A touch of perspective, a transgender story
How a touch of perspective and a big smile can be a crossdresser's best friend
Steve gazed into the mirror, smiled, and smacked his lips. His transformation into Gemma was complete.
Steve loved his femme time, the occasions when he could fully express a feminine side that was often suppressed in daily life. However, today was the weekend, meaning Steve's Gemma side was free and ready to play.
Gemma went to her wardrobe and sorted through her shoes. She needed some cute black ones to match her little black dress, but which? Her comfortable flats, or 3-inch heels? Instantly the voices inside her head surged.
“Wear the heels, they look amazing on you!” her femme side screamed.
“No, flats. Heels will make you too tall and stand out.” her negative side responded.
“But heels are what you want to wear!”
“But you'll be too tall to pass as a woman.”
Thankfully the voices then eased, and Gemma made her decision. She picked up the 3-inch heels and placed them one-by-one on her feet. Sure, they made her over 6-feet tall, and less likely to pass, but she had spent all week conscribing to society's gender norms and wanted to be herself tonight.
Gemma picked up her purse and headed for the door. She stopped briefly at the mirror and did her final checks. With everything looking wonderful, she smiled, opened the door, and headed outside.
On her way out, she walked past her neighbour Patrick's door. It was open, with Patrick looking out. Gemma smiled and said hello, while Patrick waved back. Gemma had often wondered what
Patrick thought of this show going on before his eyes. He seemed intrigued, but had yet to bring it up. Oh well, Gemma thought, I'm sure we'll talk about it some time!
She walked out of her apartment building and down onto the street. It was about six blocks between Gemma's apartment and the restaurant where she was meeting friends for dinner. She clip-clopped her way down the well-worn roads, attracting polite interest and some curious looks from passers-by. Nothing unusual, and she happily walked towards her dinner when a yell rang out.
“EVERYBODY! Look at the sick pervert!”
The crowd turned to look at Gemma. She stopped, chilled to the bone, and turned to face the man who was the source of the abuse.
It was a man in his mid-twenties. He had a look of anger and hatred in his eyes. He again bellowed out.
“Get out of here you faggot!”
The words stung Gemma, hitting her hard until she stopped herself. She remembered that this, just like the other abuse she had received in the past, does not reflect upon her at all. It reflected this man's struggle with a complicated world, one where people can no longer be incorrectly pigeon-holed, and the facade of gender roles does not hold.
Amid a fresh volley of expletives from the man, Gemma felt a new emotion , different from the stinging pain she felt earlier.
Pity. Pity that this man could not understand or cope with the reality of this different and changing world.
And then another emotion: pride. Pride in her own ability to be brave enough to be herself and stand up against those who try to suppress her.
With this pride, Gemma's heart lightened and she gave her abuser a small grin.
Seeing it, the abuser got more angry.
“What the fuck are you grinning at?”
Gemma grin expanded and she burst into a laugh. The abuser looked uneasy, not expecting this response.
“Fuck off sicko!”
“Get lost you moron,” Gemma stated defiantly, “The world would be better off without your prejudice!”
The moron crestfallen, stumbled away muttering obscenities under his breath.
Several people in the crowd clapped. A young woman walked up to Gemma and told her she was so brave. Gemma smiled a happy smile, and thanked the woman.
She walked on and in a few minutes was at the restaurant.
She walked in and soon saw her good friend Elissa. Elissa rushed up to her and gave her a hug.
“It is so great to see you Gemma, I am so glad you could make it!”
“Me too Elissa, me too.”
