To Cure a Beater

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To Cure a Beater

©2014 - By Foxxe C. Wilder

Deitre, or as his friends called him "Beater", had a chip on his shoulder ... the universe agreed it needed to be dealt with.



He was an asshole in most peoples' eyes. If you were black, he'd call you a nigger. If you were middle eastern, he'd call you a terrorist, or a sand nigger. Any oriental got the term gook or chink despite which race you might actually be. Native Americans were chugs, homosexuals were fags and lesbians (or any woman with short hair in jeans) were dykes. And of course anyone that might raise his suspicions as a transvestite (whether or not you actually were), were referred to as Trannies.

That is how I met him. He was just another belligerent drunken asshole, hammered to the teeth in the middle of the afternoon of the witches' new year's eve, sitting on the patio of a local tavern.

Now I am a practitioner of Wicca and as such I never, if ever wish ill upon anyone; the karmic backlash could be devastating. I am also a male to female transgender, so as such I 'walk between worlds'. To many peoples around the world we are regarded as holy people and gifted, after all, how many people get to experience both sides of the gender fence in only one life time?

His actual name was Deitre Carling but his friends called him “Beater”. He tended to try to live up to the moniker by being socially abusive and obnoxious and admittedly he was very gifted at being a jerk.

It was not one of my best days. I was low on cash, low on hope and low on patience; I didn't need some cowardly drunken jerk accosting me in public.

As I passed by the bar he loudly blurted out “TRANNY!”

I almost stopped in my tracks, tempted to give him a lesson in life by way of the assortment of martial arts training I've had as a kid. (I was a very petite child and as a result I tended to get beaten on so my parents sent me to learn martial arts to protect myself.)

But no, there was a better way to deal with this moron as the full moon was due this very night, I took off my pentacle ring, held it to the sky and I chanted silently, then I brought it down, touched the ground with it, then chanted again silently.

Then upon standing up, I touched him with my ring, and smiled as I responded to his abuse, “May the crone goddess, Hecate, deal with you fairly and justly,” then with a momentary pause I continued, “so mote it be, so mote it be, so mote it be.”

“Thrice spoken builds the charm, then released to do no harm.”

I put my ring back on my finger, spun on my heel and started away, having resigned the job of revenge to the Wiccan goddess of Justice to deal with. I could go on with my life without worry and trusting that the universe would take care of Deitre fairly.

I pretty much forgot about that day after that. I don't allow assholes to bother me, there are always bigger assholes in the world that would take care of those fools.

I was walking down the street actually passing that same tavern about a year later when I spied what looked to be a very effeminate man. At first I didn't recognize him but he knew me all too well.

At this point, he appeared to be a male to female transgender, within the first year of transitioning; that uncomfortable androgynous stage where you have attributes to both ends of the gender spectrum and neither one seems to be predominant.

He had a bulky sweat shirt on but even so, it could not hide the B cup breasts he sported beneath. His complexion was very smooth, hairless, and quite effeminate.

“You,” he hissed at me, “you caused this!”

I totally failed at hiding my smile and went directly into smart ass mode, intentionally feminizing his name, “Oh my god, Deirdre, is that you? Ha ha ha!”

“Oh, I can't accept the credit for this though,” I fought back my laughter, “No, this was in part your own making and the judgement of the universe. You can't hide from karma when you are an asshole for all of your life, buddy.”

“As for me, I'll finish my path soon enough,” I continued on, “but you, you will have to adapt to it as it will take you to the grave, either now or 50 years from now.”

“You accosted a transgender witch a year ago and now you have to pay the price for your deeds of hate and intolerance. I only opened the gates; you created the format, and the universe paid you your karma.”

“Now remember, it takes more balls to have them removed, than it takes to bad mouth innocent people,” I told him seriously, “Your future is up to you; embrace it as your just reward or terminate yourself, it is up to you. Just remember that reincarnation after suicide in this case could put you into the form of a woman next time or a truly transgender person such as myself. If you are smart you will adapt, and in doing so help other people in similar straights as you put me in a year ago. May Hecate walk and guide you. Good bye Deidre.”

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Comments

I agree,

Wendy Jean's picture

the universe isn't done with him/her yet.

thanks

LOL thanks but I don't write very much but this instance was loosely based upon an asshole I met in real life and had to find an outlet so I wrote him into a short story.
I did push the envelope with the Wiccan Magick pretenses a bit there. Chances are it would take years to open the eyes of the attacker to realise he's a closet case.

I truly believe that a TG's biggest opponents are actually people who are so jealous of TGs in transition that they feel that they have to share their misery with others... (just my opinion from a lifetime of observations)

i would like to see how this

licorice's picture

i would like to see how this ends. Though the blessing 'may hecate walk and guide you' seems like a twist of the knife.

Sweeet justice.

I think most of us have dreamed of having this happen to some arse-hole at some time during our lives. Nice one Foxy. x

Arse bollocks, off my heels!.jpg

bev_1.jpg

Believe As You Will.

My Stepfather was a beater, tormenting my mother and I. There were several times I was surprised to waken after one of his beatings. The last time he came for me, I picked up a hatchet off his work bench and went at him. Being tiny, even at 14, he took it from me. I was so incensed that there was no concern for the consequences. He seemed shocked. He never beat me again. Truth.

Gwen