The Parable of Brian Brown

"The word of God to the people of God. And all of God's people said?"

"Amen," Brian muttered to himself with 30 other congregation members of the Highlands Methodist Church. Pastor Jeff had just finished his lead-on devotional reading for this week's sermon. It was some gibberish from the Old Testament – Brian never understood why he frequently went back to the Old Testament in his preaching.

"The bastard's probably a Jew," Brian muttered loud enough that anyone around him would have been able hear.

Luckily for Brian this week, Highlands, a century-old church nestled on the outskirts of the main drag in a small town of London in western Indiana, was sparsely populated on this Sunday's service. The 40 odd-some row of old, wooden pews could seat about 300 people, just a few dozen more members than the church had. Brian was sitting only two rows in from the main door of the sanctuary on the aisle alone this week, the first time he had ever attended church alone. Always before he had someone – his mother, father, sister, friend, or wife – sit with him.

The church was the largest in London, a small town of about 4,000 people. It was one of several churches in a community that, despite the recent economic downturn, had continued to limp along, due most in part to the fact that London is the living grounds for many businessmen and workers in Indianapolis who commuted to the state's capital. Brian works in the big city himself, and is a staffer for the Vice President of a large phone corporation.

'Work', Brian thought to himself. 'It's going to be a great week starting tomorrow. And I have to drag my ass out of bed early on a Sunday morning for this, my day off, so I can drag it out of bed again for the next five days too.'

Brian used to enjoy work. He used to enjoy Church. In fact, it was just one week ago that he enjoyed Highlands. But not anymore. It had changed just last Thursday, when life as he knew it took a turn he never suspected.

Brian had left his company two hours early to surprise his wife of five years, Diane, and take her back to Indianapolis for a night on the town. When he pulled into the driveway of their two-story palatial estate, he was somewhat surprised to see an old red Ford Ranger pickup truck in the driveway. He parked his Dodge Ram in the driveway and went into the house to see who his wife was keeping company – perhaps a member of Highlands? Diane was one of the leaders of the Women's Mission, and he knew she frequently had guests over.

He opened the door into their living room, noticing the couch empty and the flat-screen television off. He turned to the left and walked toward the hallway that led to a guest room, their master bedroom, bathroom, and staircase to the second floor. Just before the staircase to the left was the door to the master bedroom. The door was slightly cracked open, and Brian heard noise.

'What?' he thought to himself. He went down the hall quickly and threw open the door. He stepped in, his mouth dropped, and his heart sank – almost as if it had fallen through a hole in his chest and onto the carpet below. He steadied himself against the dresser that lined the wall, staring back at the scene he saw on the King-size bed in front of him.

There lay his beloved wife, Diane, naked, on her back, her legs wide apart. Her tan, toned body was covered in beads of sweat. Standing over her was a, a – a what!?!?

A man, covered in hair, with sagging skin, turned and looked at the new vistor to the bedroom. It was a he – a hairy he. But he was wearing a long, dark-haired wig, had thick makeup and lipstick on, and had his engorged penis stuck in Brian's wife's vagina. Brian studied the man closely. His back and chest were covered in hair, but his arms, his face, and his legs, were... shaven!

Brian leaned on the dresser with greater force as the realization sank in. His wife was cheating on him – in their own bed – with a cross-dressing, older man. The cross-dresser pulled out of Diane in shock, aiming himself at Brian, his mouth open. The cross dressers' penis suddenly unleashed a fury of sperm on his wife's leg.

"Oh yeah! Give it to me baby!" Diane moaned, arching her back.

"Oh God!" Brian cried.

"Uh-oh," the cross-dresser said in a deep, husky voice, blushing even over the heavy make-up, looking shamefully down at the mess he just created. He quickly covered himself with his hands.

"What's a matter, baby?" Diane asked, lifting her head and smiling, making her face visible to Brian for the first time.

"Oh GOD!" Brian cried louder.

Diane sharply turned to see her husband standing dumbfounded, leaning on the dresser. She had her hair tied up, hidden underneath one of Brian's Indianapolis Colts' sports hat, with a fake mustache under her nose.

The contrast was stark. Diane was a 31-year-old, fit blonde, with abs, a gorgeous pair of symmetrical, C-cup breasts, and long legs that gave her a tall, 5-9 frame. The cross-dresser was only an inch taller, with sagging, white skin, and an unkempt looking body. His makeup was smeared as a result of the passions he just endured.

Brian looked at his wife in horror. He placed his other hand on the dresser and held up his now free hand over his mouth.

"I think I'm going to be sick!" he cried.

Diane sat up quickly, took a hand over the discharge the cross-dresser had unleashed on her leg, picked some of the sperm up, and flung it at Brian's face. He felt what felt like light raindrops touch his face.

"Oh God!" Brian cried again, looking down and vomiting his lunch on the floor.

"You see what happens when I let you stay late, Cindy?" Diane asked the now-named cross-dresser. "This asshole has to show up."

"I'm so sorry for the trouble," 'Cindy' replied in a now much lighter voice. He, she, or whatever it was now put on her clothes – yes, her clothes, as it was a thong, skirt, and sleeveless top.

"You did nothing wrong," Diane stated, now wiping the rest of the mess on her leg off with a sheet on the bed. "Finish getting dressed and go to your truck. I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Oh dear," 'Cindy' said as she put on her high heeled shoes, and scurried past Brian through the door and out into the hallway.

Diane stood, her naked body glistening from the sunlight entering through the windows in the room. She promptly took off her hat, undid her hair, and ripped of the fake mustache under her nose. She straightened herself, shifted her body weight to her left side, and placed her left hand on her left leg. She stared with her blue eyes right into Brian's brown eyes.

Brian was still speechless. He lifted himself off of the dresser and took a step toward her. He lifted his right land in the air, palm outstretched, trying to block her body from his vision.

They stood there silent for a minute. The only thing that broke their silence was the loud turning over of the engine of the truck in the driveway.

Brian continued to look straight into Diane's blue eyes. He finally mustered to strength the say the only two words he had been thinking since he walked into the horrific scene.

"But... why?"

"Because I fucking wanted to!" Diane screamed in a shrieking voice. "Because I needed the comfort of a real woman! A real man! Both!"

Brian stepped back, leaning with his backside onto the dresser, standing in his own vomit, in true shock at hearing his wife yell. He could never recall a time where she had yelled – or even raised her voice!

"I'm sick of this pathetic existence!" Diane continued. "I'm sick of going to cocktail parties with your work buddies! I'm sick of listening to women bitch about other women, and me having to listen about it! I'm sick of living in this two-bit, piece-of-shit, one-horse town! I'm sick of having to go to church and listen to simpletons babble on about a so-called God! I'm sick of your pathetic, fucking face! I'm sick of this pathetic fucking house! I'm sick of playing housewife!"

Brian watched and listened, mouth wide open, horrified.

"I'm going to be the man from now on!" Diane said, moving toward Brian suddenly, her left hand raised and pointing at Brian. She stepped barefoot into his vomit, and moved just inches from him.

"I'm moving to Chicago with Cindy! I'm putting you and this fucking place, this whole fucking life, in the rear-view mirror! You pathetic cocksucker! I should have never married you! I'm the fucking man now, you bitch!"

"But... I... love you!" Brian responded, tears now building up in his eyes. Diane smacked him.

"Take your love and shove it up your ass!" she screeched. "I'm out of here! Do you understand? Comprehend, buddy? Gone! Done! Vanished! I'm leaving you! Stay in this pathetic town! I'm going to Chicago and I'm going to become a man! I don't need you! I'm never coming face to face with you again!"

She stopped, caught her breath, and promptly smacked Brian again. Tears now streamed down his face.

"The only other communication you'll hear from me is from my lawyer! When I get settled down, you'll get your divorce papers in the mail! Suck it, fucker! I'm the man now!"

She stopped again, clinched her fist, and punched Brian on the side of his mouth. He turned back slowly, crying.

"Go fuck yourself!" Diane yelled.

She turned back toward the bed, walked around to the other side, and picked up her clothes – jeans, a blue polo, boxers. Brain recognized them immediately as his own. Diane had bent over and was putting on Brian's boxers. She immediately stood back up, and threw the boxers down.

"You know what? Fuck it!" Diane said. She quickly hurried out the bedroom, down the hall, and toward the living room. Brian, still in shock, paused, and then ran after her. He saw her walking out the front door, ran quickly, opened the door, and yelled after her.

"Wait!" he begged. "Diane, wait! I love you! We can fix this! Talk to me! Oh God, please wait!"

Standing out the five o'clock light, stark naked, Diane walked in front of the old truck toward the passenger's side. She looked back at Brian, and suddenly turned and ran back to him, embracing him, her breasts meshed against his chest. She put her lips onto his, and stuck her tongue deep down his throat.

Brian stepped back, preparing to welcome her back. Diane cut him off.

"That was goodbye. I can't leave you without a goodbye kiss. Oh, and just know that I was sucking on Cindy's cock about 30 minutes ago. Doesn't it taste so good?"

Brian again stood dumbfounded, with his mouth hanging open. He felt another round of vomit working his way up from his stomach.

"Now I'm going to leave you with a parting present like none other!" Diane said. She walked out onto the neatly cut lawn in front of the house, cupped her hands over her mouth, and yelled loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

"OH neighbors! OHHH NEIGHBORS! COME OUT AND TAKE A GANDER AT YOUR SAINTLY BROWN FAMILY HERE! NEIGHBORS! NEIGHBORS!"

The doors of two houses across the street, both housing old maids, immediately opened. Both old women walked out, and put their hands over their mouths at the sight. Brian stood in his doorway horrified as Diane continued to yell.

"OH NEIGHBORS! OH NEIGHBORS! OH NEIGHBORS!" she repeated. Soon, five houses across the street, and both houses flanking Brian's house were out staring. Others further down the street were out to, Brian later found out, but he did not notice them at this time. There were plenty of witnesses of his community, many fellow church members, who were watching his life disintegrate.

"Can everyone hear me?" Diane asked, still yelling. "Okay. I just wanted to say that I'm moving to Chicago with a wonderful transgender man named Cindy. He's got a cock like no other, and he's reached places in me this pathetic shit behind me couldn't reach with a two-foot dildo!"

Mouths flew open. The house to the right of Brian housed the Walker family, and John and Patty, the mother and father of the house, were standing out on their lawn watching the scene. Brian turned and noticed their shocked expression. John, a tall, imposing man in his mid-thirties was Brian's best friend. He slowly turned and looked at Brian. Brain's gaze shifted to the front window of their house. Their three children, two boys, Clark and John Jr., and girl, Caroline, were watching.

"I just want you all to know that I hate every single one of you. You're all pathetic cocksuckers. You've never been out of this two-shit state. I have been. I've experienced life. And I know what's fun! I'm going to Chicago and I'm going to have fun! To hell with playing housewife!

"I also want you all to know that Brian here is a pathetic cocksucker. I hate him and I always have. I married him out of sympathy! I thought I could change myself to love him and become normal. But I realize thanks to my friend Cindy over there that I am normal. You're all abnormal! Fuck you all! I'll see you in hell!"

Diane turned and walked, her thick breasts and firm ass shaking for the whole world to see, back toward the old truck in the driveway. When she reached the driveway, she stopped again, turning and addressing her audience at large for one last time.

"Oh! I almost forgot! I wanted to tell everybody I do not really have a problem with infertility. I've gotten pregnant with Brian three times. And coincidentally, that's how many times I've had an abortion in the last five years!"

She began walking immediately again, climbed on the back of the truck and over it, opened the passenger door, and stood up on the floor of the car.

"Sorry Brian," she called back in a quieter voice. "Maybe I should have told you that last part alone? Oh well!"

She winked at him, blew him a kiss, and then flipped him off. She settled into the seat next to Cindy, and Cindy pulled out of the driveway. As Cindy pulled out, Diane bent over in her seat, and exposed her bald ass and vagina for the entire world to see, as the old red truck went down the street.

"David learned then that faith can direct through all times. You see, when..."

Brian suddenly shot back to the present and to Pastor Jeff. He lifted his arm off of the pew in front of him and wiped the sweat off of his forehead that had developed as he relived those terrible events. He was cold, shivering and still horrified at what he had only a few days ago lived through.

Friday and Saturday did not go so well. The police were called and a report on the incident was made. A reporter from the local daily newspaper of the county, The Times, came out and did a story on the night's events and interviewed neighbors. The story had since run on the newspaper's website. Brian read it Friday morning at work on his computer. So did the rest of the office. And, pretty soon, the story was gaining nationwide attention.

In his own mind, Brian did not sleep Thursday, but sat in his living room and sat in shock. John stayed the night and tried to talk with him. Brian did not hear most of what he was saying.

Brian convinced himself that going to work on Friday was necessary, as, in one of his few conscious moments on Friday, he told John, "It would be the start of my new life."

Instead, the word spread quickly that Brian had been dumped for a transgendered old man. In the age on the internet, The Times' article had provided the newest trend in the world of quirky internet stories. When Brian found out the story had gained over 5 million hits in less than 12 hours during his lunch hour on Friday, he began a hysterical laughing fit that thoroughly scared his fellow co-workers.

His laughing fit had marked his departure of the first two stages of grieving – shock and denial – and into the third stage: anger. And with anger, he'd lived through the last two days. He was treated on Friday night to a precession of neighbors through his house. Some had genuine concern for him and brought food for him and offered help, to which, through his anger, he appreciated. The others that came through were, as he saw it, nosy.

And as Friday turned into Saturday, the concern turned into curiosity and amusement from the townspeople, to downright jealousy. In a trip downtown on Saturday afternoon, Brian was met by a 50-year-old man who promptly cornered him on a street corner and demanded to know why he was getting all the attention he was.

"A real Christian man should move on and give that attention to people who need it!" the man screamed. With that, Brian offered in reply his fist to the man's jaw.

The other thing he had to deal with was Diane's parents, Debbie and Steven. They lived in southern Indiana near Bloomington, where Brian and Diane first met in college. In the mist of things, they were never notified about what their daughter had done until they heard a news excerpt on the Saturday morning news about an Indiana woman named Diane Brown who left her husband to move to Chicago with a transgendered man. It took a quick trip to The Times website to confirm that it was indeed their daughter who was on the report. Brian was furious at them over the phone on Saturday, claiming they knew she was insane.

"How the hell could you not tell me there wasn't something wrong with her?" Brian asked.

"She hadn't had an episode since she was 15," Steven said over the phone. "With her medication, the Doctors said she would be fine."

"What she did was not the result of being bipolar!" Brian said. "What she did was the result of being a fucking freeloading pervert fuck up of a human being! How the hell did you miss that?"

Her parents had since left for Chicago to try and retrieve their daughter. Brian didn't care whether they found her or not.

Brian's head was killing him as he sat and ignored the sermon. He reached inside the pocket of his suit jacket and got out a flask. He looked up to make sure no one was looking. Pastor Jeff was looking to the left side of the room. Brian quickly took a swig.

He had made a trip downtown on Saturday to meet two of his old friends: Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. Brian drank much when he was a teenager – before he was "saved" as it where.

Brian came from the predominant Brown family of Indianapolis. His grandfather, Clark Brown, was a two-term governor of Indiana in the 1950's. His father, Royce, was a Senator from Indiana from 1976 until his death in 2002. It was with his father's death – just after his graduation from Indiana – where Brian had first went through the grieving stages he now suffered. Differently, though, he wasn't grieving over a loss of someone else – he was grieving over the loss of his old self.

His mind quickly returned to thoughts of his wife. Diane had been haunting his thoughts for the past few days. He thought of her perfect body – that tanned, fit body. Her abs were stronger than most males, and her legs had the smoothness and softness of an ideal woman. Her buttocks – that perfect, round, firm ass, was a sight to behold. Her breasts were the handiwork of God himself. Her face, her hair...

Brian took another swig of his buddy Jim. 'I shouldn't be mad at anyone but Diane for this,' he thought. 'No one saw this coming.'

Diane had brought Brian back to God and to her at Indiana. She won him over with her looks, and then purified his soul. He had grown up Methodist, but as with most political families, religion at some point became more of an image maker than an actual faith. To say that Royce went to church to be seen was not an improper statement.

Diane had taught Brian how to love. She taught Brian how to be at peace with himself. The two had fallen deeply in love and married after graduation in 2002 – before Brian's father died.

They had lived a peaceful life for nearly ten years. But apparently, Brian had missed something. He'd thought long and hard about what he'd missed...

He took another swig from his flask. 'Enough thinking for now,' Brian thought. 'Everyone missed something.'