You’ve read this story at least a dozen times on BigCloset or some other site. Maybe those stories were all farfetched, had some mystical or magical component, or maybe even an alien encounter of some type drove the story. This story won’t involve any of those things, though theoretically my story might actually benefit from the introduction of one or more of those ideas, but I’m hoping this is an interesting enough read without those distractions.

So, let’s get the basics covered, and you’ll see what I was dealing with as I tell my story.

First, enter your main character; that’d be me, Allen Darcy, Jr. I’m a university student, sophomore year at an institution you’d recognize the name of, on the dean’s and honors list, and, as you’re already expecting, a socially awkward guy since childhood. The only thing missing from any of that mini-resume is the fact I’ve known I was Trans from as far back as I can remember. Of course I couldn’t put a finger on that exact idea until my teens, which is pretty common as you know, and even when I figured out my ‘internal struggle’ I did nothing about it because, well, ‘life’ and ‘pressures’ dictated avoiding the truth.

I tend to think I’m pretty smart, though not enough to navigate my life in some meaningful way to correct my 'mind / body' connection or deal appropriately with every fear, shame, apprehension, and anxiety-inducing thought I’ve ever had about knowing to my core something wasn’t right within me. Toss in conservative parents who think being ‘gay’ is a mental disorder and an older brother who went off the rails with drugs (driving my parents more insane and me having to work my ass off so I could escape). Yeah, you want baggage? I’ve got plenty to spare!

As you’ve guessed by the title of the story, my secret became known on New Year’s Eve after I’d drank myself blind (the first time in my twenty years of life). Where did this happen? Of course, at a frat house party, which was attended by people I would generally avoid at all costs because I’m a bit of an introvert.

Yeah, my brilliant brain is not so much so under the influence of alcohol. And, since I know you’ve jumped ahead in this story, you’ve guessed who I blabbed my secret to—the six-foot-one, two-hundred and twenty-two-pound star linebacker from our football team I’d been tutoring in both math and English to keep him from an academic suspension.

And how did that secret exactly come out?

“AD! Hey, hey… Are you okay, dude?”

I felt his monstrous hand lifting my chin, and my vision of him - when I could finally focus - had his concerned face floating lazily in front of me. I sort of remember saying, “My hands are girls... I’m a Trans...”

No, English isn’t my second language; I was plastered, and I’m certain that’s about what I said – though not a complete admission I was Trans, right?

I’m not even sure I got out the entire word ‘Trans’ completely before throwing up on Mark, the linebacker I’d been tutoring. I do know that afterwards, he, as he told me later, had cleaned us up and put me in his bed.

Wait, wait! No, nothing happened! I didn’t end up naked, sexed, kissed, or anything like that—at least that I remember. While some of that might have been interesting and might have been a passing thought once or thirty times when I wasn’t inebriated, nothing happened between us. I was pretty sure. Oh, and if you want that kind of story, go read the one with the wizard. It describes 'something' happening in plenty of cringe-worthy detail.

Anyway, when I finally woke up on New Year's Day, I remember having two immediate urges. I needed to pee, and whatever alcohol was in my stomach was not going to remain there. I remember slowly trying to rise, feeling dizzy, seeing I was in an empty room, spotting and subsequently puking in the garbage can next to Mark’s bed. And then realizing I needed to PEE! and made my way to one of the houses bathrooms just in time to relieve myself.

While I was standing at the toilet, holding myself steady with one hand on the wall and the other on that appendage I’d thought many times about cutting off myself, I realized I was wearing a dress. No! Not actually a ‘dress’ dress, but one of Mark’s t-shirts, and it wore like a dress; it was that big on me.

Sheesh… I warned you, this wasn’t a farfetched tail! Wizard story, seriously!

Anyway, I finish up, rinse my mouth out, and head back to Mark’s room. I thought for a microsecond about climbing back into bed, but decided I didn’t want to be here when he returned. I noticed the shirt I’d been wearing last night draped over a chair, a little damp from having my puke rinsed out of it, took the ‘dress’ off, and put on the damp and kind of puke-smelling shirt. I then rushed out of there, heading back to my dorm room.

We good? New Year’s drunken admission I was Trans to the bull of a linebacker I was tutoring. Life ruined? Panic and anxiety alarms going off without abandon? Oh, absolutely! Yet those weren’t enough to keep from slipping into the abyss after lying down in my bed. I could worry about the fallout later, and besides, my head was seriously about to explode.

I spent the rest of the weekend barely leaving my dorm room (my roomy had gone home for the holidays). I had plenty of time to consider what and how I was going to deal with people knowing I’d outed myself. And I may have spent some concentrated time going over what I should do about fixing my being Trans. I could certainly transition, as so many others had successfully done before me. I could over think the problem as is normal for me. And in the end, as has always been the case, I was frozen by fear, and the easier course of action was to ignore the problem for now.

Check! Set course to ignore the problem, Captain Oblivious!

When classes picked back up the next week, I was surprised at being able to navigate the campus without any unusual stares or snickers or some sign being taped to my back that said, “Kick me! I’m an admitted Tran’s woman!" When I was supposed to meet Mark for our tutoring session, he’d even stood me up. No text, no nothing. Had my admission made him so uncomfortable that he was done being tutored? It was a paid gig, so was the university going to ostracize me for admitting I was Trans?!

I was getting up from our tiny, reserved conference room in the library when I felt my phone vibrate, a text from Mark, and it said, ‘Not feeling so hot; mind going over some of my homework here?’

‘Here’? Like there, his room ‘here’? I felt uneasy about that, but replied, ‘Okay, be there in fifteen’. As I turned to leave the library, I wondered if that was such a good idea. Panic, anxiety, and maybe a little bit of fear were front and center as I made my way to the frat house.

Any guesses as to how our session went? I’ll save you the brain cycles; it went as every other one had gone. He asked questions, and I taught him how to come up with the answers. Mark wasn’t the meathead athlete type—not with his major being biology; he had brains; he’d just never been shown how to figure out getting the answers he needed in a methodical and structured manner. Once he was shown my job got a lot easier (when he put in the effort), and I spent most of our time together correcting his answers or encouraging more thought be given to those answers.

Okay, so I’d panicked for nothing? Had I not dumped the fact that I was Trans on him?

For the next two months of school it sure seemed that way. Oh, we had a few awkward moments over that period where I’m sure he was going to ask me about it or was curious about why I wasn’t doing anything to fix my 'mind / body' connection, but he held his tongue. Until…

“Can we talk about it?”

“Sure, look here,” I said, pointing to the fractional portion of the formula on the page. “The coefficient is negative, so it’s non-alkaline, unless they’re asking for the effect of the heat variable on the solution. You see that, right?”

There was a long pause, and I thought for a moment about repeating it 's-l-o-w-e-r’ the way the answer could only be ‘non-alkaline’, but then suspected there was something more to his question because his face was telling me I’d missed something. I began to feel the panic rolling on faintly waiting for him to speak the words I was afraid he’d one day bring up.

“You know what I’m talking about, AD."

He pronounced my name ‘Aye-Dee’ which was his blending of my initials together because of the difficulty it would have been to just call me by my first name, which was Allen. AD, I might have looked into it, could be short for Addison, Adeline, or any variation of a couple other dozen women’s names. I kind of liked the sound of ‘Addi’ (Aah-dee) as a shortened version of Addison, a name I tended to like. The idea of taking on that name, should I ever decide to transition, was because Mark had been lazy about my name. Augh! Detour, as all of that thought was, I was going to stall...

“Not sure I understand your question; enlighten me,” I offered confidently, feeling nothing close to confidence and hoping his next statement was going to be homework related.

“Your New Year’s resolution, are you still considering transitioning?”

Augh! Deny, deny, deny!

“You realize I was beyond wasted that night, right? I’m surprised I didn’t tell you I wanted a pony when I was younger,” I replied sarcastically.

“Actually, you talked quite a bit that night—nothing about a horse that I can recall. Do you remember I asked if that was your New Year’s resolution, to explore transitioning, and you said it was? Look, I’m going to respect your privacy on this and have obviously, and I’m really not trying to push or anything. We’re friends; I just feel like you... Well, you’re not happy, and if I can help you in any way, I want you to know I’d be there for you. You’ve helped me so much; I just want to repay you if I can.”

What happened next? Oh I continued to deny all of it, as best I could, and that his assumption that I was unhappy was unfounded. Then I assured him I was happy, happy, happy, and not even the slightest bit depressed or whatever. Next came a “Thank you...” which included placing my hand on his for a fraction of a second, and because that felt oddly out of character, I stopped making eye contact with him as I told him I appreciated his being my friend. And then…

I rolled right back into explaining the equation he was trying to understand. The answer was absolutely ‘non-alkaline’.

When our session was over, I quickly packed up my things and got out of there before we could jump back into the topic I’d denied, could barely breathe while denying it, and walked wearily back to my dorm to collapse on my bed. I’d just about put the idea I’d spilled my guts to Mark on New Year’s Eve to not having every happened, but memories of that night became a little more clear after him asking if I wanted to discuss my being Trans. Augh!!

That night I slept terribly, and in the morning my roommate mentioned it sounded like I was crying during the night. He assured me I wasn’t because he’d gotten up to see if I was okay and found me dead asleep and mouth-breathing as usual. That was a bit of an odd thing to hear, but I told him it was probably just a bad dream and I was fine. The truth was, it wasn’t a ‘bad’ dream, I’d seen a future version of myself deep into having transitioned at a party with Mark, and he’d simply asked, “You want a drink, Addison?"

Why such a simple thing had tipped me over while dreaming, I had no idea. The next few months, I had similar dreams but also a few glimpses of my drunken New Year’s admission in single frame remembrances of some things I’d said. And as concerning as all those realizations were, Mark never mentioned any of them.

The remainder of the school year, I struggled with the idea that it was entirely within my abilities to transition, but fear kept me in the lane I was most sure of, not needing to reset my brain or life or deal with idiots questioning that decision. I continued to tutor Mark, and true to his word, he never pressed me about transitioning after that one time.

Once, after his initial ‘press’, he told me about his plans for his future, and I was surprised to learn he wasn’t going to pursue a football career after his senior year, next year. Why? He told me he feared being nothing more than a mediocre player at best and getting injured in a league that, for the most part, chewed up its players. That wasn’t the future he wanted. I found his admission interesting, and that wasn’t at all what I’d expected to hear from a player who had such natural talent (I may have read a few articles about him online to know that).

Heading into finals week, before school let out for summer, we met for one last tutoring session. We’d just gone over some minor things Mark probably needed to study more for his ‘Statistics for Biologists’ (BIOL 2510) course, and I told him I was impressed that he’d done so well (he had a 3.84 GPA in that class).

“Thanks again for getting me through the year. I really do appreciate you. I hope you know that.”

His tone was relaxed, his voice soothing, and his face held all the sincerity those few sentiments carried. I watched him extend his massive hand, and I took it, with the thought that my hand was still so much more girly than his giant meat hook, and we shook.

“It’s been my pleasure, really. I hope you have a good summer, and if you run into problems next year, let me know. I’d be happy to work with you again. You’ve certainly become more than just someone I’ve tutored,” I replied a little shyly.

“I feel the same way, AD. Hey, fears limit us; don’t give that power over to them,” he said, patting my shoulder, releasing his grip on my hand, and walking out of the tiny library conference room we’d spent many hours in this past year without another word.

I didn’t respond to that last comment, but I recalled that he’d told me about his own fears a few weeks back. He was certainly an interesting guy, and I probably should have said something about his respect for my privacy. Eh, maybe… Wait, he left something on his chair? I pulled the door open but wasn’t about to yell out to him, as he was just about to exit the library. I turned to pick up the tiny, ring-sized box and noticed ‘AD’ was written on top of it, and it was barely being held shut with tape at its sides. Had he gotten me a gift? My heart skipped a beat.

I carefully peeled the tape from one of the sides, and the contents got the better of the lid, causing it to pop off into my hand. Inside was a folded piece of paper that couldn’t have been folded any more to fit the space. Under the paper was a thin gold bracelet. Its delicate links were connected to a small name plate, which was facing down. When I picked it up from the box to see what was on it I got choked up and set the beautiful bracelet back into the box, trying not to cry while doing so.

It took a moment to regain my composure, and after I had unfolded the piece of paper, I read the note he had written:

I can’t tell you how difficult it’s been for me to see you struggling since the New Year. I get this has been something you’ve struggled with for way longer, but I’d hoped after you’d told me you were a transgendered woman that having one person out there willing to support that choice unconditionally might have helped you take that next, arguably scary, step. I can only imagine the pain and fear you’ve lived with all these years, and it makes me mad that society fears the idea you exist, when if they knew the real you they’d see an amazing person.

Mark

I was crying, might have laughed there at the end, and was having trouble getting my bearings as my heart would not turn off the waterworks. His note had hit me hard, but the bracelet was something more, a validation that I was in fact Addison in someone else’s mind and not just in mine. It felt wonderfully comforting and I believed he’d be there for me if I ever needed him.

The emotional ground I was on got interrupted by a tiny knock on the glass door behind me. I wiped my tears away and quickly put the boxed bracelet and note into my backpack before turning to the door. The look of concern on the next person having reserved the room after us was not lost on me, and I tried to smile as I opened the door, but it hadn’t helped.

“Hey ah… Are you alright?” the worried woman asked.

"Mmmuh… I’m, yeah, just a rough day, finals prep and all that,” I barely croaked before walking away.

I pulled my phone out once outside the library, thinking I should talk to Mark, but as the call connected, it went straight to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. He was either talking to someone or maybe he’d denied my call? Was that it? Had he said his peace and in...

My phone vibrated in my hand; a text from Mark.

‘Hey, call you later, Addi. I'm talking to my mom right now.’

The relief I felt reading that I’m not sure I could properly describe, and as I stood there contemplating those feelings, I had worried, no wondered, if maybe I had deeper feelings for Mark that were just beginning to make themselves known. That worry gave way to seeing a flashback regarding something I’d said at the beginning of the year. Panic was leading me to anxiety; had I crossed a line on New Year’s Eve with him?

Wait! If I had, would he have been so cool with me all these months? Was the bracelet a ‘pressing’ of my need to transition? No, no! He’d only once brought up any of this crap... And it wouldn’t matter anyway because I get to decide what I want and when any of this is good for me!

Augh! Did I just resolve that there was more of a want to transition now and I should maybe move forward?

Good grief! If I keep this up you are going to think I’m going bat shit crazy and stop reading this damn story! Don’t go looking for the wizard story yet! You’ve invested this much time, and I’m about done here, I think.

I turned around and headed back to my dorm and as I was approaching the front door of my building, my phone rang. It was Mark.

“Hey…”

"Are you alright?” he asked.

“Think so, just, well, I’m not sure how to navigate this... I mean, I do; I’ve read enough about transitioning, counseling, and all that." I rattled off quickly, watching someone enter the building and deciding I needed to be a bit further from the buildings entry, so I walked to a bench close by.

“Good start; you probably should talk to someone. You know there’s a support group on campus."

“I do, but I’m not in ‘admit it’ mode yet or ‘do something about it’ ready,” I said softly.

“Anyone ever tell you, you sound like a woman on the phone,” he asked, chuckling lightheartedly.

“A few times... I’ve been misgendered on the phone. Thank you very much." I could sense he was smiling. “Why is it that how I might be on the inside, certainly not outwardly, hasn’t freaked you out at all?”

“I really don’t have a good answer for that, Addi... I just see you—the real you beneath the shell, I guess. I’d wondered about what your real story was since our first session. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I could tell you liked me, but I didn’t get that ‘gay’ vibe from you. Then there was New Year’s and, well, the kiss and..."

“Whoa! Wait, you kissed me!” I barked into my phone.

“I didn't; you kissed me... You don’t remember?”

I stood there mortified, waves of panic lapping at my feet, a tingling in my temples, and my mouth suddenly a desert. I couldn’t speak…

“Look, no one saw; we were in my room. I’d just laid you on my bed, and you wouldn’t release your hands from around my neck. Is none of that ringing any bells for you?” he asked with the slightest tinge of concern in his voice.

I closed my eyes, willing any memory of that night to slap the fuck out of me, but I could only see glimpses of what he’d just told me. Was he screwing with me, though? Then, I saw it…

“You’re remembering, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice caring, calm. “Maybe this will help. What you said to me just before the kiss was, ‘I’ve wanted to get lost in these eyes.'"

I was unable to swallow, my throat closing up, my hand aching from gripping my phone so damn tight, and I remembered I did in fact have my hands locked behind his neck that night as he was setting me in his bed. I remembered looking into his hazel eyes, and after a moment, knowing I’d said exactly what he’d just recanted, and I had indeed initiated the kiss between us. Fuck…

“Addi?”

How do I even begin to explain this? Wait, wait, wait! Five months later, and no complaint or comment about something as monumental as this? Where was his head in all of…

“Look, you don’t have to explain,” he said.

Jesus! You’re a mind reader now!

"I..." and I couldn’t speak a clear thought if you’d offered me a single wish. I felt like there was more from his side of this though, but couldn’t pose a decent question until...

“Hey, listen, I probably should state for the record that I might have kissed you back,” he said softly.

“Wait, you kissed me back?!!” I chirped surprised.

“I did, and knowing you, your next question will be why, and the answer to that is that I’m not entirely sure. I’ve thought plenty about it, and, IDK, but I would likely do it again knowing who you are or could be,” he said, sounding confident and complimentary at the same time. “My mom used to tell me that a woman’s smile makes her pretty, and it’s her personality that makes her beautiful. I really think that’s you, Addi, and it’s tough seeing that and not getting to see the outward appearance matching what I know is there. I’m sure you’ve battle this, so no surprise there.

“Oh, she called right after our session and wanted to know if you liked the bracelet. I told her I hadn’t stuck around, and I got an earful for that. It was her idea, though, and it would be a lie to say it hadn’t made ‘Addison’ a little more real for me. I hope you’re okay with that. I’ll never push you, Addi; you do you and do it for you and only you.”

The end…

Huh? You’re wishing you’d read the wizard story instead because I’ve just cliff-hung you, and you’re not happy about that?! Augh… Alright, alright! So you pretty much got the idea I was not quite the ‘total package’ obviously. I was more the screwed-up one due to shipping and handling bumps, knocks, and rerouting. But the winds of change certainly began to pick up after school let out that year.

For me, it was shocking that Mark could see the woman I’d been hiding all my life and had sensed it maybe even before my New Year’s resolution admission. While I still don’t remember all that was said that night, I know enough to tell you that he filled me in on just how I let my Trans flag fly high and proud. Where that came from, other than the grease alcohol had been on my brain, is still a mystery.

Anyway, unlike some of the crazies out there, Mark kind of dug me for me long before I even began my transition. That was interesting to me because I had been into him since I’d first met him. True to his word, he never pushed me and was there for me.

How you ask? Mostly by letting me figure out my own way, which began with finding a professional to talk out who I was and what I knew to my core—I am a Trans woman. All that led to more doctors and more talking, and eventually, on December 13th of my junior year, a prescription for both Estradiol and T-blockers was prescribed.

Leading up to that prescription, though, were months of walking the walk as my psychologist had suggested. Oh, the anxiety I felt early on, the want to STOP transitioning and rebury my head in the sand—it was a daily battle—but Mark kept me looking forward.

And even though I looked nothing like a woman in those early days, Mark was there to keep me from feeling as though I were on this journey alone. I’d totally misjudged the reception I would get from the student body and the administration, and looking back on it, I feel like I’d wasted a lot of time not living as who I truly was.

Yes, the learning curve was steep, and while I approached much of this journey logically, Mark’s statement about me being the ‘dumbest smart person’ he knew held true—knowing I was a woman was a lot different and more difficult than bringing her into the light.

The end…

Really? Come on! You can’t accept all that and you still want more? Geesh! Okay, okay…

What do you want to know? Mark? Sure, so he tears his ACL in the second-to-last game of the year. While they repaired that and he’d eventually be NFL draft-eligible, his heart just wasn’t into it. The ACL tear also meant he missed his ‘Senior Night’ game, but was in his jersey, on crutches, and on the field to give flowers to his mom. Last bit of Mark news: before he graduated, he’d been recruited by a west coast pharma company to come work for them. His career was off and running (pun intended)!

Did I get to meet his mom? Yes, she is a very lovely woman, and I think we hit it off pretty well. By this time, she knew enough about me through Mark, and there weren’t any awkward moments in that meeting or afterwards. I was even invited to a Fourth of July family gathering, attended, and had a wonderful time.

Good enough? All your deepest probing questions answered? What?! NO?! Come on! You’re killing me here!

Okay, this is absolutely the last of it! In my senior year, I may not have finished my schooling where I’d started. I applied for a TEACH Grant and was accepted at a west coast university you’ve likely heard of. The location of said school may have been in the same city as a large progressive pharma company a friend of mine got a job at. And it could be that I learned I’d gotten accepted the week before this year’s Fourth of July gathering, and maybe when I told someone, I was kissed unabashedly in front of his family.

There! Are you happy now? No?! Contest stories can only be 5K words! Okay, one last tidbit about Mark and me, we are going to be…

FIN

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Authors Note: Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter; (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago). If you comment, I will more than likely reply, so let’s chat or not, or whatever floats your noddle.
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If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected] (link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...