Status: Finished
Masquerade
Part 02
“Andy?” He asked, disbelief coating his expression and trying to put two and two together to figure out what the hell I was doing in a dive bar wearing five-inch red stilettos. “So what’s this?” he questioned. “Are you just really into cross dressing and Taylor Swift, or is this something else entirely?”
A half sarcastic laugh escaped my throat, wondering what the hell he could possibly know about ‘something else’. Yet as he looked at me something flashed in my mind. A quick memory flash of someone who was close to Tig. Venus Van Dam. Someone who had transitioned from male to female before me. Suddenly I was very glad that it was Tig who had caught me here tonight and not one of the others. It was still awkward but at least Tig would be more understanding about it.
“I… It’s not just a hobby.” I admitted quietly, looking to the ground the entire time.
“Alright, come on.” He said, holding out his hand. “Come talk to me.” I took his hand and let him lead me back through the bar, out the front door, and around the side to a wide parking lot with a blown out street light and abandoned picnic table in the corner. “You know I’m no one to judge.” he said as I sat on the table and picked at the press on nails I had put on to hide my clipped, unpolished natural ones. “My girl Venus, she used to be a Vincent. I may not understand much but I can understand this.” he flicked the hem of my skirt over my knee.
It surprised me that I actually cracked a smile, glad that he was being understanding and calm about this instead of blowing up on me and trying to force me back into jeans and bad t-shirts. It brought back memories of my failed attempts to show and tell my parents who I really was inside. I had hope that this time, with Tig, it would end in acceptance and understanding instead of shame and neglect.
Tig sat down next to me, draping his arm over my shoulders, and stayed silent while I figured out if I wanted to talk or not. Promising me that these secrets would stay with him until I felt like telling my own story. I had a lot of respect for Tig in that way, he was never one to be an asshole about anything you told him in confidence. He was trustworthy and did what he could to make a person feel comfortable. Sure he was a sex joke fueled asshole sometimes, but at least he could keep a secret.
After a minute I finally cracked and told him everything. I told him of being a child and wanting to grow up to be a princess, not a prince like my mom and aunt always told me I really was. Then I had dreams of becoming a fashion designer, my dad had worried that I was gay but trying to tell him that I was really a girl made him backhand me and send me to my room. It just got worse after that.
Every time I wanted anything that my parents deemed 'for girls’ I was taken home and spanked or whooped with a leather belt. Any time I asked for skirts, dresses, or anything pink or purple I was beat with a half inch thick ping-pong paddle because my mom 'gave birth to a boy, not some sissy girl’. I was forced to conform to gender stereotypes that went directly against the gender I knew I was inside. No one could understand why I had the 'incessant need to become a girl’. They were forcing me into that metaphorical blue box that represented being male and try as I might nothing I did could ever dye it pink.
So I succumbed. I stopped trying to force my way into being the girl I was. I wore the baggy pants and too big t-shirts. I joined football and bought a motorcycle when I was sixteen. I got an illegal tattoo at seventeen and basically copied everything I could from movies with the rebellious teen boy tropes running through them. In the end I was the not-so-perfect son my parents wanted and even though I wanted to claw off my own skin sometimes it was better than having someone else beat me because of who I wanted to be.
I dressed like everyone else wanted me to dress when I was with them and on the weekends when I had time to myself and could escape the life my parents forced me to have and dressed how I truly wanted to. How I felt I was meant to dress. I could shed the facade personality of the Andrew Holt my mom gave birth to and be the beautiful woman I was always meant to be. Andrea Case, a girl who could perfect her winged eyeliner in under two minutes, throw a football like a star, and run in five inch heels.
“That’s a beautiful name.” Tig finally said after I had stopped talking. The silence before he spoke was so loud I thought it would deafen me and I never thought I’d be so grateful to hear someone elses voice. “And I fear anyone who can even walk on those spiked death traps you call shoes.” He gave a frightened look to the heels on my feet at the moment and shuttered, saying it was a miracle anyone could walk in them at all.
After another minute of silence I just burst into tears, unable to help myself. Tig held me close to him and rubbed soothing circles into my back. It was just so, unbelievably nice to have someone not scream and yell at, or hit me because of who I really was inside. I had found acceptance, even if it was from only one person and even if that person was the last person on earth I’d ever imagined spilling my guts to. Still, it was more than anything I could have ever hoped for.
A half sarcastic laugh escaped my throat, wondering what the hell he could possibly know about ‘something else’. Yet as he looked at me something flashed in my mind. A quick memory flash of someone who was close to Tig. Venus Van Dam. Someone who had transitioned from male to female before me. Suddenly I was very glad that it was Tig who had caught me here tonight and not one of the others. It was still awkward but at least Tig would be more understanding about it.
“I… It’s not just a hobby.” I admitted quietly, looking to the ground the entire time.
“Alright, come on.” He said, holding out his hand. “Come talk to me.” I took his hand and let him lead me back through the bar, out the front door, and around the side to a wide parking lot with a blown out street light and abandoned picnic table in the corner. “You know I’m no one to judge.” he said as I sat on the table and picked at the press on nails I had put on to hide my clipped, unpolished natural ones. “My girl Venus, she used to be a Vincent. I may not understand much but I can understand this.” he flicked the hem of my skirt over my knee.
It surprised me that I actually cracked a smile, glad that he was being understanding and calm about this instead of blowing up on me and trying to force me back into jeans and bad t-shirts. It brought back memories of my failed attempts to show and tell my parents who I really was inside. I had hope that this time, with Tig, it would end in acceptance and understanding instead of shame and neglect.
Tig sat down next to me, draping his arm over my shoulders, and stayed silent while I figured out if I wanted to talk or not. Promising me that these secrets would stay with him until I felt like telling my own story. I had a lot of respect for Tig in that way, he was never one to be an asshole about anything you told him in confidence. He was trustworthy and did what he could to make a person feel comfortable. Sure he was a sex joke fueled asshole sometimes, but at least he could keep a secret.
After a minute I finally cracked and told him everything. I told him of being a child and wanting to grow up to be a princess, not a prince like my mom and aunt always told me I really was. Then I had dreams of becoming a fashion designer, my dad had worried that I was gay but trying to tell him that I was really a girl made him backhand me and send me to my room. It just got worse after that.
Every time I wanted anything that my parents deemed 'for girls’ I was taken home and spanked or whooped with a leather belt. Any time I asked for skirts, dresses, or anything pink or purple I was beat with a half inch thick ping-pong paddle because my mom 'gave birth to a boy, not some sissy girl’. I was forced to conform to gender stereotypes that went directly against the gender I knew I was inside. No one could understand why I had the 'incessant need to become a girl’. They were forcing me into that metaphorical blue box that represented being male and try as I might nothing I did could ever dye it pink.
So I succumbed. I stopped trying to force my way into being the girl I was. I wore the baggy pants and too big t-shirts. I joined football and bought a motorcycle when I was sixteen. I got an illegal tattoo at seventeen and basically copied everything I could from movies with the rebellious teen boy tropes running through them. In the end I was the not-so-perfect son my parents wanted and even though I wanted to claw off my own skin sometimes it was better than having someone else beat me because of who I wanted to be.
I dressed like everyone else wanted me to dress when I was with them and on the weekends when I had time to myself and could escape the life my parents forced me to have and dressed how I truly wanted to. How I felt I was meant to dress. I could shed the facade personality of the Andrew Holt my mom gave birth to and be the beautiful woman I was always meant to be. Andrea Case, a girl who could perfect her winged eyeliner in under two minutes, throw a football like a star, and run in five inch heels.
“That’s a beautiful name.” Tig finally said after I had stopped talking. The silence before he spoke was so loud I thought it would deafen me and I never thought I’d be so grateful to hear someone elses voice. “And I fear anyone who can even walk on those spiked death traps you call shoes.” He gave a frightened look to the heels on my feet at the moment and shuttered, saying it was a miracle anyone could walk in them at all.
After another minute of silence I just burst into tears, unable to help myself. Tig held me close to him and rubbed soothing circles into my back. It was just so, unbelievably nice to have someone not scream and yell at, or hit me because of who I really was inside. I had found acceptance, even if it was from only one person and even if that person was the last person on earth I’d ever imagined spilling my guts to. Still, it was more than anything I could have ever hoped for.