Ginger & Mr. Fogey by Jennifer BrockAn unlikely friendship forms between a curmudgeon and a free spirit. (This was supposed to be my Christmas story, but I didn’t finish on time.)

It was a rainy miserable Wednesday night in October, so Mabel’s Diner was mostly empty. Except for a couple of teenagers cooing in the corner booth, Bradford Fogarty was the only customer in the place. He was sitting at his usual stool at the counter, having a bowl of Mabel’s delicious mushroom soup. The door opened and a chilly breeze blew in, so he looked up to see the source of the disturbance.

The person who’d entered paused in the entrance to remove her transparent hooded raincoat and hang it on a peg. It was dripping wet. It was obvious what line of work she was in; she looked almost like a caricature. She wore hot-pink platform go-go boots that matched the color of her ultra-short mini skirt. Her top was a tight white halter top that was on the verge of becoming see-through in the rain. Her face might have been pretty if it hadn’t been slathered in makeup. The requisite gold hoop earrings hung down under her reddish brown spiky bob.

It was just his awful luck that she slinked her way over and parked her shapely behind on a stool next to his! She waved at Mabel, who was filling ketchup bottles on the other end of the counter, and smiled at Bradford, revealing straighter, whiter teeth than he would have expected on a common streetwalker. She purred, “Hiya, Mister! Want a date?”

Mabel was a tough old battleaxe. She’d been running the place for over forty years her way, and didn’t take backtalk from anyone. She came over and placed a coffee cup in front of the new arrival and then filled it without needing to be asked. “Ginger, leave Mr. Fogarty alone. You know the rules: you can come in here but you can’t work my customers, or I call the cops.”

Ginger pursed her lips into a pout. “You mean this grumpy guy here?” She slowly took a deep breath and turned her puppy-dog eyes at her counter neighbor. “I’m not bothering you am I, Mr. Fogey?”

He nervously cleared his throat and tried not to notice her cleavage as she leaned toward him. “Um, I guess not. But it’s ‘Fogarty.’”

She giggled. “No, I think you look more like a ‘Fogey.’” She ran a finger along the front of his shirt, and that just made him look down again. She caught him and winked. “Nice, aren’t they?” He blushed and tried not to understand what she meant, but then she just got blunt. “I mean, you’ve got to agree that these are a fine looking pair of titties.” She gave them a squeeze. “And they are a treat to more than just the eyes. If you’re nice to me, I might let you touch them. And if you’re very very nice, you could get a chance to wrap your lips around the most succulent thing you’ve ever tasted.”

Mabel interrupted. “Ginger; that’s enough! Leave him alone, or you can’t have a slice of pie with your coffee tonight.” She pointed at her display case. “And the flavor of the day is peach, your favorite.”

Ginger cooled. “Okay, Mister Fogey, you’re safe for now. I’ll just have to settle for knowing that I’m not the only one sitting here thinking about a sweet and juicy piece of pie.” She let him finish his soup in peace.

***

Bradford ran into Ginger again at Mabel’s a few more times over the next few weeks, and she always made a point to tease and flirt with him, even if there were other guys there who were more likely to buy what she was selling. He still never smiled, but she interpreted that as a challenge. It got to the point where although he still wasn’t exactly comfortable with her attention, it had become familiar.

But after she’d been doing it for a month or so, everything changed. At around midnight, Ginger came into the diner pulling a large rolling suitcase behind her. She told Mabel that she’d been chased out of the bus station again, and asked to use her bathroom to change. Mabel said it was okay, and even let her use the employees’ bathroom behind the kitchen so that she wouldn’t tie up the public restroom.

The person who emerged nearly an hour later looked completely different. It appeared to be a young man in baggy khakis and an Irish cable-knit sweater. His slicked-back hair appeared to be a darker brown than Ginger’s, and instead of her sparkling green eyes he had dull brown ones hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses. If he hadn’t been pulling Ginger’s suitcase, Fogarty would have thought that this was someone else. “Why are you dressed as a guy?”

It was weird to hear Ginger’s laughing voice come from this masculine shape. “It’s kind of complicated. This is who I am officially. I still live at home while I’m going to school at City College, and they’d never accept me as female, so I have to keep my real self a secret until I can afford to live on my own. It sucks, but it’s my only real option for now.”

Bradford was dumbfounded. “So you’re really a guy? You look so believable as a woman! It was all fake?”

Boy Ginger seemed offended. “You’re thinking about my amazing tits again, aren’t you? They are still here; they’re just strapped down. There’s nothing at all fake about my figure. I grew my perfect 34B’s and delightful rounded ass the same way other girls do, through hormones in my bloodstream. The only difference is their hormones were homemade and mine were store-bought. And they don’t come cheap, let me tell you. That’s the main reason why I have to turn tricks, to get money for my ‘mones.”

“Couldn’t you try a more legitimate, less dangerous line of work?”

Mabel joined the conversation. “I’ve tried talking her out of it, too. But she’s still young and foolish.”

Bradford realized that Mabel wasn’t at all surprised. “You knew that Ginger was this other person all along, and you never said anything?”

Mabel shrugged. “I know a lot of things about a lot of people, but they’re not my secrets to share.”

Ginger cleared her throat, and then spoke in a new tone of voice that was slightly lower in pitch and had lost her slightly nasal squeak. “Can you see anything I missed, Mr. Fogey? There was one day last week I didn’t realize I still had my earrings in until I was almost home. There would have been hell to pay.”

He checked and couldn’t see any evidence of Ginger remaining. “No, you look like a boy as far as I can tell. Hey, what’s your real name, anyway?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know my real name; it’s Ginger. That’s the real me. But if you really want to know, my name when I look like this is Jack.” Jack gave Mabel a kiss on the cheek and then left to go lock his suitcase up at the bus station and then head home.

***

The next time Ginger came into Mabel’s when Bradford was there, he felt more uncomfortable than usual with her flirtatious teasing. She seemed to notice that he was flinching a little at her touch, and guessed the reason. “What’s the matter, Mr. Fogey? Did finding out that I’m not 100% girl weird you out? Don’t worry; it’s really small.”

Mr. Fogarty looked at her. “What?”

Her answer nearly caused him to snort his coffee out his nose. “My penis. It probably scares you to realize that you’re attracted to someone who has one. I was impatient and wanted to develop quickly, so I tricked the pharmacist into giving me extra pills (I told him I’d accidentally dropped the bottle in the toilet) and I exceeded the recommended dosage for a couple months. My boy parts shrank a little too much, and now they have almost no sexual function. That’s why I can’t go after the big money from guys looking for chicks with dicks and have to do straight work. I’ve got this medical adhesive, it’s like industrial strength rubber cement, and I use it to make my parts look right. At night in the poor light you’d never know you weren’t looking at a genuine pussy. Sometimes I even glue a tampon string down there so the johns won’t wonder why they have to do me in the ass. The worst part is that when I finally can afford my surgery, they’ll have to do the more invasive version, and there’s a chance I won’t get any sensation. But I tell you what, when I do get my surgery I’ll look you up and give you the ride of your life. In the meantime you’ll just have to imagine what it will be like, but if you can’t wait that long I do give phenomenal blowjobs.” Ginger realized that she’d been talking for way too much and shut up, smiling at Bradford and licking her lips.

He wasn’t sure how to react, so he just shrugged and returned to eating his soup. He supposed that it really didn’t matter if Ginger wasn’t completely female, since he wasn’t going to accept any of her offers anyway.

It didn’t take long for things to get back to some kind of normal. A week later on the day before Thanksgiving, Ginger came into Mabel’s while Bradford was eating his turkey sandwich, and she was flirty but somewhat restrained. She got all serious for a moment and gave both him and Mabel warm hugs, and told them she was thankful for having them in her life.

***

The following Wednesday started out fine; Ginger seemed as happy-go-lucky as ever. But at the end of the night when she went through her metamorphosis, Jack came out of Mabel’s bathroom with a noticeably black left eye. The bruise must have been hidden under Ginger’s makeup.

Fogarty spoke up. “What happened to your eye? Did one of your ‘clients’ hit you? You really need to find a less dangerous line of work. We worry about you.” Mabel nodded agreement.

Ginger (Bradford had gotten used to thinking of her as Ginger even when dressed as a boy) waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, this? No, I got it from my old man a couple days ago. No big deal.”

Mabel was alarmed. “Your father hit you? What an asshole! You need to move out of that house.”

Ginger shook her head. “I can’t afford to go anywhere else. Besides, it was my own fault, really.”

Mabel shook a finger at her. “Unless you actually asked him to hit you, that is not true.”

Ginger shrugged. “No, really. I’d gotten lazy and complacent. I had this pale pink nail polish on, and I thought it was close enough to my natural color that it wouldn’t be noticeable. But my pop caught it, and told me not to be a sissy faggot and smacked me upside the head. If I’d just taken five minutes to clean my nails, it wouldn’t have happened.”

Mabel was aghast. “That’s so wrong. You are not going back there tonight. I’d hate to imagine what he’d do to you if he saw your breasts. You’re older than eighteen, right?”

“Twenty next March. But I think you’re overreacting. It’s not like it’s the first time he ever hit me. I just need to keep on my toes.” Ginger was still unconvinced.

Mabel untied her apron and came around from behind the counter. “Sweetie, I was like you once. I was getting beat by my man, and I thought I deserved it. I thought that if I could just do better the next time he wouldn’t have to hit me. And then one day he didn’t like the way I cooked his steak.” She lifted her left foot and put it on the stool next to Ginger, and then she hiked up her skirt and rolled down her support hose. She ran a finger along a jagged white line that ran down her thigh. “You see this? This is where my bastard husband stuck a knife in me. The doctors said that if it had taken the ambulance one minute longer to get to me, I would have bled to death. A violent man like your father cannot be reasoned with. You’re going upstairs with me tonight. I’ll kick my cats off the couch and it can be yours until you can find a better arrangement.”

Ginger was shaken by Mabel’s story. “Um, I appreciate the offer, but I’m allergic to cats, and my medicine is at home.”

Mabel was desperate. “Hey, Mr. Fogarty! Have you got space for a houseguest?”

Bradford was torn. He treasured his privacy, but it really did seem like Ginger was in imminent danger at home. He looked down at his wedding ring. One of Helen’s major causes was a group that protected battered women. What would she think of him if he sent Ginger back to her abuser? “I’ve got room. You can come home with me. But I have two conditions. First, you’ve got to quit your job. If we’re working on making your life safer, you’ll need to find a legitimate way to earn your money.”

Ginger scowled. “I’m not sure what else I’m qualified to do.”

Mabel had an idea. “You can work here; I’ll teach you how to be a waitress. I usually end up pretty busy at holiday time. And if I find I don’t need you come January, with experience waiting tables, there will be loads of places you can get work.”

“I guess I could do that. But I’m not sure if some other place will hire me as a waitress when my official ID says I’m John L. Peters, junior.”

Fogarty said, “Then we’ll just have to get your official ID changed. I have a friend who’s a lawyer; I’ll give him a call and see what it takes to get that done.”

Ginger smiled. “You’d do that for me, Fogey? Thanks. That means a lot. What’s your other condition?”

He chuckled. “You’ve probably noticed that I don’t get along with most people. So I don’t want you to have any guests over if I haven’t met them.”

Ginger gave them both a hug. “I guess I can do that. I think you guys are the only friends I have who know I’m a girl, anyway.”

So the plan was settled. Jack called his folks to tell them he was staying at a friend’s and wouldn’t be home that night, and then Ginger got her suitcase and followed Mr. Fogarty out. She asked where he was parked, and he told her he didn’t have a car; cars were Evil. His house was only five blocks away, and he told her that walking is good for one’s health.

The place turned out to be a classic hundred-year-old townhouse in a neighborhood that seemed to be in the process of gentrification. On the inside, Ginger thought it seemed to match Fogey’s personality; everything looked kind of worn out and run-down. It smelled faintly musty and the colors were very drab.

The first floor had a formal living room where every piece of furniture except for one chair was piled with newspapers and junk mail and assorted things, and a dining room crammed with junk, but the kitchen was spotless. Ginger’s room was off of the kitchen; it had probably originally been intended for a maid, but it had been updated at some point. It was decently-sized, with a nice big closet and its own attached bathroom. The décor was vaguely “old lady” with its mismatched antique furniture and crocheted bedspread.

Bradford apologized that the room was cold. He hadn’t heating it, since no one was using it. He had to fiddle with the radiator to turn it on. He left her to get settled and then disappeared for a little while. When he returned he had some things for her: a key to the front door, an index card on which he’d written the address and the phone number, a little laminated card with just the code for disarming the alarm for her to memorize, and a sheet of paper that he stuck on the refrigerator door with a magnet. He told her to write down anything that needed to be bought, like if there were groceries he was lacking, or bathroom products she needed.

He then gave her a brief tour of the rest of the house, showing her the door to the basement in case a fuse blew or something, and brought her up to the second floor to show her which room he’d be in if she needed something. The stairs continued up to a third floor, but he didn’t think there was anything up there she’d want.

He said goodnight and retired to his room. Part of her wanted to explore the house, but she’d had a long day so she opted to turn it as well. She thanked him again and went back downstairs.

***

Bradford came down the next morning to find Ginger sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of Cheerios. She was wearing nothing but a pair of red lace panties and her glasses. He’d only seen her in her horn-rims when dressed as a boy, but in her current state of undress they just looked cute.

He stood dumbfounded for a moment before finding his words. “Why are you naked?”

Ginger shrugged. “I like to brush my teeth in the shower — it saves time. And I can have cleaner teeth throughout my day if I wait until after I eat breakfast. So I came to the table wearing what I slept in.”

“Couldn’t you at least cover yourself?”

Ginger sat up straight and arched her back. “Why? Do you not like looking at pretty things? Or do you think my tits are ugly? Is that it?” She screwed up her mouth into a pout and made sad puppy-dog eyes at him.

“No,” he stammered. “They’re quite lovely. That’s not the point. It’s just inappropriate to go around uncovered.”

She smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, but it’s not like we’re out in public or something. We’re in the intimate privacy of your home. It just seemed like too much hassle for me to put something on just to eat my cereal, only to take it off again immediately afterwards. I’m going to skip my morning classes and grab a taxi to go back home and move my stuff out, so that means getting dressed in boy mode. The girls really hate being strapped down, so I thought it would be nice to let them have some air for a little bit before today’s torture. Does that seem so bad?”

“When you put it that way, you almost make sense. But it’s still wrong.”

She turned to face him. “If your problem is that looking at me turns you on, that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” She shot a glance at his crotch to look for a reaction. “Don’t think I’m just a tease. If looking at my tits makes you want to touch them, go ahead. I willingly offer you any part of my body you wish to use: nipples, fingers, lips, tongue, even my tight little hole. You’re helping me out here, and I’d love to help you however I can.”

Bradford had stepped behind a chair. “I appreciate your offer, but no thank you. You can stay here free of charge for as long as you need to, with no strings attached. You don’t need to feel obligated. I’m not looking for anything sexual at this time, so could you please ease off a little? Besides, you’re practically young enough to be my daughter.”

Ginger got up and planted a kiss on his cheek. “That’s for saying ‘daughter.’ I thought you were put off by my whole gender thing, but if it’s just the age difference, it’s not too big a problem. How old are you, anyway? Fifty? You see fifty-year-old bankers with twenty-year-old hotties all the time, so why not you?”

“Actually, I’m only thirty-seven. But that’s not the point. Could you just let this whole thing drop?”

“Really? You’re that young? You need to seriously work on your style, Fogey. You look way more used up than you ought to. But since you said such sweet things, I guess I can let it drop, for now. I finished my cereal, anyway. So now you can stop trying not to look at my tits and check out my ass as I go back to my room.” Then she did just that, setting her bowl in the sink before slowly walking away. Bradford could not tell if the sexy way she was swaying her hips was exaggerated or if that was just the way she always walked. Just as she hit the doorway out of the room, she quickly turned her head back over her shoulder and waggled a finger at him. “Caught ya!” He blushed and hurried out of the room, forgetting that he never actually got his own breakfast.

Ginger showered and dressed in her boy clothes, and then Jack called a cab. He brought Ginger’s empty suitcase and had the driver take him to his parents’ house. His father was at work and his mother was out, so he was able to pack up all his things without being interrupted. He started with clothes that were unisex: tube socks, sneakers, t-shirts, sweats, some pullover sweaters, and then filled up the suitcase with a couple pairs of pants and some shirts that he could wear to school, but he left most of his old clothes and shoes behind. He packed up as many of his school books as would fit in his backpack, and put a couple others in the case with his laptop.

He then searched through the house for a box or bag or something for the rest of the things he cared about, finally settling on plastic grocery bags for his books, his CDs, a couple of treasured childhood toys, and some of his bathroom stuff. He thought about taking his TV and stereo, but figured that his father might call that theft, so he left them.

He considered writing a note to let them know he moved out, but that felt too impersonal. He called his mother’s cell. “Mom? There’s something I need to tell you.”

The distress in her voice was obvious. “What is it, Honey?”

“When you get home, my stuff will be gone. I’m moving out. Anything I left behind you can get rid of, donate to charity, throw away, whatever.” Jack tried to sound as casual as possible.

“This is so sudden. Where will you go?” She was getting a little frantic.

“Don’t worry about me, Mom. For now, I’ll be staying with a friend. But I’m sure I’ll get my own place soon enough.” He regretted having to lie to his mother, but it had become second nature. “I’m about to start a part-time job during my term break, so I should be okay.”

“It doesn’t sound like you were really ready. Are you sure you want to do this now?”

Ginger let the wall drop a little. “I’m sorry, but this is something I had to do. A couple of friends helped me realize that it just wasn’t healthy for me to stay there. And it was getting exhausting having to pretend to be someone I’m not all the time. I love you, Mom, but it’s just time I left.”

“Honey, I don’t understand exactly, but I’ll always be there for you if you need anything. Let me know your new address and I’ll forward your mail.”

“I already changed my billing address for my phone and my bank account and I’ll tell the school today that I moved, so you can just throw away any mail than comes for me. If you need to contact me, you’ve got my phone number. I’ve got a cabbie with the meter running, so I’d better go. I’ll leave my key in my room. Bye, Mom.”

All of Jack’s things were loaded into the taxi, and they returned to Fogarty’s house. He’d already gone somewhere, so Ginger had to unload and pay the guy all by herself. She debated skipping the rest of her classes and staying home all day, but there was only a week left of school, and then the semester finals, so it was too important to miss.

After her classes, Ginger stripped off her Jack clothes, took a shower, and put on her favorite mini-dress. She looked around the house to see if Bradford was home, and found him taking a nap in his chair in the living room. She let him sleep, and decided she’d try to make dinner for him to show how much she appreciated him letting her live there.

She poked around in the kitchen to see what ingredients were available. The kitchen was very well equipped. There was a fancy gadget for just about every culinary task, and the cookware was high-end, professional-grade stuff. It seemed to be the kitchen of someone who loved to cook, so it was odd that the cupboards and refrigerator were stocked with mostly pre-made instant foods and other processed junk. She added some fresh produce to the shopping list, but that would only be useful for future meals.

Ginger settled on trying to do a basic spaghetti Bolognese, adding some browned hamburger meat and a few spices to a jar of Ragu she found in the pantry. It was one of the first dishes Jack’s mother had ever shown him how to make. Ginger preferred a more experimental approach to cooking over working off a recipe, but she figured her host would probably appreciate something more familiar.

When it was almost ready, she went into the living room and woke him up with a gentle touch and a soft voice in his ear. She didn’t think he’d have liked to be awakened with a kiss; he was more of a Sleeping Grumpy than a Sleeping Beauty. It took a few minutes, but he finally came around. She led him into the kitchen, where she’d set the table with dinner for two.

She smiled. “I just wanted to show you how much I appreciated you letting me stay here.”

He was impressed. “Thank you. But you didn’t have to do this. You can stay as long as you need to, without needing to repay me.” He loaded his fork and took a bite. “This is very good.”

“I did my best with what you had in stock. I’m not a bad cook, if I do say so myself.” Ginger took a sip from her water glass. “Ideally, I’d serve this with a nice red wine, but I couldn’t find any. Where do you keep your wine?”

Fogarty’s face took on a frightening expression. “I don’t have any. Alcohol is Evil. I should have mentioned it before, but I’d rather you didn’t bring any alcohol, or other recreational drugs, into my house.”

Ginger was confused. She’d found a wide assortment of stemware appropriate for all sorts of wines and cocktails while she was searching for wine. Why would a teetotaler have so many ways of drinking booze? It didn’t make sense, but she could tell he was serious about it. “Okay, Fogey. No drinking in the house. It’s probably best anyway. I’m not sure if it could get you in trouble if anyone found out, since I’m under twenty-one.”

He relaxed a little. “I don’t want to seem like I’m just being negative tonight, but do you have to dress like that?”

She looked at him innocently. “Like what?”

He cleared his throat nervously. “Well, you have toned down your makeup, and it makes you look much prettier. But you’re still dressing like a …” he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. “Well, you know. Like you were still doing that.”

Ginger blushed a little. “Thank you for the compliment I heard in there somewhere. But the thing is most of my clothes are like this. I didn’t have many opportunities to be myself, and a limited budget. So I mainly got sexy things I could wear when working, or going clubbing. And I do have a couple bikinis, from when I spent last summer pretending to be working an internship just so I could leave the house in a suit and tie but then I’d change and go hang on the beach. I have one dress that’s not quite as sexy, that I wear to appointments with my doctors, but it’s just the one and it’s dry-clean only. So is it okay if I wear my sluttier things until I get a job and can afford to buy some more?” She leaned forward as she was pleading, giving him an enticing view down her cleavage that wasn’t entirely accidental.

Bradford had a little trouble staying focused, but he shook an unwanted thought out of his head. “I guess that’s not so bad. But that one dress you mentioned — could you wear it tomorrow. I called that lawyer I told you about, and he’d like to come by to meet you. Will you be back from school by four?”

Ginger gave him a hug. “I’m done at 2:30, which should give me just enough time to be ready by then. Thank you again.” She added a little kiss on his cheek. Fogarty excused himself and went upstairs.

Ginger cleaned up the dishes and put the leftovers in the fridge. She was in an awesome mood about how things were going, but then her phone rang. The call was coming from her parents’ house, so she let it go to voicemail so it wouldn’t bring her down. She waited until morning to listen to it.

It was a message for Jack from his father. “It was a chickenshit move clearing out while no one was home instead telling us to our faces. I hope you’re proud of yourself. Your mother is in tears wondering what we did wrong. Me, I could care less. I’d have been proud of you if you’d just been a man about it and told us you were grown enough to be out on your own, but the pansy-ass way you did it just has me disgusted. So in order to force you to grow a pair, I’m going to teach you a life lesson here that actions have consequences. If you’re grown up enough to move out, you’re grown up enough to pay for your own college. You’ve got about a month to figure out how you’re going to afford your next semester, or you’re dropping out, unless you’re willing to admit that you’re still a boy and not a man, and you apologize and come back under my roof and live by my rules.”

It sucked, but he was right. It was time to grow up. Ginger figured she’d probably have to take at least a semester off until she’d gotten a job that could cover her tuition. To give up and go back home would be too big a step backwards, even if she wasn’t sure her father would beat her for it. She was just really sorry for making her mother cry.

***

The following afternoon, Ginger followed Fogarty’s advice and wore her most conservative outfit, a maroon knit wrap dress with a v-shaped neckline that only revealed a little hint of boob, with sheer hose and her lowest heels, a pair of three-inch wedge sandals. Sparkly CZ studs went in her ears, and she wore a simple gold cross necklace that had been a present from her mother. She had the time to paint her fingernails to match her dress and took extra care on her makeup to ensure that it wasn’t too whorish.

Bradford was amazed. She was absolutely beautiful, but he didn’t dare tell her; she’d probably take it as permission to try to seduce him again. He downgraded and simply told her that she looked nice, but that still earned him a dangerously close hug and a kiss on the cheek. He breathed in her perfume, an exotic scent that seemed to combine fruits, flowers and spices.

The doorbell rang promptly at 4:00. Ginger was introduced to Adam Stone, a well-built fortyish blond guy in a tailored suit. They shook hands and then they all went to the kitchen table, and Sam opened his briefcase. “Brad, could you give Ms. Peters and I some privacy for a bit?” He took out a manila file folder and handed it to him. “Take these letters up to your study and look through them. Tell me if any require action on our part.” Fogarty took the file and left the room.

Adam waited a couple minutes to make sure they were alone before speaking. His tone and posture shifted from friendly to hostile instantly; he was definitely a lawyer. “First, I want you to know that if this is some scheme to get his money, it’s not going to work. I’m in control of the finances. So if you’re just having sex with him to get rich, you might as well give up now and go home.”

Ginger tried asserting herself right back at him. “Okay, Mister. I don’t know where you get off accusing me of being some kind of gold-digger. For one, I’m not having sex with him, not that it’s any of your business. For two, I don’t know what money you’re talking about. Sure, this is an expensive house, but Fogey, Mr. Fogarty that is, lives on Spaghetti-O’s and dresses like a slob. I don’t think he has any money. And for three, I thought you were coming here to help me with some personal matters, but now I’m not sure I want your help.”

Stone looked her over suspiciously. “You really don’t know who he is? I guess Mrs. Pinski was telling the truth. She said you were a decent person, but I’ve never believed that the proverbial ‘hooker with a heart of gold’ was based in any kind of reality.”

She placed her palms on the table. “Wait. Who’s Mrs. Pinski and what’s she got to do with me? And did Fogey tell you I was a hooker? I’m going to march up there and tell him to stop talking about me behind my back.”

She stood up, but Stone grabbed her arm. “Don’t. He didn’t tell me. Mrs. Pinski (I believe you and Brad met in her restaurant) checks in with me every now and then to tell me how he’s doing and she mentioned that there was a hooker who came in every so often to chat with him. And when she told me the other day that she sent you home with him, I put two and two together and asked if you were the hooker. Don’t get mad at her either; she didn’t confirm your identity easily. And then I got a call from Brad that you needed to change your name, and he thought you also ought to get a restraining order against someone.”

Ginger slowly eased back into her chair. “I hadn’t thought about that, but maybe that is a good idea. Hey, don’t change the subject! Does Fogey know you’re spying on him? And you’ve got Mabel doing it, too?”

Stone sighed. “Yes, he knows. He picked me. I’d better start at the beginning. Are you familiar with the ‘Rusty and Scooter’ books?”

“The kids’ books about a boy and his dog? I loved those when I was little. Why?”

Adam smiled. “They were written and illustrated by B.B. Fogarty, as in Bradford Benjamin Fogarty, the guy whose house we’re sitting in.”

Ginger’s jaw dropped. “This grumpy old guy I’ve been teasing for the past few months is a famous author? Holy shit. But those were such fun, happy books and he’s so dreary. It doesn’t seem possible.”

“He stopped writing some time ago. But the seven books are doing well enough in reprints that he’s living comfortably off the royalties. And that’s the money I assumed you were after. But you seem genuinely surprised by this, so I apologize for assuming the worst of you.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake.

“I guess I accept your apology. But that doesn’t explain why you’re spying on him.”

“You’ve mentioned his state of mind. He’s been through worse bouts of depression. He wasn’t taking care of himself. To avoid being committed to a psychiatric facility, he gave me power of attorney and control of his funds. Now I make sure his bills get paid on time, and I check in with people like Mrs. Pinski to make sure he’s eating. I have a cleaning woman coming in every two weeks, but he won’t let her into all the rooms. Maybe you’ve noticed. I worry about him.” Adam looked up at the ceiling, toward where Fogarty was. “But his taking an interest in your situation is a good sign. It’s the first thing he’s actually cared about in a long time.”

Ginger wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “It sounds like you were just looking out for him. You sound like a good friend, so I can’t really be mad at you for trying to protect him from me. So can you really help me with my name thing, or was that just a trick to get me to talk to you?”

He took another folder out of his briefcase. “No trick. I have the forms right here.”

Ginger shyly asked, “Did they tell you why I need to change my name?”

Stone matter-of-factly replied, “You’re transitioning from male to female. Brad didn’t tell me — have you had your SRS yet?”

“Not yet.” She sighed wistfully. “But it sounds like you’ve done your homework. You used the right terms for stuff.”

“Unfortunately for you, in this state you can’t get your birth certificate adjusted until after your surgery, so this will be just a name change.” He shrugged. “I’m a civil rights lawyer primarily, but I’ve handled cases like yours before.”

He took her information to fill in the form, convincing her that she should go with “Virginia” as her official first name and keep “Ginger” as a nickname; that way it would look less like a stripper name to the judge. She asked if it would be okay to pick “Isabel” as her middle name, so she could always be a “V.I.P.” He laughed and said the judge probably wouldn’t notice.

He then brought up the subject of a restraining order. Ginger explained the whole story about her father hitting his son whenever he didn’t think he was being manly enough. Adam gave her a hug and told her that no one deserved to be treated like that. He got furious for her and asked if she wanted to press charges, but she didn’t want to put her mother through that. He said he understood and then shared a story of how he waited until his own father had died before he told his mother he was gay. Ginger was surprised, but not completely. It explained why he was so empathetic. They had a good cry and then went upstairs to tell Fogarty they were finished.

He was sitting in a room on the second floor Ginger had never been in before. It was decorated as an office, with a desk, a file cabinet and a couple large bookcases, all in solid oak. Fogarty was reading the papers Stone had given him, and looking something up on a computer. He explained that they were letters from charity organizations seeking donations, so he had to decide if he wanted to give to any of them.

Adam told him he’d call him back later in the week for an answer. Then he turned to Ginger and said he’d try to get her an appointment with a judge as soon as possible. Almost as an afterthought he told her she’d need to dress in something a little more professional so the court knew she was serious.

Bradford spoke up. “She’s already in her most conservative dress. Could you put some money on my debit card so I can take her shopping this weekend?”

Adam took a good look at Ginger. “I have another idea. I think she’s about Helen’s size. Could we go see if one of her suits would fit?”

Ginger felt Fogarty grab her hand and clutch it tight, as though it were the only thing keeping him from drowning. “It’s okay, Fogey. I can just go to a consignment shop or something. I don’t need to borrow things from this Helen, whoever she is.”

Adam shook his head. “You didn’t tell her about Helen, either? Can I tell her?”

Bradford just nodded his head without speaking.

Adam brought them all into the master bedroom and had the other two sit on the bed. He then walked over to the nightstand and grabbed a framed photograph and brought to Ginger. It was a wedding couple. “That’s Brad and Helen at their wedding.”

She could barely recognize him. The guy in the picture was younger, probably around her age, and he was smiling. But she could see traces in her eyes that this young man would grow to become her Mr. Fogey. The bride was a beautiful blonde with long flowing hair. Ginger liked this woman already, if only for defying the convention that a bride always needs an updo. “Where is she now?” The way Fogarty was squeezing her hand, and the expression on Stone’s face said it all. She was dead. “What happened?”

Adam sniffled. “Just before 1:00 am on New Year’s Day, 2004, Brad and Helen were driving home. They’d been at a party at the Ritz thrown by some publishing bigwigs. A drunk in an SUV slammed into the side of Brad’s little Jag and crushed it. The ambulance arrived in time to save Brad, but Helen didn’t make it.” He wiped a tear. “She was one of my best friends. The asshole went to jail but it isn’t even remotely fair.”

Ginger turned and just held onto her friend. “I am so sorry.” The aura of sadness that always seemed to surround him suddenly made perfect sense. “I apologize for every name I ever called you, every time I teased you, every inappropriate gesture. I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”

All three of them wept for a while. Then Adam broke the silence. “Anyway, that’s why there’s a whole closet full of things that aren’t being worn.” He crossed the room and opened a door. “I think it’s time someone got some use out of them. What do you say, Brad? Can we let Ginger try on some of Helen’s clothes? I don’t think she’d object.”

The desperate soul clinging to her loosened a little. “Um, okay. But I don’t think I can watch. Not right now.” He let go and stood up. “You can take anything in there that you want. I’m going downstairs.”

Ginger gave him a little kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. I promise I will treat everything with the respect it deserves.”

After Brad left, Adam told Ginger to see if one of Helen’s darker skirt suits fit, and to pair it with a pale blouse. He then left her on her own to explore the closet. He didn’t want to leave his friend alone in his current state of mind. He worried that he might try to go for a walk or something.

The closet turned out to be more like an actual dressing room. It was big, with hanging racks, and built-in chests of drawers, and rows of shoe shelves, a bench to sit on, and a three-way full-length mirror. It even had a window. Ginger was torn between the excitement of being allowed to try it all on, and the sadness that came with knowing it all belonged to a dead woman.

She checked tags and learned that Helen was indeed almost her same size. She usually took a 9 or 10, and Helen was an 8, but they were both Mediums. Regrettably, Helen’s shoes were two sizes too small for Ginger’s feet. Ginger stripped to her bra and panties and methodically tried on blouses, skirts, and jackets. She decided to limit herself to just finding an outfit to wear for her appointment, and she could come back and explore later, maybe when Fogey was in a better mood or out of the house.

She found a nice pinstriped charcoal suit in a wool blend that fit well and wasn’t too horribly out of style, but the skirt wasn’t lined. It needed a slip. She found Helen’s lingerie drawers, and hit the jackpot. Not only did she have exquisite taste in lacy finery, but it turned out she was also a 34B. Everything would fit Ginger perfectly. She decided to change completely from the skin out, in one of Helen’s silk bra and panty sets, an ivory lace half slip under her skirt that matched a camisole for under her slightly sheer white blouse, and a pair of sheer black stay-up stockings instead of her cheap pantyhose.

She buttoned on the jacket and slipped her feet back into her own shoes. She crept down the stairs, and walked in on the two men chatting in the living room. She did a spin like a runway model and asked them if the outfit would work. Adam asked if she had a pair of black pumps, and she dashed off to her room and returned with six-inch stilettos on her feet. She laughed and said she knew they were too much, but they were her only pumps. Adam said he’d put some money on Brad’s card and he could take Ginger shopping like he’d wanted, but only for shoes.

Bradford himself had remained quiet throughout Adam’s critique. He was just looking at Ginger and she couldn’t tell what he was seeing. He finally said something, telling her to wait there, and he ran upstairs. He came back a few minutes later and handed her a small box, saying that he thought they would work better. She opened the box and saw a beautiful pair of pearl earrings, and a matching pendant. She swapped out her earrings, and then he helped her with the clasps on her necklaces. Adam approved the change. He was impressed with Brad’s eye for fashion, but since he was an artist he shouldn’t have been too surprised.

Ginger went to her room and changed back into her original outfit. She asked Adam if he wanted to stay for dinner, but he had a previous engagement and had to leave. Bradford offered to treat her to dinner at Mabel’s, so she accepted. She needed to go talk to Mabel about work anyway.

When she got out her faux rabbit jacket, he vetoed it, saying that it was too short for her dress. He went to his hall closet and handed her a long red wool overcoat that fit her perfectly. She thanked him and took his arm for the five-block walk.

Mabel was pleased to see them come in together. She also told Ginger that she looked much prettier when she wasn’t all tarted up. It seemed weird eating in a booth instead of their usual counter stools, but it seemed more appropriate. The food was excellent as always, and afterwards Mabel took Ginger into the back room and had her try on uniforms, and they talked about her schedule. While her college was still in session, she’d be working nights, switching over to days when she became more available, which would coincide with when Mabel expected the increased holiday business. It worked out nicely for everyone.

***

On Saturday morning, Ginger wanted to do something nice for Fogarty to thank him for everything. She dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, some of her boy clothes that she didn’t mind getting dirty, and set herself the task of cleaning up the mess in the living room. She started by collecting newspapers into a bundle so they could be recycled. Maybe he’d been deliberately saving them for something, but she didn’t care; they were an unruly fire hazard. She had a couple of serious bales tied up by the time he came down for breakfast.

Bradford wasn’t quite sure how to react. He was uncomfortable with her going through his things, but he also knew that it was probably a good thing to get the room in order. If he really wanted a girl to feel at home in his house, he was going to have to let her make his cave more welcoming. She could tell he was a little uneasy, and told him to go back upstairs, and she’d call him down when she was finished. Even though it felt a little weird to be ordered around by a houseguest, he did as he was asked.

Ginger found some mail that looked like bills that hadn’t been opened. She wasn’t sure if they were important, so she called Adam. She explained what she was doing, and he congratulated her for getting Bradford to accept that his house needed cleaning. He said that any bills she found would be outdated; everything that needed paying was now sent to his office directly. He told her to gather all the old bills and junk mail into a trash bag; he’d call and have a shredding truck come by in the late afternoon. He also said that she deserved a reward for tackling the job, so he said that instead of sending her out shoe shopping with some money on Fogarty’s debit card, he’d come and get her on Sunday and take her out himself, and they’d hit the designer shoe boutiques. Ginger accepted his offer. She’d just been expecting to go to Payless.

The more things she hauled out of the room, the more things beneath the piles were revealed. The room was actually nicely furnished. She discovered a stylish loveseat and a lovely hand-carved coffee table. When she finally cleared the way to the far wall, she found that the room’s original fireplace had been kept in excellent condition, with a modernized gas insert.

But the biggest surprise was that hanging from the mantelpiece were two quilted Christmas stockings, nicely embroidered with the names “Helen” and “Brad.” At first she thought that it was kind of sweetly romantic that he’d chosen to put up his dead wife’s stocking for her. But then the scope of how much mail and papers she’d had to remove hit her, and she remembered that the accident had been on New Year’s. It wasn’t that he’d put up her stocking; he’d never taken it down. And as she cleared more of the room she found more Christmas decorations that had been left in the room for six years. There was a nutcracker on an end table, a pretty porcelain nativity set in the bay window, a snowman that danced and sang when you squeezed his mitten tucked beside a chair, and a dead poinsettia on a plant stand in the corner.

Besides bills and advertisements, and catalogs from years ago, she also found some mail that looked personal, so she started making a pile off to the side. She wasn’t sure how to sort unopened envelopes, so she went upstairs to find Fogey. He was sitting in his office reading a book. She apologized for interrupting, and then asked his permission to open his mail so she’d know what to do with it. He thought a moment and then told her to just throw it all away. She sighed and went back to work.

She didn’t like his request, so she felt free to reinterpret it. Sure, it would have been illegal for her to open his mail, but once he said to throw it out it became garbage, and TV detectives go through people’s garbage all the time, so it must be okay. She categorized the personal mail into five little piles. One pile was Christmas cards, mostly from 2003 but a few from later years. Next there was a bunch of condolence cards and sympathy letters about Helen’s death. Ginger got a little weepy reading all the lovely thoughts, and wondered if that many people would care if she were to die as suddenly. She hoped nothing happened to her before her name change went through; she’d hate to have a male name on her gravestone. She made a mental note to ask Adam if her parents could bury her as Jack anyway.

The third pile was as uplifting to read as the last had been depressing. It was fan letters from little kids, sometimes addressed to “B.B. Fogarty,” sometimes to his characters “Rusty and Scooter.” Those were a lot of fun, especially the ones where the little kids sent in crayon drawings of their own version of the characters. The fourth pile was also about his books, but they were from grownups, usually his publisher asking for an update on his schedule. The last pile was the creepiest; it was for all the letters addressed to Helen. Ginger didn’t feel comfortable opening those. She bundled up each of the four piles in twine and hid them under her bed until she found a better place to keep them. She almost ran out of time, as the shredding guy showed up before she was done sorting everything, but she finished by the time he was done with the newspapers.

With all that paper out of the way, all that was left was an insane amount of dusting (with accompanying sneezing), a lot of vacuuming, and a liberal spraying of air freshener to kill the mustiness. She left up most of the Christmas decorations, since it was December after all, but she took down the stockings, so Fogey wouldn’t be reminded too much of Helen. At first she just took down the one with Helen’s name on it, but that made his look too lonely. She folded them up and put them in the linen closet in her bathroom, for lack of a better place.

While in the bathroom, she saw in the mirror that she looked an absolute mess. So she showered and dressed in one of her own cami tops and a pair of Helen’s jeans, and put on her gold hoops and a little makeup. She thought she looked casual and not too whorish. It was nice feeling like a regular girl.

Fogarty was so engrossed in his mystery novel that he didn’t notice when she came in. She softly walked right up to his chair, leaned down and called out, “Hey, Mr. Fogey!” He lifted his eyes from his book and found himself looking directly into her cleavage. She was also braless, and the contour of her nipples was evident beneath her top. Struggling to crane his neck and keep eye contact, he tried fruitlessly to regain his composure. She teased him for a little while longer, and then explained that she was ready to show him what she’d done.

She followed him down the stairs, and put her hands over his eyes before the living room doorway came into view. He tried to ignore the breasts pressing into his back, but he knew they were there. On the plus side, it was almost enough to distract him from his woes.

The room looked better than it had in years. He told Ginger he was impressed with her work. He commented that he’d almost forgotten his holiday decorations had been under there. She joked that she was half expecting to find a Christmas tree hiding in the corner. He told her that she’d have to clean the dining room to find that, and she wasn’t sure if he was kidding.

***

Adam came over after lunch on Sunday and was similarly pleased with Ginger’s efforts. He told her that since she’d cleared out six years of clutter, it was worth six pairs of shoes. He drove her to a couple of different high-end shoe shops. Several hours and a few thousand dollars later, Ginger had a fancy new assortment of designer footwear. She was leery of getting so many expensive shoes, but he pointed out that is she was going to be raiding Helen’s closet of name fashions, she’d look out of place with $50 shoes on her feet.

She just shrugged and accepted his judgment. But when she was trying on an absolutely gorgeous pair of Manolo Blahnik boots, she glanced at the price tag and nearly fainted. A realization hit her, and she sat down in tears. Adam asked what was wrong. Between sobs she said that she shouldn’t be wearing shoes that cost so much when she didn’t know how she was going to afford her tuition for the next semester. The price of the boots was over half what she needed to come up with.

He told her not to worry. He’d have to talk to Bradford about it, but he was pretty sure he’d be okay with lending her the money. They’d work out the details and sign some papers, but in the mean time, he’d make sure her school got the money to make sure she’d stay enrolled for the next term.

Ginger was overjoyed and gave him a big hug and a kiss right there in the store. She thanked him, but asked why he wasn’t concerned any more that she was some kind of gold digger. He said that she was definitely doing positive things for his friend, so even if she was only in it for the money it was more than worth it. She stuck her tongue out at him and pouted.

Adam laughed and said he wasn’t quite ready to let his guard down completely, but he didn’t think a gold digger would have dealt with the messy living room herself — she’d have hired a maid.

When she got home, she put most of her shoes into her closet, except the Jimmy Choo pumps Adam had told her to wear for their date with the judge. He’d gotten them an appointment the following afternoon, and she wanted to break them in a little ahead of time so she wore them around the house.

She felt like dressing up for dinner so she changed into a pretty red dress and put on more mascara and eye shadow. She called Fogey into the kitchen and he told her she looked very nice, and even held her chair for her. While he stood there, she leaned into him, touched her hand to his cheek, and gave him a full kiss on the lips, with just a hint of tongue at the finish.

He backed away from her as soon as he was able to think clearly. “Why did you do that?”

She stepped towards him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Because I think you’re a great guy, and you deserve to be kissed.” She briefly thought about kissing him again, but he was too rigid. “You’ve done so much for me: giving me a place to live, getting your lawyer to help me change my name, giving me all those new clothes, and now making sure I’ve got the money for my school. I just wanted to show my appreciation. You’ve pretty much taken care of everything I need, so I thought I’d do what I could to help you with your needs. I spent a lot of time spying on guys when they thought I was one of their own, so I know that this needs attention.” She ran her other hand across the front of his pants, and she could tell that at least a part of him understood her meaning. “And I am ready and willing to attend to all of its needs.”

He had to push her away more forcefully. “Please, stop.” He held up the back of his left hand and Ginger flinched. He realized what she was thinking too late. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry. I forgot your history. I wasn’t going to hit you, honestly. I was just trying to show you my ring.” He moved closer and took her into his arms for a warm hug. “Are we still friends?”

She nodded and tried not to cry. “Okay. Friends is good enough, I guess.”

Her soft curves pressed against him were getting difficult to ignore, so he released her and went back to his chair. “Look, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but I never cheated on my wife when she was alive, and I’m not going to cheat on her memory now. These pork chops you made smell delicious, so can we please eat before it gets cold?”

She sat down. “I’m not sure how it’s cheating when the vows clearly state ‘til death do you part,’ but I guess I can let it go. I just really wish I could help you as much as you helped me.”

He gestured at the table. “This here is helping. You’ve been cooking excellent meals since you moved in, and the cleaning job you did today was incredible! You are really doing a lot for me.”

She swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes and then got a serious expression on her face. “But it just seems so superficial. Because of you, I’m out of my Dad’s house so I don’t live surrounded by fear all the time anymore. I guess I was just hoping that I could do something so that you didn’t need to live surrounded by sadness, even if only for a little while.”

He gave her a half-hearted smile. “That’s a sweet sentiment. Thanks but unless you can bring Helen back to life I don’t think you can erase my sadness. She was my life, and without her I am incomplete.”

Ginger chewed her dinner in silence for a while before speaking again. “It’s very romantic to have a love that strong. I hope some day someone loves me that much.”

“I’m sure that’s likely. Any man would be lucky to have you. You’re intelligent, sensitive, beautiful, and an excellent cook. This is really good!” He had nearly cleaned his plate.

She blushed at his compliments. “Well, I can’t take all the credit. You have a very well-equipped kitchen. If you’re okay with me asking, was Helen a gourmet cook?”

He gave a wistful sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back a tear. “No, it’s fine. I’d love to tell you about her. I think she would have liked you.” He gave a little chuckle, “But actually the chef in the family was me. She worked late hours, but I’d be home all day up in my studio, so I’d be the one cooking ninety percent of the time. Since I’ve been living alone, I just haven’t had the energy to cook anything too ambitious.”

“You’ll have to cook something for me sometime. I’m curious to taste what your artistic mind can create.” She licked her lips, just a little flirtatiously. “What kind of work did she do? I know she had a lot of nice business suits.”

“She was a lawyer, but most of her clients couldn’t pay much. She liked to champion the underdog. She worked for a non-profit. Most of her fancy wardrobe was paid for by Rusty and Scooter. She did love her clothes! But she’d give you the designer-label shirt off her back if she saw you were shivering, and think nothing of it.” He closed his eyes and remembered her face. “She was a beautiful woman inside and out.”

“She sounds like a truly lovely person. There aren’t enough of those in the world.” Ginger thought about how unfair the world was that an asshole like her father got to live but this kind lady had to die.

Bradford continued. “Why, even at the end she thought of others before herself.” He sniffled as a tear rolled down his cheek. “After the crash, her last words to me were, ‘Brad, are you all right?’ She had a piece of steel poking through her abdomen, but her first instinct was to check on me. That’s the kind of person she was.”

Ginger was weeping a little, too. “What were your last words to her?”

He took a sip of his water and tried to keep his voice steady. “I think I said something like ‘Yeah,’ and then I passed out. The next thing I knew I was waking up at the hospital and they were telling me she didn’t make it.”

Ginger couldn’t help herself. She had to get up out of her chair and go hold him tightly. “That’s just awful!” She felt really sorry for him. It seemed like he was still mourning Helen because he never really got any closure. He needed a chance to let her go. She let him cry in her arms for a while before she went back to her seat. “I don’t think the Helen that you described would have wanted you to be alone forever.” But he didn’t feel like talking about it anymore and went up to bed early.

***

The next day was a very busy Monday for Ginger. She began the day in boy clothes, went to four classes, then came home at lunch time and had to turn into a girl in less than an hour. She’d traded her ace bandage for one of Helen’s sports bras, so at least releasing her boobs from their binding went faster. She took a quick shower just to wash the gel out of her hair, but she didn’t have enough time for her usual red rinse, so she had to go see the judge as a brunette.

She was still working on her makeup when the doorbell rang. Her roommate came downstairs and answered it, and then he and Adam went to fetch her. They both agreed that she looked very nice, and Fogarty added that any judge who couldn’t see that she deserved to be treated as a woman was blinder than the statue of Justice outside the courthouse. She thanked him and gave him a little kiss on the cheek for luck.

Ginger nearly freaked out when the guard at the security checkpoint before they could enter the courthouse asked to see ID, but then Adam was super-smooth and showed his special lawyer ID card and explained that she was with him, and they were there to address a problem with her identification. He signed them both in, and the guard let them pass. They just needed to run their bags through an X-ray machine to make sure they weren’t carrying anything dangerous.

They went up an elevator and down a hallway to a very government-looking room with a couple benches and a clerk behind a counter. Adam gave their names to the clerk and said they had an appointment with Judge Owens. She checked a clipboard and told them to have a seat.

They had to wait on the bench for ten or fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours. A door in the side of the room opened and an older woman in a blue dress waved at them. Adam stood up and led Ginger to the door. The woman clasped his hand. “Adam, it’s good to see you again!” She seemed friendly.

Adam turned to his client. “Virginia, might I introduce Her Honor Judge Beryl Owens.”

Ginger was surprised. She’d thought this lady was just a secretary or something. Weren’t judges supposed to wear robes all the time? She shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Your Honor.”

The judge showed them into her chambers, a big office decorated in heavy oak furniture. When the door was closed, she looked Ginger over. “I take it you are John L. Peters, junior?” Judge Owens caught the look of surprise in her eye. “Mr. Stone sent over all the paperwork on your case ahead of time. This seems fairly straightforward. You understand that even though you would now be legally allowed to refer to yourself as ‘Virginia,’ the laws of our state require your official sex to remain Male until such time as you’ve had gender reassignment surgery?”

Ginger nervously replied, “Yes, ma’am, I mean, Your Honor,” and did a half-curtsy.

The judge let out a lithe laugh. “It’s okay, honey. I’m not that scary.” She signed one of the papers in several places. “Okay, this may take a few weeks to process, but once that’s done your new name will be registered. Has Mr. Stone told you what you need to do next? You’ll need to pay to run an announcement in the newspaper so that all your creditors will still be able to find you.”

Adam spoke up. “Your honor, we’d like to request that you waive the requirement to publish the announcement. I’ve got the papers here that show no outstanding debts. We believe that it would cause undue embarrassment to Ms. Peters’ family.”

The judge nodded. “On the subject of her family, I understand you’d also like to take out a restraining order?”

“Yes, your honor.” Adam couldn’t hide the disgust in his voice. “John L. Peters, senior has on numerous occasions gotten violent with his only child, and expressed strong homophobic tendencies. We feel that especially in light of Ms. Peters’ transgendered nature, he poses a serious threat to her well-being.”

The judge looked Ginger in the eye. “You are accusing your father of having assaulted you, but I couldn’t find any complaints on file. Why didn’t you press charges against him?”

Ginger shrugged. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me over him. He’s the upstanding citizen; I’m the twisted little pervert.”

Judge Owens signed the papers. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Honey. You’re just made a little different from other girls. Don’t ever let anyone make you think you have any less value than everyone else!”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” She had to fight to keep from doing another little curtsy.

Adam wished the judge a merry Christmas and a happy new year, and they left the courthouse. Ginger had a couple errands she wanted to run before heading home, so she had him drop her off at a subway station.

***

That night, Bradford had a strange encounter. He awoke in the middle of the night with the sense that he was not alone. He heard a whispering voice that he couldn’t quite identify tell him not to turn on the light. The presence moved closer and whispered to him again, “Can you smell my perfume?”

He closed his eyes and inhaled, filling his nostrils with a familiar aroma. It brought back a thousand memories of Helen: holding her close, nuzzling her neck, dancing cheek to cheek. He could almost see her in the room.

The strange visitor took his hand and brought it to her shoulder. She whispered again, “Can you touch my nightgown?” His fingers swept her long hair out of the way and found the little strap he knew was there, then traced it down to the lacy swell he’d touched so many times before. It was impossible, but it felt like Helen had returned to him. He realized that he must be dreaming and hoped he didn’t wake up.

She crossed to Helen’s side of the bed and slipped inside the covers. Bradford’s arm was grabbed and pulled, forcing him into a spoon position behind the entity in his bed. “Can you feel the heat of my body beside you?” He held her tight, buried his face in her hair, and drifted off to a deeper, contented sleep.

He woke up as alone as usual in the morning, but he clearly remembered his odd experience. He wondered if his roommate had been trying to seduce him again. He looked over on Helen’s bureau and her bottle of perfume was still there and still covered in a layer of dust. He checked the hook on the back of Helen’s closet door, and her nightgown was still hanging there as well. Maybe it had been a dream.

He met Ginger down at the breakfast table in her usual t-shirt and panties sleepwear. He leaned down to refill her coffee and got close enough to take a sniff at her. She smelled pretty, but it was completely different from Helen’s scent. Ginger gave him a funny look, and he tried to look nonchalant. It must have been a dream. Besides, he definitely remembered the “ghost” as having long hair. Ginger’s was much too short.

He went to bed while Ginger was still working at Mabel’s that night and tried to hypnotize himself. He wondered what you needed to do to make a dream repeat itself. There had to be some way to program his subconscious. Eventually he wore himself out and succumbed to sleep.

He was awakened again, or maybe the dream was recurring. Once again he sensed a presence in his room and it whispered to him and assaulted his senses. He smelled her perfume, he touched her nightgown, and he felt her body heat as before. But this time once he was spooning her, she whispered, “Touch my skin,” and she pulled his hand from where he held her around the waist up to slide the strap of her nightgown off her shoulder, and then brought his hand to her chest. He was undeniably touching a bare breast. He gave it a firm squeeze, and ran his fingers around the nipple, which quickly became erect.

He was feeling a similar stirring of his own, and found that his bedmate was grinding her silk-covered posterior against the stiffness in his crotch. He bucked his hips almost involuntarily, and kept it up until the inevitable happened. The next morning he awoke alone again, but with a cold dampness in his pajama pants that proved exactly what kind of dream he’d had. The nightgown hanging in Helen’s closet was dry and spotless. If someone (he had only one suspect, but didn’t name her) had been wearing it beside him the night before, they’d have had to wash it, dry it and hang it back up all while he slept. He found that option less likely than it having been a dream.

On the third night she came to him, her routine was a little different. As before, the first whisper was a warning to leave the lights off, and the second whisper brought the visitor to his bedside asking him to smell her perfume. But this time, as he was taking her in with his nose, she whispered, “Taste my kiss,” and brought her lips to his. It did taste like Helen’s favorite lipstick, but he wasn’t sure if she still kissed with exactly the same technique. It was a great kiss, either way. She then went around to her side of the bed and kissed him again as he touched the skin of her breasts before she rolled over and let him rub himself against her until he was exhausted.

Yet again, there was no evidence left in the morning. He needed a way to deal with these dreams, so he went up to his studio and tried sketching, but nothing satisfactory came of it. He just had a meaningless scribble on the paper. What if he really was being visited by Helen’s ghost — what did it mean? And why now after all this time? Was it because he’d been thinking about another woman? He considered calling his psychiatrist, but she’d just prescribe more drugs that he wouldn’t want to take.

Thursday morning, he decided he was going to question Ginger, just to make sure she wasn’t the one behind it all. But she was in a hurry to get to class, and she was in her male guise, and he really felt uncomfortable asking another guy if he’d been sneaking into his bed.

That evening, when the voice whispered, “Don’t turn on the lights,” he disobeyed and reached for the switch. There was a loud click, but the light wouldn’t come on. The whisperer said, “I told you to leave the light off. Do you want me to leave?”

He whispered back honestly, “No. But please, tell me why you’re here. Are you a ghost or a dream?”

“I am both, and neither.” She moved closer. “Smell my perfume. I am a memory. I am here because you needed me to be. I will be here until you are ready to let me go. You deserve better than sharing your bed with a ghost or a dream. Taste my kiss.” She leaned in for the kiss he was eagerly awaiting. Next, she surprised him by pushing him back onto the bed and then climbing in on top of him. She kneeled astride him, and slid both straps down her shoulders when she brought his hands up to touch her skin. He had a breast in each hand as she wriggled her pelvis around on top of his. She whispered, “Feel my touch,” and her hands went under his shirt to trace the muscles of his chest and fondle his own tiny nipples. She kept it up long enough for him to reach his peak, and then slid down to cuddle him until he fell asleep.

He awoke the next morning to a knock on his door. It was Ginger’s last day of class, so she’d made a big breakfast, but he’d have to get up if he wanted any while it was still warm. He quickly dressed and went down to join her. She had her male hairstyle and her glasses on, but she only had her sports bra on for a top and she spoke in her feminine voice, so she looked to be an odd mixture of genders. Fogarty thought about how confusing his life had become since he’d met her, but he didn’t exactly regret any of it.

He decided to try cooking dinner for a change, to give her a break after all that schoolwork. He was a little rusty at it, so he practiced by making his own lunch. He elected to do a chicken stir-fry over rice noodles, with a Thai-influenced peanut sauce. It took him four tries to get a sauce that was palatable, but when supper time rolled around, Ginger was quite satisfied with it. He still conceded that she was the better chef, but she thought he was just trying to get out having to do it again.

His nightly visitor came again. The whisper warned him to leave the lights off, and threatened to leave if he did. Then she was beside him, letting him smell her perfume and taste her kiss. He tried to take some of the initiative and wrapped his arms around the back of her neck as she kissed him. She went along with it and let him pull her into the bed. Without being prompted, he moved his hand around to uncover and fondle her breast.

Returning to her ritual, she whispered, “Feel my touch,” and slid her hand up under his shirt, but then her other hand reached down into his pants. Nimble fingers danced along the length, and within seconds he was at full size. The teasing continued for an eternity, and then he felt himself tightly gripped by her slightly slippery hand, which began to move up and down along his shaft, slowly at first, but then gradually building in speed. He held on as long as he could, and but she could tell when he was about to erupt, and pulled out a tissue from somewhere to catch everything that came out, and then followed up with a baby wipe from the same place to clean him up.

She then rolled off of him so he could spoon her again as they slept. He tried only pretending to fall asleep, so he could notice where she went when she disappeared, but he couldn’t last. He closed his eyes for only a second, but then it was morning and she was gone again. She hadn’t even left her trash in his wastebasket. The only sign that she’d been there was a faint lingering of her perfume in the air.

***

The next day was a Saturday. Ginger was all done with her classes and didn’t feel like studying for her final exams yet. She decided to use her free time to try to tackle cleaning the dining room. She got into her housework outfit and tried to figure out where to start. The doorway was crammed full of document boxes like they use in big offices for transporting files. She wondered if there was an easier way into the room.

She realized that the fancy carved panel on the wall of the living was actually a pair of sliding pocket doors that led to the dining room. She pushed them open and saw that there really was a Christmas tree in there. Fortunately, it was a fake one, but it still was covered in six years of dust, and it looked like some of the branches had been bent when it had been shoved behind the doors.

She figured that it would need to be taken out of the room to be properly cleaned, and she didn’t want to get the living room dirty again, so she marched upstairs to the linen closet and came back down with a few sheets that she liberally spread around the living room. Then she crawled into the dining room behind the tree to unplug its lights. Finally, she manhandled the whole thing through the doors into the living room.

With the tree out of the way, she was able to get into the dining room. Fogey had a lovely table. It was big enough for ten chairs and the set looked to be hand-carved from a dark wood. There was a matching sideboard and a hutch that displayed a set of attractive china. The table was covered in those document boxes, two layers deep, as well as the stack of them filling the doorway. Ginger lifted one off the table and set it on the floor. It was seriously heavy!

She popped the lid and peeked inside. It was full of books, in identical leather bindings. She pulled one out and opened it. The bookplate inside said “From the Library of Helen Sanders-Fogarty, Esq.”and the book itself was just a boring list of legal cases. She wasn’t sure what to do with all the boxes. She called Adam and he told her that when the firm had cleaned out Helen’s office, they offered to buy the books from Bradford, but he said he wanted to keep all of her things as a reminder. Ginger asked if the books would still be useful to them six years later, and he said that most of the precedents were still valid.

She told Adam she’d call him back, and then went upstairs to bug Fogarty. She found him reading in his office. He did that a lot. She shouted to get his attention, “Hey, Fogey!”

He looked up and saw her in her t-shirt and sweatpants. “Hey, yourself. Have you been exercising or something?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I’ve been trying to clean your dining room. I thought for sure you’d have heard me.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t. When we had the house remodeled, we had them put extra acoustic insulation between the floors. Helen didn’t want me keeping her up if I was watching TV.”

Ginger pounced on the opportunity, “Speaking of Helen, I was wondering if maybe you’d let me get rid of all those boxes of law books. Adam says a lawyer might still be able to use them. And I bet you haven’t touched them ever in the six years they’ve been filling your dining room. I thought maybe Helen would have wanted to pass them along to some struggling law student, instead of leaving them to take up space in your house where no one would read them. Maybe I could call Adam and have him look into donating them to a worthy charity?”

Fogarty looked at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. “You know, I think you’re right. That is the sort of thing she would have wanted to do with them. You have a really good understanding of her.” He let the idea that maybe she knew Helen well enough to impersonate her flow through his head, but said nothing. “I tell you what: you call Adam and arrange to have someone come get those boxes, and I’ll go get to work moving them out of the dining room and into the hall. Somewhere in that stack are a couple boxes of other personal items out of her office; I wouldn’t want to get rid of them accidentally.” He stuck a bookmark in his book and headed downstairs.

She flipped open her phone and called Adam back. She told him that she’d convinced Fogey to give the law books to some charity so they could be donated to a poor law student. He agreed that it was a good idea, and said he’d make a few calls and tell Bradford when someone would be coming to take them.

Ginger went and stood back for a while watching her housemate move the heavy boxes. She liked the way you could just make out the muscles of his shoulders as he lifted them. He was surprisingly fit for a guy his age, and looking at his arms flexing gave her naughty thoughts. She shook the image out of her head, and went back to work.

She got out the furniture polish and her dust rag, and set to work making the dining set clean and shiny. She started with the hutch and made her way through the chairs. By the time he’d cleared the table she was ready to do it. But first he wanted to show her something. He had three boxes that weren’t books, just other stuff that had come out of her office. There were a couple plaques Helen had received in recognition of her humanitarian work and a couple photos of Fogey when he was younger. He was cute!

She asked him what he was going to do with Helen’s stuff, and he said he didn’t know where he’d put everything permanently, but he had a room where he’d put the boxes for now. Ginger offered to carry one of them for him and followed him upstairs. He unlocked the one room on the second floor she hadn’t been in yet.

She was shocked to see that it was furnished as a nursery. There was a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, and a chest of drawers. The highlight of the room was a beautiful mural of woodland animals painted on the far wall. Ginger recognized the style of the artwork from Fogey’s books. “You never told me you had a kid. Where is he? Or she?”

He let out a weary sigh. “It’s a long story.” She sat down in the rocking chair ready to listen. “Okay, I suppose I ought to tell you. Back in the spring in 2002, we got pregnant. Well, I suppose technically Helen did, but we felt like we were in it together. Anyway, it was around the time we were finishing the remodel here, so we had this room done up for the baby, and it’s also when we put in the room you’ve been using; it was supposed to be used by Helen’s mother when she came to help with the baby.”

He looked around the room. “Yeah, I guess we went a little overboard. But we could afford it, and we were excited to be new parents. And we broke that rule about telling people too soon. It all turned out to be way too premature. We lost the baby. She miscarried at three months.” He paused to wipe a tear. “We left this stuff in here because we knew we’d try again when we were ready. We probably would have started in 2004, if the accident hadn’t happened.”

Ginger got up and gave him a hug. “Life just hasn’t been fair for you, has it? I understand why you keep this room locked.”

He sniffled. “I should probably do something else with this room, but I just haven’t needed the space for anything.”

She shook her head. “Leave it for now. Don’t give up. It’s a really pretty room, and you never know. You’re still vital. You could make a baby yet. Some of us aren’t so lucky. I haven’t got the right parts, and the ones I do have are sterile.”

It was his turn to comfort her. “Medical science is performing miracles every day. There’s a good chance that within your lifetime they’ll come up with a way to give you ovaries and a uterus that work. I think you’d make an excellent mom.”

She thanked him and then went back to work on the dining room. Before long she had all the furniture polished and had vacuumed the floor and taken the dishes from the display cabinet into the kitchen and washed them. She’d even cleaned all the dead bugs out of the lighting fixture. The room looked 1000% better.

Her sense of accomplishment was short-lived when she looked into the living room and remembered what she’d left there. She figured the only real way to dust the Christmas tree would be to use the brush attachment on the vacuum cleaner, but first she’d have to take all the ornaments off and dust them by hand. Some of them looked too fragile.

She thought about going to fetch Fogey again to have him help her with the ornaments, but she really felt like she wanted to do the whole thing herself. It seemed like admitting that she couldn’t do it all herself would be a failure somehow, like it would mean she wasn’t independent enough.

It took her several hours, but she got it all done. She wiped down each ornament with her dust rag as she took it off the tree, and set it on the dining table, which she’d covered with another sheet and wrinkled it so the round ornaments wouldn’t roll off. Then she vacuumed the tree, and only lost a few of its artificial needles. It was a good thing there wasn’t any tinsel. She set the tree back up in the opening between the rooms, plugged in the lights, straightened its skirt, and fluffed out the branches so it looked more real. Then she finished off by placing the ornaments back.

She found the switch and turned on the lights on the tree. She then gathered all her dusty sheets and brought them to the laundry room and started the first load. By this point she was an absolute mess, so she went to her bathroom and showered, and then dressed in a white turtleneck sweater that had been Helen’s, but her own denim miniskirt and her new boots. With her snowflake earrings in place, she thought she looked wintry, but fun.

She went upstairs to get her roommate to show him what she’d done. He was taking a nap. So instead she got a head start on making dinner. At 6:00, he was still sleeping in his chair, but she gently shook him and told him that they’d be eating in the dining room in ten minutes.

She met him in the doorway. He was astonished at how great a job she’d done. The Christmas tree was looking fresh and beautiful, the table had been set with a freshly ironed tablecloth and his good dishes, and she’d even lit candles. And on top of it all, the citrus-glazed grilled chicken smelled absolutely delicious. “Wow. You have outdone yourself, Ginger!” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She gave him a surprised look, but then he pointed at the ceiling. “Mistletoe.” She looked up and saw the sprig hanging on the wall just above the doorway, and wondered how she’d missed that.

Inspired by the tree, their dinner conversation was about Christmas. Ginger asked Bradford what kind of present he wanted. He tried to tell her that she didn’t need to get him anything, but she insisted that she needed to show her gratitude and give him something. He talked about how when he was a child, his family had always made their gifts for one another. His favorite had been a patchwork teddy bear his mother had sewn for him, made from scraps of all old clothes that had gotten too worn out to wear. He said he knew that Ginger didn’t have a lot of money, so he truly would appreciate it if she made him something herself. He did enjoy her cooking, so maybe she could bake something.

She said she’d think about it, although it would be hard to show him exactly how much she appreciated all that he’d done. He gestured at the room and said that she had already done quite a lot for him as well, and he’d put some serious thought into what kind of present he could make for her.

Ginger thought for a moment and said that he’d already given her the only gift she’d been dreaming of for as long as she could remember, the freedom to live her life as the girl she knew she always was. She told him about one time when she was around six she’d gone to see Santa in the mall and when he asked what she wanted for Christmas she’d said “a pretty dress,” and Santa apologized for thinking she was a little boy and said he’d bring her the prettiest dress he had. But then her mother got all embarrassed and had to correct Santa and everyone laughed and pointed at the little sissy, and she got a spanking from her father when he found out about the scene she’d caused. Fogarty expressed his sympathy at her situation, but she cut him off. She wanted to say that because of him she now had a closet full of pretty dresses, so he was better than a hundred Santas. She really didn’t need anything else.

She had to go to Mabel’s, so he cleared the table and did the dishes. He thanked her again, and said that if she wanted to take a cab instead of walking, he’d pay for it. It was getting pretty cold. She accepted his offer, but only let him pay half.

***

It had been such a full day, Bradford had almost forgotten about his recurring ghost dream. But like clockwork she reappeared again in the middle of the night, waking him with her soft whispers and delicate fragrance.

The visitor was a little more in control this time. When she bent for him to smell her perfume, he reached out to grab her but she caught each of his hands in hers. As their fingers interlaced she whispered, “This is the only touch of my skin you’ll have tonight.”

She let go of his hands and pushed his shoulders back onto the bed, then pulled all his covers off to the side. Still holding him down, she brought her face to his. “Taste my kiss.” She hungrily pressed her lips to his and quickly found his tongue with hers. He tried to bring his arms around her, but she kept swatting them down.

She broke off the kiss and began crawling backwards down his body. “Feel my touch,” she whispered as her hands slid across his chest. When she reached his waist, she grabbed the waistband of his pajama pants and pulled them down his hips, exposing him.

She moved her hands up to keep his arms down, and swung her head so her hair brushed across his genitals. She kept holding him down with her left hand but risked letting go with her right so she could bring it into play. She grabbed his quickly stiffening penis and held it in place while she brought her mouth down to ever-so-slightly touch the tip. “Feel my kiss,” she whispered, blowing a tantalizing puff of air at him.

She opened her mouth and reached out her tongue to give him a tentative lick. Apparently satisfied with the taste, she lowered her mouth down to take him in. Her lips were soft and her teeth seemed nonexistent. Her head began to bob up and down, taking him deeper each time. He resisted the urge to thrust his hips. He knew women hated that, and that probably went for dream ghost girls, too. It got to the point where she was taking his full length, and her hand moved to massage his balls. It wasn’t long after that that he knew he was ready, and he tried to let her know but it seemed like she could tell without being told. She sucked down every drop and cleaned him off with another conveniently appearing baby wipe as he fell out of her mouth.

She tucked him back into his pants and hitched them up, then slithered back up to face him. She must have pulled a breath mint from her hiding place as well, because she gave him a kiss that tasted of wintergreen before settling in for a snuggle before he fell asleep.

***

Sunday was a day of rest for Ginger. She was all done with classes, there were no more rooms left to clean, and Mabel didn’t need her. She was able to spend the day studying for her final exams. Her roommate even made lunch so she wouldn’t have to get up from her books. It was only soup and a sandwich, but it was a nice gesture.

The ghostly visitor look longer to arrive that night. It was close to 1:00 when he woke up to hear her whispers and smell her perfume. She got in on her side of the bed this time, and slid over to him under the covers. This time she started with, “Feel my touch,” and ran her hands up under his shirt and then down into his pants, pulling them down as she did so. She left one hand in place gripping and lightly stroking him.

She then leaned over so he could taste her kiss on his lips, and then she threw back the covers and rather acrobatically clambered up so she was kneeling astride his chest while still hanging onto him with her hand behind her back. She whispered, “Feel my heat,” and then reached her other hand around to lift the hem of her nightgown and she raised herself up on her knees and then began to lower herself again, and he felt himself sliding into a tight, wet, warm opening. She scooted her knees back a little and then her hands came around to the front again.

She took his hands and brought them up to her chest. She whispered, “Touch my skin,” and slid the straps from her shoulders to let him squeeze a breast in each hand as she rode him cowgirl style. She bounced up and down on him and he did his best to match her rhythm, but how deep he went into her was completely up to her. It was incredible to have so little control over what was happening. It almost made the sex sexier. It seemed from her motions and breathing that she was hitting her peak, so he let himself go. She held him inside for a moment, but then let him out and cleaned them up with another baby wipe and then pulled him into a spoon for some cuddling.

He awoke the next morning feeling completely drained. It was almost like he hadn’t slept at all. Ginger had left early to spend the morning at Mabel’s learning the breakfast menu, and the house felt empty. His house had been just as empty a month before, but the emptiness was lonelier somehow.

He walked across town to the dog park to make some preliminary sketches for a story idea that had started creeping into his head. He thought that he might need to visit a pet shop too. He ended up spending the entire day out sketching, and realized that to be polite he needed to call Ginger and let her know he wouldn’t be home for dinner. It was another one of those strange feelings, different but not wrong.

The ghost girl came to him again, and this night she was insatiable. She let him inside her from on top, as she had the previous night, but she made him last longer, and after fifteen minutes or so of cuddling, she climbed up on top of him again for another go. It was about as intense as he could handle.

When he awoke on Tuesday morning, Bradford had an epiphany. He realized that these visits from his dream girl were exciting and all, but they were just sex. It was empty, even with a shadow of his past love. He admitted to himself that he did like the sex part, but he wanted more. He wanted someone he could see in the daytime, someone he could actually talk to and spend real time with. He wanted a companion and a friend, not just a ghost dream memory. And he realized that that’s all Helen could ever be to him. He needed to find a living woman to be with instead, and maybe he’d already found her.

***

The next night, when the ghostly presence crept into Fogarty’s bedroom, he wasn’t there. A search of the house to make sure he hadn’t gone anywhere revealed a light coming under the door to the room on the third floor, and the sound of music playing on a stereo.

Ginger slipped Helen’s nightgown back onto its hook, plugged the lamp back into the wall, and then went back downstairs and underwent her metamorphosis. She unpinned the wig from her head, zipped it back into its airtight plastic bag, and hid it in her suitcase under the bed. She went into her bathroom and used the laundry detergent technique she’d perfected over months of having to change from female to male to remove every trace of the scent of “Helen’s” White Shoulders. She spritzed herself with her own signature fragrance, Charlie Red. Finally she slid on a pair of panties and got into bed. It felt lonely.

When morning came around, she fixed eggs for breakfast and went to check on her roommate. His bed still hadn’t been slept in. She knocked on the door to the upstairs room, and eventually he answered. He looked kind of sleepy, but the expression on his face was one of excitement instead of his usual woe. It was strange, but not necessarily a bad thing.

She went into the room, and saw a large flat table on one side, and a couch by the wall where it appeared he’d been napping. The room was surrounded with shelves covered with all kinds of random objects, but her eye was drawn to the center of the space, where several large sheets of paper were taped up against an inclined work surface. She then noticed there were colored stains on his fingers. “Is this your art studio, Fogey? Have you been working?”

He looked her straight in the eye. There was a cute twinkle in his. “Yes, I have. I’ve been inspired. But I can’t show you yet.” He tried to shoo her out.

“That is awesome that you’re painting again. But you still need to eat. Do you want to come down to the kitchen with me, or should I bring your breakfast up here?” She tried to peek around him to see what he was working on, but he kept blocking her.

“Actually, if you can bring it up here that would be a big help. Thanks.” Then he kissed her, a quick peck but it was on the lips. She wasn’t sure what it meant.

She loaded a tray with eggs, toast, coffee and juice and brought it up for him. He was busy washing his hands in the little bathroom he had up there, so she didn’t get another kiss or even the opportunity to ask about the first one. She told him that she had finals all day, so he’d have to get his own lunch, but she’d be back by dinner time.

She didn’t feel like eating alone, so when the time came she brought two plates of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli up to his room, and she sat and ate with him. He thanked her again with a quick kiss and even sent her out of the room with a playful swat on the bottom.

She changed into her uniform and headed down to Mabel’s for the late shift. But she spent the whole time preoccupied with thoughts of trying to figure out what was happening. Was he acting funny just to get revenge for her sexy ghost routine? Or was it something else? Because her head wasn’t into it, she screwed up a couple of orders, but she was cute enough that she didn’t lose any tips over it.

She had another final exam the next day. In order to keep him guessing and give her back the upper hand, she brought a bowl of cereal and a coffee up for him, but just knocked on the door, left the tray on the floor in front of it, and then went back downstairs without ever seeing him. She repeated the process with his dinner, going a whole day without contact. She needed to get out her vibrator that night before she was able to calm down enough to fall asleep.

For her third day of finals, she didn’t have to be to school until later in the day. She made French toast for breakfast, and then continued the theme by dressing in the French maid costume she’d worn on Halloween to serve it.

She minced into the room on her highest heels. “Here is your breakfast, Monsieur.” She set the tray on his table, but then her hand brushed the napkin and it fell to the floor. “Ooh la la! I am so, how you say, clumsy.” She bent over to pick it up, revealing that her fishnet stockings were only thigh high, and she was wearing the tiniest of g-strings under her skirt. She placed the napkin on his plate and did a little curtsy. “Will there be anything else?”

He laughed at her little performance. It was a sound she’d never heard before, and it made her smile inside and out. “Actually, Fifi, my arm is kind of sore. I’m not sure I can lift a fork. Could you come over here and feed this delicious Toaste Françoise to me?”

She tiptoed over to him and leaned over his plate to cut the food into little squares, and then she speared some on the fork and brought it to his mouth. He was sitting and she was standing, so she really had to lean over to reach him. She nearly lost her balance, and he reached out a hand to steady her. But his hand had been reaching up, so it naturally came under her skirt and caught her on the hip, where it was pretty much bare skin. It made her not want to leave even when the plate was empty. He gave her a slight squeeze as she left. She had a little trouble concentrating on her exams that day, but it was worth it.

After her last exam, she came home and checked on how he was doing, and realized that he was getting pretty smelly. She gave him an ultimatum that he wouldn’t get any supper until he took a shower, changed his clothes and had a shave. Plus, she made him come down to the dining room to eat it. He decided that her point was valid, so he didn’t complain too much and did as he was asked.

He cleaned up nicely and his aftershave smelled intoxicating, but she did her best to keep conversation light. He wouldn’t give her any hints about what he was working on, but he was willing to talk to her about other things. Since there was only a week left before Christmas, she asked him what kind of present he wanted. He said that she was already giving him the gift of her companionship, and that was worth more than any store-bought package. That was so sweet; she practically melted and would have fallen into his arms right there if he hadn’t excused himself to go head back to his studio. She floated effortlessly through her shift at Mabel’s, smiling uncontrollably at everyone.

On her last day of finals, Ginger brought her backpack with her, but it was full of clothes instead of books. After her last test, she went into the men’s room and exchanged Jack’s baggy cargo pants for a pair of Helen’s tightest jeans, and then she traded her sports bra for a camisole and then put her bulky sweater back on. She left the restroom looking like a guy who had gained some weight.

Next, she ducked into an unused classroom and pulled her purse out of her backpack. She took off her glasses, mussed up her hair, and combed her eyebrows back into their tapered arches. Now she looked like a girl in an oversized sweater. Her sneakers and winter jacket were unisex enough that no one had noticed they were women’s wear when she’d been pretending to be a guy.

She went into the ladies’ room on a different floor, and took off her big wool sweater and pulled out her smaller, softer mohair one. The big sweater didn’t fit in her backpack so she just left it in the trashcan. She went to the mirror and put in her contacts, then applied a little mascara and lipstick and fixed her hair. She left the room looking like the pretty young coed she knew herself to be.

She took a bus to her appointment across town. It was crowded with holiday shoppers, but this nice businessman stood up she could have his seat. He tried to give her his card and get her number, but she told him she had a boyfriend. It had just been a line to get the guy to leave her alone, but it started her wondering about whether she truly did have one. Her relationship with Fogey was so hard to define.

She made it her destination, a t-friendly beauty salon she’d tracked down on the internet, in time. With school over, she wouldn’t have to keep switching back and forth between genders and could just be female all the time, so she had them make some changes that would be harder to reverse. When she left the place a couple hours later, her hair was now dyed a more lasting red than the color rinses she’d been forced to use before. It was also a brighter color and looked more natural, with coordinated highlights and lowlights. Her hair style had also gotten a trim into a spikier pixie cut. Her eyebrows were refined into a more graceful shape and had been dyed as well. No one could tell by looking at her that she wasn’t a natural redhead. Not even really special people, since she’d also gotten a full Brazilian. Her fingertips now sported extended acrylic nails, painted a deep red and polished to a glossy sheen. Her toenails had also been shaped, buffed, and colored to match.

When she got home, she changed into her little black dress, sheer hose, and sexy shoes. She amped up her makeup with smoky eyes and glossy lips. She then ascended to Bradford’s room and knocked on the door.

“Is it dinner time already?” He’d begun talking before he opened the door, but as soon as he saw her his eyes grew wide. “You’ve changed something - it suits you. You look gorgeous!”

She blushed at his compliment. “Thank you. I just wanted to assert that I am a girl.”

He shook his head. “Well then I hate to break it to you, you’re not. What I see before me is no girl, but rather a beautiful, sophisticated woman.”

She blushed again, and started feeling gooey inside. “Oh, stop.”

“No, I will not stop.” He took her hand, which made the gooey feeling go tingly. “Sweetheart, a beautiful woman like you deserves to be taken out to dinner, not hidden away in a kitchen. I’ll go change, and then make some calls to see who’ll take us without a reservation.” He let go and then ran past her down the stairs.

She wasn’t sure what to do, so she followed to his room. She arrived just in time to see his cute naked butt exit through the bathroom door to go take a shower. She imagined joining him, but she didn’t want to get her new hairdo wet. When he finished and dried off, he didn’t realize she was in the room until she let out an involuntary giggle over watching his junk bounce around while he searched around for something clean to wear. He turned beet red and hurriedly pulled on his boxer briefs.

Soon he was dressed fairly sharply in a nice pair of slacks, a dress shirt and tie, and a blazer. Ginger kind of liked the look of separate jacket and pants over a suit. She smoothed his collar for him and straightened his tie. He was wearing that delicious cologne again, and it was tough keeping her lips off of him.

He walked over to Helen’s jewelry box and brought a lovely set over to her, white gold dangling diamond earrings with a matching pendant. He clipped the necklace around her neck and stood back, looking her over. “A perfect complement to your beauty.”

She shyly looked away from him. “It’s too much, really. I hate to imagine how much they cost.”

He gently put a finger on her lips. “Then don’t. You know, it seems kind of silly to keep all this jewelry up here. You might as well move the box down to your room. Consider it a gift.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no no! I couldn’t take that. I do enjoy wearing these things, but I consider it borrowing. Besides, I like it when you pick out jewelry for me. You have great taste.” She also loved the sensation when his fingers brushed against the back of her neck as he helped her with a clasp, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “So keep the box up here, and if you want to think of it as mine and I want to think of it as yours, so be it.”

Bradford agreed to her arrangement, for the time being. He had other things to do anyway. He left the bedroom and went into the office and started calling restaurants, looking for one that had a table available for them that night. He was striking out, so he had to start calling himself “B.B. Fogarty,” and eventually found a place where the maitre d’ had a kid who was a fan. He promised to let them in if he brought a signed copy of Rusty and Scooter at the Circus.

Since he had to go rummage through boxes in the attic to find a book, Fogarty asked Ginger to call for a taxi. She knew he’d been afraid of cars since his accident, so it was a major step. She was touched that he was doing all this for her, and she didn’t want to blow it. She asked the lady at the cab company for a taxi with side curtain airbags, so he’d feel safe. Unfortunately, she told Ginger than they didn’t have any; the bulletproof glass barrier between the driver and passenger that they’re required to have by law would interfere with side airbags. She told her to try calling a limousine service instead, and gave her a phone number for one she trusted.

The limo service was able to meet her requirement, and she asked them to send their most patient driver since one of the passengers would be very nervous. The girl on the phone seemed to understand Ginger’s situation and promised to put the right man on the job.

When the car arrived, Bradford was very cautious as she’d expected. He held the door for her and she got in and started scooting over to the far side, but held onto his hand. He was very pale, and it seemed like he was on the verge of passing out, but she made the driver promise to give him time to get settled in the car before driving off. Then she had Bradford get in the cab, leaving the door open.

She touched his face with her hand so he’d look her in the eye. “It’s okay if you want to change your mind. We don’t need to go out tonight. If you want to, I’ll pay this nice man for his time and we can turn around and go right back in the house. I get that this is a big thing for you, Sweetie, and I won’t think any less of you if you want to stop. I am so proud of you right now for getting this far.”

He reached out and closed the door. “No. I need to do this. We need to go forward, which would be difficult to do if I can’t ride in a car.” He signaled the driver that he was ready.

He held her hand in the car, gripping it tightly. She looked down and noticed something. “Hey! You aren’t wearing your ring.”

“Yeah, I took it off a couple days ago. I figured I needed to if I was seriously thinking about starting dating again.” He tried to smile at her through his terror.

“Good for you! It sounds like you’re really trying to get your life back on track. Have you figured out where you’re going to meet these women you’ll be dating?” She had a hunch but wanted to play it coy.

“Actually, I thought I’d start by taking an enchantingly lovely woman out to dinner this very evening.” He tried to be smooth, but the back of his brain was still replaying the accident.

“So this is a real date?” She couldn’t quite figure out why her stomach was suddenly nervous. “Or are we just practicing so you’ll be more comfortable with a real woman some day?”

“This is real.” He clasped her hand between his. “And stop saying that you’re not a real woman. You are amazing, and I am seriously interested in attempting a real romantic relationship with you. You’re not practice; you’re not some kind of consolation prize, and I’m not interested in you because I don’t think I’d have a shot at someone better. I can’t imagine that anyone could be better.” He leaned over and kissed her, and she forgot why she was arguing.

When they arrived at the restaurant he showed the maitre d’ that he’d brought the book and asked who to make out the autograph to. He told him it was for his niece April, so Fogarty opened to the first page and pulled out his professional inking pen and drew a quick sketch of Scooter the dog saying “To April: Never give up on your dreams!” and then he signed his usual signature at the bottom, which looked like “BBF squiggly line.”

The guy looked at the drawing, and then compared Fogarty to the photo on the back cover flap, and pronounced him legitimate. He then led them to an excellent table near a window with a pretty view of the city lights.

The food was delicious, but what interested Fogarty more was the conversation. He pointed out that Ginger hadn’t really answered when he told her he was interested in becoming romantically involved. She said that she thought he’d get the message when she let him kiss her; she was up for it if he was.

The discussion got a little more serious when she said that she was worried about being his transitional girlfriend. She didn’t want to be the one who worked to help him get over Helen, only to be dumped when she’d finished fixing him so he could find a woman to have his babies.

He said that while children were important to him, there were other ways of getting them than natural conception. He still thought there was hope for Ginger that doctors would be able to help her bear children at some point in the future, but they could always consider adopting if it came down to it. He admitted that neither of them could see the future, but he didn’t think their relationship was doomed to end in failure.

He then said that his own worries were that she’d only want to be with him until she got her operation, and then she’d go looking for a guy closer to her own age. She dismissed that idea by saying that he’d treated her like a person even when he knew she was a transsexual prostitute, and that told her a lot about his character. If she met some other guy down the road when she had a vagina and a college degree, how would she know that he’d have still seen her as an equal without them?

As for the age thing, she remarked that millions of people have had successful marriages with a greater difference in ages than theirs. Besides, he was rich and famous, so he deserved to have a hot young trophy for a second wife.

Ginger then realized that her last two points had been discussing their relationship in terms of marriage, and tried to get him to rewind and ignore that part. She knew it was way too early for her to bring up the m-word and she wasn’t in a hurry. She also pointed out that there was the added complication that they wouldn’t be able to legally marry until after her surgery, so they should just take that option off the table for the time being. She didn’t even think it was legal to get engaged if you couldn’t be legally married, so they should stop talking about it.

Fogarty asserted that she had been the only one talking about it, but before the subject was closed completely he felt that he needed to tell her that she hadn’t scared him off in the slightest, and if her rule was not to mention it until she was legally female, he wouldn’t. But she shouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to take her ring shopping in a year.

When they got home, he gave her a passionate good-night kiss at her bedroom door, and she told him the night didn’t necessarily have to end yet. He told her that he had too much work to do and didn’t want to be distracted. Plus, he wanted to take things slow. She appreciated his sentiment, but she still ended up going to bed frustrated. She got a bit of revenge by asking him to unzip her dress, which she let fall to the ground as he stood there, to see that she’d gone braless beneath her dress and was clad only in a thong thigh-highs, and heels. She was sure at least part of him would retain that image for a while, and hoped it would distract him anyway.

***

The next day was Ginger’s first full day working at Mabel’s. Fogarty woke up very early and cooked breakfast for her, a delicious omelet. He called a cab to send her to work, and actually showed up at the end of her shift in a cab to take her home. She’d been standing all day, so he gave her an amazingly sensual massage on her feet and legs and sent her to bed with only a few kisses. She was so tired she couldn’t complain.

He did it again the next day, only breakfast was Belgian waffles and after her shift he drew her a bubble bath instead of giving her a massage. Once she was under the suds he came in the scrub her back, and eventually ended up running his sponge over just about every part of her above the waist. She tried to lure him into her bed again, but he still wasn’t ready to take that step.

***

Adam showed up at Mabel’s on Tuesday morning and sat down at the counter. Ginger told him it was a pleasant surprise, and asked if he was there for an early lunch or a late breakfast.

He said, “Neither. I’m here on official business.” He held up an envelope. “You’re paperwork came through. You’re officially Virginia Isabel Peters now. What time are you through today? If it’s early enough, I can run you over to the DMV and you can get a new license, with a new name and better picture. I love the new look, by the way.”

She gave him a big hug and then looked at the paper. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She showed her paper to the dancing Santa set up by the cash register. “See? Yes, Santa Claus, there is a Virginia!” She’d been waiting to say that. “I’d love to go get my new license, but Mabel’s got me working through the dinner shift.”

Adam called out, “Hey, Mrs. Pinski! Can Ms. Peters have a couple hours off to go get her ID sorted out?”

Mabel came out from the back room. “Oh hello, Mr. Stone.” She looked around the room. “I guess business is kind of slow right now. Do you think you could get her back before the dinner rush? That’s when most of the shoppers come out.”

Adam nodded and escorted Ginger out before she even had a chance to pick up her tips. She didn’t want her license photo to show her in her uniform, so first he needed to take her home so she could change.

She showed him into the living room to wait, and he told her she’d done a lovely job with the house. She ran upstairs to show Fogey her paperwork, and then made him come down and keep Adam company while she changed.

Ginger took off her waitress dress and tried to figure out whether she wanted to look casual or dressy for her photo. She settled on casual, and changed into a pair of jeans and a nice top that showed a little cleavage, just in case the DMV clerk was a guy and could speed things up.

She remembered that the last time she got her license they made her do the eye test with and without her glasses, so she took her contacts out and put on her glasses. When she came out, Adam declared them to be hideous and totally wrong for her, and insisted that they go to a “new glasses in an hour” place before she got her picture done.

Bradford wished her luck, kissed her goodbye, and said he’d see her at Mabel’s for dinner.

When they got back in the car, Adam was full of questions. “Brad told me he’s been working on a new book. Did you know about it? He actually looks happy. I haven’t seen him like this in a very long time. You are seriously good for him. And don’t think I didn’t catch that kiss! What exactly is going on between you two?”

Ginger giggled. “Let’s see… Yes, I knew he’d been working on something but he didn’t tell me it was a book, and he won’t show me until it’s finished. I think he is a lot happier than when I first met him. I don’t know for sure if I had anything to do with that, but I’d like to think I did. And, yes, we do kiss sometimes. We’re two adults who like each other. As far as what exactly is going on, we haven’t put a label on it. Any more details of my private life you want to pry into?”

Adam pouted. “Well if you’re going to be like that, I won’t tell you that I notified your doctor of your name change, and she said that you can consider today the beginning of your Real Life Test. Oh, and City College is expecting Virginia to show up next semester, and your tuition is all paid for.”

She squealed in glee. “Oh thank you thank you thank you some more! So in like a year from today I can get approved for my operation? That is so cool! If you weren’t gay and I didn’t kinda sorta have a boyfriend, I’d kiss you!”

They went to the eye place and Adam helped her find a pair of glasses that would better frame her face. They settled on a pair of thin ovals in a reddish plastic that went well with her hair, and then went to grab a cappuccino while they waited for them to grind the lenses. They fit nicely and she agreed that they did look cute, when she could finally clearly see her reflection in the mirror.

The line at the registry was the usual pain. Adam told her to follow the procedure for renewing a license, but to fill out the form with her new name, but to leave her natural sex and hair color.

When it was finally her turn at the counter, Adam showed her name change paperwork to the clerk, and he got a funny look when he saw that “John” had become “Virginia.” Adam suggested that it wouldn’t be wise to violate state law and discriminate against her, especially with her lawyer standing right there. The guy still seemed a little creeped out, but that didn’t stop him from trying to peek down her blouse. He stamped her form and sent her to the next station, where she looked into an eye chart machine, and then got her picture taken.

It was kind of funny. When her license came out of the laminating machine and the lady read her name and called her up, she compared her face to the picture to make sure she had the right one. And while she was looking at the license, she realized there was a “mistake” in the information and tried to send Ginger back to do it again. She had to admit that nothing on the card was wrong, and the lady’s eyes grew wide when she realized what that meant. She leaned in close and whispered that no one would ever guess her secret. That made up for having to deal with the creepy guy.

***

Something even stranger happened to her on her next day at work. It was the middle of a very busy lunch rush, and Mabel told her to deal with a new customer at the end of the counter. She brought a menu down and said, “Welcome to Mabel’s. Would you like to hear the specials?” but her full attention wasn’t on the new customer. The guy at the other end of the counter was signaling for a refill of his coffee, so she waved to let him know she got the message.

So it came as a surprise to hear a familiar voice. “Actually, I was wondering if you could tell me if you know whether Virginia Peters is working today?”

She turned to see her mother sitting there. She hadn’t recognized her own offspring. “Um, I’ve got to go freshen up some coffee cups and then I’ll be back.”

She gave Joe his refill and then ducked into the back for a minor panic attack.

Moments later, Mabel came back. “I saw you run back here, so I checked on your customer to make sure she’d been waited on, and she told me she was your mother and was looking for you. She was surprised when I told her you had just spoken to her. Do you want me to tell her to leave? Should I call the cops?”

Ginger took a moment to center herself. “No, I’ll go talk to her. If she yells or something you can throw her out, but I wouldn’t expect her to.”

She returned to the counter. “Hi, Mom. Can I get you a cup of coffee? What are you doing here?”

“Your father got a notice yesterday that amended the restraining order you’d served him with, saying you’d changed your name, and this was one of the addresses listed where he isn’t allowed to go. I don’t understand.” She leaned in close and whispered, “Did you get a sex change?”

Ginger sighed. “It’s complicated. I can’t get the operation for a year. But I’ve been a girl on the inside as long as I can remember. It’s just taking me a while to make the outside match. I’ve been on hormones since the day I turned eighteen.” She leaned forward and gave her breasts a squeeze. “These are real; I grew them myself.
I’ve been hiding who I really am from you for some time now. It’s just that any time I allowed my femininity to show, the old man would try to beat it out of me. That’s why I had to get out of there.”

Her mother was on the verge of tears. “I’m so confused. I came here expecting to see my son in a dress, and I was ready to tell him I accepted that he was gay. But instead I find a beautiful girl who tells me she’s my daughter. I suppose in the grand scheme of things that shouldn’t be any harder to accept.” She looked Ginger over again. “But it’s like you’re this completely different person. I can’t see any trace of the boy I knew.”

Ginger wiped the corner of her eye with a napkin. “I’m sorry, Mom. But that boy was mostly a façade. This is who I really am, and I just didn’t know how to tell you before.”

“Could you at least come around from behind that counter so I can get a better look at you?”

Ginger came out and walked over to her mother, then gave a little twirl. “So, what do you think?”

“I think my daughter Virginia is a very pretty girl.” She stood and gave her a hug. “I suppose I probably should have expected something like this. You might not remember, but when you were five I took you to the mall and you asked Santa for a pretty dress. I was so embarrassed.”

“I remember, Mom. I was female inside even then. I loved when Santa called me a girl.” She released the embrace and wiped her eyes again.

Her mother whispered conspiratorially again, “Well, I thought there was nothing wrong with wanting to play dress-up, so I bought you this adorable little princess dress, but your father made me take it back and get you a cowboy outfit instead.”

Ginger gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. If you ever decide to leave him, you can call me.”

“Okay, Honey.” She took a napkin and wiped her face. “I never expected there would be a day when I’d be wiping your lipstick off my cheek.” She laughed. “Or feeling your boobs squoosh into mine when I hugged you, for that matter.” She left, and Ginger felt as though her burdens had lightened.

That night when she got home she told Fogey about her encounter with her mother. He could tell it had been tense for her, and gave her a thorough backrub, but when she rolled over and asked for a frontrub he had to excuse himself and retreat back to his studio.

***

The next day was Christmas Eve and Ginger wanted to make an extra-special meal for dinner. While her turkey breast was roasting in the oven, she took a shower, using the hand-held wand on its strongest setting to try to release some of her frustration. It was weird knowing that they’d designed the bathroom for Helen’s mother and still put in a fixture that every woman knows was designed for masturbating. She must have had a much closer relationship with her mother. Ginger wondered if her own mother would ever feel that close to her daughter. Stranger things had happened.

She got out of the shower and toweled off and moisturized. She was out of her medical adhesive, so she just tucked her bits back and pulled on her tightest thong and made doubly sure everything stayed in place by wearing pantyhose rather than stockings. She dressed in a green velvet boatneck dress that seemed very Christmassy. She wore her black pumps and the pearl jewelry she’d worn to see the judge. She tied on an apron and waited until she’d finished cooking dinner to do her makeup, so the steamy pots wouldn’t ruin it.

Bradford came down to tell Ginger that he’d finally finished his project, but he saw how she was dressed and went back to his room to change. He came down to dinner dressed in a jacket and tie, freshly shaven and smelling yummy! She couldn’t help herself and rushed to meet him at the dining room door, where she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a toe-curling kiss. When they came up for air she pointed at the ceiling and said, “Mistletoe.”

He looked up and said, “Hey, you’re right!” He held her close and gave her a kiss of his own that made her stomach do a cartwheel.

She reluctantly let him go. “We’d better eat before it gets cold.”

“If it didn’t smell so good, I’d be tempted to just skip the meal and go straight to dessert.” The look he gave let her know that he was completely aware that she hadn’t prepared any dessert, and he had a different kind of treat in mind.

She’d made a full spread of a traditional turkey dinner with all the trimmings, only with just a breast instead of a whole bird. It was difficult for him not to eat too much, but he really didn’t want to feel bloated. That would get in the way of his plans.

With a big juicy breast on the table, it naturally steered their dinner conversation in a flirtatious direction, using just about every culinary double entendre imaginable. By the end of the meal, Bradford had to take a moment before he could stand up. As they cleared the table, their paths “accidentally” crossed under the mistletoe several times. Ginger had never been more grateful for long-wearing lipstick.

When they were done washing the dishes, he took her hand. “Come up to my studio. I want to give you your present now.”

Ginger got flustered. “You didn’t tell me you wanted to exchange gifts on Christmas Eve; I thought we were going to do it on Christmas morning! I haven’t even started your present yet. I had this plan to make a cookie house for you. You gave me a home, so I was going to give you one.”

He gave her a brief kiss. “That sounds delicious, and you can still do it tomorrow; I’ll even help you. But I’ve been working on this thing and I’ve been dying to show it to you. So would you please come upstairs with me?”

On the table in his studio, he had a stack of large sheets of cardboard with a ribbon around them, and a bow on top. He sat her in the chair and then went over to his bathroom and returned with a damp washcloth and a towel and washed and dried her hands. He explained that it was the only copy of his new book that he’d made, so they needed to be careful not to get it messed up. On the following Monday, he’d send it to his publisher, and they’d then turn it into a mockup and send it back to him with notes on what they thought needed changing. He took off the bow and flipped open the cover, showing her that there was tissue paper between the pages for protection. He told her that for the moment the words and pictures were on separate pieces of paper attached to backing boards, but the final would combine them on a single page. He sat across the room to watch her as she read.

The first page had a picture of a shady tree and the dedication, “To Virginia: the only V.I.P. in my life.” Ginger’s heart skipped a beat. She’d never had anyone honor her like that before. She looked over at her man and smiled. She turned the page and saw the title, “Ginger and Mr. Fogey,” and laughed. She asked if it was autobiographical, and he told her to keep reading.

The story was about animals, but they felt kind of familiar. Mr. Fogey was an old grumpy hound dog. He starts out the story in a fixed routine of eating, sleeping, and watching butterflies. But then Ginger, a stray kitten, wanders into his yard. She finds him boring, and keeps trying to get him to play with her. He does his best to ignore her, but she plays with him anyway, chasing his tail, playing peek-a-boo under his floppy ears, and trying to catch his butterflies. He keeps telling her to go away, but every day she comes back.

But then, three days go by and the kitten doesn’t visit grumpy old Mr. Fogey. He starts worrying if something happened to her, like maybe she got hit by a car, or chased by a fox, or captured by the animal control officer. (At this point, Ginger the human was wondering if maybe this story was too scary for a kid to read.) But then she shows up again, and he’s happy about it but he can’t tell her. He lets her go on playing with him and he pretends to ignore her, but he stops telling her to go away.

Then on a cold and rainy night, Mr. Fogey the dog lets Ginger the kitten come into his doghouse to get out of the weather. He even dries her off and shares his food with her. By the end of the story, they’re happy friends living together.

Ginger the human wiped a tear from her eye and walked across the room. “Thank you for sharing your doghouse with me, Mr. Fogey.” She sat on her companion’s lap and gave him a warm hug and a soft kiss. “And thank you for letting me be the first to read your story. I’m sure the kids will love it.”

“Thank you.” He put his arm around her. “Now there’s something else I’d like to talk to you about.”

She looked him in the eyes. His smile made her melt like ice cream on a summer day. “Okay. Lay it on me.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to move out of the guest room.”

Her eyes widened and she twisted around, but couldn’t figure out how to get up. “But you just wrote a sweet story about me and dedicated it to me and it was about bringing me into your house! And now you want to kick me out?”

He paled at his faux pas. He reached out and took her hand. “No, Sweetheart, you misunderstand. I would like for you to move your things into the master bedroom,” adding, “with me,” just to make it crystal clear.

She beat his chest with her little fists. “You big meanie! Why didn’t you say it that way the first time?” She made him wait in agony for a few minutes before giving him an answer. “I would love to move into your bedroom.” She added, “That closet is awesome,” just to tease him about her reason.

***

He scooped her up behind the knees and stood up, carrying her. She shrieked in mock distress, and he brought her down to the bedroom. He didn’t waste any time. As soon as he set her standing on the floor, he unzipped her dress and let it drop. She put her hands on her hips and pouted, then stepped out of her dress and kicked her shoes off.

He reached out to her, but she forced his arms back so she could get his jacket off. He tried again, but she said that since she was already in her underwear she wouldn’t go any further until he was in his. He quickly slipped off his shoes and dropped his pants before she even finished unbuttoning his shirt. She liked that he didn’t wear undershirts. It made taking off his shirt more fun. Every button undone meant more of his chest for her to play with.

His pants got stuck on his socks, so he had to bend down and kind of hop on one foot to take everything off. She couldn’t help but giggle. But he took advantage of her distraction and snuck up next to her. He reached around and unhooked her bra and then pulled it off. He kissed each of her magnificent nipples. They were indeed as succulent as she had promised on the day they’d met. Ginger let out an involuntary moan of delight. His hands moved to her waist.

Standing there in only her panties and hose she had a realization. “Stop. Wait.” She pushed him back and said, “I ran out of glue this morning, so if you continue undressing me you’ll see my boy parts. Let me go get some tape.”

She turned to leave, but he put his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need to do that. Whatever parts you’ve got down there belong to the woman I adore, so there’s nothing I could see that will turn me away. I want you, all of you, with no disguise or pretense.” He pulled her back into his embrace and hooked his thumbs into both her waistbands and gently pulled them down her legs. She tried to press her thighs together to keep everything tucked away, but he had to force them apart to get her pantyhose down. Her little birth defect popped out, and she had to turn her head away in embarrassment. He pulled her cheek toward him for a quick kiss. “Sweetheart, there is nothing for you to be ashamed of. You are my girl, so as far as I’m concerned all your parts are girl parts.”

She threw her arms around him and kissed him as deeply as she could. He dropped his own boxers and it was obvious to her that she still turned him on. He suddenly swung his arm around and picked her up again, carrying her to the bed. He placed her in the middle of it and then got in beside her. They kissed some more, and let their hands wander across each other’s bare skin.

He rolled her onto her side facing away from him with his right arm beneath her so he could still reach up and cup her breast while his left hand stroked her thigh and kneaded her buttocks. He softly kissed the nape of her neck. She heard his nightstand drawer open, and then the unsnapping of a bottle cap. He’d either done his research, or he was more experienced than she’d thought. Ginger felt a well-lubricated finger circle her rosebud and she relaxed to let it probe inside. She was glad that she’d used her massaging shower head earlier, so she was nice and clean for him.

He’d worked up to moving two fingers back and forth inside her, making sure she was as wet as possible. Her little pleasure sounds encouraged him to continue. He withdrew his hand completely and left her empty for a moment as he took the time to lubricate himself. But a moment later, she felt his tip pressing against her opening and she did her best to welcome him by pushing her hips back against him. He slowly and carefully worked his way into her, making sure at every inch that he wasn’t hurting her. He was the most conscientious lover she’d ever had, and the only one she’d ever let in without a condom. She loved that they were touching intimately with nothing between her flesh and his, and was glad that her latest blood test had come back clean.

As he hit her prostate, she let out a loud squeal of passion and encouraged him to go harder and faster. He increased his speed and began thrusting as deep as he was able. She matched his enthusiasm and rocked her hips against his as fast as she could. His left hand snaked down and he started rubbing the head of her little penis between his finger and thumb as though it was the clitoris she should have been born with. Even though she couldn’t get much of an erection any more, the stimulation did feel good. Between that, the fingers on her nipple, and the rubbing against her prostate, he brought her to climax. It was the first time another person had ever given her an orgasm, and he was sensitive enough to hold still for her. It wasn’t that long before he gave her a second one, which was quickly followed by one of his own. She liked feeling him shoot his juice inside her, and she did her best not to let him leave her as he softened.

They kissed and cuddled some more and eventually collapsed, exhausted. Christmas morning they awoke with their bodies still intertwined. She ran her fingers along his lightly stubbled cheek. “Your face looks so much better this way. I love your smile.”

Bradford pulled her close for a kiss. “I love you, too.”

Ginger pulled away from him so she could use her lips for talking. “Technically, Sweetie, I only said I loved your smile.” She could see the panic creeping into his expression. “But don’t worry. I do love you.” His smile returned and she passionately gave him a kiss of her own.

The kiss built in energy as arms and hands and other parts got in on the action, and soon they were engaging in another rapturous session of lovemaking. She lost count of her orgasms before they finally collapsed exhausted in one another’s arms for an extended cuddle. It was nearly noon by the time they finally got out of bed.

It was the happiest Christmas either could remember, and they wished to share their joy. Even though it was belated, they spent the day working on what would become a tradition for many years to come. To all their friends, (which this first time was a very short list of three people) they sent out a card with a photograph of an edible diorama in the shape of their home on the front. Inside it read, “Merry Christmas from the Ginger/Brad House!”