A Woman's Will

"I'll arrange everything with Shirley. It's time for Mr. Hamilton to meet Willow."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Woolport swam a few leisurely circuits of the pool while Smalley reached lap forty. The older woman left the pool at the other end, and it was all Willow could do not to chase after her. Willow needed to believe everything would work out. "Forty-eight," she yelled louder than necessary.

Denim approached Willow in the men's area. He waved his hand in front of her face, breaking her reverie as she stared into the open shower area for the second time that day. Smalley's balls huddled tight against his body forming a shelf to support his short penis. "It's amazing how his balls change shape and size," she thought as Denim distracted her.

"Shirley needs you right away, dude. I'll attend to Mr. Hamilton for the rest of the day. And dude, try to be a little gayer next time."

Willow found it difficult to pull her eyes away from Smalley's scrumptious body, but she had to be careful. People noticed her fascination.

"I should never have hired you," Shirley said for the tenth time. "You've been nothing but trouble."

Willow kept silent. Shirley led her into a ramshackle cluttered shop at the edge of a strip mall. It was the third shop they'd visited since Shirley had dragged Willow to a car and set out on her mission.

"Try this one," Shirley commanded after wincing at the price tag. Willow covered her short hair with the net she had acquired at the first shop. The new wig wasn't quite the right color. It was closer to platinum blonde than Willow's natural honey color, but the length was right, and the style was similar to Willow's former wavy curls.

"We'll take it," Shirley said. The next stop was a hair salon, but Shirley dragged Willow by her hand into a back room.

"This is where I learned to apply makeup," Shirley said in a wistful way.

Willow looked around. "What is this place?"

"It was my home away from home when I was your age. The woman who runs the place took pity on me."

"What do you mean?" Willow's curiosity got the best of her.

Shirley rubbed Willow's face with a warm damp cloth and then patted her dry. "I was almost as clueless as you, but at least I had an excuse. Hold still."

Willow didn't like the way Shirley applied the light blue eye shadow. She feared having her eye poked out by the eye liner pencil. After mascara and blush, Willow didn't recognize herself. "It isn't too outlandish," she admitted. "You learned all this when you were my age?"

Shirley sighed. "I was a very late bloomer."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't start transitioning until I was twenty. I was a horrible mess during those years. You should know better than most. You've been passing for a week now."

Willow's blank expression elicited a sparkle in Shirley's eye. "You haven't figured it out yet?"

"Um, no."

"Willow, I'm genderqueer. I'm still figuring out what gender even means to me."

"You're a man?"

"No." Shirley sounded cross. "I'm a pre-op transsexual, and because I'm genderqueer, I'll probably be pre-op my whole life."

"I've never heard of genderqueer. What does it mean?"

"I don't fit any standard gender identity. I just know I wasn't meant to be the gender society assigned at my birth."

"So, do you like boys or girls?"

"Yes."

Willow's mouth hung open.

"Come on. You have an appointment with destiny. Remember to be Willow when you wear the wig."

Shirley almost shoved Willow out of the car in front of Smalley's parents' house. The car kicked up dust as Shirley sped away before Willow could even knock on the door.

"Hello," Willow mumbled when Cassandra answered.

"Oh, you must be Willow. Will's told me so much about you."

Willow looked shocked at the lie. "No, I haven't," she thought.

"Come on in," Cassandra said. "Can I get you something?"

"I'm supposed to meet Mr. Hamilton," Willow stammered the line Shirley made her memorize. "And borrow a tuxedo for Will."

"Oh, right," Cassandra chirped brightly, contrasting with her all-black ensemble that included unlaced army boots. "You look so much like your brother."

Willow followed Cassandra up the stairs to a part of the house she'd never seen. "Gregory is in here," she said as she knocked and opened the door.

Smalley sat nude on the edge of a king-sized bed with his eyes closed. Earphones played loud enough to make unfamiliar classical music audible across the room. An index finger and thumb encircled and stroked his shaft. Seconds stretched into eternity. Willow noticed it was a bit bigger when erect.

"I'm so sorry," Cassandra squeaked.

Smalley opened his eyes in horror while Cassandra wrestled Willow out of the room. She pulled and pushed Willow to the stairs muttering, "Oh, shit," under her voice.

"Damn. I hope that's something we'll laugh about someday," Cassandra joked without conviction as the two women sat across the kitchen table.

"Are you looking forward to the cotillion?" Willow changed the subject.

"I am," Cassandra confessed. "I didn't think I'd ever want to go, but I guess the right escort makes all the difference. Does Will talk about me at all?"

Willow wondered how to reply. If she made Will sound too interested, it only compounded the eventual letdown. But, how could she discourage the earnest teen?

"Will doesn't say much about girls," Willow hedged.

"Did he tell you we took dancing lessons together?"

"Two lessons," Willow corrected.

"Did he say he enjoyed the lessons? I know I did. He put his hand on my hip, and he pulled me close." Cassandra sounded drunk with lust.

Smalley entered the kitchen wearing a robe and holding a tuxedo in a dry cleaning bag. "Shirley mentioned something about you collecting the tuxedo today," Smalley said, avoiding eye contact with either woman.

He thrust his arm at Willow, and she stood to accept the heavy bag.

"Well, this isn't awkward," Cassandra muttered.

"Cufflinks are in a box inside the bag."

"Thank you," Willow said, prompting Smalley to look at her more closely.

"You look like your brother," he grumbled.

"He talks about you all the time," Willow blurted to fill silence.

"What does he say?" Cassandra asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Willow backpedaled. "You impressed him, I guess."

There was an awkward silence.

"Thanks again," she raised the bag, "for the tux and everything. I know he's looking forward to the dance." Willow tossed the last line to placate Cassandra.

Willow hurried out, then wondered how she was going to get home when she stood in the Hamilton's front door and stared at an empty courtyard.

"How did you get here?" Cassandra asked.

"Shirley from the club dropped me off. I don't know if she's coming back."

"I'd give you a ride home," Cassandra offered, "but I have to be here to meet my mother in about fifteen minutes."

Willow stared at her feet.

"Let me see if Gregory can give you a ride." Cassandra ran up the stairs before Willow said anything.

"I'm sorry I interrupted you," Willow assured Smalley as she settled into the familiar bucket seats.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too," Smalley said.

"You don't have to be embarrassed. It wasn't a big deal." As she said the words, she thought how much of a big deal it was to her. She wanted to see him hard again. His erection started something churning in her loins. She closed her eyes and licked her lips remembering.

Smalley didn't say anything, so Willow continued. "Everyone does it."

The painful silence continued.

"You have an amazing body."

Smalley glanced at her, but remained quiet.

When Smalley turned onto the street to Willow's apartment, she stammered, "It, ah, was very sexy." Her face burned.

Smalley stopped in her parking lot, and as Willow stepped out of the car, she wondered how Smalley knew to bring her there?

"Thank you," Willow called to Smalley as he reached over from the driver's side to pull the passenger door closed.

"You're welcome," he replied and drove away.

Willow recounted the traumatic day to her roommates. She cried in the shower as she washed away the makeup. Smalley's cold tone of voice made Willow's stomach ache. "What a great first impression," she lamented. At the same time, two fingers stroked up and down in her imagination. Sometimes, they were her fingers.

Willow rode the bus to the club. Smalley's tuxedo fit reasonably well. It was tight in the hips and loose across her shoulders. Other passengers stared at her sitting alone, dressed to the nines, with a dozen white roses in her lap. The flowers had set Willow back two days' wages. Counting a day off for the cotillion, the affair was costing her three days wages. At least she was getting paid. Shirley amended Willow's time card to show eight hours every day in spite of her erratic schedule.

The young men were arranged alphabetically according to their dates' names. Cassandra Hamilton placed Willow in the middle of the pack. A deep baritone voice announced each debutante, and her escort guided her to a seat at the high table before seating himself at a designated table on the floor.

Willow was shorter than most of the escorts, but she fit in well. Some of the debutantes were only sixteen, and most of their dates were younger than Willow. The guys joked and encouraged each other while waiting for the girls to be introduced and continued joking later at the tables. They seemed like a friendly group to Willow, but she blushed hearing their sometimes frank appraisals of the girls.

During the meal, a middle-aged woman stepped to a microphone in front of the high table and read lists of accomplishments and highlights of the young women's lives to date. One girl was already accepted to pre-veterinary school. Another won a nationwide essay contest about resurrecting civil society. Cassandra had performed in the National Youth Orchestra as a featured cellist. Willow had no idea. She had also won a prize for representing Jamaica in a mock United Nations event. Cassandra planned to attend the University of California, San Diego, in the fall.

Willow proved to be one of the better dancers. She hadn't realized she was expected to dance with all the girls. There seemed to be a system in place for exchanging partners after every dance.

One of the guys congratulated Willow during a break. She returned to her table to find half a dozen white roses on her seat. The other guys explained. If a girl wants another dance, she leaves a rose.

"How do I know which girls left roses?"

"They'll let you know." One of the guys with a couple of roses laughed.

"Dance doesn't always mean 'dance,' if you know what I mean." The guy next to Willow elbowed her in the ribs.

The young women looked like princesses. They even wore tiaras. Cassandra wore her hair in a tight pile at the top of her head. White baby's breath, woven into her hair, echoed an elaborate white gown. Dancing gave Cassandra a healthy flush, and Willow realized the dates were mere accessories to the girls. It made sense for them to sit together at their own table because they were there to impress each other.

Willow approached Cassandra for the last dance. She bowed over a hand copying the gesture made by other escorts. Cassandra's bright smile warmed Willow. They danced a Jenkka, which turned out to be unfamiliar to both. It required three quick steps and a hop followed by a turn. Willow stood behind Cassandra with her hands on Cassandra's hips. They fumbled and bumped each other turning to follow the other dancers, but they laughed and enjoyed the shamble. Willow suspected the steps were invented to give young ladies an excuse to waggle their buns at young men.

When the lights dimmed and the orchestra started to pack up, Cassandra yanked Willow's hand and pulled her to the side. The couple passed several girls who grinned knowingly. Cassandra ducked into a staff corridor leading away from the ballroom and threw her arms around Willow's neck as soon as the door closed behind them. "Kiss me," she demanded and pressed her lips against Willow's.

Cassandra relaxed when Willow put her arms around her, and they broke the kiss. "That was my first," Cassandra whispered.

"Mine, too," Willow stammered while trying to catch her breath.

Cassandra led her to a storage area Willow hadn't noticed before. Once inside, she dove onto a pile of red tablecloths laying on the floor. She landed face down but rolled over to look up at Willow. "Gregory told me about this place. He brought his date here after a cotillion."

Cassandra's arms opened in invitation, but Willow sat beside Cassandra instead of laying on her. Cassandra grabbed Willow's hand and placed it against rough lace between her breasts. "Do you feel my heart beating?" Cassandra released Willow's hand but pulled her close to trap it in position. Cassandra's breasts pressed into Willow's, and they kissed again.

Both girls panted when the kiss ended. Willow searched for an escape that could avoid insulting Cassandra. Willow's hesitation lasted long enough for Cassandra to unfasten her bow tie and use its loose ends to pull Willow in for another kiss.

"We can't do this," Willow objected when Cassandra started unbuttoning the tuxedo shirt.

"I want to," Cassandra moaned.

In some ways, Willow wanted it, too. The heat of the moment surprised and excited. She might have submitted to Cassandra's exploration if she hadn't feared discovery of her many lies.

Cassandra stroked Willow's thigh through the dress pants, but Willow blocked the encroaching hand.

"What's wrong?" Cassandra's playful smile faded.

Willow looked away unable to face her friend.

"You love my brother, don't you?"

"What?" Willow gulped.

"It's OK. I had a feeling you might be gay."

"I'm not gay," Willow shouted, and Cassandra recoiled.

Willow jumped to her feet and almost lost the pants she hadn't realized were unfastened. It irritated her to button and zip before she could storm away. She teetered on the edge of tears she didn't dare reveal to Cassandra. For some reason, Willow's pent up frustration and shaken gender identity overflowed. Her aroused body accused her angry mind of hypocrisy.

Willow ran, blinded by tears, through the maze to the break room. She flew out the side door into the freezing night. When she stumbled, cold hands guided her to her feet again.

"You're the guy," a familiar voice proclaimed.

Willow looked but couldn't see the face shadowed by a hood. She moved to back away, but the man grabbed her in a painful headlock and twisted her arm behind her back. He marched her toward the woods bordering the club's golf course. She struggled, but he stepped on her heels violently and buckled her knees to drag her further.

Willow screamed, "Help," but it came out muffled and wheezing from the choke hold.

Shirley spotted the suspicious figure walking around Smalley's Audi trying all the doors. She scanned back through the security recording to see him pull into the parking lot in a Firebird. He parked in the back as Cassandra Hamilton wobbled in high heels toward the front entrance.

Shirley kept an occasional eye on the stranger while he sat in his car doing who knows what for an hour or two. When the guy got out and started checking doors around the sides and back of the main building, Shirley called the police. She used the non-emergency number and reported a trespasser. The dispatcher promised to send a cruiser to check it out.

Shirley concentrated on closing the books for January. The drama surrounding Willow had distracted her so much that the books weren't complete halfway into the next month. It was only chance that Shirley glimpsed a young man being accosted outside the staff entrance. When the stranger dragged his victim through a spot illuminated by a flood light, Shirley recognized Willow's hair.

She dialed 911, but when she received the "all lines are currently busy" recording, she put 911 on hold and called Smalley. By the time Shirley explained the situation and hung up on Smalley, the antique phone system had disconnected 911. Shirley cursed and called the emergency line again.

Smalley roared into the parking lot in the gardener's truck. Cassandra and Shirley met him by the front entrance. Cassandra's makeup smeared as she wiped the mess of tears from her cheeks. Shirley pointed in the general direction of the woods.

After garbled talking and shouting over each other, Smalley jogged back to the truck and released Wicked. "Sit. Attend." Smalley shouted, and the dog halted in its tracks to face its master.

"Do you have anything with Will's scent on it?" he shouted back to the others.

Cassandra still carried Will's bow tie, so she waved it to capture her brother's attention.

"Perfect," he exclaimed. He waved the bow tie under Wicked's nose and then jogged to the edge of the woods with the dog trotting beside him. Shirley and Cassandra caught up to him as he commanded, "Search, Wicked."

The dog bounded into the woods with Smalley close behind. Darkness made the woods seem almost impenetrable, and underbrush slapped and scratched the small man chasing a dog who ignored such inconveniences. A bellowing curse in the distance to Smalley's right redirected the pursuit.

Wicked and Smalley burst into a ravine to find Kyle half dressed in a tuxedo three sizes too small. The assailant curled in a fetal position holding his groin.

"Where's Will?"

Kyle ignored his former boss.

"Listen asshole. Where is Will?"

Wicked bounded further into the woods, so Smalley made a snap decision and followed.

"Will," he shouted. "Where are you? Are you alright?"

Smalley tumbled through brush into a clearing at the same time Shirley and Cassandra arrived via a paved golf cart lane through the trees. Willow stood illuminated by Shirley's flashlight and shivering in the cold. Willow was naked except for boy's briefs ripped and hanging from her hips. She bled from scratches across her face, breasts, and stomach.

Smalley ran to her and clasped her shoulders. "Are you OK?" He shook her until she looked into his face. Then she clenched Smalley in a hug that left her rescuer bewildered with his arms stretched out to his sides.

Realization dawned, and Smalley returned Willow's embrace. He held her and rocked her as she cried until police arrived.

Smalley gave Willow his jacket. Cassandra and Smalley guided her back to the parking lot while Shirley explained to the cops.

Kyle leapt out of the shadows brandishing a knife at Smalley. After a brief face off, Smalley shoved Cassandra and Willow away. Kyle stabbed, and Smalley dodged. Cassandra shouted for help.

Willow watched in awe and Kyle clenched the smaller man in some kind of military hand-to-hand combat maneuver. Smalley's torso rotated above his hips, and a hand swept into the back of Kyle's knee. Before Willow understood what was happening, Kyle lay on his back with the knife forgotten. Smalley pressed his heel on the bigger man's neck.

Willow submerged herself in Cassandra's large bathtub. Her mind replayed visions of Kyle being led away in handcuffs. Apparently, Kyle had hatched a vendetta against Smalley for firing him, and he had followed Cassandra, thinking she was Smalley.

Willow lifted her head out of the water to catch her breath and heard knocking at the door.

"Can we come in?" Cassandra asked.

Willow held her tongue, and the door cracked open an inch.

"Are you OK?" she asked. "I have some clothes here you can borrow."

"Let me in," Smalley called. "It's only fair after the number of times you've seen me."

"Let her have some privacy," Cassandra objected.