Step by Step Feminisation, or How I Accidentally Invented Transness

Alright. Well. That sure happened.

After a brief kissing session to cheer me up, Ash realised I actually didn’t know anything about how people transitioned. She was torn; was I the absolute densest dumbass of the decade, or a genius who had figured out the whole ‘you can be a girl if you want to’ part, basically coming up with transness on her own? She didn’t know. I myself was leaning toward the second option.

So, once I had finished my then-cold coffee and done a bit of make-up, my girlfriend started talking. She first told me, to my shock, that Chloe and her girlfriend were both trans girls, apparently — “but they have boobs?” I remember pointing out. She educated me on everything about transness I didn’t know about, or had not essentially guessed already. Stuff such as how people could change their names, with a simple visit to the town hall and a bunch of legal documents. How people could change their gender marker, with a decidedly not simple court case, the mercy of a judge and six months to a year of waiting time. Also, hormones were a thing, apparently — “‘Tiddy skittles’? Does that mean you get… Oh. They can do that?” had been my reaction. Well, that explained the boobs then. My head was spinning from all the possibilities.

I remembered with a bitter feeling that none of this would happen to me, at least not until I was independent from my family, a few years down the line. I couldn’t help but feel somewhat jealous of Ash, who wouldn’t have to change her name. Ash, who already had an HRT appointment scheduled in a few weeks. Ash, who even without girl hormones was already way more feminine than me. Okay, I was more than somewhat jealous of her. Oh well, I’d have to learn to live with it.

Ash spent some time showing me trans memes on Reddit, which were some of the most relatable shit I’d ever laid my eyes on, and now we’re watching some videos made by other trans people, all titled something like ‘So you figured out you’re trans. Now what?’

My phone buzzes, startling me a bit; it only happens when people send me a text message or call me, both being exceedingly rare occurrences. Oh well, probably just a spam call.

It’s not. It’s an SMS. An SMS from my mother.

I fight with the fingerprint reader for a few seconds and the screen finally unlocks.

It’s a screenshot. Uncropped, of course; do you seriously expect an average fifty-five year old cis — hehe — woman to know how to do that? I can literally see her notification bar, and even the time in the top right corner. Wow, it was taken only a minute ago, she really must have been in a hurry to send me that, huh?

Anyways, yeah, it’s totally a screenshot of Chloe’s Instagram post. I forgot about the photos.

Fuck.

I watch the image travel upwards as a second text message comes in. ‘Explications. Maintenant.’

Fuck.

How did she even recognise me? I look so different in these pictures! Is it… the couch I’m sitting on? Or maybe it’s the fact that we can see most of the living room in the background, even if it’s a little blurry. Maybe it doesn’t help that… I’m wearing… my usual sweater and jeans…

Okay, I might not be a genius after all.

⁂

The intercom buzzed, Ash ran downstairs to open the door, and moments later Chloe and someone I recognised as her girlfriend Jenny burst into the flat, followed closely by my out-of-breath flatmate.

Chloe immediately apologised to me. She was very new to this whole 'being famous' deal and hadn't realised that, in addition to asking permission, she should also let people know about her follower count. Even if it was sort of her fault in the end, I couldn’t really be mad at her.

“Have you decided whether I should delete them?” she asks.

I shrug. “Well, that’s the thing. I thought the photos wouldn’t be an issue. Who could possibly recognise me, right? But, well…” I say as I unlock my phone, showing her the text my mum sent me a few hours earlier. She hasn’t said anything more, nor have I responded yet.

“Oh… shit. I assume you didn’t plan on telling them so early?”

I nod, and explain why that is the case and how my parents are likely to react to me being trans. Her expression gets increasingly mortified. “But don’t worry too much about it; they would have found out eventually. It just, you know… ripped the bandaid off. That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it?” I say with a chuckle. “The only question left is, how the fuck did she stumble upon your account? She never goes on social media!”

“I don’t really know. The only place where I openly talk about having that many followers is at work.”

“Huh. Yeah, no idea, then.” I think about it for a few seconds. Could it actually have something to do with her work? Hold on. “You… work for TV, right?

“Yes?”

“So do my parents.”

“Uh-oh.”

A few seconds of silence go by, and Ash finally asks The Question. “And? Which channel?”

⁂

Well, apparently the same one. I’m only a few coincidences away from thinking there is some greater power controlling my life, at this point.

Anyways. I couldn’t delay the inevitable. I had to respond to my mother. Surrounded by my friends and girlfriend, I wrote her an email.

Hello mum, I hope your weekend is going well.
I’m transgender, I’m a girl and my name is Joy. I know you probably won’t like this. You might think that I’m being indoctrinated, that I’m just following a trend, that I need to man up, but none of this is true. This is who I am; being a girl makes me happier than I’ve ever been, it gives me something to look forward to in life. Here are some links to documentaries and videos about people like me.

I also should tell you that I’m dating Ashley, now. She’s a trans girl like me, and she’s the most amazing girlfriend I could ever hope for.

I hope you won’t hate me too much.
Joy.

I close my laptop, send my mom a quick text to let her know I replied in an email, and immediately switch off my phone. I’ll worry about her response later. An upside is that I’ll be able to go to uni as a girl, I guess.

“Should we watch a movie?” Ash asks.

“Sure!”

“Yeah,” Jenny says, “as long as it’s not a Kubrick.” It makes Chloe laugh, for some reason. “By the way, Joy. I love your make-up. Us girlfriends of make-up savvy people are truly privileged.”

I giggle. “Speak for yourself, it’s literally Chloe’s job! I did mine myself, thank you very much!”

Chloe’s eyes widen. “Y— you did… this… yourself? I thought you’d never done make-up before!”

“Well, when you did it was my first time wearing any. But I’ve been practising a bit since then.”

“Since then?” she asks incredulously. “It’s been three days! Most girls take months to get anywhere near that level!”

“She’s already better at it than me,” Ash says, shaking her head.

“That gives me an idea, actually,” Jenny says as we sit down on the couch and start looking for a movie to watch. “Since you’re so good at this, maybe Chloe could give you lessons? Your skills would be on par with hers in no time. And, that way, if your parents end up… you know…. She could help you find a make-up related job? She has connections, you know?” she adds with a smirk.

“Huh. That… actually sounds like a good idea?”

Chloe nods. “We can work something out.”

After some research, we finally agree on a movie to watch — as a trans person, it’s apparently mandatory to see The Matrix at least once, according to Chloe and Jenny — and I lean my head on my girlfriend’s shoulder.

What a week.