Sweat and Tears 39

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CHAPTER 39
Bangor was three years of intensity. I was racing to a high level, and though never scaling the heights of those wonders Coe and Ovett I wasn’t doing too badly on the UAU circuit.

For those unfamiliar with the UK, there are two universities that consider themselves a different breed to the rest, being Oxford and Cambridge, and they have what they refer to as ‘varsity’ competitions. The Univerities Athletics Union was established to cater for proper sporting competition between real universities, and even though it rapidly turned into an annual presentation of a trophy to Loughborough, who won the points championship every year it seemed, it allowed us plebs to get some serious racing in.

My activities polarised quite quickly. Winters and the tag-end of Autumn found me running cross country on muddy tracks all over the UK, while the warmer weather allowed me to take to the high tops of Snowdonia as well as push my climbing skills. I was eventually seconding routes like Cemetery Gates and that Corner next to it, but I could never manage a lot of the Villain’s thug routes, one of which was famously described as being like its originator, “nasty, brutish and short”

I lived in my body, as I have said, grown into it and used to the balance and articulation. No matter what I did, however, I could never build up the strength needed for what climbers refer to as thugging, overcoming obstacles by the scientific application of brutality. I was wiry, I had excellent feet, but I couldn’t manage the roofs and overhangs that male strength could. My forte was in the technical slab, the delicate move up on minimal holds, and when I was first shown Clogwyn Du’r Arddu I fell instantly in love. Serious routes in serious positions were what I came to love, positions, as I had been told right from the start, that only a climber could attain.

We had a couple of trips out to near Sheffield, where there were low cliffs with lovely rough rock, but the climbing tended to the thuggish and it didn’t suit me. The heather was pretty, and the grouse noisy, but there were no real mountains.

Em was doing her own thing, of course, and the competition bug had bit her too. She was no great athlete, but she became a competent swimmer and I made a point of turning up for her races whenever I could. It was only fair, after all. I loved swimming too, but the thought of what I would look like racing against other men made me nauseous. I was living with my body, but only just. I think, with hindsight, that it was only Em who kept me sane, kept me working.

There were a few things I did avoid, like the plague. Discos were one. I was never that much for dancing, anyway, but when we tried a couple of nights out, and I got men asking to dance, and my arse and my tits groped, it got to be just too much and we dropped the idea. I worried then that I was stifling Emily. One night I had it out with her.

“Why don’t you go out anyway, love?”

“Not without you. We work together, we play together, we do naughties together”

“No, seriously, if you want to go out and shake your thang… you have the right to a social life, pet”

“Stephen Jones, if it wasn’t for the ability of a particular young man to see past spots and flab I wouldn’t have any social life”

I had to smile at that, the memories of my first kiss would never leave me. There were times when I was under Charlie, or the Allisons were being particularly perverse, and I would taste the lipstick they put on me and dream it was Emily’s, so that I could find that little doorway into a dream of love and green eyes.

“My love, without you I wouldn’t have a life at all, so we’ are at least even”

She grinned happily. “I make that you owing me, so how about you start repaying? Fancy a shag?”

Typical of my girl, that. I worry about her not going out, and she shows me the best way to stay in. Sometimes you think you might love someone, other times you just know, in everything you and they do or say.

We lay together afterwards, sweaty and fuzzy n the head, and she murmured into my ear:

“My darling, you do know that I am not joking when I mention marrying you, and I am getting a little tired of waiting for you to ask. So take a hint, love”

I rang Nana ten minutes later, then Brian, and then Iain, and finally Roger. Tom already knew, as he was in the next room and heard Em’s squeals. No, not those squeals, the other ones, the ones where she was shouting “Yes I will!”

The next week, after ring shopping, we made a point of going to the newly-named GLT group meeting. I had been to a couple, and it had led to one of those moments of understanding. I had always seen myself and Tessa as somehow different, similar but fundamentally of another kind to each other. It was listening to some of the others’ experiences that brought it properly home to me.

There was a fundamental difference n the three letters being discussed. Nowadays there are four, but back then bisexuality was derided as ‘greedy’ or ‘indecisive’. I realised that we were dealing with things internal as well as external. The gay man, or the lesbian, seeks another who will return their affection, their need. Sexuality finds its answer in another person, despite the taboos and abuse that come from ‘straight’ society.

Gender, on the other hand…Tessa could have found any number of men who would have loved her for herself, but that self would not have been her. It was an internal thing; the eyes she looked out of were in the wrong place, and so she was doubly cursed, despising herself and being despised by society at large. I recognised myself in her, finally; the only difference between us was that she had been malformed by nature, or the Great Sky Pixie, or whatever, and I had been twisted by a man. The outcome had been the same; a misfitting of mind and body.

We were so alike, but I had avoided the persuasive entreaties of suicide partly because of Em, but mostly because Mitchell had never finished the job I was beginning to suspect he had planned. To be blunt, I still had my cock, and it still had a lot of sensation, and I still peed standing up when I wanted to. Sounds petty? Not at all, every time I doubted I was a man, Em would make a point of treasuring that part of me, of showing me that she knew my fears and doubts better than I did. That little bit of flesh kept me as sane as I could be.

We had arranged a visitor for the session with the GLT lot, and she arrived in her little mini the day before. I had to laugh, as she came strutting up to the door in a tiny miniskirt and truly silly heels, her sharp nose poking out from under really, really big hair, her blouse showing as much skin as she could get away with without being arrested.

“EMILY!!!!!”

A serious amount of hugging and squealing, and then a much softer greeting to me.

“Tessa, are you worried people will think you’re a bloke or something?” I teased.

“Darling Stephen, the best Moroccan surgeons have turned my stalk into the smoothest butter you could imagine. Want to see?”

“Er, no, thank you, Tessa….what the hell has happened to your self confidence?”

“A pair of 38C’s, all natural, and a streamlined knicker area, my dear!”

She turned serious. “It’s called being myself, Steve, something I never thought I could do. Every time I look at my wrist, and then into the mirror, I know how close I came. Now, answer a question, truthfully.”

“OK, if I can”

“How much money did you give to Roger for me?”

“Er…”

“Thought so. Steve, you do know that I could never repay you, don’t you? I don’t mean in cash terms, I mean in the life I can now have. Why did you do it?”

I sighed. It was a thought I had had many times, before and since.

“Tess, because you were hurting, and I could see myself, and, well, it was only money, and… look, it was dirty money, it was from those two psychos, and what better way to clean it up than to help someone hurting like I was?”

She kissed me gently on the cheek. “Stephen Jones, it’s been said before, but you are a good man. You know I am in your debt, and it will never be repaid, so all I can do is say if you need me,,,”

There was a little silence, and then Em said “What if I need you?

“Anything!”

“Well, how about a tissue to wipe that lipstick off my fiancé’s cheek?”

We made a tight little group heading down to the meeting, Tom and I strolling behind, me watching Em’s nice bottom with an owner’s eye, and Tom just ogling, while the girls nattered about girliness. Tessa introduced herself by making a little autobiographical speech, and then all eyes were on me. I decided to face up to life.

“Hi everybody, my name is Stephen, and I suppose you can say that I am a transsexual”

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meeting

“Hi everybody, my name is Stephen, and I suppose you can say that I am a transsexual”

nice. very, very, nice.

"Treat everyone you meet as though they had a sign on them that said "Fragile, under construction"

dorothycolleen

DogSig.png

Ì particularly liked ...

... the 'stalk into butter'** phrase. I very nearly blew my Glenfiddich down my nose; if I had I would never, ever have forgiven you - the bottle is nearly empty :)

Some (cycling/sailing) friends of our have a colour wash/ink print of Cloggy on their wall. I think they used to climb a bit. Is the 'villain' Don Whillans? I know he was a bit of a hard man and I believe used to partner Chris Bonnington.

The last line here puzzles me slightly. Throughout this story it has been stressed that, despite appearances, Steve is not a transsexual. Are we now going to see him declare himself a lesbian. I thought that was the difference between him and Tessa.

Still an eagerly awaited treat. Thanks

Robi

** for younger readers and transponders, Stork was(is?) a make of margarine and their slogan was "Can you tell Stork from butter?".

TS

Firstly, the Villain has already appeared, when Steve popped nto the Vaynol with the Toffs, and yes, he is that "nasty, brutish and short" Mr Don Whillans, who used to partner Joe Brown rather thsn CB.

Transsexual...as clear an acceptance of his plight as he can do. Steve is a man, now, a heterosexual man who loves his fiancee almost more than life, and stuck in what he considers a fat-arsed big-titted feminised body. A mind, a soul, that mismatches its flesh. I think that fits the TS definiton quite well. Tessa was born, Steve was made, but they were in the same boat.

Stork

Sorry...couldn't resist a terrble pun

Stork

Sorry...couldn't resist a terrble pun

SOOOO Bad You Had To Do It Twice

joannebarbarella's picture

Steve actually has no choice if he is to have happiness in his life. He has to come to terms with his body, which is female with one small difference. In most cases people like us would say "defect", but for him it's the rest that is the defect.

He doesn't have to "embrace his femininity" because, exactly the opposite of Tessa, he has none, but he must find a modus vivendi for mind and body. I'm not sure what that is because I'm on Tessa's team. It'll be interesting to have you show us.

Pass the margarine,

Joanne

LGBT

It's strange but we are still having to work a bit down here in South Wales to get the Tee in LGBT fully aknowledged.

We're getting there slowly.

Thanks for all the angles both metaphoric and metamorphic.

Love.

Bev

Growing old disgracefully.

bev_1.jpg

TLGB

I played that game at the start of Cold Feet. It's a fundamental argument that stretches all the way to the USA military. Who you want to be in love with is not the same as who you want to be, and that leads to conflict or confusion. There is strength in unity, and having our pink frends around us gives us more clout,but....apples aren't bananananananas. My gay frends have always known that my straight nterest in men is not the same as theirs, despite my natal anatomy, and all the politcs aside, I would rather sit with the rest of the straight women than the others.
But I can't. So I accept the solidariry that comes from others that conventional society marginalises, but, I'm sorry, I will always be 'straight'.

Sweat and Tears 39

There's no doubt about it. Steven has come a long way

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

BINGO

Steve is the flipside of a *typical* TG male. In his case, and he has said as much to his beloved, it is his *little thing* his last physical proof he was born male that has helped him keep his sanity and prevented him from killing himself in moments of despair over what was stolen from him. To fully transition to a female would kill him.

Others here seem to have hit the homerun on Steve's life journey. IE. Who will he be as an adult? What face will he project to the world? He can never appear male but can he be his own woman so to speak? Can he make his own path in life and not be forced to take that which is expected?

And another Q, where is that disgusting doctor? We learned earlier it takes Steve nearly 20 years to get his hands on the doctors notes as to what exactly was done to him medically and all. What drugs, behavior mods and surgeries beyond the castration. Some of the delay is implied as bureaucratic inertia but some must be due to the doctor fleeing. Is Steve safe from the bastard at last or not?

Still hope maybe his brother will donate sperm so Steve and his love can have a child that would be something like 99% what Steve's genetics would have made it. Loved the bit where they both tell each other that he or she saved them. They are soul mates and have healed each other. Now will life let them have some measure of happiness?

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Bingo indeed.

There is still a lot going on....and I am trying hard not to let it rush me.