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New Girl in Town #10
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
From: [email protected].org (Jon Grossberg)
Subject: Bobbi's Story (chapter 10)
Organization: Somewhere just far enough out of Toronto
Date: Wed, 6 May 1992 03:42:33 GMT
Approved: [email protected]
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
Sender: [email protected] (Evan Leibovitch)
Lines: 872
Archive-Name: bobbi-10
(Note: the original author of these stories prefers to remain anonymous)
A T M O T H E R ' S K N E E
I stared out into the middle distance through the bars of the cell. My
whole life seemed to have fallen in on me. From the way he had sounded
on the phone, I had just lost Peter. I now had a police record as a
common street prostitute. He would not want me anymore.
How could I tell Edith what had happened? Would she still want me as a
daughter now? Would Dr. Benjamin find out? What would he say about
it? Margo would probably laugh, and give me a lecture about letting
myself be suckered by that cop. The "G.G.Girls" would gossip about it
all over the bar. Patty would have a cynical remark to make. A thous-
and questions and scenes ran through my mind. What would become of me?
"First time you've been busted, honey?," said a voice behind me. I
turned to see a woman in her late twenties looking at me. She was
about my height with long honey-blonde hair, and was dressed very fas-
hionably in an understated sexy way. "It's all right," she said. "It
happens to all of us from time to time. What name do you go by?" I
dried my eyes with a tissue. At least she was someone to talk to.
"Bobbi," I said.
"That's a pretty name," she said. "My name is Helen. You ought to get
some sleep. You look like you could use it. They'll have us up at six
for breakfast, and you won't get much rest with all the noise in here
all night as it is." I shook my head. "I don't think I could sleep
here," I said.
Helen shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, "but I'm going to get some
sleep. How about at least unzipping my dress for me?" I looked at her
quizzically, and asked, "You're going to get undressed?" "Well," she
replied, "I don't want to get this dress wrinkled, so we just sleep in
our underwear. That is... as long as you're wearing some underwear."
She laughed at that, and I even laughed a little too. She did not seem
to be bothered much that she was in jail for prostitution, but then,
she did not look like a prostitute. The ones I knew were either the
street hookers with their flashy clothes and slutty ways, or the girls
of "The Gilded Grape" who only differed in the plumbing of their bio-
logical gender. Helen did not look like either of those types. She
looked very sexy, but with class. She looked like an executive's wife
on her way to a party at the company president's house.
"Well?," Helen said turning her back to me, and holding up her hair to
give me access to the zipper at the back of her dress. "I'm wearing
underwear. Could you do my zipper?" I tugged down the tab to open the
back of her dress, and said, "You don't dress or act like the others
here. Are we all in for the same thing?" Helen looked pleased as she
removed her dress exposing her satin and lace, white lingerie, and the
voluptuous body that it encased. "Thank you," she said. "No... we're
all just whores in here. I just don't work the street. I'm a call-
girl."
Helen hung her dress on a hook near the bunk she had picked for her-
self. "Need any help?," she asked. "With what?," I replied. "Well,"
Helen said, "you were nice enough to help me with my dress, so I
thought I'd return the favor. You might also need some help into that
top bunk. You wouldn't want to fall."
I resigned myself to the fact that, like it or not, I was going to have
to sleep here tonight. I turned my back to allow Helen to unzip my
dress. As she did it, she ran her hand down my back in a caress that
sent shivers down my spine. Her hands then spread the back of my
dress, and in so doing, caressed my shoulders continuing down my arms.
"What are you doing?," I asked. "You have lovely skin," replied Helen.
"I'd very much like to touch more of it."
Helen looked me in the eyes with a look that I had up to then only seen
in the eyes of men intent upon seducing me. Before I could speak, she
said, "You don't belong out on the street. You could make a lot more
money, and live a lot easier working with me. I have two other girls,
and I act as a sort of 'agent' for them. I take the calls, set up the
dates, and you get ninety percent of the fee plus any extras the client
might give you. Think about it. I'll give you my card in the morning
when I get my purse back. You can call me, and we'll have lunch to
talk it over. That way maybe we can get to know each other a lot bet-
ter too."
Helen was a Lesbian! She had all but just flat out propositioned me.
I had to say something. "I think you've got the wrong idea about me,"
I said. "Oh?," Helen replied. "Can I trust you with a secret?," I
asked. Helen nodded. "I think I'm in the wrong cell," I said. "I was
arrested for prostitution, but despite the dress and lingerie... I'm
really a boy!"
Helen looked at me in surprised disbelief. She stood close in front of
me, pulled my dress to the floor, and reached back into my crotch grip-
ping my little penis gently between her fingers. Her eyes grew even
wider in surprise as she did. "I don't believe it," she said calmly.
"You even had me fooled. It's no wonder the cops didn't catch on."
"Do you still want me working for you?," I asked picking up my dress,
and hanging it on the hook next to Helen's. She gave me a sly smile,
and said, "Yes! Yes I do. I know a few clients who just might appre-
ciate your special talents. We'll talk over lunch." Helen helped me
into the top bunk, and gave my ass a playful squeeze in doing so. "I
prefer women as lovers," she said, "but I might just make an exception
with you!" Then she kissed me quickly on the lips, and slid into her
bunk. I lay back to think. Was I now to be a call-girl too? It took
me only a minute to fall asleep. It had been a long day.
= = * = =
The lights came on, and a loud bell jarred us all out of our fitful
sleep. "Six o'clock, ladies!," shouted a voice on the public address
system. "Rise and shine! Breakfast starts in thirty minutes!" I
stretched under the cover of a single, rough, woolen blanket. It took
me a minute to remember where I was. I looked around to see the others
dragging themselves out of the bunks.
I slid my legs over the edge of the bunk, and sat there for a minute to
adjust my bra. For obvious reasons, I had not taken it off last night,
and it had twisted to let my falsies show a bit. Luckily the others
could not see it under my full slip. While I was doing it, I felt
dainty fingers run their nails gently up the back of the calf of my
right leg. I looked down, and saw Helen getting out of the bunk below.
"Good morning," she said in a pleasant, but somewhat sleepy voice. She
stood up, and stretched. She wore only a pair of white lace panties.
Her body was smooth and tight with just enough of the hint of an all-
over tan to make her look healthy. The best part of her for me, how-
ever, was her bust. Helen's breasts were not huge, but they were big,
round, and full. They were the sort of breasts that you see on the
girls in a "Playboy" centerfold. They were the sort of breasts that
most men go wild over. They were the sort of breasts that I wanted to
be able to wear proudly on my own chest. I could not help but stare at
them.
Helen cocked her head to one side, and said, "Well, I like when people
look at my body, and appreciate it. I can see that you like what you
are looking at." I blushed, and said, "I like to show off my body too,
but for the reason that you found out about last night, I don't think I
want to do it here." We giggled like schoolgirls at that. "But that
gives me a problem," I said. "I have to pee!"
There was a toilet in the cell, but it just sat out in the open against
the wall by the sink. There was no privacy at all. "Well," said
Helen, "if I stand at the sink to wash while you go, that should help a
little." We tried it, and I managed to get my panties down under my
slip, and sit down before anyone noticed my little penis. As the pres-
sure in my bladder was relieved, I lost the morning hardon that I had.
I would be so glad when the doctor removed that useless lump of flesh
for good, and I would never have that annoyance again.
I reached back between my legs to wipe away the last few drops with
some paper, and secretly return my little penis to its tuck. "We all
seen cunts like your's before!," said a big black girl who stood naked
in front of me as I finished pulling up my panties. "You don't gott'a
hide it in here. Now get outt'a my way. I gott'a take a wicked piss!"
She sat down, farted loudly, and relieved herself as I washed my hands,
and returned to the bunks with Helen.
I lifted the hem of my slip to put on my garter-belt, and sat on a bunk
to pull on my stockings. Helen was doing the same. "You have great
legs," she said. "Thank you," I replied. "I'm a dancer, or at least
trying to be. It's a lot of work, but it keeps me in shape." Helen
stood to put on her bra taking those wonderful breasts from my view.
"I really would like to have you working with me and my other girls,"
she said. "I know quite a few men who would like to have you in bed.
Would you like to be a call-girl?" Without hesitation, I said that I
would. "Good," Helen answered. "Wait for me after court, and I'll
give you my card. Since this is your first offence, they'll let you go
with just a fine, and a lecture from the judge. I have some things to
do today, but call me between six and eight tonight, and we'll set
something up where we can talk. Help me zip my dress, and we'll have
some breakfast. Here comes the matron." We adjusted each other's
dresses and hair, and then filed out of the cell with the others to go
to the mess hall.
I really did not feel like eating. The little wave of elation that I
had started to feel from talking with Helen was soon lost in a sea of
depression as the depersonalization of the mess line drove a new real-
ization of where I was back into my mind. I was in jail like our
society felt any common street whore should be. The dregs of the vast
flesh and slime pits of New York City surrounded me. Helen stood be-
hind me in line hovering protectively, but nothing she could do would
remove the depression I felt now. I just knew I had lost Peter, some
of mt friends, and most of my self-respect. I just knew that I would
be better off dead.
All I took was a cup of bad coffee, and the least burnt piece of toast
I could find. Helen ushered me to one of the long tables, and shoved
the way for us to sit at the end of one of the benches with a few sharp
words and an elbow to a very butch woman who was apparently about to be
arraigned for shooting a liquor store clerk in an armed robbery. She
let me sit on the end of the bench where the others could not bother me
physically. "The food's lousy in The Tombs," she said. "Rikers Island
has a better mess hall, but you wouldn't want to go there for the
cuisine." I smiled at her little joke, but it did not cheer me up.
We ate mostly in silence. I was just feeling too low to talk. Then we
were all marched back to the cell to await the opening of court at ten
o'clock. We spent that time in some idle chatter, but nothing of any
consequence happened. All I could think of was court, and how I could
face Peter there. He had said that he would be there with an attorney.
How could I possibly face the man I loved this way? I cried a lot on
the inside while I waited. At least we did not have to wait long.
"Okay, girls," said a very tall and mannish appearing policewoman, "its
time to get ready for the judge!" She opened the cell door, and we all
filed out to join her and another female corrections officer. They
took us back to the driveway where we had come in the night before, and
loaded us into another truck for the short trip over to the criminal
courts building. "Don't worry about your purse," said Helen reassur-
ingly. "It'll be at the property office at the courthouse when they
release you. I don't know what order they'll call us, but if you're
before me, wait for me on the front steps, so I can give you my card.
If I get called first, I'll wait for you there."
It only took a few minutes to get to the courthouse, and soon we were
in an elevator on our way up. We went down a couple of back corridors,
and were let into a long, narrow room with two rows of seats along its
length. It was really a small room, or cell since two walls were all
bars, inside of the courtroom to the right of the judge's bench as you
faced it. The door we had come through led only to the corridor, and
the back wall of the cell was just part of the courtroom wall. The
front and other end of the cell were made of bars with plexiglass on
the outside, and a wooden panel fence along the bottom. It looked like
a jury box that had been enclosed with bars. There was also a bared
ceiling. The plexiglass was to keep our noise out of the courtroom.
Our little group had increased in number, so there were ten or twelve
of us who sat in the box including two men. It turned out that we were
all prostitution cases as part of some sort of special crackdown that
The City was having. I guess Mayor Lindsey was making some political
points. Prostitutes are always easy targets for that. They do not
fight back against the police the way a mugger or armed felon might, so
the arrest rate goes up with less hassle. It looks good from a polit-
ical standpoint, but does little to cure the social problems that are
the cause of prostitution in the first place. Fixing that might cost
money, and that would not be good politically.
We settled into our seats, and nervously, my eyes scanned the court-
room searching for a familiar face. I saw none, and now was as much
scared that Peter would not show up, and I would have to face the judge
alone, as I was that he would show up, and I would have to face him in
my shame. I was about to give up looking when the courtroom door open-
ed, and I saw his boyishly handsome face appear. He held the door for
a minute, and a middle-aged, balding man followed him in. Peter was
talking to him, so I assumed this was the lawyer he had promised to
bring along. The real shock of that day, however, was the person with
the lawyer. It was Edith! How and why had they brought her?
The lawyer took Edith to a seat near the front while Peter went to the
Bailiff's desk. I could see him say a few words to the Bailiff, take
some papers from him, and return to where Edith and the lawyer sat.
The two men immediately engaged in some conversation over the papers,
but I saw Edith scanning our cell quite obviously looking for me. I
was in the front row, so I leaned forward, and ventured a small wave.
An angry look from one of the policemen in the cell to watch us intim-
idated me back into the seat, but a return wave from Edith told me that
she had seen me. She tapped Peter on the shoulder, and pointed in my
direction. He glanced up for a second, and then went back to talking
with the lawyer.
It was strange, but I felt a little calmer now. I had been scared, but
just knowing they were all here with me made me feel better. I was
even glad that Edith was there. She really was like having a mother.
Her wave had born nothing but a genuine caring. There was no criticism
in it. She smiled warmly at me. Even if I had lost Peter, I could
console myself in the knowledge that someone cared. It was not the
same sort of caring as I had hoped for with Peter, but it was some-
thing.
"All rise!," came the call of the Bailiff as a door swung open, and the
Judge entered the courtroom. "Hear ye! Hear ye! Municipal Court in
the city of New York is now in session! The honorable Judge Walter
Kincaid presiding!" The Judge mounted his bench, shuffled a few pap-
ers, and told the Bailiff to call the first case. I just sat, and
watched as the first two prostitutes had their time before the Judge.
Both were represented by the Public Defender, given a one-hundred dol-
lar fine, and released. Helen smiled knowingly at me, and whispered,
"See? I told you it wouldn't be too bad."
Helen was next to be called, and she walked out of the cell in a very
regal manner. A quite distinguished looking man came out of the vis-
itor's gallery, and identified himself as her attorney. He immediat-
ely asked to approach the bench with the Prosecutor, and handed the
Judge some papers. The Judge looked over the papers, exchanged a few
words with the attorney and Prosecutor, and rang down his gavel announ-
cing another one-hundred dollar fine. Helen smiled back at me as she
left the Court with her lawyer. She had it all together.
Then I heard my name being called, and I went out into the courtroom.
The man who had been with Peter came forward, and identified himself as
my lawyer, adding, "We wish to enter a plea of guilty noting that this
is the Defendant's first offence of any sort, and knowing that the
Court will take this into consideration. The Defendant's mother is
here, and will take matters in charge after the Court has passed sen-
tence." The Prosecutor indicated that he had nothing to add, and the
Judge seemed to snicker that my mother would take charge of things.
"Young woman," said the Judge, "this is not a matter that should be
taken lightly, but I am inclined to be lenient this morning. Prostitu-
tion is not something that one does for a simple thrill. It is a cri-
me, and should be treated as such. The law prescribes a one-hundred
dollar fine, and so shall be your sentence, but I will suspend sentence
to release you into the custody of your mother who I am sure will im-
pose a tougher penalty on you than I ever could. I don't want to see
you in here again!" He then rang down his gavel, and called for the
next case. I was free!
My lawyer and I joined the others, and we left the courtroom. Outside
in the hall, Peter said, "Thanks, Uncle Lenny," then turned to me, and
added, "Bobbi, allow me to introduce my uncle who is a partner in the
law firm I work for. I thanked "Uncle Lenny" too, and then Peter said
he wanted a private word with me.
Stepping aside from the others, he said, "If you needed something, even
money, you should have asked me! I care very much about you, and I
thought we might even work something out, but now I just don't know. I
have to think about things. I may call you, but I have some thinking
to do first. I didn't want it to be this way, and I still don't. I
just don't know what to think now. Maybe I'm crazy, but I thought you
were different from the rest. I will call you, but I need time to
think. My uncle and I have another appointment now. Don't worry about
his fee. It's on the house this time. Here's your release papers and
property receipt. Take them to the property office on the third floor,
and they'll give you your things. I'll call you in a week or so."
Then he kissed me quickly on the cheek, and left with his uncle. I had
a tear in my eye as he walked away.
"He'll be back," said Edith touching me gently on the arm. "I don't
know, mom," I said almost without realizing I had called her that. "I
think it's over for good, and it really never got started." Edith gave
me a motherly smile, and said, "Mothers have ways of knowing about such
things. Look, I don't know why you did what you did, but I'm still
with you. Right now, let's get out of here. We'll talk over lunch and
some tea. My treat. Okay?"
I agreed easily. There was nothing else I wanted to do just then but
get out of the courthouse. We went to the Property Office on the third
floor, and I retrieved my purse. Then there was a quick, but vitally
important, stop in the Ladies Room to fix my hair, refresh my make-up,
and adjust things so I was pretty enough to face the street again. "I
sure could use a shower before we have lunch," I told Edith. "Maybe we
could stop by my place on the way?" "I guess we could," Edith said.
"I took the whole day off, and I've never seen your apartment. A moth-
er should see how her daughter lives."
It was a little chilly and overcast as we stepped out into the outside
world. A lone figure waited for me on the courthouse steps. "I'll
just be a minute, mom," I said to Edith as I walked over to Helen who
was leaning against a handrail and smoking a cigarette.
She had that look of lust in her eye again as she watched me approach.
"I told you it wouldn't be bad," she said. "He gave you the standard
fine, right?" "Yes," I said, "but suspended for first offence." Helen
looked a bit surprised. "That's even better," she said. "Now let's
get you into a better line of work. Here's my card. Call me tonight,
and we'll set up a time to talk more about this. It's time you made
some real money!" Then she departed.
"Who was that?," Edith asked when I got back to her. "Oh," I replied,
"just a friend I met last night. I might see her later this week for
lunch." Edith looked at me with a mother's worry on her face. "You
just be careful now," she said. "I will, mom," I answered. We hailed
a cab, and headed uptown to my apartment.
Margo was still asleep when we got there, as usual. I ushered Edith
into the living room, and went to make us some coffee. While the cof-
fee was perking, I gave Edith the obligatory tour of the apartment, and
she made all of the obligatory comments and compliments about it. "How
much of this is actually your's, and not Margo's?," Edith asked as we
sat down to coffee in the living room after the tour. "Not much," I
replied. "Just my clothes, my bed, the dresser, and the nightstand,
lamp, and clock radio in the bedroom. Margo owns, rents, borrows, or
steals the rest." Edith giggled, and whispered, "Good. I was sure you
had better taste than this!" I was glad that she had whispered it, for
when I looked up, Margo was standing in the doorway.
"Having company early today, aren't we?," she said in a tone that was
more gracious than I might have expected from her this soon after get-
ting up. "You must be Edith," she continued. "Bobbi has told me just
so much about you. It's a pleasure to meet you at last." Something
was up. The only people Margo was this nice to were tricks with a
taste for booze, and hundred dollar bills bulging their pockets. Edith
greeted Margo pleasantly, and then Margo said, "I'd really love some
coffee. Bobbi, if you'll join me in the kitchen, we can get more for
everyone." It was obvious that she wanted to talk privately, so I fol-
lowed her into the kitchen.
"Where were you all night?," Margo asked as soon as we were inside.
"In The Tombs," I said. "I got arrested for prostitution." Margo lo-
oked a little surprised, and said, "Oh. Are you all right?" She
genuinely was concerned about me. "Yes," I said. "I'm a little shaky,
and I need a shower, but I'm all right. What's up? You want to talk,
right?"
Margo poured some coffee, and lit a cigarette. "Carol and I had a long
talk last night," she began. "Just let me say this all the way through
before you say anything, Okay? It's not going to be easy to say, or
for you to understand. I know you don't like Carol anyway. Will you
just listen?" I said I would. I knew, however, that it would not be
good if Carol was involved.
Margo took a deep drag on her cigarette, and said, "You know full well
that Carol and I are lovers. You also know that Carol is into bondage
as a drag Dominatrix. Well, last night I consented to be her permanent
slave. She has to move from where she is living, so she is going to
live here. She ordered me to tell you to move out."
Margo was not having an easy time in saying this, and had to light an-
other cigarette to keep going. "I didn't want to," she continued, "but
she whipped me until I agreed. I have to do what my Mistress orders me
to do. She wants to use your room for a torture chamber. She wanted
to give you two weeks to find another place, but I talked her into
thirty days. This isn't an easy thing for me to do, but I have to.
Please try to understand."
I was shocked, and Margo was actually crying. I had never seen her cry
before. I tried to comfort her with a hug, and said with tears in my
own eyes too, "That's all right. I do understand. We had some good
times, and I hope we'll still be friends. I'll be all right." Inside,
I was angry and frustrated! Being arrested, and loosing Peter was bad
enough. Now what would I do?
We had just gotten back to the living room when the doorbell rang. It
was a messenger with a telegram for me. I opened it, and got another
shock. It was from the department store terminating my employment!
Somehow they had found out that I had been arrested, and said that the
store's image would be damaged if they continued to employ me. "How
did they know?!," I exclaimed. I knew that the store was not overly
pleased with having me working there since I had started dressing for
work in an effeminate manner. I guess that they were ready to use any
pretext at all to get rid of me. The only thing that had kept me there
was Paul, and he did not work there anymore.
"I'm afraid," Margo said through her tears, "that it might have been
me. They called while I was asleep, and I said you had probably been
busted. It was a joke, but they probably took it seriously, and chec-
ked your social security number on your wrap sheet with the cops. They
do that sometimes."
I felt like my life was over. I had just lost Peter, my apartment, my
job, my good name, and most of my self-respect all in the last twenty-
four hours. If I were ever to consider suicide, it was then, and the
thought seriously ran through my mind. I just sat on the sofa, and
cried. Edith and Margo tried to console me, but there was nothing left
to do but cry. I really wished I was dead!
"I think you should have that shower now," Edith said after many emo-
tional minutes. "Then we'll have lunch, and try to sort things out. I
told you that I was with you all the way, and I'm here for you now.
Mother will do what she can." That calmed me down a little bit, but
not very much. I went to my bedroom, stripped to the skin, and went to
the shower. I eyed the medicine cabinet, and thought about just how
many pills I could get down to solve all my problems, but that was not
the way. Maybe Edith could help. I decided to at least hear what she
had to say. I could always kill myself later.
I dressed in a rather plain blue dress, and rejoined them in the living
room. Edith and Margo were talking quietly, but stopped when I enter-
ed. "Ready?," asked Edith. "Ready," I replied, and we left for lunch.
I was in a daze. I did not know what I would do.
The Times Square area is known for big theaters and restaurants with
lots of flash and noise, and some of the more interesting night spots
in The City. Those were hardly the sort of place that I needed to be
in now. There are also a great number of bars catering to almost every
taste, pleasure, and perversion known to humankind. As much as I would
have liked to have just retreated into an alcoholic haze like Margo
did, that was not the way either. There are, however, nestled in the
side streets, a very few small cafes where you can get tea served in a
real ceramic teapot, and listen to at least a recording of a string
quartet in the background. It was at a booth in one of these that I
soon found myself.
Edith ordered a pot of tea for us, and watched me as I tried to drain
off enough emotion to allow me to speak without starting to cry again.
After a few minutes, she took a sip of tea, and asked, "What actually
happened last evening? Your Peter called me last night at home. I
think Margo gave him my number from your address book. All he said was
that you had been arrested, and would probably need someone to be with
this morning when you were released. I didn't know the charge until I
got to the courthouse." I pulled myself together, and said, "It was
just supposed to be a joke, mom. I just wanted to see what the guy
would do. I didn't know..."
"Wait a minute, Bobbi," Edith interrupted me with a look of both hurt
and anger crossing her face, "that story might have worked on the
Judge, but I think I am entitled to a little better than that!" I was
surprised. Edith had never gotten angry with me before, but here she
was in a rage. I did not know what to say, but she certainly did.
"I told you I was going to treat you as my daughter," Edith continued,
"and that is just what I am going to do! You call me 'mom' now, but
you still see fit to lie to me like any stranger on the street. Maybe
I don't have any right to talk to you like this, but maybe your calling
me 'mom' gives me that right. If you don't like what I have to say,
you can walk out of here, and I'll just wish you luck with the rest of
your life, but you're going to listen to what I have to say right now
first! My taking off work, and coming to the courthouse for you earned
me at least that much even if this 'mom' stuff is just another game to
you! I'm tired of playing games. I've lived enough of life to know
where the games end and reality begins, and it's time you learned about
that too!"
I did not dare to even breathe. I was fixed in my seat by her words
like a small child being chastised by her parent. I had only seen one
side of Edith up to that day. It had been fun to have a "mother" as a
special friend to shop and have lunch with, but I was learning that
there were two sides to mothering. If I wanted to enjoy having one, I
also had to grant her the right to the other. All I could do was lis-
ten.
"Do you want to know what reality is?," Edith asked. "Reality isn't
what your next party dress will look like, or if you're going to be
able to afford dance class anymore. Reality is the cold in your bones,
and the hunger in your belly. Reality is doing things that you loathe
just to stay alive! Reality is giving up some of your soul to keep
your body going!! You think that prostitution is a game? Prostitution
is a way to survive when you are new in a country, and nobody will give
you a real job so you can eat! Don't ever think that I don't know what
prostitution is. It was a way for me to survive until..."
Edith's voice trailed off, lost in the emotion. There was even a tear
in her eye. She took a drink of tea, and said, "I told you that I
wanted to help. Even if you don't take the 'mom' part seriously, I
take the 'daughter' part very seriously! I know that you aren't making
much money at the store. I also know that the things you're doing, and
the things that you want to do, cost more than you probably have now.
I can't pay for them, but I am willing to help in any way I can. All
you had to do was ask me. That's what having a 'mother' is about, or
had you forgotten that?"
I felt just like her child. I wanted to crawl under the table, and
whimper. I had never before felt this kind of emotion from anyone. I
had not gotten it from my natural parents. They were always too wrap-
ped up in other things to care this way. I waited to see what was
next.
"Are you supporting yourself as a prostitute?," Edith asked straight
out. "Don't give me any song and dance. I've seen how you live now,
and some of the company you keep. I also had a long talk with Margo
while you were changing. She's not good for you to be living with.
You say that you want to be a real woman. Do you think that you're
going to make it around all those parodies of women that you hang out
with? If you really want to do any of the things that you say you do,
I'll help. Just don't patronize me with any cheap lies. What kind of
life do you lead? I want the truth for a change!"
I gave her the truth; all of the truth! It just poured out of me. I
could not stop it. I told Edith about my childhood, how I had first
dressed in my mother's clothes, about Kenny the high school jock, how I
had met Margo, about the first time in drag in public, how I had sold
my "virginity" as a drag queen to Frank, about Tina, Toni, Carol, Uncle
Charlie, Patty, Wendy, Tom, Dr. Benjamin, about every part of my life I
could think of, and still it kept coming!
I told her how I had figured that turning five tricks a week would give
me enough extra income to pay my doctor and dance class bills. I told
her about the pornographic pictures that I had posed for. Every detail
of my life came spilling out. I had lost so much that day that I could
not stand losing Edith too. I could have just walked out as she sug-
gested, but all I would have done was step in front of a subway train.
If this was what it took to save the last good thing in my life, then I
had to do it!
I do not know how long I sat there just flushing my soul to Edith. It
was long enough for her to order another pot of tea and two club sand-
wiches for us. When I finished talking, I was too drained emotionally
to even cry anymore. I just sat back in silence, and waited for Edith
to make the next move. I did not feel much like eating.
"I guess you're not walking out on me then?," asked Edith taking a bite
of her sandwich. Something snapped inside me then, and I said, "No...
mom!," and collapsed on the table, sobbing quietly. Edith put her hand
on my shoulder, and asked, "Now are you going to listen to your mother,
and let her help?" "Yes, mom," I said through my tears. "Good," Edith
said. "Now sit up, dry your eyes, blow your nose, and do as I say." I
did as I was told. There was no question of my acceptance of Edith as
my mother any longer. The last knot in that emotional bond had been
tied.
"Eat your sandwich," Edith said. "I don't want a malnourished daughter
on my hands." I took a bite, and listened. "We'll take one thing at a
time," she began. "You need a place to live, and I've got a spare ro-
om. You're coming home with me today. I won't have any daughter of
mine living in that apartment another night. When we're done here, we
are going back there to pack your clothes. You can sleep on my couch
until I get a mover to get your bed and dresser later in the week. I
won't take any argument on this. I already told Margo, so you don't
have a choice. Mother knows best this time. All right?" All I could
do was say, "Yes, mom," and eat my sandwich.
"Take the rest of this week off, and stay at home," Edith continued.
"Then you can look for a new job next week. Wear a dress when you do.
If you really want to be a woman, then act like one! Women don't work
as Gay stockboys! Just remember that this week off is my little gift
to you. You are going to find a job next week, or I'll find one for
you. Is that clear?" "Yes, mom," I answered.
"I'll tell you one thing, though," Edith said in a low voice, and lean-
ing toward me, "if you want to be a common street whore, then don't
come home. As low as I might have gotten, I never did that. There are
better ways of doing it, but don't even consider them either until the
gnawing in your gut from hunger gets so hard you can't stand it! That
trap is all too easy to fall into. It might seem pretty on the out-
side, but it just drags you down. Do you understand?" "Yes, mom," I
said.
"The last thing is about my mother," Edith said softly. "Her name is
Sarah, and she lives with me too. She is very old now, and doesn't
always see or remember things clearly. If you just call her 'grand-
mother', she won't know the difference. I've told her a little about
you already, and she has asked when she is going to see her granddaugh-
ter again. I don't think she remembers what happened. Reality seems
to have become less important for her than it once was. Treat her
well! She is very precious to me. Can you do that?" "Yes, mom. I
can," I said.
I had stopped crying by now, and was sitting up in my chair with a lit-
tle pout on my face. At first I had been terrified of Edith's chasti-
sing of me this way, that soon turned to hurt, but suddenly I was get-
ting some very good feelings from it. My life had needed a push, and
all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours gave me all that
was needed.
I had not lost everything. The only things I had lost were things that
I had to get rid of to go on. Edith's lecture had made me realize
that. I would live with her for a while. I still had a lot to learn
from my mother, and I was eager for her to teach me. I would work as
hard as I could to win Peter back. He had said that he would call, so
I might still have a chance. I had come another step along the way to
my goal.
"Sit up straight, and don't slouch!," Edith snapped at me. I jumped to
attention in my seat, and she giggled. "I always wanted to tell that
to someone," she said. "Mothers are supposed to do that, you know." I
looked at her with a pained expression on my face, and then I started
to giggle too. She was just what I needed then. I had started to set-
tle into that complacent existence that is the undoing of many, and not
just drag queens and transexuals.
It is easy to dream. Then we begin to see just how difficult the at-
tainment of any dream in reality is, and the achievement of a little of
the dream becomes enough to satisfy us. We tell ourselves all sorts of
stories, and find all sorts of reasons why we should stop somewhere
short of what should have been our real goal. We never get to fulfill
our dreams. Then we wonder why we feel so miserable and frustrated
with our lives. When will we ever learn?
Edith was not going to let me do that. There was a lot more to this
lady than I had imagined. I had always seen her as just the sweet,
later middle-aged woman that was pleasant to have lunch with. The
mother thing was a nice diversion that felt good, but that I had never
taken seriously in quite this way. That was all just the surface of
Edith. Beneath that facade lay more strength than one would at first
have imagined. There had been enough already to get she and her mother
out of Estonia in 1939 before the Soviet annexation, establish herself
in Norway, flee Norway ahead of the Nazi occupation, begin a life in
England, fall in love, bear a child out of wedlock, face the loss of
her lover to the War, suffer the death of her infant daughter, move
again to the United States, and set up a life for her and her mother
all over again. If I wanted her help with my own goals, she would not
accept a lesser commitment or effort from me!
I did have a dream that I very much wanted to see come true. It was a
modest dream, and not unlike the dream many people have. The dream was
to be able to live a simple, un-complex, and uncomplicated life. I did
not want to change the world, be famous, or even all that rich. I just
wanted to lead a comfortable life as the woman that I was intellectual-
ly, emotionally, and spiritually. The only think that really compli-
cated that was the fact that I was biologically a male. I had, how-
ever, found a way to change that surgically. Edith was now offering me
a way to change my entire life situation, and begin the journey down
the road that I needed to follow if I wished to make that dream come
true. What she was not offering was a safe haven in which to stagnate,
or an easy means of turning back when the going got difficult. She
would move forward with me, but if I stopped or took another direction,
I would be alone.
I thought about this for a long time. She was being tough with me, but
that was what I needed then. My life had just been given the shove it
needed out of the imaginary world of the drag queen. It was time to
face up to the reality of what I wanted out of my life. I had to learn
a lot of things to get where I wanted and needed to be. What better
place for a girl to learn these things than at mother's knee!
"I can really come and live with you?," I asked in a hesitant way, not
yet believing that it was quite true. "That's what I said," replied
Edith. "I'd like to have my daughter with me for a while. My mother
will not mind either. Just treat her gently, and call her grandmother
when you speak. She will accept you as her granddaughter, and think
you are the daughter I lost a long time ago. In a very real way, that
is what you are to me, so we will not be hurting her by saying so. All
of this will just make three women very happy to be a family again at
last." I looked questioningly at Edith, saying, "Three women?," trying
to understand what she meant. "Yes," she answered, "my mother, myself,
and you. Welcome to being a woman all the time for the rest of your
life!"
A tiny tear of joy welled up in my eye. The way to my dream had found
me at last in every way. "Okay, mom," I said composing myself. "Let's
go!" Edith paid the check, and we went back outside to go to the
apartment to pack my things. The sun was shining, and the first nip of
autumn was in the air. After all the depression, I actually felt alive
again. Things seemed to be working out after all.
Margo was not at home when Edith and I got back to the apartment. She
left a note saying that she would be back soon. "Humph!," I said when
I read it. "She probably wanted to get out of any work in helping us
pack." Edith retorted with, "Now, Bobbi, she doesn't seem all that bad
from the talk I had with her. Why do you say things like that? Even
if it's true, you only demean yourself by saying it. A lady doesn't do
that." Edith was, of course, correct, but Margo was like that. I
still think of her as a friend, but she does not do things unless they
directly benefit herself. I let the matter pass.
I had three large suitcases that I dug out, and we packed my dresses
into these. We had passed by the grocery store on the way to the apar-
tment, and picked up some large cardboard boxes. The rest of my things
went into the boxes. It was a tight fit, but after a little more than
an hour, we were all but done. That was the perfect cue for Margo to
return, and right on schedule, she did, but she was not alone. Carol
was with her.
"Well," said Margo as she came in, and surveyed the now mostly empty
room, "is there anything left that I can help with?" Carol just looked
at me with an evil leer. I wanted to scratch her eyes out. "No, Mar-
go," I said half sarcastically, "we're just about done packing, but you
could help us carry these boxes down to the street." Carol put up her
hand, saying, "We've already got that covered. We got the spic kid
from the basement coming up with a hand truck to do that."
I should have expected something like that. The young man they were
talking about was the superintendent's son, and he had a "thing" for
Margo. It was probably worth a quick blow-job from Margo to him for
doing the work. She got a number of things from him that way. "That's
good, Carol," I said, and finished my packing.
It did not take much longer to get everything packed, and Margo went
downstairs to get the helper Carol spoke of. The rest of us sat in the
living room to wait. "When are you gonna get your furniture outt'a
here?," Carol asked a little gruffly. She was not trying to be nasty,
but her constant commanding way of speaking always rubbed me the wrong
way. If I had answered, I probably would have said something I would
have regretted later, but Edith stepped in to field the question, say-
ing, "I'm going to call a moving man I know later this afternoon. He
should be able to get it in a day or so. We'll call you tonight, and
let you know, but it will be before the end of the week." Carol lit a
cigarette, and replied, "Good. I wouldn't want Margo to have to charge
Bobbi for storage." She added a bit of a laugh at the end of that to
soften it, but I knew what she meant. Carol could be a real bitch when
she wanted to. I did not like her at all.
The icy mood in the room was broken when Margo returned with her hel-
per. He was Spanish, about six feet tall, and had a stringy moustache.
He was also built! The muscles rippled under his t-shirt, and he sur-
veyed all of us with a look that had only one motivation behind it.
Margo's blouse had a small smudge on the front that told me he had al-
ready copped at least a feel of her tits on the way up in the elevator.
I would not have minded some of that treatment from him myself. He was
not overly handsome, but the sight of all those muscles made my little
penis twitch in its tuck. Margo kept this stud all to herself, though.
"Let's go," Carol ordered, and the boy set about loading up the hand
truck he had brought with him. He would have to make two trips, so
Edith and Carol went down with the first load to watch things on the
street. That left Margo and I alone in the apartment for the last
time.
"We've had a lot of good times here," Margo said when the others had
departed. "I'm going to miss you in some ways." There was even the
hint of a tear in her eye as she spoke, and we hugged in good-bye. "I
am going to miss you in a lot of ways," I said. We sat in silence for
a while until the boy returned for the last load. Then she kissed me
on the cheek, and we went down to the street.
Edith had already hailed a cab, and the driver was putting boxes in the
trunk and front seat. The rest were soon loaded too, and Edith and I
got into the taxi for the ride to Queens. I watched Margo, Carol, and
the building grow small and disappear as we drove away. My new life
was really beginning now. All of what went before was gone.
After a time, I turned to face the front of the cab, and glanced over
at Edith. We were at opposite ends of the back seat with boxes on the
floor in front of us, and another on the seat between us. It was lucky
that we got a Checker cab, and not one from another manufacturer. Che-
ckers have a lot more room. Edith just smiled at me. We did not need
to speak. I am sure she knew something of what I was feeling at that
moment as my life changed, and I was stealing away with my belongings
rather unceremoniously packed into some rude boxes like a refugee fle-
eing the invading horde. She had done this same sort of thing a few
times in her own life.
The taxi made its way east over the Queensboro Bridge, and then turned
north toward the Astoria section of the Boro of Queens where Edith
lived. The streets out here were very different from the ones in Man-
hattan. It was no small town sort of setting, but it was not the hus-
tle and hubbub of the midtown area. There were even private homes
here. It did not take vary long at all to reach our destination, and
soon we stopped in front of a large, modern apartment building. It was
very new, and looked like the type of place that would be beyond Edi-
h's means as a clerical at the department store. All of the apartments
had terraces, and there was even a uniformed doorman. "Well," said
Edith as I sat in the cab trying to work this new puzzle out, "are you
coming in with me?"
I got out of the taxi, and Edith set about arranging things. She had
the driver deposit the boxes at the curb giving him an extra five dol-
lars on his tip for doing it. "Thomas," Edith said turning to the
doorman, "please have these boxes brought up to my apartment as soon as
possible. Oh, and I would like to introduce you to Bobbi. She'll be
staying with me from now on. Bobbi is my daughter."
Thomas looked a little surprised at Edith's introduction of me as her
daughter, but he just nodded, and held the door for us as we entered.
The lobby was all done in white marble with black accents, and my heels
clicked deliciously on the hard floor as we went to the elevator.
Edith pushed the button for the twenty-forth floor, and soon we were at
her apartment door. Her key clicked in the lock, and she called out,
"Mom! I'm home!," as we went in.
Inside in a large, comfy chair, sat a very ancient lady. She did not
get up, and looked much too frail to do that anyway. Her eyes were
deep set in her face from the long years she had seen. Her hair glis-
tened in white and sliver where gold once shined. Her delicate body
appeared weak and fragile now, but deep in her countenance a strength
as powerful as Edith's still hinted. "Bobbi," Edith said softly, "this
is Sarah, your grandmother. Mom, this is Bobbi. She's come home to
us!"
The older woman looked at me in a way that did not stop at the surface,
but reached deep inside of me. She would accept me for what Edith said
I was, but it was as if she still knew the truth in her heart. It was,
however, all right with her that way. The arrangement seemed to suit
all three of us for whatever diverse reasons we each had. It would
work out very well for all of us. "Welcome back," was all Sarah said
in a voice heavy laden with the accent of her Estonian origin. The
smile she added after the words, and the hug she gave me said all else.
"Thank you, grandmother," I said. "It's good to be back!"
Edith showed me down a short hallway with four doors in it. "First on
the right is the bathroom," she said. "First on the left is your room.
Mine is the last on the left, and your grandmother's is the other one.
I'll give you the whole tour later." She opened the door to what was
to be my room. It was larger than I had with Margo, and inside was a
sofa with two end tables and lamps. "There's enough room for your bed
and dresser even with the sofa," Edith said. "You can sleep on it
until your bed gets here. When the super brings the boxes up, have him
put them in here, and give him five dollars for his trouble. I'm going
to make a phone call."
Edith phoned the moving company while the superintendent delivered my
things. When he left, she said, "They can get your furniture tomorrow
at one o'clock. Call Margo, and tell her. You don't have to go with
them, but you'll need to be here to pay them when they bring the fur-
niture. Call Margo now. I have to get dinner for us." "Yes, mom," I
answered.
I called Margo, but I also called Helen. Margo was very happy that my
things were leaving so quickly. "Carol will be pleased," she said.
The call to Helen was a fast one because I wanted it to be, and she did
not have time to talk anyway. We made an appointment for lunch on
Thursday. I was hanging up the telephone when Edith called us all to
dinner. The three of us around the table even felt like a family. I
had come home at last!
--
Jon Grossberg - Internet: [email protected].org FidoNet: 1:107/565
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