Big Hard Girls

by Nikki Crescent

  I heard the sound of a pen scribbling on paper.

  “And once you take the pill, we have to unhook your support systems. We don’t yet know what kind of treatments interfere with this trial, so it’s safer to lose them completely. If your condition worsens, we can try reintroducing the support systems under the supervision of the pharmaceutical rep. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Taylor’s voice replied. She was quiet and shaken. She was taking a big risk, unplugging herself from her support systems—a bigger risk than I’d ever taken in my life, unless you count the moment I ran in front of that purple car, but that was more of a blunder than a risk.

  “Okay, here’s the pill. Nurse Jackson here will unhook your support. I’ll be coming by every few hours to check on you. It will probably be a day or two before you start to feel different, one way or the other. But before I go, I’d let to perform a full body check, so I can have a point of reference. I’m going to start by pulling off your gown, is that okay?”

  “Yes,” Taylor said, her voice sounded more broken than ever. There was a loud beeping, and then the room became silent. I could see all of the feet around Taylor’s bed, through the gap between the curtain and the floor.

  “How long have you had the implants?” the doctor asked.

  “Two years,” Taylor said, trying to make her voice as quiet as possible. Maybe she didn’t want me to hear that little titbit of information.

  “And the hormones—you’ve been off of them for how long now? And how long were you taking them before?”

  “I stopped three months ago. I was taking them for five years,” she said, making her voice even quieter—almost a whisper. But I could still hear her clearly. And why was she taking hormones? Did she have some sort of hormone deficiency disorder?

  “And you haven’t been secretly taking anything while you’ve been here? And this is serious now—if you’ve been taking anything, the reaction with this trial drug could be disastrous. It’s important that you’re honest with me.”

  “I’ve been taking nothing.”

  “Okay, I’m going to do a full inspection. Open your mouth… Okay, good. Now turn your head. Good. Now tilt back your head. Good. I’m going to feel your stomach. You’ll feel a pressure. Let me know if it hurts. Does that hurt? No? Good. And now I’m going to feel your testicles. Okay, they feel normal. Is there any pain? No? Good. Now let’s flip you over quickly.”

  My heart fluttered down into the pit of my stomach. Did the doctor just say ‘testicles?’ What was he talking about? Taylor didn’t have testicles. She couldn’t possibly have testicles. She was a woman—women don’t have balls.

  And all of that stuff about the hormones, and the implants. Was Taylor actually a boy? Was she one of those transgenders that you hear so much about online but never actually see in real life? Was she really just a boy with a girly haircut and a bit of mascara?

  I still had that clear image in my mind of her beautiful face. Maybe I hadn’t been looking closely enough, but it looked perfectly feminine. I hadn’t seen an Adam’s apple, or a rugged jawline. But the doctor couldn’t have been lying.

  “Okay,” the doctor said. “My only big concern in the hormones. I know you’ve said that you haven’t been taking them since being diagnosed, but it’s possible the hormones have altered parts of your body in unpredictable ways. You see, HRT is unnatural for a body. It can have profound effects in changing your appearance, but it can also do a lot of damage, and we’re still learning about the extent of that potential damage. So, for you especially, it’s important that you report everything to the nurse—every little headache and body pain, no matter how trivial you think it is.”

  Taylor didn’t respond, at least not with her voice. The doctor told her to put her gown back on and then he left. And then I looked over and saw a nurse standing next to me. Her lips were parted and she was about to speak, but I didn’t want her to. I didn’t want Taylor to know that I’d heard everything the doctor said. I didn’t want to be thrust into the middle of the awkwardness. But I couldn’t stop the nurse from saying, “How did you sleep?”

  I nodded my head and forced a smile.

  “Are you hungry? Have you been up for long? Your face is pale. Is everything okay?”

  I shook my head quickly, with my lips pressed thin.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded my head quickly. But I knew it was too late. I knew that Taylor knew I heard everything. The nurse left me alone to bask in the awkward silence. I wanted to say something—along the lines of, ‘Sorry I heard all of that’ or ‘It’s no big deal’. But I felt so awkward and uncomfortable. I’d spent the past twelve hours fawning over a biological boy—and a biological dying boy, for that matter.

  And that comment about having sex—oh God. When she said that she would have let me fuck her had it not been for all of the tubes, was she also referring to the tube between her legs? Or would she have just held up her ball sack while I stuck it in her asshole? A cold nausea filled the pit of my stomach.

  It was a silent morning. Hours passed without a word spoken between us. I was even too afraid to speak to the nurse. I just kept nodding and shaking my head. And she just kept on asking, “Are you really sure that you’re okay?” I didn’t want to break that silence. I just wanted the awkwardness to end. I was praying that a nurse would come by and say, “We’re transferring you to another ward.” I couldn’t bear another day of this, never mind another two months. Why couldn’t my damned spine just heal already? Why couldn’t I lay in my bed at home? Why did I have to lie in that stupid hospital?

  It was almost dinnertime when Taylor finally spoke. “Hey,” she said simply. And I didn’t reply at first, thinking that she was just answering a phone call. “You there?” she said. And I still didn’t answer, still thinking she was on the phone. “Ed—earth to Ed.”

  “Hey,” I said. My voice cracked slightly, speaking for the first time in over twelve hours.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Building a house. What are you doing?” I said.

  “I’m out sailing,” she said. I laughed—but I had to force it. I couldn’t seem to muster up a real sense of humour. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d heard. I didn’t know if it was true, but I was too afraid to ask. I was even starting to consider the possibility that it was all a dream, induced by the concoction of drugs running through my system. “Mind if I come over?” she asked.

  “Sure, come on over,” I said, thinking we were still joking around. I’d forgotten that she was unattached from all the tubes and now free to move around freely. She walked around the curtain and took a slow seat in the chair next to my bed. She smiled, showing me that pretty face which very likely belonged to a biological male. I forced a smile back. I may have forgotten that she was no longer hooked up to the machines, but I hadn’t forgotten what she’d said the day before: that she would let me fuck her if it wasn’t for the tubes, which were no longer there.

  “You look worse today,” she said.

  “Thanks—that means a lot. Really,” I said.

  “It wouldn’t kill you to eat,” she said, looking over at my lunch tray, which was still untouched. The slop on the plate was too disgusting to consider eating as far as I was concerned.

  “I’m on a hunger strike, until they bring me food for humans,” I said.

  “I can go get you something from the café. I can technically move around now, though I’m not really supposed to be on my feet for more than a few minutes at a time.”

  “That would be great, but I’m really okay. It’s not like I need the energy for anything. All I’m doing is laying here.”

  She was staring into my eyes now, smiling with a pained smile. “You heard all that stuff the doctor said, didn’t you?” She suddenly looked away, down at the ground.

  “I heard some stuff, yeah,” I said, also looking away.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I didn’t want to tell you because… well, becau
se I didn’t want to die embarrassed.”

  I just shook my head, unsure of how I was supposed to respond. I couldn’t help my reaction. I couldn’t help that I felt awkward after feeling so much attraction for her.

  “But I guess I should apologize for not telling you. Sometimes I don’t think that it matters, and then life bites me in the ass.”

  “No worries,” I said, forcing another smile.

  There was a long silence, and then she said, “Did you hear that couple fighting in the hall today?”

  “About the pet parrot?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Yeah. What was that all about?”

  I tried to shrug my shoulders, but they were too broken and painful. “I don’t know. They were really going at it though.”

  “At one point, I thought I heard her say ‘Maybe if you weren’t so in love with that damned parrot then we wouldn’t be in this mess!’ What does that even mean?” She laughed again. I liked that laugh, even though it technically belonged to a boy. It was cute and soothing in a strange way, though it left a swelling of dread in my gut.

  “Every couple has parrot problems from time to time,” I said, smirking.

  She laughed—that same cute little laugh. “And then there was that guy who came in looking for his friend,” she said.

  “The one who said his friend was bit by an alligator?”

  “Yeah—what was that all about?”

  “I have no idea. Where did he even find an alligator? What’s the closest zoo? Fifty miles away? Do they even have an alligator there?”

  “Not that I know of,” she said. “Though I haven’t been to that zoo since I was a kid. And even when I went, I always just wanted to watch the monkeys. My parents would try to pull me away from the monkey exhibit and I would throw a fit.”

  “I always liked the monkeys, too. Maybe that’s why I find this hospital so entertaining,” I said. And again I got to hear that cute laugh. But it wasn’t cute—it was wrong. A man shouldn’t laugh like that. It was just confusing, making my mind hurt. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she be an actual woman? For the first time in my life, a girl wanted to sit and talk to me, and she wasn’t even a real girl (and not to mention, she was dying). It was like God was playing some big prank on me.

  I tried to push the fact that she wasn’t a biological woman out from my mind—and it worked for a while. We ended up talking for a few hours, and it wasn’t until she started talking about her parents again that I remembered I was actually talking to a transitioning male-to-female. “My parents used to be real nice,” she said. “But ever since I… you know—they haven’t really talked to me. I kind of thought they would show up here to see me. But hey—can’t win everyone over.” She made a pained smile. “Sorry—I got off topic. What were we talking about? Right—Christmas. I used to love Christmas, but once you move out from your parents’ house, Christmas just isn’t the same—am I right?”

  I smiled and nodded my head and felt terrible for her. I couldn’t even imagine having parents that wouldn’t come to see me while I was dying in a hospital. Even if they didn’t agree with what their son was doing with his life, they still should have popped by to say hello. Taylor had no one—just the one friend who came by quickly from time to time, only ever to say a few awkward words. And even she didn’t seem like she wanted to be there.

  She was really going to die alone, with no family or friends by her side. And maybe it made no difference—once she was dead she wouldn’t care. But that didn’t make things any better. It was still sad.

  We started to talk about different things, but that fear was still on her face. It was obvious that she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact she could die at any moment, now that she wasn’t hooked up to her support systems. There were only failing organs and an experimental drug keeping her alive.

  CHAPTER V

  Taylor had a rough night that night. I’d only been asleep for a few hours when I was woken up by the sound of screaming. I opened my eyes just as nurses flooded into the room. “The doctor is on his way,” one of them said, trying to calm Taylor down. Another round of medical staff rushed into the room. The lights were suddenly shining bright. I could hear her heart monitor beeping fast—faster than any heart monitor should. At one point I heard a nurse say, “We’re losing him.” My heart skipped a beat and my body suddenly felt cold. I felt strangely guilty, but I had no idea why. “Where’s the doctor? We’re going to lose him.”

  “He’s on his way.”

  “We don’t have time. He’s slipping.” And now that heart monitor was suddenly beeping very, very slowly, only once even five seconds or so. I could hear the sound of hands thumping against Taylor’s chest as they tried to revive her. She wasn’t screaming anymore. Now, she was possibly dead.

  More people rushed into the room, including a man holding a very long needle. I wanted to help, but I still couldn’t move. I was completely useless and I’d never felt more vulnerable in my life.

  “We’ve lost him,” one of the nurses said. I didn’t like how they kept saying ‘him’, reminding me that Taylor was really a male. She identified as a woman and she looked like a woman and sounded like a woman—but I guess that doesn’t matter to doctors. I guess doctors only care about biology, and maybe that’s for the best. I’m sure it makes a difference when it comes to choosing drug dosages and probably lots of other stuff as well. But I didn’t need to be reminded that I spent a whole day daydreaming about a boy.

  “Keep going. Don’t stop. I think there’s still a pulse. The machine is showing some activity.” So they kept going. The doctor finally showed up and slipped up next to her bed. Now there was too much commotion to follow. People were talking over one another. One of the nurses kept insisting that she was lost while another nurse kept insisting there was still hope—and I didn’t know what to believe, only able to see an occasionally rustling curtain.

  I wanted to shout out to her, to tell her to hold on, but I couldn’t help but feel like it was maybe for the best. She was dying, and maybe prolonging that process wasn’t the best thing for anyone. If the doctors told me that I would die at the end of my two-month stay in the hospital, I would probably spend most days hoping that death would come sooner. I mean—what exactly did Taylor have to look forward to in her life, at the moment? Conversations with me? Her new ability to walk around the hospital for a couple of minutes at a time?

  Suddenly, I heard a loud gasp and the beeping of Taylor’s heart monitor. “We’ve got him,” said a nurse with excitement. The doctor ordered a heavy dose of some drug, and then the medical staff finally started to disperse. It was another hour before that room was empty again, with the light off, as if nothing had happened. I wondered if Taylor would wake up and remember how she nearly died. Or maybe she did die—maybe she was resuscitated.

  I heard her moving around the next morning, around 10:00 AM. She sounded groggy and sore. “You okay?” I asked.

  “Never been better,” she said. Her voice was hoarse as if she hadn’t had a sip of water in days.

  “That was quite the commotion last night,” I said.

  “Sorry you had to hear that.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Sorry you had to go through it.”

  “It is what it is.”

  A nurse overheard us talking and came by. “Do you want me to open the curtain?” she asked. I was hesitant to answer, still with that confusing image of her face in my mind: that beautiful female face, which belonged to a male. But I couldn’t deny Taylor the only decent human contact she might get before dying. It may have been her last day. Hell, it may have been her last few hours. Apparently her condition was much worse than I realized, with her organs teetering on failure at every moment.

  “Open them up,” I said, trying to force a smile into my voice.

  The curtain opened and then I saw her, with her big shining eyes and her cute smile. God, I hated how beautiful she was. I hated that she was a man. I hated that there was a cock between her legs. But I
tried to bite my tongue and pretend like I didn’t care. It’s not what she wanted to think about in her final hours: that people were still looking at her like a freak. I couldn’t help the way I thought, but I could help the way that I acted. “Looking good,” I said with a smile.

  “You and I both know that’s not true,” she said. “I’m a haggard mess. You should see me when I’m not on my deathbed. When I do my makeup and when I’ve had a shower—you wouldn’t even recognize me.”

  I laughed. “I can’t even imagine,” I said, biting the edge of my tongue, trying to play along.

  “I’m serious,” she said. She reached over for her phone and started searching for a picture. “Here,” she said, straining to sit up.

  “Don’t hurt yourself. Have the nurse walk it over,” I said. But it was too late; she was already up on her feet, on her way towards me. She showed me the screen of her phone, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I really didn’t recognize her. She looked like a super model. She looked like she belonged in leading roles on Hollywood movies. I was speechless. I opened my mouth to say something, but words wouldn’t come out.

  “You don’t even believe that that’s me, do you?” she said. And I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

  Taylor made her way back to her bed. Then she looked around. “Maybe tomorrow, if I’m still alive, I’ll prove it. I’ll ask my friend to bring a few things over.”

  “I believe you,” I was finally able to say. And I did believe her—why would she lie? Why would she show me a picture of someone else and claim it was her? But at the same time, how was it possible that she was so stunning? I mean—she was stunning now, but in that picture, she was something else. She was a perfect-ten vixen. She was the holy grail of beauties. And she was a man…

  Her friend came by later that evening to drop off a bag of supplies. Taylor introduced the friend to me. “This is Kate,” she said. “She’s pretty much my only friend anymore.”

  Kate gave me her hand and I gently shook it. “Ed,” I said. And that’s when I noticed the slight bulge of Kate’s Adam’s apple. She was also a man. She was kind of cute, but much less convincing than Taylor. Kate was more of what I imagined when I thought about traps—convincing from afar, but not fooling too many people up close.