Disclosure

Take Off

My flight to Ann Arbor was booked as Alex, so I travelled dressed as a boy. My briefs ill-fitted my round behind and my jeans slid from my slim waist. I flattened my boobs with an ace bandage and wore a bulky Wolverines sweatshirt. I barely resembled the photo on my real California driver’s license, my transition had taken a turn toward androgyny and beyond. Could I pass at TSA as Alex?

My mom had booked my flight with frequent flier miles, so I was routed through Las Vegas and Denver on an eighteen-hour odyssey. She helped me pack my checked luggage, so I stashed my girl clothes and shoes, hormones, jewelry, purse and makeup in my carry-on. I loaded a handful of DVD's and books on top as camouflage.

"Mind driving, dear? I have such a headache.”

My dad was pursuing a foreign grad student and a job with a Swiss pharmaceutical giant. She had the forlorn look of a woman who had said goodbye, perhaps forever, to both her husband, and her only child. She rubbed her temples as I drove down the 405 to LAX. I glimpsed silent tears streaking down her cheeks.

“The life I imagined for you isn’t-”

“But it’s my life.”

She started sobbing.

“If your dad had been more involved, and I played a smaller role, everything could-”

“My being transsexual isn’t your fault unless you take the blame for the hormonal vagaries that altered me in utero. And dad’s such an asshole that I’m glad he wasn’t around.”

“Don’t hate your father.”

“He ran off to Switzerland to escape both of us.”

“I shouldn’t have to live in an empty house.”

“Better that I transition away from home. You’ll only see only the final result instead of the difficult process.”

“I’m afraid for you.”

“UM has a program for transsexuals.”

“Any mistake you make could be fatal.”

“We’ve read the same websites. I’ll-.”

“Don’t take chances with strangers.”

“Everyone I meet will be a stranger.”

“That’s why I am so afraid.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

I doubled parked in traffic at LAX, unloaded my suitcases and kissed her goodbye. I felt an almost unbearable lightness as she drove off, and I escaped the burden of her fears and tears.

Middle Seat

I boarded the plane, stowed my carry-on, put on my Raybans, Dodger baseball cap and headphones and zoned out. I dozed off to mental slideshow of fantasy fucks. I jolted awake when a fat white guy squeezed into in the seat next to mine. His belly bulged over his belt and stretched his polo shirt. His flaccid forearm dislodged my elbow from the arm rest. He opened a smelly 12” Subway pastrami and Swiss and started chewing on it noisily.

“Bring your own food, son? This airline will starve you.”

“I’m good. Aren’t we stopping in Vegas?”

“That’s where I get off. Straight to the buffet, and then the slots.”

“Have good times, and good luck.”

I flipped down my shades and put my phones back in my ears. Behind my closed eyes, I was getting fucked by a muscular jock in the airliner’s bathroom, 6 miles high. I dozed off while the plane was still taxiing and woke up as we began descending.

My neighbor was snoozing, so I could look around without him noticing. Two rows ahead on the other aisle I spotted a tall, blonde guy in camos, but all I could see was the back of his head. Then he got up and loaded his laptop into the overhead. He was ruggedly built, 6 feet, with tanned skin, a squared jaw and brilliant blue eyes, the living embodiment of my bathroom fuck fantasy. I looked out the window before he noticed me staring. Why couldn’t I have gotten him as my seat companion instead of fatso?

The plane landed, and my obese neighbor left with the other Las Vegas passengers. GI Joe stayed behind until the through passengers were counted. Then he and everyone else got off during the lay over, probably to drop coins in the airport slots.

But I stayed on the plane, for I was laying a different kind of bet. I counted my cards, I’d collected full house of cocks, Miguel, Jack, Seth, Sal, and Jose, but I’d gambled, bluffed and been called and folded. I’d lay my cards on the table as I seduced GI Joe.

In the cramped bathroom I kicked off my Nikes, changed out of my jeans and jockeys, pulled off the Ace bandage and sweatshirt. I swallowed a Ritalin for confidence, and my daily doses of Premarin and Aldactone. I scrubbed my face, applied light foundation, blush, two colors of eye shadow, a faint trace of eyeliner and mascara, and luminescent pink lip gloss. I pulled my hair from beneath the Dodger cap and brushed it out so it flowed flat and silky to my shoulders, replaced my boyish silver studs with dangly hoops. I lacquered my nails pink to match my lips, slipped on silver bangles and a slim gold ring.

I put on flowered panties and a foam enhanced push-up bra, and a flowered sun dress whose spaghetti straps gave a peek a boo glimpse of my white lace camisole and bra straps. I hung a simple gold chain around my neck and spritzed my neck with cologne. My transformation startled me. I looked like a waifish school girl on vacation. I stuffed my boy clothes into the bottom of the carry-on and took the window seat next to the soldier’s spot.

The passengers began drifting aboard and taking their places. He was one of the last to board. He took his seat, smiled and said hi. I smiled, pretending to be preoccupied with my music.

I bobbed my head and hummed a chorus. When he glanced at me, I pulled out my ear buds.

“Sorry to disturb you.”

“No worries, I love that song.”

“Me too.”

“What else do you like?”

“Green Day, and Nirvana and Pearl Jam of course.”

“We have a lot in common.”

“Do you like Vegas?”

He shook his head.

“Only checking email, no gambling.”

“Where would you go if you could go anywhere?”

“Where we’re going, Colorado, to the mountains. Pack a tent, sleeping bag, fishing pole and rifle. I could show you how to live off the land.”

“Sounds like an adventure, but I’m on my way to college.”

“Better use of time. By the way, my name’s Jake Aldridge.”

“I’m Alexandra Rios.”

“Pretty name, for a pretty girl.”

I blushed. “You have a strong name, for a strong man.”

“I’d better be. I’m going to the Hindu Kush of Afghanistan.”

“So exciting, but dangerous. Did you volunteer?”

“Needed money for college and didn’t want to borrow or flip burgers. ROTC paid my tuition, room and board, but I owe them three years of active duty, shipping out to Bagram Air Base in two weeks. Just emailed my parents and my girlfriend about my deployment.”

“Oh, you have a girlfriend?”

“Had. Didn’t want to waste a year, so she dumped me.”

“Her loss.”

“Not really. The only Afghan girls who’ll come near me will be wearing explosive vests, so I’ll be celibate anyhow. Where are you going to school?”

“Michigan.”

“Figured you as a California girl."

“I need a change.”

“Got my degree at Michigan. Need to party hearty to keep the blood from freezing in Ann Arbor.”

I faked a shiver.

“How does a sunshine girl like me keep warm?”

“No such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes. The locals will tell you what to wear. Friendly people, nice town and a great school. And Detroit has a great museum, though it’s a burnt-out, post-industrial cesspool.”

He told me about all the best programs and professors, the little theaters and cozy coffeehouses. I resisted the temptation to quiz him about the sin centers of Detroit.

"Paradise in a barren Midwest tundra.”

“A rare gem. Travel west from Ann Arbor and the only signs of intelligent life ‘til Seattle are Madison and Minneapolis, and they’re even colder.”

“I need a break from LA.”

“Why? Perfect weather, great food, creative culture.”

“Most of my high school classmates were zombies or criminals.”

“Nobody's high school is-”

“Everyone’s obsessed with appearances, diversity as a fashion statement, not because they believe in the right to be different.”

“Liberty means you can earn the right to be different.”

“It’s not fair to ration freedom and reward the rich.”

“You’re complaining about capitalism.”

“What do my clueless classmates or my parents’ phony friends have to do with capitalism?”

“Corporate America needs low cost conformists. It would be happier if they could replace them robots, which it doubtless will, eventually. That’s what K-12 education provides.”

“Robots would have been preferable to my classmates. Some of them were evil.”

“Not everyone fits on the conveyor belt. If the education machine can’t smooth off the corners, it spits them out, and the rejected kids know it. When they realize they’ve been marginalized, they retaliate against those who beat the system.”

“Been there, done that.”

“The top bracket goes to elite colleges, where competition triages them into the professional and managerial classes. When you make it through the mill, it’s your turn to be boss.”

“You sound like my father, defending the status quo.”

“All critiques and praise of capitalism converge, because it’s both been on a long winning streak and left a lot of wrecked lives behind. Anyhow, you must have been in the top 1%, if you got into Michigan. Pick the right program and you’ll be set for life. Have you decided on a major?”

It was premature to tell him about my plans, so I changed the subject.

“I feel like such an egotist, we’ve only talked about me. What's next after Afghanistan?"

"Can’t plan that far ahead. Maybe I’ll come back to Michigan for a Masters.”

“Or visit now, show me around?”

The plane hit turbulence as we crossed the mountains and began our descent toward Denver. Jake looked at me and clasped my hand.

“I’m under orders to stay put until I ship out. But knowing you’re at UM gives me something positive to think about.”

“I’ll think about you, too.”

“Can we stay in touch?”

“I don’t even know where I’ll have housing.”

Jake scribbled his name, unit number, serial number and email on a scrap of paper. “I’ll be off the internet mostly, but you can snail-mail me through my unit’s home base.”

“I’ll volunteer and serve with you.”

“Girls don’t get into combat.”

I stared out the window, annoyed that the success of my gender tromp d’oeil was wasted.

Layover

The sound system crackled with the pilot’s voice.

“Detroit air traffic control announced an extreme weather closure. Detroit passengers, push your call buttons, the attendants will register you for hotel vouchers.”

I feigned a frown.

“Ugh, air travel-”

“Thank you, Mother Nature.”

“For stranding me?”

“I’ve got twenty-four hours’ leave.”

“Then let’s hope the storm lasts.”

We held hands at the cab stand and cuddled back seat in the cab, my first romantic kiss as a girl. Our lips met, our tongues fluttered, and his hands were all over my butt and my boobs. When Jake slid his hands between my thighs I resisted.

“Dinner before dessert.”

“An offer I can’t refuse.”

I used my fake ID to check in as Alexandra, felt empowered and emboldened by my first hotel room. My breasts ached and my ass tingled, hungry for rough sex. I knew Jake wanted the girl he saw. I needed him to take the girl I was.

I showered and stared at the nymphet in the foggy mirror. My flea market hormones had nauseated and bloated me but Premarin had induced a growth spurt in my boobs and butt. I rolled my shoulders, and they jiggled. I bent over and peered through my legs. My shrunken balls and cock barely blocked the view of my pear-shaped butt cheeks or the pink star at their center.

I refreshed my make-up, blew out my hair, slipped on a pair of skintight white Capris, a snug black turtleneck and some new pink sneakers. I added a silver necklace with a turquoise pendant that dangled between the subtle mounds of my boobs, accentuated by a padded, push-up bra. I put on a distressed denim jacket that tapered to accentuate my modest curves and decided I looked perfect. Would Jake take the bait and stay on the hook after I revealed my special problem?

I arrived first at the restaurant and selected an outside table to enjoy the sunset. A local loser approached, wobbly after a long happy hour, and pulled up a chair.

"Come here often?”

I affected an indifferent look.

“Meeting my boyfriend.”

“What's your sign?”

“No trespassing.”

“I'm Cancer."

“Like the disease.”

I pointed to his smoldering cigarette.

His leer turned hard.

“Cunt."

He blew smoke in my face and railed to his friends, who ridiculed him and threw me flirtatious glances. I glared back, both to discourage their overtures and to see if anyone had clocked me. But their banter suggested that I was a girl worth hitting on.

Jake arrived wearing camouflage and combat boots.

“The drunk with the cigarette came on.”

Jake shot him an ominous look and their table quieted down. I ordered a salad, which I left largely uneaten to keep my ass fresh and clean for our after-dinner feast.

He spoke expansively as he ordered a second, and third beer. He was the first in his family to graduate from college, and third generation military. After 9-11 he had been looking forward to active duty, but now that America was embroiled in a bloody occupation of a hostile land, he’d begun to doubt our leaders.

I encouraged him with positive comments and polite questions. I knew how much guys liked to talk about themselves, since I had been one. And that kept the conversation off the delicate question of my background.

After dinner, we walked in the cool evening holding hands, our fingers interlaced. I worried that my hand would sweat or feel too big. But when we paused he raised it to his lips and kissed it.

“Our hands fit perfectly. Does that mean we are a match?”

We leaned into one another and watched the distant Rockies backlit by the sunset. The sun’s rays lit the layered clouds fiery scarlet and fuchsia, then flickered and disappeared, leaving a pink afterglow. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and drew me close, so his lips brushed mine.

“Heaven’s answered,” he said

I shivered, as much from anxiety as from the chill of the night air.

“I’ll warm you up.”

He squeezed me close and massaged the chills from me. I tilted my head, and his lips met mine. I clung to his broad shoulders, yielding to his embrace, and drawing him into me.

He was built like a marble statue. My body molded to his, my nipples tingled as they brushed his pectorals. His tongue penetrated is lips, and I let it tango against mine. After what seemed an eternity, his lips broke contact with my trembling mouth.

“I’ll never let you go.”

I forced a shiver, so my boobs vibrated against his chest, and nodded my head.

“Cools off fast a mile high.”

I pointed my hotel’s neon marquee.

“I need a warm bed.”

“With me?”

I answered with my smile.

Full Disclosure

The clerk glanced up and smiled as we passed her desk, holding hands. We shared a kiss on the elevator and he circled his arm around my waste as I led him to my room. He flipped on the TV and I went to the bathroom to freshen up my cologne and tush. I tingled from my self-inspection and trembled with desire. But before I could get the cock that I craved, I had to make the disclosure I dreaded.

Jake sat on the bed, eyeing me expectantly. I sat down beside him, took his hand in mine I stared at my pristine pink sneakers. I couldn’t bear to look at him as I spoke what I knew could be my last words to him.

"Remember what you said about earning the right to be different?"

"You’ll earn it for sure.”

Tears streamed, and emotions choked my throat.

“I’m different from other girls.”

“Sure, beautiful but modest, brilliant but humble.”

He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. Would the next moments bring revulsion and rage, or compassion and acceptance? I clamped my hands over my face to hide my shame. I spoke in a halting voice.

"I was born with a boy's body."

I convulsed with involuntary sobs. My eyes were blinded by tears, my ears deafened by my pounding pulse.

Would Jake would dash out of the room, beat me senseless, or accept me into his heart? As I surrendered my secret I almost lost consciousness, and hope.

His arm loosened, and dropped away, and I sagged to the floor to crawl away. But he had let go momentarily only to draw me closer. He hugged me and pressed my tear-streaked face to his chest.

"S’OK, baby."

He rocked his body against mine. I lifted my face from his chest and our lips met in a tentative, quivering kiss. My lips parted, and his warm tongue entered and trilled against mine, like the first steps of dancers on a stage. His lips traveled to my neck. I tilted my head back and yielded and melted in his embrace, collapsing to the bed and pulling him atop me. I opened my eyes when his kisses paused.

"You look, feel and kiss like a girl," he said

He unhooked my bra, lifted my sweater and kissed my breasts.

“So hot.”

My estrogen-softened body molded against Jake's well-muscled frame.

“OK?”

“We still fit."

I lifted my arms and he pulled my top over my head, tousling my long hair over my face like a gauzy veil. I wriggled out of my Capri's and he tugged them to extract my legs from their tight bottoms. I coyly covered my boobs and panty-clad cock as he stripped naked. He reclined beside me, alternated kisses of my breasts and lips. My nipples hardened into rosebuds, but his hand flinched when he touched my panties.

"Let me pamper you."

I knelt as though in worship, he guided my head lightly, and I let him teach me.

“Your lips flutter like the wings of an angel.”

I kissed his bulging knob.

"You taste like the nectar of the gods."

He hooked his thumbs over the waistband of my panties and slid them down, and I wriggled my ass to help him. His eyes momentarily widened when my secret was revealed, then he lofted my panties across the room onto the dresser.

“Two points,” he said.

“From here, it’s a three.”

“Plus, a free throw.”

The scrub of his whiskers on my skin and the wet tug of his of his mouth on my flesh me squirm with sensation. His fingers traced the curve of my ass to the crevasse between my cheeks.

“OK?” he asked.

My previous male sex partners had been rough and hasty. I had been used rather than pleased. Jake was making love to me. Waves of exquisite sensation and emotional ecstasy swept through me.

“Wait here while I freshen up.”

Virtual Virginity

I cleansed, lubed, brushed my hair, glossed my lips, and grabbed a condom, but then put it away, deciding that Jake posed a negligible risk.

“I’m ready, take me."

He looked nervous.

"Never done this, have you?”

Guys love to think they’re number one. I was virtually virginal, this was my first sex untainted by coercion or commerce. I nodded.

“Waiting for the perfect man.”

“Don’t want to hurt you.”

“Start slow, see if I can handle it."

"I’ll try.”

I closed my eyes and controlled my breath.

"OK, go."

I blinked away blinding pain, breathed rhythmically, then a napalm blast erupted and engulfed me, incinerating my masculinity, scorching away the ghosts of my past and my fears for my future. He hammered and kneaded me like a sculptor shaping rough stone into a statue of a goddess. My eyes signaled him onward, and to transport me with him.

I’m Jake’s maiden bride; my agony the pangs of my broken hymen. I summoned a tear, and Jake kissed it away like a caring husband sharing conjugal bliss on a honeymoon, not a quickie on an accidental layover.

I channeled pain into performance and conjured responses that he would never forget. I cried out for mercy to gods that I didn’t believe in. I begged him to stop and then demanded more. I wept and whooped with pleasure in the same breath, he thrusted and parried like a swordsman in a duel until I was gasping for breath and spattered with his sweat.

I pursed my lips, and he leaned forward kiss me.

“Hurt?”

“So good.”

New vistas of pain opened and transformed into avenues to greater pleasure. When he surged forward, I opened my inner spaces to him. My slender body shook like a rag doll as my torso absorbed shockwaves.

“So good, so tired.”

“Combat training got me in good shape.”

“I should work out more.”

Our flesh slapped like waves of applause in a theater in which we were both the stars and the audience. I turned my face to meet his kisses, helpless and vulnerable, and for the first time, completely happy, frolicking in his arms like a wanton wood nymph.

The symphony of slapping flesh, cries, moans, grunts heaving breath reached a crescendo. Uncontrollable forces conquered both of our bodies. I heard my voice rise involuntarily from within me in a wordless language that only he could answer, with deep throated growls of his own as we simultaneously climaxed. Every neuron of my body electrified in response, then he slowed, sailing like a ship through the stormy sea that roiled inside me.

"I need to freshen up again.”

Amy Vanderbilt hadn’t recommended an open or closed door for a T-girl’s toilette, so I compromised and left it ajar, and my butt sputtered. I laughed, embarrassed at my faux pas.

“I’ll turn on the fan.”

“No worries, natural to release gas after that. What’s so funny?”

“The bigoted Republican senator who’s the namesake of that cocktail.”

“It’s our toast to him.”

“Alexandra, you’re incredible.”

“You bring out the best in me. Or is it the worst?”

“Whatever, you’re superlative.”

“You’re great too.”

“I think this bad boy needs a nap.”

“A well-deserved rest.”

Jake yawned, pulled a pillow over his head and soon was snoring. I was too preoccupied to sleep. I sleeplessly stared at the bad hotel art and the curdled asbestos ceiling. I imagined my future as an Air Force wife, moving every six months, living in crowded base housing and organizing bake sales for the benefit of war widows and orphans. During his deployments I would have to warehouse my sexual impulses, and afterwards subordinate my ambitions to the dictates of military orders. Was he worth it, or should I enter Jake in my back-catalog?

I slept in his arms until a text alert roused me.

“Detroit Airport reopened. Alexander Rios is confirmed on flight 563 at 8:00 a.m. Be ready in the lobby of your hotel at 5:00 a.m.”

I had to fly to Detroit as Alex, and I didn’t want him to see me that way, so I dressed in the dark and left without saying goodbye. I left a note with my cell phone number and email address encircled in a heart. In the crowded airport shuttle my night in Denver scrolled through my memory like a romantic fantasy. My future loomed like a blank page.

I phoned him from the gate and got his voicemail.

“Hi, it’s Alexandra, boarding. Wish we’d had more time, maybe someday. Happy memories, though.”

I couldn’t call it love, for had I loved him, or the experience? He could be mutilated in an Afghan ambush, or the camaraderie of combat and the transphobia endemic in the military could change his mind. Love would burden both of us. We needed to be free.

“OK, that’s all for now. Bye.”

I wiped away a tear. I had been lucky to find Jake. Would I ever be so lucky again?