Peter

by Samantha Jay
© February 2002

 

Part 2: Sam’s story.

What do you mean, you want to know about my attempt. Look, this is about Peter, not me. Oh all right then, we have a little time while the doctor examines Peter.

I was twenty-three, had a well-paid job with a well-known retailer and had loads of friends. I had also been dressing since I was ten. My sister was a year older than me and I had access to her cast offs. Not that she or mom knew of course.

Over the years I had managed to keep my little stock of girls clothes hidden and I had gotten very accomplished at girl things. I knew how to apply make up and what styles and colours suited me. It wasn’t easy, but I had my sister as a role model. I took note of what she was doing, read her magazines, when everyone was out, and just copied everything she did, surreptitiously of course.

I did well at school and got a job as a trainee manager. I still lived at home, but wasn’t dating anyone. I completed my training and became a manager at a city centre shop. Things were going well and I had lots of friends, at least I thought I did.

Then came that fateful night. Mom and dad were out and sis had already left home. I was alone and decided to get dressed. I hadn’t had the opportunity for a while and I was getting tetchy.

I got out my meagre stock of female things and had a shower. After drying, I put on my one, and only, bra and knickers, filling the bra cups with foam inserts. Black tights, white blouse and black skirt and I was ready for my make up.

I hadn’t, couldn’t afford, a wig, but I did have some flat heel court shoes. Looking in the mirror only confirmed what I knew I would see, a shorthaired young woman.

I spent the evening watching television and I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew was hearing a loud shriek.

"Sam, what do you think you are doing?" mom yelled at me.

"Are you some sort of faggot?" my father said disgustedly.

"We never raised you to be like this, where did we go wrong?" mom said.

"Pervert," dad said.

I saw the loathing in dad’s eyes coupled with a look of horror on his face. Mom eyes had that sad look about them, the look that mothers who have lost their sons in road accidents have. They were dead and lifeless eyes. I ran out of the living room in tears.

I’d cried all night and, by morning, had packed my things into my car and drove to work. I looked terrible. I found a small guesthouse to stay in and tried to carry on with my life.

One by one, my friends drifted away, found reasons not to be seen with me. The atmosphere at work became increasingly tense and strained. Eventually they told me they had to let me go. No reason was given, but I knew. I knew the reason why. Why I wasn’t welcome at home, why I was about as inviting as a four day old corpse. Why I was avoided like the plague, why I had to take to living in my car.

Then late one night, I walked to an isolated beauty spot. I had to walk, as I couldn’t afford petrol for my car. I had made up my mind; I knew what I was going to do. I noticed the phone box…

*****

"Samaritans, I’m Chris. How can I help you?"

"You can’t, nobody can," a voice said.

"I’m willing to try, if you’ll let me. What can I call you?"

"Sam," the voice replied.

"Hello, Sam, I’m Chris," she said.

"I’m going to kill myself," I said.

"Can we talk about it, Sam?" she asked.

"So that you can call me a weirdo before you hang up."

"I won’t do that. Why do you want to kill yourself?"

"I have nothing to live for, I’ve no family, no friends, no job, no life. All I’ve got is pain, misery and heartache," I replied.

"You’ve got me," she replied.

"And what can you do?"

"I can be your friend," she said.

"Why?"

"Because I’d like to," she replied.

"You are only saying that to stop me from killing myself," I said.

"No I’m not, I can never have enough friends," she said.

"You won’t want to be my friend," I sobbed.

"Why not?"

"Because no one does," I answered.

"Can I meet you?" she asked.

"Why do you want to do that?"

"Because I want to be your friend and I can do that better by meeting you."

She sounded sincere and really interested in me, so I told her where I was.

"See you in fifteen minutes, now I want you to talk with Fred. That okay with you?" she asked.

I must have said yes because I was soon talking with Fred about nothing in particular.

Less than fifteen minutes had elapsed when Fred told me that Chris would be approaching me.

"Hello, Sam," a soft voice said.

I turned and saw a beautiful young woman walking towards me.

"Chris?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "Can we go somewhere warmer? Do you mind if I talk with Fred?"

She motioned me to her car and I handed her the phone.

"We’re on our way in. Thanks, Fred," she said.

She drove back to their office and I was shown into a private room. I dropped wearily into an armchair.

"Tea?" she asked.

I nodded and relished the comfort; I hadn’t sat in anything like this for months. I must have looked a right mess. I hadn’t had a proper wash for weeks; hell I hadn’t done anything proper for ages. My hair was long and greasy and my clothes, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d changed them, could stand up on their own. I wouldn’t have recognised me.

"I’m sorry I look and smell like this," I said, when Chris came back in. "I live in my car and there is no room for niceties."

"Why do you live in your car?" she asked.

"It’s a long story."

"I’ve got all night," she said.

I sighed, took a sip of hot tea, savoured the taste and began my story.

"… After I’d lost my job, I couldn’t afford anywhere to stay and without an address you can’t sign on for unemployment benefit and things just went downhill from there. For the last few months I’ve been eating what I can find, wherever I could find it, even dustbins," I said, finishing my tale, having left nothing out.

"You poor thing," Chris said, tears running down her face. "Look, come back to my place and get cleaned up, then I’ll see about finding you somewhere to stay and you can start rebuilding your life."

"But you don’t know me," I said.

"I know you are a human being and that you have the right to a wash and clean clothes. Look, I’m only offering you a bath."

"Thank you," I said with real humility.

Chris went to check with her supervisor and, after a few minutes, she came back in, carrying her coat.

"Okay, Sam. Let’s go and get you cleaned up."

She lived in a nice part of town and her flat smelled nice, at least it did until I entered. She went into the bathroom and began filling the bath. She then fetched a black bin liner and told me to follow her into the bathroom.

Take off all your clothes and put them in the bin liner. Then have a long soak, don’t worry about your hair, we’ll deal with that later," she said.

She left the bathroom and I got undressed, following her suggestion. I climbed into the bath, the warm water felt good. I lay back and relaxed.

Chris made me have two baths and I noticed that the water got progressively cleaner as my body gave up its ingrained dirt. Even my hands looked cleaner.

After my second bath, I wrapped a towel around my waist and called for Chris. It was time to get my hair washed. This would also be a long process.

It took two or three applications of shampoo and a lot of brushing before all of the tangles had been removed, with the worse knots being cut out.

"Sam, do you want to become a woman?" she asked.

I had told Chris about my dressing. I’d had to; it was the reason I was in this mess.

"Chris, I’m not a woman trapped in a man’s body, I’m a man trapped in men’s clothing," I answered. "At least I think that’s what I am."

"Very deep," she said. "You know, you really have nice hair, when it’s clean."

"Thank you," I said.

"Did you shave regularly?" she asked.

"When?" I said.

"When you were living in your car."

"No," I said.

"So how come you haven’t got a beard? Hey you’ve haven’t got any chest hair either."

"I never thought about it," I replied.

She led me to the guest bedroom. On the bed was a pile of clothes, all women’s.

"Haven’t you got anything else?" I asked.

"Sam," she laughed, "I thought you liked wearing our clothes and anyway, in your emaciated state I am bigger than you."

"Okay Chris, thanks. Look, do you think I could have a sleep, I don’t know when I last slept on a bed?"

"Yes, why not. Promise you won’t do anything silly," she said.

"I promise."

"There’s some jim-jams on the bed," Chris said, as she left the room.

I picked up the cotton top and shorts and put them on. I lay back on the bed and was sound asleep in no time.

*****

I slowly woke up; I had no idea how long I had been out. I ventured in the living room.

"Glad to see you are awake, you must be Sam?" a woman said.

"I am, but…"

"June," she said. "One of Chris’s friends. She’s asleep at the moment, but I was asked to keep an eye on you."

June saw my puzzled look.

"You won’t be left alone until we are happy that you have gotten over last night," she added. "Hungry?"

"I’ve been hungry for months," I answered.

"You’ll have to be careful of how much you eat, at least for a while. Your stomach won’t be used to eating large meals," she said.

June went into the kitchen.

"Tea or coffee?" she called.

"Tea, please?" I replied.

"Can you make one for me as well?" Chris said, emerging from her bedroom. "Sleep well, Sam?"

"Yes I did, thanks," I answered. "And Chris…"

"Yes?" Chris said.

"I want to thank you for saving my life last night. I had literally reached the end of the road; at least I’d thought so. Then you showed me such kindness. Did you mean what you said last night, about being my friend?" I started to cry.

"Yes I did, Sam. I wish I’d known you earlier. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to…"

Chris didn’t finish, she also burst into tears and we hugged each other. June came back into the living room with the tea.

"Good, I always feel better after a good cry. Now you are awake, Chris, I’ll go and let you two have a good talk. Girl to girl," June said.

After June had left I asked, "What did she mean, girl to girl?"

"Well Sam, with your long hair, slim body and longish fingernails, you do look like a girl. Even more so wearing my jim-jams."

"But I’m a man," I said.

"Are you? Why did you want to kill yourself?" she asked.

"I told you why."

"Tell me again."

"Because my family has rejected me, because I’ve no friends, no job," I said.

"That’s not the whole reason is it?"

"Yes it is."

"Sam, if I gave you a choice, now, between wearing male or female clothes, which would you choose?"

"I… I’m… er," I stammered.

"Sam, I know the answer. You told me last night that you copied your sister, read her magazines. You said you learnt girl things," Chris paused.

"So," I said.

"Sam, that’s the real problem, you don’t know who you really are. Your body says male, and even that’s confused. Your mind, well I think your mind is unsure. Part of it wants to be female, another part wants to be male and the rest is undecided."

"I’m not sure where you are going, Chris."

"You need to resolve that conflict, one way or another. If you don’t, it will tear you apart and, who knows, the next time you try to kill yourself, you may succeed. And there will be a next time," Chris replied.

"How do I do that?" I asked.

"Let me make a phone call. You go and get dressed."

I went to the guest room and took my top off. Something was nagging me, something I’d forgotten.

"Shit, must have a wash," I thought.

You forget these simple things when you haven’t been able to do them for so long.

I went to the bathroom and had a wash. I looked round for a deodorant and, finding a new one, used it.

Back in the guest room I started to get dressed. Cotton knickers, pop socks, jeans and a t-shirt, they were a bit loose, but were okay. The shoes, flat heel court shoes, were a little tight, but wearable.

"Chris," I said after walking into the living room, "any chance of a bra?"

"You want one?" Chris asked, smiling.

"Yes. I’d feel happier wearing one."

"Do you want padding?"

"No, I don’t think so," I replied.

Chris fetched me one and then went to get dressed. I removed my t-shirt and put the bra on, then put the t-shirt back on. I sat and waited for Chris to emerge from her bedroom.

"Just got to brush my hair," Chris said, after finally coming into the living room. "Yours could do with brushing as well."

She brushed her hair and then tossed the brush to me.

"I used your new deodorant, I hope you don’t mind?" I said while I brushed.

"Not at all, we girls always share things."

I finished brushing and turned to look at Chris.

"You look really cute, I could go for you," Chris said.

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it. You really are cute."

"You are embarrassing me," I said.

"Come on, we’ve got to go."

"Where?" I asked.

"I’ve arranged for some tests to be done. I want to know if your enforced diet has caused any damage," she answered.

She dragged me out of her flat and into the car.

We drove to a large private hospital and we reported to the reception desk. Chris spoke to the receptionist and we sat down. We waited for about thirty minutes and Chris’s name was called. Following the nurse to a consulting room, where we met a female doctor.

The next hour was full of x-rays, blood tests, sight tests and physical exams. We went for lunch while the results were tabulated. Two hours later, we were back in the consulting room.

"First of all, there is no physical damage, at least none that a well balanced diet won’t fix, but we found something unusual in the blood tests," the doctor told us. "It seems that there is a total lack of testosterone in Sam’s blood, there is a small amount of oestrogen, but nothing out of the ordinary."

"What does that mean, doctor?" I asked.

"We are not sure why you have no testosterone, but your body has not developed any of the secondary characteristics. To correct this, and to start puberty, you will have to take hormones," the doctor said.

"Female hormones?" I asked.

"If that is what you want. At the moment, your body is a blank canvas. You can go either way. The problem is, we don’t know what effect hormones will have on your condition."

"Sorry, doctor. I don’t understand." I said.

"If you start on hormones, any hormones, will that kick your testosterone production in, or are you incapable of producing testosterone?"

"Chris, what do you think I should do?" I asked.

"Well, you have been unhappy as a male and you almost lost your life," she said.

"True," I said, "But will it be any better as a female?"

"A good question, but ask yourself this, which sex do you prefer to dress as?" Chris said.

"But if I go down the female route, who would go out with me?"

"I would for a start, and I know a couple of other girls who would as well," she said.

"You’d go out with me, knowing what you know?" I asked.

"Clothes do not make the person, they are just body coverings. It’s what’s inside the person that counts. There is an old saying ‘Do not judge a book by its cover’ and it’s just as valid today. You are the same person whether you are wearing a skirt, trousers, trunks or nothing at all," Chris said.

"It’s a pity that not all people are like you, Chris. Then maybe this world would be a little better off," the doctor added.

"Thanks, Tracey, but most people are blinded by convention and anything out of the ordinary, anything that defies that convention, is labelled as a freak, or gay or both," Chris said. "Sam is outside of that convention and almost killed himself, thanks to humanities’ desire for everyone to conform to the ‘norm’. But there is no such thing as ‘normal’ when we are dealing human beings. Everyone is different, everyone is special and everyone deserves to be able to live their life how they want to live it."

"Wow, Chris. Where did that come from?" I asked.

"Sam, as a Samaritan, I have to deal with people who feel they have nothing to live for, just like you did. It is a waste of a precious life, but in the main they feel hounded, or persecuted or unloved and alone. Some want to die because they have brought shame or dishonour on their family. Their problems just get too much for them," Chris paused. "I haven’t got a magic wand, I can’t make their problems disappear, but I can help them see that it’s not the end of the world they think it is. We win some, we lose some, but we, in the Samaritans, never give up listening and trying to help."

"Well, Sam. What is your decision?" Tracey asked.

"I’ve made two, no make that three. First, I’d like to have female hormones, second, I’d like to join the Samaritans, if they’ll have me and three, I’d like to take you out, Chris," I said.

"In that case, I’d like to monitor your hormone levels over the next year or so, just in case your testosterone production starts," Tracey said.

"And I would be happy for you to take me out," Chris said.

*****

Well I started hormones and puberty (girl was that painful); my body never did produce testosterone. The Samaritans accepted me, Chris had something to do with that, and Chris and I did go out. We married a year later. I thank whoever looks over me everyday for my meeting with Chris. I can honestly say that the worst day of my life was, in actual fact, the best day of my life.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Samantha Jay. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.