Autumn to Spring
by Denise Em
copyright 2004
I love autumn. Certainly, spring is wonderful, too - and summers at the beach restore my soul - but autumn holds so very many delights for me.
Not the least of them are the season's fashions. Some people like as little clothing as possible, but I like the ~substance~ of the cool weather fashions. Okay, it may be that their ability to hide small flaws ~may~ have something to do with my preference, but I'm not in bad shape - really. The little tummy I have, actually comes and goes, depending on how busy I am - and a girdle easily keeps it in control when I'm not busy enough. Plus, if I really want control, I have a selection of corsets that give me a figure that, I'm proud to say, can be quite striking.
No, what I like about fall fashions is the textures. Wool skirts - long or short; fluffy sweaters; supple suede boots; they feel so ... cuddly - and put me in the mood for cuddling. Then there are the satins, Summer is full of cotton knits and bare skin (slathered in sunscreen, in my case). Autumn is the season of sensual fabrics: charmeuse and challis - that are too hot for even the night times of summer.
Autumn is also the time for parties - harvest balls, Octoberfest, Halloween, Thanksgiving ...
This particular night, my friend J'neen and her husband Mick were host(ess)ing an affair that was sort-of a pre-Christmas gathering - too late for Thanksgiving, but still more than a couple of weeks before Christmas. However, this was a party with a difference.
* * *
Almost a year before, I'd been hanging out with what J'neen referred to as an "Artsy-Fartsy" crowd. And, I'd just been dumped by my boyfriend. She'd approached me with an invitation to come their New Year's party. I really didn't feel like socializing at that point, preferring the reliable, if short-lived, company of a bowl of Haagen-Dazs.
"I don't have a date."
"That's fine. There will be some guys who are dateless, too. They're really nice people. You might meet someone you'll really like."
"I thought your name was J'neen, not 'Yenta'."
"Matchmaker, I may be, but I'm definitely no 'Yenta'," she retorted.
She was ~quite~ insistent, and I finally accepted.
THEN, she sprung her caveat on me. This was a very 'special' group of people, she explained.
"Special? As in wheelchairs or braces?" J'neen and Mick had had a 'special needs' child, until three years ago, when the disease had taken her from them.
"No. Not like that," she paused, "it's just that the people who are coming over are ... well, they might be considered a bit odd compared to your average Joe or Jane - sort of eclectic, but in a different way than the folks you've been hanging out with, with Harvey."
I glared at her. "It would be nice if you didn't mention that name in my presence - EVER again." I smiled to show that I wasn't really angry at ~her~.
"Right."
"So what's so 'special', that you have to beat around the bush?" I asked.
"Well, like I said, they have a special need - for confidentiality."
I was now thoroughly confused. What was with with the 'confidentiality' angle? Then a thought wedged its way into my consciousness.
"Oh heavens, this isn't some kind of BDSM crowd, is it?"
J'neen appraised me with an arched eyebrow. "And what do you know about that?" she asked.
"Not much, really - I've just seen references to it on the 'net."
She got this mischievous smile all over her face. "The 'net's a really big place, what parts of it are you frequenting, that they're talking about ~that~?"
I was beginning to regret having this conversation with her.
"'What's-his-name' tried to get me to participate in some on-line forums frequented by some of the, shall we say, 'more adventuresome' people in our circle of ... acquaintances. Mention of things in that vein came up somewhat regularly."
Actually - now that I thought about it - such things had come up ~very~ regularly. Had I been missing a 'hint'?
J'neen looked very thoughtful as she stared at me - assessed me?
"So, what did you think of what you saw?"
"Sorry," I replied, "that stuff doesn't wind my watch."
J'neen smiled. "Well, you don't have to worry about it; that's not what this crowd is about. Well ... I can't guarantee that there won't be ~someone~ there who's into that, too ..."
Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow.
"No worries. Even if someone there is like that, they probably won't be talking about it. How do you feel about role-playing?"
I shook my head. I knew what it was, but I didn't know anything about it.
"Have you ever been to a Renaissance Fair?"
I'd been to several. I was even tempted to go in costume, the next time I got a chance.
"So what do you think about people dressing up as knights and damsels and knaves and such?"
Actually, it had looked like a lot of fun. "So, this is some kind "Society for Creative Anachronism" thing?"
"Nooo ..." she responed. "Did you ever see any of the damsels that looked like they might actually be knaves?"
Indeed, I had. Whichever they were, they'd obviously put a lot of effort into their costumes and appearance, and seemed to be having a very good time. Is this leading where it sounds like?
J'neen got very serious. "What I have to say has to remain strictly confidential - okay?"
By reputation, this is a stupid question for one woman to ask another. Fortunately, not all women are avid gossips - probably not even most. At my last assignment, in an area requiring a TS-SA clearance, there were quite a few other women working with me. A person doesn't get to stay long in that sort of work, if she can't keep her mouth shut. Maybe J'neen was counting on that aspect of my life as a ruling principle.
I solemnly nodded my head.
"Most of the people we're having over are - in various degrees - transgendered. Some of them will be spouses or SO's of a transgendered person."
All I had to offer was a blank expression - a fit match to my thoughts, at this point.
She continued, "So, even though it will look pretty much like a normal holiday party, there's actually a lot of role-playing going on - just like a renaissance fair."
I still didn't know what to make of what she was trying to tell me.
"You mean this is sort-of a 'way-after-Halloween' Party?"
"I suppose you ~could~ think of it that way," she offered, "but everyone will be dressed in normal holiday wear."
"I think you'll really like these people," she hastened to add. "They're ~really~ nice people."
Right then, that sounded way too much like telling a guy that his blind date 'has a really sweet spirit' - and we all know what that implies about the rest of the package.
"I can't promise you'll meet that 'someone special'," she continued, "but it might be a start that will put you in his path."
"There's something you're still not telling me."
"Well ... yes."
"Come on," I insisted.
"Well ... even though there will be more males than females at the party? It will be almost all women there."
*Click.* The picture suddenly turned clear.
"And the guys?" she continued, "They aren't."
"Aren't ~what~?"
"Guys - really."
"So you're telling me that this is some kind of a role-reversal party?" I guessed.
"Ummm, yeeeesss, except some of the women won't cross-dress."
"So, am I expected to come in some sort of 'guy' drag?"
"Oh, no - not at all. Not unless you'd ~like~ to, anyway. Would you like to? Some of the guys, er, 'girls' would like that - if you aren't ~too~ convincing."
I looked at her askance.
"Normal party wear is fine," she assured me, "perfect, even."
And so I attended her party. And, as she had said, they were really nice people - only ... some of them dressed 'funny' (more about that later).
And some of them had other interests that touched on some of my own. So that turned out to be only the first of several times that I socialized with J'neen and Mick's transgendered friends.
I even tried the masculine DRAB thing, once. It was kind-of fun, even - although I felt a little silly, wearing a guy's athletic cup to simulate a 'package'. One of the F2M (Female to Male) spouses told me, later, that it had really been an unnecessary affectation. But, hey, I wanted to do a good job of it. And, as J'neen had said, I did get a slight bit more attention that way - en-homme, I mean - not over the 'package' (at least, I don't ~think~ so); I don't know if any of the real guys even noticed that aspect.
After several such gatherings, I began to notice some characteristics of the participants. Remember I said some of them dressed funny? As in 'oddly'? I wasn't merely talking about the cross-dressing. Most of the 'girls' and the 'guys' were quite presentable, and - I'm certain - would have done just fine even in a public setting. At first, I wondered if the few others had some sort of a fetish going.
Well, it turned out that, indeed, some did - such as "Tammy Taffeta", who always wore ... taffeta. Others were wearing what their GG ("Genetic Girl": someone who was Female At Birth) wife/SO/girlfriend had chosen for them. And it turned out that that wasn't just the case for the odd dressers.
What startled me, was the discovery that were two classes of wives who selected what their husbands would wear to those affairs. On one hand, there were those who refused to let their husband/boyfriend show up looking dowdy, or guy-in-a-dress. Their partners were always dressed quite smartly. On the other - and in one way, their attitude truly mystified me - were the wives who didn't want their mates to look 'too' good. It didn't seem to be merely a matter of a wife not wanting her mate to show her up, either.
It took me a little while to ferret this out. The idea began to jell when I'd made a suggestion to one 'sister' as to how she could make her appearance more authentic, and the response I got was that his wife would never permit him to do that in her presence.
It nearly boggled my mind. Here were women, who were nominally supportive of their husband's feminine interests, but were insistent that his presentation not be as good as he could have made it - that he be unmistakeably a "man-in-a-dress". It seemed self-defeating to me.
So, this was anything but a homogenous group of people, even with their one shared eclectic interest.
* * *
Okay, so back to the pre-Christmas gathering ...
I was helping my friend J'neen hostess this party - it was a little too big for just her and Mickey (Mick's ~anima~). My task was moving refreshments and hors d'oeuvres from the kitchen out to the serving tables scattered around the living space.
Returning to the kitchen after one such trip, I barely missed bumping into a young woman whom I didn't recognize. She was carrying a platter full of fruit wedges.
J'neen asked, "Deni, have you met Marcia?"
"I don't think I've had the pleasure," I responded.
"Marcia Ramsey ... Denise Em."
Marcia greeted me with an open smile. "I'm pleased to meet you ... do you prefer 'Denise' or 'Deni'?"
Anyplace else, I would have just written off the voice as another 'Bea Arthur' - but here? Yet, even though the voice could have been a well-modulated male one, the inflection was quite ~female~.
J'neen continued, "I believe you have several interests in common - for example, you're both into corsetry and you both fly."
Now, if you get 20 or more T-girls in one place, you're going to find several who are 'techie' types, a least one in the health-care industry, one or more who are high-level executives, and several with military experience - the latter usually overlapping some of the other categories.
Finding a private pilot in such a group is a little more rare, so right away, she had my attention.
"Really? What do you fly?"
"Airplanes."
Yeah, right. There are a lot of different types of aircraft, and the qualifications are different for each. Either she was a "wanna-be" aviatrix or she was a jaded airliner driver.
"Commercial?" I asked.
"Oh, heavens, no. I got enough of the heavy metal in Uncle Sugar's Air Farce." That's the way she pronounced it - and she didn't have a southern accent.
"What did you fly, then?"
"C-17."
Okay, there was a solid clue that Marcia is actually, or maybe ~had been~, male underneath her skirt. Not that women didn't fly C-17s, but the terseness of the response.
"Umm, so what type do you fly now?" I asked.
"Whatever I can."
That just sounded odd. If someone asked me what I fly, I'd say a 'one seventy two', because the Cessna 172 Skyhawk is what I have the most experience in. Apparently, my countenance reflected my thoughts.
"Seriously," she protested, "I'm signed off on Cessna 152s and 172s, on the Grumman American and on the Piper Warrior and Tomahawk; and I have a few hours each in the Archer and the Seneca."
Well, she knew some names, but I was still skeptical. "No taildraggers?"
"No," she answered, "not yet, anyway."
"So, how many hours, altogether?"
She didn't hesitate, "A little over four hundred - in GA types."
I didn't say anything for few moments, and I drew another clue that Marcia was one of the T-girls: she hadn't asked me what I flew or how many hours I had, and didn't act suspicious that I hadn't volunteered that information after the quizzing I'd just given her.
"When did you last fly?" I asked.
"It's been a few months. I haven't had any money or time. Both have been tied up in the airplane I'm building."
Oh, he's one of ~those~ - a tinkerer. Yes, I'd decided the Marcia was definitely a 'he'. I didn't know any women who were building their own airplanes, except those who were helping their husbands or boyfriends. To be polite, I asked, "What kind of aircraft are you building?"
His eyes lit up with ... excitement? What had I got myself into?
"A CUDL-4. It's a composite aircraft, based on a Rutan design. It's not as fast as a Lancair, but it seats four and will still cruise at nearly 200. And it will go a thousand miles on one tank - 50 gallons - of gas."
200 is impressive - but until it's out on the ramp, it's just a pipe dream. I knew that most build-it-yourself projects never got finished.
J'neen had must have slipped out, because her arrival back in the kitchen with an empty platter gave me a chance to interrupt Marcia.
"Hey!" I admonished J'neen, "That's supposed to be my job."
"It's okay," she responded. "You two were talking, and I needed to be out circulating a bit, anyway."
"Well, I'm back on duty now," I told her, aware that I was being a bit rude, cutting off the conversation with Marcia that way, but I wasn't all that interested in sharing some guy-in-a-dress's aviation fantasy.
"Actually," she replied, "I need you right here in the kitchen. Could the two of you cut up some more ham cubes for me? We're going through them much faster than I expected."
She got out a shank of ham, handed us aprons, and got us started - then she then left us, once again, alone in the kitchen.
I noticed that Marcia didn't have any trouble at all in getting his apron tied in the back, in a nicely done bow, too.
After a minute or so of cutting, he asked, "So, what do you fly?"
Well. He finally asked.
"A 172."
"How long have you been flying?"
"Since I was 16."
I was being as terse as he'd previously been. I wondered if he'd draw the same conclusion from that as I had.
"You have a lot of hours, then."
"Over a thousand."
"Wow, that's a lot of flying."
"Not really," I responded, wondering if he really had been an Air Force pilot, where a thousand hours wouldn't have been much at all.
"That's close to 200 hours a year," he stated. "That's a lot for a private pilot."
Okay, that was pretty well done. Still, it was more of a 'guy thing', slipping in a compliment so subtly.
"No, it's more like 100 hours per year," I corrected him, "and a lot less than that, some years."
"Really?" he responded, "That would make you about my age, then. I would never have guessed."
Okay. Tinkerer or not, it was kind of hard to not like Marcia. She did know how to make a person feel warm and fuzzy.
'She'? Yes, for the moment, I was back to thinking of Marcia as woman - other evidence notwithstanding.
* * *
We'd just finished filling three platters with little ham cubes, when J'neen returned.
"That's enough, I think," she told us. Then she covered the shank and returned it to the refrigerator.
I did a quick washing of my hands, and undid my apron.
"Wash up," I told Marcia. "I'll undo your apron, if you'd like."
"I can get it okay."
Turning to J'neen, she added, "What else can we do to help?"
'We?' On the one hand, I wasn't thrilled about someone else volunteering me. Yet, that was a fairly womanly action, on Marcia's part: assuming that WE were all going to keep working together until everything was done.
J'neen responded, "Take a platter out with you - and don't come back - either of you. You've missed enough of the party."
* * *
Maybe it's just me, be once I'm in "hostess" mode, I don't seem to be able to let go of it until the party is over and the mess cleaned up. Well, maybe it isn't just me, because I saw Marcia doing pretty much the same thing as I was - talking with some people until she saw some empty plates or glasses piling up, then excusing herself to take them back to the kitchen. In one instance, we were both approaching kitchen door at the same time.
"Age before beauty," Marcia announced as she pushed through the swinging door just ahead of me, then held it open for me to follow.
I couldn't help but smile. Marcia's returned smile filled her face.
And we each returned to making the circuit of the various conversation circles.
* * *
At any party where you have more than about a dozen people, folks end up spitting off into little groups. Some would call them cliques, but in this case, that's a little harsh. I'd be more inclined to think of them as Special Interest Groups.
And so it was, this time. We had our circle of techies by the front window; our war veterans surrounding the coffee table; our Transsexuals (and TS wanna-be's) by the fireplace; most of GGs (including tonight's only F2M) sitting at the dining table; another group talking business matters next to the stairwell, and several people roaming from group to group, such as J'neen, Marcia and I.
I was picking up glasses from the coffee table, and stopped to listen to the current war story. Jennifer, an older 'sister', was weaving an intrepid tale of action in Southeast Asia.
I heard him mention the 23rd Infantry. My father had served with that unit.
"Excuse me," I interrupted, "when was this?"
"December of '68," he replied. "President Nixon was so ticked off after the siege of Khe San, that he ordered us into Cambodia to interdict the North Vietnamese coming down the Ho Chi Min Trail."
"Oh," I said, and, reaching for some empty glasses, asked, "any of these still needed?"
They weren't, and I carried them away.
Marcia followed me into the kitchen.
"Interesting, isn't it?"
"What's that?" I asked.
"How some folks can go to so much trouble to look like women, but then still sit around and talk like guys."
I wasn't all that surprised. After all, most of them spent 98% of there lives in 'guy' mode. It's not that easy to mentally divorce oneself from that huge a chunk of one's life - even for a few hours at a party.
Feeling just a bit mischievous, I challenged her, "Meeeeooooww?"
"Maybe a little, but not really. I just think it's kinda sad."
"No. What's sad is the ones who feel they have to embellish their accomplishments."
"As in?"
"Well, as an example, I think anyone who served any amount of time in a combat zone - anyone who ever had to listen to a bullet cracking the air above them, or even was merely close enough to a mortar round to hear it explode - is certainly a hero, by any reasonable standard. So why puff it up with imagined exploits?"
"Jenn?"
"Yes. Do you know if ... 'she' ... really served with the 23rd Infantry?"
"How would I know? I'm only a little older than you, remember?"
I nodded my head,
"Well, if 'she' did, she was never anywhere near Cambodia. My father was in the 23rd from March of '68 until March of '69. They covered the area around Chu Lai - that's near the coast - the entire time."
Marcia nodded her head.
"And even if some small detachment from the 23rd was sent there, it certainly wasn't by Nixon, he didn't have the authority."
Marcia grinned. "If we are to believe his detractors, President Nixon did a lot of things for which he no authority."
"That's just it, Marcia. Jenn said it was at Christmas time."
"So."
"Nixon wasn't President in December of 1968. He wasn't inaugurated until mid-January of 1969. He couldn't have ordered anyone anywhere, in December."
Marcia mouthed a silent "Oh."
Then, after several seconds of silence, she said, "Kinda sad, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"You know ..." I started.
"What?"
"After hearing that, if I were ever in a position to hire Jenn, I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"I'd never have the confidence that he was giving me accurate information."
"It's just a 'war story'," Marcia reminded me.
"But if he'll lie where he doesn't need to, what will he do when he thinks his job is at stake?"
"Tell whoppers? Shred the evidence? Kill the witnesses?"
"Good grief, Marcia, let's not get carried away."
"Okay, just the whoppers." She grinned.
"Can't run a business that way," I told her. "Sooner or later, we'd go broke."
* * *
The next time I talked with Marcia, she was in the kitchen again.
I'd run out of 'empties' to pick up, and hadn't seen her for awhile. And people were starting to leave. Had she left already? Without saying good-bye? I was genuinely upset at that prospect.
Feeling slightly morose, I saw an empty plate, and took it back to the kitchen.
There she was, along with 'Don', Rachael's 'husband', loading plates into the dishwasher.
"You can give that to me," Marcia said, extending her hand. What beautiful nails! I don't know why I hadn't noticed them before.
"Hold it!" I ordered, as I stepped over to the pantry door.
They both regarded me quizzically.
I grabbed three aprons and walked up to Marcia, lifting the neckstrap of the fanciest one over her head. "Turn around," I told her, and then tied a big floppy bow at the small of her back.
"You, too, sir," I told Dawn, er, 'Don'. She let me loop the strap over her head, but then grabbed the ties and did them herself.
"It's a miracle that you haven't spotted your clothes already," I told them, as I put the last apron on myself.
Well, I started to, anyway. Marcia moved around behind me and took the ties away from me, making her own version of a big floppy bow above my backside.
When J'neen swung into the kitchen several minutes later, we were busily engaged in hand-washing, and drying, the glasses.
"Umm," she prefaced, "we do have a dishwasher for that."
"It's busy - doing the plates and coffee cups," Marcia told her.
"And this way, there are no spots," Don counseled.
"Just move on, lady," I told her with an exaggerated gruffness, "we have things under control here."
She appeared taken aback at that; then, clearly in mock anger, told us, "hey, this MY kitchen, you know."
Marcia responded tersely, "Yeah. So get out. Don't you have guests to send off, or something? We've got this handled."
J'neen threw up her hands and turned around, exclaiming as she went through the door, "in my OWN house!"
It was nearly three in the morning when we finally put the last pot on the dish drainer, and the six of us - J'neen, Mickey, Dawn, Rachael, Marcia and me - sat down at the dining table.
J'neen looked around, and said, "Thank you ever so much. Everything looks ... wonderful ... I won't have a thing to do tomorrow."
"Today," Marcia reminded her.
"Whatever. You've done a fantastic job - I didn't expect all this from you."
"Well, isn't that what women do - help each other out?" I pointed out. "And ~some~ guys," I nodded at Don.
* * *
We were one tired quartet, putting on our coats for the trip home. I was too tired to think straight.
The six of us exchanged hugs all around, and then we four went to our cars. I must have been halfway home before I realized that I hadn't asked Marcia for any contact information, nor had I given him mine. And I ~wanted~ to see him again.
So why hadn't I given him my number? Why hadn't he given me his? Was it an accident, in both cases? Or maybe he didn't want to see me, away from the group? Or had he seen my lapse - neither asking or giving - as an indication that I didn't want to see him?
Well, I could call J'neen tomorrow, er, later today - and ask her to give him my ... what? Phone? Email? Would I be seen by him as ~forward~ if I asked J'neen to give him my number? I knew better than to ask her for his. That's against the 'security policy'.
Then again, I didn't even know for sure if Marcia was single. Just because he hadn't mentioned a spouse, didn't mean there wasn't one. I tried to remember if I'd seen a ring - or a light band of skin.
Well, as things turned out, it was over a week later, when I finally got to talk to J'neen. I asked her if she'd heard anything from Marcia, and she told me no. I asked her to give him my email address - if he asked about me.
* * *
I spent the New Year holiday out of state, with my brother's family, so I missed any opportunity I might have had to see Marcia then.
Late in January, J'neen asked me if I was coming to their Valentine party. I told her I didn't have a Valentine right then, and didn't feel like being a fifth-wheel under those circumstances. For once, she let it go.
The Wednesday after that party, we had lunch together. After we'd ordered, I asked her if Marcia had been at the party. She said no, but that she'd called with her apologies.
That *witch*! She then let me sit there, giving me no more information about Marcia, until we'd finished lunch and were about to pay the bill.
"Oh, I almost forgot ..." She was lying, and we both knew it. "Marcia asked me to give you this." She handed me a slip of paper.
In J'neen's handwriting were the name 'Marcia', a phone number and an e-mail address.
* * *
Well, getting to know Marcia has forced me to change my mind about several things.
First was that she wasn't just a 'tinkerer'. The CUDL-4 is a serious cross-country aircraft, and she'd already fabricated the entire fuselage and landing gear. As she says, it's 60% done, with 70% to go.
Second is that there are, indeed, women who build their own airplanes. No, it wasn't because she turned out to be a GG. She had shown me a number of websites where others were building the same type aircraft, or had finished and were flying them. One of the was www.cudlgirrrl.com, where two women were in a partnership to build a souped-up version of the CUDL-4.
Another is that a man can be 'womanly', without having to abandon his real manliness.
* * *
So, is 'Marcia' a 'keeper'? I think it's still too early to tell. But tomorrow morning, we're going on our second '$100 hamburger' date; and next Saturday, we'll be spending most of the day in his garage, laying up a spar cap. It's going to be fun!
Author's note: A "$100 hamburger" is the one you buy when you fly somewhere for a lunch date. The actual hamburger is only $3 - $6, but the fuel and aircraft rental make up the difference. Of course, split between two lunches, the burgers are really only ... $50!
Oh, and the cudlgirrrls site really does exist, albeit under a slightly different name. They don't know me, and I'm pretty certain that they don't know Marcia, or at least not *as* Marcia. The canard homebuilders are a pretty tight community, so I can't be certain that they don't know about Marcia's 'bird'.
Deni
7-Sep-2004
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