Duty Demands
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

My grandfather was the notorious Antonio Grenacci, and my father is his son Antonino (Boldo) Grenacci. My uncles Nunzio and Pasquale are also in the family business and have fearsome reputations. So too my brother Massimo (Max) and my nephews Salvatore (Sal) and Liberatore (Lib) – loyal soldiers. My younger sister Maria, my father’s favorite, was also strong with the creed, and her marriage to Luigi Cambero was a major coup. It forged an alliance between two groups where although there had never been outright violence, there had been simmering rivalry and distrust. The birth of Raphael and Cosima cemented the alliance and offered the opportunity for consolidation of two powerful families under one leadership. Raphael bore the burden of the expectations of many.

As Didero Grenacci I was also expected to play a part, but the truth is I am no mobster. I love and respect my parents and I initially followed my mothers wish to consider a future in the church. Being smaller and more frail than my brothers she never saw me a being suited to the rough and tumble of the family business. But the truth is that I am not a good catholic either.

When tragedy struck, the family was totally unprepared. When Luigi and Maria were killed, Raphael and Cosima were orphaned at the ages of 9 and 7 respectively. Despite the obvious tragedy their deaths raised some important issues that demanded an immediate response.

Firstly the circumstances of their death were suspicious. The police could not be trusted to investigate fully and the courts could not be expected to properly convict and punish the guilty even if found. What was needed was stability. The alliance must be re-cemented.

Secondly, the future of a consolidated family needed to be protected. Neither of the two families could be trusted to bring up the children alone. We needed another marriage. It was decided early on that another couple made up only of one of each family should bring the children up.

The problem was that there were no daughters. Apart from Luigi’s older brother Aldo there were no relatives close enough and in particular, no female relatives. Aldo was himself, not the perfect candidate for a marriage of alliance. He worked as an architect and was not actively involved in any of family businesses. There was a suggestion that he was homosexual, because he was unmarried at 32, but the truth was that he was just a very shy person. There was no obvious reason for this, as he was tall and handsome fellow. He was a classic “mommy’s boy” but when his mother died soon after Luigi (of grief it is said) a bride was called for.

But who would be the bride? Someone from our side of the family. It was a matter of honor. It seemed of little interest to me until my father came to call.

“We expect every member of this family to give their life for the family”, he said. “But in your case, I will ask you to give up something more.”

It seems crazy now, but our families lived in a crazy world. Duty demanded and I did what I was asked to do, or I allowed it to be done to me. I would be sent Italy immediately, to return again in three months time as a bride for Aldo.

My reaction at the time seemed surprisingly calm. Perhaps it was just so monstrous that my mind went blank. Perhaps it was because I had always dreaded the day when I would be asked to risk my life, so when I learned that I would be allowed to live I was relieved. Or perhaps I was just a little honored that I was to save the family, to be important in the scheme of things, to earn my fathers respect for being the family wimp, not in spite of it.

My mother and I flew to Rome the next day, but we did not stay in Italy. We flew on to Morocco where we checked into a private clinic.

Until that trip I had never been that close to my mother. Max was the eldest and very similar to my father. He was adored for that and for his strength. Maria was the only daughter and the last born. I was a middle child and a bit of a disappointment. But now it seemed that I had become the most important person in the family

“Now Diana,” she said, already using that name before there had been any change in my appearance, “the family depends on you. You have been asked to sacrifice your manhood. The Camberos respect this as greater sacrifice than Aldo being asked to marry somebody not really a woman. Both families are agreed that you as a couple must be the parents of Raphael and Cosima. They are the future. Your sacrifice is for them and for everybody who sees the future in them. We will help. This may seem strange but we will make this work.”

Of course I made it clear to everybody that I regarded the sacrifice of my manhood as worse than death, but the truth is that it seemed to matter to me not that much. I had been seriously considering a life of celibacy as a priest. The fact that I did not believe in God hardly seemed a barrier. I knew what to say. And, like many joining the priesthood, my sexual experiences were limited and generally unsatisfactory. Of course I was heterosexual, but not particularly sexual at all. I had received some homosexual overtures which I had refused out of disinterest rather than disgust. I was interested in other things.

My passion had always been the arts. I was moderately musical and had learned some competence on the piano and the guitar, but I was an avid fan of all music genres. I can draw and paint, but my real skill in that area is a good eye for talented painters and sculptors. And I have always been a fan of the performing arts and a would-be actor of sorts. I suppose the idea of playing a role made the prospect of being Diana a little easier.

Against this background I counted backwards and passed out on the gurney. It was not until I came to and was lying on my hospital bed that I understood the enormity of it all.

Firstly there was pain in my groin – serious pain. I felt as if I had been turned inside out. I fact a part of me had been turned outside in. And there were breasts on my chest – heavy wobbling breasts. And they had taken the time while I was unconscious to reduce the size of my nose and chin, enlarge my lips and “peel” all the skin on my face. I would never grow another facial hair. All other hair had been removed from my body and I could feel every crease in the sheets.

I remember thinking that maybe a quick death in a gun battle with another crime family might be preferable. That was how painful it was for the first day or two.

But pain passes, and there is a new dawn every morning. And it did feel like a new dawn the first time that I looked at the new me. That was some weeks on, as the surgical wounds had to heal, as did the skin on my face. I am talking about the day that the last bandage came off and I looked at the face of Diana. I was pretty.

The redness of the new skin had faded and it was clear and soft - Completely unlike the way it was. The new nose and chin were perfect, but the change was not so drastic that I could not see Didero, just a feminine version. I looked like a Grenacci. The lips were fuller and I could not help but pucker at the mirror. For a moment it was like falling in love with myself. I had never been at all vain up to that point, but I found myself thinking: “this girl could do with a little mascara and lipstick”.

But I suppose that it was also the feeling that this was a new start for me. Somehow much life before that had been aimless and perhaps self indulgent. Now I had a mission, with others depending on me. Didero was useless and he was gone. Diana was important.

The body would take longer to heal. The breasts had suddenly stretched the skin and would need time to develop shape. But the new plumbing was a revelation. I had been using a catheter to empty my bladder during recovery but my mother and a nurse accompanied me to the large assisted care toilet for my first lesson in sitting down to pee.

But it was the removal of the packing and the first insertion of the stent that was the defining moment. The large dildo-like dilation tool seemed far too big to be driven into my new vagina, but in it went, little by little, but right up to the hilt. That huge thing completely disappeared into me. My mother smiled at me. I think I knew what she was thinking: That I could now consummate a marriage to Aldo Cambero.

I had never really thought about sex as a woman. To me the loss of my male genitals was not about that – it was a sacrifice for the sake of my family. Maybe the sacrifice that Aldo would make would be that he would never have sex with his wife. After all, she was not a real woman. She was just a stand in with the right family connections to keep the peace.

But my mother seemed to assume that sex would be inevitable. If I was to be a woman and a wife, I would need to perform as both. She insisted that the task of dilation be undertaken twice daily at that time, with slight increases in the size of the tool. It seemed to me that perhaps they knew something about Aldo that I did not. Did he really need all that room?

Then, over those next few weeks my mother and a special “femininity coach” helped me with walking and hand movements more like a woman, and with my voice. With a good singing voice and good range I was easily able to lift my speaking voice to the point that nobody on the other end of a telephone call would guess that they were in conversation with a woman.

The first female clothing I ever wore was the kaftan that put on to visit the Arab Market with my mother and a nurse, who was a local. I had a scarf over my hair as it was still not very long, and the mascara and lipstick had been done for me. But I felt that I moved easily in the crowd. I looked through stalls with beads and bangles and I thought to myself that for a woman, there is so much more to look at. I looked at earrings and held them up to my ears, still not pierced at that time. I looked at pendants, tried on some rings. My mother and I even bought some things. But it now seemed that shopping had a purpose, even without anything to buy. This was an entirely new concept for me.

After a few days we flew back to Rome and my mother had arranged a visit to a local hairdressing and beauty spa – another new experience that I found surprisingly uplifting. I had extensions put in my hair so that I now had hair longer than shoulder length, and curled at the ends. I had my eyelashes curled and coloured, a facial, manicure and pedicure. If I had been pretty only days after surgery, I was now officially gorgeous!

I can tell you that the look on the Border Control Officer when I got back home was priceless. He looked at my passport photo and then back at me a few times with his mouth wide open.

“Obviously I have had some work done,” I said in my sweetest and most feminine voice. “I can tell you, plastic surgery is so much cheaper overseas.”

He took another look at the documents, and then to my surprise and pleasure, he smiled at me and said: “Welcome home, Miss Grenaccia.”

The officials handling the changes to my birth certificate and application for a marriage license were less friendly. I suppose that I became aware at that point what a lousy life it can be for transsexual women. But I learned to harden up and go through the process. It was absolutely necessary to do what I had to do.

I had still not met Aldo. Of course I knew who he was and I had met him at Maria and Luigi’s wedding, but I cannot recall that I ever spoke to him. Certainly I discovered later that he had no memory of Didero, which was probably an advantage for him. I learned from my mother that he was happy enough for us to meet at the altar. That seemed a little weird – like a reality TV show – but given that it had to happen (the marriage I mean) maybe that was the right way.

So, in our absence my aunts had arranged everything. My mother and I were to go to final fittings for our dresses. At the bridal salon I met my three bridesmaids, who had been selected for me. Two were distant relatives and the youngest was the daughter of my sister Maria’s best friend. She had married very young so Beatrice (Bea) was only a few years younger than me. Despite major differences between us, we were to become best friends.

My bridesmaids had decided that a bridal shower was necessary with a few drinks afterwards, but it was Bea who turned those drinks into a full-on hen party. But the bridal shower was another novel experience for me. It was, no other way to say it, very girly. It was all women. Some old and sometimes approving, but often not. Some young, and giggling and gasping. I was in the middle of it, curiously fully involved. I really felt a woman among women that day.

It was not until later that night when we had all had too much to drink that I found myself with Bea, seated at a what was quite a classy bar, telling her my fears. We had just fought off the attentions of a couple of well-dressed out of town salesmen, finally sent away when I dropped register and said: “Can’t a couple of guys get a drink without being molested.”

Bea was not family and I felt able to talk.

“My worry is that I might just be lesbian,” I said. “I have never had sexual relations with a man and I am not sure that I can.”

“As a woman, sex is easy,” said Bea. “You just lie back and think happy thoughts. Good sex is a little harder. If you want that, then the man has to care for you. Hopefully love you, but certainly care for you enough to make you happy. Everybody tells me that Aldo is a great guy.”

“The way I see it, he could hate me, or I could disgust him, as an ex-man. Perhaps that means the best I can hope for is that it is just business, and we have a job as joint-childminders. But that’s not what I want. I have always hoped for a happy life, and I think the kids deserve to be raised in a loving environment. How could we ever get that?”

“I want to tell you something,” said Bea, slurring slightly. “You are a good person. I think you will make a good mother, and a good wife too. If he is a good person then you will work well together. Love should follow. Give it chance. Don’t force it. You say you have to do this, so do it. Keep an open mind and be ready to compromise. I am not yet married, but I think that is what marriage is.”

So, within a week I was walking up the aisle of Saint Theresa’s on the arm of my father Boldo. When he walked in to take me to the limo I could see the looks on his face – first surprise, then shock, then delight. My hair was up in a complex do with a veil pinned to the back. The wedding dress was low cut in front to show my ample bosom, and with a slit showing a long feminine leg as my mother adjusted the garter.

“Diana?” he asked, clearly in disbelief. Then he took me by the hand and looked at me with a tear in his eye: “I am so glad to have a daughter again,” he said. There was love there. More love from a father in that moment than Didero had received in a lifetime. Maybe he could care for me more as a daughter who was marrying for family interests than he could for a son who had disappointed him.

The fact is that the family and the family business were everything to my father. He had asked me to make a sacrifice that most men would never agree to. I found out later that he was so proud that I was ready to do this, that I came to be his favorite. As a son, I had never achieved that. I was not the kind of son that could make him proud, but I was that kind of daughter.

Even on the way to the church he talked more openly to me than I had ever known. He told me that he understood what I had agreed to do and how important it was. He said that two of the most important families in our community were depending on me to develop and protect a new dynasty. It was clear that the onus was on me. Aldo did not even figure in the equation.

As we climbed the steps the music started, and we started to walk down the aisle. I could see Aldo’s back, but he did not turn. But his best man did and then, when he elbowed them, both groomsmen also turned and stared at me. I just smiled. I could see they were whispering for Aldo to turn too, but he did not. Not until I was almost alongside him.

Even in my heels he was taller than me. I was looking up at him with my head dipped a little, perhaps a little shyly. He turned to look. I could see his mouth drop open a little. I whispered in a tiny feminine voice: “Hi”. It was all I could think to say.

“Hi,” he replied. “Diana?” He clearly felt that he needed to check, despite the fact that I was the only bride in the church. Perhaps he was expecting a man in drag – some ugly creature that he was doomed to marry.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “So I guess that makes you Aldo.”

The humor seemed to go over his head. I could see that he had suddenly moved from silent reservation to a real nervousness. I realized that this was a very handsome man, but more than that he had a kind face. He was not all like the other men of the Cambero family as I remembered them. They all seemed to be nasty and violent, but I could see that he was nothing like that. I found myself thinking that together we would make a very attractive couple.

Before we could do anything else the priest addressed the assembly…

It was an overly long and complex catholic ceremony as could be expected from both families. The good this is that that we were led through it. The only truly personal moment was the exchange of rings. Aldo had spoken the vows without even looking at me, but when he put the ring on my finger he looked at me full in the face, and he continued to look at me while I slipped his ring on. It was a face full of uncertainty. Somehow my father’s words before the ceremony had made this easy for me, but he was clearly racked with doubts. I felt that I would need to help him.

After the pronouncement, in keeping with modern practice, he was invited to kiss the bride. He seemed hesitant so I instructed him quietly but firmly: “Kiss me Aldo, on the lips.” He did.

As we walked back down the aisle I said to him: “I just want to say that I am not a bossy person, and I am sorry for telling you what to do just then, but everybody was expecting a kiss and I thought they might not get one.”

“You were quite right,” he said, patting my arm threaded through his. “Please boss me through this process. I promise to follow your lead.”

We had photographs taken at the church and in a reception area while the guests gathered. I told him what to do: “Look into my eyes, smile, kiss me on the forehead, kiss me on the cheek.” As I explained to him, wedding photos are forever and we needed to get it right.

Raphael and Cosima were at the wedding and dressed for it. For what had been almost a year since their parent’s death they had been shuttled between the two families, and they had now been told that they would be going back to live in their old house with their new parents, Uncle Aldo and Aunt Diana. Both of them hugged me and told me how much they wanted to go home. I was a little teary eyed. In the photos they were placed with Aldo and myself, and we looked so much like a family. I could see that Aldo was affected by them too. He had no experience as a father but I guessed that he would pick it up easily.

Aldo and I joked a little and he started to loosen up. Before we entered the reception he had some time to say a few private words: “Diana, I apologize if I have not quite got into the spirit of a wedding. I know we’re both in the same position here. We are both under instruction. I promise that I respect what you are doing … and what you have done.”

I said to him: “Aldo, my primary focus is the children. We are here for them. At the very least I want a working relationship, but if there could be more I think that we would all be happier.”

I am not sure that he fully understood what I was saying. It struck me that he was a man and he was thinking like a man. Somehow, I was not like that anymore. I was now a mother, and I felt like one.

I instructed him that we should hold hands and we entered the hall to applause from both families. Again tradition played a major part, with us taking seats and members of the family approaching with good wishes and gifts in envelopes – usually cash but sometimes vouchers for travel or gifts additional to the mountain of wedding presents near the door.

I had my mother making notes so I could place everything. I also had gifts for the bridesmaids. Aldo was impressed with my organisation.

We took our seats a dinner. Aldo pulled out my chair and helped to get the folds of my dress organised. He was trying. I whispered: “Thank you.”

After the meal my father rose to speak. He thanked everybody and after finishing such formal matters he moved to the essential part: “I now address my greater family, because today, as happened when Luigi and Maria were married (God rest their souls) two great families are again united by marriage. A new generation with blood in common will rise. That generation we commend to you Aldo, my new son in law, and to you Diana, my daughter. Diana my new daughter. Perhaps a surprise for all of you who know the circumstances. Perhaps most of all to you Aldo. You may now begin to understand the most beautiful, talented and loyal of my entire family. You are lucky indeed…”. And with that he toasted the bride and groom.

Aldo reached out and took my hand. “I’ll try not to disappoint you,” he said. I kissed him on the cheek. It was an impulsive thing, but impulse seemed to be driving more of what I did these days.

After dinner we danced closely, and we talked a little, but there were so many guests that we had not much time to get to know one another, which is really what we needed to do. We were not alone until we got to the bridal suite in the hotel.

We had one night before we would be moving into the house that Luigi and Maria had called home. What were we supposed to do?

I asked him to help me out of my dress. When it slid to the floor I was wearing an expensive silk slip, and underneath match apricot bra and panties. I sat down at the dressing table with my back to him. He sat on the bed staring at the ceiling.

After some effort I said: “Can I ask you one more favor? I have about a million pins in this hairdo. Can I ask you to help me get them all out?”

He came over and helped me. As the pile of pins grew we both laughed a little. I handed him my hairbrush. He took and brushed just a few strokes. He looked at me in the mirror.

“You make a beautiful woman,” he said. “I have to say that I cannot remember you before. I was not expecting this. I was expecting to be … I was expecting it to be difficult to be intimate with you, knowing that you are … that you have not always been a woman.”

I felt angry. I stood up close to him. “Then try to understand my position. I was a normal heterosexual guy. You are expected to have sex with somebody who you say looks like a beautiful woman. I am expected to have sex with a man, who looks like a man. I have never even thought about that before. I have never even touched another man’s penis …”.

And with that I undid his belt and let his pants fall, and I thrust my hand down his boxer shorts and took his penis in my hand. It was in anger. It was to say: “If I can do this, why can’t you”.

There was a time when I held a penis every day – my own. But this was different. The heat from it seemed incredible. I knew that it was already swollen, so something was going on. And it was growing in my hand. He was looking into my angry eyes. There was something about the look that he was giving me. I had never seen a look like it. That look. His penis. He clasped my shoulders firmly. He kissed me. On the lips, no on the mouth, in the mouth. It was passionate. I felt a little faint. The penis grew. His tongue curled around mine. The heat built.

He reached down and pulled up my slip. I unhooked my bra with one hand and let my breasts jiggle free. I kept my other hand on his penis, now as hard as iron. Could I take this thing inside me? Had the surgeon made me large enough?

I held on while he took off his shirt, but I was forced to let go as he swept me off the floor and into his arms, carrying me to the bed as if I was a light as air.

“Wait a minute,” I said. I turned my back to him while I slipped the lubricated stent that had been inserted all afternoon. I was warm and wet. I just threw it on the floor and kicked it under the bed. Suddenly I was in a hurry. It was as if somebody else, or some thing, had taken control of me.

He rolled me over and ran his hands up and down my body. Every inch of me seemed to be so sensitive. It was as if I could feel the ridges of his fingerprints. I found that my back was arching and I was moaning. How could this be? I had just told him how hard this must be, but all I wanted was him inside me. I was not not going to need to take Bea’s advice and think of pleasant things. There was not a thought in my head. Just a hunger.

So he obliged. He gently opened my legs and fondled my clitoris. The surgeons had done well, preserving the nerves and allowing a nub to remain, now swollen with desire. He could feel the moisture and he knew I was ripe. I was going crazy with desire.

His penis touched my inner lips and began its entry. Slowly, so that I felt I could count the inches disappearing into my passage. Had I just counted past ten? How far could it go? Then his hips slapped against me. He withdrew slowly, and then back. And again. Picking up pace. My eyes opened and the ceiling above me seemed peppered with stars. I could see his face. His eyes closed. His mouth open.

“Oh Aldo,” I said. Stroking his cheek and firm chin, now roughened by a little stubble. I liked the feeling. Here was a man. A real man. And I was a woman. A real woman.

He opened his eyes and looked into my face. He smiled, without breaking his rhythm. It seemed to me that it was a warm smile, perhaps a loving smile.

Then I started to feel an orgasm swelling in me. I whispered: “Yes, yes …”.

We came together. It was magnificent. Then I could feel his semen fill me like hot butter. He gasped again. His penis came out with a satisfying plop. He fell on his back by my side.

“I am not sure if it was just because of you,” I said. “But that was the best sex I have ever had.” And it was true. Maybe I had just not had enough. Maybe I had just not been man enough. Maybe I needed to enjoy my sex as a taker rather than a giver. That was my lot from now on, and now I was happy with that thought. Or maybe it was him? Maybe he was just the best lover in the world?

He did not say anything. He kissed my nipples and then he kissed me gently on the lips with his hand in my hair.

“I promised not to disappoint you,” he said. “I hope I haven’t”

I curled up beside him and went to sleep.

When we woke in the morning we had sex again. I suppose I wondered whether the orgasm would match the night before, but it seemed even better. Could I look forward to a married life where every time we had sex was better than the last? Could a life be that perfect?

I lay in his arms after that, toying with the hairs on his chest, wondering how it could be that I could go so quickly from a women-loving man, to a man-loving woman.

“I have a confession to make,” he said. I just kept on stroking his chest hair. “I have a mistress.” He paused. “I had thought to go back to her, after the wedding and everything. But I don’t think I can now. I mean, I know that I can’t now.”

I rolled on top of him. The hairs on my pussy ground down on his now spent penis. My breasts jiggled dangerously close to his face. I felt desirable and desired. I felt that no woman should compete with me, or even could compete. I wanted him to know that.

“I told you yesterday that I want us to be together,” I said. “I said I wanted to be a family with the children in our care. Not just a family, but a loving family. I wasn’t sure that was possible until last night. Now I know it is. But it will take both of us.”

“I just can’t believe how good you look in the morning,” he said, breaking my serious words.

“I mean it Aldo. I want these kids brought up away from the wider family. I don’t want them to be gangsters. I want us to be parents who can show them a future without that. I want us to be an example to them that people can enjoy a happy and fulfilling life with simple pleasures.” And then I added with a smile: “So when are you next going to deliver me one of those simple pleasures.”

He laughed. It was a deep and rich laugh. It was a laugh that I decided I needed to hear each and every day.

Then he said: “I agree. They are good kids. We need to give them a chance at a better life. We should keep them away from the family business as best we can.”

So what about your mistress?” I asked.

“Well she was pissed that I got married. I told her it was an arranged marriage, but it meant that I couldn’t marry her.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

He pulled me down and rolled me over. He kissed me deeply, so deeply I felt overcome with emotion.

He said: “She’s gone. And I am happy she has. You see, my head has been turned to another. If you haven’t realized it before now, in the hours since I first saw you in the church yesterday, I have fallen in love with you. I am in love with you, Mrs Diana Cambero.”

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2018