Standard warning and disclaimer: All characters are fictional. If you see yourself, buy a new mirror. Contains subjects some people may find offensive. If you are one of them, why are your reading this? Protect your kids. If you are worried about them reading this sort of material, please censor free speech and use a safe surfing program such as net nanny. Or better yet, teach them early and lovingly to understand and accept different lifestyles. Before they learn from bad experiences.

This is not as fictional as I would like. Much of this happened. The who, where, and other salient details have been changed to protect the guilty. It is also not as smooth or well-written as my newer stories. But it says what I think is important.

All constructive comments are welcome. Please e-mail to me: sam@pobox.alasaka.net or samanthas_michelle@yahoo.com

Finally, this is a piece of adult fiction. If you are underage, or if you find it offensive, please go elsewhere. Quickly.

 

Thomasina               by:   Samantha Michelle           © 1997

 

I had been in the military too long. Too much bureaucracy, way too much of the "new peacetime all volunteer force". In other words, how the government had managed to increase the level of mediocrity. True, all the new recruits had at least some light in their eyes, but to quote from a Goldie Hawn movie, the lights flickered. It was even worse trying to hire civilians.

I was, again, in the process of interviewing the group of misfits and mental cripples that Civilian Personnel had deigned to send us. The job was relatively hard and required dedication, but was only a GS-4. When the outfit gained another Colonel, he needed a receptionist, and so they gave him our GS-5 position to answer phones and look pretty.

I had just finished interviewing the only two people who were interested, and was on the telephone with Civilian Personnel asking for more. I got the usual reply. Pick the best one. I told them there was no best, just a least worst. They said I was stuck with them. Another waste of taxpayer money. Just before the end of the day, I got a rather frantic call from Tim, the assistant director of Civilian Personnel. It seemed that they had been amiss in helping out the local VA office in placing vocational rehabilitation candidates, and someone had gotten to a sympathetic congressman. They said they could provide another interviewee if I was willing to at least consider someone trying to qualify as a GS-3. They said they had a second candidate if I was willing to work with a less-than-complete history, and accept some rather unusual employment requirements.

I had the feeling I was getting the bottom scrapings of a very deep bucket. I smelled something a bit cheesy about the second person, but decided to take a chance. They said they would set the interviews up at their offices for 0900 and 1100 tomorrow. Having the interviews at the personnel office was decidedly non-standard, and I suspected there would be unwelcome visitors.

So I dug out my interview checklists, to ensure that everyone received the exact same questions and was rated in the same manner (I believe in EEOT, but there is a reality check needed). I went back and filled in checklists for the two I had already interviewed, and closed up the office late.

At 0800 the next morning I was at Civilian Personnel preparing to review the two applicant's folders. The first individual was ex-navy, with less than two years service. The folder was clearly flagged for special handling, and had a strong EEOT smell. It did not take much effort to determine that whoever he was, he was not qualified for the job. His SF-171 was almost illegible, and full of grammatical and spelling errors. Since no other language skills were listed, if English was his primary language he had skipped school since third grade. I completed the appropriate portions of the pre-interview listing, and asked for the folder on the second candidate.

Instead of a folder I got the assistant director of Civilian Personnel. We already knew each other, and kept our respective distances when possible. Holding the folder firmly in his hands, he told me that the individual was a special case, and that much of the information I would normally have available from the personnel folder was confidential. I asked if the person was in the witness protection program, and he shook his head. He then told me that there would be a senior VA EEOT representative at the interview, and that my selection would have to be based entirely on, and supported by, the interview and the information he was about to provide. I told him I had already figured this out, and shrugged.

He then added that there might be a need for special accommodations for the person, and that these would be provided by his office immediately and without hassle if she was selected. I told him our building was fully accessible, and he muttered that that was not the type of accommodation he was referring to. He then handed me a typewritten summary of what I would normally find in the individual's records.

The candidate was in her mid-thirties, with over six years active Air Force military training and experience in several non-clerical fields, including aircraft maintenance and electronics. She had just completed with honors an associate degree in management from a junior college, but had absolutely no job experience listed outside of her military service. This puzzled me, and I looked for service dates and found they were missing. Her civil service tests were very recent, and the scores were outstanding. Her curriculum vitae was detailed, and yet did not list where, or when, she had attended each of a long listing of differing courses.

I noted she formerly held a secret clearance, and the paperwork indicated that she would not accept entry into any position requiring top-secret access. When I asked who she was, as her name was not on the sheet, I was told that her name was Thomisina Alina MacAllister. Something about the name triggered a dim memory, but not enough to grasp. I asked him if there was anything else, and he remarked that he would be very, very happy if she met our requirements. I got the feeling that it meant getting her and the EEOT types out of his hair and into mine.

We conducted the first interview in the main meeting room, with a dour looking VA representative present. The interview was short, and to the point. I remained professional throughout, and thanked the individual for the interview, telling them I had to complete all interviews before making my decision. After they had left, I handed Tim my check-sheet and asked him to total the score. Out of 200 points the candidate managed just over 30. He nodded, and handed the same sheet to the VA representative, who also nodded his head in agreement. Tim said the second candidate was already in his office, and he would bring her in momentarily.

When Tim returned, he was escorting a stocky, well-dressed woman who stood over 6 feet tall in her heels. Tim seemed to be trying to stay as far away from her as possible. She neither plain nor pretty, with a face that was both hard and sad. She moved with exceptional poise and grace for someone of her size. Extending her large, well-manicured hand to me in an almost formal manner, in a rather deep and throaty voice said her name was Thomisina MacAllister, but to please call her Tommie. She added that she was pleased to be a candidate for the position in my office. Something did not feel right. I looked at Tim, but he had already moved to the other side of the table, and was looking at the folder in his hands. I asked her to please take a seat, watching as she made a production of sitting carefully and neatly. The nagging feeling that something was screwy grew stronger.

Keeping my eyes on her face and body language, while listening to her replies, I worked through my checklist. It was clear after a few minutes she was intelligent, well read, and had thoroughly studied the job description. She was extremely well mannered. Too well. Everything was amplified, or it struck me, almost like it had been rehearsed. Even her voice and diction were over-correct. And she never broke eye contact. Almost like an animal trying to make sure it was not about to be attacked. I began to wonder if she was a psycho case they were trying to place.

When I reached the final, open question phase of the interview, I decided to see how much additional information I could accrue. So I asked her where she had been stationed. She looked distressed, looked at the VA rep and Tim, and answered that she preferred not to say for personal reasons. Tim nodded. I tried a different tact. I asked her if she had any combat zone experience, and she nodded, then stiffened, looking frightened.

BINGO. A woman with combat zone experience, at the time very unusual. She again looked at the VA rep and Tim for assistance. Tim immediately asked if was finished with the interview, and I told him in no uncertain terms I was not. The VA person looked nervous, but they both knew I was following the regulations, and had spent far less time with her that the previous candidates. So I then asked several general questions that would require long, yet non-threatening answers. And disengaged my ears and thought. And it hit me. I felt that I had met her, or her alter-ego somewhere before. And it was almost certain that she did not recognize me. But if I was wrong, I did not want to embarrass her, or get myself into a tight spot with the EEOT types. As she finished a carefully worded answer to the last of my smoke-screen questions, I looked at her, and mentally stripped off the long hair, makeup, and fashionably tinted glasses.

Thomisina Alina MacAllister and I had been stationed together over ten years ago, in sister units. But I knew her as Tom. And that explained all the secrecy. But I needed confirmation.

So I looked her in the eye, smiled, and decided to ask her a couple of questions that would have no meaning unless she was actually Tom. I first asked her if she played pinochle, she looked surprised, but nodded, and I got the next question out before Tim or the VA rep could say anything. "Have you ever lost to someone with quad aces and triple 'nuks'?" She absently nodded, then looked absolutely horrified and collapsed to the table sobbing uncontrollably. Tim looked puzzled, then shocked and disgusted, and the VA rep hurried over to her. I got up, pushed the VA bozo out of the way, and putting my arm around her shoulder, said quietly, "It's OK Tom, I don't know what has happened, but you still are my friend." I could hear Tim mutter "Oh Shit".

A moment later Tom/Tommie had her long arms wrapped around me and was crying her heart out. I asked her if she knew who I was, and she stammered out "no". I asked if she remembered the Sergeant that used to run the best wargames in Korea. She yanked herself upright, looked at my nametag, stared me in the face, and said "Sam?". I smiled. She grabbed me again and still crying, tried to apologize for her behavior and for embarrassing me. I finally told her to shut up. That got her attention, and I said that whether she was a she or he did not matter to me, This started her on another crying jag. The VA rep finally decided to butt in, and told me that the interview was obviously over, there was no need to continue, and that I should forget everything that happened.

I looked at him, and asked if the military had forgotten to issue him his sensitivity. I then told him to leave Tom, or Tommie, alone until she was ready to move. I think my continued use of the female pronoun got to him and he muttered something about "another damn don't ask, don't tell" as he walked away. Tim was giving me a disgusted look, and her one of loathing. I told Tim to go get Tommie a Pepsi and a box of Kleenex, and that if he said or did anything stupid, he would be the one up on EEOT charges. Tim knew I almost never bluffed, and did not want to challenge me, so he was back in a few minutes with both. Shortly Tom/Tommie regained her composure, and when I had assured her that her secret was safe with me, she started to mechanically repair her appearance.

I decided that the charade had gone on far too long. Looking at both the VA rep and Tim, I told them that Tom/Tommie and I had been stationed together in sister units almost ten years ago, and had been friends back then. I said I was going to take her to lunch off-base, and I would bring her back to the CPO after lunch so she could fill out the paperwork to accept the job at my office. Tommie grabbed me and hugged me, and then drew back as if she had done something terrible. I realized that she was still uncertain of her role. I pulled her close, and told her that emotional displays were not considered to be appropriate when I was in uniform. She broke out with the first real laugh I had heard. I told Tim I was going to have a long talk with him later about professionalism, and he looked like he had just eaten a toad. A very warty, lively one. We headed out to lunch.

I took her to the local Denny's, and got a private booth in the back. She spent far too long in the ladies room, and when she returned her makeup was repaired, and the lines from her crying were gone. Without fanfare she launched into how she had completed her second enlistment in the service, but was so depressed about her life that she got out and drifted from part time job to homeless shelter. Finally her health deteriorated so much that someone who knew her got her to the VA, and they hospitalized her and began on therapy. After about a year her lifelong desire to be a woman surfaced, and she realized that she had entered the military because it she thought it would make a man out of her.

We both shook our heads sadly about that. After another year in therapy, she decided to become a woman, and started on hormones and living as a woman full time. That was a little over a year ago. She said it took a congressional to get the VA to pay for her to get special help in learning how to act like a woman, and she still was not good at it. She was able to get breast implants with some money she recently inherited, and told me that they were the real turning point. Smiling, she said that even her hair was real, and the implants gave her what other girls grew up getting. "Now when I get up in the morning, I look at least a little like the woman I have always felt I should be, not a woman trying to impersonate a man."

I asked if she had completed SRS, and she shook her head, and said that she had another few months before she would meet the Harry Benjamin standards for SRS. When I asked what that meant, she explained, and I nodded understanding. She said that the VA had been forced to agree to pay for the surgery, and she would probably be off-work for a couple of weeks after. She looked downcast, and asked if I had offered her the job out of pity. I laughed, and explained that she was by far the most qualified candidate. I got another hug, and a kiss, with which I had a more than a bit of trouble. We then headed back to the base, and at Civilian Personnel I pinned Tim and the VA rep down and read them the riot act behind closed doors. When I left I had their assurances that they would support whatever Tommie and I worked out for her history, short of breaking the regulations, and that she could start on Monday.

Tommie worked at my office for almost a year before I forced her to move on to a better position. There was a lot of speculation about her history and orientation from some of the less-liberal types in my office, but only once did I have to use official channels to eliminate a problem. When I escorted that particular SSgt asshole back from the Wing Commander's office, he looked like he had been castrated. With a dull butter knife. He went from mean to meek at Mach III. Perhaps the threat of courts-martial was enough. But he really changed spots when I told him if he went to jail I would make sure that his interest in "faggots" was well known to the other inmates. For some reason he did not decide to continue in the service when his enlistment expired. Good riddance.

Tommie is now post SRS and is so much happier. It took her almost two months to be back to her energetic self after surgery, but from then on she was a new person. I helped her develop a really good history that was given the official stamp of existence with the help of the VA. It was sort of like playing a war game. It had to be real without being verifiable. A couple of more classes in the evening, and her resume and recommendations from the base got her hired as a trainee legal secretary, and shortly as an office manager for a local law firm. I lost track of her when she left the state to attend law school somewhere in the Midwest. But I have received postcards and letters without a return address from her over the years, even after I retired, and she says that when she passes the Bar in her state, which she described as the most homophobic group of bigots she had ever encountered, she would send me her address, and perhaps we could get together and discuss old times.

--- Finis

 

© 1997
The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the author for permission.