I hadn't visited home since I came out as transgender, and my family (or at least the only family member I've ever had close enough to care) took it better than any could really. I remember the silent breath as I called my only parent and explained to him I had been on hormones for twenty-one months. When I went off to college he had given me some of his old tokens of manhood like the watch he had been passed. He had looked me in the eyes and shook my hand before I threw my backpack into the car. I looked back at him and had felt the tense breath that was restricted by the feminine clothing underneath my usual appearance. That moment I came to peace with it being the last time he could ever accept and see me.
Trying to create some bridge into why I was transitioning now, I lead with the feelings that started before the hormones. The way dysphoria had started to press in on me, the kind friends and therapist who walked me through it all, and the support for the internet which led me to my answer. We never talked when I was a kid about much to do with the LGBT+ but I had no reason to believe he would be upset over it.
Dad was the one person who had an active role in my life, more than any of my friends or partners I tried to have. Sweat coated my palms and in the back of my mind was an evening planned around the possible loss. He was the person I studied with, spent my weekends with, and tried out new things with. He was patient and quiet, and when I finished letting my anxiety do the talking for longer than I intended to he finally spoke.
"Sweetie, you're not the first trans girl I've known. I actually was close friends with one in my college days and watched her change. I'm really proud of you and thankful you felt comfortable enough to share that with me. Do you have a name picked out?"
I was in shock, forgetting my chosen name for a few stammers before blurting out, "Gabriella".
"I love it!" He cheered. "Send me a picture of what you look like now, and if you include some sizes we can start to replace your closet." As Evan, my father, made a list of all of the things we should do, I silently kicked myself for not asking for his help earlier. Early transition was a mad dash for clothing and other things that helped me feel more like myself after the hurdle of who I was sunk in. We went over the kinds of clothing that caught my eye, and I got a healthy reminder that many men were raised without an idea of the fashion industry which included the both of us.
Pictures and styles were exchanged to help him understand what clothing helped me downplay my shoulders and knees (the most dysphoria inducing parts) and show off my other features. Evan picked out a lot of dresses and skirts for me with hasty assurance that we could return anything that didn't fit or make me feel comfortable. He teased about buying sexy clothing but the offer sounded genuine, my anxiety was still in control and wouldn't let me agree despite him pressing that if I wanted to I could pick lewd lingerie. He asked questions without judgment in his heart and I did my best to answer all the ones I could. His information wasn't too out of date except for the terms that were starting to spring up.
I felt the inner turmoil and terror of losing my Dad slide off of me like weights after our phone call disconnected, and from there we started checking back in each month while I was busy at college. Pictures of dresses, advice on how to talk to girls, and even then one night we broke new ground with a few beers in hand on either end of the phone.
"Dad? Did your friend struggle with getting...close to people?" I asked with my heart in my throat.
"Well...yeah." He sounded confused. "Haven't you dealt with people who can't fully grasp it or let go of their ego? I thought transgender and nonbinary people had to wrestle with that all the time?"
"No, that's not what I mean. Did she ever have any trouble being...intimate with someone?" I was afraid of asking too much for his comfort but his voice held no hesitation.
"Well she had to find someone who was going to see her as she was, not someone who came to her with some kind of idea of what girl they were going to get. There's always the people you called the chasers, who only want a girl because of their dick, or the people who expect all trans individuals to be perverts or sex deprived, or even mentally ill. When she finally found them, it was that connection of someone just wanting her for being her that helped her be comfortable. Dysphoria is a huge part of it too. Are the girls at your school not very accepting of trans lesbians?" He sipped again and now was my shining moment to also drop being biseuxual on him.
I didn't know how to tell him so I just let the words drop out of me. "Well neither are the guys. They have that mentality that if they suck me off they end up gay or something. The problem is my hormones keep spreading a feeling through me that points to being with a man. It's hard to tell if this is temporary."
"Yeah Gabby, that assumption of being gay is such a mental pitfall. I know you're probably surging with hormones and just need attention, but you deserve someone who doesn't flinch at your identity, and lifts you up for it. You have a wonderful form and I can't even believe how much you've changed. It makes me wish I could have known you differently, it's also making me feel like a dirty old man." I didn't know what to say when he finished talking. It felt like in that moment he sounded almost sad he couldn't be the partner I was hoping for every night. "I mean, if you're needing to you could always buy some sex toys along with the clothing."
"Dad, don't worry so much, you're handsome. I always wondered if you would bring home someone who finally saw it. Please don't ship me dildos, I'm pretty sure I can make do with what I have, or whoever I can find. I've actually never had someone...you know...inside me." I giggled into the phone but my face was filled with sensitive pinpricks of shame as I told him about my more sexual side.
Stretching and groaning he laughed. "I doubt it. Besides, I don't really go out and look for people like that. I believe love and lust come for you when you least expect it. You're gonna get so many people after you that you won't need a dildo." He hadn't even addressed that I hadn't taken someone before, which left me nervously wondering if I had shared too far. The rest of the phone call was pretty normal but I had a deep blush covering the tops of my cheeks that stuck for hours. I tried to lie and tell myself it was just the comfort of finally being accepted, not interest in my Dad.
My father was a reclusive man with few friends he had ever kept over the years, often ending up sipping a drink quietly with a book in hand. When I was a child he would wait in his bed from when we finished dinner and sit until almost two am like he was waiting for someone to warm the sheets with him. I always wondered why he never brought a girlfriend home or hadn't gone out with any of the colleagues from work. Instead I rekindled the willingness to know him when that first conversation rang out from our home back in Oregon to my college in Washington.
After hearing his comment on my form though, I'm ashamed to admit my taste for older men started to increase with most of my porn habits drifting to men in their forties with girls in their twenties still. There was the tantalizing idea of finding a man who thought of the younger days and letting him awaken it with me.
I had been studying Computer Science (with my specialty in networking) at Washington State University for the last two years and since that phone call my Dad sat with every hormone change, every weird boyfriend and even the girlfriends. He never dated that I saw but he had a lot of good advice, having most of his fun young and watching as the relationships of our friends and neighbors changed over the years.
We'd pick a film and a book for the month and catch up on life when I had free time, and finally I got the nerve to ask him one night why he was so patient with the amount of oversharing and lonely venting that I had been afflicted by during most of our conversations. Evan didn't even flinch when I came back from a date and called him to exhaustively complain over a boy who left my cock sore from an inexperienced and toothy blowjob.
