Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Time passed, and Reagan was not particularly enjoying life, but he could see his goal at the end of the path that Eva had started him down. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t come home with sore feet from his enforced footwear. He did his best to keep himself distracted, engrossed in the campaign, but that task was difficult when his campaign manager was around, making sure he remained “lady-like” in all he did.

“Keep your legs together, Reah. Cross your legs, Reah, Back straight, shoulders back and chest out, Reah. Check your makeup, Reah.” The feminine nickname haunted him constantly.

His life had always been a series of routines, but now it was drastically different. Eva would mention something every time she caught him not exemplifying the image Reagan was supposed to present, and without him performing to perfection it meant he had to work even harder to make it so. He hated it enough that many nights he would lie awake, dwelling on his predicament.

“Oh I hate thee, let me count the ways.” Reagan said to himself, directing his ire at the hackers who had ruined his life. Thanks to his long-time friend he was able to pick up the pieces of that shattered life. It wasn’t perfect, but she was in fact getting him where he wanted to go. Her prodding, and his own insatiable need for perfection, ingrained in him from his strict mother, made him a grumpy but willing student of femininity, each willing high-heeled step down that path leaving him all the angrier at the world.

Before and after his time at the office he would walk a tape line in one of the many pairs of heels he’d been saddled with. He needed to practice rolling his hips just right, sitting upright in a chair, and keeping the right posture through any and all activities. As he got better his task master made things more difficult, increasing the height of his heels, or tightening his corset even further.

Reagan wasn’t sure what bothered him more, looking like a woman, or the fact that Eva continued to behave as though it was his choice, even in private. That was unless he brought up the truth, but that always resulted in a reminder of how easy it was for the truth to get out if he kept saying things like that.

The first week back after the surgery that should have never happened, Eva came by his apartment, as she often did. On this occasion it was to drop off a pile of fashion magazines, as well as an introduction to the not-so-wonderful world of Pinterest.

She’d already set up his account, with boards titled, “Clothes” “Shoes” “Decore” and “Explore” among others, and she expected him to spend what little free time he had expanding the collections. Reagan could understand the extra attention to training. He didn’t grow up as a girl after all, even if he did grow up around three sisters, but he wasn’t actually transgender, and with little interest in fashion other than how it hung on the feminine form, he had a tenth of the knowledge someone in his position should, as Eva reminded him, time and time again. Filling up a stupid social media page with photos of destinations, outfits, makeup and hairstyles was not something he could justify to himself though.

“Eva, why on earth would I waste my time on this, let alone contribute to it?”

While angrily tapping his phone, he noticed she’d used the name Reah. As much as he hated the nickname, he couldn’t escape it. She still referred to him as Reagan when speaking with others, but no longer did he hear the name Rey when they were alone. It was always Reah. He had almost gotten used to it, but seeing it written there brought the mutilation of his name back to the front of his mind.

“One sec.” Eva replied, opening her laptop, turning it to face him. On the screen he could see his Twitter profile. “Twitter has been an amazing tool for speaking directly to the public, in a manner of efficiency never seen before. Most of your persuasion don’t…”

“My kind?!” he interrupted. The tone of his voice made it clear that he didn’t like her lumping him in with the identity the hackers had thrust upon him.

Rather than argue, Eva gave the feminized man a sideways smirk and made a simple adjustment.

With a shrug, she said, “Most politicians do not use the platform successfully. My guess is it’s an age thing. They don’t usually trust their younger staff members. For you though, we don’t have that problem. This is just another avenue to let the voters know more about you, how relatable you are. For example…”

As the auburn-haired woman made a few keystrokes, she pulled a folder, where Reagan saw a few memes. One was a black and white photo of a man holding a car door open for a lady with bold white letters reading, “Real men still do this.” Next to that was an image that read, “Being a real man doesn’t mean going out & having sex with 100 girls. It means you fight for ONE, even when 99 others are chasing you.”

“That is all well and good,” Reagan said, not really buying what Eva was selling, “but I’m sure we have a person or two on staff that are capable of handling such trifles."

Closing the laptop, Eva shrugged. “True, and I can have Connie and Karrie handle that for you. You’ll have to review what they add though, so we make sure we’re speaking with one voice. Though…” She paused, making sure to look into Reagan’s blue eyes. “We need to make sure the staff only knows this version of you… your real self.”

The comment only made Reagan glower at the woman, chafing at the idea. “Real self.” he spat out the phrase like it was venom. “Have them handle it, and I will… I don’t know.” Reagan waved his hand in the air, wishing he could just dismiss this addition to her scheme. “I will spend a few minutes here and there so that the staffers see I’m involved. Will that make you happy?” Even trying to compromise he still spat the words out.

Taking a deep breath, Eva shook her head. She’d known Reagan for many years, and he had many opinions that differed from her own, but she did her best to steer him towards victory. It came with the job, but when Mr. Demir became Ms. Demir, things changed in a way that gave her new power to shape her ideal candidate.

“Reagan,” she began, setting the feminine nickname to the side, “the thrill of the game makes me happy, just like it does for you, or at least when you’re focused. What doesn’t make me happy is what was **** upon you, having to live a life that is not your own. Inside you know you are a man and yet have to dress and appear to the world as a woman. I can’t imagine having that kind of gender dysphoria. If you like, we can stop everything, and end the campaign. You won't be able to achieve your dream, but you’ll still have me as a friend.”

Reagan pursed his puffy lips, as he exhaled his frustration, nearly saying what came to mind.

‘A lot of good that will do me.’

Bringing voice to that thought wasn’t going to do him any favors, so he kept it to himself. What felt like a lifetime ago he remembered pouring himself some coffee while Eva chewed him out over the changes he made to the campaign’s website. He said the base was buying the anti-LGBTQ talk, so that’s what he’d sell. He went on to tell his friend, “It isn’t natural for a man to walk around in a dress.” At that moment Reagan wasn’t sure how Eva had talked him into this insanity. Those people he was pitching to had abandoned him as he now was cornered into living the life he had disparaged.

“Eva,” Reagan shook his head and shifted in his seat, unable to ignore how his body now moved, specifically the parts that jiggled. “I’ve come too far. Corrections will have to be made down the road, but I am not giving up.” The sunk-cost fallacy was a foreign concept to the feminized man, as he sat there feeling sorry for himself. “I’m not one of those transgenders.” Reagan said, using the word incorrectly. “I have to pretend to be a woman. Heck,” he waved his hand to a mirror hanging on the wall, “the other day I saw my reflection, and stopped to check my makeup. I’m a man. I’m not supposed to do that. You have no idea how hard it is for me to look in the mirror and see… me - to see these.” He waved his hands frantically around his enhanced bosom.

It was baffling to Eva that the man could articulate a point so precisely, and still somehow miss it all together.

“I know things are tough for you, but if you aren’t going to quit…”

She paused, gazing into Reagan’s baby blues. Many girls had in the past. He was a good looking man, but with a little eyeliner they popped in a way they never had before. She had to stifle a laugh.

When he shook his head, confirming his intention to persevere, she continued, “Forget about social media, at least for the next few days. What you need to do is take some time to research what it means to be trans - the history of it, the challenges that community has faced, and will continue to for the foreseeable future. Like it or not, you are part of that community now. You have to be prepared, especially when journalists start asking tough questions.”

Feeling like he’d just been assigned homework, he nodded in agreement. Reagan didn’t like it, but he understood. His campaign manager often made sense, even if they didn’t see eye to eye. He was the one that was supposed to be able to sell anything - the one that took charge. Ever since the hack he felt his life was spinning out of control, and he wanted that control back.

“I can do better.” he said to himself, wincing as his hanging head caught sight of his new ample cleavage, his dress, and the high-heeled shoes on his feet.

It was like he lost his mojo - his confidence, and it was easy for him to see why. He’d been wallowing in his own misery. Being led instead of leading wasn’t like him and he only had himself to blame. The hackers might have decimated his public identity, but they couldn’t take away what made him himself. The advice from his mother ran through his mind, something she had said when he was much younger, not even ten-years-old.

“You need to be sure of yourself, in thoughts and actions, if you don’t want the world walking all over you. If you cannot be confident, then behave that way regardless.” Of course that was followed with something condescending, but she said those things so frequently they all sort of melted together in his memory

‘I’m Reagan fucking Demir and I need to start acting like it again.’ he told himself, his inner voice sounding much like the disciplinary role Eva had assumed. ‘Or… a version of me.’ His inner voice spoke softer that time, as he considered the name Reah fit his current appearance better than Reagan, though not that much. Still, he promised to himself he would put in more effort, not just physically, but mentally. Try as he might, he wasn’t without his worries, and doubt still lingered.