(This is dedicated to all those out there who need to find their way through this complicated thing called "Transgenderism.)

 

If The Heels Fit

by Anne O’Nonymous

 

Tap, Tap, Tap.

Hello darkness, my old friend – I’ve come to visit you again.

The blackened room had one occupant, almost. Ken’s mind was not in that darkened area; it was miles away. An opened bottle of Cutty Sark sat on a table to his right, an empty glass beside it. A question formed in his mind as to just how much of that bottle it would take to end it all.

"Why is it as children we play games being grown-up, but as adults we can’t play at being children?" Ken mused, as he sat staring out a window. Cars moved and people strolled the streets, the city came alive through its citizens, but Ken was partly dead inside.

He wanted to play at being something, anything other than what he was. His perception was clouded; a depression started that afternoon and he could not shake it off. The inability to be a "man" led to disgust, and then depression.

Depressions aren’t evil, good or bad! They keep us from getting an overblown ego. We take the hopelessness we feel, look at it, decide what to do about it, and move on – end of story. Then, there are those depressions that shake you to the core of your being. Challenge you to say what and who you are, and when you don’t know the answers, make you find them. That is a journey of discovery, and you may not like or accept what you find, but you can change – the trick is in knowing what you should change!

Then again, what if you have no ego?

The current project at the office had taken days, and he just couldn’t get a handle on what the customer wanted. Mixed signals from copy, art and editorial came in, consequently he was trying to please too many. One would approve, one would want changes, and the other just didn’t have a clue. "It was his fault" they all seemed to imply.

Rap, rap, rap.

The door was starting to bother him. He wished the person would go away and leave him to his self-imposed misery. "What was he?" That was a question he repeatedly asked! We all want to be somebody – important, rich, famous – only he wanted to be a man, not this . . . this thing that he didn’t understand.

Oh, people have their places – women in one area, men in another. On the other hand, he had no clue as to where he was in the scheme of things. He had a nice flat chest, no hair; long hair on his head, none on the arms and legs; and, dolls – now what real man would have dolls!

The tears came easily: another questionable trait. He walked like a man, talked like a man; but, the similarity ended there.

The scene played over again in his mind. It was two hours of work, and his superior, Joe Wilson, grabs it from his desk, yells, "You took long enough on this," strolls out of the cubicle, up to the conference room and a waiting customer.

"It’s only a rough idea and those sketches . . . ," Ken shouted, only to be ignored. Maybe he should have followed, tried to explain the situation, but never got the chance.

Later, at the water cooler, he heard the jokes, that the customer was turned off by the ideas, and how Joe put forth his own agenda. It wasn’t the time spent, but how he was stepped on and taken over.

"I guess I should just look for another position, Sally," Ken said to the doll sitting in his lap, as he rocked back and forth on his old-fashioned rocker. He hugged the doll tightly; they were his only social life. If not her, then it would be Sandra . . . or Nancy . . . or Rose.

Sally was a 24" Victorian schoolgirl doll, complete with pinafore and petticoats. She was his favorite; the one who would always listen to him and his troubles. She didn’t talk back, interrupt, or criticize – and always there to just listen. That was all he needed – just someone to listen.

Bang, bang, bang.

"Hey, Ken! You in there?"

Somebody was at the door. He knew it was someone from the office and tried to ignore the noise. Was it important? How could that be, he wasn’t so important that the office would care.

"Go away," Ken practically screamed, adding, "please."

"Ken, it’s me, Paula."

"Paula, please just leave me alone."

Paula Drake was one of the nicest ladies in the office, hit on by every man there. She was a six-foot, honey blonde goddess with the prettiest smile. She even looked good in sweatshirt and jeans. WOW!

"Ken, something’s come up at work, and you’re needed."

Needed? Since when! Mostly he was ignored until something went wrong.

"No, Paula. They can find someone else. I’m not necessary."

"It’s the Miller children’s book – Lucy and the Sea Otter. Some of the artwork is missing, and the author’s coming in to proof the dummies and art. And Carson is in a real bitchy mood!"

"Oh!" Now he never heard that from her before. It must be serious.

"Come in, the door’s not locked."

"Thanks!"

There was a sudden shaft of light as the door swung open, then, "God, it’s dark in here. Where’s the light switch?"

"No! Please, don’t put on the . . . ," he said as he rose to try and hide in his bedroom.

Too late! The room was illuminated, and he was shown in all his glory.

There it was: twenty dolls of various types and sizes lined the pastel painted walls. A bookcase with a CD player rested against another. Then there was the centerpiece: Ken, or more properly, Kendra.

"Oh my gawd," came in a shocked whisper from Paula.

The object of her shocked attention was a five foot six inch auburn haired woman, wearing a white opaque nylon blouse, navy blue bolero and ankle length skirt, taupe stockings and blue lo-heeled pumps. The face was Ken’s, in a strange way, but the make-up was impeccable.

"Err, hi Paula. Look, give me a chance to change. Please," he pleaded. If anyone at work saw him like this, he might as well quit work. He would never live it down.

Paula grinned at the sight before her. "No way Kenny. I’ve strict orders to get your butt down there, no matter what! Now my job is on the line here, so let’s get cracking."

Saying that, she took his hand and half dragged, half carried him, doll and all, out the door, stopping only long enough for him to lock up.

Hmm, she mused, he’s not bad looking in a skirt, and he, no, she’s skilled at putting on makeup. I wonder how many years that took. This is definitely not something new.

It took less than five minutes to lock the door, travel down two flights of stairs, and enter Paula’s car.

He was fastening the seatbelt when they pulled out into traffic. The car Paula drove was a former police cruiser, with a special high-performance engine that now came into good use.

"Okay, here’s the problem," she started, dodging in and out of traffic, "we were supposed to get outsourced artwork, but it was destroyed in an accident. See, the artist was delivering it to the mailer when a truck hit him and totaled his car. The art was burned completely, and he has second degree burns on his hands."

"But I’m no artist! I can make sketches, ink and do fill, but draw?"

Paula frowned, then replied, "I was told to get you. You can explain that to Carson when we get there."

The rest of the drive was passed in silence. Ken wondered if Ms. Carson would fire him on the spot when she saw how he was dressed. Sinking down, he thought that if he hurried through the building she wouldn’t notice him.

Him? Still think you’re a man, Ken? Stand up for yourself, Kendra – you’re better than that, and you know it. C’mon girl, sit up and show some pride, dammit!

The familiar gray-painted brick building came into sight, windows ablaze with light. Usually, the place would be dark and deserted, but it looked like there was a lot of commotion inside, judging by shadows on the windows.

Ken thought that was a lot like his life: shadows on a world – not showing which was his real self. Maybe he was Kendra, then again, Ken. But wouldn’t one of them be a lie? Everything he knew said that a man was a man, not a woman.

"C’mon Kenny baby, Ms. Carson awaits, and you have work to do!"

Paula opened his door, waited till his seatbelt was unbuckled, then dragged him out.

"Okay, Paula. I’m coming, I’m coming. Lead on."

Oh God, she was fast – she was at the building door and holding it open for him. A real woman holding a door for him!

Inside, she took him by the elbow and led him to the art department, where Ms. Carson confronted him.

"I’m glad you’re here Ken," she started.

"Emm. Ms. Carson . . .," he managed to get out before was stopped by her.

"Ken! I need you NOW! I wouldn’t have cared if you came in here in a bikini, or a maid’s uniform, or, for that matter, a negligee. I need artwork, and I know you’ll give it your best shot. Julia, he’s here," she said, abruptly ending the conversation.

Julia Scolari was another beauty, only she hid away in her area, keeping out of sight of almost all males. He never saw her, only heard descriptions.

"Hi Ken."

Her voice sounded soft and sweet, like honey. She was his size, and as pretty as any girl had a right to be. Her jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and sky blue eyes lit up her face so gloriously.

"Who’s your little friend?"

He still had Sally. Now what?

"Err, this is Sally, emm, err . . ."

Her laughter was soft, like the oft-clichéd tinkling of bells. Here it seemed to fit.

"I’m very pleased to meet you Miss Sally. Ken, we have work to do, so let’s go. And, Sally, you can have a chair and watch everything."

Working around Julia was a pleasure. All it really consisted of was finding which drawings fitted which pages, which pages needed artwork, and then go from there.

"Okay, pages 4, 5, 8, and 10 are done. Twelve to twenty-five are scanned in, and ready. So it’s cover art, page 9 is a full-page art, 3 is a half page, and a frontispiece. Seven is a partial, I can handle that – so could you do a cover and page 3? The rest are either full type pages or we already have art."

Well, Ken, you could try . . . no, Kendra can do this! Hell, if you are going out, you have nothing to lose.

"Sure, Julia, I’ll do my best."

She looked at him, her admiration quite evident.

Ken sat Sally in a chair nearby as an inspiration and started on the cover art. After a few false starts, an idea came into his head. The idea took over and he was off at a killing pace. One hour later, he said, "Julia, would you look at this drawing and tell me what you think, and where I can make improvements."

She came over, peeked over one shoulder, holding the other for support.

Funny, he noticed her perfume and his mingling in a strange, almost mystical way.

"It’s . . . it’s . . . Hmm, could you add a little more rocks on that jetty, and have the waves a bit more pounding."

"Sure thing," Ken replied, setting about the task.

"Ken, could you read a bit of a page for me? I need to get into the mood of the story," Julia exclaimed.

"Be there in a sec," he replied, wiping his hands.

He walked over, sat beside her and read about Lucy’s adventures with a mischievous otter. It was a simple story line, repeated in many books. He often made up stories to tell his dolls – oh God, why am I?

Julia finished the drawing and showed it for his approval.

"It’s beautiful! So much detail and color in it," he said, a tear coming to his eye.

"Ken, you’re crying, aren’t you?"

"I’m sorry, it’s just that the picture is so . . . so pretty."

"Dammit, Ken! Don’t you ever be sorry for loving beauty! The world needs softness to balance the harsh realities of life. Ken, you are a real find."

"I AM?"

"The author won’t be here for another two hours, stuck at the airport. Let’s take a coffee break."

"Okay," he replied, as he followed her to the break room.

"Cream and sugar?"

"Please. Why didn’t you let me do that?"

"Because I’m closer, that’s why! You get the next, okay?"

"Okay."

Julia poured the coffees, added sugar to hers and stirred, deep in contemplation.

Ken put his usual one sugar and one cream in, then left Julia to her thoughts. Over the last few hours, he acted more female than male, sweeping the skirts under as he sat, his reaction to her, and now he doubted he was a man.

"Ken, I’ve been thinking," Julia said suddenly.

"About what?"

"You, mostly. Why you dress?"

"I wish I knew! I’m supposed to be a man, dress like one, ya know. All the stuff that goes with being a man."

"Want to know what I think?"

Over the short period of time they worked together, they worked as equals – each one trying to get the best from the other. Her input on ‘what he was’ would be from a different viewpoint, so: "Okay, I’ll bite, why?"

"Because it brings out the best in you!"

"HUH! Give me that again."

"Your femme side is a creative side of you. You want to be a man, so you want to rid yourself of what you see as a weakness. The femme goes, your creative drive goes – and you suffer in silence at that loss."

"You don’t think of me as a pervert, sissy, or, well, some other sick being."

"Christ no! Look – you use your male side for some things, and the female for others. When you integrate one side with the other, you can switch between them and use whichever side you need at that particular moment. There’s a balance in your life. When you try to kick out the feminine, you upset the balance, and everything goes out of kilter. So, Ken is one side, Kendra the other – they mesh into a wonderful person."

"I think I see what you mean."

There was a noise of someone else entering the room, then a loud, obnoxious voice.

"Damn, I heard you were here. Look at you, you fairy. I always knew you weren’t a man!"

Turning, Ken saw Joe Wilson coming across the room.

"God damn pervert! I ought to break every freakin’ bone in that skinny body of yours."

"Joe, get out of here," Julia shouted.

"Why are you protecting that freak? What you need is a real man to protect you, someone like me."

"I’m warning you Joe, just go away, please."

"Aw, just listen to him! Whatcha gonna do, you sissy – hit me with your purse? Jesus Christ, you are a faggot, a real pussy."

Ken had enough of Joe’s words, and drew back his hand, formed a fist, ready to punch out Joe. He could do it, of that he was certain, but he stopped! Stopped, why?

"Can’t even hit me can ya. Well, I can add coward to the list. Let’s see – you’re a pussy, faggot, pansy, fairy, sissy, jerk, and . . ."

Ken stared a hard stare at Joe. The answer was there. "Oh, don’t think I couldn’t put you down, Joe. It’s only because you’re not worth it!"

"Why you stupid asshole! You couldn’t touch . . . ."

"That’s enough, Joe."

A new voice entered into the fray. Ken looked at the door, and saw Ms. Carson standing there with a disgusted look.

"Joe Wilson, first let me say, I do hope Ken decides to sue your sorry ass for sexual harassment and discrimination, and I will be a witness to that. Next, Ken is too much of a gentleman to strike out at you, only you are too much of an idiot to see that. Thirdly, since Ken is too nice for his own good, and personally I hope he stays that way, I will speak for him: Joe, you are an asshole, a stinking fly-covered turd, a fucking jerk-off, a cock sucking bastard who shouldn’t have been allowed out of the kennel and away from his mother. You have been a brown nosing ass kissing sodomizer from the start, a screw-up that should never have been hired, and now I take the greatest of pleasure in saying this: You’re fired, now get the hell off the property before I have you arrested for imitating a human."

"You can’t fire me! I have my rights, you know! My brother will take care of you!"

Ms. Carson enigmatically smiled, then spoke: "Joe . . . Joe, didn’t you read your contract? Section Four, Paragraph Three, Second Sentence: ‘The above named contractor has the right to immediately fire any person or persons whose actions are in direct opposition to the stated aims of the company or . . . has committed an act of fraud in any manner whatsoever, etc.’ Those diplomas you have are all fake, aren’t they."

Unable to give an answer, Joe slunk off to clean out his desk.

Ms. Carson turned to him: "Ken, Julia, the author is upstairs looking over the art and pages. She loves the details in the art. She’s willing to have two more pages done, and the publisher was contacted. They agree."

"Oh my. I’m not . . . I don’t have any talent, I mean," Ken sputtered, trying to make sense of what he wanted to say.

"Ken, you saw the artwork. Ken may not be talented, but Kendra sure is."

"She is?" Ken replied in astonishment.

Ms. Carson pursed her lips, thought for a bit, and replied: "You are a naturally talented artist, only you hide it too well. Ken submerges what is good in him, thinking it is wrong. When you become Kendra, or whatever you call your femme persona, that talent is released because you are relaxed and don’t try to hide anything. You wanted to be a man, but you never thought to be human."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ken went to sleep late that night, full of tired accomplishment. He enjoyed a night of working close with Julia, the nicest girl he’d ever met. Ms. Carson told him to call her Andrea, another wow.

The alarm went off at its usual time, followed by a phone ringing.

Grabbing a robe and slippers, pink ones, he got to the phone on the third ring: "Good morning! Kenneth Akers here."

"Good morning, Ken. It’s Andrea. Put on a nice skirt today, dear. I have a very important announcement to make, and you need to look your best. I’ll see you and Julia around ten o’clock."

"Err, yes ma’am."

"I’ll leave you to dress, as I’ve got two more calls to make."

Now what could that be about, he wondered. At least it sounded like he still had a job. Oh well, a bubble bath will do wonders.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

At nine thirty, he had checked the makeup for the umpteenth time when the knock came.

"Kendra, it’s me, Paula! Julia’s in the car."

"C’mon in. Door’s not locked."

"Kenny, you really should lock that d-o-o-o-r," Paula started, then shifted gears, "Damn, don’t let the guys see you, girl."

Now that was nice. A girl as beautiful as Paula thinking he looked good.

"Let me get my bag and we can go," Ken said swinging the bag onto his shoulder.

At the car, Julia greeted him with a sincere hug and kiss, oblivious to all passing by.

With Paula driving, and Julia holding his hand in the back seat, the ride to work was a pleasurable experience. The three discussed movies, books, and even which dolls they liked most.

"Ken, me and Julia were talking on the way over, and we were thinking about getting together and buying a house."

"Sure," Julia added, "with what we pay in rent . . ., besides you need to stay as Kendra at work, s-o-o-o, just us three girls against the cruel man’s world out there."

"I’ll think about it – that’s long enough. Got one in mind?"

On the way, they stopped and pointed out a pretty two-story brick house with rose bushes and floral gardens – damn, they were fast.

The time passed so quickly, one minute he entered the car, and the next thing he knew, he was at a full staff meeting in the company cafeteria.

Ms. Carson waited till all were seated, then began: "Last night, we had a problem that was quickly resolved. Fortunately, a member of our staff left us – Joe Wilson."

Oddly, there were cheers at the news of his departure, especially from the ladies present.

"Also, another member left us, Ken Akers . . . His job is open, and will, most likely, be filled by an intern."

"Oh no! He couldn’t have."

"Why?"

"Where did he go?"

"He was such a damn nice guy, too."

A confused Ken stood there, wondering about his future place in the company.

"Now, to replace Mr. Wilson, Mrs. Gloria Zinkowski was chosen."

She was the best choice, Ken thought, fair to everyone and knowledgeable – perfect for the job.

"As some of you know, the company has been in negotiations to expand our workload. We have obtained exclusive contracts to produce artwork for children’s books, a new line of children’s greeting cards, and card games suitable for both adults and children.

"Our first order for two hundred different pieces was received this morning from a greeting card company. For that reason, I am appointing our newest employee, Kendra Akers, to assist Julia Scolari in this new endeavor. Since they are equals in the department, the term ‘assist’ is used in the loosest sense."

- - -- -- - - - - - -

It was three days later when the first group of twenty-five was ready. Ken watched as they were scanned into the computer. Once the okay was given, color "seps" would be made, cards corner-marked, ready for plating.

"I feel so strange, Julia! I never thought I would see this day."

"You really did a fantastic job, Ken. They are all so beautiful."

"I put my love in them, so I know they are. I meant I finally went through a day on 4-1/2" heels without tripping once!"

"Oh, you," was followed by two sets of giggles.

 

That’s all from Annie O

(Axanar, Tigger, Hope you like this – I’m getting my feet wet here!)

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Ann O'Nonymous. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.