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Date: Thu, 19 Oct 2006 12:12:00 -0500
From: C Johnson <ih35w@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Girl's War - TG Fiction
A Girl's War
By Cindi Johnson
October, 2006
(This story contains sex and violence; don't read
it if you're underage or offended by such content.
Please send any comments/critiques to the author
at IH35W@hotmail.com . )
Part 1
------
I recalled something my father told me during one
of his more lucid alcoholic states. "Danny," he
said, "always keep your secrets. Bury them deep.
Hold them down with a strong grip. Strangle them,
violently, when necessary. You let them out, and
they'll come back around and take you down. Trust
me on this, Danny."
That odd memory came back to me as I gazed at
Tania's reflection in the pane glass window. She
looked so helpless there, seated across from me in
the booth at Denny's, my old sweater wrapped
around her small frame. I took another drink of
coffee, and continued.
"So, after a year in Iraq, the last thing I wanted
to do was to go back. Hell, it didn't take me only
a few weeks over there to see the big picture. I
tell you, you won't meet any kids over there named
Bush or Cheney. Those damn bastards just send
other peoples' kids off to war, to die, while they
go around and give themselves huge "patriotic" tax
cuts. Those rich Republicans, they're really great
cheerleaders for starting wars, but you won't ever
see them or their kin go anywhere near a
battlefield."
"Yes," Tania interjected, "that's true. I'm a
Texan, so I really know how sorry a lot those
Republicans are. Down here, they literally get
away with murder. Murder of the poor, the brown,
the black, the gay. But what can a person do? I
try not to think about politics. It's hard enough
just living."
"Things ain't a lot better up in North Dakota,
where I'm from," I said. "Anyway, I wasn't
inclined to go back to fight for Bush's folly, so
I just walked. Didn't go back to my reserve unit
when they shipped out. Instead, I sat in a drunken
stupor in a bar in Plentywood, Montana."
"So how did you end up here in Dallas?" Tania
asked.
"Oh, I just drifted around and about, ending up
here. I had money, you see. Couldn't spend
anything during that year in hell, so I came back
flush with cash. I first went to Saint Paul and
worked for Target, but after a month I got called
to the corporate office. Apparently my SSN was
incorrect, they said. They asked me to bring in my
social security card. Well, you can imagine, it
was high time to leave Minnesota."
Tania sipped her tea. We were alone in the
restaurant, the waitress having retired to the
kitchen. Occasionally a truck would pass by, going
north, kicking up litter which lined the highway.
At three-o-clock on a Tuesday morning, even a city
as large as Dallas slept.
"So, what now? It seems you can't run forever, can
you?"
"No, I suppose not. It's just a matter of time
till I'm caught. Then it's either five years in
the brig or, more likely, back to Iraq. And, when
they send a guy like me back - an AWOL - well,
without doubt I'll be assigned the most dangerous
duty there. That's the punishment. Everyone over
there knows the game. I did, too, so I suppose I
can't complain too much. I'll spend two years
driving around Baghdad or Ramadi unless, of
course, I'm blown to pieces first. Which is damn
likely.
"So, Tania, now that I've spilled my guts to you,
tell me about yourself. Got any secrets?"
A smile came across her young face. "Oh, a few, I
suppose. For example, my name is Inez, not Tania.
And I'm from the valley, not the French Riviera.
The strip clubs, they want to make us dancers seem
exotic, so they assign us sexy names and
backgrounds.
"Oh. Well, I'm not really surprised at that,
Inez. So what valley are you from?"
Inez giggled like a young schoolgirl. "The Valley,
silly! Here in Texas, "The Valley" means the Rio
Grande valley. I'm from the Texas-Mexico
borderlands. And I'm Mexican-American."
"No French at all? Not even a bit?" I asked with a
grin.
"No," she said with her enchanting smile, "not
even a drop of French blood in this body. Pure
mestizo, I am," she said with a smile. After a
pause, Inez continued, "Well, Danny, you're a
wanted man, you're not rich, and judging from your
actions so far, you're not looking to buy sex. So
tell me, why did you slip that $50 bill into my G-
String back at the club? It just seems a bit out
of character for you."
My face reddened. "Well, Inez., you see., it's
been a while., a long while, since I've been able
to, well, to just touch a nice girl. To touch any
girl. I just wanted to touch your skin. It's so
beautiful, you know. So soft. So smooth."
"Why thank you, Danny. You know, for a guy, your
complexion is unusually clear. Baby smooth. You
don't look like a soldier, not at all."
"Yea, I know. I've always been kidded about that.
I'm too thin, too boyish looking. I think that's
probably why my father never accepted me, why he
always seemed to hate me." I had finished my
coffee and hamburger, and Inez had finished her
sandwich.
"Well, Danny, thanks for the meal and for the big
tip. I've gotta go home and get some rest. But.,
ahh., Danny, I do know someone who provides phony
ID's for some of the dancers who come up from
Mexico or Nicaragua. She might be able to help you
get one. That way you'd be able to get a job
without worrying."
"You think? I hadn't considered that possibility.
Maybe I should look into it."
"Sure you should. Her name's Sandy. You can call
her tomorrow. But., well., just be careful. Sandy
can be a bitch. Don't let her take advantage of
you."
Please, Inez," I said with an air of exasperation,
"I can take care of myself! After all, I am a
man."
Part 2
-------
I sat down upon the plush sofa. The room was
richly decorated, the walls painted in faint
pastel colors, the furniture made of fine
hardwoods. Sandy sat beside me, oddly close. Her
long legs and bare feet held my gaze.
I had called her earlier that day, and she'd
provided me directions to a large, old house
located in Oak Cliff, just east of downtown
Dallas. An enormous live oak tree dominated the
large front yard of Sandy's home. I had expected
to meet an older, weathered woman with face lined
by smoking, drinking and whoring, but instead was
confronted by a tall, slender blond woman who
appeared to be about my age. Sandy was beautiful.
"After your call I talked with Tania, who told me
a bit of your background. She insists you're not a
policeman. Are you?"
"No. No, of course not"
"Give me your wallet."
"Why?" I said hesitantly.
"Just give it to me."
I did so. Sandy went through it for a few minutes,
checking all ID's I had, as well as counting the
money in it, then handed it back to me.
"So, Daniel, you need a new identity?"
"That's correct, ma'am. Inez said that you might
be able to help me."
"Yes, so I've been told. Tania must learn to be
less trusting. But OK, Daniel, you seem a
reasonable person. Here's what I have." Sandy set
three manila folders on the coffee table in front
of us. She opened the first and pulled out a
number of documents, including a Texas driver's
license, for a man named Reginald Jackson.
Reginald's photo showed him to be an overweight,
middle-aged black man.
"This surely won't do, will it," Sandy said.
"You're too skinny and far too white."
The next envelope held documents for a hispanic
woman, Josie Garcia, who was just 5 foot 3 inches
tall.
"No good, either," Sandy said, then took up the
third envelope and spread its contents out before
me.
"Hmmm," Sandy said, as if an idea had just
occurred to her. The ID was for a 23 year old
female, brown hair and blue eyes, five foot eight
and 135 pounds. Angela Smith was the name on the
drivers license. Sandy carefully looked over each
document in the folder, including a social
security card, a birth certificate (this imaginary
Angela was born in Des Moines, Iowa), a high
school diploma- class of 2004, immunization
records, a credit card, a library card, everything
except a passport.
"This is it, Daniel. I only have three options,
and the only one which could possibly fit you is
this identity. So, do you feel like becoming.,
Angela Smith?"
"Huh? That'll never work. I need a male ID."
"Suit yourself. It's your choice. $1,000 and you
can have a new identity. Today. Think about it."
"I don't have that much. Not even close. Plus, I
need a male ID. But thanks anyhow, ma'am." As I
began to rise from the sofa Sandy put her hand
upon my thigh, signaling me to remain seated.
"Hear me out. You can become Angela for a little
while. I need some help at the club and here at
the house, a handyman -or handygirl - if you will.
You can easily earn enough to pay off the cost of
the ID."
"But I'm not female, ma'am," I said incredulously.
"What good will that ID do me?"
"Look Daniel," Sandy said. "You are about the same
height as Angela and I'd guess you weigh even less
than her. My dancers are good with makeup; they
can have you looking like a girl in no time. We'll
snap your photo and insert it into the drivers
license, and presto!, you no longer need to worry
about past legal troubles. Think it over, Angela.
If you decide to accept the job, you'll live here
with my dancers and me; there's an extra bed in
the downstairs storeroom. You'll have to work
hard, no doubt about it. But you might enjoy it.
Think it over. Let Tania know if you change your
mind." Sandy got up and led me to the door.
"Goodbye, Angela," she said as I left.
Part 3
---------
A week went by. Then another. Danny didn't give
the offer much thought; when leaving Sandy's home
he thought how odd the encounter was, thinking
that maybe he or Sandy just misunderstood each
other. Did Sandy mean he should try to change the
documents to reflect a male? But Angela? One
could argue that a man might be named Angel, but
not Angela. Regardless, he soon put the strange
encounter out of his mind. Just tolerating the
extreme July heat was trying enough; it reminded
him of Iraq and all that he hoped to forget. But
Danny was going broke; even a cheap hotel taxed
his resources. One night he returned to the strip
club for a beer. Inez asked him for a ride home.
Inez, wearing a very short skirt and three inch
high heels, carefully buckled her seat belt as
Danny exited the parking lot.
"How have you been, Danny?" she asked.
"Oh, not too good, actually. I'm thinking of
turning myself in. It's better than sleeping under
a bridge, which is where I'll soon be."
"Sorry to hear that, Danny. But Sandy said she
offered you work. Why don't you want to work for
her?"
"The only ID she had was a female's. I'm not sure,
but I think she wanted me to pretend to be a girl
or something. Really weird, Inez."
"So, what's wrong with that? You're not big and
fat, Danny. You could fit into Cherise's clothes,
I'm sure. And your face is as smooth as mine.
Besides, then you and I could spend a lot of time
together." Inez giggled as she leaned over and
kissed Danny's cheek, causing him to swerve onto
the curb.
Part 4
--------
My face felt very warm; I could tell I was
blushing. Cherise rifled through a chest of
drawers filled with her underclothes, stopping
every now and then to gently grasp an item by her
thumb and index finger and, after making a comment
of some sort, tossing the item onto her bed.
"Oh, look," she said contemplatively before
tossing them onto the growing pile, "well worn
pink panties. I hope you don't mind a small tear
in the crotch, my dear. Maybe caused by an overly
amorous man."
Cherise looked at me and, seeing me blush, smiled
broadly. Tall and thin, it was obvious why Sandy
had asked Cherise to lend me some clothes. We were
about the same height (5'9'' for me, 5' 8 and
1/2'' for Cherise) and about the same weight. Like
me, Cherise had also been raised in the north -
Wisconsin in her case - and was a recent arrival
to Dallas. She was 23 years old and had long hazel
hair, green eyes, and a bewitchingly beautiful
smile.
"OK, let's go for it," she said as she handed me a
white bra and white panties. "Put these on."
"But., you don't mean right here, do you? I'll use
the bathroom."
"No, Angela, you'll change right here. If you're
gonna live here, you'll be treated just like the
rest of us. Don't be so modest. Besides, you don't
have anything I've not seen before."
I turned my back to Cherise and slipped out of my
jeans and underwear, then removed my t-shirt. My
body was already hairless; Sandy had made it clear
that I was to always be smooth and shaven. She
said she despised body hair, whether it be on a
girl or a guy. She mentioned a friend of hers who
could treat me with a laser. I really had no idea
what she was talking about, so I hadn't protested
when her friend arrived with a machine and
proceeded to painfully jolt me for two hours.
"Come on, Angela, let me help you," Cherise said
in exasperation after having watched me fumble
with her brassiere for some minutes. "Really! You
pretend it's so difficult to put a bra on, but I
know you've done this before."
"I have not!" I exclaimed in protest.
"Never?"
"No, Cherise, never! Why would I wear a bra?
Jesus!"
"So., you maybe have a thing against women? You
think guys are better than girls, perhaps? I just
bet you're full of macho bullshit," Cherise said
in apparent jest as she adjusted the straps on her
-now my - bra.
"No, Cherise, not at all. If I did, surely I
wouldn't be letting you put a bra on me, would I?"
"I suppose not. Besides, you're cute - kind of
cute. In a girlish way, that is."
"Gee thanks," I replied peevishly.
After hooking the white bra onto me, Cherise
placed an artificial breast form into each cup.
"Silicone. A girl's best friend. Better than
diamonds any day," she said with a smile. "But
Sandy says it'll only take a couple of months,
maybe less, for you to grow your own."
"Yea, so she says," I said, blushing. "You know,
Sandy seems rather., well., odd. Maybe perverted."
"This coming from a man wearing my bra," Cherise
said with a giggle.
"Sandy did say that as soon as I stop taking her
medicine, I'll go back to being a normal male.
She's right, isn't she?"
Cherise had me slip into a pair of padded panties.
"How would I know, Angela? Do I look like a
doctor? But it seems to make sense. If you don't
take female hormones, then why would you have
female breasts?"
"I tell you, Cherise, I just can't believe I
accepted Sandy's offer. I wouldn't have, except.."
"Yes? Except what?"
"Well, Cherise, I kinda have a thing for Inez."
"So, you want to grow titties, girl titties,
because you like Inez? Now that really makes a lot
of sense, Angela."
"No, Cherise, that's not what I mean. I want to
work for Sandy because I'll be working alongside
Inez. Besides, the hormones won't affect my
virility. Sandy promised me that. She says I'll be
able to satisfy any woman."
"Well, Miss John Wayne, don't get any ideas! You
definitely won't be satisfying me."
We both laughed. Cherise, so pretty, was also easy
to deal with. Friendly, funny, and outgoing, she
made what I had expected to a difficult and
humiliating ordeal into an enjoyable two hour
escapade. Before long, Cherise had selected
several outfits and had dressed me nicely in a
pair of beige pants - although these were not like
men's pants, as they extended to only a few inches
beneath my knees - and a yellow mock neck short
sleeve pullover top.
While I felt odd, very odd, wearing these clothes,
what most embarrassed - and excited - me was the
realization that these were Cherise's clothes. The
bra I now wore had only recently caressed her sexy
breasts, and my panties had covered her female
treasure!
Having dressed me, Cherise then sat me in front of
a mirror and attempted to teach me the basics of
makeup. Another alien, albeit fascinating subject,
which proved to be far more than I could absorb in
an hour. Cherise soon gave up and proceeded to
simply apply the makeup onto my face, saying that
I would pick up the "art" of beauty over time,
with much practice.
My hair, already long, as I hadn't cut it since
leaving Baghdad, was beyond Cherise's
capabilities. She left the room and soon returned
with a wig. In only a minute, I had stylish, soft
hair, hazel-brown in color, cut in a page boy
style.
"So much prettier, don't you think? Until you get
to the beauty parlor, this wig must do," Cherise
said as she gently brushed my hair. I was
astonished at the difference the wig made. Without
the wig, I looked like a man wearing makeup, but
now, my reflection in the mirror was of a woman, a
young woman!
"Ahh., yes., It does look., cute.," I stammered.
Oddly, unexpectedly, I felt my prick grow hard,
increasing my discomfort.
Cherise then took my hand and led me on a tour of
Sandy's house. It was a large two story home,
originally a mansion for an old-money family, with
a half-dozen bedrooms, three baths, and a finished
basement. The attic was also finished into two
storage areas. We stopped by Inez's room first,
but she wasn't in. Nor were any of the others.
Cherise helped me move into my room, which was
actually just a storage area in the basement with
a small bunk bed in it.
Part 5
-----------
The next month or so passed uneventfully.
Daniel/Angela continued dressing as a female, but
only to a limited extent, never donning a skirt or
dress, and when not working he often reverted to
male form. His work included cleaning the house
and the nightclub, grounds keeping, general
maintenance and, on occasion, female tasks such as
cooking and ironing. But Angela didn't mind,
really, as Daniel remained dominant (he considered
himself a man, as did Inez) while Angela was
little more than an act.
Yet change occurred, subtly, almost unnoticed by
Daniel. The effects of hormones, which he took
twice each day, became more noticeable: a
softening of his skin, fat accumulating on hips
and face, tenderness of nipples and swelling of
breasts. Plus, his sessions with the
electrologist/laser technician had noticeably
thinned his facial and body hair, which had been
thin to begin with.
Inez and Daniel grew ever closer, yet their
relationship remained unconsummated owing
principally to Inez' reserved Catholic upbringing.
Indeed, freed from the worry of returning to Iraq,
Daniel/Angela had become almost cocky in his new
existence. Sandy had noticed his attitude and was
not pleased. Sandy realized she must reassert her
dominant position in the house.
Part 6
------------
After donning pale blue culottes and a white top
and slipping on a pair of sandals, I went up the
stairs to the kitchen to eat breakfast. Sunlight
shone through the window in the breakfast nook. I
was alone, seated at the small table, eating
cereal and drinking coffee, when Sandy and Cherise
sat down opposite me.
"Good morning, Angela," Sandy said in a somewhat
stern voice. She wore a loose silk blouse and
jeans, while Cherise was still wearing her pale
green flannel nightgown.
"Hi," I replied.
"Let me get to the point, Angela," Sandy
continued. "As you know, this is a home for women.
Not men. I made an exception for Daniel but only
if you became Angela."
"And I have, ma'am. Look, I'm wearing a bra," I
said, touching my hand to my breast.
"There's more to being a woman then breasts,
Angela. It's time you learn that, don't you
think?"
I didn't answer.
"So, Angela, here are your new rules, which you
may choose to accept or not. If not, I expect you
to be out of here by noon, and be sure to leave
all your female clothes and your identification
papers here.
"But Sandy, I work hard for you, don't I?"
Ignoring my plea, Sandy continued. "If you decide
to stay, you will be 100% Angela from this moment
forward. Throw out all your male clothes; they do
not belong in this house. And no more pants. I
wear the pants around here, Angela, not you! You
will wear skirts only, no more slacks."
I looked at Cherise, who was staring at me wide-
eyed, apparently surprised by Sandy's ultimatums.
"You will also completely shave all body hair, at
all times. Hopefully the laser and electrolysis
have already cured you of your hair problems,
Angela. And use makeup, for God's sake. Paint your
nails! You're a girl, Angela, not a tomboy. Act
like it.
Sandy turned towards Cherise. "Cherise, you and
the other girls must make certain that Angela is a
girl. All girl."
"OK." Angela replied uncertainly.
"As you probably know, Angela, we females have
periods." She stared at me.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied weakly.
"So, Angela, being a girl and all, wouldn't you
also love to menstruate?"
I swallowed hard, then answered hesitantly, "Yes,
ma'am., yes.., I suppose so."
"Well, Angela, you're in luck. Cherise just
started her period this morning. From this point
on, your period will coincide with hers."
I stared at Sandy, uncomprehendingly. What in the
world was she talking about?
"I don't understand, ma'am," I said. "What., how.,
you know, how can I.., ahh, bleed., like a
female?"
Sandy looked towards Cherise, then continued.
"Honey, will you help Angela with this? From now
on, instead of tossing your dirtied kotex into the
trash, I want you to give it to Angela. Let Angela
wear it. It'll make her feel more like a woman;
it'll make her smell like a female. You know,
Cherise, men have considered us women to be
"unclean" when we menstruate. We surely would not
want Angela to view womankind in that manner,
would we? So let her wear your bloodied kotex.
You'll have to teach her how to use a belt and
all."
"Sandy," Cherise said, making a face, "that's
gross."
"I know it's an inconvenience, dear, but it's for
Angela's own good. Of course, you'll need to let
Angela know each time you change your napkin so
she can change hers, too."
"Does that mean I can't use tampons?" Cherise
asked.
"Not for a while, my dear. But that raises a good
point..., Yes., that's it! Angela, in addition to
wearing Cherise's dirtied napkins, you will also
wear tampons during your period. Of course, since
you don't have the proper plumbing - at this time,
anyhow - you'll need to wear them up your behind."
"But Sandy," I retorted, half in shock, "you can't
really expect me to."
"Angela!" Sandy shot back. "Shut up! Like I told
you, you can leave if you dislike the new rules.
But if you stay, you will henceforth address me as
Mistress. That'll maybe keep you aware of your
status around here, don't you think?"
"But."
"OK then, you'll address all of us here as
Mistress. Now, is that clear enough for you to
understand? You either get to work on throwing
out your man clothes, or move out. I've gotta get
to the club." Sandy rose and, after giving Cherise
a peck on the cheek, left through the front door.
I could hear her car driving off as Cherise poured
herself a cup of coffee.
"My gosh, Angela, what did you do to piss off
Sandy so?" She asked as she sat opposite me,
setting her cup in front of her.
"I have no idea, Cherise! But she can't be
serious, can she?"
"Sandy is always serious."
"But I can't., you know., do that." My face turned
beet red, I was too embarrassed to mention the
subject at hand.
Cherise gently put her hand on mine. "I know,
Angel boy, but you have no choice, do you?"
Part 7
--------
"This must be really embarrassing for you, Angela.
Are you sure you want to go through with it?"
Cherise asked, her voice sounding concerned as she
unzipped her tight jeans, which then fell to the
floor.
"I can't leave here. Cherise. Where would I go?
Not only am I wanted by the military police, but
now I'm also a., a freak! Look at me: I've got
tits, for god's sake!" I cupped my left breast
within my right hand.
"Spoken like a true sissy," Cherise said wit a
laugh. "But yes, Angela, you do have a nice set of
knockers coming along, don't you? They must be "A"
cups already! Who would have thought that a boy
could grow breasts so easily? OK then, if you've
decided to stay here with us, then just calm down
and let's get this over."
We were together in the bathroom for what Cherise
gleefully called "Angela's very first period!" I
had stripped naked, while Angela was now down to
wearing only a pink bra and matching panties. The
bathroom wasn't designed for two, so our bodies
frequently touched as we undressed in preparation
for my period.
"Since you'll be re-using my napkins, I'll let you
purchase them from now on. But remember, get the
regular sized kotex. The large size is for
overweight women, and for girls who've been poked
so often that their holes stretch. I'm not like
that, nor are you - I hope.
"Do you see this belt that holds my kotex in
place?" Cherise continued. "Now you put on your
own belt. There, one is on the counter." I fumbled
with the odd "belt" and, with a little assistance
from Cherise, eventually got it positioned around
my waist and groin. Then Cherise removed her kotex
from where it was attached in front of her bush.
It was red with her blood. She gently used it to
wipe several smudges of blood from her groin, then
wiped the crack of her pussy with it. Finished,
she held the dirtied tampon by a corner, using her
thumb and index finger, as if it was too nasty to
touch.
"Here, girl, the joys of womanhood are yours!"
Cherise giggled nervously as I took the napkin
from her and attached it onto my belt, bloody side
pressed against my groin, against my so-called
manhood. I blushed and my hands trembled. I kept
glancing at our reflection in the large bathroom
mirror, at me, my body hairless, toenails and
fingernails painted bright red, little titties
where only two months earlier was a hairy male
chest. And now I wore the ultimate humiliation.
"Good, it seems securely in place, don't you
think, Angela?" Cherise asked. I was too stunned
to answer. "Now remember, you must leave that on
until I change mine. Only then will you remove
that one and replace it with another of my used
napkins. Sandy's orders, you know. If I change
mine and you're not around, I'll put the dirty one
in one of these kotex bags and set it in your
room, on your bed. OK? And I'll give you a call to
make sure you know that you have to change it."
"What if I forget to change it, Mistress?" I asked
in a whisper, barely able to get any words out.
"Oh, baby, I doubt you'll forget. It's not
comfortable, having a period and all. Plus, I
suppose your kotex will begin to smell. There's
nothing much worse than the smell of a dirty
pussy, especially if the smell is coming from a
boy-girl like you." Cherise pulled on her jeans
and zipped them up, then put on her white blouse.
"Oh, I almost forgot. You're also required to wear
a tampon, aren't you? Gosh, the next few days are
not going to be fun for Angela, are they? Get a
tampon from the medicine cabinet, and I'll give
you one more lesson in being female." Soon I had
removed a tampon from it's wrapping and held it in
my hand, perplexed.
"It's rather like a syringe. You'll stick it into
your vagina, then slowly push against the back of
the tampon. That pushes a wad of cotton into your
vagina to absorb your menstrual discharge. Remove
the applicator and there'll be a little string
extending from your hole. When it's time to
change, pull on the string to remove the tampon,
then replace it with a fresh one. Understand?"
"But., I don't have a vagina, Mistress."
Cherise rolled her eyes. "Yes, girl, I know that!
Sandy said you have to wear it in your asshole.
Now., any other questions before I leave and let
you dress?"
"Cherise, I'm sorry that you have to., do. all of
this.; it's my fault."
"No problem, sis. It's a hassle for me, but not as
much as it is for you."
"How often do you do this," I asked as she opened
the bathroom door.
"You mean, how often do WE do this? It's your
period, too, Angel Girl. OUR cycle is 28 days,
silly. Just like the moon. You see, as a male, you
were nurtured by the sun to be dominant, powerful,
bold. But now, as a female, you are lunar: soft,
quiet, mysterious, subject to the menstrual cycle.
You'll adapt. Well, gotta go, sis!" Cherise left
the bathroom and closed the door, leaving me
alone. I attempted, unsuccessfully, to push the
tampon into my asshole. It hurt too much. Luckily
there was a jar of Vaseline in the medicine
cabinet; after smearing lubricant onto the tampon
I was able to carefully insert it into me.
Finished, I looked at my reflection in the mirror;
a small string hung from my asshole and a kotex
napkin covered my groin. Tears formed in my eyes
as I pulled on my lacy, pale blue panties and then
donned my bra, carefully putting the silicone
inserts into the cups so as to give me a pair of
nice, size C breasts. After peeking out the door
to make sure no one was around, I scurried to my
little room downstairs and, exhausted, climbed
into bed for a nap.
Part 8
-------
Twice each week, on Sunday and Thursday evenings,
all girls living with Sandy were required to eat
dinner at the house. Frequently other invited
guests also attended. Apparently Sandy considered
her employees to be her family, and enjoying
dinner together on a regular basis was one means
of holding this "family" together.
Other than myself, no male was ever invited to
these get togethers, and Sandy apparently didn't
considered me to be "male". While I never felt
comfortable at the dinners, I had tolerated them
so far, mostly by keeping quiet as the girls
discussed all kinds of matters of interest to
females, such as soap operas, clothes, makeup,
and, of course, cute guys and creepy guys. Today,
however, a feeling of dread filled me as I
prepared for Sandy's Thursday evening dinner.
Cherise had suggested I wear a dress as this would
please Sandy. To date, I'd only worn slacks, so
the idea of donning a dress was daunting. Cherise
had selected a white dress with embroidered blue
and red flowers; it had quarter-length sleeves and
the hem fell to midway between my knees and
thighs. I wore a white slip beneath the dress. I
wore open-toed heels, as Cherise had said sandals
would not go with a nice dress. I took extra care
with my makeup, choosing dark mascara and a deep-
red shade of lipstick. Following Cherise's
directions, I'd also painted my toenails and
fingernails a shade of red matching my lipstick.
Prior to this I'd always painted my nails with a
clear coat polish; this was the first time I'd
painted them red.
It was a few minutes after seven when I ascended
the stairs; the butterflies in my stomach were
caused by the erotic feel of the dress caressing
my thighs and the repulsive knowledge that
Cherise's blood-soaked kotex cradled my cock.
The others had all taken their seats; the only
vacant chair was at Sandy's left. I tried to avoid
the girls' eyes as I walked through the dining
room, although I could feel them staring at me.
"Very nice, Angela, very nice indeed," Sandy said
as I reached the table. "Don't sit yet. Model your
pretty dress for us, please."
"Well, ahh., yes, Mistress Sandy. If you like."
"Walk slowly to the fireplace and back. Pretend
you're a beautiful model in Paris," Sandy
instructed.
I blushed as I did this.
"Pretty legs, Angela," said Nicole.
"I'll say," echoed Jenna. "Maybe Angela ought to
dance at the club. She's got the body. Don't you
agree, girls?"
"Does she! You really are pretty, Angel," Terra
said with a tone of sincerity.
"Thank you, Mistress Terra," I said shyly, feeling
very exposed as I stood there.
"Since when am I your Mistress, Angel?" Terra
asked, looking perplexed.
"Well, you see., Mistress Sandy thought that.,
ahh., I should use that title when, ahh, whenever
I address any of you."
"That's correct, Angela," Sandy interjected.
"Girls," she continued after a pause, "Angela has
a deep dark secret she should share with us. Come
on, Angela, tell us what happened today."
"Please, Mistress., I'd rather not. Please?"
"Oh, girl, it's nothing to be ashamed of now, is
it? Tell us, then we'll serve dinner."
My eyes stared down at the floor and I blushed
lividly. "You see," I said hesitantly, "well.,
today I., ahh., I started my, ahh., my period. My
first period."
Everyone was quiet for a minute or so, surprised
by my unexpected revelation. Then Jenna said,
"Well, Angela, congratulations to you! I don't
know how you managed to have a period, or why
you'd even want to have a period," she said with a
giggle. "C'mon everyone, a toast to Angela on the
occasion of her first period!"
I sat down between Sandy and Inez and the seven of
us raised our wine glasses in a toast to me. As I
sat, the tampon pushed uncomfortably a bit further
into my ass.
"Welcome to the dark side of femininity, Angela,"
Terra said as she set her glass down. I glanced
towards Inez; she was quiet, uncomfortable,
apparently embarrassed. All the girls knew that
Inez and I liked each other.
Part 9
---------
"What do you mean, you're on your period? Come on,
Danny! Was this your idea?" Inez's voice trembled
and her lower lip quivered. She was helping me
wash dishes. She wore jeans and an orange t-shirt,
while I wore a frilly pink apron covering my white
dress. In my high heels I stood several inches
higher than Inez, who wore cheap tennis shoes.
Carrie and Terra had left for the club,
accompanied by Sandy. Nicole and Jenna were
watching television in the living room.
"Of course not, Mistress. Sandy made me do it."
"Stop calling me "Mistress"," Inez said
forcefully, her face red with anger.
"I'm sorry, Inez. It's Sandy's orders."
"I don't want to be your mistress! I want to be
your girlfriend. Danny's girlfriend!"
"You are, Inez. Look, this will pass. Sandy is
ticked off about something. I don't know what.
She'll cool down, and we'll get back to normal."
Inez smiled a bit. "Normal being my boyfriend
having little titties and wearing a dress?"
"Yea, I suppose so. But I can be anything you
want, Inez. Give me a month away from here and
I'll be a hairy ape-man, if that's what you want."
"No, Angela, that's not what I want." Inez leaned
over, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed my lips.
She smelled of dish soap and perfume. "I like my
pretty boy with his smooth skin and titties. You
know that."
"And I like you, Inez. I'm in love with you, you
know."
"I guessed as much, Angela." Inez smiled warmly.
"So tell me, how can my boy have a period? Surely
even Sandy couldn't pull off a miracle like that."
My face reddened and I gazed at the floor. "It's
Cherise. I have to wear her, ahh, kotexes, after
she gets them bloody. Plus, Sandy says I have to
wear a tampon in, ahh, my rear end, you know."
Inez let loose of my forearms, and was quiet for a
long minute. She stared into my eyes; I saw her
frown.
"That's nasty, Danny."
I remained quiet. What could I say? Inez was
right. No man, no man should ever do such a thing!
"So., you'll have to do this every month? Whenever
Cherise has a period, you do too?"
"Yes, Inez, I suppose so. It's either that or
leave the house. Cherise says it happens every 28
days."
"I know that, Angela. I am the real girl here,
aren't I?"
"Of course you are. I'm not female. I don't want
to be female. You know that."
"I think I know that. Sometimes I have doubts,
Angela."
I removed the pink apron and took Inez' hand.
"Let's go watch television and have a bit more
wine. OK? Sit together on the couch. Cuddle. Maybe
we can play around a bit."
"OK, Angela, let's go watch TV. But since you're
on your period, we surely won't be playing around.
I'm not gonna let your cock, red with Cherise's
discharge, slip into my body. No way, girl," Inez
said, her cute mouth frozen into a frown,
obviously unhappy with my latest venture into
womanhood.
Part 10
---------
"He's my boyfriend," Inez said, her voice
trembling. "Mine! I won't let you do it! Danny's a
man! Not a girl. A man!" The discussion had, over
the past fifteen minutes, led to flared tempers
and now to tears.
Sandy and Cherise were seated on the couch while
Inez/Tania stood, tears streaming from her angry
dark eyes.
"Yes" Sandy said, "Angela is your man. So be it,
Tania. But he cannot both be a "real man" and live
here with us. You know that."
"But Sandy! You make him call us all "Mistress".
Why? And having to wear Cherise's rags. Why? Why?
It's just not fair. Danny's a nice boy. He likes
me!"
"Look, Tania. He's still yours. But now he's
better. He's improved. Angela will be able to
understand you, to empathize with your issues. How
many guys have you known who ever cared about the
fact that you were on your period? How many?"
"None, I suppose," Inez replied, sheepishly, as
she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"No, none!" Sandy's voice rose. "Guys never care.
Each month we females suffer through our periods,
get depressed, hurt, and all our men want to know
is when they can poke their damn pricks back into
us! Well, Danny will be different. Just give it a
try, OK? If, six months from now, you're still
unhappy with the new Angela, I'll toss out the
hormones and get a male ID for your boyfriend.
OK?"
After a long pause, Inez mumbled softly, "Yes,
Sandy. Six months."
Cherise stood up and warmly hugged the pretty
Hispanic dancer from The Valley, while Sandy
watched, a look of triumph upon her face.
Part 11
---------
It was three a.m. on a Tuesday morning when I
pulled into the park surrounding White Rock Lake.
Inez had finished her night of dancing and I'd
cleaned up the club, took out the trash, and made
sure the money was locked securely in the safe.
Inez had suggested the detour to the park. The
night was clear and warm; across the shimmering
waters, in the far distance, lights from downtown
skyscrapers shown brighter than the stars.
"Are you sure you're not on your period, Angela?
Don't lie." Her wide eyes looked into mine,
seemingly searching for something.
"No, Mistress, I'm not on my period. Cherise's
ended three days ago, and I tossed out my last
kotex yesterday morning.
"What was this," Inez asked as she got out of my
car, "your second?"
"No. This was my third time. I tell you, they're
not pleasant. Not easy to forget."
"I suppose not, particularly for a boy."
"So, you want to walk around the lake, Mistress?"
"Not tonight." Inez looked at me, smiling but
clearly nervous. She took a large beach towel from
the car and spread it out on top of tall grass a
few feet from the shore of the lake. "Let's do
something different. I want to make love to you,
Angela. C'mon, take your dress off. It's time.
You've been living with me now for what? Six
Months? You are my boyfriend, or girlfriend -
whatever -, aren't you? Let's see if that boy-clit
of yours can perform."
"You mean it, Mistress? Right here? Are you sure?"
I looked towards her; she nodded. She unzipped her
shorts and they dropped to the ground, and in less
than a minute she'd also removed her blouse, bra
and panties. Her body was beautiful. I'd seen her
naked before, usually as she went into the shower
(seems I was always having to clean the bathrooms
at Sandy's house!), but never in such an inviting
pose. Inez approached me, naked, went behind me
and unzipped my yellow shift, letting it drop to
the grass. I shivered, standing in my white lacy
slip. Inez proceed to remove my slip, then
unhooked my bra. I wiggled out of it.
"My, Angela," Inez whispered as she stood before
me, "your breasts are beautiful. Nearly as large
as mine!"
"I know, Mistress. It's embarrassing. Each morning
now, when I look in the mirror, I see a girl. Yet
I continue taking the hormones. Why? It's not like
Sandy shoves them down my throat. I could just
toss the pills into the toilet - who would know
the difference? But no, I take them, each morning
and evening. Maybe., maybe I really don't want to
be, you know., Danny. Maybe I want to be Angela?
It's confusing."
"Shush, Angela," Inez said. Like a shadow, she
moved close to me and caressed my breasts with her
mouth and tongue. Soon my cock came to life. Inez
lowered my pink panties, freeing my erect penis.
"Ly down, my dearest. Boy or girl, I don't care.
You're mine, Angela. You're mine. Only mine.
Always mine. Ly down, mi novia."
Soon I was lying on my back as Inez straddled me.
Her hand guided my prick into her pussy. She
continued whispering to me as even as she began to
writhe, moving up and down, up and down. Sweat
covered our bodies. Before long, our love was
mutually consummated, our bond cemented.
Part 12
---------
"Damn it, babe, get up there and dance!" The
grossly overweight, middle-aged man slurred his
words as he reached over and grabbed my skirt,
knocking his nearly empty glass of beer to the
floor.
"Please sir! I'm a waitress. I'm not allowed to
dance here," I said as I gently grasped his hand
until he released his grip on my short skirt. "Let
me get you another beer. OK?"
"Great, you slut. Give me a drink."
I went to the bar and poured him a bottle of near-
bear, hoping that he wouldn't notice the
difference. I'd been waiting on tables for several
months, as Sandy had continued to increase my
responsibilities over time. I had noticed that
Sandy had come to like me; maybe this was because
I'd become more and more female over the year
since I'd begun taking the hormones. And while I'd
become accustomed to patrons trying to get into my
panties, this guy was worse than most.
Inez was on stage dancing seductively as about a
dozen men watched and silently sipped their beers,
their thoughts god knows where. It had been at
least four months since that warm evening when
Inez and I had our first sex, and ever since we'd
been inseparable. I thought to myself, as I looked
at her, so pretty with her dark hair and luscious
full red lips, that for the first time in my
entire life I was happy. I, Daniel Katowski, was
actually content and happy. The very thought
amazed me. Maybe I am unsure of what sex I am or
want to be, but with Inez, I'm happy. And she
loves me.
The situation at Sandy's was also much improved.
Sandy had allowed me to move in with Inez, as
another girl, Kim, moved into my basement
quarters. It was odd, but so very pleasurable,
being loved by Inez. Sometimes her temper would
flare over small things, like when I borrowed a
pair of her panties because all of mine were
dirty. Heck, our room was so full of lingerie,
skirts, blouses, dresses, shoes -lots of shoes!-
that at times it seemed I lived in the Misses
department of Macy's. Eventually we ended up
sharing most everything, including makeup. But
panties were different; because Inez and I now
both had periods, she was not willing to wear my
panties or to allow me to borrow hers.
The drunk sat at the back of the bar, watching me
rather than Inez. The underarms of his shirt were
wet with sweat and his tie hung loosely around his
neck. I walked to his table and set down the full
glass of beer.
"That will be $4.00, sir," I said.
"Well, dance and I'll give you $40," he growled.
"Sorry, sir, but I can't."
"Pussy, don't tell me what you can't do. I'm a
minister here in Dallas. A big shot Baptist
minister! I got lots of girls who want me. Nice
girls. They're not like you. You're a damn slut!"
Before I knew what happened he reached under my
skirt, which was so short it barely covered my
crotch, and firmly grasped my groin.
"Ouch! Let go of me," I said, trying not to yell
as I didn't want to interrupt Inez' dancing.
"Fuck you, bitch! Hey.," he said, feeling the
unexpected, "what the hell! What the hell! Fuck!
You're a faggot, aren't you? A Fucking Queer,
aren't you??!!" I noticed drool leaking from the
edge of his mouth onto his chin. I grabbed his
forearm and my fingernails dug into his flesh
until he released his grip on my balls. I saw
blood puddle on his hairy arm.
"Get out of here, sir," I said matter-of-factly.
"I'm calling the police right now, so please
leave." I tried to remain calm, but my voice
trembled with fear and anger. I turned and headed
to the bar's office.
"Faggot! I wouldn't let you kiss my dick, bitch!"
He cursed again, then stumbled towards the exit.
Part 13
-----------
Two nights after the incident with the minister, I
was again waiting tables as Inez danced. A dozen
customers watched her move; Sandy was in the
office working on the books. Suddenly three police
officers entered; one took up position at the back
door, the other at the front door. The third, a
heavy set, aging cop with a balding head,
approached me.
"Let me see your drivers license, ma'am."
I set the tray of empty bottles down on a table.
The bottles, shaken by my trembling hands, clinked
musically.
"But officer, I didn't do anything."
"Please. Just get your identification, ma'am."
I went to the office to fetch my purse, hoping
that maybe Sandy could help. She stood up and
asked the officer what he was doing in her bar.
"I'm here to check your employee's identification.
We've had an allegation made that your employee is
an illegal alien."
"What? That's crazy!" Sandy exclaimed. "This city
is filled with illegal aliens. At least a million!
You wouldn't come here just for that."
"Ma'am," the officer said, looking down at Sandy,
who was a several inches shorter than he, "a very
respectable citizen reported this. I have no
choice but to follow up on his allegation."
I removed my driver's license from my purse and
handed it the officer. I was scared, more scared
than I'd ever been.
"So, are you really Angela?" he asked me, speaking
quietly, almost regretfully. "I don't think you
are, are you? I'm sorry, young lady., or man.,
whatever... You'll have to come with us now. Take
your purse and your jacket."
I slipped an orange sweater over my nearly sheer
lavender blouse. I would have liked to change into
something different, maybe into pants or at least
into a skirt which covered my knees, but the
policeman refused to allow it. After handcuffing
me with a plastic tie, he led me to the squad car.
Inez, weeping uncontrollably, and Sandy followed.
Even Sandy, who had been unflinchingly strong
throughout the year I'd known her, had tears in
her eyes. The officer did allow Inez and I a
brief, sad kiss before forcing me into the back
seat.
Part 14
---------
I was ushered into a windowless, sparely furnished
room with dull gray walls, and took a seat at a
metal table. I was alone there with my thoughts
for at least a half hour, until two officers
walked in, one a full colonel and the other a
lieutenant. It had been a week since my arrest;
I'd been sent to Fort Hood the day after the
arrest. I quickly rose and saluted; they returned
my gesture and the lieutenant instructed me to
sit.
"Private Katowski," said the lieutenant, "we've
reviewed your file and reached our decision.
Rather than a court martial and lengthy
incarceration, we instead will allow you to
complete your tour of duty, after which you'll
receive a general discharge."
"But sir," I said, pleading. "That will mean
returning to Iraq, won't it?"
"Most likely."
"Sir, please, wouldn't it be possible to be
discharged instead? Even a dishonorable discharge
would be acceptable to me. I ask you. Please."
The colonel, who had not spoken until now,
answered simply, "No. We've made our decision. You
will report to your unit immediately."
"But sir, please. You've read my file. Look at me!
I'm not the same man as I was a year ago. My God,
I've got breasts! My unit will not accept me as
one of them. Surely you see that?"
The lieutenant spoke. "In time, Private Katowski,
you body will return to that of a typical male.
Our physicians have stated such. As Colonel Carson
has indicated, our decision is final." With that
the officers rose from their chairs. I rose too,
and saluted. They left the room and closed the
door behind them. I sat down and hid my face in my
hands, which soon were wet with tears.
Part 15
---------
It was, in a way, both expected and unexpected.
Angela had been in Iraq for three weeks. While the
members of his unit did not talk to him, neither
had they harassed him.
Angela, off duty, wearing male military fatigues,
left his barracks to get a soda at the vending
machine near the mess hall. It was nearly
midnight. A full moon eerily illuminated the
yellow-orange sand that covered everything here.
Suddenly a body blow from behind knocked Angela
forward; she fell to the ground. Surprised, she
felt and tasted sand in her mouth. Her first
thought was that she'd tripped over something. But
within seconds someone grabbed her arms while
someone else shoved a sock into her mouth. Two
soldiers dragged her to an empty truck trailer
parked at the edge of the small army base, forced
her into the trailer, then tore off her uniform. A
large white staff sergeant pulled off Angela's
underwear as two soldiers held him tightly. Angela
didn't fight back - she couldn't. There were a
dozen soldiers in the trailer now. Two bright
flashlights were turned on, focused upon Angela,
adding to the moonlight that entered the trailer
through a jagged hole which an RPG had blown in
its roof. The soldiers shoved Angela to the dirty
floor, where she lay, face up.
"Well, look here, guys. We done got a girl in our
unit. How about that! A girl with a little bitty
cock," said the overweight staff sergeant before
he spit onto Angela's groin.
"Or a guy with tits," added a black private who
stood alongside the sergeant.
"What a cunt!" someone yelled.
"Bitch!" another yelled.
"Faggot!" several yelled at the same time.
"So, men," said the fat staff sergeant, who
apparently was the leader of these thugs, "what
say we show the new girl a good time?"
"Me first," someone yelled.
"No, I get firsts! You get seconds," challenged
another soldier.
Soon they were all laughing and yelling and
cursing. Angela tried to cry out but the sock
prevented it. A soldier took out a deck of cards
and each man drew a card.
"Well, my oh my," exclaimed a stocky Hispanic
private. "The king of spades! Guess I go first." A
chorus of boos and catcalls and laughing followed.
The staff sergeant knelt down and put his mouth
near Angela's ear.
"Look, faggot," he growled, "you try anything
funny and we'll cut your dick off, then kill you.
We'll blame the insurgents, and no one will care.
Now you suck like the good little whore that you
are." He pulled the sock from Angela's mouth; she
gasped, taking in the warm air.
The Hispanic, who the others called Paco, soon
stripped off his trousers and underwear. Two
others grabbed her arms and forced her into a
kneeling position. Paco grasped his cock and,
using it like a blackjack, pummeled Angela's face
with it, to the cheers of the watching crowd. Then
Angela felt it push against her mouth. Opening her
eyes, she could only see the brown cock and Paco's
balls, which were partly covered by black pubic
hair. Tears streamed from her eyes. Angela opened
her mouth and the cock plunged into the opening,
gagging her. She gasped for air. The cock began to
rock, back and forth, in and out, in a rising
frenzy until, after four or five minutes Paco
unexpectedly pulled it out. Angela opened her eyes
to see why; simultaneously Paco came, shooting cum
over her face and into her open mouth. A roar of
laughter filled the trailer.
Next was a black man, a black cock. Then another
brown cock. Fourth was the staff sergeant; Angela
considered biting off his cock, but didn't. The
shadow of his beer belly hid the glare of
flashlights as Angela sucked the sergeant. He came
into Angela's mouth; she nearly vomited.
Angela wanted to get through this. She wasn't
ready to give up on life. Even during the terror
of this night she remembered her happiness, her
joy, her beloved Inez. The memory gave Angela
strength.
An hour or more passed. Angela lost track of the
cocks, the men. Some had come back for seconds.
Some even for thirds. Angela's jaw muscles were
painfully sore. Blood had pored from her nose and
dried thickly on her cheek. Then it ended. Angela
lay face down upon the floor of the truck trailer.
She saw the staff sergeant approach, holding a
shovel. He swung it at her head.
Part 16
-------------
I felt a cool wet towel wiping my face. I thought
it was Inez; I assumed that we were together,
sharing our bed in Dallas. When I opened my eyes I
saw a blond girl wearing a military uniform,
wiping my face gently. She looked so young. Then,
slowly, painfully, I recalled everything.
"That's it, drink some water. Try to sit up."
I looked at her and I began to cry. She looked
troubled, very troubled.
"I heard about what happened. I'm sorry. I'm so
sorry. Things here are just., just insane. But
come on, the sun will be rising soon. Come with me
to the women's barracks. You'll be safe there."
I stood up. She had me slip into a pair of beige
culottes and a rose-colored t-shirt, and sandals.
I was still too stunned to fully comprehend my
situation. She had a wig - short hair with a page
boy - which she put onto me. After wiping some of
the dirt and mud off my arms and legs, she had me
follow her. The base was quiet, although in
another half hour things would come to life.
Luckily, we encountered no military police during
the ten minute walk to the women's barracks.
"I'm Maria," the blond girl said as we entered the
barracks. "What's your name?"
"Angela," I said without thinking, then added,
"Thank you, Maria. Thank you."
"Hey, it's OK. You're one of us, kind of. Over
here, we sisters take care of each other." I
could tell by her voice that she was proud of the
camaraderie the girls shared.
We entered a small dorm room with two cots in it.
"This is my room, Angela. My dorm sister shipped
out two weeks ago - the lucky thing! So this cot
is empty. I think you should stay here, at least
for a while. It'll be OK with the sisters here,
I'm sure." Maria gave me a bowl of oatmeal and
milk. She suggested that, after eating, I should
shower and take a nap.
"Thank you, Maria," I said with heartfelt
gratitude as she left to go on duty. After
showering I laid down on the cot and immediately
fell into a deep sleep.
Part 17
--------
Angela's situation improved. Her physical wounds
healed easily while she buried her psychological
wounds. An accommodation, informal and unspoken,
was allowed her by the base commander: Angela
could remain in the girl's barracks and wear
female attire when not on duty. On duty, however,
Angela wore her male uniform and became Danny.
Even then, however, Danny cheated a bit, as she
often wore panties and a sports bra under his
uniform.
Angela knew the men in his unit would not dare
molest her when she was on duty. When not on duty,
she was always careful. No longer did Angela go
out alone after dark, and always she was alert to
goings on around her. Usually, when off duty, she
carried a small MicroTech switch blade knife,
affixing it to her thigh with a white lacy garter
belt.
She got to know the women assigned to the base.
They numbered about a dozen, and without exception
were young. Very young, many just out of high
school. The girls were scared - who wouldn't be? -
but brave. Angela admired them, yet felt sorry
that they had to abandon one or more of their best
years to this hell-hole which Iraq had become.
Angela became like an older sister to them,
helping them with some of the more physical tasks,
listening to them when they felt down, giving them
money when they needed to send some back to the
states for care of a kid or a parent. The girls,
in turn, helped Angela, getting her clothes,
makeup, and even a supply of hormones.
When on duty, Angela spoke only when necessary. He
didn't trust his comrades, not at all. In fact, he
no longer trusted any males. Men, Angela
concluded, were evil. Each and every one. This
feeling was reinforced during his hours on duty.
He was assigned to the job of "interrogation",
meaning he went out into the Iraqi town to
question and often arrest Iraqi's. During these
trips he often chafed at the way Iraqi society
treated women. It seemed the females worked and
cared for their families while the males stood on
street corners, smoking. Once, on a particularly
hot day, the hummer he rode in came upon the body
of a pretty teenaged girl lying at the side of a
street. Danny questioned many of the men in the
area and was eventually able to piece together a
grim fact: the girl had been killed because she
wore makeup rather than a veil.
Part 18
----------
It was Friday morning. Angela was off duty until
noon. She woke at seven, put on a cute navy blue
skirt and a pale green blouse, spent a few minutes
applying lipstick and mascara, slipped her wig on,
then went to the administration building for mail
call. She received a letter from Inez. Angela went
to the mess hall, got coffee and a roll, and took
a seat, alone, at a table away from everyone else.
Inez had drawn four little hearts, in red ink, on
the envelope. Carefully she opened the letter,
took a sip of coffee, then read the handwritten
letter:
My Dearest Angela,
Hi! I hope you are OK. It's been a week since I
received a letter from you. Please write. I miss
you so, my angel.
We are waiting for you here. Even Sandy misses
you. She put a photo of you on the desk in her
office. You remember the one: you are modeling a
pink one-piece bathing suit, showing off your
skinny thighs! What some of us girls wouldn't give
for such skinny thighs!
Remember the minister who turned you in? I've
enclosed an article from the newspaper. Seems he's
received an award of some type for being such a
true "man of faith". Laura Bush will be in town to
present him a plaque or something.
Where is justice, my love? Where? I cry at night,
sometimes, worrying about you. In fact, almost
every night I cry.
My love, my dearest Angela, I've made a decision.
We'll marry as soon as your tour ends. No, honey,
this is not a proposal - it's an order!!! We'll be
happy. I know this whole situation is so - odd?? -
what with you being kind of a girl, yet also a
man, my man! - but so what? I love you and you
love me. Let's marry and live together. We'll have
a child. Two children! We'll be happy. Isn't that
what really matters, my dearest? Don't we have the
right to be happy like other people? Don't
we??????
We'll get married down in The Valley. A Catholic
wedding. You'll have to wear a tuxedo (no, honey,
I'll be wearing the wedding gown!) and be macho
and all, but just for a weekend. My family will
accept you; they'll love you. You'll see!
Cherise and Sandy send their wishes. Be careful,
my love. Always be careful.
Your girl,
Inez
Angela set the letter on the table. Tears, bitter
tears, flowed from her eyes and down her cheeks,
falling upon the letter, creating wet stains on
the paper which spread outward like cancer.
Part 19
----------
Carefully, using a Q-tip, Angela removed mascara
from around her eyes. Her hands trembled, as she
was still shaken by the letter. Happiness, it
seemed, was within her grasp. Today she chose to
wear beige panties and a matching sports bra under
her uniform. She didn't remove the clear polish
she'd painted her nails with (none of the girls
were allowed to use colored polish). After
dressing she walked with Maria to the motor pool.
Maria was coming today because they were going to
interrogate some women at a school across town.
The Iraqi's didn't like males to question Iraqi
women.
"Maria," Angela said as they hunkered down in the
back of the hummer. "I'm getting married! As soon
as I get back to the states. Inez proposed to me."
"And you accepted?" Maria asked, smiling broadly;
her metal helmet covered her soft blond hair.
"Of course I'll accept. I love her! I'll call her
after this mission, if I can get permission to use
the phone. Jesus, Maria, this is just so, so
great!"
"Well, congratulations, soldier," Maria said
warmly. She reached over and gently touched my
hand with hers.
"You'll come to the wedding, won't you? It'll be
in South Texas. I'll get you a plane ticket.
Please? You can be my bridesmaid., I mean, my best
man., whatever!! You know what I mean."
"I wouldn't miss it. Heck, I'm half Mexican-
American. Maybe I'll meet a cute South Texas boy
at your wedding, maybe have a little "amor" and
all." Maria, beautiful even in combat gear, sweat
drops forming on her forehead, smiled at me as the
driver put the hummer into gear and we drove off
the base and into hell.
Part 20
-----------
The sun glared upon the torn city, one of many
destroyed during Bush's war of liberation. Iraqi
men stood in packs, always watching silently as
our vehicle passed, crashing over debris and
swerving around large potholes. The men didn't
work; there were no jobs. Children stared;
sometimes one would throw a rock, but rarely would
they hit anyone. Women were nowhere to be seen.
About fifteen minutes into the drive, the hummer
turned a corner. Angela was watching the street,
alternating her gaze from left to right. Maria,
clearly afraid, looked straight ahead at the back
of the driver's head.
A glint of light caught Angela's eye. It came from
an alley. He saw a man running towards the road
and another crouched down behind a rusted oil
barrel. The flash had apparently come from the sun
reflecting off the runner's gun. The other man's
RPG had already focused upon the hummer.
It wasn't heroism. No, it was mostly just a
reflex. Maria sat between Angela and the gunmen
who were preparing to fire upon the hummer. Angela
immediately shoved Maria's head down to the floor,
where she would be somewhat protected by the metal
of the hummer's door. Then Angela raised her M-16
and rapidly fired off three shots. The first shot
missed, but the second hit the crouching man. He
fell to the ground, unable to fire the RPG.
The running man stopped and pointed his weapon.
Angela and the man fired simultaneously. The Iraqi
fell to the ground, wounded. He crawled into a
nearby building, trailing blood.
Maria was at first surprised, not knowing why
Angela had shoved her, hurting her neck. Then the
noise of Angela's rifle shots deafened her. Maria
noticed the back of the driver's seat suddenly
change color, turning to red.
Part 21
----------
Crack!!
Crack!!
Crack!!
After each had fired three shots, the seven
grizzled old men set their M-1 carbines down. The
old vets hadn't known Danny. Sure, they were sorry
that another young man had died in Iraq, but they
were happy to send him off to a warrior's grave.
Death, after all, is glorious - if for a worthy
cause. Following the service they would drive to
the Legion Club in Plentywood and enjoy cold beer
as they listened to Rush Limbaugh on the radio and
cussed at blacks and Democrats, which, of course,
were rare to extinct in eastern Montana.
Inez stood alongside Maria at the small cemetery
set in the rolling treeless prairie just outside
the tiny town of Westby, Montana. A cold wind blew
the smoke from the guns towards the two girls. The
acrid smell disgusted Inez and frightened Maria.
Inez wept inconsolably. Maria put her arm gently
around Inez, trying to shelter her, just a bit,
from the cold prairie wind.
Danny's father, who'd been drinking heavily, stood
nearest the grave. Danny's mother, expressionless,
stood alongside him. The priest, old and wrinkled,
sadly took a handful of dirt into his weathered
hand and tossed it upon the pine box, within which
lay Angela's body, now forever still.
Part 22
-----------
The girls were silent during the long drive to the
Minot airport. The day grew colder. Snow began to
fall just as the sun set.
Inez' plane was already boarding when they reached
the terminal. Maria hugged Inez, and both girls
again wept.
"Angela accepted your proposal, Inez," Maria said.
"She was so happy. You made her very happy, you
know."
"It wasn't a proposal," Inez said, smiling
slightly. "It was an order."
After a long pause, Inez looked searchingly into
Maria's eyes.
"Why?" Inez asked, knowing there was no answer.
"So much death. Why?"
Maria and Inez hugged one last time, then Maria
kissed Inez' cheek. Silently, Inez turned and
entered the waiting plane.
The End