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Here I was, sat in a church feeling grateful for what life had dealt me. Oh, there was sadness and pain from the past but remembrance of that was mostly muted and felt distant. I liked the songs and the testimonies of those present; my own having such power in my life that it felt as if for the first time in my life I was where my God wanted me to be. My family had been really ugly to me, nearly driving me to death. In retrospect, I could now see that in some respects they were simply mad because I would not be taking care of them in the manner in which they had become accustomed. The kids were all married, some with children of their own. I had carried enough guilt.

I’d been tormented all my life by a sense of being out of place, though I had no idea what it was. I did not, ‘not’ remember things from my childhood; they just were not there to miss. I would not begin to recollect the horrors of the past until the fates decided that it was time to destroy my cushy little life. Needless to say the relatives were utterly dismayed and condemning and that only accelerated my ultimate degradation in their eyes. They not only did not want to know of my childhood, they did not even care. I’d decided they were toxic and somehow wisely stopped thinking of them.

My whole life, I had always worked to provide for the family, and even when I was not working, I was providing for them. In retrospect, I was too good to them and they should have been learning to do things for themselves. When I got sick and was in the Hospital, they just freaked out. For many months as I was hospitalized, the family seemed to blame me, finally totally rejecting me. No, wait, I was there when they needed me! Where are they now when I need them?

At the end of services, I stood and greeted those around me, and in this large church, they were numerous. They would attend an hour of Sunday school and yet another hour of classes, while I would wait for the halls to clear and quietly walk to my car. I was pretty sure about God, but people, not so much. I was still wary. The slim blue skirt was below my knees but the kick pleat in back was far too long for my tastes, so I wore a slip with it. Sewing up the slit made it far too tight to walk in. The matching jacket was short sleeve, and framed my smallish breasts ideally. I wore a silk blouse with a ruffle in front. I had searched for matching blue heels without luck so it was black pumps. The suit gave me confidence.

I was carefully vague about myself, when talking to others, choosing to deflect questions that asked me to reveal too much by asking others about themselves. People just love to talk about themselves, so I thought that at least temporarily the tactic would work. Their missionaries tried to corner me but I managed to deflect them for a while. I knew that eventually they would grow more insistent and had not developed any stronger tactic but to stonewall them. They were, after all just out of high school and not equipped to be hurt like I could do it.

This time, my escape was hindered by a man about my age. He looked quite dignified, though the glory of his youth had departed, his visage still made my innermost parts react in a pleasant, yet unfamiliar way. I tarried a bit as we talked, his name was Fred, but finally our encounter ended and I once again started for the door to make my way out to my aged Corolla. As I drove home, I did not notice the car following me.

I’d rented a small house on the edge of St George, Utah. It was a bit dilapidated but seemed weather tight. I liked the feeling of anonymity and privacy where I could work on my slightly demented feminist science fiction stories and study ancient religion. Though religions had treated me quite shabbily, I was still very curious about this being called God, G_d, Allah, Messiah or whatever. I found the idea that saying there was no God to be ludicrous.

Not too long ago, my Christian fundamentalist family had disowned me after making embarrassing discoveries about me, and with retirement within reach I took the early exit. I’d made a lot of money and had a little something set aside. My X was very successful and was just glad to be rid of me so she could play. The signs of her infidelity had been there, but blinded by love, and Dependent Personality Disorder, I ignored it. I’d been saddled with an uneasy tormentment all my life and then undertook to remedy the problem. My X immediately applied for divorce, and like the slut she was, married within two months of the divorce being final.

Something had bothered me my entire life, and a few trips to sleazy bars helped me to start thinking about things. I became fast friends with an aging prostitute. She somehow knew that I would never be a customer.

“Honey, you just look like someone who begs to be taken care of. You’re not gay, and if you were a woman, I would not say you were a lesbian. Nope, you are a woman.”

Well, that hit me like a ton of bricks, but something resonated. We hit the town, going to dinner and drinking and on tricks. She’d tell the customers that I was one of the girls but just wanted to watch. Believe it or not, some of the customers liked to be watched. I was almost paying my way, much to my astonishment.

I did that for a few months and then decided to see a counsellor, actually several. I felt myself just going in a circle, but not getting anywhere. Then the blood test that my Doctor ordered for me came back. It explained everything, my like for female friends, my lack of male friends, my sewing, and my penchant for writing romance stories. While I had male bits, my brain did not match. In the year 2040, the bullshit was over, though there will still be sometimes really mean families. I lacked that last bit to make me Male.

It did not take many months to deduce that the counsellors really were not trying to ease my pain, but just wanted my money, so upon doing some research, I booked a one way ticket to Thailand. I arrived at the clinic there without the documents supposedly required for my surgery, but as I suspected, $200 American secured them.

A scant 6 weeks later, I climbed on the plane for America as a dignified, fourtyish woman who looked thirtyish as a woman, where as I had arrived impersonating a retired, somewhat harried and aged gentleman. I had not bothered to tell my counsellor I was leaving; her authoritative diatribe having convinced me that if I was ever to be the mistress of my fate, it needed to be that I rid myself of her influence immediately. While in Thailand, they had remodelled my lower parts by doing a penile inversion labioplasty, liposuction on my gut and putting the contents on my hips and posterior. It had been extremely inconvenient to sleep on my chest for two weeks. I told the Doctor there that I did not wish breast implants, and he agreed, that my body would make her own, very nicely thank you.

Much to their surprise, upon doing a much more exhaustive karyotype test that I was almost CAIS, so rather than do the breast work they’d planned on, they simply did injections. In just a couple of months my belated body grew its own mammary tissue. They felt I would always be small but continue to develop, and be adequate. Later, after having mostly recovered from Facial Feminization Surgery, I returned to the US.

There was a considerable delay upon entering the US because I no longer looked like the old me. “I should hope not”, I told them. They eventually did finger prints and 16 hours later they released me with the strict admonishment that I get permanent changes to my passport. One of them threatened to fine me for not following the normal procedure. I secretly gloated because I had just bypassed all the pompous and authoritative people in my life that simply wanted my money.

It was then after returning to the states, that it dawned on me that I had been foolishly wilful and arrived in Woman Ville not actually knowing what a woman did. I was still culturally male.

The feminine deportment training in Thailand helped but I made arrangements to take up residence temporarily in Anaheim to study deportment for another six months under the tutelage of one of the trainers that did work for Disneyland. So it was, in 6 to 10 hour segments for a solid month, I put makeup on, took it off, put it on … Then I walked in shoes of many heights. She went easy on the stilettos because I was no spring chicken, but she insisted that I do it enough to be graceful in them. She had me wearing bras that were evil and some that were tolerable. The nasty part was trying to match a 40 inch band to B breasts. I wanted sexy bras but had to settle for dignified ones. I soon knew in my heart why the first thing when a woman gets home, the heels and bra come off immediately!

So it was that 9 months after retirement, I had a new name, much changed body, and the skills to use it. Returning to Portland was foolish and after getting my heart broken several times at the hands of various churches and social organizations, I simply left. My car, along with everything I owned was in a storage shed. I took the trouble to change my name yet again and just dropped out of sight. It was bothersome talking to the government, but with all the paperwork in order, I destroyed the card in my cell phone and left town with all that I owned in and on my car.

I had $10,000 cash on me, and just roamed around for a while, staying in La Grande, where I got a new card for my phone. He was a seedy guy and did not ask many questions. Then it was off to Idaho Falls, Boise, Salt Lake City, and finally St George Utah. I camped out for two days, and went to a motel for one while traveling. There was no shortage of helpful men, but out in the woods it was legal for me to wear my pistol on my waist, and they would keep their distance. So here I was as about as full blown a woman as I could be, but very uncomfortable with male friendships. Was my transformation a mistake? Was there a period of adaptation? Was there more to being a woman than having the body?

One older gentleman who appeared to be alone in his camp trailer, persisted in talking to me. He was interested in why I would be out in the desert, camping alone? “Oh, I’m just taking a break from life.”

“Things got too hard did they?”

“Yes, I worked very hard and at the first sign of trouble, they divorced me.”
“Well, that is not always your fault, at least not all of it. It might be a blessing.”

We spoke long into the night. He was a nice man, without an agenda it seemed. When he left to go back to his trailer, I longed for his companionship. Had he wakened something in me?

When I rose in the morning, and crawled out of my tent, he had departed. I found his empty space to bring on feelings of sorrow. He left an unwelcome void in my soul. Would I ever meet him again? Was he really there?

It was mid-July and about 110 degrees when I found my tiny little house in St George, Ut. The first thing I bought was an air conditioner. The days were really hot, but at dawn it was nice, so each morning before the sun came up, I would drive up to some park with trails, and hike along in the dawn light. I got some astonishing photographs of the sun rising. What it did to the landscape was inspiring. I’d arrive back in St George in time for breakfast, and would sometimes stop at run down looking cafes where I found the best food.

I’d been in St George for a little over a month when I met the dignified gentleman, Fred, in the local market. He was looking for Mayonnaise; I was looking for Salad dressing. I had no way of knowing that Fred was a widowed, retired Movie executive with lots of money and liked projects. Thought I did not know it at the time, he was a widower, and I was about to become his next project.

Meanwhile, I still had to carefully shave my face every single day, and the hair transplants I’d had in Thailand were just so effective. So, every day, before I went out, I shaved against the grain of my beard like I had been doing for years, and then put on my very professional looking wig. I had never frequented bars and did not even know if there were any in this town. Hiking and other outdoor activity was enjoyable so I took to exploring the surrounding environs even more.

There are numerous National parks in the surrounding desert and as early as March it was comfortable to venture out exploring. I must have been quite a sight in my ankle length full denim skirt and small back pack with camel insert. No one needed to know about the .45 auto tucked away in the folds of my skirt, and amazingly everyone I encountered was friendly, even protective of my welfare. One group, who was getting ready to set out, changed their plans to accompany me on my tour of exploration. I became good friends with a woman and her daughter who were from Provo with her family. Her husband was nice enough, but he did not attract me.

One afternoon upon returning from an outing, the land lord was there measuring the lot and the house. “Oh hello Ms Browne, I am just here with a contractor and am setting him up to do some repairs to this old house. I am sorry that you were allowed to move into it before I had this work done. I was in Africa, and did not know about this. The men were very nice and spent a couple weeks digging and painting around the outside. Later the land lord approached me about moving into his guest house while they did the inside of the house. I asked him how much he intended to raise the rent and he just laughed, telling me that he was more likely to lower it to make up for my having to live in such a shack. I sort of liked that old shack, I told him.

Fred from the grocery encountered me at the entrance of the church one Sunday and asked if I would mind him setting with me? Smiling like a young girl, I told him that being involved with me was fruitless because I was thinking of becoming a Nun. My statement was rather ridiculous, but it was all I could think of with my stomach full of butterflies. He was absolutely charming in service, handing me my hymnbook before I could reach for it, holding the sacrament trays for me, and generally being delightfully solicitous to me. At the end of the service, he stood with me and introduced me to several of the other members that seemed to know him well. About that time it came to me that he was well loved.

He invited me to stay for Sunday school and despite my weak refusals I found myself sitting by him as the next lessons began. I had the Bible on my big screen phone. As it turned out, I was well familiar with the subject we were discussing, but was ignored when I timidly raised my hand, the others simply talking in turn in an orderly manner. Fred spoke up for me, the instructor not even realizing I was present, and perhaps as way of apology asked me to stand and introduce myself.

“Hello everyone, I am Credence, and have not lived in town very long. I am retired and have travelled a bit before settling here in St George.”

I had hoped that would hold them off at least temporarily, and in my mind began to make plans to leave town very soon, the feelings of fear of exposure beginning to overwhelm me. Fred seemed to sense my discomfiture and began to hold my hand. I knew that this could not be, but he seemed to form a shield of protection around me, making me feel far younger and inexperienced than I was. I’d never had anyone care for me like he did. In my old life, I was doing the caring and the family were not even grateful. It moved me much more than I expected. I was in danger of crying. He plucked the single tear that had started down my face off with his folded handkerchief.

After class knowing that I was with Fred, several women surrounded me. They were so loving and reinforcing to me that I did not even notice that they had guided me into the Relief Society room and were about to begin their session. In panic, I tried to rise and flee, but two of the women encouraged me to stay, helping me to feel more secure. The memories of past pain and the wish to be anonymous seemed less important now.

I’d been in such a rush to have those surgeries, but not thought thoroughly about what it meant to be a woman openly in culture. I felt raw stage fright.

Later, after classes were finished Fred guided me to his car amid my weak protestations. Two women that turned out to be his unmarried daughters got in back and I felt much more relaxed. We went to a huge house for a Sunday barbeque. Little did I know at the time that it was his house, and his unmarried children lived there. He still had two girls at home, and 4 children were married, some with children of their own. I tried to remain aloof but was eventually drawn into helping to serve the food, playing ping pong, and goofy coffee table games. Though, in spite of the festive atmosphere, I felt dark clouds closing in. I was really tired by 10:00 PM when I got one of Fred’s girls to drop me off at my car. I got home rather readily and it only took a moment to get inside and securely locked in.

Now terrified, having a full blown panic attack, I slept fitfully and rose at 4:00 AM to begin packing. Nearly completely hysterical, I knew that my little plan to disappear had failed. I could not allow myself to get close to this man. I was falling in love, and I knew that it could not work out. One thing nice about the cottage I was renting was it had an attached garage. First thing I did was install the roof rack and cargo box. Then I began loading. By noon almost everything was in or on the car. I ordered takeout Chinese, and slept on a sleeping bag in the carpeted living room.
I woke up about sundown, shaved, got dressed, and went out to the garage. I’d lose my rent deposit, and I did not give 30 days’ notice. I’d make do. Sadly, I got in the car, and opened the garage door. As I pulled forward, I did not notice that the door was hooked on the cargo box and as I moved, it ripped the door off the rollers and the whole thing fell on my car. What would I do? I was trapped now and would have to call the landlord.

He came shortly, and found me standing in front of the cottage; hot tears streaming down my face. It was almost impossible to talk to him; my breathing was so ragged, and with hiccups I must have presented a sight.

He seemed to view my predicament with great sympathy, and took my lame explanation calmly. I told him that something had come up and I needed to leave immediately; that the house was clean and the furniture was well cared for and he was welcome to anything I had purchased. As I explained I got even more hysterical, and he began to question the wisdom of my driving in my present state.

“Oh, I must leave immediately, I am OK”, I insist.

“Well, alright, you have not broken the law and the place looks good enough that I won’t hold you to nothing.”

I was so distraught that I could not find my seat belt and then when I did get it fastened, I turned the wrong way out of the drive way. I did not realize it at the time, but the road dead ended after about 15 miles.

There was no traffic so there was none to encounter. When I finally ran into the end of the road, I just gave up and shut the engine off. Life seemed so bleak to me, how could I continue? I wore myself out in a torrent of tears, and the next thing I know it is dusk and someone is banging on my window. At first it startled me and I screamed hysterically. Where was I, why was I not in my bed?

When I calmed down a little, I found that it was Fred out there. Still too rattled to think clearly, I rolled down the window and said to him, “Fred, what are you doing out here?”

He was wearing a striped long sleeve men’s shirt, and cowboy hat. I could smell something; it must have been his cologne. It was mildly intoxicating. Chiding myself; just how did I get through the last months without realizing that men might attract me? Why had I not thought all this through?

“Well, missy, I might ask you the same question”.

“What do you mean, I’m a big girl, I can do what I want”.

“Well, John, the man who handles my rentals called me and told me that he thought you were a bit distraught.”

“Distraught, do I look distraught. I’m just fine,” I said rebelliously. Just then the tears started down my face, again, and I screamed while pounding the steering wheel,

“Well, fine missy then how come you look like a racoon and you’re crying. Not upset huh?”

“Look, I appreciate that you are very nice, but you can’t know me because if you do you will hate me and I can’t bear one more person hating me, do you hear?” There I was crying again and there was no way I could get the car started. Fred sneakily reached in, and unlocked my door and opened it!

“What did you do that for; didn’t I tell you that you can’t know me? I’m no good for either of us.”

“Well, one thing girl is you can’t start your car because it is in gear, and after observing you for the last 10 minutes, am declaring you incompetent to drive, and using my authority as a Deputy Sheriff to put you under protective custody.”

His face was so serious I could hardly look at it, yet there was gentleness in his voice. This could not be! I could not yield to my feelings, I must run away, flee before I hurt someone else!

“You what; where is your badge and where is your police car Mr smarty pants?”

“Well, if you don’t come peacefully, I am going to have to arrest you and cuff you!” I was sure he had his hackles up now. I was mad too. How could this man make me obey him? The nerve!

I jumped out of the car and started to take a swing at him but he easily caught my tiny fist in his bare hand, so then I kicked him with my foot and connected rather nicely I thought.

He let go and stepped back rubbing his ankle.

“See, I showed you how tough I am. I keep telling you that I have to leave. I am no good for anyone.” I’d decided that as soon as I got away from him I was going to find something to hit that would kill me. Sadly, none of this had worked. I was not a woman but a freak!

“Missy, not a single one of my children ever took a swing at me and I never hit them! I am going to bring you in line and right now!”

His eyes looked like they were overflowing with rage and it nearly paralyzed me. Faster than I could see, he had my wrist and he drug me around to the side of his truck, sat down on the running board and proceeded to spank me! The nerve of this character! Who did he think he was? It only took a few swats and I was really sorry I kicked him.

“OK, OK I am sorry, please stop.” He went on for about a dozen swats and I was limp and sobbing, pleading for him to stop.

“So, you are going to behave now. Am I going to have to cuff you still?”

“No sir, I promise no more kicking! I will be good.”

“Good, because I don’t have any cuffs.”

“Good because I didn’t want to wear them. Wait! You said you had cuffs!”

“You disappointed?” There was that infectious grin on his face, making it impossible to sustain my anger.

“I moved in on him again.”

“Am I going to have to discipline you again?”

“No kiss me.” He did, and I knew I could not leave, but had no idea how to explain my life.

We stood by my car and talked for a few minutes until I started shivering. “I should take you some place warm.”

He made arrangements for one of his men to come and get my car, after he put me in his truck with the heater going full bore. By then, I was exhausted again and went to sleep on the seat. Later, his weight on the truck seat roused me but not completely.

“Credence, we need to talk about what has you so upset and convinced that you are no good for me. As an adult male, I want a vote in that decision. When is the last time you ate?”

“Um, I’m not sure, but it could have been last night?” I was too tired to run from him, and it seemed that if I tried, he would have something to say about it. I desperately wished that something would calm my pounding heart.

I wakened late morning in a beautiful bedroom that I would later find out had belonged to one of his now grown and married daughters. The air felt cool on my face but inside under the silken sheets and warm covers I was so cozy. A tremor passed through my whole body and I rolled over and slept again.

When I wakened again, it seemed later in the day and on the clock I could see on a dresser it said it was past noon. What! Sweeping the covers back and springing to my feet, I could see that I was in a long cotton night gown that was not mine and I had to go potty so bad that I did not know if I could make it. Looking around the room, I could see the single door and the closet, so I fled into the hallway. Thankfully there was an open door and it was the bathroom!

With that bit of business taken care of, my mind settled once again on my predicament. Though part of my mind was concocting some wild tale, I knew that I could not tell him anything but the absolute truth. It would be hard, so I steeled myself for being alone and on the road by nightfall.

I found a fluffy bathrobe laying on the foot of the bed, so I put it on and went in search of the kitchen and everyone else. The house was empty. What was going on? I had no idea. The kitchen clock said it was nearly 1:00 PM. Feeling panic stricken, I knew I could not face a confrontation with Fred, the man who it was becoming painfully clear that I had fallen in love with.

I was standing by the stove with a huge butcher knife in my hand, and looking out the window. I don’t know how long I stood there but a hand on my wrist brought me back to awareness. “Hey, you want something to eat?” He said.

He’d brought home Pastrami on rye with au jus sauce. We split it and drank fresh peach juice. By the time we finished he was sat beside me and my head was on his chest. “You want to talk about it now?”

“I suppose so.” I knew it had to happen and the very thought was threatening to break my heart. I was too worn out and subdued by his gentleness to run any more. I told him where the file was in my car and he went out to the car to get it. While he was out there, I ran into the bedroom and put the clothes I’d worn yesterday on, meeting him in the living room when he came back in.

We retreated to his study and we both sat on a couch in there. It was a long process and I did not know if my heart would break before I was finished. “If you want to hear the truth, you have to promise not to interrupt me until I am finished.” I looked up into his rugged face and he nodded.

It took an hour and as we came to documented places in my story I laid the record in his lap. When I finished, I stood and turned to him, my heart breaking. “Thank you so much for being so gentle with me. I know that you will not want me now, so I will leave peacefully. Don’t worry about the records in your hands, I have more in a safety deposit box. Good bye and again thank you for your kindness.”

I don’t know how I got to the car and on the road without tears. It felt like I was going to my execution. After driving a long while, there was a wide spot in the road, so I pulled over. The tears and weeping came in a tormenting flood. At times I was sure that I would die right there on the side of the road.

Calmness came slowly and I lay there against the door in a daze. Later, more composed, I looked at the gas gauge and turned on the GPS to see where I was. I was not far from Hildale, Utah. It took a few minutes to find the Gas Station, buy some snacks in a market nearby and get back on the road. My mind was still in a fog and I had no idea where I would go. As I drove dark thoughts circulated through my mind and I did not pay attention. At a red light in a town I did not recognize at first, I looked at the GPS and realized I was back in St George.

I was too worn out to keep going, so I got a room in a cheap motel and slept. Hunger wakened me before daylight so I shaved, showered and got dressed before walking over to a rundown restaurant to eat. It felt like an automaton as I ate, and then I just sat there until the waitress asked me if there would be anything else. I felt like telling her that I needed a new heart.

Completely detached I walked past my car and up to the door of my room. “We need to talk.” He said. I had not seen him leaning against my car as I walked by. I turned my hollow feeling eye sockets on him, staring blankly. “Why would you think that? Are you going to tell me what trash I am? I already know that.”

I don’t know what happened but I was suddenly being held by those powerful arms. I wanted to fight him, break away and run, but he was too powerful, and I could scarcely even wiggle. I finally just laid my head against his powerful chest, and breathed in his manly scent. The tears began to flow again, and I wept until total exhaustion swept over me. I did not fight him as he put me in his truck, and got in beside me. One of his daughters was driving.

We sat in his study for a long time and talked. In the end, he revealed that his wife had died a couple years back and his daughters wanted to move up to Provo to attend College. He did not wish to be alone, and while he knew that I could not yet love him, he wanted me to give him a chance.

“You idiot, don’t you realize that I am a fucking pervert tranny? Do you want to completely ruin your reputation with me around?” He said he looked the records over and while he knew that some would not understand if they knew, he was not going to tell them and he knew that I would be stupid if I did.

That was two years ago. I went back to my little house because I was not going to live with a man that I was not married to. Lately we have been spending so much time together that one of his daughters finally asked when we would marry. He looked at me warmly, while my skin began to burn.
“I will when she says yes” He said. By now I knew that I would no matter the risk. I did not know how things would work out but I knew he would think of something. I just knew it.