My Big Fat Gay Life (54 page)

“Oh fuck!” I exclaimed, grimacing.

“So ladylike!” Sebastian burst out, laughing. “I guess you can bring the woman out of the boy, but you can never totally rid the woman of the boy.”

“It’s fine,” Patricia said, her brow furrowing as she leaned towards my hem with some tape. “We can fix it!”

* * *

As Sebastian and I stood at the end of the aisle, he beamed with pride as Jack and Kyra preceded us down the aisle. We both suppressed laughs as Kyra almost tripped herself, trying to walk in time with the music. We both laughed openly as Jack abandoned his duties as pageboy, along with the pillow and the rings, to rush and greet Patricia, who had seated herself in the front row.

Suddenly, all eyes turned towards me. My stomach churned, and my legs felt like they were made of jelly.

“I think I’m gonna barf,” I whispered sideways to Sebastian. He laughed and offered his arm, which I gladly took to steady myself.

As we made our way down the aisle, I turned my head left and right, smiling for the cameras and greeting friends and family. I must have looked like a laughing clown from the carnival; it’s a wonder nobody tried to shove a ball down my gob. Between each oscillation of my head, I fixed my gaze straight ahead. I couldn’t believe my handsome groom was there: I was certain he would ditch me at the altar.

My gaze stopped on Ryan, and he beamed at me. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was grasping the hands of the gentleman he was sitting with. I didn’t know the gentleman’s name, but I was sure to be introduced at some point throughout the evening.

* * *

Over the last seven years, Ryan’s career had skyrocketed. He now had his own successful label and was receiving critical acclaim from some of the best-known designers in the business. As his celebrity designer status soared, so did his reputation for being well hung. Ryan’s clothes were the most sought after couture, and Ryan himself was the most sought after arm accessory.

The dress I was wearing was actually one of Ryan’s designs – a one-off he’d created especially for me.

“It’s your wedding gift,” he’d told me after I’d argued that I couldn’t possibly accept his offer to design a wedding dress for me. “A beautiful woman needs a beautiful dress.”

It certainly was a beautiful dress, and it made me feel beautiful: both inside and out. Over the last seven years I’d been through many trials: some physically, and some emotionally. Reflecting back, I wouldn’t change a thing. It all led me to where I am now: walking down the aisle, with Sebastian about to give my hand in marriage to Anthony.

* * *

Anthony had an extremely large family, but as I scanned the assembly I noted very few of Anthony’s relatives were present. I’d been expecting a small turnout from his side, so I wasn’t surprised.

“My family are all chavs,” he’d said after we sent out the invitations. “They love me, and I love them, but they’re narrow-minded, bigoted, lazy dole bludgers. They’ll never come to see me marry an ex-man!”

He’d been correct, although he’d been surprised by how many of his relatives had said they would come.

“I guess the allure of free booze outweighs the disgust of seeing me marry a man,” he’d observed.

“Do I look like a man?” I’d asked him, thrusting out my new cleavage.

“Absolutely not!” he’d agreed.

“They must all think you’re gay,” I’d observed. “You’re marrying a bloke.”

“That’s the weird part,” he’d responded. “Since you look like a hot woman, they understand why I want to marry you. Anyone who wants to fuck a hot chick like you must be straight. They’re just disgusted at the thought you used to be a bloke, complete with dick. This wedding will be a litmus test for them: the ones that accept it are the ones I want to have in my life. However, if they can’t accept you and our marriage, then I don’t want anymore to do with them.”

* * *

Gazing down the aisle at Anthony, I can’t believe how blessed I am. Currently his face was all smiles, but over the last seven years I’d caused a great deal of hurt and tears to mar his beautiful face. The process of transforming from a boy into a woman was difficult: very difficult. Anthony had stood by my side throughout the entire process, even when I didn’t deserve it.

The physical transformation was far easier than the emotional transformation. Don’t get the wrong idea: the physical transformation was complex, painful, and daunting. With all the surgeries and treatments, I’d been in a lot of pain. Unfortunately, I’d taken out most of my pain on Anthony.

After the gender reassignment surgery, I’d wanted to test out my new plumbing. Despite his open mind and accepting nature, he was an old-fashioned boy who believed in love and monogamy. He was deeply hurt when I commenced a slut phase, determined to sleep with anyone who’d have me. To his credit, although he didn’t understand it, he accepted it. The final straw for him was when I’d told him about my aborted attempt at sex with Ryan.

* * *

“I can’t do this anymore,” Anthony said simply. “I try to be understanding and accept that you have a lot of missed years as a teenage girl and a woman to catch up on, but why him? Why Ryan?”

“He couldn’t get it in,” I told him harshly. “His cock is way too big! He only got half his cock in me before I cried out with pain. It doesn’t count!”

He flinched as though I’d slapped him. Tears welled up in his eyes and started to overflow, running down his cheeks.

“I could tolerate the one-night stands: they were strangers,” he said. “But Ryan? He’s a friend of yours… of ours! How can I trust you alone with him ever again?

“You’re a beautiful person, and a beautiful woman. In many ways I don’t feel like I deserve you. But I do know that I don’t deserve this. I wish you a happy life, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“But you’re what I’m looking for!” I cried at him as he stalked out the door.

* * *

That was two years ago, and during those two years I’d fought hard to prove to Anthony that I was worthy of his love, trust, and respect. It wasn’t easy, but here we are, about to be married.

I grimaced as I reflected on the horrible way I’d treated Anthony for the first five years of our relationship. Despite the fact that I’d chosen to undergo the transformation, I’d gone through phases where I was unhappy, depressed, angry, and just plain moody. In my confusion and stress, I’d lashed out at Anthony. He’d borne it all quite stoically.

Anthony had spent five years by my side as I underwent surgeries, treatments, counselling, and therapies. I repaid his patience, tolerance, and acceptance by being a complete bitch and slut. I may have become a female on the outside, but after Anthony left me I realised I also needed to become a lady on the inside if I were to have any hope of having a good man like Anthony in my life.

Anthony isn’t perfect – he’s quite religious after all – but he’s damned close. After I’d sorted myself out, I was determined to win him back. I started attending his church, and eventually we’d started dating again. It took over a year, but I finally convinced him that I’d changed. He saw the sincerity with which I’d embraced monogamy, Christianity, and old-fashioned values.

* * *

Before long, my dream-like walk down the aisle ended. Sebastian kissed me on the cheek and placed my hand in Anthony’s, then retreated to take a seat next to Patricia.

“I love you,” Anthony mouthed. Tears threatened to ruin my make-up.

“Shut up!” I hissed at him. He just smiled even more broadly, then turned to the priest and nodded.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest began. “We’re gathered here today to witness the union of Anthony and Toni in Holy matrimony.”

It’s over two years since I’d lost Donovan to a massive stroke and, although my grief has waned, today I miss him more than I ever have since his passing.

As I watched Toni and Anthony pledge themselves to each other, forsaking all others and all that crap, I fervently wished that Donovan could have been here to witness the evolution of the amazing being that is Toni.

True, he may have been slightly nauseous at the old-fashioned, sanctimonious drivel that was contained in the Christian wedding ceremony, and he may have been slightly perturbed that Toni had chosen a life of monogamy and religion, however Toni’s path of self-development had seen huge advances from the angry, confused slut that was full of bitterness at the time of Donovan’s death.

The changes in Toni would have filled him with pride and wonder, and I’m sure that he, like me, would have been able to keep his mouth shut concerning Toni’s choice of style of relationship. She’d gone from being the black sheep of the family for being a transgender person, to the black sheep of the family for desiring a life of convention and normalcy.

To each their own: we never judge! Donovan and I are the last people who can afford to be judgmental. We had a great life together, albeit totally unconventional, and he died happy. We were having a foursome with some contortionist twins from Cirque du Soleil when he suffered a massive stroke during his third orgasm. He’d died with a smile on his face, and he was dead before his body hit the bed.

As I sit here watching Toni tie the knot, with Jack wriggling in my lap and Sebastian sitting next to me holding my hand, I can almost feel Donovan’s presence on my other side. I’m certain I can feel the rush of his breath in my ear, and the touch of his hand on mine.

I wish Donovan had been able to meet Jack. He’d died just as Jack’s surrogate mother had entered her third trimester. Jack was a delight, and a complete mix of mannerisms and looks that he’d inherited from both Donovan and Sebastian. As much as I’d detested the idea of becoming a grandmother three years ago when Sebastian had first raised the idea, I wouldn’t change it for the world now.

One consolation I have concerning Donovan’s passing is that he was here to see Sebastian come through his hard trials. I glanced sideways at my son and tightened my grip on his hand a little. He smiled at me, obviously fighting back tears at Toni’s nuptials.

Donovan and I had watched from the sidelines as Sebastian battled his demons. His battle was dark, and at times we feared for him, but Sebastian had finally emerged from the battle. He was battle-worn and weary, however he was also strong, and completely whole. Our son no longer had a void in his soul, thus eliminating the only void in our lives.

“If there is anyone present who has an objection to this union, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” The priest’s words filtered through my trip down memory lane, causing me to stand up, unceremoniously dumping Jack to the ground in the process, and turn to face the assembly. I slowly passed my gaze over every person, with a glare that ensured they knew I would not tolerate any objections. Satisfied, I took my seat and nodded to the priest. Toni and Anthony giggled as Jack crawled back up into my lap.

“Do you have the rings?” asked the priest.

“That’s your cue, Jack!” I exclaimed, dumping him off my lap again. I handed him the pillow with the rings on it that Justin had recovered from the aisle, and shoved him in the direction of the priest. He walked over, quite stately and ceremoniously, and presented the pillow to the priest. After the priest had retrieved the rings, Jack fled back to me and launched himself into my lap.

“Do you, Toni Williams, take Anthony Kyle…” the priest continued.

I had offered to perform the ceremony for Toni and Anthony, but Anthony had politely declined. Being the good little religious boy that he is, he wanted a real priest: not some crazy woman who’d been ordained as a minister over the Internet.

Two weeks ago I’d performed a wedding ceremony at my country estate, and it was a completely different affair to the very formal event occurring in front of me now. Clothing was optional, children ran around making lots of joyous noise, and one of the lesbians I was marrying had gone into labour during the ceremony.

“Hurry up!” she’d screamed at me, puffing and panting through a contraction. “For fuck’s sake, hurry up!”

I’d rushed through the rest of the ceremony, and an hour later she gave birth in the specially prepared hottub.

* * *

After Donovan passed away, I craved a complete change of life. I retired from Rainbow’s End, leaving that incredible boy, Justin, in charge, and joined a commune. Some people call it a cult, but I call it a family. After I’d been there for six months, learning a new way of life that involved closeness with Nature, shedding the trappings of beauty – hair, make-up and designer clothes – and a simpler approach to life, the leader, Todd, had taken me aside one night.

“We have a problem,” he’d said, quite sincerely. “It has come to my attention that many members of our family have started to follow your example, and are actually seeking you out to hear your teachings.”

“That’s true,” I’d replied. “I’m very happy to help spread your teachings when I can.”

“Therein lies the problem, Patricia,” he’d said, quite darkly. “They’re
my
teachings, not yours. My people should be coming to me for leadership, not you.”

“Do you want me to stop spreading your word?” I’d asked him.