I was once known as Sybille, but not anymore. May I explain?
Dad was a farmer who grew up loving stories of the Old West, so much so he named me 'Jesse'. What with our last name being James, I went by my middle name 'William'. Most folks ended up calling me 'Willy James', suiting me just fine. Mother died a year after I was born. She was a troubled woman who never got over post part-em depression.
My old man had been set on naming his next son 'Frank', in keeping with the outlaw theme. He never remarried and we were to become an army of two. We rarely saw eye to eye on things but he persevered to make a man of me.
He taught me everything he knew and half of whatever he could make up. He was also a damn fine auto mechanic, too fine to resist passing his skills onto me. I went on in life to tell that, without him, I wouldn't have amounted to anything, not a goddamn thing.
He taught me all about hunting and nature out on the land around our farm. Our earliest walks found us together with him leading me by the hand. For many years, we walked shoulder to shoulder. At the end, I steadied him along the path.
Sometimes, I feel like we're still out there; with old eyes looking, with young eyes looking.
My constant contact with nature refined my senses of intuition. Once when putting a mange ridden coyote out of its misery, an ancient presence flooded in around me. From that day on, I experienced premonitions and visions, enabling me to predict events and to see into people's beings. I did, on occasion, see an entity within people while looking into their eyes. This made me uncomfortable at first, but I learned to cope with a world where horror lurked behind every blade of grass.
Visions in dreams were far less disconcerting than those that gripped my waking mind. I predicted some people's deaths and sometimes detected serious illnesses hiding in the still living. Also, I began having vivid wet dreams, always with the same woman. During these cathartic encounters, I would be paralyzed and without voice. I had no girlfriends while growing up, so I became adept at pleasing myself. Often I would heighten my arousal with women's lingerie, something I regarded at the time to be a shameful practice. I'd learned it was wrong but it felt too good to stop.
I tried to live on my own after Dad passed on. Finding I had lost my taste for farming, I reluctantly sold the place. I met a great girl and did alright as an auto mechanic in the cities and towns all over Western Canada. This would all end for me when I fell prey to a bad head injury. I couldn't talk properly afterwards, nor could I sequence the steps to take in repair jobs. My personal life took a hit too. I would lose my patience and my temper with people very abruptly.
I had been neat and calm person before the accident, that changed as well. I would act on impulse with no thought of consequences. I was left unemployable and unable to love.
I was forced out of my chosen career and started living on my meager savings.
My girlfriend left me and I don't blame her. I acted like I was possessed when she would come near. I couldn't bring myself to listen to her voice anymore or even let her finish a sentence. When she began to think I just used her for sex, everything fell apart. I still loved her but couldn't stand living with her reproachful brand of pity anymore. I was certain the day would come when I'd fly off the handle and hurt her. I came to be glad she found the strength to leave me.
In time, my powers of speech returned to near normal. I still spoke with a slight slur, which thwarted many a job interview. I could see things in the eyes of my interviewers; some had shockingly sinister beings looking out of their pupils, staring into me, mocking me. Needless to say, I wouldn't return to employers bearing evil.
I was no stranger to these visions but things had turned to the worse. During mundane one on one conversations, folks would break into monotone voice, with eyes glazed over, changing the topic to reveal secrets of my own. I was no longer an observer, no longer a hunter. I was the one being pursued.
On occasion, it would be me who blurted things out without the slightest idea of what I was about to say. Once someone asked rhetorically, musingly, what would become of some rich woman's daughters. I replied, "By this time next year they will both be gone. One's running away with an army boy and the other to another province. She'll never see them again." This abrupt statement was met with shocked silence.
I left their house immediately, never to return. A year later, my prediction came true. Until then, I'd been discreet with my predictions but I had gone and publicly outed myself as a psychic. I was told it ran in the family, so nobody was all that surprised. I became Willy, the reluctant clairvoyant.
What some would call a gift became a nightmare. Word of my abilities spread. Although some avoided me, others set out to meet with me when I could barely tolerate their company. I was too depressed already and advising people only added to my exhaustion.
Enough was enough. I did a midnight packing job, on impulse one night and by morning, I was headed to the west coast. Dad had always wanted to go there, planting the idea in my head many years ago. With a weary sense of well being, I set my sights on my new home. I'd found a small upstairs apartment in a medium sized tourist town. It was time to make a deal.
Oddly, the elderly landlord told me I could use the vacant storefront space downstairs for no extra charge. Cautiously, I peered into his eyes, seeing nothing sinister. Instead, a bewitching female spirit appeared, one of a benign and knowing nature. She smiled sympathetically as she made a 'come hither' gesture. It was her, the one who had kick started my sexual awakening, my dream lover. Although memories of her nocturnal visits caused my scalp to tense and tingle, seeing her convinced me I was on the right track.
The landlord sent me a note later, telling he had a good feeling about me. He said to send the rent, in the form of money orders, whenever I could manage. He had moved to the south to stay, entrusting me with his property. For the first time in the longest while, I had gotten a break and was where I belonged.
But what to do with the store downstairs? It was too small, too seedy looking to sublet, plus the landlord said it was something he'd rather I not do. "Should I sell antiques?" I asked myself aloud. No, I liked them too much to sell to the trendy tourists just looking for the cute and quaint. Oh, how that would have frayed my nerves. A few more possible ventures occurred to me. Each new idea tired me more thoroughly than the last. I climbed the stairs and went to bed.
I dreamt of her. Again she beckoned. In one hand she held a shining bowl of water, in the other, she held gold coins. She held the latter towards me and smiled. My own face appeared above the bowl, peering down into its depths. Seconds later, I found myself staring into the eyes of myself as a woman. My female image mouthed the words, "Shed light on them," followed by "Scryer". I trusted that the familiar spirit in the dream had my best interests at heart. I learned 'scrying' was a form of fortune telling.
I awoke in a cold sweat. What was the meaning of this? After a few days of thought following a few nights immersed in the same dream, its meaning became clear; I was to open a fortune teller's shop, acting the part of a woman. I felt that I'd attract far more clients as a woman, gaining as a bonus the anonymity I so craved. I had to admit to myself the excitement cross dressing held for me. It was something I'd sworn to leave in my past, yet had listed it in a nonchalant manner as one more part of my business plan. The cobwebs of my past had gained the strength of cables. I surrendered to the undertow.
I tried to talk myself out of embarking on such a cliched and hackneyed venture. My landlord's trust pushed me to proceed, as did my fear of poverty. I still held stoically to my values, even though some people would take a dim view of my plan. Screw them.
The first order of business was to register for a small business license. This was no problem as I had gone through it before with my ex girlfriend. The act of repeating it brought back memories, and with them pain. I wanted her back in my life for the first time in years. I quickly banished all thoughts of trying to contact her when I pictured myself telling fortunes while masquerading as a woman.
The job of reverse painting a window sign didn't worry me, as I'd done a few years ago. The next thing was to find suitable store decor items. It wasn't nearly as costly as I'd feared. I found most of what I needed at an estate sale held at a town nearby. The items I bid on were those of an actress, long since retired. The best of the bunch was an old steamer trunk packed full of stage apparel. "'Tis a harbinger of good fortune," I laughed in a theatrical voice, as I lugged the taboo cargo upstairs to my bedroom.
I draped each and every item of the ladies' clothing against my body, estimating their affect to my appearance. I was standing at the forefront of a new awakening. Erotic energies flowed throughout my being as I felt a compulsion to dive into my new clothing collection. Maybe prompting this was the lingering female scent; maybe it was something deeper.
My farm bred self reliance paid off, made apparent by the fast remodeling of my store as well as myself. I had put the hard work behind me and was fully committed to my new role in life. I had to learn the ways of successful cross dressers. I cavorted around wearing richly decorated antique gypsy dresses with long, flowing wigs and thick layers of make up. The false eyelashes completed the illusion nicely. I had yet to wear any female under-things; I reserved the luxury of that thrill for later.
