Chapter One
It is often difficult to decide where to begin a tale. Does it begin, as life does, at birth? Or before that, at conception? Or even at the meeting of the parents, because if that never happened neither could the rest of the tale. But then all lives are spin-offs of lives that came before, unless you believe in reincarnation, in which case some of them are also sequels, so perhaps the beginning of the story should be the beginning of the events of the story. But even that is easier said than done. World War I began on the 28th of July 1914 when Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia, but most credit the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand a month before that as being the catalysing event that led to war. The assassination wouldn’t have occurred if Austria hadn’t conquered Bosnia, which wouldn’t have happened without the decline of the Ottoman empire. Britain’s withdrawal into isolation, which threatened the balance of power in the Concert of Europe, Bismarck’s forced retirement, which led to the Franco-Russian alliance, and the 1908 to 1913 arms race between the six major European powers all contributed to the first world war, and it is impossible to point at one thing and say ”this is where the story started.”
This story could start in chapter seven, in the aftermath of the procedure, or in chapter five, when Lily first arrives at Oberius International Laboratories, and it might have done so if this was a science horror story about the hideous results of an experiment gone wrong, or a contemporary medical drama about the extremes transgender people in the UK are forced to resort, to get treatment, because the NHS process is glacial. But this story is neither of those things, and so it begins in chapter one, with Lily in a bath. It could have begun forty minutes later, but then we wouldn’t have the gratuitous nudity of a transgender person to open on, and since most people’s experiences of and interactions with transgender people are through porn, that gratuitous nudity seems somehow fitting.
=^.^= =^.^= =^.^=
Her immiscible blood spreads through the hot water of her bath like a BP oil spill at sea, the thick, dark liquid remaining separate from the bubbly bathwater that surrounds it, except for the edges where the diluting effects of the water is emulsifying the concentrated crimson ichor. A razor falls from her hand with a dull plop. Comforted by the embrace of the warm water, with only the initial stinging pain of the deep razor cut, she gradually loses focus, sinking into nothingness.
Okay, yeah, gonna take a pause here. Look, I compared the nudity in this scene to the nudity in porn, but I never actually stated this scene was in any way erotic. If you’re not going to pay attention to what I actually say, and are instead focusing on what you imagine I said, this is a good place to stop. If you’re still here, or especially if you’re on the fence about continuing, don’t worry, she is not dying today.
Lily opens her eyes and stares up at the Australia-shaped black mould on the toilet ceiling. She really should deal with that, or at least report it to the landlord. With a sigh, she fishes blindly through the water until her fingers brush against the razor’s bumpy plastic handle. Gripping it loosely, she brings her knee to her chin and resumes shaving her leg.
When she finishes shaving, she washes, luxuriating in the feeling of the shower-gel soaked sponge gliding across her smooth, hairless skin. Almost nothing feels quite as good as this, not sex nor chocolate nor seeing the fictional couples she ships finally getting together. Watching a TV programme as it ends with them still together is even better than running her hands down her smooth legs, but the only time that’s ever happened was in She-ra, which she loves but can no longer rewatch due to boycotting Netfucks for platforming transphobic “comedians.”
She rises from the bath water like Godzilla from the Pacific, soap suds gliding down her smooth skin as the water pours from her like rain from a gutter, and steam rising from her hairless flesh into the cool air of the bathroom. Delicately, she steps down onto the floor, her left sole in the open mouth of the lion printed on the bathroom rug. She hums a few bars of Billy Joel’s ”always a woman to me,” whilst briskly drying herself, then sets the towel aside. Long, gliding strokes of her hands on her smooth legs works the creamy white moisturiser into her skin and feels even better than getting washed. She moisturises her arms, stomach, chest, face, and even the back of her neck, before wiping the excess on her butt cheeks. She’s been doing a lot of squats lately, following a routine from the horribly named sissy fitness subreddit, and she can really feel the difference in the curves of her butt. Might be time to invest in some yoga pants.
She leaves the bathroom, dumping her dirty clothes and used towels in the washing basket as she heads to her bedroom, thinking about yoga pants. It’s strange that they are referred to as pants, and not yoga trousers or leggings, like the UK has been infiltrated by US culture and language and no one noticed because it was only women’s clothing. This is just one of the subtle ways America exports its cultural exceptionalism and idiocy to a global audience and the world becomes slowly more American in outlook, which is probably the most terrifying of all the concurrent apocalypses devouring humanity’s future. Or perhaps I am simply overwrought at the ease with which Americanisms permeate global human cultures, contrasted with the difficulties I had in getting aliens to embrace the mass migratory interpretive cultural dancing of my homeworld. Either way, let us return to this tale, as Lily reaches her bedroom.
“Alexa, play my Feelings playlist, please,” she says, as she enters the room.
Alexa responds and the first song begins to play.
“Thank you, Alexa,” she says, because politeness costs nothing but might just save her if a robot apocalypse kicks off, and since that and zombies are currently the only two that aren’t happening, it pays to be prepared.
Okay, the sharks aren’t happening either, but the sharks aren’t going to happen.
Lily considers the clothes she had laid out on her bed before going for a bath, trying to decide what she feels like wearing tonight. After a few moments deliberation, she selects a yellow summer dress, and a matching white pants and bra set. The underwear on, she inserts her fake silicon boobs into the bra cups and slips the summer dress over her head. It hangs to her thighs and, as she looks down, the tingling warmth of indescribable joy spreads from her gut throughout her body, as if she is basking in direct sunlight. An involuntary smile twists her mouth as she watches her wiggling toes, and then her twitching lips break into a full grin. She does a little spin, letting her dress whoosh around her, before dropping into the chair by her dressing table, the euphoria giving her soul wings.
She sings along to Kim Petras’ Heart to Break as she sets out the products that are needed for her face. She moisturises, then works the primer in with a sponge before selecting a deep purple eyeshadow to wear. She sorts the rest of her makeup in order as the primer sets, and by the time the next song, Sophie’s It’s Okay To Cry, is playing, Lily is ready for step two. She brushes the eyeliner onto her eyelids, all the way up to her eyebrows, then across the root of her nose and her glabella, connecting the eyeshadow in one long strip. Next comes the eyeliner, as she pulls each cheek down in turn to apply it across her lower eyelines. She pulls her cheeks towards her ears to apply the eyeliner above her eyes and extends the wings out either side of her face. A connecting line of eyeliner below the eyeshadow on her nose completes the look. She takes a moment to admire her eyes in the mirror. The blue of her iris doesn’t go well with the purple of her eyeshadow, she needs a colour that is closer or further apart on the colour wheel. Purple and blue are in the wrong range, but that’s okay. This whole thing is a learning process, and every time she does it, she looks that little bit better.
She is spreading a deep red blush along her cheeks, jaw, chin, and upper lip to counteract the bluish skin tone that remains after shaving her beard, when the front door opens. Her mood falls as quickly as Tesla stock when Elon Musk bought Twitter. Lily glances around the dressing table, considering her options, but there are no good ones. Continue, or do nothing, those are her choices. With a sigh, she picks up a brush and begins blending.
She can hear Catherine calling her name; well, a name. Not one she wants to hear, even if it technically is still hers. She ignores it, finishes blending in the blush, looking as if she has sunburn over the entire lower half of her face, then cleans the brush on the spikes of a silicone hedgehog.
“You’re home early,” Lily says, as Catherine approaches the bedroom.
“Yeah, I…” Catherine stops as she catches sight of Lily. “We spoke about this.”
“Yes,” Lily agrees. “You said you didn’t mind if you were out, and you were out.”
“I’m in now,” Catherine says, her voice flat.
“Yeah,” Lily agrees, as she dabs her foundation on. “You are.” She’s ready for this to turn into a fight, but she’s hoping it doesn’t. Either way, she doesn’t think she’s in the wrong here.
Catherine sighs. She doesn’t believe she’s in the wrong either. “You could stop.”
Lily keeps applying the makeup and doesn’t reply, but she feels her anger growing. Catherine had said it was fine if she was out, and she was out, dammit. People often say one thing and mean another, but when they refuse to say what they really mean and leave their intentions needing to be guessed, they shouldn’t get pissed off when the guesses are wrong. Of course, people aren’t that logical, and they often let the unstable biological chemistry that powers their emotions drive their actions. You’d never catch a Clitoris doing that – mostly our actions are driven by logic, boredom, our insatiable lust for pleasure, or our need to spread a little chaos.
Catherine flops down on the bed, lying flat on her back but with her knees bent and feet on the floor. “I had a terrible evening, if you care.”
Lily pauses with her brush just before her face. “Of course, I care.”
Catherine sighs again. “Do you?” She reaches out and grabs Blahaj, pulling the almost three and a half feet long stuffed shark to her chest.
“What happened?”
“Megan’s pregnant. My mum is overjoyed about being a grandmother at last. She kept making barbs at me about it.” She puts on a higher pitched voice. ”The whole point of being a woman is to have babies.” Returning to her normal voice, she continues. “I just can’t with her right now.”
“I am so sorry. She should just accept that you made your decision, and you don’t want kids.” Lily’s anger has gone as quickly as it came. She never gets very angry, and when she does feel anger rising, it never lasts for long. Right now, she just wants to hold Catherine and whisper reassuringly in her ear.
Catherine raises Blahaj over her face, holding the shark at arm’s length above her. “If you were sorry, you’d stop dressing like a woman.”
“That’s not fair. Those are two completely unrelated things. I’ve followed all your rules: never in public, not when your home, but you agreed that you’d work on accepting this.”
“I’m sorry.” Catherine sits up, setting the shark down beside her. “I’m trying, I am. This is hard for me. I didn’t… you know, I didn’t marry a woman.”
“You did,” Lily disagrees. “It’s just that neither of us knew at the time. And I know this is hard for you. I am sorry.”
Catherine reaches out and takes the brush from Lily’s hand, then begins blending the foundation in. “The purple is really nice,” she says. “It doesn’t go with anything though. You should have purple nails or something.”
“It doesn’t go with my eyes,” Lily says. “I don’t think I’ll use it again.” She pauses. “Is this a peace offering?”
“Do I need one? We’re not at war. You’re just… a woman now, and I’m not a lesbian.”
Lily considers that for a moment, and decides it isn’t worth correcting Catherine on the first point. As for the second, “are you straight?”
“I thought I was,” Catherine replies as she sets the brush on the dressing table. “I don’t fucking know what I am.” She picks up a lip liner pen. “I’m working on it.”
There is silence between them as Catherine finishes Lily’s makeup. When it is completed, Catherine takes a wig from its stand on the shelf and sets it on Lily, and smiles. “Beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
They sit with their heads close together, just watching one another, for a long moment, before Catherine moves forward, bringing her lips against Lily’s. The suddenness of the kiss surprises Lily, for a second, and then she is returning it. Hands grab at one another, tongues fight to be the one that invades a mouth, and they moan their desire as they explore one another’s bodies.
Lily tries to stand, and Catherine pulls her forward, on top of her, on top of the bed, on top of Blahaj who is crushed between the bed and the giggling, moaning, conjoined women. Catherine reaches behind her back, wriggling as she pulls at the shark, until it comes free, and is tossed aside, onto the floor, and then all her attention is back on Lily.
They pause for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, each one overwhelmed by the depth of love they feel for the other, a vast ocean of love that swells between them with the tides. Too stunned to move or speak, they simply stare in shared wonder and silence. Lily bends forward and lightly touches her lips to Catherine’s.
“I love you,” she says, as light as a breath.
“I love you, too.”
The wonder and love is shattered by passion and lust and they’re kissing, grasping, pulling each other’s clothes in desperate need. Catherine rises up astride Lily and lifts her top off, then throws it in the direction of the shark, before returning for more kisses. Lily’s warm hands explore Catherine’s cool flesh, one hand following the curve of her spine until she reaches the bra strap. A finger to pin, a thumb to drag, and the strap pops open. The bra slides down Catherine’s arms, and Lily moves both hands to caress her wife’s breasts, and that’s where we’ll leave them be.
Let them enjoy this moment of coupling as a couple and without a voyeuristic audience they never consented to have. I don’t need to describe the sex for you to presume it happened, and they don’t need to have sex to have a deep and meaningful shared connection of love and mutual respect, and all the story requires is for you to understand that when they believed they were a cis couple, they were very happy and in love, and when Lily realised she wasn’t cis, the love remained, but the happiness grow harder to hold onto in the face of societal hostility, and the fear of how Catherine’s family would respond.
“You know I love you,” Catherine says again, later, as they lay intwined in one another’s arms, a light sheen of sweat covering their naked bodies. Their passion might be spent, but nothing can exhaust their love.
“Is love enough?” Lily asks.
“I don’t know,” Catherine admits. “I… You’re… I don’t know.”
Lily pulls away from Catherine and sits up. “You say you need time, but it’s been four years. Four years since I came out to you, four years since I went on a GIC waiting list. Sometimes, you are completely against the idea, and sometimes we end up in bed. Honestly, it’s the indecision that’s the worst part. I’d understand if you weren’t attracted to me, but it clearly doesn’t matter to you what I look like. Sometimes I think it’s just homophobia.”
Catherine gasps. “I am not homophobic!”
“Your mother is, and you’re deeply affected by her judgements.” Lily swings her legs out of bed and sits perched on the edge. The sight of her smooth lower limbs no longer brings enough elation to lift her from this funk. She balls the toes of her left foot and rubs it nervously along the top of her right. “There’s no more time to give you now, anyway.”
Catherine sits up on the bed, clutching the sheets against her chest as if this is a movie and she isn’t being paid enough to show her breasts to the viewers. “What do you mean?”
“I agreed to your rules,” Lily says, still nervously rubbing one foot against the other and refusing to look around at Catherine. “But only until I could see someone about transitioning, and I got a letter today.”
Catherine reaches out and lays a hand on Lily’s shoulder. “You received a letter from the GIC?” Her voice quivers with a tremulous waver that cuts through the excited tone she attempts to inject into her words.
“No. I’ve only been on a GIC waiting list for four years, it will be at least three more before I get my initial appointment. This is a different thing, a private pharmaceutical company.”
“Absolutely not,” Catherine cuts in. “We do not have the money for private healthcare.”
Lily sighs. The money isn’t relevant, but since Catherine has brought it up, Lily might as well comment on it. “There’s plenty of money in our joint account.”
“You know that’s for our holiday to Spain next year,” Catherine replies. “We both need a break for our mental well-being.”
Lily sighs. “I can’t have any mental well-being without transitioning, but it doesn’t matter anyway. There’s no cost to this. Oberius International has developed a new way of transitioning and I’ve been invited as part of a medical trial.”
“A new way of transitioning? What way?”
“Oh, I have no idea. Crisps and genetics and radiation, it’s all very scientific. You know I never understand any that stuff.”
“You’re going to let people expose you to radiation?”
“In a medical way; it’s how they fight cancer.”
“You don’t have cancer.”
“I don’t not have cancer.”
“No, you do don’t not have – I don’t even know if that makes sense. Why do they need to irradiate you?”
“I don’t know. It’s just how the process works, I guess.”
Catherine shakes her head in dismay. “No, no I absolutely forbid you to do this.”
Lily sighs. She pulls away from Catherine’s hand and turns to look in her wife’s eyes. “You can’t forbid me to do this.”
Catherine closes her eyes in resignation. “I can, we both know I can,” she says quietly. “The spousal veto means you can’t transition if I don’t agree to it. Please don’t make me use it.”
Actually, the veto applies only to the issuing of a Gender Recognition Certificate, and Catherine can’t stop Lily from medically transitioning, but neither of them are lawyers, so it makes sense they wouldn’t know this. Also, it really adds a touch of drama to the end of this first scene.
“I need this,” Lily says.
“You could die.”
“Everyone dies, Catherine. If I do the experimental procedure, there is a tiny chance of dying, but I have to take that chance. So, before you use your spousal veto, just know that if you ask me to choose, I can’t guarantee I will choose you.”