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I said How do you feel about transsexuals and she said I don't feel any way; I don't know any. I said Well my name's Jodie and she said Are you trying to tell me something? I said I'm trying to tell you I'm a transsexual and she said Get out of town. Transsexuals are like… men or whatever with like... bad handbags. And I said Do I look like a man to you? I arched my back then, all for her, you know, the luckiest dyke in the world tonight. She appreciated the gesture, but she didn't speak. Just stared at me a little. Are you admiring my handbag? I asked, blinking, and moving my purse. It's a Coach bag, and I got it at a thrift store here for three dollars and change. I've lived in this town nine years and the only good thing it's done for me is to let me buy this bag. I've been hit, I've been spit on and sneered at, I've been attacked on the street and at work, I've been cornered and laughed at, I've been isolated and isolated and isolated. And you know what? It's all been worth it, just so I could buy this bag. And she said You really got that for three bucks? And I said Three fifty. She said Damn. I bought one of them for Darla - that's my ex, Darla - and that shit cost me a week's pay. Funny thing is, I like yours better. Wouldn't it be a hoot if when we broke up she went and gave that purse to the Goodwill and that's the purse you got? Hers was, uh, brown. She always liked the Coach purse best. And I said They're good bags. We didn't look at each other for a minute or two while we drank and thought about Darla. And then I said So now that you've known me for a while now, how do you feel about transsexuals? And she said, Honey I've only known you for like fifteen minutes and I said Twenty-two. She made some gesture with her pointy finger and opened her mouth for a while. That's not a fair question, because you're on dangerous ground there, hon.You can't just come in a place like this, looking like that, and start asking those kinds of questions. Honey, do you want your ass beat down? And I said Not unless they pay attention to my safeword. She said, Now listen, honey and I said What makes you think you can call me honey? I really arched my back now. I shook my head and my pigtails swayed. This was a particularly good show. I'm thinking Oscar. I'll take an Emmy if I have to, but I expect a statue for this experience. She said My point is that if you're a man in this lezzz bee yunnn bar, you're gonna get beat up and thrown out. I seen it happen. And I said This is your first night here, ain't it? So what was your name when you were born? and I asked You mean my maiden name? When I was born my momma called me Ashley. She said You were a boy named Ashley. He was her favorite in Gone With The Wind, Leslie Howard, Ashley Wilkes, I said and she was grinning like I was lying. So you're a boy named Ashley who changes into a girl who calls herself Jodie? And I said Exactly. She said Why did you change your name? And I said I needed a name that was less gender-specific. I curled my shoulders forward and leaned toward her, smiling. She was trained well, because she had really kept herself from looking at my tits until now. I wanted to throw her a bone. Because you appear to be kinda gender-specific now, she said. Yeah, now I'm just a big girl, I said. But you really have to know me to know how much of a girl I am. It's not all about femininity. I tucked my hair behind my ears. People look at me and they think they know what's up with me. I didn't want to give away too much with my name. People get all kinds of ideas based on a name,which reminds me - I didn't get your name yet. Turns out that she was a pretty good dancer for someone so reserved. She'd need lessons, though, which would mean weekly dates to teach her to lead me properly; a class in every style: salsa, tango, ballroom, swing. We'd start with swing. It's fast and hard, almost violent. Lots of spinning, being thrown apart and being thrown back together. I could get really into dizzy with her. Until the lessons began, though, I'd content myself to dancing like high school kids.A stupid romantic ballad came on, one of those songs you can only believe while you are in high school. She opened her arms to me; she wanted to lead. You're a marvelous dancer, I said. Did you ever take lessons? She said No, I just kinda do what comes natural to me. And what I seen on tv. I said Have you seen this on tv? I traced a thin line with my fingernail up her neck. She craned backwards, just out of my reach and said Not lately. She resumed her rightful position. You're awful bold for such a pretty girl, she said. Well, I said, I know what I want and I know how to get it. We danced for a while longer until she decided to kiss me, and she kissed me.A little on the neck, mostly on the mouth. And then the music changed. My, it's warm in here, I breathed. I'd like a cigarette. Wanna come? She did. We slipped out front and she lit me up, then herself. There weren't many of us out just then . So you've had nothing done, then, she said. No operations. I smiled, blew smoke. Cos you smell like a girl. You feel like a girl. I know what a girl feels like, and you feel like a girl. And I said That's because I am a girl. A dangerous girl.I'm the kind of girl your momma warned you about. And she said My momma didn't warn me about any kind of girls. And I said Well she should have. I said You know when we are in the womb, we all start out female. Boys are turned into boys after a while, but all the organs start off the same. A clit isn't really that different from a dick, especially when it's a nice big clit, you know? She did. I took a drag; the smoke curled out of my lips.I hadn't checked my lipstick since the kissing, I realized, but this was no time for panic. I had her hooked, so I needed to stay steady. No operations,I said. I don't have that kind of money, and I probably never will. The hormones keep me happy though, and that's all I need. They gave me these. My breasts. Among other things. No worries, darlin. You won't be disappointed. She stabbed out her cigarette. I promise. Her car. Mustang convertible, old, green. She started the engine with country music: A little less talk and a lot more action. She didn't turn down the volume. She slipped a scrunchie from the gear shift, handed it to me. For your hair she explained. Her hair was too short for scrunchies, and it always had been. She sped out of the parking lot. She drove fast, and I felt perfectly safe. The night air wasn't even cold yet. Let's go to the beach, she said. We'll get some beer, go to Natural Bridges? I've gone to the beach a handful of times in all the years I've lived in Santa Cruz. Natural Bridges once. Every year all these Monarch butterflies go there to roost. I never went to the beach at night. I bought a large bottle of Chimay blue, and she had a giant Corona with a lime she quartered with her Leatherman. I love it here, she said, dragging blankets on the sand. The seals especially. Some kids were stoking a bonfire. There was aggressive music.We sat far off from them, buried under thick blankets. I liked her breathing. I let her talk. She told two long stories: the one where Darla lost her top to the tide right here at this very beach, and one in which her family didn't so much care that she was a dyke, they just wanted her to act like a woman. How is a woman supposed to act? I asked and she said Fuck if I know. Pretty much any way a woman acts is how a woman acts, I guess. I rolled up a blanket and laid back on it. The stars were brilliant, and I said so. She looked up and agreed. No, I said, you gotta lean back like this, stare up there for a while. It's amazing. When I lived in the city,I never saw stars at all. I will never get tired of this. Never. She leaned back on an elbow. I once wanted to be an astronaut, she said.I went to that space camp. Yeah, I wanted to go where no man has gone before. I said, That can be arranged. And then she kissed me. Turns out she's kind of a stone butch. Didn't want me touching her, not on her breasts, and definitely not down below. It was hard for me, because I'm such a switch now, although in my early transition I never let anyone touch me. Too many dykes who would insult my clit. I got good with my tongue and my fingers instead, and I was a Girly Top. I was a hot commodity, the best kept secret in town. My butches were such private kitties. Some of them I ended up telling about my transition, and some may still not know. There were a few bad reactions, but most of them had all the physical evidence about me they needed. Somewhere in there one dyke really took me in and decided she'd forget everything she'd learned about male and female, and she was bound to make me forget it all as well. I succumbed. I reached up to touch her shoulder as her kiss deepened. She took my wrist and pressed it to the ground as she slid onto her knees, straddling me. She pinned my other arm. This okay with you, lady? She was kissing my neck, sucking it, making light marks. She kept running into the strap of my tank top.Is this thing bothering you, ma'am? I can get that out of your way if you like. She let go of my hands and worked my top off. I was wearing my black water bra, back clasp. There was already sand everywhere. Let me, I said, pushing her blindly fumbling hands away. I sat up slightly, undid the clasp, laid back down. She collapsed on top of me, trying to keep one hand free while she held my arms. I'll be good, I grinned. I promise. I shoved my hands deep into the sand to prove myself. A part of me wishes that I could say that women are better about making love to my breasts than are men, but it's no guarantee. She figured out fast that her teeth on my nipples was my new favorite trick, so she was a keeper. A quick and precise learner, a great future dance partner. She seemed to be constantly delighted. You move exactly like a girl. You move exactly like a girl. You move exactly like a girl. Her fingers moved down my belly, and she rubbed my thighs through my skirt, then my clit, my ass, my belly again. She pushed up my skirt, tracing patterns with her fingers on my legs. I bucked a little, wanting to yank my hands out of the sand. I bit my lip, and she kept tracing patterns. She put her other hand on my breast, kneading. Her hand nestled next to my clit and it hardened. She stopped moving. She slipped her hand around it and started a massage. My hand was instantly on hers, bending her fingers into the proper places. I pushed one finger up into me, another on the tip of my clit. I reminded her how it's done, and shoved my hand back in the ground. She was handling all of this remarkably well. She came up next to me, kissing and biting me all the way as she rose. She was a biter. You move exactly like a girl, she said into my bitten ear. Apparently, I said. I don't exactly remember much about the next few minutes, except suddenly she was holding a lit cigarette out to me. And my tits were so cold. So cold. I got dressed again, pulled up the blanket, and we smoked together silently. I still had half my Chimay left, so I offered to share it. She accepted. Said I like it. A lot. And then there was this big, blinding light that didn't go out Some deep commanding voice saying Open containers, Gotta get you folks to move on, and You can't have that out here. This nocturnal boar has us get up and pour out the beer right there, and I'm all This isn't beer, it's Chimay! Monks make this stuff! And he could give a fuck, so I had to dump the Chimay. After a sip or two. That's when we notice that all around us are all these cops, chasing down the bonfire kids who have scattered. There are cops scrambling up cliffs, cops throwing kids to the ground, backup cops pulling up to the park, lights blaring. She and I walked back to the car, barefoot. And that was, incidentally, our first run-in with the law. |
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12.07.06: Scarlet Letters -- in case it isn't glaringly obvious -- is currently
on an extended hiatus. The web has changed, we've changed, and
we're trying to figure out how we both fit together now, which isn't a process we want to rush. If you're looking for more current SL-related content, you can
have check out upcoming books from editor Heather Corinna and previous co-editor Hanne Blank, check out Heather's current sexuality sites, or explore sites through the femmerotic network. We hope to be back with you soon, as fresh, challenging and
unexpected as ever.
In the meantime, by all means, enjoy our years of past content,
all of which still remain in the public and subscription areas.
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