college expecting that I guess got my first lesson regarding the grave consequences of my ignorance very early in my college career. It had been about two weeks into freshman year. I was living in the dorms at the time. It was a co-ed dorm, with alternating floors of boys and girls. I lived on the girl floor and never thought there was anything strange about it. There was a boy who lived on the floor below me. A cute boy who made me laugh every time we spoke. We had an intro to economics class together and we sat in the back of the room and he did impressions of the professor. One day he asked if I wanted to go out, so I said yes.
I remember the date vividly. It was the high water mark of my social life; it was all downhill from there. Neither of us had a car, so we walked to a restaurant on campus and he bought my dinner. We didn't know each other too well so we talked about our families and he made jokes about the wait staff. Then we took a bus to a movie and made out the entire time. I don't even remember what it was. We held hands the whole way back on the bus.
We lived in the same building so it wasn't like I invited Dave (that was his name) up, we just happened to be on the elevator together. But when I got off at my floor, he followed me. I remember that I was excited. I wanted this to happen, I hadn't been saving myself for marriage, I was saving myself for college. And this was it. And he was cute and nice and we seemed good together. You might think I am crazy for saying this, but I wasn't even thinking about my "unique" gender situation at the time. I guess I just didn't think it would be an issue. We walked into my room and my roommate was gone (out with her boyfriend if I remember). And we started kissing and touching.
We were both overeager 18 year-old kids and it was only a couple of minutes before he was sitting on my bed in his boxers, his erection straining against the fabric. I was topless, enjoying the feeling of his hands on my bare breasts. I moaned and threw my head back. I wasn't looking as his hand slithered its way up my legs and I didn't notice as his knuckles pressed under the hem of my skirt. I barely felt it as his fingers slipped inside of my panties. But, I heard him.
"What the fuck?" I he said. I stopped kissing his neck and looked down. My skirt was hiked up and my hard cock was pulled out from within my panties. For a second my cock rested on Dave's hand. He was looking down at it and then suddenly his hand spasmed like he was electrocuted and he dropped it. He even wiped his hands off on his jeans.
"What?" I said, a little confused. I was quite worked up at the moment, my cheeks were flushed and I was so incredibly horny. I didn't know what to think, I just wanted to finally have sex.
"What the hell are you?" He asked and he flipped my skirt back down and covered my exposed cock. He looked at me hurt and confused.
"What do you mean?" I asked, pushing my knees together and feeling embarrassed.
"Rose, you have a...dick!" Dave said. He quickly stood up from the bed and started to pace around the room.
"Yeah, but..." I started. For a moment I wondered why this was such an issue. He thought I was pretty, he told me as much. I'd seen he had an erection, so he thought I was sexually attractive. Why was he going to let something silly, something I barely thought about, get us out of the mood.
"Yeah, but!" he yelled back, "That is more than just a little thing. You are a dude!" he said. I felt like I'd been smacked.
"I am not, I am a girl. You can see with your eyes. You touched my breasts, you've kissed my lips!" I yelled back.
"Shut up, you're making it worse!" he shouted. Then he looked around, I guess wondering if anyone else on the floor heard him. "You said you like me."
"I like girls, I don't like...cock!" he said.
"I am what I am, you liked me. I am more than a cock. I don't understand."
"I thought I liked you," he said, suddenly stopping his pacing. He turned and looked at me, disgust on his face. "But that was before I knew what you were. You're...repulsive." He said. I didn't even have time to register what he said, the tears started coming before I fully comprehended what he said. I suddenly felt stupid and naïve. On top of feeling ugly and inhuman. I couldn't ever remember crying that hard in my life. Something inside of me had shattered.
I felt Dave's hand on my shoulder. I remember thinking that I couldn't ever be attracted to him again, but at least he could apologize for the hurt he caused. I would learn that I expected too much. I looked up. His brow was furrowed.
"Listen," he said, "I don't want anyone to know about this any more than you do. I will keep your secret so don't worry about that. I just...don't talk to me anymore okay. If anyone asks, we will both just say we aren't compatible and we had a fight and we don't want to talk about it. Okay?" Secret? I thought, what secret? I'd never intended to keep a secret.
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Don't be a dick, let's just pretend this never happened," he said. He looked at me pleadingly. I suddenly realized what was happening. He was afraid of people thinking he was gay. Because I had a dick. It didn't matter that everyone thought I was a pretty girl or that he thought I was fun. If people knew who I really was, that would be social disaster. I felt worse than before.
"Yeah, whatever," I said, "I don't ever want to think about tonight again either." So much for that I guess. Dave released my shoulder and walked to the door. He turned and looked at me once, shook his head and walked out. That image is ingrained in my mind, the shame and disappointment I arouse in others, eloquently stated with a shake of the head and a hasty retreat.
It was about a year after my experience with Dave before I was able to get over the shock. He'd really scared me. Suddenly, the bubbling self-confidence of a high school homecoming queen was shaken and I didn't know what to think. I spent a lot of time thinking about what made me a girl and what made me different. I wondered if I truly was repulsive or if, maybe, it was just Dave. The fear that I was actually disgusting held me back. Guys still asked me out, quite often actually, but I rejected them. I still wanted sex though. I was so incredibly horny all the time, but I could never let that get the better of me.
Then something changed. At the start of my second semester sophomore year, I was taking a psychology course. The professor was talking about sexuality (what else is a psychology course good for?), and she was explaining that in American culture, women in the late 20th and early 21st century were given more freedom to explore their homoerotic urges. Simply put, culture granted an indulgence to allow girls to "experiment" with girls in a way that was wholly inappropriate for boys. It was a simple, somewhat obvious observation, but it suddenly electrified my thinking. If Dave's problem was a little bit of homophobia then that would be common for men, but girls would be different. I'd always considered myself bisexual, but in high school (and in the first two weeks of college), I'd only dealt with boys. It was just easier that way. But in college, a lesbian relationship couldn't be too hard to find, it would be easier than at any other time in my life. I stopped looking inward, and started looking at the beautiful women around me. Dormant attraction burst out of me and suddenly I was seeing the sexual potential of all the women on campus.
Eventually, that sexual energy found a (seemingly) willing opposite. Her name was Rita and I met her when we both worked at a bar and grill near campus as waitresses. She was a cute little red-headed girl who didn't take shit from the customers and pretty much taught me everything I knew about waitressing. Sometimes after our shifts we'd stay at the bar and have a drink before we went home. During one of those evenings, we were talking about the cheerleaders we saw on the television and she confessed that she was a lesbian but asked that I not tell anyone. I agreed.
That was about three months before the psych lecture. I kept her secret for those three months and didn't think about it, I was too wrapped up in my own stuff. But that evening, I went to work and afterwards I asked if she wanted to get a drink. She agreed and I suggested that we get a booth. I didn't want to make the same mistake as I had with Dave, I would be up front.
"So Rita," I said as she took a sip of beer and looked at the television screen. I didn't say anything else.
"Yeah what?" she asked, running her hand through her long, beautiful hair.
"Do you remember what we talked about a few months ago?" I asked in the most circumspect manner possible. Rita laughed.
"I am going to be honest with you Rose, I have been told that I hardly ever shut up. So you are going to have to be a little more specific," she said and then took another sip of beer.
"About...sexual preference..." I said in a very low voice. She quickly set down her beer and looked at me. Her eyes narrowed a bit, she was a bit nervous.
"What about it?" she asked. I hadn't wanted her to feel strange, I knew how that felt. To be made to feel unworthy because of who you are, so I spoke again quickly.
"I was just wondering, well...Would you like to, I don't know...get dinner sometime instead of just drinks," I said. I hoped that I wasn't being too coy about it. Rita gave me a long look for a moment, and then set down her beer. For a second I thought she was actually going to be mad at me, but then a broad grin broke out on her face.
"Rose Malloy, you quiet little bitch!" she said and she took another drink of beer, "I can't believe you hid this from me all this time. I never for a second thought you were interested in me. I floated that out there like four months ago and you just nodded."
"You were hitting on me?" I asked, incredulously.
"Did I pout when I spoke? Did I press my breasts together when I discussed it with you?" she asked and then she laughed.
"I don't know!" I started.
"Well I thought that maybe there was some attraction there, but then you totally didn't bite. I figured you didn't like me. But of course we can go out, I wanted to go out with you months ago. I just didn't know you were a lesbian." She said and I felt my chest tighten a bit. Dave, and all the self-doubt that came after Dave, taught me that this wasn't so easy. And Rita gave me the perfect opening.
"Well, I don't know if you can call me a lesbian," I started.
"Bi, whatever. The point is, you like girls," she said, "where do you want to go?"
"No not that," I said, although that was the case, "I mean, some people won't consider me a lesbian at all."
"Why, are you virgin?" she asked brusquely. It was that bold sort of talk that I liked about her and made gave me the strength to keep talking. I realized that I had to stop beating around the bush. I leaned forward and whispered in Rita's ear.
"I was born genetically a male. I have a penis. But I have always been, and have always lived as a girl. And I really like you," I said. Then I leaned back.
I couldn't believe I'd actually said it. My heart was fluttering and I could barely keep my head up. I looked across the table at Rita. For a long while she just stared at me with a blank look on her face. I couldn't read it and the tension inside of me grew stronger and stronger. Finally she laughed once.
"Okay," she said, "Good joke. So I guess you don't want to go out either. You were just fucking with me." She said. I gulped deeply and shook my head imperceptibly.
"No, I do." I said, my voice sounding weak. She looked at me again.
"You aren't joking," she said after another long pause. It wasn't a question. She snorted some air out of her nose and shook her head. I gulped down air like a fish out of water.
"I just want you to know the truth," I said, "so where do you want to go out?" I asked, hopeful, just trying to push past this. She snorted again and shook her head.