Column XVI: L Train Rupture
A week after the party on Wyckoff, me and Cleo hadn’t hung out or even texted until Vanessa arranged for a shopping session at L Train Vintage.
“Girl, I’m so glad that you have a new boy to entertain. He’s so hot and seemingly known around the city,” Vanessa said as I showed her the good morning pictures that Rocki sent me, standing in the entrance of the store.
“I’m so happy to not have to mess around with dirty dick Rik anymore!” I replied.
“Who are you telling! Rule number one of being a girl is leave the chasers alone! They will come after the new girls like crazy…so watch out girl,” Vanessa schooled me yet again.
In a doll’s early transition days, while the world is actively trying to steal your purity, there are disgusting weak men looking to steal your innocence and lady parts.
These men stand on street corners, scouting the dolls like modelling agencies. The reptiles love to stare while you’re not looking and once you glance up just to see if the walk sign has turned white, their horny minds shame them and they dart to the other side to act as if they weren’t eyeballing your essence. If their friends, family, or, honestly, any other man is around, the dogs go silent or laugh at you to disguise their overtly obvious attraction. And, all of these men, friends, brothers, uncles, and fathers are doing the same, as they continue to terrorize all forms of womanhood.
However, at night, these men glorify trans women and the hunt begins in the neon lights of the untrusted city. Under the cover of darkness, these same men eagerly hunt to the dolls, desperate to get into the girl’s pants even if they have a wife and children waiting at home….The lingering question for a doll becomes: can I ever find true love or will I be fantasized and lusted for my entire life?
“Yes, Sloane! You are doing good, just a few months ago you were a baby girl and now look! You are learning the ropes well,” she put her hand on my forehead, “I could cry like ....a mom…my daughta is growing up!!!” Vanessa began to fake cry in my newly A cupped chest.
“Vanessa, stop!” I went in for a warm embrace, still in the middle of the entrance. All black dressed employees bumped past us with tight lips and eyebrows.
“Ugh, look at us, young, sexy, and having so many chronicles! Girl, wait until we are 30!”
“Oh wait…slow down…you’re going a bit too fast? 30 is when we become old hoes,” I questioned as we finally entered the store to browse, starting at the vintage handbags.
“No girl, being 30 is the new 20, we’re honestly still teens as 20 year olds. We all think we are so grown yet so dumb and naive,” as Vanessa examined a pink Juicy Couture duffle bag. I rubbed the ripped leather of LV bag, thinking of the rips and tears of recent life. Why do we believe that 25 is the age where we become Mormon nuns? The life of being married, kids, a good job leaves 20 year olds depressed at the crossroads of leaving their youth behind once the clock hits midnight the day after your 25th birthday party. It’s time to settle down or you will be seen as a lazy failure by society. Does everyone's inner child just simply die after 25? Or is it just that for trans women, the clock on our desirability ticks twice as fast?
“You okay?” Vanessa asked, still with the JC bag in hand.
“Of course, but…..”
“Hey loves.” In her favorite cheap sunglasses, Cleo made her entrance with a black “Thank you” tote and joggers, “Vanessa this bag is everything…..” She caressed her cheek after, then gave me a quick, eager, nonchalant hug before only facing Vanessa
“Right, I love how the pink shines, look at it in the sun! But how are you, late as always.”
“ Oh, I’m good,” Cleo took off her glasses, “I’m late but never as late as Sloane.” She pushed my shoulder with her back still to me.
“Don’t be shady Cleo,” I said, shocked.
“Shady? Me?” She made a sharp turn to face me, “shady,” she turned her head to face Vanessa. She snatched the Juicy bag from Vanessa’s hand “of course being shady would be taking your friend's ex in her face and being a selfish ass bitch.” Cleo threw the bag across the store. A worker eased their way to the next clothing aisle to watch us.
“Cleo, what are you talking about? I never wanted that man.”
“You’re a fucking lying fraud, you matched with him on hinge, didn’t unmatch when I said, then flirted with him at that party, and then kissed HIM!” With each lie she told, her body came closer to me until I was able to feel small pieces of spit coming from her angered lips.
“Bitch you are delusional and borderline bipolar. You crazy ass hoe. When did I kiss that fake ass boy, Cleo that fucking never happened. I can’t believe you’re running with this narrative-”
“Oh really!? Then why didn’t you come with Sarah after I left. You were not being a girl’s girl.”
“Sarah told me to stay there, one. And two, you were being a brat Cleo because a guy was giving me attention."
“Sloane…you matched and flirted with my ex.”
“Bitch! That is not even your ex, y’all had sex 3 times in the last 3 years and he is fucking everyone in the city.”
“Well obviously he is fucking every new brick in the city now, if he wants your barely on hormones ass.
“Cleo!” Vanessa shouted from behind us. The random employee moved further down the other aisle pretending to fix clothes and peeking his head through the spaces of clothes.“She needs to hear this. She thinks she is getting all this trade and attention because she is hot shit! When in reality she is chopped shit and still looking like a man.”
“Cleo! Enough! What the hell is wrong with you.”
“It’s okay, I’m going to go.” Like an embarrassed teen, I stormed out of the store, I turned to look at them before passing the threshold to study a frowned Vanessa and fire hot Cleo.
Before the door swung, I heard the nosy employee.
“You know you should pick up the bag you threw across the room,” he scolded Cleo, “that was rude and this is not a football field. We make 12 an hour here.”
He walked off with a sight switch, adjusting the racks, and muttered under his breath
“These fucking trans.”