The Greatest Liar Ch. 01: My Awkward Phase

Jack slapped my face, disrupting my dream. Inside me, fireworks exploded with panoramic beauty, and my body absorbed the explosions like a battered fortress.

Seth massaged my shoulders, then accelerated like a locomotive, slow but powerful.

"You good?"

I murmured affirmation.

Seth pried open my chrysalis and released a newborn butterfly. In the maelstrom of a gangbang, a cloistered maiden had roused like Sleeping Beauty and broken free. Had she needed a gang rape to find freedom?

Jack's death head tattoos and menacing face reminded me why my inner girl had dreaded exposure, for she was in grave danger. She might even die tonight, on the first night she had lived. Jack threatened me gangster Spanglish.

"Slash the whore to pieces, feed it to the dogs."

Jack's forced himself into my throat until I choked. He smashed his hands over my ears, deafening me, gripping my ears like handles to lever my face. After he finished, I blinked and wiped away my tears, gulped and burped. I fought nausea, smiled and lied.

"Delicious."

He slapped my cheek, spit in my face and stalked toward the bathroom.

"Too good for a faggot."

Seth thrust against me, I bucked back so we met with audible thuds. I looked back and murmured.

"Am I a good little love-doll?"

He answered with a howl.

"Goddamn."

When he finished, he patted my fanny affectionately.

"You're great, Rios."

I buried my face in the pillow to hide the conflicting emotions that my face would have betrayed.

"I was a virgin."

"Everyone's a virgin once."

Two tsunamis coursed through me and pooled inside my belly. I lay in Seth's shadow, curled in a fetal position on the damp mattress, re-born as a female from the ashes of my violated virginity. I still faced rape, abuse, and possibly murder. But if I died a girl, I'd die happy.

A second shadow appeared.

"I'm not done with you, maricon."

Seth backed away. Miguel hauled me to my knees, but after Seth's monster, Miguel was easy.

"Papi, I love it."

He spanked my ass.

"Love that too?"

"Don't hurt me."

He yanked my hair and slapped my face.

"You tagged my turf, I should"

"No, we're-"

"Kill you, Marta too."

"Just friends."

"Or pimp your tranny ass to all comers."

Miguel finished, then threw my torn hosiery to Seth.

"Tie it to the bed."

Seth bound my hands and feet to the bed posts.

"Miguel runs this set, I do what he says. I'll make it easy though."

Miguel pulled Marta into the room.

"Say adios to your maricon boy toy."

She swung her fist at Miguel. He blocked the blow and slapped her face. Was it a cover for her complicity, or had she shared my defilement?

Miguel grabbed my hair and twisted my head to the sodden sheets.

"Complain to the cops, you and the cunt are toast."

A round chambered into an automatic pistol that pressed the nape of my neck.

The room was lit by camera flashes. Lights dimmed, footsteps clomped down the hallway, the door creaked open and slammed shut, a car screeched away, and the house was dark and eerily quiet. I listened for the sounds of reentry or rescue, but I sensed only the hum of distant freeway traffic and the sweep of headlights across my grandma's lace curtains.

Silence

I twisted my hands against the Seth's haphazard knots and slid free of them. I stripped the rumpled, sodden sheets and stuffed them into the washer. I collected empty beer cans and swept up the shards of a smashed bottle of Cuervo Gold, cigarette butts, and the fire-scarred foil where they'd cooked the crack that fueled their rampage.

I trashed our tattered negligee and the ruined gown, removed my smudged make-up and nail polish and dressed in the rented tux and shoes. On my way home I drove past West LA police substation, but I couldn't force myself to tell transphobic cops how my Prom date and I had been gang-raped by gangsters. The LAPD treated transsexuals as criminals and would probably think that I had gotten what I deserved.

My silence made me complicit in Miguel's crimes and alienated me from the world of laws and rules. Concealment of crime is a lie, but I was addicted to lying, and my stealing syringes and hormones from my dad's lab and fraudulent importation of spironolactone had made me criminal too. The street-smart Miguel had peered through my respectable façade and conscripted me into the lowest rung of his criminal gang, as a maricon prostitute.

I tiptoed into my parents' house, took a Valium to calm my frayed nerves. My emotions wavered between revenge and remorse, acceptance and revulsion, ambition and abandon. My ass burned, my throat hurt, my flesh was crusted with spit, sweat and sperm and crawling with microbes, the stigmata of a despoiled virgin, sacred relics of my passage. I showered and douched, and an ecosystem of incriminating DNA swirled down the drain. Only the abraded skin around my anus evidenced their crimes and my transformation.

Miguel's gang had forced me, but I had yielded, survived and even orgasmed. Jack and Miguel called me "it" but used and abused me like one of their gangster chicas. Humiliated and ravished, I experienced ecstasy in submission.

If I complained to Uni High's administrators, they would shine a light on my secret life and deprive me of it, my father would ground me and confiscate my hormones. Miguel had promised retaliation, and I could not protect Marta or myself. There was no upside in protest. If I remained silent, I could stealthily continue following my path and hope that shame about fucking a tranny could silence him and his crew.

Morning After Pills

"It's almost afternoon, Honey. Don't you need to study?"

My mom's face was blurry as I blinked myself awake.

"Yeah, thanks."

"Have fun last night?"

I couldn't tell her that her darling son had been gang-raped by three classmates in her mother's bed, so I lied.

"Totally awesome."

"You were out past curfew."

"Prom night's supposed to be-"

She winked and kissed me.

"I'm so glad you finally experienced the social side of-"

"Me too, but I'm nauseous."

I ran to the bathroom, pooped a pink-tinged slurry, vomited thick, gooey mucous and collapsed to the tile floor. My skin flushed and beaded with sweat. Was it the onset of HIV or post-traumatic stress?

I choked down a Spiro and a couple of Ritalin and relaxed in bed with a book. Academics would put Miguel in the rear-view mirror and me back on route to college. Last night was a detour, my path forward was clear.

But studies competed with memories of being the gangsters' sex slave. Who would take a transsexual seriously as a scientific researcher? Would my scholarships be rescinded if I tried to register as a girl?

Every time doubt and angst rose within me, I quelled it with the calming discipline of study. I never left my house that weekend and interrupted my studies only when I needed to eat or sleep a few hours. By Sunday night, I so exhausted and charged up that I took an Ambien and fell asleep with the light on and a book in my lap.

I have boobs and a sex change, lecturing a crowded auditorium. Beautiful but professional, my audience is rapt, and enraptured. Except for my marker's squeaks on the white board, the hall is silent, but when I finished, the scene changes, and I'm writhing up and down a stripper pole. I crawl across a red lit stage, wriggle my ass in the faces of drunks who stuff bills into my sequined thong and paw my bare butt. A burly thug beckons me, and I slide into his lap and grind my pussy into his lap, massaging his cock with my labia as he nuzzles his grizzled face between my perfumed breasts.

I woke up sweating, heart pounding, and grabbed another handful of pills. I was at an unmarked crossroads. Which path would I take?

Outed

Mom rousted me.

"You're going to be late-"

"Class is a waste-"

"You have too many absences, you could lose your scholarships. We're too stretched to pay tuition because you cut class."

Her heels clacked as she left, and I raged. The perfect match for my dad, the world's biggest prick. Too bad she couldn't fuck as many pool boys and personal trainers as he fucked grad students and lab techs. With equal shares of adultery, their marriage might have worked. It was already on the rocks and discovering at their son was girl would sink it.

Mom had been a Rose Bowl Princess, and I'd inherited her luminescent blue eyes, blonde hair, slim physique, and porcelain skin. But I'd inherited my long, aquiline nose and my ambition from my father's tawny, tough Argentine side.

The soreness of my ass had faded to a tingle and my bruised lips had recovered. When I got the Newspaper Office, Barb and Anne exchanged whispers. Barb glared at me.

"You bailed on Prom."

Anne folded her arms, I hung my head.

"Thad made us dance, he groped me, said he was going to kick your ass. A night in hell."

"Sorry, we got delayed, too late to make it."

"We know, your Prom Night pictures are all over the internet," Barb said. "If you'd planned an orgy with the gangsters, why drag us into that snake pit?"

I staggered and sat on a table's edge just before I fainted. My skin poured sweat, my stomach churned and my bowl spasmed.

"I'm sorry, I can't, I'm sick."

I usually avoided Uni's filthy, dangerous bathrooms, but I was desperate. I opened a stall and blanketed the stained seat with shreds of tissue to keep the germs off my skin. My ass stung, and I sobbed as a hot hurricane gushed out. I heard whispers and giggles as I read the graffiti at eyelevel on the stall's door.

Alex Rios, tranny ho,

Likes to suck and loves blow.

Alex Rios, tranny slut.

Loves to take it in the butt.

I rubbed at the inscription, but it was written in black sharpie. I perspired and hyperventilated as I peeked warily over the partition at a leering audience of faces blurred by my tears. I averted my eyes as I washed my hands but felt their mocking eyes boring into me.

I'd hoped that Miguel's prized macho reputation would make him keep our encounter on the down-low. But he had decided to up the ante by outing me with graffiti and internet photo sharing. Miguel rewrote my script for a stealthy exit from Uni as a pornographic exposé. Alex Rios had schemed and scammed to become a girl, Miguel and his posse had sealed the deal.

Principal

Milling students crowded the corridors, bumping and mocking me as I hurried to the Principal's office.

Fabiola, the office receptionist, greeted me with a smirk and pointed to the clock.

"Home Room time."

"I need to see the Principal right now."

She typed a message on her computer, and when the response pinged back she buzzed in to see the principal, an aging veteran of LA's busing wars who was timeserving his way toward retirement. He motioned me to a battered, metal chair.

"What's happening, Rios?"

"There's a terrible graffiti about me in a toilet stall. Shouldn't the janitors paint it over?"

"Already painted over two others. Where?"

"Middle stall, by the Newspaper Office. Can I be excused from school today? That graffiti's scary."

"Can't run from insults. Got rules against graffiti, hate speech, harassment and such. Identify the offenders, I'll enforce the rules. Who's writing this garbage, and why?"

I hesitated to tell him, for what would come next? A couple of days' suspension for Miguel, a beating or worse for me and Marta. I felt powerless.

"I've gotten cruel comments and I ignored them, but I can't ignore this."

"Sad truth is that most times, the victim knows, but is scared to tell."

"I am scared. Can I leave? My classes aren't-."

He tapped his pen on a blank page and let out a low whistle.

"Got to have more than graffiti to excuse two weeks of classes."

I started crying. The Alex Rios who had the best college admissions, the smartest guy in the school, was dead, killed by a single bad night. In his place was a frightened, lonely outcast whose few friends thought he'd betrayed them. When my sobs subsided, I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and looked up.

"I'm transsexual. Some boys from here forced me, took pictures, now they're showing them around, boasting."

"Rios, these things happen to girls. Want to be one you got to learn to deal with rumors."

"That graffiti encourages violence."

"Someone threatens you, then come to me."

"That could be too late."

"Tell you what, Rios. You're a rare success story in this class of losers. Get your parents to agree and I'll excuse you."

"They only care about shipping me off to college."

"I need some cover. Want to me to cooperate, explain the situation and have them email me consent."

My heart pounded.

"My dad will-"

"Your problem, not mine."

My choice was harassment and potential transphobic violence or the wrath of Eduardo Rios. But he would eventually hear the rumors.

"I'll do it."

He didn't look up as I left Uni High for what I hoped was the last time.

Family Meeting

I went home and buried myself in AP World History. World War I was raging when I heard my dad come in. I went downstairs expecting a battle bloodier than Verdun. My dad was in his office, reading email. My mom was chopping tofu. I cleared my throat.

"Can we have a family meeting?"

It was code for delivering bad news. My father shifted in his chair. I stood in the doorway.

"Does this relate to the email from your school? Don't tell me you got kicked out."

"I asked to be excused."

My dad stood and glared.

"Don't obfuscate. What happened?"

"Problems the gang element. They're harassing me, writing threatening graffiti."

"Why are you in contact with the riff-raff? I thought you were taking AP classes."

"School isn't just about classes. My problem is with some friends of Marta's."

"I knew that girl was bad news. Lie down with dogs, get fleas. Is she knocked up?"

"Not that. They found us together and got rough."

My mom stroked my hair and smoothed my cheek.

"Can't you see Alex is struggling?"

She put her arm around me and kissed the side of my neck. I smelled her cologne, felt the silky touch of her golden hair.

"Tell me everything, it doesn't matter, I'll always love you."

I felt the bulwarks that I had built around my identity shudder, and then collapse under the weight of the truth. I focused my eyes on a tiny crack in the wall. I wanted to crawl into that crack and disappear.

"OK, this is hard and I am frightened. But I'm even more scared of living my life as a great lie."

"Great preamble, get to the point," my dad said.

"Don't intimidate him, it's not helpful."

"This psycho-babble isn't helpful, it's classic Alex, dissembling to evade responsibility."

I was fueling the simmering clash between my parents. They had been to the verge of divorce and back more times than I could remember. This would surely push them over the edge. I wanted to retreat into the old Alex, and transition at college, away from them. Why had I rushed? Now, it was too late. I had to say it now.

"I'm transsexual."

My dad swayed like he had been gut punched. He collapsed into a chair and cleared his throat. My mom recoiled from her embrace, as though she had accidentally hugged a stranger.

"What qualifies you to make such a bold diagnosis?"

"I've wanted to be a girl since I was a toddler. As I matured, my femininity emerged."

"I am a doctor. Don't my opinions have any weight?"

"You study viruses, and mom treats the inner child of menopausal matrons. I know who I am. You barely know me."

"There are treatments, programs, we have access to limitless resources, and you make this call on your own? You purport to be a genius but behave as a fool."

"If you knew anything about transsexuals, you would know that it's a diagnosis that only the patient can make."

My mom stroked my cheek, as though checking it for whiskers.

"You need to be professionally evaluated by a psychologist and an endocrinologist. You can't decide this-"

"I've been on female hormones for months. I'm already almost-"

My dad slammed his hands on the table.

"That solves a mystery that's been roiling the hospital. Someone was fired over the missing syringes and hormones. Don't you care about anyone but yourself?"

"I'm sorry that UCLA fired an innocent, but not for anything else. I did what I needed-"

"Only a rash and egotistical lunatic could justify the theft of drugs to self-administer hormone therapy."

"The hospital is still loaded with them, so its loss is negligible."

"You've probably sterilized yourself. Your irresponsible hormone juicing means that your parents will never have grandchildren."

"I'll be sad if I can't have a child, but sadder still that you care more about potential grandchildren than for your actual child. I can't be your son, I need to be your daughter."

"You disgraced yourself at St. Aybert's with this garbage. I caved in to your mother and let you come home instead of sending you to military school. Now, you've degenerated even further. Enough, get the hell out."

"Soon as I finish finals, I'll leave-"

"Forget about UCLA. I don't want your antics to undermine my standing on campus, and I hope that you would spare your mother the embarrassment of cross-dressing your way through USC."

"I already accepted Michigan, because want to get away. But I need-"

"You can stay temporarily, if you return all the stolen syringes and hormones. Medicine is to be administered by physicians. Stealing a hospital's supplies is like taking like taking illegal drugs. It's criminal, and I'll report you if you refuse."

I nodded assent. I didn't need an official complaint to jeopardize my Michigan scholarship.

"And you live here as a boy. No cross-dressing, no cosmetics, and no sexual escapades."

"Are we done?"

He slammed his fist on the table.

"We are done, until I see you change from self-indulgence toward mature adulthood."

He walked back into his study and locked the door. My mom and I sat side by side at our dining room table.

"You and your dad will find a way to love one another again, some day."

"Perhaps, but on my terms, not his."

"Your father and I have many problems, we've compromised."

"I can't compromise on my identity."

"My priority is that you are happy, and his is that you make him proud. If they conflict..."

"I'll do both."

She hugged me.

"I hope so. Think of all the fun we'll have on Rodeo Drive."

I returned to my room and the Western Front, wishing I could die a hero in a futile charge through no man's land. I cranked up on Ritalin and did three all-nighters in a row as I readied myself for my finals. Five tests and four days later, I slept for eighteen hours. When I woke up, my dad had moved out.

Graduation

I didn't go to graduation and wasn't invited to any parties. There were no awards available for senior transfers, and no one invited Tranny Alex to a beer bash. I heard there was a tittering of laughter when my name was called at commencement. When I returned my keys to the yearbook office, I altered my pictures into ghostly blurs captioned "image file damaged". I wanted to erase my classmates' memories of me and to flush University High School from mine.

I couldn't tell Barb and Anne that the orgy they saw on the internet pictures depicted a forcible rape. They would insist on my filing charges and would report the crime themselves if I refused. So they remained embittered for what they saw as my reckless absorption into the gangster chica cult. Quinn stopped by to wish me luck and asked to see my boobs. I displayed them, and he whistled admiration. But gays aren't attracted to transsexuals. His interest was purely academic.

The bruises, abrasions and internal trauma healed. Their dull pain was replaced by the tingling of newly awakened nerves. Sexual experience had rewired my libido, which now craved fresh stimulus. Carrots and cucumbers disappeared from my parents' refrigerator and into my hungry hole, but my feeble arms could not mimic the force of the gangsters' throbbing cocks, I was unable to reach orgasm, unfulfilled, and frustrated.