© 2018 Jessica Mandella, used by permission, all rights reserved.
ADULT CONTENT. You must be 18+ to read.
Introduction.
Those who have read my stories know me as a peace and love Polyamory girl. This piece is different. From the start it's a solid BTB (burn the bitch) tale with strong compassion for the BTB angst.
Feminization is often seen together with tolerating a cheating wife. Here I'm isolating those two terms to opposite sides of the equation. This story stars a pissed off TransGender. It's about time we saw a TG badass on LW who refuses to be disrespected. Girl power, Hoo-raw!
You'll see supernatural elements here. Is the spiritual a metaphor for the psychological, or is the psychological a euphemism for the spiritual? I'll let you find your own answers, for here's another question.
What happens after the burn? Where does it go from there? Can a
Burn The Bitch
story have a
Happy Ever After
ending, after all? I'll give my characters the freedom to work that out for themselves. Let's find out together. Ready?
Chapter 1. Rude Awakening.
I didn't mean to remember. It just hit me. Literally. Donald Petris threw the first punch. All I did was tell him he can't date my wife. I hacked her cloud and had proof of their two-year affair. He challenged me, yelling in my face. "
Whadda ya gonna do about it, ya little bitch?
" And he hit me. I pulled back so it wasn't too bad. Then I gave him one kick in the chest that broke five of his ribs and sent him flying across my lawn. Calling 911, I asked the police to remove his ugly carcass from my front yard. I knew the security video would exonerate me. All that was no comfort, later that night, when the nightmares started.
By morning I remembered everything, including the night my dad had kept hitting me so hard my whole face got swollen. He kept screaming in my face. "
I gonna beat the girlie outta you, Montana!
" When I awoke in the hospital six days later, so long ago, I wasn't me. I was a male stereotype my dream-self put together to avoid detection as a woman. Only problem was, I had ceased to exist. Don't get me wrong. I was still in there somewhere, buried like the dreams most people forget every morning. I non-existed like that for years...until numb-nuts hit me.
Since that night's revelation, I'm awake again...a woman with a badass bitch attitude and strong enough to do something about it. I still have yet to confront Layla, my alleged wife. It's been three days. Layla has kept her distance from me. I can tell by her phone she's also kept her distance from the hospital where her dirt-bag boyfriend is.
We came into this marriage with a prenup specifying our dual incomes would be each our own. I cried when she asked for it, but I'd signed it anyway. Now I'm glad. Her acting career never took off. My patent royalties are in excess of forty million a year. I paid gift tax on all the money I gave her every quarter to support her lifestyle. She thanked me by having a miscarriage with some dude I'd never met 'til he decided to ambush me on my front step.
Maybe I should thank him. Otherwise, it could have taken me years to achieve total recall. Here I am, a transgender woman who just put her wife's two-year cheating lover in the hospital. Typical sob-story, right? The bitch is back.
And now, so is the other one. Slamming the door behind her, Layla leans back against it and crumples to the floor. Her tears are real. For once, I don't feel any compulsion to solve her problem. She finally rallies. "You bastard. You cut off all my cards and had me served with divorce papers at the spa. They forgave my tab '
for old time's sake
' and told me not to come back without a valid credit card."
Fighting the smirk spreading over my lips, I ask for clarification. "What has you upset, the divorce or the fact I'm not paying you to shit on me?"
"Both, asshole. Wait. I know I deserve it. Just tell me one thing. What the FUCK is an
optional concubine relationship agreement
?"
I take a deep breath. "It's a civil union wherein you're available to me sexually, twenty four seven, but I'm not the least bit obligated to take you up on it. It's an '
at-will
' arrangement, meaning either of us can terminate the relationship on a whim. You will, however, be subject to certain conditions while you choose to remain within said relationship."
It's starting to dawn on her that I'm not the same doormat she married. "Like what conditions?"
Nodding to acknowledge her facing reality, I go on. "You'll be wearing a GPS bracelet. If that loses touch with your biometrics, even for a moment, the marshals come to remove all your stuff to the nearest homeless shelter."
The hubris of her next comment astonishes me. "Don't ya think that's a bit harsh, honey?"
I chuckle. "Not at all. Two years ago, all I did was ask you to give me some foreplay too. You cut me off for two years now, saying I got too '
fem
' and you don't do women. You had some quack do a botch job of removing your ingrown IUD and tried to have a baby with your cheating lover. I think I've been more than patient."
"You acted like a woman, Montana, one too many times."
"When we met on line, you thought I
was
a woman, cause my avatar was. You were willing to spend the night with me before finding out I had a dick. If anything, I was more up front with you than I was with myself back then. It took a while, but what you saw is what you finally got...a woman. Since your avatar was a male troll, I should have known you were a brain dead prick who just wanted to fuck without giving me any foreplay."
She gives me her classic scornful look. "You realize how backward that sounds?"
That look doesn't win arguments for her anymore. "No, Layla, backward is the phobic bullshit from your precious '
church of the sacred building fund
'. I won't be tithing there on your behalf anymore. You want to throw a dollar in the plate, get a fucking paper route. Of course, they're voting to excommunicate you anyway, for having an unrepentant two-year affair. That's one of the places on the restraining order against numb-nuts. The pastor knows all about you."
Layla surprises me with her first glance of respect in a long time. "You got all that done in three days?"
I shrug. "Nothing compared to what the Lord got done in three days before Easter."
She shrieks. "Don't you dare mention the Bible to me!"