Kryptonite!!
He walked into the middle of the gym, tall, proud, muscular. Muscular to the point of being an object of envy. Barrel-chested, with a set of 20 inch arms that hung imposingly by his sides, he was balanced by well proportioned legs that earned him the glance of many onlookers. His face was an amalgam of features. He possesed a chin that was split with a deep cleft. His jaw was not prominent but very strong just the same. Bushy brows perched atop deep, glistening, brown eyes, an upturned nose nestled comfortably above lips that had often been described as full and 'womanly'. A shock of jet black hair swept over his brow and arched back up towards his temple after almost touching his high rounded cheekbone. He had been refered to as 'Superman' several times throughout his adult life. It always made him grin, it was assurance that his secret identity was intact.
He smiled as he strode confidently and glanced at his image in the mirror that hung above the racks of crusty dumbells lining the 'Hardcore' section of the gym. This is where the big men ran, this was the part of the gym that ladies rarely went into, and mere mortal men avoided unless they were stroking the egos of their bigger buddies. He belonged here, without even trying he had been befriended by the other hardcore lifters and even looked upon as a role model by some of the other lesser endowed patrons of the gym. Long gone were the days as a teenager where he had to cover himself almost fanatically in the locker room. He now possesed a body that could be shown without hesitation, a body to be proud of, the body of a real man. Acceptance was effortless.
People moved out of the way when he entered, They knew he was not here for socializing,... it was all business. A quick warm-up with weights mere mortals maxed on, then on to the real stuff. Hauling up the 3rd from the heaviest dumbells for his first set of decline presses, then 2nd, and finally the 1st and largest set of dumbells available in the gym. Folks stared when he pressed 315 lbs behind his neck for 3 sets of 5 explosive repititions. Of course there were rumors of steroid abuse, but that was never an issue. He was middle-aged and he could snap off 25 push-ups without blinking an eye. He performed dips on the parallel bars with weights strapped aroung his waist. To some people this might not seem much of a feat, but to 'Supes' it was an accomplishment. He knew only too well where he had come from.
High school physical education class had been a particularly nasty experience. The locker room was a place of dread and anxiety. The boy hated going into the showers, that was where he had no protection, his body was on display for everyone to look at. It was funny for his class mates to see a boy with breasts, they felt so uncomfortable around him, the only thing to do was to strike out, to humiliate him, to put some sort of distance between themselves and him.
In the school gymnasium, he could barely force himself to do one push-up, and chinning himself was entirely impossible. It was an embarrasment that even the geekiest of geeks could manage several push-ups and a few labored chin-ups. Laughter, the thing he most sought for deliverance from the pain, became as fingernails that were slowly raked across a chalkboard.. The other boys in the class could be so cruel, and even though he towered above, and outweighed most of them, his quiet gentle demeanor made him a target for their meaness. Some of them had even refered to him as a 'Girl, with a dick'.
He withdrew, he found his own sub-culture of people who were dubbed losers on one level or another by the 'cool' kids at school. For a long time he was content to run with those people. They rarely mentioned his fem-ish face or the fact that he had breasts. One by one as they grew to adult hood, the sub-culture began to become mainstream. They married, they had children, bought homes and maintained steady jobs. He however, had no desire to become a Father, or do any of the things that were expected of a Father.
He decided to chase his dream of being a musician. As time passed he became inactive. His weight soared to almost 300 lbs. on a 6'2" frame. When one of his few and far between girlfriends got angry with him and called him a 'fat slob' he decided to do something about his situation. He discovered weight training.
Years and years of hard work, sweat, and pain began to pay off. The bigger he got the more manly he felt. No one questioned his sexuality, it was outwardly apparent. He had acheived what he thought he must to survive. He still could not figure out why he was so miserable. Had he not all the pre-requisites for a normal male life? A beautiful wife, a nice home, a good job? Were'nt his parents proud of him for the first time in his life? He was after all, walking the straight and narrow, he was 'fitting in' with society. Wearing the right clothes, sporting the right hair-style, doing and saying all the right things. Even though it went against his very nature, he did what he thought would make everyone else happy and comfortable. He became 'Superman', he modeled his life around everything he had been taught about being a man.
Superman had one thing that could render him weak, just like the Kryptonite to his comic-book counterpart. His emotions, his sensitivities, his very thought patterns were female. Occasionaly he would don the clothing that was congruous with that identity. On these occasions it was typical for him to weep, and he wept for many reasons, but the most obvious was that he was not physically female, a desire that he had kept deeply hidden throughout his childhood and adult life. A desire that he was certain, would never come to pass.
If any one had discovered that he felt this way, surely his life would cease, it was after all such a laughable condition. How many times had he seen on talk-television, people of fluid gender being reduced to silenced nothings by both the studio audience, and the host of the show. How many times had he witnessed members of his own family, and friends ridiculing people who tried to reconcile their birth-sex by dressing appropriately. Were'nt those people just looking for attention? Were they not just sick perverts who evoked the wrath of society by acting out their twisted desires? These thoughts assaulted his self-esteem constantly.
So he developed his secret identity, and he defended it with all the zeal of a superhero. Over the span of many years he had successfully learned to be the stereotypical male. He had gotten to the point where his emotions were so totally buried that he shed nary a tear at either one of his Grandmother's funerals. Though he loved them dearly, he could not bear the 'embarrassment' of crying as their bodies were commited to the earth.
Nothing hurt anymore. He was very close to being void of compassion, the one quality that he seemed to exude as a child and young adult. His wife often accused him of being heartless and uncaring. He was such a man, yet when he put on that certain clothing, when he made up that face and looked in the mirror there was no denying that a woman's eyes were looking back. Those forlorn eyes that begged to be released, for the spirit to be set free if only for a brief moment.
The battle raged on for countless years. The confusion, guilt and shame after 'dressing' was tremendous, and for long stretches of time he shouldered the burden well. If he could just maintain his 'manly' image publicly. If he could just keep hitting the gym and refining his body, building the muscle, improving the shape, surely his mind would follow. Sooner or later his brain would have to get the picture, to concede to the fact that he was a man. It never did.
The internal conflict began to grow in intensity, he could no longer manage the artificial creation that was Superman. He did something that surprized not only himself but his 'true self' as well, he admitted that he was not in control. He had to face the fact that the spirit was so much stronger than the flesh. After years and years of tortured, self depricating, and esteem draining living, he gave in to the person inside him. He came to the realization that the person he was or portrayed, was a fabricated personality. He knew from his spiritual background that he was never in control of his life, but he fought wildly to supress the very thing that would inevitably set him free,... the truth.
The truth has been revealed. She knows she has been set free. She understands that life will never be the same, for in his little death, has sprung her new life. She did not hate him or wish to erase his very presence, but rather she wished to incorporate his experiences, his emotions, his hopes and dreams into her life,... and move forward. With this realization she was suddenly weightless. Her body lifted from the ground. She found that she could fly!!
©1997 Robin Leigh. Not to be used without express written permission!