Moving Day

Davita Minton

Trans Tales

Moving Day

    This would be her third; ''And final.'' she thought, attempt to move to San Francisco.

    ''That's where my people are.''  She often thought, in reference to the question that no person had ever asked of her, yet that she often imagined would be asked of her if, that is, she had ever openly admitted that this was her true destination, which she had not done either of the previous two times, and which she fully intended not to do this time either.  Unlike before, however, when she told her family in Illinois; her two adult children and her two brothers, that she was moving to Los Angeles she had no family or friends here to tell anything to.  Here, she had only co-workers and they would be told nothing.

    It wasn't' so much the LGBT community that drew her to California.  Nor was it the climate so much either, although both were significant factors in her choice.  Overall it was the California mystique that drew her there.  The most liberal state in the country.  The 'Left' coast.  Hollywood. The Haight and Summer of Love.  The Castro.  Harvey Milk.  California here I come.  Go west young man.  And to top it off with an LGBT community and culture that seemed; at least from a distance, to be thriving and prescient, that she had heard about innumerable times over the years in every conceivable pop-culture genre, combined with a moderate climate and immediate proximity to an ocean, it was the stuff dreams were made of.  It just seemed like the safest place to live.  The safest place to live openly, that is.

          She lived in a coastal community now.  Just five minutes from the beach.  And she worked at a beachfront condominium complex.  She loved the beaches there.  In places there were miles of unbroken undeveloped and sparsely peopled stretches of coast.  During the off-season, on weekdays, there were beaches within a twenty minute drive where a shy girl could walk and swim and sunbath clad however she wished, unabashed.  And any time of year; except for the relatively few days a year it was to cold to do so, this place was perfect, she felt, to indulge her long innurred and secretive nocturnal erotic ramblings.

          "Woman cannot live by beach alone."  She told herself.  "I need to be free.  And I want to be with like minded people.  And more men.  And something else besides the beach that's pleasing to the eye.  And more men.  And cities.  And mountains.  And forests.  And more men.  And culture.  And no more predominantly ultra-conservative, creationistic, bigoted and culturally backward general population.  And more men.  And maybe even a few receptive women as well"

          As was originally conceived the plan called for her to get 'dressed' the morning of the move and never look back, either on NW Florida or her former life as a man.  However, with the passage of time; and a lot had passed for she had postponed the move three times already, many questions and previously unforeseen problems and doubts and fears had crept into her mind undermining the efficacy of the original plan.

          As the first of the three proposed dates for the move approached she began to both visualise and speculate on milestone type events.  And from the very beginning potential problems very quickly presented themselves.  When she began to think about what it was she was going to wear that first day, on the road, in the car, she encountered her first roadblock.  "Oh shit!"  She thought, stupefied by the simplicity of the thing.  "How could I have not foreseen this?"  She was referring to the first time she would have to face the general public.  At a gas station or rest-stop or Restaurant or convenience store.  "What the hell am I going to wear?"

          During the previous two abortive cross country moves from central Illinois to San Francisco she had worn her favorite cut-off short shorts and a halter top and pink flip flops; but only in the car.  Never outside of the car.  Always beside her on the passenger seat she kept her protective clothing.  A track suit.  Pants and jacket and slip-on shoes.  Given the nature of a 2100 mile, three day drive and all the requisite interruptions of progress she soon became well practised at both donning and doffing her protective clothing.  "If I had owned a smartphone back then who knows how long it would have taken me to get there."  She thought, in reference to her behind the wheel behavior during those two trips when she would often slow her speed when passing tractor-trailer trucks and linger a few seconds alongside the cabs of the trucks with the hope that operators with certain proclivities might appreciate and react to her shaved and naked thighs.  As she recalled there were a few reactions, but to her disappointment nothing ever came of them.

    "I cannot dress like that this time.  No fucking way.  Not if I'm all in on this.  I cannot be slutting it up at gas stations and rest..... stops.''  And here she froze as the spectre of one of the most basic human needs and animal functions concerning the primary function and very reason for the existence of rest-stops unleashed a cataract of perceived challenging and potentially catastrophic situations.

She visualised herself walking through the lobby of a typical government style, floor-to-ceiling tiled building with the unruly hair of her wig blurring her vision and stopping in front of the two competing open-entry style lavatories.  'Men' on the left.  'Women' on the right.  Her thoughts now spiraled out of control.

''What do I do?  Left is out of the question no matter what I'm wearing.''

''Unless I go 'track-suit' and pull off the wig every time.''

''But that's not the plan.''

''But right?''

''Not slutting it up you're not.''

''What about my capri pants?  With that little blouse and the open front sweater and wig and flip flops?''

''Make-up!  Without make-up they'll know.''

''I'll get make-up.  How much could it cost?  I can afford it.  It won't break the budget.  Then I can confidently........''

''But no boobs!  Flat chest will give me away for sure.  Must have boobs.''

''You were going to buy some later anyway.''

''But only after getting there, and getting a place and a job.''

''It has to be done.  The budget will be ok, I hope.''

''But what about day two?  And day three?  And day four or five in San Francisco?  The same cloths for four or five days?  And........ where the hell am I gonna shave?''

''Electric razor.  In the car.''

''But it doesn't shave as close.  Will make-up conceal what's left?  Damn!  Where am I going to put it on?  And take it off?  If I can't go in without make-up, where am I going to put it on?  And take it off?''

''In the car?''

''Really?  With no experience?  You really think you can apply make-up using a rearview mirror?''

''I'll get a hand held mirror.''

''But what about privacy?  There's no privacy in the front seat of a car.  And no lighting.  Make-up by dome light?  And space?  It will be too......''

''Cheap motels!  That will solve every problem.  Thorough shaves.  And not just my face.  Space and privacy and lighting for makeup.  And a good nights sleep.  You know you hate sleeping in......''

''Now!  There goes the budget.  Fuuuuuck!''  And here she hung her head in exasperation. Very quickly, however, she raised her head again and sat very still with a wry smile creeping into her features as a new and exhilarating idea swept away the ambivalence induced confusion pervading her mind.  ''Why not?''  She thought, in reference to the erotic possibilities inherent of cheap motels.  ''If it's the cost of doing business, I might as well get my moneys worth out of it.''

For a time, as the first, then the second and the third proposed move dates came and went she thought little of the challenges that lay ahead.  She felt she had survived the first assault of adversity and persevered quite nicely.  She had addapted her plan; for somewhat selfish reasons she understood, and accepted the reality of unforeseen expenses.  Occasionally other daunting possibilities relating to post-transit situations flitted through her mind, but usually only when a proposed move date loomed.  As each date fell victim to postponement, however, her anxieties waned accordingly.   But now a new date; or rather a new approximate date was set.  ''May.  Yeah.  Sometime in early May.  There are three paydays in April.  That should boost my savings to an acceptable level.  Or early June, at the latest.''  She thought.  As it was late January now, the 'new approximate date' was still comfortably three months away, at the earliest.  Unlike before though, when she had set a date and then all but forgot it until the date was a mere three or four weeks away, this time things were different.

She couldn't remember when, exactly, this new and deeply disturbing idea had occurred to her.  She supposed it might it might have appeared as early as just after the first postponement.  But back then it was easily shrugged off as little more than self-flagellation for a perceived failure.  But now with three postponements and no exact date set the idea that she was deceiving herself, that she never really intended to go, that she never really intended to come out.  And additionally that she was beginning to believe an ancillary idea just might be true.  That she had missed her window and she was too old and tired and fat and ugly and stupid and worthless to make such a journey and face such a litany of challenges.

Every time there was any reference to anything even remotely related to California; and there were many such reference it seemed for she was an avid and daily consumer of multiple different podcasts, she was reminded of the move and all of its implications and ramifications.

"I mean how long do I have really?  Before I'm so old I'll possess no resemblance whatsoever to a real woman.  Before I become a spectacle.  A ridiculous old man in a dress.  Ten years maybe?  Is it worth it?  Is it really worth all the pain and heartache and danger of living openly for such a short period of time?  And transition?  Really?  By the time I've completed that...... I'll be......"

"Oh stop it.  You're still doing well.  Hell!  You just had a twenty one year old give you a serious dicking down.  And he love it.  He said so.  And his passion and longevity proved it.  And he wants to come back for more.  You still got it."

"But for how long?  I do not want to be ridiculous."

"How long?  How long?  How long is right.  How long can you go on like this?  This thing is progressing rapidly.  You're doing more and more all the time.  And you want to do even more.  You want to go all the way.  You know that.  And the longer you stay here....... Doing more and more; sometimes despite yourself, you are going to be outed.  You want that here?  Really?  You know it would be ugly.  This is pro-active.  It's the right way to do it, and in the right place too.  The safest place.  The best place."

"Then why do I do this every damned day now?  Why?  Why do I keep putting it off?  And what about when you get there?  Are going full- time?  Or are you going to slink around in the shadows like you do here?  And she wants to visit again in May.  And he will want you to visit them in Atlanta in June.  How do I say no to either of them?  I love them."

"And here we are again.  It all comes down to having to choose between the pros and the cons.  And telling them 'no' is definitely a con."  And here she began once again to visualise and contemplate her written pros and cons list.  And yet again, upon summing it up, nothing had changed.  Including the three word final product of the summation process. 'You are going'.

And channeling her beloved Humphrey Bogart she thought;  "Yes you are."

The End