Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Growing Up Girl ❯ Chapter 5

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

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Growing up Girl
by Jake (formerly Marin2x1)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~Warnings: This story contains things that may be offensive to those without an open mind. I wouldn't recommend it to those of a younger age, either, as it contains adult stuff. Please bear with me as I kick my writing ability out of proverbial hibernation. It's been a while. This story contains transsexual issues. A lot of them are based on my own experience, switched around to reflect what it's like for a female, born male.
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Gundam Wing doesn't belong to me.
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I could only stay with Hilde for a few days. It was hard, on Friday, to hide from her mother when she came in to wake her up for school. I didn't leave her room all day, afraid that one of her parents would come home early from work and find me in their house. Through the weekend, though, I was welcomed. Hilde asked them if I could spend the weekend there, and they said yes. Friday night, I was able to eat dinner with them. I was starved. I still had to hide my chest from them, too.

After dinner, I lay down on Hilde's bed, flipping through one of her magazines. She went into her closet and started trying on clothes. I gave her my opinion. She appreciated it, said I really had the mind of a girl.

She took a bra out of her dresser and handed it to me. I stared at it before reaching out and taking it. "What's this for?"

"You've got boobs now. You can't just walk around without one." She was more understanding than I ever knew a person could be. I took off my shirt right in front of her, no longer ashamed of my body, at least not the top half, like I had been. I put the bra on. It was slightly uncomfortable, but I knew I would get used to it. I looked at myself in the mirror across the room. I looked happy, superficially happy. But scared.

Hilde saw my happiness and sighed, sitting down on the floor in front of me. "I guess it's true, then. I always thought you were just weird, but you really are a girl."

I nodded. That was the only way to explain it. But I wondered: am I really a girl? For the first time in my life, I questioned it. That alone was enough to confuse me, but the questions I came up with were far worse. Will I ever be a girl? I wasn't born a real girl. I'll never be a real girl. I can try my best to become as much of a girl as possible, but I'll never really get there, will I? I'll be... genderless. My mind will be what it is now, but my body... will always be different.

Sunday night, I left her house. Hilde's parents told me it was time for me to go home. I was scared. I didn't know what home was, anymore. I had some money, though. I knew I had to conserve it. I went to a 24 hour movie theatre and watched a stupid movie, not really paying attention. I continued to sit through it three times, in a daze. By 1am, I fell asleep.

Monday morning, I was still in a daze. My backpack hanging limply, I went and ate breakfast. "You look like hell, kid," the waitress told me. I nodded, agreeing with her. I felt dirty from sleeping in a disgusting old movie theatre seat all night. I wondered how I would get a much-needed bath. I wanted to go home. I wanted so bad to go home. For the first time in days, I allowed myself to cry. The impending doom that my life had become rushed in on me, blocking out everything. I got tears all over my scrambled eggs and ate them anyway. I knew I couldn't waste them. I'd paid money for them. Afterwards, I went in the bathroom-the girls' bathroom-and washed up a bit.

Afterwards, I had nowhere to go. I simply wandered. By nightfall, I was still directionless. I sat on a covered bus stop bench and stared blankly ahead. Looking back on it now, I must have known it was dangerous. That was probably the only thing that caused me to haul my tired body to my feet and continue walking. I came to a homeless shelter. I stood outside, staring at the entrance. This really was my only choice, wasn't it? I was homeless now.

I reluctantly went inside. There were a lot of people milling about, most of them men with graying beards in beat-up clothes. They scared me. People came up to me and talked to me. Where were my parents? Why was I out so late, all by myself? I was given a blanket and a cot, the place I would sleep for a large portion of my adolescence. I gave them my phone number. They said they would call my parents. I never heard a word about that again. Either my parents told them they didn't have a child, or they told them they didn't want their child. Either way, I was on my own.

Every day, I continued to take my pills. I'd wash them down with orange juice in the morning and water at night. My supply was dwindling. I knew I had to find a place that had the internet so that I could order more. I immediately thought of the library. I had them mailed to Hilde's house, and then called her and told her to expect a package for me. I'd be back there in two weeks to pick it up.

That day, I browsed through the shelves for hours. I was searching for a particular story, one that would speak to me and explain what I was going through. No matter how much I searched, I couldn't find anything. There was not a single book that contained what I was: a genderless character. Everyone, both fictional and nonfictional, they were all either male or female. I browsed through books of poetry and plays. At least the poetry could give me something. Gender wasn't often mentioned in poetry. "He" and "she" were terms that I rarely saw. A lot of the poems talked about being different, and life's difficulties. I could relate to these a bit better.

Time went on. I turned fourteen. My growth had been stunted by the hormones, but my breasts had gotten larger. I was decidedly female-looking. The men at the shelter leered at me, now. Men on the street were starting to notice and whistle at me. Men followed me around at night, asking if I'd sleep with them. They offered me money. I had three dollars to my name.

The next night, when my money was gone, I put on my too-tight jeans and my too-small shirt and I went on the street. Experience lead me to the 'bad part of town.' A place with all-night bars and strip clubs. There were prostitutes everywhere and people selling drugs. I had no idea what to do. I went up to one of the prostitutes and stared at her, ashamed. "What're you doing out so late, all by yourself, honey?" She was smoking a cigarette and looking sexy, but much too thin. Is that what this life would do to you?

"I don't have any family," I told her. "Or money. I need to make some money."

She nodded in understanding. Told me her name was Linda. Took me under her wing.

I became a prostitute. Shame overwhelmed me, and I hadn't even really done anything yet. It was the next night that I was given my first job. Sort of. Linda's pimp said that he had to try me out first. I was scared and shaking when I went into his room. It smelled of drugs and urine. He told me to take off my shirt and I did. He nodded in approval and told me to take off my pants. I did. I left my panties on, wanting to explain to him, but unable to find the words.

He got angry with me for not doing as I was told and came over to me. He ripped my panties off and I tried to cover myself. He saw. He wasn't angry anymore. He nodded in understanding. "You should have said that before."

I was confused and afraid and ashamed, standing naked in front of him. "You'll just give blows, I guess. Unless you come across a guy who likes your type." I didn't understand. I didn't even know what a blow was. I had absolutely no experience.

Josh, the pimp, taught the basics of how to go about doing it. I cried and gagged and tried not to vomit all over him. I would feel the bile rising in my throat and pull away from him, afraid. He'd push my head back down.

After a while of going through such sickening motions, his body tensed and a hot liquid filled my mouth and went down my throat without my knowing it. As soon as it hit my stomach, I pulled away and threw up all over the floor. Josh laughed at me and tossed a twenty dollar bill into the pile of vomit on the floor as I continued to heave.

He told me to get to work and left the room.

I returned to the streets and found Linda. My eyes were red with shame and crying. She hugged me in understanding and tried not to blow the smoke of her cigarette into my face. I buried myself in her chest. She wore cheap perfume and a silk shirt.

That night, I made eighty dollars even. I vomited three times. I got hit twice.

I returned to the shelter that morning, curled up on my cot, and fell asleep, disgusted with myself. That night, I went back to work, though. I was not so ashamed that I would stop doing it, stop being able to afford life itself. I had lived with moderate shame my entire life, at the simple fact that I was who I was. What was a bit more shame piled on top of it?

I made one-hundred dollars. I vomited only twice, and I didn't get hit. I was learning the ways of the streets, slowly but surely. Linda helped me a lot. She even bought me drinks after work. I had my first taste of alcohol with her. I liked it. The slow burn as it slid down my throat and spread to my limbs numbed me completely, so that I could stop hating myself, if only for a moment.

I fell into a sort of pattern. I would sleep when the sun came up, wake up and eat dinner, and then go work the streets all night. Linda offered me a cigarette, and I took it. I coughed a few times, but as it burned between my fingers, I felt myself relaxing. I understood, then, why the girls did what they did: the drugs, the alcohol, the smoking. They were all ways to stop hating yourself completely, if only for a moment, if only for the time that the line of cocaine was taken into your body or the bottle did its work in your veins or the small cigarette burned between your fingers. They were all means to keep you sane.

I wonder how I survived that time. It wasn't easy. At fifteen, I got a real job. I was legally able to work now. I found honest work at a fast food restaurant as a cashier. Boys who came through flirted with me. I shied away from them. I'd seen enough of the male body, I'd tasted enough of it. I never wanted to do that again.

I was making five dollars an hour. The wages were meager. Sometimes, I yearned to go back on the streets, simply because I could make so much money so quickly. Then a boy would whistle at me or stare at my chest. That always changed my mind.

My hair was long. It was down to my mid back. I'd look around at some of the other girls I worked with and think to myself, "I'm the most feminine person in the room." That made me angry. These bio-girls, as I called them, accepted their gender so easily. They were so naturally female. I was jealous. I had to take two pills, two times a day, just to make myself seem female. What I wouldn't have given to be born a girl.

I would lie on my cot at night and cry, sometimes. I was very lonely, and still very afraid. No matter how far into my life time lead me, I knew I would always be afraid. And I would often look back with regret, wondering, 'if I had just kept quiet, would I still be at home, safe?'

One night, I was awakened by a hand on my shoulder. One of the homeless men, Steve, I think, was his name, was shaking my shoulder, telling me to follow him. In the daze of sleep, I had no time to question him or think to myself how stupid it would be for me to do that. He lead me into the mens' bathroom. It smelled strongly of urine, only one fluorescent light was working, and it flickered ominously on and off. I felt uncomfortable being in the mens' bathroom. Steve pushed the door closed behind me as I rubbed at my eyes. I knew Steve pretty well. He was a harmless drunk. But when I turned to look at him, I felt afraid. I tried to cover it up. "What is it, Steve? I've got work in the morning."

He came closer to me and grabbed my chest. I froze in fear. "You remind me a lot of my daughter. Did I ever tell you that?" His breath smelled like whiskey.

I slipped away from him and headed for the door. He blocked it and grabbed me around the waist and threw me to the floor. I screamed as he climbed on top of me and ripped off my shirt. He squeezed my chest painfully. I screamed again and he punched me across the face. In my mind, I was back on the streets again. I knew that when the hitting started, it was time to keep your mouth shut and do as you were told. Linda had taught me that. You can only push people so far.

Steve seemed happy that I had quieted down. I stared at the ceiling, the light flickering rapidly. My mind left my body. I ignored what was happening. My pants were pulled down, followed by my underwear. Steve nearly climbed off of me. "What... what the hell are you?"

I laughed bitterly, not even bothering to use this moment to pull away from him. My pants were pulled off and tossed aside. He flipped me over on my back and pulled me up on my knees. There was no explanation offered. I knew what was going to happen, anyway. I'd avoided it on the streets for so long because there never had been a guy who "liked my type." I was unwanted, even by the johns.

Something hard was shoved inside me, burning all the way up to my belly and making me choke on a scream. Something inside me was ripping. Blood dripped down my inner thighs. I think I passed out. Either that, or my mind left my body again. The next thing I remember was Steve pulling his pants up and walking out of the room. It was a long time before I wandered over to the sink and washed off the blood and gooey liquid on my legs. I put my clothes back on. My pants were okay, but my shirt was ripped beyond repair.

I left the bathroom in shame, returned to my cot, and fell back asleep. I must have cried that night, because my pillow was wet when I woke up. My pants were stained with blood. I didn't go to work. Didn't call in, not that I had a means of calling. I knew I had lost my job.

That night, I went back on the streets. I fell back into my pattern. Linda welcomed me back. Josh said he knew I'd be back. That's why he'd let me go in the first place. Every six months, I'd get another supply of hormones and travel over to Hilde's house to pick them up. She was sad each time she saw me. She wished there was something she could do for me. I looked terrible.

Linda eventually got her own place. She invited me to stay with her. I could not have been more happy. For the first time in over a year, I was able to take a bath. I fell asleep in the tub, a lot of nights.

I was sixteen. I got another job. Sometimes we struggled to pay the rent. She had her drugs and alcohol and I had my hormones. The money spent between us made it difficult to keep up with the necessities. We made the dingy apartment into a home. I made curtains for the windows and sheets for our beds. I bought some heavy-duty cleaner and scrubbed the mildew and grime out of the bathroom. Linda bought a microwave so that we could have warm meals without having to go out.

I worked as a cashier at a supermarket. The days were long and boring, but I got an employee discount on everything I bought, which came in handy. It was a Saturday afternoon, mid-summer, when I saw him. He came into the store wearing sandals, a tank shirt, and a pair of swimming trunks. He had on sunglasses. He was tan. He had brown hair. I knew I was in love.

I felt like the character Sammy in John Updike's story "A&P," sitting there waiting to see which aisle he'd come out of-like a pinball machine. I was happy to see him approach me, put his things on the belt. I rang him up. He took off his sunglasses. He had blue eyes. For some reason, I remembered Heero.

He looked at my name tag. "Duo. That's a nice name." I smiled. "You got a boyfriend?" I shook my head, looking away from him. I felt very, very shy all of a sudden. I couldn't explain why.

"You're very pretty." I knew I was blushing. He paid me and left the store.

A week later, I saw him again. He flirted with me some more. I found out his name was Kyle from the check he'd written. I fell into another pattern. Every Saturday afternoon, I'd wait for him to show up. He'd always be wearing casual clothes, looking like he just stepped off the beach. Maybe he had a pool, but he never smelled of chlorine.

On the fifth Saturday, he asked me out to dinner and a movie. I accepted, albeit hesitantly. He said he'd pick me up at 8. I gave him my address. After I got off work, I remembered that I had absolutely no clothes to wear on a date. I broke into my savings, which I'd set up to pay for hormones every six months, and went shopping. I bought a black top and a black skirt and black shoes. I wore my hair down that night, hoping it would curl just right. Linda helped me put on my make-up before she had to go to work.

He arrived five minutes late and apologized for making me wait. His car was a beat-up old Chevrolet Camaro. I fell in love with it. He opened my door for me, like a gentleman. He pulled my chair out for me at the restaurant, like a gentleman. He put his arm around me, but didn't feel me up, in the theatre. Like a gentleman. He walked me to my door, like a gentleman.

When I turned to take out my key, he grabbed ran his hand along my back and grabbed my ass. I tensed before turning around. His face had changed. He was leaning against the door frame, hovering over me, leering at me. I had a flashback to Steve and shivered, cowering in on myself.

"I get a goodnight kiss, right?"

Sirens went off in my head. I didn't know why. Maybe there was something about the way he'd said it. Against my better judgement, I leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. He grabbed hold of me and forced his tongue into my mouth. His hand grabbed my breast. I pushed against him, making muffled sounds of protest.

Eventually, he pulled away, glaring at me. I tried not to look scared. "I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm just tired tonight."

He was angry. "I spent a lot of money at that damn restaurant. I'd better get something in return, dammit."

I laughed playfully, giggled really, and put my hand on his chest. But it was all an act. Behind me, my hand was fiddling with the door, slipping the key into the lock. "I just gave you a kiss, Kyle. What more do you want?"

He took a step back, hesitated, and then came at me again, more angry than before. I slipped through the door, closed it quickly, and locked him out. He pounded furiously on the old, splintering wood. "Fucking cock-tease!"

I heard his footsteps retreating down the hall and allowed myself to relax. I knew I'd dodged a bullet. I needed to be more careful. But there was a wall being built inside me, steadily. I was closing myself off from people, hardening up. Men scared me, now. They wielded power over me, unimaginable power. If a man who wasn't a harmless drunk like Steve decided to take advantage of me again, what would happen? What would have happened if I hadn't been faster than Kyle and gotten through the door? I lay down in my bed, wondering if real girls went through what I've been through, too.

I never saw Kyle at the store again. I was thankful of that.