Michael Bk. 01 Ch. 01: Confusion

Copyright © 2018 Black Jack Steele -- All Rights Reserved.

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A confused young man seeks counselling and guidance in an attempt to clarify his true gender identity

Michael Clarke was a confused young man. There were many things going on in his life about which he was not clear but the thing that confused him most was the fact that no-one seemed to be able to see him as he really was.

You see, Michael was a boy trapped in a girl's body. And it seemed that the more insistent he became about trying to convince others of this conundrum, the more they saw him as a problem child. His parents had taken him to see psychologists and psychiatrists, with members of both disciplines trying to convince him that his problem was psychological. The latter type pshrink -- the psychiatrist -- even prescribed medication for him to take to help him to cope with the depression his gender confusion had caused.

Of course, all reference to Michael at that time was as Michelle, the name that appeared on his birth certificate: Michelle Renee`. And everyone -- his parents, his psychologist and psychiatrist, his teachers and the other students at his school -- seemed to relate his problem to one of homosexuality; not, as he saw it, as one of gender identification.

The medication was abandoned when Michael discovered that he was having difficulty performing the simplest of tasks; both physical and mental. Normally a very bright mathematics student, Michael found that relatively easy maths problems had become impossible. Normally at the top of his class in English, he was having trouble stringing two or more words together; either vocally or in written form. He might as well not have bothered attending his other classes; even those classes -- such as sports like softball, swimming and athletics -- that were almost gender neutral. Even his martial arts class became difficult. He didn't seem able to coordinate his movements. In fact, it was his martial arts instructor who suggested that the problem might be medication related.

His parents took him to see their family doctor, who prescribed another medication which, in his words, 'should' relieve the side effects of the anti-depressants prescribed by the psychiatrist. They didn't. They only made things worse.

After a little over two months on these medications, Michael flushed them all down the toilet. Of course, he didn't realise the dangers that could result from stopping the taking of anti-depressants cold turkey. How could he? He was only sixteen at the time. The withdrawals from that six to eight weeks of medication, lasted almost three times as long. His nights were filled with violent nightmares and his days were filled with paradoxical mood swings, frustration, anger and rebellion. Of course, his parents naturally assumed that he had started taking drugs and would not listen when he tried to explain that what was happening as a result of the drugs they had arranged for him to take.

Although he started to settle down after almost six months, the effects of those prescription drugs stayed with him for the whole of that year; perhaps even a little longer. By the time he was seventeen, though, he was pretty much back to his normal self. Well, as normal as a boy trapped in a girl's body can be.

Of course, medical intervention wasn't the only course of action his parents used to swing him back to the righteous path of womanhood. Although neither parent was particularly religious, they felt that some religious guidance might help. Not long after Michael's eighteenth birthday, his mother -- nominally a Catholic -- took him to see her priest, a man who, although recognising her Catholic upbringing, refused to allow her to take holy communion or to attend confession because she had married outside the church. She might not have been excommunicated but, in his eyes, she was as near as damnit.

As for Michael -- or Michelle, as his mother had introduced him to the priest -- in this confused young woman, he saw a target. A young misguided person from a dysfunctional home who he could cultivate and mould to his liking. He agreed to conduct a series of preliminary one-on-one sessions with 'Michelle' and made an after-school appointment for the Friday of the following week.

Neither Michael -- who did not relate to any religion and therefore didn't attend religious ceremonies -- nor his mother who, because of the priest's attitude towards her no longer attended church services, knew of the priest's predilection for young boys and girls. Michael's mother had heard rumours, of course, but didn't really give them any serious credence. Her experience with him was that a was a holier-than-thou theologian who was too straight for his own good.

Very few people, in fact -- least of all the parents of the children he preyed upon -- knew anything about his dalliances with the young men and women of the parish. Only his victims knew with any certainty. And he had them so caught up in his web of pleasure and deceit that it didn't occur to them that anything he was doing was wrong. He picked his marks very carefully.

But none of that would have mattered to Michael, who was only going through the motions to comply with the wishes of his parents. In his mind, he would only be participating in one session with the priest; and that would constitute both the first and the last.

On the appointed day and at the appointed time, Michael presented himself to the church for the agreed counselling session.

The priest, a man who Michael judged to be in his early- to mid-fifties, guided the very young-looking, eighteen-year-old schoolgirl into his office. It was a room off the church vestry that contained a large ancient desk, behind which was a modern executive-style office chair. In front of the desk stood two old, hard-backed and uncomfortable-looking timber chairs. High up in the wall behind the desk, a large ecclesiastical, lead-light window depicted a biblical scene showing a haloed Jesus standing in a green paddock with his arms outstretched and surrounded by peacefully-resting lambs.

The wall on one side of the room was entirely covered by a floor to ceiling bookcase, which was completely filled with Bibles and other religious texts.

As he ran his eyes along the shelves, however, Michael noticed that the books weren't all religious texts. He noted a couple of titles that stood out. One of them, 'Kama Sutra', he recognised. Two others, however, he recognised only by the author's name. Both books were written by the Marquis de Sade. The first was titled, 'Justine'. It was the second book that disturbed Michael, however. The title, '120 days of Sodomy', gave the youth an insight into the priest's mind. More importantly, it gave him his first glimpse into the priest's heart and his underlying intentions.

Along the other wall was a leather-covered chaise lounge or settee.

"Welcome to my favourite place, Michelle," the priest said as he guided Michael into the room. "Why don't we sit over here on the settee. It is more comfortable than those old wooden chairs." He hadn't removed his hand from Michael's shoulders since first resting it there while steering him through the door.

Michael was feeling increasingly uncomfortable as the priest started rubbing his hand up and down his back. It felt like he was feeling for a bra. Even though he was now eighteen, he hadn't needed one. His breasts -- such as they were -- were only just starting to develop, another sign, Michael had thought, that he was really a boy.

The priest steered Michael around so that he would be sitting closest to the raised and curved head of the settee. It was a natural move, but one which, Michael later thought, was well practised. He might only be eighteen, but he had a mature brain in his head.

As they seated themselves, the priest pulled the back of his cassock up, giving the impression that this was a habit he had developed to prevent his garment from catching on the chair upon which he was sitting. He pulled Michael down beside him. They were so close that their knees were touching. Michael was thankful that the priest's legs were still covered. The front of his cassock had only risen a little way up his calves when he had seated himself.

Michael's legs, of course, were bare. Despite his continued protestations, both his parents and the school authorities insisted that he continue to wear the school's female uniform, which consisted of a knee-length tartan skirt and a white blouse. Because of his delayed breast development, his parents allowed him to wear a boys-style singlet under his blouse, rather than a bra.

"Now," said the priest, who had introduced himself as Father Augustus, said, "your mother tells me that you are having a problem with your gender. Even though you were born a girl, you believe you are a boy. Is that the crux of the matter?"

"Yes, Sir," he replied. He was not going to refer to this man as Father; particularly as he had no intention of ever becoming part of his flock.

"So, it has nothing to do with homosexuality? You are not using your gender identification problem as a mask to hide an underlying homosexually-driven preference for other females?"

"No, Sir."

"Whose company do you prefer, Michelle? Boys or girls?"

"I prefer the company of boys, Sir. And I prefer playing boys games. Not rugby but other games that are generally seen as male-specific. I have always preferred boy's toys -- cars and soldiers and the like -- over dolls. I prefer wearing jeans and shorts and shirts rather than dresses. I hate it that I am forced to wear this girls' uniform. I would much prefer to be able to wear cargo shorts and a shirt, just as the boys wear.

"And while we are talking about preferences, I would prefer that you refer to me as Michael."

"Michael, it is," the priest said, reaching forward and patting Michael on his knee. He didn't leave his hand there but withdrew it after a few seconds, giving it a light rub as he did so. He was an old hand at grooming and knew just how far he could go at each stage of the process.

Michael shivered in at the man's touch, feeling the icy finger of revulsion grip his soul. He had the feeling that he should get up and leave. But this man was the first person he had encountered who understood -- or was trying to understand, at least -- the problems he was experiencing. At least he seemed to want to listen to what Michael had to say. That in itself was a pleasant change. He decided to stay a little longer.

The priest saw the shiver. But, rather than seeing as a shiver of disgust or fear, he saw as one of excitement. He smiled inside. 'This might not take as long as I thought it would,' he thought.

"Okay," the priest said, "so we've established that you like playing with boy's toys and you prefer the company of boys. How is that working out for you? Do the boys accept you as one of them? And how do the girls see you?"

"The boys don't see me as an equal but put up with me hanging around; much like an unwanted sister, I guess.

"One or two of them have asked me to go out on dates with them, but don't seem too disappointed when I knock them back.

"Most of the girls know about my problem and seem okay with the fact that I prefer to shower in one of the cubicles, rather than sharing the open shower room with them. Others put that down to my being embarrassed about not having developed like the others have done. Then there are those who are jealous of my acceptance by the boys. They're the ones I have the most trouble with."

"How do you handle their dislike of you?" the priest asked.

"I had some problems, but the bullying has stopped lately and we keep our distance from each other. I still hang with the boys and they leave me alone."

"So, someone intervened on your behalf?"

"You might say that," Michael answered. He said nothing about having started martial arts training and the confidence that being able to defend himself had given him.

"Good. Good," the priest said soothingly, as he once again reached out and patted Michael on the knee. This time, however, as he rubbed his leg before pulling his hand away, he slid his hand up along the boy's hairless thigh, sliding his skirt a couple of centimetres further up his leg. Once again, he felt the boy's shudder of what he interpreted as excitement, just before lifting his hand and putting it back in his own lap. His hand rested gently on his own growing excitement.

Michael once again fought down the revulsion of the priest's hand on his leg. Once again, he tossed up whether to call an end to the counselling session but decided to give it a little more time. In addition to the actual counselling he was receiving, he was beginning to take an interest in the priest's seduction technique.

And he couldn't deny that he was becoming a little excited.

"Okay," the priest said. "Now, at this stage, Michael, you hang out with the boys because you consider yourself to be a boy. And you said earlier that you have no homosexual attraction to other girls. The question must be asked, then, to which gender are you attracted?"

"I've thought about this a great deal," Michael said. I'm not attracted to boys because my gender identification has no connection to any homosexual desire. I'm a male, pure and simple. If everything was right with the world and I had been born into the right body, I would be out with the other boys chasing girls.

"But everything isn't right with the world. I'm a boy living in a girl's body. My natural attraction is towards girls. But, as you have pointed out, such an attraction would mean that the only relationship I could have would be a homosexual or a lesbian one. And that's not what I am."

He dropped his head down into his hands and started to weep. As he sat slouched forward with his head buried in his hands, he felt the priest put his hand on his back and gently rub it in a circular motion. This was the most affection Michael has received for many years.

Affection from his parents had ceased when he had first discussed his problem with them, just after his fifteenth birthday. Even then, he knew he was different -- he had known he was different from the time he had reached puberty -- but his parents refused to believe it. They thought he was just going through a phase brought on by puberty. But, for whatever reason, all affection ceased. There were no more deep and meaningful hugs from either his father or mother. Whether it was because they were ashamed of him or afraid of him, he didn't know. But the priest's hand rubbing his back was the first time anyone had shown him any form of affection in the past three years.

Without thinking about it, Michael sat up and turned towards the priest, burying his head into his chest. The priest raised his other hand and, with both hands wrapped around him, hugged Michael into his bosom. As Michael continued to weep, he leant forward and kissed the young boy's hair. It smelled of aloe and tea tree, a smell he would remember for the rest of his life.

The priest's life changed at that moment. The carnal desire he had harboured for his young person had turned to affection. For the first time in more than thirty years as a priest, he felt love for another human being. Not the self-serving love that he and many of his fellow priests felt but a self-sacrificing love that he believed the founder of his church had asked of him.

He lifted Michael up from his chest and dug into the pocket of his cassock for a clean handkerchief. Using it to wipe the young man's eyes, he bent down and kissed him on both cheeks.

"You are a strong and beautiful young man,' he said. "You have a very clear understanding of what is happening in your life; certainly more than I would have expected of a person of your age. I believe, however, that, in spite of the trials that lay ahead of you, you will come out a great deal stronger for it. Don't ever give up your belief in yourself. And don't ever listen to those who might tell you that you are anything but what you believe yourself to be.

"You might be an adult in your own eyes and the eyes of the world but you are still a child in God's eyes. What you are going through now, will help you to help others in the future. Please use that knowledge wisely.

"I think our counselling session is at an end, Michael. I don't think you need to come back. In fact, I'd recommend that you don't come back, ...ever. I am not a good man and the path down which I might have taken you would have been disastrous for both of us. If you were to come back, I don't know that I would be strong enough to hold myself in check or control my carnal desires.

"I promise you one thing, though. I will spend the rest of my life atoning for my sins and begging God's forgiveness.

"To that end, I would ask that you ask your mother to visit me. I need to ask her forgiveness for the way I have treated her since her marriage to your father. I think it's about time she shared communion with the rest of the congregation.

"Oh, and don't worry about our counselling session. I won't tell her anything. I will be counselling her, however, about understanding and tolerance."

As the priest stood, his cassock hung up, briefly. It was only then that Michael noticed that he wore nothing under it; well certainly no trousers, anyway. He was secretly disappointed that the seduction hadn't gone on for a little longer. He would have liked to have seen just what was hiding under the priest's long garment. From the bulge he had seen in his lap, it looked to be something worth looking at.

Reaching down, the priest held his hands out to Michael to help him to his feet. Before leaving, Michael reached his arms around the priest and hugged him. The priest hugged him back. They held each other very close.

The priest was just on one-hundred-and-eighty centimetres (six-foot) tall. Michael was barely one-hundred-and-sixty-five centimetres (five-foot, six-inches). That put the priest's groin level with Michael's navel. While his erection had softened a little, it still stood proudly and Michael could feel its length from his navel to a point just below his slowly developing breasts. The excitement he had experienced earlier returned and he felt a moistening between the lips of his girl parts.

"Thank you, Sir," he said as he and the priest parted and he walked towards the door. "I appreciate your honesty. I promise I will keep it to myself. I think things are going to be harder for you than they are for me.

"And I will pass your message on to my mother."

The priest held the door open for his guest. As he watched Michael walking up the aisle of the church, he thought he might be in love.

'Michael might think he's a boy,' he thought to himself, 'but to watch him walking up that aisle, he certainly looks like a girl to me.'

...Continues, Chapter 2