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the new story
Mar. 24th, 2005 05:42 pmso I'm not really happy with this, want feedback to know if it's just my muses lack of self esteem.
Love Knows No Gender
Elizabeth Slade
The characters in this work are not meant to represent any other person, living or dead. They are all products of the authors imagination. This is not supposed to be a commentary or study of any even remotely similar case histories.
I don’t care if you’re half monkey or half ape
-Lana Tisdel (Chöle Sevigny) ‘Boys Don’t Cry’
Maybe I couldn't make it. Maybe I don't have a pretty smile, good teeth, nice tits, long legs, a cheeky arse, a sexy voice. Maybe I don't know how to handle men and increase my market value, so that the rewards due to the feminine will accrue to make it. me. Then again, maybe I'm sick of the masquerade. I'm sick of pretending eternal youth. I'm sick of belying my own intelligence, my own will, my own sex. I'm sick of peering at the world through false eyelashes, so everything I see is mixed with a shadow of bought hairs; I'm sick of weighting my head with a dead mane, unable to move my neck freely, terrified of rain, of wind, of dancing too vigorously in case I sweat into my lacquered curls. I'm sick of the Powder Room. I'm sick of pretending that some fatuous male's self-important pronouncements are the objects of my undivided attention, I'm sick of going to films and plays when someone else wants to, and sick of having no opinions of my own about either. I'm sick of being a transvestite. I refuse to be a female impersonator. I am a woman, not a castrate.
-Germaine Greer (b. 1939), Australian feminist writer. The Female Eunuch, "Soul: The Stereotype" (1970).
Preface
It was just a normal surgery, taking care of an extremely painful hernia. Who would have known it would change our lives?
Who knows how it was missed during other routine examinations, maybe because it wasn’t what they were looking for. For whatever reason, none of my doctors since the time I was ten and had an appendectomy had noticed during that I had ovaries.
You might think that last line a little funny, if you looked up and saw my name. Who wouldn’t guess that ‘Jennifer’ had ovaries?
Well that’s the funny thing. You see, except for those organs and some other little things way deep inside, up until three years ago I was a man. My parents thought I was a little boy until I was ten years old and some white-coat noticed I had ‘girlie parts’ when he went in to take out an inflamed appendix. No one said anything, of course. How could you tell a ten year old that he wasn’t a boy, but not really a girl either? A sort of betwixt-and-between. Sometimes I wish someone had told me. Then so much would have made sense. The yearning to be with a girl, and yet dress like one too. The big muscular boys I lusted for yet wanted to be like. But then I remember if I had been told…
Well, I’d ruin the surprise for you then. What, you thought finding out I was a hermaphrodite was all of it? Heck no, that’s just the start. Buckle in brothers and sisters, it’s going to be a long ride.
Chapter 1
I know a lot of men have come out of black outs hearing weird things, such as ‘look at that shiner!’ or ‘why the hell did you…’. But I’m sure very few have come to hearing what I did.
“John…we found something very strange when we were operating…”
I was still fuzzy from the gas at that point, so I couldn’t tell right away who was talking. The first person I saw when my eyes cleared was my wife, Rachel. She was pale and shaking, so I tried to ask what was wrong. My tongue wasn’t working quite right, so I just groaned a little to show I’d heard.
Rachel tried to look at me, but darted her eyes to the doctor. He sighed,
“John…when we were operating…we found…”
My heart jumped at the hesitance in his voice.
“What? A golf ball, a tumor, what?”
He smiled slightly.
“Ovaries.”
I froze for a moment, then cleared my throat.
“You found ovaries inside me?”
“Well actually, just one and a very small one at that.”
“Excuse me, but isn’t that a female…thing?”
“Yes it is.”
“So why was it inside me?”
“I sent a blood sample down to the lab, we’ll know in a week.”
I looked at Rachel, and she immediately grabbed my hand.
“Honey, no matter what happens, I’m not gonna leave.”
I smiled and kissed her. Good old Rachel. That’s why I’d married her, even though her parents were snobby bores who hated my guts. She was so dependable, so sweet and smart and open. Then I only worried about her seeing me through some strange disease. Now I look back and wonder if I could have ever survived the next few months without her.
“Did your parents ever tell you that you were…I mean…different?”
I looked up from my breakfast, meeting Rachel’s eyes. It was the first time we’d mentioned the ‘incident’ since we came home five days before.
“If they had, do you think I’d be so shaken by this?”
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m trying to wrap my mind around this John. I mean, haven’t your heard about those people who-“
“Rach.”
She sighed.
“John, you have to allow for the possibility that you’re…different.”
“Not until we get anything saying I am” I stood up then, walking away. I hated myself for treating her like this, but what ‘normal’ man would want to admit that he was at least half pansy?
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at myself. Short brown hair, the typical clean cut look. Blue eyes without even a slightly feminine shape. Muscular, albeit hairless chest. And most importantly, a just-slightly smaller than average manhood. A normal man, I assured myself. A happily married, perfectly heterosexual man.
These thoughts disappeared completely when Rachel knocked on the door.
“John Dr. Raymond is on the phone.…your blood test came back.”
I sucked in a sharp breath and walked out without noticing the tears in Rachel’s eyes. I went to the hall and picked up the phone laying on the table.
“Hello?”
“John, it’s Doctor Raymond. It’s not a tumor I’m afraid.”
“Then why the hell is it there?”
“…John, have you ever heard of hermaphrodites?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Anyway…I don’t know if it’d be completely proper to call you John anymore.”
I swallowed.
“Am I Judy then?”
“Actually I’d say more of a Jamie. You’re in the middle John. Admittedly you’ve got more masculine qualities outside but inside…”
“So what, could some other guy knock me up?”
“No, no nothing like that. It’s more chemical. The ovaries were just one little part. It also explains your slightly…reduced size.”
“I’ve always been told it was normal.”
“Yes but it’s not exactly...”
“Look, let’s stop talking about my dick for a second. So what am I supposed to do about this?”
“Whatever you want John. We could give you testosterone to try and override the female side or we could go the other way.”
The other way. Becoming a woman.
“How could I do that to Rachel?”
“I’m just saying it’s an option John. You can stay like this if you want, pretend you never found out. I’m just saying you might want to get some counseling or something to figure out what you want to do. I’ll talk to you later.”
He hung up and Rachel snuck up behind me.
“Johnny, what is it?”
She was crying. I pulled her hands across my chest, sniffling a bit myself.
“Sweetie, you’ve been fucking a he-she for the past two years.”
Love Knows No Gender
Elizabeth Slade
The characters in this work are not meant to represent any other person, living or dead. They are all products of the authors imagination. This is not supposed to be a commentary or study of any even remotely similar case histories.
I don’t care if you’re half monkey or half ape
-Lana Tisdel (Chöle Sevigny) ‘Boys Don’t Cry’
Maybe I couldn't make it. Maybe I don't have a pretty smile, good teeth, nice tits, long legs, a cheeky arse, a sexy voice. Maybe I don't know how to handle men and increase my market value, so that the rewards due to the feminine will accrue to make it. me. Then again, maybe I'm sick of the masquerade. I'm sick of pretending eternal youth. I'm sick of belying my own intelligence, my own will, my own sex. I'm sick of peering at the world through false eyelashes, so everything I see is mixed with a shadow of bought hairs; I'm sick of weighting my head with a dead mane, unable to move my neck freely, terrified of rain, of wind, of dancing too vigorously in case I sweat into my lacquered curls. I'm sick of the Powder Room. I'm sick of pretending that some fatuous male's self-important pronouncements are the objects of my undivided attention, I'm sick of going to films and plays when someone else wants to, and sick of having no opinions of my own about either. I'm sick of being a transvestite. I refuse to be a female impersonator. I am a woman, not a castrate.
-Germaine Greer (b. 1939), Australian feminist writer. The Female Eunuch, "Soul: The Stereotype" (1970).
Preface
It was just a normal surgery, taking care of an extremely painful hernia. Who would have known it would change our lives?
Who knows how it was missed during other routine examinations, maybe because it wasn’t what they were looking for. For whatever reason, none of my doctors since the time I was ten and had an appendectomy had noticed during that I had ovaries.
You might think that last line a little funny, if you looked up and saw my name. Who wouldn’t guess that ‘Jennifer’ had ovaries?
Well that’s the funny thing. You see, except for those organs and some other little things way deep inside, up until three years ago I was a man. My parents thought I was a little boy until I was ten years old and some white-coat noticed I had ‘girlie parts’ when he went in to take out an inflamed appendix. No one said anything, of course. How could you tell a ten year old that he wasn’t a boy, but not really a girl either? A sort of betwixt-and-between. Sometimes I wish someone had told me. Then so much would have made sense. The yearning to be with a girl, and yet dress like one too. The big muscular boys I lusted for yet wanted to be like. But then I remember if I had been told…
Well, I’d ruin the surprise for you then. What, you thought finding out I was a hermaphrodite was all of it? Heck no, that’s just the start. Buckle in brothers and sisters, it’s going to be a long ride.
Chapter 1
I know a lot of men have come out of black outs hearing weird things, such as ‘look at that shiner!’ or ‘why the hell did you…’. But I’m sure very few have come to hearing what I did.
“John…we found something very strange when we were operating…”
I was still fuzzy from the gas at that point, so I couldn’t tell right away who was talking. The first person I saw when my eyes cleared was my wife, Rachel. She was pale and shaking, so I tried to ask what was wrong. My tongue wasn’t working quite right, so I just groaned a little to show I’d heard.
Rachel tried to look at me, but darted her eyes to the doctor. He sighed,
“John…when we were operating…we found…”
My heart jumped at the hesitance in his voice.
“What? A golf ball, a tumor, what?”
He smiled slightly.
“Ovaries.”
I froze for a moment, then cleared my throat.
“You found ovaries inside me?”
“Well actually, just one and a very small one at that.”
“Excuse me, but isn’t that a female…thing?”
“Yes it is.”
“So why was it inside me?”
“I sent a blood sample down to the lab, we’ll know in a week.”
I looked at Rachel, and she immediately grabbed my hand.
“Honey, no matter what happens, I’m not gonna leave.”
I smiled and kissed her. Good old Rachel. That’s why I’d married her, even though her parents were snobby bores who hated my guts. She was so dependable, so sweet and smart and open. Then I only worried about her seeing me through some strange disease. Now I look back and wonder if I could have ever survived the next few months without her.
“Did your parents ever tell you that you were…I mean…different?”
I looked up from my breakfast, meeting Rachel’s eyes. It was the first time we’d mentioned the ‘incident’ since we came home five days before.
“If they had, do you think I’d be so shaken by this?”
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m trying to wrap my mind around this John. I mean, haven’t your heard about those people who-“
“Rach.”
She sighed.
“John, you have to allow for the possibility that you’re…different.”
“Not until we get anything saying I am” I stood up then, walking away. I hated myself for treating her like this, but what ‘normal’ man would want to admit that he was at least half pansy?
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at myself. Short brown hair, the typical clean cut look. Blue eyes without even a slightly feminine shape. Muscular, albeit hairless chest. And most importantly, a just-slightly smaller than average manhood. A normal man, I assured myself. A happily married, perfectly heterosexual man.
These thoughts disappeared completely when Rachel knocked on the door.
“John Dr. Raymond is on the phone.…your blood test came back.”
I sucked in a sharp breath and walked out without noticing the tears in Rachel’s eyes. I went to the hall and picked up the phone laying on the table.
“Hello?”
“John, it’s Doctor Raymond. It’s not a tumor I’m afraid.”
“Then why the hell is it there?”
“…John, have you ever heard of hermaphrodites?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Anyway…I don’t know if it’d be completely proper to call you John anymore.”
I swallowed.
“Am I Judy then?”
“Actually I’d say more of a Jamie. You’re in the middle John. Admittedly you’ve got more masculine qualities outside but inside…”
“So what, could some other guy knock me up?”
“No, no nothing like that. It’s more chemical. The ovaries were just one little part. It also explains your slightly…reduced size.”
“I’ve always been told it was normal.”
“Yes but it’s not exactly...”
“Look, let’s stop talking about my dick for a second. So what am I supposed to do about this?”
“Whatever you want John. We could give you testosterone to try and override the female side or we could go the other way.”
The other way. Becoming a woman.
“How could I do that to Rachel?”
“I’m just saying it’s an option John. You can stay like this if you want, pretend you never found out. I’m just saying you might want to get some counseling or something to figure out what you want to do. I’ll talk to you later.”
He hung up and Rachel snuck up behind me.
“Johnny, what is it?”
She was crying. I pulled her hands across my chest, sniffling a bit myself.
“Sweetie, you’ve been fucking a he-she for the past two years.”
