Uncle Betty

by Paula Mortenson

 

"Uncle? Uncle Bob, are you awake?"

I didn't want to open my eyes. In fact the way I felt I didn't want to wake up, ever. Before the light smashed into my eyeballs I knew that the effects of my overindulgence last night could reduce me to the dirty sickening old man of my own perceptions and all of this in front of my favourite niece, the very attractive and confident Clair.

Still with my eyes firmly closed I imagined her, perhaps a little too pneumatic for perfection but there were boys and men a plenty who drooled over her. She had taken me in when I arrived on her doorstep last night smashed out of my mind and in total despair. With the assistance of her brother she put me to bed without any awkward questions. Their confidence in dealing with me in my advanced state of drunkenness had surprised me.

"Come on, Uncle Bob, I know you feel awful but I've got a cup of coffee and a couple of Aspirin for you."

I squeezed my eyes barely open to see her grinning with a half sympathetic, half "serve you right" smile across her pretty face. Not much over five foot two, I don't suppose but with a figure that would grace any page thee. I tried to remember how old she was. She was two years younger than her brother and he, in turn, was a year younger than my oldest. Chris was twenty seven, therefore Richard was twenty six and therefore his sister was twenty four. Young, single and sharing a flat with her brother, provided by their employer. They ran a very successful restaurant, with Rich as chef (he was Cordon Blue standard) and general manager and Clair running the front of house. I had, in happier days, eaten there.

In reality they were not my nephew and niece but the children of my cousin but in the way that families are organised they called me uncle. Now that my children and they were grown up it did seem a little odd but the honorary title had stuck. I had staggered to their front door last night in sheer desperation, my life in tatters. The disaster that had struck had been that not only had my wife found out about my little habit but work had, as well. All this had led to a couple of days of hell on earth from the very brutal manner in which I had been kicked out of my house and the very low offer from my business partners for my share of our business. There had been no where to go as my soon to be former wife had told her exaggerated version of events to family, friends and children and had, I suspected colluded with my former partners to ensure my exit was a financial disaster for me.

I turned to every so called friend and found that my wife had got there first. The first rejections had sent me dashing to the next for further disappointments and after spending a night in a hotel I could barely afford, found myself driving aimlessly to the city of my birth. When my car was nearly out of petrol I discovered that my vengeful wife had reported all my credit cards stolen, leaving my in a dispiriting argument at a late night petrol station. They had heard every sob story in the world and on reflection I understood why they would not trust me.

After two days running in panic from one place to another I was desperate and not thinking straight. I abandoned my car and certain that my cash card would not work, set out to walk to their restaurant, close to their flat. On a cold, wet Sunday night I had forgotten they didn't open and spent three hours in a local bar, drowning my sorrows with the last of my cash. Workers in the catering industry keep very odd hours and it was well after closing time before there was an answer at their door. By that time the combination of the stresses of the past two days and the drink had reduced me to a drunken nervous wreck. The prospect of sleeping rough, having led a very sheltered life at the age of 45, petrified me.

The youngsters took it very much in their stride. With hardly a query from them I found myself tucked up in bed, in their third bedroom. Now, I was paying the price for my overindulgence the night before. To my intense relief I managed, despite a splitting, nauseous headache, to prevent my stomach's contents from disgracing me further. I drank my coffee, took my aspirins and luckily went back to sleep. During the day I dozed, only vaguely aware of them popping in to check that I had not, whatever they worried about.

Late in the afternoon, Rich sat at the foot of my bed, his face impassive.

"Aunty Jane rang us. She said you had left her and a lot of other things, as well. there were other things she implied but obviously thought we were too young to understand."

At this, his face broke into a half smile. I had heard Jane's half truths repeated often enough over the past to days to imagine the conversation. Well, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and Jane had been no exception. She had decided that I was going to suffer, and more besides and she had succeeded. On reflection I didn't blame her but on the other hand I simply could not help myself. Things might have been different if she had not been convinced that I was borrowing her underwear but she wouldn't listen to my protestations that we were different sizes. Anyway, I wouldn't be seen dead in the knickers she had been wearing for the past few years. When she tackled me about it, she just went on and on, refusing to listen and in the end I just gave up. She took that as an admission of guilt of far more than I had done. From then it just went from bad to worse and she set out to destroy me. I don't deny she was entitled but she might have left me a little self respect.

Rich kindly told me I could stay for a few days and to drop by the restaurant later for a meal. Rather pointedly, I thought, he suggested that I was welcome after I had cleaned myself up. I must have looked worse than I felt, which seemed unlikely.

Unfortunately, Jane ideas of revenge had extended to cutting chunks out of most of my clothes so I had little more than I stood up in. I staggered out of bed, in search of the bathroom.

Three hours later I began to feel human. Having washed my clothes I was reduced to slopping round in T shirt, shorts and deck shoes that had somehow escapes the scissors. Around eight that evening the phone rang and as I hesitantly answered it, Clair's voice pleaded to me.

"Uncle Bob? Can you help us out? Our washer up hasn't turned up and we've got a big rush on."

How can you resist your favourite niece?

Having spent the last twenty five years working in an office the kitchen was something of a culture shock. The heat was incredible and the physical demands of lifting plates and cutlery combined to leave me totally exhausted at the end of the evening. The hangover was a problem early on but the distraction of the splashes of scalding water and my aching muscles soon made me forget that. I had never appreciated how hard everyone worked and it was after three in the morning before we returned to the flat.

Richard had an early morning at the vegetable markets so he went straight off to bed but Claire wanted to chat and her opening line as we sipped our coffee shocked me.

"Why is Aunty Jane so upset?"

The question was asked in a sweet innocent tone that made me feel like a dirty old man. How do you explain to your twenty four year old niece that her uncle prefers to wear women's clothes? I stumbled and stuttered, saying nothing in particular and avoiding her gaze until finally I looked up to see an impish grin across her face.

"Aunty Jane huffed and puffed but we think she caught you wearing women's clothes. And it wasn't the first time, so she threw you out."

Well, what do you say to such an accurate assessment of the situation? For the first time in my life I openly confessed my feelings. About how I had always felt different, about how I had felt trapped in the wrong body and how despite my confusion about my gender I had married and been a faithful (well, mostly) husband and father. Once I had overcome my reluctance to talk everything, after all the years of solitude, gushed forth without reservation. It was only as my words ran out that I realised I had talked for well over an hour and that Claire had never interrupted me. Her open eyed fascination was apparent. There was a silence. My embarrassment at my own frankness expected at the least studied indifference from her as I was too cynical to expect anything else.

"Rich and I owe you a lot for the support you gave us when Mum and Dad died. You were the only one who was always there for us. You can stay until you get yourself sorted out, if you don't mind helping out in the restaurant and there'll be some money in it for you until you get back on your feet. We won't tell Aunty Jane that you're here."

With that she just got up and walked off to her bedroom, leaving me gratefully shocked. As I sat letting her words sink in her head popped around the door.

"But if I catch you borrowing my knickers there'll be trouble. On the other hand if there is an extra pair in the washing, I won't mind. Don't let Rich see them, though, he's a bit more uptight about it than me."

For the rest of the week I slaved in the kitchen at night and slept most of the day. Since I had few clothes and little or no money I was grateful that it was customary to feed the staff during their shift. There seemed to be little concern that the previous washer up had disappeared and I was accepted as a semi permanent member of the staff. Richard and Claire were careful not to refer to me as their uncle and I was treated as a drifter who had found a job. The physical demands, even in those early days, did wonders for my figure though it played havoc with my hands until Claire thoughtfully suggested a hand cream. When the first Friday arrived I was surprised to have a pay packet thrust into my hand. My protestations were cut short with the comment that I was the first reliable washer up they hah had in ages.

Despite my guilt feelings about living off them they insisted that I continued to live with them and with the long unsociable hours I had little chance to spend my earnings. I did purchase the occasional T shirt, shorts and trainers but I felt disinclined to buy other clothes as I was drawn inexorably towards my desire for a more feminine me. A half formed idea that I might, at long last, fulfil my now public secret dreams, haunted me. After 6 weeks my five foot eight frame had slimmed to under150 lbs and my hair had reached the point of at least needing a trim.

My first proper expedition for clothes saw me buy sufficient knickers and other bits and pieces but the most significant steps happened shortly after. There was a solitary discreet ceremony as I consigned all my remaining male underwear to the dustbin. Almost immediately after my new underwear began to appear in the laundry, which I dealt with to contribute to my rent, Claire decided to stay at the flat one Sunday afternoon.

I made no association between the two events until sitting in front of the television Claire began a fateful conversation, almost inevitably with Claire's, "Uncle Bob?" It was half question, half statement. Suggesting a tricky subject. I was surprised by her forthrightness. She had wondered how long it would take before my undies appeared in the laundry but she was not sure what her brother felt. Mt heart sank, certain that I was being asked to leave. I felt no sexual attraction to my niece but having a daughter of a similar age I was wary that her ease with me could be misinterpreted by others. I felt uncomfortable as she tucked her knees beneath herself clearly displaying her knickers. She must have spent some time working all this out as she cocked her head to one side, smiled and purred with supreme confidence, " I've been wondering, Uncle Bob, about how you look. As a woman, I mean."

It is not a question you expect.

"Have you ever been out? As a woman?"

That was what had finally undone me. I had dressed at home and then gone out in my car. One of Jane's friends had seen me and told her. Years before she had caught me trying something on and had always been suspicious. I found myself regretting our youthful passion that had resulted in us jumping the gun. Claire gazed intently at me, expecting a reply. I nodded slowly and mumbled, shamefaced, "But Jane caught me and threw my things away and I …." My reply seemed so feeble.

"Never mind I'll see what I can do."

Over the next couple of weeks nothing was said but a beautiful nightie appeared under my pillow, a perfumed skin cream appeared on my dressing table and other such things. Nothing expensive, they were probably cast offs but they ignited my inner gender dissatisfaction and drove me wild for more. About this time Rich let it be known that he was planning a new restaurant on the far side of the cit and spent an increasing proportion of his time supervising the building work. The little presents continued culminating one Sunday afternoon with Claire appearing with a home waxing kit. Without preamble she launched into an explanation of what needed to be done and promptly disappeared out on a date.

Waxing your own legs (and other bits) is pure sado masochism, a struggle between a desire for beauty and the self inflicted pain. I decided to make a proper job of it, while waiting for the wax to heat, by brutally plucking my eyebrows and painting my toe nails. I lay on the sofa glorying in self satisfaction when Claire reappeared and within minutes I found myself with my head thrust in the sink. Within a very short time I was admiring my new colour and trim and wondering about Claire's comment that since I'd always encouraged them to do their best the same was now expected of me.

The new style boosted my confidence. After encouraging remarks (and knowing looks) from the other kitchen staff my dress moved to a more androgynous style, involving jeans and more overtly feminine styled T shirts which with my new hair style earned me the nickname of "Betty". As my confidence rose so did the acceptance by the other staff and I increasingly found myself chatting with the waitresses at quiet times. They even offered the odd tip here and there on fashion and the way I dressed. I was careful to keep a low profile when in the presence of Rich as I recognised that I could not afford to offend him. Though I was now relatively well off I knew my ambitions would be out of reach if I had to pay for my accommodation.

I began to make discrete enquiries about what I knew had to be the next steps. My facial hair, despite 25 or so years of shaving was not heavy but it still stood in the way of how I felt inside and the balance between my ultimate desire for real breasts and the interim measure of falsies was a problem of time and money. I despaired when I realised the cost of each step. The solution came as a result of a flu epidemic that laid low most of the waiting staff.

At odd times I had helped out serving behind bars so Richard turned to me when hardly any waiting staff turned up one evening. I spent the entire evening dispensing drinks and preparing bills. My androgynous appearance led me to be addressed as both male and female but no one seemed to mind as I treated them all as being correct, whatever they called me. Basically the restaurant was so posh that customers expected staff with a bit of character and if they included those of indefinable gender then it just added to the ambience.

Rich, despite his lack of years recognised a good thing when he saw it and so I found myself moving towards a more outwardly feminine self by both nephew and niece but always leaving room for doubt. Their individual motives may have been very different but the result was the same. My major problem was a lack of wardrobe to maintain my genderless image and that Rich was all for the feminine male at the restaurant but increasingly uncomfortable with the half male half female in our shared flat. Claire, on the other hand, was delighted and encouraged my to experiment with ever more femininity in our flat.

Whether they realised at the time they were creating an explosive situation. I recognised the dangers and became increasingly uneasy. I suspected that Claire was keen to see an entirely feminine uncle both in public and private whereas I was content to gradually become Betty. Our objectives were the same but Claire was thinking in terms of hours and days whereas I was thinking in terms of weeks and months, after all it was the rest of my life.

I managed to resist her urging too wear a skirt or dress to work but the trousers I now regularly wore were about every female variation thereon. There were never any rows but the tension was becoming unbearable. Just before Christmas everything came to a head. Claire had bought for me floaty black culottes to wear in the evenings and as I admired myself in the mirror before going in to work Claire attempted to spray me with her best perfume. Unfortunately, Richard in his usual dash before opening happened to be passing and was covered in the perfume intended for me. His temper flared. He dashed to shower and change to remove the unmistakably female aroma and his fears to the imagined challenge to his masculinity came pouring out. As a guest, dependent on their indulgence I recognised it was time for me to move on and as a responsible relative I knew I had imposed on them too much, already.

 

I will say for Rich that his professional attitude never wavered all evening. I feared that my continued presence would drive a wedge between siblings, not only affecting their relationship but also the running of the restaurant. I knew I was the one that had to go. But where? How could I afford it and having tasted femininity could I now dare to take the steps toward a more permanent Betty? The result of our discussions far into the early hours of the morning left me shell shocked.

Rich pulled no punches. He had found sharing with his sister difficult enough before I had come along. His description of Claire and myself as a Mother and Daughter act came as a surprise to both of us. He expressed his concerns about Claire's enthusiasm in encouraging me onwards and his worry that into might lead her into my shadowy world. Claire had already suggested, on more than one occasion, to a nightclub as girl friends and Richard had objected as any caring brother would. As their only living blood relative I felt responsible for them and I had nightmares about Jane finding out and making trouble for me and by implication them.

I knew I had to offer. "You want me to leave? I don't want to come between the two of you and I'm grateful for everything that you've done for me.."

"No, Uncle, I mean Aunt. You see how difficult it is."

"Just call me Betty, everyone else does."

"You're going to have to leave in the New Year. " He saw my face drop at his words. "But I won't be here over Christmas, the new restaurant needs knocking into shape. So you two can be as girlie as you like. I'm fed up with this place being a girl dormitory. When I come back, I want you, Betty, to go over there and manage the new restaurant for me. You seem to have a flair for the business and I know I can trust you. I've found a couple of good chefs and I'll pop over regularly. There's just one condition." He looked so serious that I wondered whether I would like what was coming next.

"I've told them I've taken on a female manager. So if you want the job there's no sitting on the fence. You must be Betty. No messing about in between. You can give me your answer in the morning."

With that he stood and disappeared into his bedroom. Claire was hardly able to contain her excitement. There was no doubt in her mind that I should accept the offer. I, in turn, was petrified. This was my dream but could I carry it off? With more practice as Betty, my dream was within reach but I needed more time. What if the staff read me and refused to take me seriously? Where was I going to get the wardrobe and makeup, and mannerisms, and breasts and less facial hair? As I worried, Rich popped his head around the door, "You'd better tell Betty about her bonus and her share of the tips."

It seemed that to satisfy the taxman they declared tips, regularly as part of our wages. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. The rest they saved up and shared out twice a year, in cash. My share was a sizable sum, further improved without the taxman taking his share. Well, that took care of my wardrobe and paid the fees of the clinic I had already found. But what about the rest of it? I found that my niece was a very determined young woman and over the weeks leading up to Christmas I became a regular customer at a nearby beauty salon at rates brutally negotiated by Claire. My attire and hairstyle progressed beyond androgynous culminating on Christmas Day a fully female me behind the bar. Everyone was so generous, I even got the odd lecherous kiss from one of our diners that day.

It was with some trepidation that I drove with Rich over to the new restaurant in the new year. Now, I was Ms Betty Chilton to the staff, though still Mr Robert Chilton on the payroll, which only Richard saw. The flat over the restaurant had been starkly furnished but this was my new home and my new life. More than I had ever dared to hope for.

In the succeeding weeks and months there were disappointments but successes too as gradually Betty became more confident in her lifestyle. My first girls' night out with the waitresses was memorable as were the bunches of flowers bought by various grateful customers. After continuing doubts about my success I suddenly looked back one day and realised that Uncle Bob had finally become but a distant memory for now I had truly become Aunt Betty. The ultimate confirmation of my status was at Claire's wedding where her new Mother in Law and I wept together at such a radiant bride.

Richard marries next week. It shows how far I have come that he invited me out to dinner to meet his intended and her widower father. Richard and his bride to be spent all evening trying to throw her father and I together. As we danced I was grateful that I had taken a few weeks off work the previous summer for my corrective surgery. Richard's father in law is such a handsome virile man and so insistent. Claire has been nattering me for ages that I ought to settle down. I think I'd better ask her advice, there are so many things a girl needs to know.

  

  

  

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