One Step at a Time

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A teacher chooses happiness over his father.
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komrad1156
komrad1156
3,781 Followers

*Note to readers. Were I interested in transitioning, this could be my own personal story. However, I have no such desire and, having tried living full-time once for a week (see my story Serendipity) I know with perfect certainty I am happy being a woman every other night for my beautiful girlfriend, Kay, and being a man the rest of the week.

From the standpoint of someone who once was a huge weightlifter who used running to get thin enough to be passable, this very well could be me in another life.

******

"Mr. Adams? When you have a few minutes, can you stop by my office?"

"Sure. Is everything okay?" he asked his principal.

"That's what I'd like to know. We'll discuss it where we have some privacy but not here."

They were in the cafeteria keeping an eye on the students who were mostly juniors and seniors, the younger students having already eaten.

Brock Adams had just turned 25 and this would be his third year of teaching at Kent-Merrilake High School in Kent, Washington, just south of Seattle. He taught math, a subject he'd majored in in college, and he thoroughly enjoyed being a teacher. The horror stories he'd been told about angry, out-of control students had been grossly exaggerated and the reality was that kids were just like they'd been when he was in high school not that many years ago. Every class had a clown, but Adams couldn't get too upset about that as he'd been one himself at various times.

In addition to the satisfaction that came from seeing the light go on when someone 'got it', he loved one other aspect of teaching almost as much. He never let it show, but he loved having hundreds of young, pretty girls around him all day, every day, five days a week. Adams was a very good-looking young man with thick, dark hair and the kind of eyes he'd heard described as piercing or even 'soul-piercing' many times. He was incredibly popular with these young ladies and had more people—most of them girls—signing up for his classes than the school district allowed. But the reason he loved having them around had nothing to do with wanting to date them.

"Math has never been so popular," his principal told him at the end of his first year in front of all the other teachers. There was some polite laughter along with a more than a few cat calls from some of the more vocal female teachers.

"Sign me up!" one of them said. Another called out, "I'd love to be under Brock's tutelage anytime!"

His only physical fault, if it even was a fault, was his height. He was just 5'7" but was otherwise a very handsome guy. He was also in the weight room several days a week and his workouts at school always drew a handful of admiring girls who enjoyed watching him work out in a tank top through the glass windows of the gym.

Well, at least that had been the case until about a year ago when he suddenly stopped working out. Or rather—lifting weights. He'd started running and was now running around five miles a day, 6-7 days a week. He still looked great, but he'd gone from looking like a brick shit house to a distance runner.

No one knew exactly how much weight he'd lost, but nearly all of the muscle mass he'd had was gone. Unless one had known him from before, no one would think he looked unhealthy. He was just thin. Very thin. But a side-by-side, before-and-after comparison would cause people to wonder if he might not be very ill. Then again, if he were, how was he able to run five miles in well under 40 minutes pretty much every day of the week?

"Is he in, Katie?" Brock asked the principal's secretary.

"He is. Go ahead and go on in," she said smiling politely.

He tapped on the door then said, "You wanted to see me?"

"Brock! Yes, please come in and have a seat."

Adams sat down and waited as the principal came around and sat in a chair so he'd appear more like a friend than a boss.

"Is everything okay with you?" he asked.

"Um...sure. As far as I know. Is there something you're not happy with where my teaching is concerned?" Adams asked back.

"No. Heavens no! You're one of my best teachers, Brock. And you're still the most popular teacher on campus but...well, people are talking."

"Talking?"

"Um...yes." The principal gave Adams a visual once-over then said, "You've lost a lot of weight."

"Oh, that! Whew. I thought I was in here for something negative like a student or teacher complaint about something."

"No, not at all. We're just concerned. That's all."

"Well, first of all, thank you for the concern. Second, let me assure you I'm in perfect health. I just lost interest in lifting and I've been doing nothing but running ever since."

"I'm glad to learn you're okay. As to what you do on your own time, that's your business. It's just that the physical difference is pretty stunning. When I hired you, you looked a lot like the Hulk. Now you look like, well, like a runner. But hey, as long as you're happy, that's all that matters, right?"

Adams smiled and said, "Right!" as cheerfully as he could. The truth was, however, he wasn't happy. In fact, he hadn't been happy in a very long time. When he really thought about it, he wasn't sure he'd ever been happy.

What he'd done for as long as he could remember was do what made other people happy. He'd played sports all his life. He'd started lifting weights in 8th grade so he could better compete in football, wrestling, and baseball. He felt like he was a hamster running as fast as he could on someone else's wheel and he was going nowhere fast.

In high school, he'd taken drama for one year and loved it. He wanted to take another drama class and be in every school play, but his dad had forbade it. "You don't have time to play sports and prance around on stage. Priorities, son. Priorities." Priorities. Always someone else's priorities.

His dad was unhappy to say the least, when he chose to major in math in college rather than business. Brock was supposed to play football for four years then come home and run the family business. He'd played football, lifted weights, and done everything else, but he had no interest in business or in the business.

"What the hell do think you're gonna do with a degree in math? Become an accountant? There's no money in that!" his dad had snorted.

"I want to teach high school," he announced coming as close to defying his father as he ever had.

"Teach? Are you kidding me? What does a teacher make these days? $30,000?"

"More like $45,000," he'd replied meekly.

"Okay. Forty-five grand a year. You'd start out making $125k running the business, for Christ's sake! I'm gettin' ready to retire, Brock, and I need you to take over the reins so I can relax a little and travel with your mom."

"Sorry, Dad. Money isn't that important to me," he told him honestly.

"Yeah, right. You never turned down a tuition payment. You never said, 'I got this, Dad' when it came to room and board. I'm out over $75,000 for college and you won't do your part? What the hell kind of disloyal kid did I raise?"

He'd never seen his dad so angry. Brock thought he even saw his dad's eyes misting up, something he'd never done even at his own mother's funeral. But he stood his ground. He did not take over the business and he did take a job teaching high school math. And he loved it.

What he didn't love was being Brock Adams or 'The Hulk's Mini-Me' as he'd been nicknamed in high school, a name that followed him to college football, as well. What he wanted, what he wanted more than anything, was to be Brooke Adams. In fact, that had been his dream for as long as he could remember.

That dream came crashing down the day his father caught him wearing his older sister's clothes in her room one day when she was gone and he wasn't supposed to be home from work. The few times he'd done that were the only times Brock had ever felt like his real self. Stolen moments when he could wear the kinds of things that made him feel complete.

His father had gone ballistic. "What in the FUCK are doing?" he said as he stormed in through the open door. He began ripping his daughter's clothes off his son asking him, "Are you some kind of sick fucking faggot or something? What in God's name is WRONG with you? You're a boy and you're going to be a man! A man who plays football and who takes over my business someday. I'll be goddamned if I'm raising some kind of little queer fairy. Now wipe that shit off your face and go take a bath and wash that faggot stench off yourself. Go!!"

He'd scared the living hell out of young Brock to the point where he had never again worn anything feminine since. Until just this week. He'd finally gotten to a point where his body was small enough that he thought he could finally begin slowly building the kind of wardrobe he'd always wanted. But it was more than just clothes. He'd also seen a therapist two days prior to having bought his first feminine articles of clothing on line.

It had felt so right telling another human being for the first time how he felt. She'd been so understanding and empathetic. She'd immediately written him a letter identifying him as a transsexual which he needed for a doctor to be able to prescribe female hormones.

It was just after the Thanksgiving break and his plan was to return to teaching the following September as Miss Brooke Adams having had almost nine months on hormones while letting his hair grow out and his breasts develop naturally. He could 'bind them' once they started budding until the end of the school year in order to keep things, well...under wraps until he was ready to reveal himself to the world as Brooke.

He would also be starting electrolysis next week then get a 'trachea shave' as soon as school was out to eliminate his modestly large Adam's apple, the only two things still really he felt were standing in the way of his ability to look like an attractive woman. Lastly, he would be taking lessons on how to walk, act, sit, and behave like a woman and most importantly, to retrain his voice to sound like one. It was a tall order, but one that gave him purpose and hope.

By the end of the following school year, he hoped to have enough money put aside to have sexual reassignment surgery and if needed, breast implants. He didn't need huge boobs, but he also didn't want to have to settle for wearing either AA or A cup bras. A full B cup might be fine, but full C would be wonderful. Only time would tell.

"Okay, Brock. Well, thanks for stopping by and thank you for being so open with me. This was really none of my business and you'd have had every right to tell me so."

Brock smiled then thought to himself, "If you only knew how honest I hadn't been with you."

No, he hadn't lied to his principal. He just hadn't said a word about his future plans. Nor would he until a week or two before school started. He knew the law was on his side and as long as he continued to be an excellent teacher, he'd have a job for as long as he wanted it. He expected some issues like whispering and maybe even some snide comments from the ignorant and uninformed, but compared to the internal hell he'd lived in since he was a little boy, it would be like dying and going to heaven.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd finally be able to find someone to love and love him back. A wonderful, caring, understanding, and hopefully very handsome...man. Brock knew most crossdressers were heterosexual. But 'most' didn't matter and he wasn't a crossdresser. He was the proverbial woman 'trapped in a man's body.' It was still painful to see a man staring back at himself in the mirror, but at least his body was now closer to his desired size and form. Hormones along with continued dieting and exercise would hopefully do the rest. He watched some utterly remarkable transformation videos on line and he hoped with all his heart his would be equally fruitful. But even if he were only an average-looking woman, he would be very, very happy.

Adams headed back to his classroom just before his 5th-period class arrived. It was an AP calculus class and his favorite subject as well as his best class. AP kids weren't always the most polite or respectful, but as a whole, that was true. They tended to be the kids who were focused and driven and who wanted to succeed. They were generally hungry to learn and teaching them was a lot of fun. Not so much with 10th-grade geometry or freshman algebra. He'd taught them all, as well as trigonometry to 10th through 12-grades, and while all were interesting, the AP class was his favorite.

As the school day ended, he stayed and graded papers, making sure to take all of his new medications at exactly 5pm. He was getting ready to leave when he looked up and saw her once again walking into his room.

"Hey, there!" she said. "Staying late again?"

Traci Gorman was a fourth-year teacher and without doubt the cutest single member of the faculty. She'd been dropping by on a regular basis since Adams arrived. Initially, it was under the guise of helping a new first-year teacher. During his second year, she let him know she thought he was an amazing guy. Smart, handsome, funny, friendly. The kind of guy she'd love to find one day.

He'd always shined her off making one excuse or the other. After nearly a year of that she finally asked him one day, "Are you...gay by any chance? It's cool if you are, but that would at least make me feel better. I mean, I think I'm reasonably attractive as I hear that quite a bit. But not from you. Never. No interest at all. So...is that why?"

Adams had nearly choked when she asked. Immediately, he laughed loudly and said, "Me? Gay? Hell no! I played football in high school and college." Both he and Traci knew that wasn't an answer. It was just a response. Football players could be gay so simply playing had no bearing on whether or not one was straight, but she'd let it go at that and had chosen to be his 'buddy.' Still, she'd never really given up hope he might one day ask her out—until today.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away," he told her.

"I know you don't work out anymore and I know you run...a lot. Is there anything more to the weight loss thing than just quitting lifting weights?"

"Um, well, I don't know. What kind of thing do you mean?" he asked feeling a little uneasy about the question.

"I don't know. You're like half the size you used to be. Maybe even less. You're still cute. Don't get me wrong. But you look really...small. Almost...dainty. It just doesn't seem to fit with, you know, a football player."

Adams sighed deeply. Outside of his mother, whom he hadn't yet told, and his therapist whom he had, Traci was the only other person he trusted completely. He loved his big sister, but she'd been daddy's little girl her whole life and she would never keep any secret from their father. Were he to share his plan with her and were she to then turn around and betray him, it wouldn't be the end of the world, but it would make things much more difficult. However, Brock also knew it would be very nice to have someone to talk to about this huge, life-changing event.

He got up and closed the door then said, "I'd like to share something with you, Traci. Something deeply personal."

"Oh, my God. The rumors are true, aren't they?" she said, her voice hollow with fear.

"Rumors?" Brock asked.

"You're sick, aren't you? Is it cancer? Oh, my God, Brock. I've been so worried and hoping against hope..."

"No, it's not cancer," he told her. "I'm not sick...at all. I'm perfectly healthy. As you said, I do run a lot and I can assure you there's nothing wrong with me at all. Okay?"

She was still looking at him in a way that said she was scared. "Okay. I think," she replied. "Can you tell what is going on?"

"You might want to sit down first," he cautioned her.

She took a seat then said, "Okay. Go ahead."

Two minutes later, he stopped talking. Traci's lips were open and her jaw was agape.

"You okay?" he asked.

She was just staring at him. Finally, she spoke. "Um...well, I...I think so. I mean, I've heard about this several times, Caitlyn Jenner being the most notable. I've just never personally known anyone like...well, someone who feels like you do, Brock."

"How does knowing that make you feel?" he asked her.

"Relieved?" she said trying to be friendly. "At least I finally know why you've never asked me out."

"You're very beautiful, Traci. I mean that. You really are. But to be honest, I spend my time looking at you to see what you're wearing and how you accessorize." He smiled a nervous smile then said, "I can only imagine how unsettling all this is to you."

She finally looked at him then said, "It is unsettling for me, but compared to what you must be going through—with what you've been going through, my discomfort is...trivial. My God, Brock. You've got through this all alone for what...20 years now?"

"Until I finally told my therapist, yes. No one else knows. Not even my mother." He didn't tell her about the incident with his father. He just gave her the down-and-dirty version.

"You poor thing," she said with genuine sympathy. She moved next to him and put her hand on his forearm. "How can I help?"

"You already have," he told her. "Just having someone like you makes this so much easier."

"I want you to know I won't say a word to anyone. No one. Okay?"

"I believe you, Traci. Thanks for saying that. It really means a lot to me."

"You're welcome. Oh, Brock. I feel so bad for you!"

"I'm just glad I've finally decided to take the steps to make this right. I know it won't be easy telling my father, but living a lie is far worse. Having an ally is incredible."

"Brock? Would you maybe like me to help in other ways than just being supportive?"

"I don't know," he replied. "What ways are you talking about?"

"Well, you're going to have to learn to be a woman. Even if you feel like one inside, you still have to live as one and as convincingly as possible. That means dressing well, learning how to apply makeup, doing your nails, waxing or plucking your eyebrows, skin care, accessorizing, and things like walking and talking differently. My God, I never once thought about how many things men and women do differently before."

"You'd really be willing to that for me?" he said not sure she really meant it or knew what she was getting herself into.

"Yes. Yes, I would." She smiled ruefully then told him, "I guess if I can't have you as a boyfriend, I could at least have you as a girlfriend." She smiled again then said, "You're not a lesbian by any chance, are you?"

Brock laughed then said, "No, I'm pretty sure I'm not. As far as I can tell, I'm straight."

"Meaning...you prefer men, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. I've never been with a man so I don't really know, but I've also never been with a woman."

"Oh, my God! Brock...are you saying you're still...a virgin?"

He nodded then told her, "I used to date a lot just to keep people from asking questions. But I never let it get physical beyond kissing. I'd hold hands and hug, and occasionally kiss a girl in public, but it only went further one time. We petted pretty heavily and she um...performed oral on me, but that was it."

"Did you um...enjoy it?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"It felt nice. But there wasn't any attraction. All I could think about was what she was wearing and wishing I could be her doing that to...someone else."

"Some other guy?"

Brock just nodded. "I used to think I was mentally ill or something. Even in the 21st century, with all the information available, I still couldn't truly accept who I was. I'm just thankful I didn't wait until I was 40 or 50 to do this."

Traci wanted to know about his timeline for transitioning and whether or not he planned to continue teaching. He told her exactly what he wanted to do and she said she'd be happy to help all along the way. "I can start showing you the basics anytime. We can work on doing your makeup right away and after just a few lessons, you'll be able to do it yourself."

komrad1156
komrad1156
3,781 Followers