I would like to thank my dear friends,

Angel O’Hare, Karen Page, Joni W. and Holly Logan

for their kindness, help, support and input.

Raised In SLC
Chapter 9

By Penny Reed Cardon

The rest of the weekend was absolutely, heavenly.  I was so happy after Mary Beth's party that nothing could upset me or make me sad.  Sunday seemed to just, float by as of drifting along with a sea of pink clouds.  Nothing any different from any other Sunday, except the way I felt because of yesterday.  Monday morning rolled around and it was time to start school again even that sounded like fun.  Mary Beth came over and the three of us walked together Rachael, Mary Beth and me.  I was still feeling so good because of the party last Saturday that not even Black Bart pushing me around, every chance he got, could make me sad.  Everything was perfect, that is, until Dad got home from work Monday evening.  He seemed to be upset about something, I soon found out what it was.

“MATTHIAS JAMES COVINGTON" Dad yelled, from my room “GET YOUR ASS IN HERE, RIGHT NOW!”  You know you are in trouble when your Mom calls you by full given name, but when you Dad does it, oh brother, you'd better look out because you’re in real trouble.

When I got to my room, Dad was standing in front of my dresser drawers.  The top drawer had been pried open.  The wood around the lock was broken and splintered. In Dad’s hand was a crowbar, Dad was looking into the drawer shaking his head.

When he saw me standing in the doorway he shouted, “WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THIS?”

“Umm, just some clothes,” I replied very timidly.

“JUST SOME CLOTHES?  JUST SOME LITTLE GIRLS UNDERWEAR, DON’T YOU MEAN?”

I think I nodded my head.  It was hanging down so far I’m not sure how I could have nodded.

"WHERE THE HELL DID THEY COME FROM AND WHAT ARE THEY DOING IN YOUR DRAWER?”  His volume was becoming louder if that was possible.

Just them Mom came into the room, or at least she tried to.  She almost had to pick me up and move me to get into my room.

“What's going on in here?  David, why are you so upset?” Mom was obviously trying to get Dad to stop yelling, but it wasn’t working very well.

"Why am I upset?  Why am I upset?  Well let's just think about that question.  I guess it was about two weeks ago that Craig Phelps told me that he’d seen my wife and twin daughter's at the Crossroads Plaza, how lovely my wife is, and my twin daughters are so beautiful he said.  Naturally, I told him 'you must have been mistaken Craig, Edith and I don't have twin daughters'.

“Then this morning he informed me how much his wife appreciated having my wife, daughter, our houseguest, along with a couple of their friends, helping her with Mary Beth's birthday party last Saturday.  I told him that we don't have a houseguest.  Then he proceeded to tell me how his wife raved about this beautifully little girl at the party that looked like she could have been Rachael's twin sister and answers to the name of MATILDA.  The only other time that I'd even heard the name Matilda before was from you, when you were trying to select a name for our third child.  Only that was BEFORE, Matthias was born.  So I started thinking to myself, who do I know that is about the same size as Rachael, looks a lot like Rachael, and could possibly be mistaken for Rachael's twin sister?  The only answer to that question is MY SON MATT.  Now the question is how would he or anyone else know about the name Matilda?  Guess what, the only answer to that question is, it came from YOU.  NO, NO, NO, I say to myself, my wife wouldn't be dressing my son up as a girl!  Taking him shopping as a girl, taking him to a birthday party as a girl, she wouldn’t do that.  She couldn't be that STUPID!  I might not be a rocket scientist, but I can add two plus three and come up with five.  Then I started thinking to myself; is there any way to prove what I suspect?  Maybe I should just have a look through Matt's clothes, just out of curiosity.  WELL LOOK WHAT I FOUND!  PRETTY SOLID EVIDENCE, IF YOU ASK ME."  Dad yelled, while pulling a handful of underwear out of my drawer.

"David please settle down, let's talk about this."

“SETTLE DOWN, SETTLE DOWN.  HOW IN THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO SETTLE DOWN.  I'VE JUST DISCOVERED THAT MY SON HAS BEEN WEARING GIRLS UNDERWEAR, DRESSING LIKE A GIRL, GOING TO PARTIES AND GOD KNOWS WHERE ELSE HE'S BEEN.  I'LL BE THE LAUGHING STOCK OF THE WHOLE PLANT.  I CAN HEAR THEM NOW,

 HEY THERE DAVIE, I HEAR YOUR SON'S A GIRL NOW.

HEY DAVIE, I HEAR YOUR BOY’S A LITTLE MIXED UP IN JEANS.

HELL I’M PROBABLY GOING TO HAVE TO GET A NEW JOB BECAUSE OF THIS."

"Oh come now, David.  Please try to relax.  Let's sit down and talk about this calmly.  Having a child with Gender Dysphoria is not nearly as big a problem as you're trying to make it out to be.  It's definitely not the end of the world."

"You’re trying to tell me that having a son that dresses up like a girl ISN’T A PROBLEM?"

"David, is it really any different than having a daughter that dresses like a boy?"

"What are you babbling about?"  Dad seemed to be calming down a little.

"Well, would you be this upset if Karen decided she wanted to wear boy's boxers instead of girl's panties?  Most of the clothes she wears now are intended for boys."

"What?"

"Most of the clothes that Karen wears were designed for boys; I just want to know if you'd have a problem with Karen wearing boy’s underwear as well?'

Dad was silent.  Mom paused for a few seconds before she continued.

"Maybe we should ask which gender's underwear she wants to wear.  How about if she decides that she wants a crew cut, would you have a problem with that, David?"

Dad still hadn't said anything in reply to Mom's questions.  I'm not sure if he was actually thinking about her questions or just letting his voice recover from all the yelling he'd been doing.

Mom didn’t give him much time to answer, "Well, what if she decides she wants to play High School football, is it a problem then?  What if Karen decides that she wants to take male hormones to prevent her breasts from developing; is it a problem then?  Is it something to yell and scream about?"

"That's entirely different, not the same thing at all."

"How, David?  Go on, David.  Tell me how it is different.  How is it Matt wearing girl's clothes different from Karen wearing boy's clothes?"

"Well, it's just different, that's all."

"Why, David?  Is it different because society says it's different?  In today's society, it's okay for a girl to decide she doesn't like wearing dresses and it’s perfectly acceptable for her to wear pants all the time.  However, let a young boy be caught wearing a dress and he's teased, ridiculed and called all sorts of names.  A girl can play with cars and trucks, and that's okay; play baseball, soccer or even football, oh that's just fine.  If a young boy is discovered playing with dolls, or experimenting with his Mother’s makeup, he is shamed, ridiculed and sometimes beaten.  You're a boy; you're not allowed to learn what a girl’s life is like.  You’re a boy; you can’t learn how to take care of children, not before you're a parent.  Why is that David?"

Again, Mom didn't give Dad time to answer.  It appeared that she was trying to get a lot of information into Dad all at once, forcing him to think about something that he'd always taken for granted.

"If a girl wants to learn about cars it's considered being self reliant.  If a boy wants to learn to cook and sew, he's called a sissy.  If a woman dresses like a man and becomes a corporate executive, it’s called equality.  If a man dresses like a woman, he's called all sorts of degrading names. Why is that, David?  Tell me why is it okay for a woman to aspire to appear masculine, but for a male to aspire to be feminine is wrong."

"Just what are you saying?"

"Throughout all recorded history, men have considered women as being beneath them, a lower class, sometimes property, but never truly equal.  That's why society approves of women trying to appear masculine.  It's considered to be upgrading their status.  However, if a man, or boy, wishes to explore the world on the feminine side, society looks on this as degrading, but it just isn't so.  This is the twenty-first century, David.  That kind of prejudice should have been abolished along with the ratification of the nineteenth amendment in 1920."

"So what does that have to do with Matthias?"

"David, Matthias has a condition called Gender Dysphoria, which means that although the body is predominantly male, the mind is predominantly female.  She wishes to be addressed with a feminine name and prefers Matilda.  She doesn't like wearing boy’s clothes, she is truly happy, only when she's wearing frilly girls' clothes."

It was quiet for a moment, then Dad explored.  

“YOU'RE TELLING ME HE DOES WEAR GIRL'S UNDERWEAR?” Dad suddenly exploded.

Twenty minutes of information and re-education, shot to hell, wasted on a jarhead with no more active brain cells than your average bulldog.

“David, have you been listening to anything I've been telling you?” Mom demanded.

“MATT, ARE YOU WEARING GIRLS’ UNDERWEAR?”  Dad yelled, completely ignoring the fact that Mom was trying to talk to him.

I looked at Mom, afraid to answer Dad’s question.  She could see the fear in my eyes.

“Yes, she is David, but that isn’t the point.  She needs to wear them for her mental health,” Mom said slowly and calmly.

“SHE needs them, HER mental health?  Matt's a boy!  And what the hell do you mean - mental health – more of that 'Psycho Babble' of yours?”

"It’s not babble, David, it’s called 'Gender Dysphoria' and about 1 in 15,000 males suffer from this condition to various degrees, it's almost an epidemic."

"Good God, YOU'RE TELLING ME HE IS WEARING GIRL'S UNDERWEAR?  ALL RIGHT YOUNG MAN, STRIP, RIGHT NOW!"  Dad ordered.

"David stop this, you’re being irrational.  Let’s talk about this some more so you can understand what is going on,” Mom pleaded, but Dad had completely tuned her out.

"Matt, don't just stand there looking at me like that.  I SAID STRIP!” Dad bellowed.

I slowly started to take off my shirt.

"David, don't do this to Matilda.  You have no idea the psychological trauma you're causing."

"I'm not doing anything, to anyone named Matilda!  I told Matt to strip"

"David, stop this!  You don't know what you're doing!"

"Don't know what I'm doing?  I think that after ten years in the Marine Corps I'd know how to give an order.  When I give an order around here, I expect to be OBEYED.  Now get those clothes off."

After I finished taking off my shirt, I held it in front of me trying to hide the pink vest I was wearing.  I looked to my Mother for help and protection.

"Don't look at her, look at me!"  Dad yelled.  "She's the one that's been screwing up your head with all these crazy ideas."

"DAVID, stop this right now!"  Mom said as she moved between Dad and me.

With one swing of his hand, Dad knocked Mom off her feet and sent her tumbling into my closet doors.  This was the first time I’d ever witnessed my father strike my mother.  I was scared to death of what he would do to me if I disobeyed him!

Although I was sobbing out of control, I slowly undid my belt and unhooked the waistband of my slacks.  With a final "Move it Mister!" from Dad, I let go of the waistband.  My slacks fell to the floor, in a heap around my ankles.  I tried to cover myself with my hands, but that never works.

"Good God!  THEY’RE PINK! AND WITH RUFFLES! SHE'S TURNING YOU INTO A DAMN SISSY."

With that, Dad grabbed the pillow from my bed and took off the pillowcase.  I stood there sobbing, as I watched him empty the contents of my drawer into the pillowcase.

Then Dad came over to me, and just shook his head.  He grabbed the neck of my vest and ripped it, shredding it as he tore it off me.  Then he did the same with my panties.  Completely naked and sobbing, I fell to the floor, curled into a ball of rejected, weeping, misery.

“I don’t EVER want to hear that you've been wearing girls’ clothes again, DO YOU HEAR ME MISTER?  No son of mine is going to grow up to be some sort of damn queer, sissy, faggot or freak.  DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”  He was yelling so loud that I am sure that the whole world could hear him.  Then Dad stormed out of my room.

Rachael told me later that Dad dumped all my clothes into the garbage can and burned them.  I don’t know if it mattered or not then, but Dad didn't know that my wig, makeup, party dress and the rest of my clothes were hidden away in Rachael’s room.

I don't know what happened after that.  The next thing that I can remember, it was Thursday morning, I think.  Anyway, Mom was trying to feed me some oatmeal.  When Mom noticed that I was starting to respond, she dropped the bowl and spoon and through her arms around me.

"Oh Matilda, I'm so sorry.  I had no idea your Father would react that way.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, . . . oh Matilda, . . . I’m so, so sorry . . .” Mom just went on, and on.  I didn't say anything; in fact, at that time, I never uttered a sound.

As I slowly remembered what had happened to me, four days before, I started to cry.  I cried all that day.  Mom spent the whole day with me on her lap.  Nothing she said or did could stop my tears.  I have never known such agonizing misery, such utter rejection, and such absolute humiliation.  To realize, that my own Father, could and does hate so much the person that I truly am.  Eventually Mom had to put me down, to start dinner for the family.  As much as she hated to leave me, she finally had no choice.  She picked me up and carried me to my bed.  A little later Rachael came in and lay next to me, to comfort me, as I was still crying.

Between Mom, Rachael and yes, even Karen, I was never alone for the next three days.  It was Saturday or Sunday before I was making sounds that had any resemblance of real words.  It was two weeks after that horrible night before I was able to go back to school.  I was never quite the same after that night.  Part of me died that horrible night, the better part, the kind, loving, and caring part.  I no longer lived, as there was no longer any meaning or purpose in my life.  Days came and days went, but they had no meaning for me.  I went through the motions of life, but had no desire to partake of life itself, because my life had ended.

On the first day that I went back to school, Mom and Rachael walked me to class.  Mom took us early so she could talk with my teacher, Mrs. Roberts.  Mom told Mrs. Roberts that I’d had a nervous breakdown and to call her if I had any problems.  Of course, Mom didn’t tell Mrs. Roberts what had caused my breakdown.  Rachael helped me to my desk and stayed with me until she had to go to her own class, but by then Mary Beth was there.  Rachael told Mrs. Roberts that it would be good for me to have Mary Beth sitting next to me.  Rachael, of course, knew that I trusted Mary Beth, and of course, how deeply Mary Beth loved me.  Mrs. Roberts moved my desk and Mary Beth’s desk into a corner apart from the other students.  I was still not talking very well or getting around without help, but as time went by things got better.  For the next couple of weeks Mary Beth was my teacher.  We went over everything we’d learned from the time were in Kindergarten together.  It was as if I’d forgotten everything.  However, as the days went by, I remembered more and more.  Mary Beth, of course, stayed with me all day at school, she would take me to lunch, and when the class went to recess, Mary Beth and I stayed in the classroom.

One day while the class was at recess Mary Beth and I were talking and coloring, I was up to about a second grade level at that time.  Without thinking, Mary Beth called me Matilda.  I stopped what I was doing, as I looked at Mary Beth, suddenly I started sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh Matt, I’m sorry.  I forgot, . . . I’m sorry, oh Matt, please don’t cry, I’m so sorry.”  Mary Beth was hugging me, trying to comfort me when Mrs. Roberts came in.

“Mary Beth, what’s happened here?” Mrs. Roberts asked, quickly coming over to where we were sitting.

“Oh, it’s my fault Mrs. Roberts.  I called him by the wrong name.  I forgot not to,” Mary Beth told her.

“What do you mean you called him by the wrong name?”

“Oops, umm I’m not supposed to say anything about it.  It’s a secret; I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m not supposed to tell anybody about it.  Please forget I said anything,” Mary Beth begged.

“Mary Beth, you know I can't do that.  You know how much I care about both you and Matthias."

At the mention of Matthias, I couldn’t help it, I screamed as if I was in pain.

"Please, Mrs. Roberts don't use Matt's full name!  As you can see, that upsets him as well," pleaded Mary Beth.

"Is that what you called him?  Is that what started this?"  Mrs. Roberts asked.

"No, Mrs. Roberts, it was another name, a name that only his Mother, Rachael and I called him.  Well, I guess his Dad found out about it too.  His Dad said that nobody was to use that name ever again, only I forgot.  I called him Matil. . . Oops I almost did it again."  Mary Beth said, shaking her head.  Then she asked, "Mrs. Roberts is there some place where I can take Matt, just until he settles down.  I don't want the others to see him like this."

"Well, I don’t know about this, Mary Beth.  If something as simple as a name can make Matt cry like this, I really need to know what is going on.  I can’t help if I don’t know what to do, or not to do,” Mrs. Roberts told her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Roberts, but I just can’t tell you.  I promised that I wouldn’t talk about it to anyone.  It hurts her . . . I mean . . . it hurts him too much.”

“Mary Beth, what did you mean “It hurts HER” too much?”

“Please, Mrs. Roberts, don’t ask me any more questions I promised,” Mary Beth, pleaded, she was almost in tears and she begged.  “Pleeease just let me take Matt some place, away from everybody else, until he settles down. Pleeease!”

“Well I don’t know about this, but for now we'll take Matt into my office until he settles down, will that be okay?”

“Oh, yes, that will be just great!  Thank you, Mrs. Roberts, thank you.”  Mary Beth helped me up, she and Mrs. Roberts helped me to the office.  After that, Mrs. Roberts called my Mother.  I don't know what was said, but my Mother came and took me home.  It was two days before I was able to go back to school.  Mrs. Roberts never mentioned the incident again.

It was about two weeks after that incident before I was allowed to go outside for recess.  The only time Mary Beth had left my side during the last five weeks was when we weren’t at school.  She wasn't permitted to see me outside of school or on the weekends.  It seems that her Mother was furious when she was told that I was Matilda.  Mary Beth was being treated like a stranger in her own home, as nobody would talk to her.  She had meals with her family but that was all, the rest of her time at home she spent in her room, her family pretending she isn't there.  We were both outcasts, me because I'm different, Mary Beth because she loves me because I'm different.

Somewhere through all of this, September twenty-ninth, my birthday, rolled around.  It came and went without any acknowledgement from my family.  The only person to remember my birthday, and attempted to make it a special day, was Mary Beth.  On that day, during lunch she had arranged for my closest friends to gather.  They had each made and presented a birthday card to me.  Mary Beth, along with her card, presented me with a second card.  It was from my Mother, who apologized for not doing more to make my birthday special.  She hoped that her using Mary Beth to convey her love was okay.  Mary Beth also brought some cup cakes to school in violation of school policy, and the six of us celebrated my tenth birthday.

I found out later that my Dad was responsible for the apparent forgetfulness of my family, but on the bright side, I also learned that my Mother had provided the cup cakes.

One day, Mom came into my room.  I was just sitting on my bed not doing anything, which was usually what I did these days, just sitting.  It didn’t matter what I did, I was never happy and would probably never be happy again.  What happened to that perfect, beautiful, happy world that I once knew?  Was it really gone for good, would I ever again know the kind of happiness that I’d once known?  Oh well, I guess it just doesn't matter anymore.

“Oh, it breaks my heart to see you like this,” Mom said as she closed my door.

“Who cares?”  I replied sadly.  I was hugging my pillow against my chest with my head resting on it.

“I care!  You know I love you, and all I want is for you to be happy.  I think I know how you can be.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, but I really don’t care right now.”

“I know Dear, but I have something for you that I think will make you a little happier.”

“What could you have that would make me happy?”

Mom gave me a small package that she had brought in with her. 

“What’s this?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out?  Think of it as a late birthday present.”

I just shrug my shoulder and set it aside.

“Oh, go on, open it.”

Reluctantly I pick up the package and slowly start to open it. 

I screamed and I threw the package and its contents on the floor.  “Mom, WHAT’S THIS?”

“What does it look like?”

“Mom you know I can’t even look at those things again,” I start sobbing, buried my face in my pillow.

Mom picked up the contents of the package and held them out to me.

“Matilda, you can’t be something you’re not, and you can’t change who you are inside.  All we can do is try to work around the rules until we can figure out a way of changing them.  What I’m suggesting is that while your Father is at work, you can wear whatever you want,” Mom said, while putting a matching set of pink underwear in my hand.

I threw them towards the foot of my bed as if they would burn my hands.  “But Mom, Dad will find out.  Who knows what he’ll do the next time?”

“Matilda, nobody is going to know, just you and I.  I’ll keep these in my room.  After your Father goes to work, I’ll get them for you and you can give them back to me before he comes home.”

“But Mom?”

“But Mom, nothing!  Just because your Father doesn’t understand doesn’t make him right.  Your inner self is still the Matilda that I know and love, and that’s who you need to be.  All we can do for right now is somehow try to work within the limitations we have.”

“Mom I just can’t.  If Dad finds out that I have been wearing girls’ underwear again I’m afraid that he will throw me around instead of just throwing a fit.”  I was sobbing as I choked out these words.

“I know, Matilda, I know,” Mom said while holding me in her arms.

It was about twenty minutes before I stopped crying and Mom let go of me.  “Matilda, I'll just leave these with you.  If you put them on or not, that’s completely up to you.  Just have them back to me before you go to bed.  With your Father working swing shift, you’ll have all evening each day after school to yourself.”

With that, Mom kissed my forehead and left my room, closing the door as she left. 

I sat there for at least twenty minutes just looking at the panties and vest, almost afraid, to even touch them.  Eventually I stretched out my hand and picked them up.  I don’t know how long I held them in my hands before clutching them close to my heart.  Oh, how I wanted to put them on, to declare to the world that I AM MATILDA, to allow my heart to sing and let my soul fly free once again.  I just didn’t dare, I was so afraid of my Father and what he would do if he found out I just couldn’t take that chance.  I spent the rest of the day just sitting on my bed, holding in my hands the only symbol of my true self.  I was weeping because I couldn’t be the person that I knew I needed to be.

About 10:30, Mom knocked on my door.  When I didn’t respond, she gently opened the door.  I was still sitting on my bed, clutching the panties and vest which I longed to wear but couldn’t bring myself to put on.  Mom could see my sorrow and torment, she held me close for a few minutes before she had to take from me, my treasure.  She was surprised to find that they were soaking wet, soaked with my tears.

The next day when I came home from school, I found a matching set of purple underwear lying on my pillow.  I didn’t even touch them as I changed out of my school clothes and went to the bathroom, and then to the kitchen.  There was nobody in the kitchen except for Mom.

“Good afternoon, Matt, . . . Or is it Matilda?” she whispered.

I just looked at my Mother and started softly crying, “Why are you doing this to me?  You know what Dad will do.  Why are you doing this?”  I was sobbing as I finished.

Mom picked me up and carried me back to my room.  Closing the door, we sat on my bed, me on my Mother’s lap crying into her shoulder.

“Matilda, I know what your Father did and what he might do, but you can't deny who you truly are.  To do so will cause you more harm than what your Father can.  Do you understand?”

“B – But Mom, I can’t.  I saw how he hit you.  I – If he hit me that hard . . .”

“I know dear, I know.  That’s why we have to be extra careful. Only you and I will know, not even Rachael will know.  If you try to deny who you truly are, it will destroy you.  You’ve kept this bottled up for weeks now, and if we don’t find a way for you to release the tension that is building you are going to have another breakdown.  I can’t stand by and do nothing while you slowly destroy yourself trying to be something that you're not.”

“B – But Mom?”

“Shh, hush now, Dear.”  Slowly Mom started removing my shirt and undershirt, putting the purple vest on me.

Oh my, it felt sooo good; I put my arms around my Mother’s neck and kissed her cheek then rested my head on her shoulder.  I didn’t even notice when she slipped me off her lap and removed my trousers and briefs, replacing them with the purple panties before pulling me back onto her lap.  It was many minutes later before I noticed that she was stroking my bare leg.  I didn’t care I just wanted to be Matilda, and to be held by my Mother.  We sat that way for the rest of the afternoon.  About dinnertime, Mom finished dressing me.  After I was dressed, Mom took my hand and led me to the kitchen.  Together we fixed dinner for the rest of the family; it was so much fun helping Mom again.

After dinner, Mom took me into the family room where we sat together on the couch and she read to me.  Oh did that bring back memories.  Time almost stood still that evening, I was barely aware of the fact that Rachael and Karen were in the room, also listening to Mom.  At 10:30, Mom took me into my room where she undressed me and got me ready for bed.  Then she kissed me saying, “Good night, Matilda.”

The next day when I got home from school, on my pillow was the pink set.  I only hesitated a little before putting them on as I changed out of my school clothes.  When I found Mom and kissed her on the cheek, she somehow knew that it was Matilda giving her a kiss.

It took a little more than a week before I was back to normal, normal that is for Matilda.  I was still a little sad because I could only be myself in the evenings and on the weekends when Dad had to work.  At least I was able to do most of my own schoolwork.  I had almost caught up with the rest of my class and my grades were starting to come back up.

It was the following weekend that everything started going crazy.

Dad must have noticed that I was happier and he must have been getting suspicious.  One day while Rachael and I were putting together a puzzle Dad came into the family room.

“Matt!”  Dad said as he entered the family room and sat in his recliner.

“Yes Dad”

“Are you wearing girl’s underwear again?”

“N – No D – Dad.”

“David, what makes you think that Matt’s wearing girls’ underwear?” Mom asked.

“Well, he was wearing them during the summer, and all summer he and Rachael were playing together and giggling all the time.  They’re playing together and giggling again, so I’m just making sure that he isn’t starting to wear girl’s underwear again,” Dad explained.

“So now you’re telling me that Rachael and Matt can’t play together as brother and sister?” asked Mom.

“I didn’t say that, Edith.  All I’m saying is that from time to time I’m going to check to make sure that Matt is not wearing girls’ underwear, starting right now.  Matt, Strip.”  Dad ordered

“But . . . Dad . . . Here?”  I choked out.

“Yes here and now.  Any time I tell you to strip, I expect you to strip.  Now get with it.”

“But Dad . . .”

“David, at least take him to his room.  Grant him a little dignity,” Mom said.

“Look, I’m already comfortable and don’t want to move.  He can just take off his clothes and be quick about it.”

“David, what are Karen and Rachael supposed to do?  Are they supposed to just sit here and watch you abuse their brother,” Mom asked.

“Well, if they don’t want to watch they can leave the room, and I'm not abusing anyone,” replied Dad.

"You don't call insisting that your ten year old son strip in public, abusive?  What about the humiliation of being forced to disrobe before your own family, you don't consider that abusive?"

"More of your psycho double talk?" said Dad in a huff.

With that, Rachael and Karen got up and left, without saying a word.

“David, please be reasonable about this,” Mom said.

“I’m being reasonable, I’ll only tell him once or twice a week.  Right now though, I’m only going to tell you one more time to get your clothes off or I’m going to do it for you, Matt, now!” Dad ordered.

“But Dad . . .”

“That's it, mister.” Dad almost flew out of his chair.  He grabbed my arm so tight I thought it was going to pop.  He tore off my shirt and T-shirt then undid my belt and pulled it out of the belt loops of my pants.  After he pulled down my pants and briefs, he pulled me across his knee and whipped me with my own belt.  Twenty strokes with the belt for disobedience, of course I was sobbing after the third one.  When he was done, he dumped me on the floor, a naked ball of sobbing, mentally tormented misery.

Looking back, I’m certainly glad that I wasn’t wearing my nice underwear then, I’m sure things would have been much worse.

Through the entire exchange, Chuck sat and watched, dumbfounded by what was going on.  My mother was crying, pleading with Dad to stop.  After Dad was done with me, Rachael came back in carrying my bathrobe.  She wrapped it around me then helped me to my room.  I think she dressed me for bed and tucked me in, but really, I’m not sure.

Dad was true to his word.  Once or twice a week, it didn’t matter where we were, living room, family room, dining room, but never in my bedroom, whenever he decided it was time, he’d order me to strip.  As soon as the order was given Rachael always left the room, coming back later with my bathrobe.

If this kind of treatment from Dad wasn’t bad enough, somehow Black Bart had found out about Matilda.  It was about a week after Dad started stripping me at home that Bart and his cronies caught me at recess, the first time.  They dragged me to the far end of the baseball field, the farthest away from the building.  Mary Beth and the rest of my friends tried to stop them, but they were no match for Bart and his accomplices.  Mary Beth followed, while the rest went to find a teacher, hoping that they would be able to stop Bart.  By the time they got a teacher out to where they had dragged me, I was naked, huddled into a ball and weeping.  Mary Beth was collecting my clothes, which Bart had thrown over the back fence.  The teacher was outraged that I was naked on school property.  She wouldn’t listen to the girls when they tried to tell her that Black Bart had done it.  Several days later, Bart and his gang grabbed me as Mary Beth and I were on our way to lunch.  I’d given up screaming each time Bart grabbed me.  Nobody seemed to care, except Mary Beth and a few other friends.  Instead of taking me to the baseball field, they carried me out the East gate to a white van.  The side door of the van slid open and I was thrown inside, the door was closed as the van started to move.  Half an hour later, the van stopped, the door was opened and I was lifted out set down next to the school’s East gate.  I was in almost exactly the same spot where I’d been half an hour before.  I can't describe what happened while I was in the van.  My mind has fortunately blocked those memories.

So this is what my life had evolved into.  I was being stripped at home by Dad and at school by Bart.  Don't forget about the twice a week visit of the strange men and the white van.  I heard, through the grapevine, that Bart was making $200 each day that he made me available to them.  All I can say is that my little bottom has never hurt so much in my entire life.

There didn’t seem to be any way to get any of them to stop torturing me.  Nobody believed me when I told them what was happening to me, 'Oh my, that sort of thing couldn’t happen here, you have such an active imagination.'  At least I didn’t find anybody that would do anything to make it stop.

There was only one thing in my life that kept me together, only one tiny ray of hope that keeps me from going completely insane, my Mother, her love and understanding.  Mom continued to smuggle underwear to me after school, and on the weekends, when Dad was at work.  Those few hours each day were all that offered me any kind of relaxation from the stress of the rest of my life.

That’s how my miserable life was, from mid August until one horrible weekend in late October.

Because Dad’s working swing shift, I got a slight reprieve, at home anyway.  This particular weekend he left at 11:30 Saturday morning and Mom brought me my lovely underwear.  She let me wear them to bed, and then she came in and woke me at midnight to change, being that Dad would be home at 12:30.  Sunday was the same, with one slight exception – Dad . . . came home early.

We were all in the family room when Dad suddenly walked in.

“David, what are you doing home so early?” asked Mom when she saw him.

“The boss suddenly switched me back to day shift.  He didn’t want me tired all day Monday, so he told me to go home and get a good night’s rest,” Dad told us. 

I tried to go to the bathroom without being noticed.  I needed to change my underwear; unfortunately, I was unsuccessful in becoming invisible.

“Matt, where you going?” asked Dad, as he saw me trying to quietly walk away.

“I just need to go to the bathroom; I’ll be back in a minute.”  I said, as if there were nothing amiss.

“Before you go, it’s been at least a week since I check on what you’re wearing.  Take your clothes off, you can get dressed in the bathroom,” Dad said.

“But Dad, I really need to go bad,” I said.  I was crossing my legs as if I needed to go, really, really, bad.

“Well then, hurry up and get your clothes off and you can go,” Dad said.  He was starting to sound a little annoyed that I was talking back.

“Oh, David, let the boy go to the bathroom before he has an accident,” Mom implored.

“Matt, don’t just stand there, get your clothes off, NOW!”

“But Dad . . .”

“Do we have to go through this again?  You take your clothes off, or I’ll do it for you.”

“David, stop this right now, there is no call for this kind of behavior,” Mom got up and was standing behind Dad.

“Dad . . . please . . . no”

“MATT! NOW!”  Dad boomed.

“But . . . Dad . . .” I cried.

“THAT'S IT!” was all Dad said before he charged.  Mom tried to stop him, she tried to get between us, but he just pushed her out of the way.

He had the collar of my shirt and was about to start tearing when Mom got up and tried to push Dad away.  Dad hit Mom so hard that she flew across the family room landing on the floor near the couch.  Then Dad ripped off my shirt.  Yes, I was wearing the pink set that day. 

Dad exploded.  First, he backhanded me, sending me across the room.  Then he kicked me as I tried to scurry away.  Then he finished ripping off my shirt, and then he slapped the other side of my head knocking me down.  After he tore off my shorts he picked me up by one arm and shook me, all the while he was yelling at the top of his lungs.

“DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO NEVER WEAR GIRLS UNDERWEAR AGAIN?  DIDN'T I?  WOULD YOU LIKE TO TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE WEARING?  I TELL YOU WHAT, MISTER, THIS IS THE LAST TIME YOU ARE EVER GOING TO DISOBEY ME.  NOBODY DISOBEYS ME IN MY HOME, DO YOU HEAR ME.  TOMORROW YOU ARE GOING TO THE “MARINE MILITARY ACADEMY” IN TEXAS.  BY GOD, THEY'LL MAKE A MAN OUT OF YOU, YOU WHIMPERING LITTLE SISSY.  THEY'LL MAKE A MAN OUT OF YOU EVEN IF IT KILLS YOU. “

After Dad was finished yelling he shredded the underwear that I had been wearing and stormed out of the house.  When Dad was gone Karen and Chuck went to help Mom and Rachael came to help me, and, of course, she had my bathrobe with her.  Rachael helped me to my bed where I cried and cried.  About 11:00, Mom came in and tried to comfort me, I guess it helped a little.  It was about 1:00 am; I hadn't stopped crying completely, as I lay on my bed thinking.

Oh, how my heart ached.  I cried with no relief in sight, my tears just kept flowing down my cheeks, my pillow was sopping wet and still my tears flowed, I ached all over.  As I looked at myself and saw the scratches and welts from Daddy’s beating, and ripping my clothes off.  Blood still trickled from my nose and split lips, several of the scratches were deep and oozed blood as well.  His fingernails had dug deep as he ripped away my clothes, the clothes I loved to wear, THEY WERE MATILDA’S CLOTHES!

‘This must be my fault.  Dad has never hit Mommy before, but now he hit’s Mommy because she tries to help me, and to protect me.  Dad has never been this mad at anyone else, but he’s sure mad this time, he must really hate me because I’m not the kind of son he wants me to be.  Dad must hate me so much that he doesn’t even want me around anymore.  I know what’s going to happen now.  I’ll be sent to that military school, Dad will tell those people there about me.  How I like to wear girls clothes.  They won’t understand me.  What am I going to do?  The other students are going to tease me worse that Bart does, I’ll be beaten and bullied constantly.  It’s just not fair, it’s not my fault, I’M NOT A BOY!  I’M A GIRL TRAPPED INSIDE THIS BODY!  I AM MATILDA!’

‘Sending me to the military school will cost a lot I'm sure.  I wish that Mom could convince Dad to send me to the Manor instead.  I guess that won't happen, Dad won't listen to Mom anymore and Dad wants them to make a man out of me.’

‘All I want is for Dad to understand and love me the same way he loves Karen and Rachael.  I guess that’s never going to happen, Dads never going to change.  I’m going to be tortured by all those boys.  I will never have any peace.  I will never be able to be the girl that I truly am.  Things would have been better for everyone if I was never born.  Dad wouldn’t be mad, he wouldn’t hit Mommy, and he would treat everyone better.  There would be no more pain, no more suffering or sorrow.  That would be so nice, no more pain, no more sorrow, no more torture, and no more being hated for being the person that I am.  If I weren’t here, everything would be better.’

‘There is only one thing for me to do now, I can save my Mommy and those that love me.  I can keep them from getting hurt, for I can never be the girl I am supposed to be, Daddy will see to that!  He doesn’t love me, he doesn’t even want me around, Dad hates me!  If I don’t do something now, he will go after my sisters next!  Anyone who has helped me.  He’ll need someone to blame, and I know he will blame everyone that loves me and everyone that I love.  I can stop it from getting worse!  No one else has to be hurt.  I can protect Mommy, and my sisters and my friends.  I’ll have to do it right now though, tonight.  Tomorrow will be too late.  Tomorrow Dad will send me away.  I can either be tortured for the rest of my life, or I can stop it, here and now.  The only question is just how to do it?  I've had enough pain; I can't do anything that would hurt.  I wish I could just go to sleep and not wake up, just go to sleep and everything will be over, just go to sleep and be free.  Sleep, a never-ending sleep!  That’s it, Mommy’s sleeping pills.  The only way I’ll do this is if I go to sleep as Matilda, because I don't want to be Matt any more, that way I can be Matilda forever.  If I'm going to be Matilda, I'll be my Mother's daughter, as I don't want to be my Father's son anymore, I don't even want Daddy's name anymore.’

‘So here's what I'll do, first, I have to clean up, get rid of all this blood.  I’ll take a nice bubble bath.  I’ll get dressed in my party dress and take some of the sleeping pills that the doctor gave Mom.  I’d better leave a note for Mom so she won’t cry too much.  That’s it!  I’ll get my dress, wig and makeup from Rachael, and then I’ll take a nice bubble bath.  I’ll get dressed, do my makeup, put on my wig and then, write a note, take the pills and finally go to sleep.  I won't hurt anymore, and everybody’s problems will be over.  All I have to do is go to sleep and everybody’s problems will go to sleep with me.

Well, I will say goodbye now, as I won't be writing any more about my life, as you can see it's about to end.  If you're someone’s Mommy, and you discover that they are different, remember it’s okay to be different.  Show them love and kindness, help them discover their true inner self.  There's no greater joy than helping other people, and giving of yourself, to make another’s life better.

If you're a Daddy, remember that everyone is unique, and everyone is special.  Love your children for who they are inside, and who they want to be.  Don't try to make them into something you want, but help them discover who they want to be.

- - ^ ^ - -

Matilda quietly went into Rachael’s room to get her things.  Then she took a nice long bubble bath.  Matilda, dressed in some of Rachael's underwear, her own beautiful party dress, carefully applied her makeup, her wig and everything else was perfect.  It was about 5:00 when Matilda had finished her preparations; it had taken several tries to get her note just right.  One last brush through her hair, smooth out her dress as she lay down to go to sleep.  The last things she did before laying down was to take four of Mommy’s pills.  She looked so peaceful, a slight smile on her swollen and broken face.  She had applied her lipstick thick, as it needed to cover her split and swollen lips.  She’d used extra blush to cover her puffy and swollen cheeks.  Her long lashes were closed, melded together as one, her eyes now swollen closed.  If you could look closer, you’d notice the deep scratches on her arms and neck, her attempt at covering them with make-up obvious.  If it weren't for those flaws in her appearance, you'd have thought there was an angel lying on what had once been Matt’s bed.

Authors note

Before anyone starts screaming that I've portrayed the US Marine Corps in a negative manner, please calm down.  It is not my intent to discredit the US Marine Corps.  I have nothing but respect for those brave men and women who give of themselves, to take up arms in defense of their country and the freedom that we all enjoy.  At this time, two of my children are serving in the US Marine Corps.  For the sake of this story I picked an ex-marine, I could have used someone from any branch of the military; it just seemed to flow better with a marine.

 For anyone offended by this I sincerely apologize.  Please remember, this is a work of fiction, any resemblance to actual people or events is entirely coincidental.