Diane

 1980

 

Middle school is an awkward time for a lot of kids. In any school, there is that one girl who suddenly blossoms, becoming mesmerizingly pretty overnight as puberty kicked in. In our school, Northwood, the girl who suddenly went from Plain Jane was Diane.

Late in 6^th grade, Diane suddenly had noticeably large breasts, and better shaped legs than the girls around her, and she was suddenly pretty, too. Her breasts weren’t just noticeable. They were large. It seemed to happen overnight, but I’m sure that the reality was it was over a period of months.

The guys were evenly split on her. Half of the boys had no interest in girls yet, and the other half worshipped the ground she walked on. The girls also seemed conflicted. Many were so mad at her they could spit, and at the same time, the girls all seemed to want to be her friend.

Mind you, she couldn’t help going through the changes her body was experiencing, and I have no doubt that she was spending a lot of time experiencing negative emotions associated with what people were saying about her, and about how she was feeling, physically.

I remember one day in science class, that Diane, who was sitting at the table right behind me, was the subject of conversation. It was one of those conversations about someone that is carried on right in front of them, while pretending they’re not there, and can’t hear. The conversation was about her breasts, how stupid she looked with those big things, how she was a freak and a loser because of her body, how she felt she was better than everyone else because she had tits, how she clearly was a slut because she showed her breasts off (you know, wore the same tops every other girl in school wore), etc.

This went on for about 15 minutes, despite the presence of the teacher in the room. We were doing activities, so the teacher, rather than lecturing, was in the front of the room, at his desk. I remember feeling increasingly bad for her. Finally I couldn’t take it any more, and turned around and told them to stop it, that they were being mean. There was a shocked silence for a moment, and then some laughter, and a comment that “look, the wimp is defending the slut”. But they stopped, which shocked even me.

The kid I hung out with in middle school at that time, Mike, he asked me what my problem was. All I could come up with was that it was wrong, talking about her like that. He seemed to find that odd, to the point that by the end of that year, we were no longer talking. 

Diane seemed to appreciate it, though. For the rest of 6^th grade, I had a sort-of friend. We were in different social circles, but she would talk with me, and I always got a smile and a wave.

 

Caught

2017

 

In the barracks in California for training, I had adopted the tactic of showering late at night, by which I mean 2 in the morning, because at that time, everyone was asleep. I also showered on different floors, because it seemed less likely someone I knew would see me if they went to the bathroom.  It worked well and kept me in a position where I was relatively safe showering, as a transgender person in a barracks full of men.

I wasn't super far into transition at this point. I had shaved legs, and painted toes, though the color was very near skin tone, and hard to notice. But still, I tried to play it as safe as possible. 

This night, I was finished showering. I had heard another shower start, and thus knew another person was present. I dried off quickly, and headed out. On the way out, I passed the other person’s shower. I stopped at the sink for a moment to trim my eyebrows. Done, I took of my towel, and quickly dried off my face.

At that moment, the shower behind me opened, and the other person stepped out. I was in the act of turning to leave, and turned toward him as he stepped out. I had never seen him before. He was tall, and goodness, was he built! I noticed in a moment his powerful chest and arms, water glistening on his skin. My eyes dropped down his chest to his flat, muscular stomach, and then oh my god, to his dick, hanging between his strong legs. My gaze just kept traveling, drinking in what I was seeing. I was mesmerized. I have no idea how long I feasted on him with my eyes.

“What the F-!” the harsh voice snapped me out of it, and I realized with a horrible, sinking feeling that not only had I been checking out every beautiful inch of him with my eyes, but I had been caught doing it. He was glaring furiously at me.

He called me a sick f__k, and yelled at me to get out before he kicked my butt, and I cried out and darted out of the room. I wrapped my towel around myself as I hurried out, hearing him cursing me from the room behind me. I remember being thankful as I went down the hallway and the stairs in a mad scramble that I didn't pass anyone.  In my room, alone in the dark, I laid there in my bed and cried.

I was lucky, and I knew it. That experience could have ended very badly.

Thankfully, within a few days I was on my way home.   

The Wargame

 1994

 

I was in the Army, participating in a wargame in the New Mexico desert. The armored vehicle I commanded was undergoing mechanical issues. So my driver, and myself, were left with the vehicle while the attack continued away from us. Maintenance teams in general were overwhelmed, and I found out later our unit's maintenance team was captured. We were there, by ourselves, for a week.

The desert heat was oppressive through the day, and the nights, by contrast, were rather frigid. So, my driver and I spent the days sweltering. We quickly got smelly, and thus made sure we bathed each day. Now, my driver would simply bathe right in front of me, but I just plain couldn’t do the same. I was very uncomfortable with the idea of undressing and washing in front of him. Each morning, when it had warmed up a bit, I would take the portable shower we had, and go around to the front of the armored personnel carrier, and shower where I couldn’t be seen.

He found it a bit odd, and teased me a bit. In his southern twang he'd say "What's the matter Sergeant?". But I couldn't tell him. He'd try to be silly, pop around the side of the personnel carrier. But I always coverd my chest, and that just made him laugh harder. 

Naturally, because my life so rarely goes right the first time, when our First Sergeant and his driver stopped by after that week to replenish our food and water, where was I? Yep. Showering. 

I wish I could say that showering got easier. But unfortunately, it didn't. 

But the worst part of the experience was yet to come. My driver and I noticed one morning that a lot of tarantulas were around. Next thing we know, we were surrounded with them. Some sort of migration. The desert was black and moving. The stuff horror movies were made of. 

At least the showers stopped. We spent three days on top of our armored personnel carried, fending off spiders.