Storm

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I drove home through the storm, but I didn’t expect a reception.

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I was tired. No, that’s not right; I was exhausted and had a job to keep my eyes open. It had been a good evening, though.

It was three thirty in the morning; the city streets were deserted and it was blowing up a storm. The contents of trashcans, overturned by the high winds, blew across the road. The weather had been shitty all week and driving through this heavy rain — I sometimes wondered if the job was worth it. Friday nights with Rebecca were always worth it, despite the long drive home.

When Karen and I got together, I vowed to finish with Rebecca - but I couldn’t. She was like a drug to which I was addicted; but if Karen found out, it would kill our marriage.

I pulled into the drive and was never so thankful to turn off the engine and rest my head on the steering wheel. I glanced up and was puzzled to see that all the lights were on in the house. Karen was standing, with a look of relief on her face, on the porch steps.

Oh shit!

I got out of the car and, despite the rain, Karen, crying and smiling, ran towards me and flung her arms around my neck. Then she frowned and pulled away. Running back towards the front door, she disappeared into the house.

I collected my black suitcase from the rear of the car and headed inside, away from the constant noise of rain beating on the ground. I’d just closed the front door when Karen reappeared with a pistol in her hand and a look of thunder on her face. She pointed the pistol at my nether regions and screamed, “Who is she? What’s her name? I’ve been pacing up and down, drunk a dozen cups of coffee, worried myself sick and you’ve been two-timing me with some bitch; and you couldn’t even telephone me to let me know you were safe. This isn’t the first time, is it?”

I sat down, put my head in my hands and cried.

The ominous click of a pistol cocking drew my attention back to Karen and I realised that she was very close to the edge. One wrong word could see me seriously injured, if not dead.

“Who is she?” Karen screamed again.

“Rebecca,” I whispered.

“Who is Rebecca? Where is she?”

I could try to wheedle out of it, or I could tell the truth. I suspected that either option would get me shot.

“Rebecca is me.”

“Bullshit!”

The gun wavered slightly and I realised that it was now pointing further up.

“Rebecca is me; I’m a cross-dresser.”

“Why?”

“Rebecca and I have been together since I was a young child.”

She sat heavily on a settee, but the gun was still pointing at me. “Aren’t I woman enough for you?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Explain! But if I’m not convinced, you’ve just had your last erection!”

I gulped. How do I explain me?

“I was wired wrong when I was born. I’ve always been attracted to the softer, more feminine side of life. I tried to give Rebecca up when we got together, but it was impossible. When I got this sales job, it was a chance to compartmentalise that aspect of my life. I love you so much, Karen, but I can’t give Rebecca up; she’s a part of me.” With that, I hung my head again.

“I don’t understand this; why haven’t you sought medical help?”

“It’s not something a doctor can fix. It’s not like a broken leg; put it in a plaster and wait six weeks.”

“So you’re saying that I either accept it or we separate?”

I couldn’t see a way out of this mess and simply said, “Well, you could always pull that trigger.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I…I don’t know how I’d live without you. I don’t know how I’d live without Rebecca either.”

“Where were you until half past three this morning?”

“At our regular Friday meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“The TV/TS group meeting that we go to.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“The other g….”

“The other girls? What other girls?”

“Cross-dressers like me; some others who want to be women.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to be a woman?”

“NO!”

“I’m going to bed.”

I sat for at least half an hour, then took off my suit and shirt and curled up on the settee.

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The Thunder Rolls

Written by: Pat Alger, Garth Brooks

Three thirty in the morning
Not a soul in sight
The city's lookin' like a ghost town
On a moonless summer night
Raindrops on the windshield
There's a storm moving in
He's headin' back from somewhere
That he never should have been
And the thunder rolls
And the thunder rolls

Every light is burnin'
In a house across town
She's pacin' by the telephone
In her faded flannel gown
Askin' for miracle
Hopin' she's not right
Prayin' it's the weather
That's kept him out all night
And the thunder rolls
And the thunder rolls

The thunder rolls
And the lightnin' strikes
Another love grows cold
On a sleepless night
As the storm blows on
Out of control
Deep in her heart
The thunder rolls

She's waitin' by the window
When he pulls into the drive
She rushes out to hold him
Thankful he's alive
But on the wind and rain
A strange new perfume blows
And the lightnin' flashes in her eyes
And he knows that she knows
And the thunder rolls
And the thunder rolls

The thunder rolls
And the lightnin' strikes
Another love grows cold
On a sleepless night
As the storm blows on
Out of control
Deep in her heart
The thunder rolls

She runs back down the hallway
To the bedroom door
She reaches for the pistol
Kept in the dresser drawer
Tells the lady in the mirror
He won't do this again
Cause tonight will be the last time
She'll wonder where he's been

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I hope that you’ll find that the story fits the song and that the lack of an outcome doesn’t detract from it. I have no intention of pursuing this. Knowing BCTS readers, your imaginations will do a far better job of providing an ending than I ever could.

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Comments

An outcome?

Andrea Lena's picture

...some of the best stories leave me wondering what's next, even if there's no promise for more. I love this...and hate it, if you know what I mean...this is like you read my mail, dear sweet sister! Thanks for the painful reminder. LOL


She was born for all the wrong reasons but grew up for all the right ones.
Dio benedica la mia bella amici

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Stormy Story

Not bad, worked nicely with the song also, I enjoyed it.

DM

Good one Susie

Angharad's picture

Fits the song well, although I suspect the original meaning of the song was more passe. You should post more of your stuff, it's always worth reading.

Hugs,

Angharad

Angharad

Good Garth!

This story was so Un-Susan Heywood-like. It read like one of your stories, until that pistol appeared.

I actually spoke to my computer at that point. "What?!!!"

Not that it didn't fit into the story, just I didn't see it coming in a Susan-story.

This is my favorite entry so far in our contest.

I feel so empowered as a judge for this contest, maybe even a bit like Ellen Degeneres.

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

My God...

Andrea Lena's picture

...do you have an uncanny sense of timing and piercing blue eyes as well? And Jill...do you dance?


She was born for all the wrong reasons but grew up for all the right ones.
Dio benedica la mia bella amici

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Laugh, Dance, Love

Uh huh!

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Caught Wearing My Wife's Panties!

I did get caught wearing my wife's panties once. It would have been so easy to avoid that, but I was like majorly getting into disassociation; completely checking out, and time just passed without my being aware of it.

After that I had a new understanding of the Garth Brooks song.

She'd known my struggle for over 15 years by then but we both agreed that we would plead for healing from God, and I went to every Christian Gimic meeting known to man, except self flagelation with an actual chain. I was doing just lots of that in my own head.

Well, we all know that we don't get healed because, we ain't broke. :)

Khadijah

Thank you all

Thank you all. I am very encouraged by your supportive comments.

There are a dozen stories in my pending file but none are near completion. I put this one together just this afternoon, which prompted one of my friends to say, "You're not with us, Susie, are you?" I must confess I had my mind on the plot!

Anything could happen with a new or existing story and, as I've said before, I try not to reuse the same plot.

Maybe I'd write more if there weren't so many great stories (and the odd aristocratic serial) to read - not that I'm complaining!

Susie

using the song

I rather like this idea. Rather than trying to re-create the song, you have taken the idea and flown in a new direction. very nicely done

DogSig.png

A nice, neat little story

A nice, neat little story that definitely changes at the end and leaves you sitting there saying "this is not like any Susan Heywood story that I have ever read before." I did love how you added the song in to it at the end. Jan

I recognized this song from

I recognized this song from the way you were writing it. I was going to say something jokingly about "someone has been listening to too much Garth Brooks", but you said it before I could.

Still, I liked it.
----
May the Stars Light Your Path
Maid Joy
http://i-know-i-know-but.net/

Joy, I didn't know

that you could listen to too much Garth Brooks. Funny how all the tracks on this album have 'play more often' selected on my Bose system.

If you think that's serious, just wait until I start on my Judds, Kathy Mattea and Shania Twain collections!

Susie

Pistol Packin' Mama

laika's picture

I’m afraid I'm not really up on contemporary country music, but it’s a good story and seems to fit the lyrics.
Although whenever I’m facing an irate woman with a gun, a far older song about a situation like this
starts playing in my head. Here’s a tune you may have heard, rewritten a bit to fit your story:

I must confess that I crossdress, like many here will do
Until one night she caught me right and whipped out a 22
Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.

She thought I’d been out with some gal, I hurried to explain,
while well aware that she was near to blowin’ out my brains!
Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.

She was mighty sore she cussed and swore
“Ain’t I woman enough for you?”;
I said “Rebecca’s a part of me, it’s somethin’ I must do.
Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.

She finally lowered that pea-shooter and stomped off mad to bed
That couch was not as uncomfortable as bullets in my head,
Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down.

Al Dexter did the original version, and Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters covered it,
but this bluegrass group does a neat fast version and sure look like they're having fun:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Al2IElIAUS8&feature=related
~~~hugs, Laika

Okay, Laika

You got me with that one. Your verse was much more entertaining than either my story or the Garth Brooks song!

Susie

okay

kristina l s's picture

I don't know Garth Brooks from Adam...Brand, country Music joke across continents kids. I liked this, even as like Jill I What'd at the guns appearance. Tuff stuff if all too real, sleeping on the couch, oh dear.

Nicely done Susan, err, well done.

Kristina

song

Just to let you know , I saw an interview wtih Garth and his sister, who is his bass player,and they stated the song was actually about men beating women and family violence. It was a statement against said violence. It sure surprised me, but it also opened my eyes.
I did enjoy your take on it though. good writing