"What do you mean two surgeries? What--one for each tit?" I asked.
"No. The doctor explained to Hunter the transition is easier when breasts--larger ones--are removed in two stages."
"Oh," I said. "Isn't that more expensive--two surgeries?"
He nodded. "You have no idea."
It was a late Friday afternoon in April near the Wichita Mountains of southwestern Oklahoma. My old friend, Darin, and I were having a drink on his back porch, looking out onto the vista of Mount Scott and Lake Lawtonka from his ranch home near Medicine Park.
Darin and his wife and daughter lived here. We served in the army together years ago, being stationed at nearby Fort Sill. He was my commanding officer when I was just a butter bar second lieutenant. He stayed in, eventually retiring and remaining near the base as a civilian contractor.
I got out of the service years ago, but I still traveled to bases around the country as a civilian construction manager for Department of the Army projects.
We became close enough friends through the years that I was like family, especially after his nasty divorce from his first wife. Best man for his second marriage, I felt more like a brother to him and his wife and an uncle to his daughter, Harper.
I flew into town on a Thursday to review plans for a renovation of the bachelor officer's quarters at Fort Sill. When I finished all of the meetings, Darin picked me up from the base and drove me out to his place.
His wife, Maria, was out with Harper when we arrived. This was by design, I discovered. Darin needed to chat with me--alone. I knew the subject from a phone call about a month prior--Harper had decided to begin the transition from female to male. I had been dumbstruck.
She was no longer Harper; she was Hunter. She was an eighteen-year-old high school senior, and the medical process had begun with testosterone therapy, resulting in a voice that reminded me of my teenage years. She sounded like she had an awful cold. The next step was a mastectomy, apparently in two stages.
"Wait a second, Darin. I need to ask because I can't understand these things outside of sex--is Harper--Hunter, sorry--is Hunter interested in men or women? Or both?"
"No clue. Seriously."
"She's never dated?"
"Not 'she,' 'they.' No. They hang out with friends--a small group."
"Guys or girls?"
"Both."
I sighed, taking in this information. Then, carefully choosing my words, I said, "Reason I ask is because--and forgive me for the picture I'm about to paint here--I think she would be much more successful in matters of love if she stayed a woman. I mean, how tall is she? She can't be five feet."
"They," he corrected.
I rolled my eyes. "It's bad English. That's not going to be easy for me to say."
Darin said, "You have no idea."
"Anyways, how tall?"
"Four foot eleven--almost."
"Right, and she weighs what? A hundred pounds or so?"
"More like ninety-five."
Nodding, I said, "Exactly, so here's my point. As a woman, you can attract men or women being that small. As a man, though? How many women are interested in a man the size of a very small woman?"
"It's rare."
"I suppose they're out there, but Harper's--damn--Hunter's just reducing her--their--odds for happiness in a big, big way."
Darin shrugged. "Yeah. Yep."
I went on. "Now come at it the other way. If she's--they--if they're interested in men. What kind of gay man is attracted to a four-ten, ninety-pound, and very young-looking man? Think about that one a second."
Darin's face went pink. I didn't need to explain. I could about see the images pop into his mind from his expression. "Holy--," he muttered. Then, he slammed down his drink and hollered, "Fuck!"
"I'm sorry, man, but do you see what I mean?"
Darin stood and turned away. He surveyed the mountain for a few seconds. "That fucking bitch," he muttered.
It was his first wife, Nadine, that he was cursing. She had not been a rational human being. After the divorce, she got custody. Darin deployed to Iraq. He didn't know how bad things had gotten until he returned to find his ex-wife alone, but pregnant with someone else's child and not yet remarried. That was not the worst of it. Harper wasn't there; she was in a juvenile detention facility--had been for over a month. Her Mom just left her there.
As I understand the story, Harper had been mentally and emotionally abused and--starved goes too far--undernourished, let's say, but not quite enough to clue in the social workers, so when, at twelve, she lashed out and struck her Mom with a pepper grinder, Nadine called the police. They took in Harper.
But she didn't get sent to juvie for that.
Meanwhile in Iraq, all Darin knew was that his ex-wife would not take his calls so that he could talk to his daughter. Harper was released into foster care, and there, she was caught shoplifting. She assaulted the clerk who nabbed her and got put in juvie. Upon his return from deployment, Darin swept in and took custody after another ugly legal battle.
Darin and I knew Nadine had fucked up Harper, just not how much. The kid barely ate anything. She hated women, and Maria struggled to build a relationship with her step-daughter, dealing with awful tantrums throughout Harper's teenage years.
"Has she--damn it! They--," shaking my head, I continued, "Has Hunter ever had a boyfriend?"
Darin turned to me. "I told you. I don't know."
At the risk of conjuring more unpleasant imagery for Darin, I suggested, "Look, a good boyfriend, a kind and nice kid, might have changed everything, right? He might have been able to show her--sorry, man--but showed her how pleasurable it is to be a woman. I mean, I guess a good girlfriend could have done the same thing--made her appreciate the body she already has."
Darin nodded and stared at me for a moment.
I sighed, saying, "I just don't see how it works out for Harp--Hunter, shit--as a man, especially a medically-manufactured one."
Darin snatched up his drink and guzzled it down. With a gasp, he shook his empty beer, asking, "Another one?"
I handed him my empty, and he said, "And let's change the subject. I can't take this anymore. Let's hear about your recent conquests."
***
I was 35 and unmarried. I traveled all the time, and I loved women. They told me I was "easy on the eyes," and they told me I was "like a big kid." I was open, honest, and playful. A good listener, I remembered things women told me that I suppose other guys ignored.
Back in the Army, we had an annual event called the "Redleg Ball." Darin's boss, our battalion commander, found out the other officers called me "Lieutenant Pimp" for my exploits with the women. So, the battalion commander made me find dates to the ball for every unmarried officer in our unit.
No problem. Made it happen, and of course, I took the hottest one. Getting laid was not my problem. Commitment was.
I always figured that when I got older I would want to settle down, get married, and have a bunch of kids. The trouble was that I kept moving the standard for what "older" meant. It sure as hell wasn't 35. Maybe 40, I told myself.
Darin liked hearing about the new women in my life, and I always brought pictures on my phone. He was happily married--no kidding--but I think he enjoyed living the bachelor's life vicariously through me. He'd leaf through the images and listen to my stories, dropping lewd comments like he was still a teenager. Even so, he always asked if this one or that one was "the one," and I kept disappointing him.
"I'd like to be your best man, bud, not your best old man," he sometimes joked.
***
Harper was born during my time in Darin's unit. After I left the service and got hired by the Army Department, I visited Darin--outside of his deployments--at least once every two-three months. We played golf and drank beers. After Darin married Maria, she insisted on providing a sit-down style family dinner for me, telling me that it was high time a woman "domesticated" me.
It was the family dinners where I got to become like an uncle to Harper.
Man, the kid was smart. I remember her asking me about gravity when she was four. Four! No scientist, I tried to give the best explanation I could, but she kept asking follow-up questions until I found myself getting into matters like mass and 9.8 meters per second squared, and eventually--no shit--spacetime. And she still kept asking smart questions.
I knew this kid was going to be something else in math and science, and despite all the at-home troubles during her middle school years, she proved me right.
Darin explained how she studied. She deliberately got all Bs during high school. Harper put in just barely the amount of effort to keep her GPA at exactly 3.0. That was the figure set by Darin and Maria that, if not achieved, she would begin losing privileges. All B's isn't so great, but Harper obliterated the college entrance exams, almost maxing them out. It earned her a full ride to both OU and OSU, whichever she chose.
Harper--Hunter now--looked a bit like a female anime character brought to life. She had long black hair that was dyed hot pink at the ends and big, dark brown eyes. Her cheekbones were prominent and rounded, and her chin was small and demure.
Mounted between her button of a nose and her baby chin were the fullest lips on the tiniest mouth. Imagine a nickel slot machine's coin deposit--turn it sideways, and that's the breadth of Harper's tiny mouth. Yet, above and below that little slot were fat, fleshy, pouty, and very feminine lips.
As has been mentioned, Harper/Hunter was a tiny eighteen-year-old. She could have easily passed for much younger, I think. One only knew how old she was when she spoke with such trenchant intelligence.
Or if one saw her breasts. She got them from Nadine. They weren't hulking, plump things. They were large, jutting artillery shells.
When I considered her potential transition, I just could not see it. There was no way Harper ought to be Hunter. There was no way to turn all of that femininity into something masculine.
***
Darin drove me to the airport at the end of my April visit. We chatted some more about "them," and he told me that some of the things I had said earlier were still "rattling around in his head."
When I asked him to explain, he told me he wasn't quite sure he could, yet.
I said, "Look, I think the only path forward here is to love her--them--up like you've always done. Maybe you and Maria's example will make her--Hunter--rethink these things."
"Maybe," he responded. A moment later he said, "But what if that all comes too late?"
I pondered the notion.
Darin explained, "Hunter's going to do these things. The first surgery is set for the end of July. The second is December. The next round of hormone therapy begins when we get back from Beaver in late June."
