Hello subscribers! I just sent the October story. It should be waiting in your inbox. I apologize for the delay. I've wanted to tell this particular story for years--about a transgender bank robber. I discovered that the hardest stories to write are the ones you care the most about. If you'd like more information on transgender equality, I'd recommend this website: http://transequality.org/
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"A Bank and a Blue Floral Dress" by David Hopkins
My husband Mark has wanted three things in his life—my undying love, to rob a bank, and a particular blue floral dress from Neiman Marcus.
Let’s start with the dress.
When Mark was five years old, his mother took him to Neiman Marcus in downtown Dallas. Mark sat with his mother in the changing room, while she tried on an outfit for an interview. At precisely the right moment, his mother’s changing room door opened and another changing room door opened across the hallway. He saw a beautiful petite blonde trying on a blue floral dress. The woman was observing herself in the mirror, shifting her weight from one side to the other. The sight excited him in a strange and new way. An electric pulse that penetrated him so deeply, he didn’t quite know what to make of it. He didn’t want this girl. He wanted to be this girl. Delicate, lovely, and perfect. He understood a clear distinction and dared not share his desire with anyone, not his mother or father or closest friends.
After we had dated for a few months, he shared this moment with me. We just had sex. We were lying in bed naked, sweaty and vulnerable. He asked me, “What’s your strongest memory from childhood?” I mentioned the time when we got into a car wreck during a family road trip. He half listened, nodding his head and making affirming grunts at all the right moments. He asked the question because he wanted to answer it himself. I played along. “How about you?” And then, he told me. All the while, he tenderly touched my body.
“Do you want to be a girl?” I dared to ask. The story freaked me out a bit. I was certain he would leave me.
“No,” he said defensively. He stopped touching me. He must have sensed the slight vibration of concern in my question.
“It was just something that happened to me as a kid. Everyone has those kinds of moments. For whatever reason, I just re-member mine very clearly.”
I left it alone, and the subject wasn’t brought up again for many years.
Would you like to read the rest? You should subscribe. I’ll send you this short story (available in pdf, epub, and mobi formats), the stories from June, July, August, and September, plus a new story every month for the next five months. All artwork by April Hopkins.
