Sunday, February 16
Dammit, I want boobies!!! I NEED boobies!!! Quick!!!
Sigh... I'm getting ahead of myself. This week sucked in so many ways. I saw Carlos every day at lunch and Mr. Mac announced we may start after school practices for the cast of the upcoming show, which had almost nothing to do with me but kicked Carlos into overdrive. He's only a junior, but he's somehow focused on everything like getting into college depended on it. Brie reminded me that a LOT of college decisions are made right after junior year, so his record now sets him apart from every other kid with a perfect 4.0 and max'd on the SATs. So yeah, I guess he's focused on something other than my cute ass.
Sigh... Oh and the weather sucks. Did I mention that? I went snowboarding last weekend, but then everything has turned to rain around here, and while I'm sure the slopes are still good, getting there is a slushy pain. Mom's attitude has been dour all week (see, I used the word "dour" in a sentence! My English teacher should read this.). Mom was SUPPOSED to go to a convention of some sort in Los Angeles mid-week (leaving the house to me!!! Yeah!!!) but then she cancelled at the last sec, saying something like "I don't want to be in a room full of coughing and sneezing people right now.". Huh...
Anyway, school sucked in its normal way. I mean, I'm doing OK in all my classes, and all of my sister wives seem to have their heads down and are paying no attention to anything. Out of the blue, on Monday, I had a note to see Mr. Petrie the school guidance counselor during my free period. I wandered into his famously messy office and he seemed utterly distracted but pointed to a chair in front of his desk. "Christ, how are you doing?"
"I'm sore, cuz I went snowboarding for only the second time this season and maybe I overdid it."
"No, Christy, I mean how are you coming along with your transition? I see your grades are up and Mr. Mac says you're taking an active role in drama. I hear you've helped out actively with some student council projects. I just wanted to make sure you were settling in well to your... ahhh... new role, if I'm phrasing that the right way."
"Yeah, Mr. Petrie, well, I'm hearing you say you want to know how the school's pet tranny girl is coming along, right?"
"Well, Ms. Weston, the headmistress, has taken a personal interest in you. Of course, she takes a personal interest in all of our students, but if she were to hear that you'd been bullied or discriminated against or such, and not completely welcomed by everyone at the school, well, she would be more than a little concerned. See where I'm coming from?"
"Well, I'm not pregnant. Does that count for anything?"
Mr. Petrie just smiled and shook his head. "Christy, we're one of the finest prep schools in this area, with brilliant students headed for top-tier colleges, but yet you'd be surprised how often that question has crossed my desk."
"No, I wouldn't, sir. I mean, my, ahhh... condition... has led to some fascinating conversations with some of my girlfriends, and I'm pretty surprised at the level of understanding about bees and birds and whatever. I'm surprised you're not running a small day care center somewhere around here."
"So... girlfriends? I don't mean to pry, but..."
"Don't ask don't tell?" I started to laugh. "Yeah, I know, you have to make sure I'm not being hassled about whatever. If it helps you check the right boxes on your form, I'm kinda into boys. Not that I don't like girls, but I'm kinda into boys. Does that make sense?"
"Christy, I'm an upper school guidance counselor. Nothing makes sense. I'm just here to make sure 100% of you graduate in the top 10% of your class. If you can figure out THAT math, then you're a smart young lady indeed. Now, if you have any problems or issues..."
"... you mean outside of trying to figure out ninth grade algebra?"
"Yes, outside of that, then let me know."
I bounced out of the chair, and made sure to wiggle my ass a little as I left his office, just to remind him I was 100% girl. I had to smile, because I'd been reading enough on-line to know that most teen girls transitioning had it a LOT harder than I did. I was surrounded by a warm cocoon of friends and accepting people. I was REAL lucky, and occasionally needed to be reminded of that.
I didn't see any of my therapists this week. Ms. Hargrove has put me on once a month, and I only see Dr. Strange every other week now. Carlos, like I mentioned, was completely immersed in the play and in school, and it was too shitty outside to do anything interesting. Then, out of the blue, on Thursday, Mom asked me how I was situated for bathing suits for the summer. I said I had a perfect score -- I had exactly zero. I still had what she'd bought for me in September, but I was filling out a bit, both up top and in my hips, and I was sure nothing in my closet would fit. She said we should go pay Martha a visit again and see what we can do to fix that.
With that, on Friday after school, we headed over to Martha's shop. She hovered over me like a mother hen, actually coo-ing about how much I was filling out. Mom told her I needed to get some swimwear that covered what needed to be covered and hid what needed to be hid. Martha just nodded for a minute, and then turned to Mom and asked, "can Christy model for me?"
Mom seemed taken aback by this, and asked what she meant. Martha said, "I keep a private portfolio of clients, just to give prospective clients a good idea of what I can do. Christy is coming along marvelously, and I'd like to use her as a positive role model for other girls starting their transition. It will all be in the best of taste. Nothing in it that you wouldn't have seen back in the old days of Sears Roebuck catalogs."
Now I was wondering what a Sears Roebuck catalog was, but Mom was just nodding. She turned to me and said, "Christy, what do you think? Do you want to be a model for Martha's store?"
Huh.... This was sudden. I thought about it for two seconds, and just blurted out, "Boobs".
Martha laughed, and she and Mom simultaneously said, "Boobs?"
"Yeah. Boobs. Like the ones I don't have. Boobs. I'd be embarrassed to be a role model with these barely-B cups."
Martha shook and nodded her head all at the same time. "Christy, these modeling shots -- and they'll all be professional and in excellent taste -- are for coming-out girls like you who are just starting their journeys. Your development is enviable. You give them hope. Don't you want to do that?"
I thought for a minute, and then said, "This is going in a book, right? Not on the internet or anything like that, right?"
Martha nodded, and said, "do you want to see the picture book?"
I nodded, and she led us all over to the front counter and reached under for a big, fat, old-fashion picture album. I flipped thru the pics, and had to admit they were quite nice. There was a mix of older women in more "adult" fashions, and girls my age or later teens or twenties who modeled swimwear, lingerie, and sleepwear. All of it was fairly tasteful, although the lingerie was skimpy. Each girl also had a shot in a short formal dress and heels. I nodded my head and said, "OK, I can do this. When?"
Martha said, "Let's think about next Monday. My nephew is a professional photographer and takes all of these shots."
"Nephew. As in a boy. I'm going to parade on the catwalk in my underwear in front of a male photographer."
"But you get to keep the undies!"
I sighed, and Mom and Martha just laughed. Then Martha said, "Bring a couple of pair of comfie shoes, let's say a pair of ballet flats, a pair of wedges, and a pair of neutral colored stilettos. Do you have all of those?"
I nodded. Then she said, "In the meantime, I need to measure you and make sure I've got all of the right things for you. Have you changed sizes in the little area we need to hide since last year?"
I shook my head, then said, "Maybe a little. I keep it shaved."
"Good. I'll have a couple of different size cups for you. I'll see you after school on Monday, then?"
I sat silently on the way home, maybe a little red faced and thinking about what I'd just gotten myself into. "I'm a model now? You know, I was hoping to go to law school one day."
"Lots of lawyers started out as models. Lots of doctors started out as models. I knew a girl in Beverly Hills who became a huge money manager who started out as a model. Think of it this way -- modeling can be a huge boost to your ego, and you can help out a lot of other girls who are just beginning on their journeys."
OK, she's right. I'm gonna do it, even if it means parading around in my underwear in front of a strange man.
The biggest problem was keeping this from the sister wives. I knew I was at least going to tell Brie, but not today, not this weekend. Brie came over Saturday morning to help me set up, like there was a huge amount to do, right? Saturday afternoon, everyone else showed up -- Emma-Red was first, followed closely by Emma-Brunette. Maddie didn't make it until later. Randi was the last. Everyone headed for the basement, and took turns changing into warm jammies and robes. Most of us wore flannel jammies and heavy socks. Maddie, ever the trad-girl, had a long flannel night gown. Randi, true to her nature, wore sweats. We basically turned it into a mostly all night rom-com fest interspersed with old Taylor Swift. (I still cry at "You Belong With Me".) Of course, Brie and Randi just use these sleepovers as an excuse to snuggle up with one another, and we all kinda ignore them. I think I went to sleep about 4, overdosed on brownies and pizza.
Mom fixed lunch that we half-heartedly ate and then everyone left kinda in the order they arrived, with Brie hanging around until the end. I was sleepy, but about to burst.
"Brie, what would you think if I was a model?"
"Huh... you a model? OK, what's the punch line?"
"No punch line. I've been drafted into a modeling gig." Then I told her the whole story about Martha and her shop and her clientele and wanting me for her "book". Brie's mouth just dropped open and for a long time she was dead silent.
"I say go for it."
"I've already said that."
"Yeah, like don't make this the last one. Become a full-fledged model. Do it, Sister Christy. You've got the chops for it. You're a helluva lot better looking that some of the girls I see in fashion spreads. I say do it."
Then she hugged me, and I was close to crying. "It's gonna be great, Christy. Be sure to show me the pics."
As I'm typing all of this, I know I'm about to fall asleep again. I'm sure I missed something, but tomorrow, I become a real model.