The gender-industrial complex, Part XI (What really is gender?)

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Warning: Any hateful, threatening, abusive comments will be deleted and the commenters blacklisted. Your negative, disrespectful energy says everything about you and nothing about me.

The social construct of gender is something we can blame on the infamous Dr. John Money. Until he coined the term in 1955, the word “gender” was overwhelmingly only used in grammar. In the 1970s, Dr. Money’s definition of gender became much more widespread, all thanks to the misrepresented findings of his “John/Joan Study.”

Dr. Money had a lot of issues from a deeply dysfunctional childhood, and these obsessions, dysfunctions, and bizarre ideas found their way into his adult work as a sexologist and psychologist. He began his research career by studying hermaphrodites (the then-correct term for intersexed people). In 1967, he struck gold for testing his theories about gender identity, at a trusting family’s expense.

In April 1966, 8-month-old Bruce Reimer lost his entire penis (bar a little vestigial stump of tissue) due to a botched circumcision. Instead of using a knife like normal, the surgeon decided to use an electrical needle. The organ was severely burnt and left hard as a rock. The urologist who was called couldn’t even insert a catheter in the urethra, and had to surgically put a tube in through the abdomen into the bladder. Over the next few days, the baby’s penis dried up and broke off in pieces, with the severed urethra like a piece of string.

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Bruce’s parents didn’t know what to do until they saw Dr. Money on television, with a transsexual whose sex change operation he’d performed. They were mesmerized at what could be done, and immediately contacted Dr. Money. Bruce received an orchiectomy (castration) and a rudimentary vaginoplasty at 22 months, was renamed Brenda, and began to be raised as a girl.

Dr. Money loved this case because Brenda had an identical twin, Brian. This was the perfect matched pair to test his theories about gender identity and how a normal boy could successfully become a girl, without even suspecting she used to be a he. The experiment not only failed miserably, but Dr. Money violated numerous ethical precepts (and doubtless laws as well). He showed them pornographic pictures, very graphic pictures of women giving birth, and dirty films, made them undress and inspect one another’s genitals, forced them to simulate sex acts on one another as he took pictures, all sorts of pedophilic, beyond-inappropriate behavior. He even got their parents to walk around naked in front of the kids, though they wisely drew the line at having sex in front of their children.

When the truth came out at age 14, Brenda immediately reverted back to her true sex and took the name David, after King David, whose warrior spirit he related to. I must admit, I was kind of thinking of this story when my character Boy Ryan is asked his name by bridal salon owner Mrs. Marsenko, and immediately thinks of David. When asked to explain later, he said it was because King David was a great warrior and got all the women.

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Thing is, David always knew he was male, even when he was living as Brenda. Even before he could understand what those feelings meant, he knew something wasn’t right, and that he was different. He wasn’t a natal female who always felt male. He simply returned to his true nature. This went far beyond merely being a very masculine girl. It wasn’t about which interests and behaviors stereotypically lined up with one sex vs. the other, but naturally gravitating towards maleness. Most people in our society tend to conform to gender norms, but this proved you don’t even need to be socialized as that sex to know who you are.

Dr. Money was still touting this study as a success as late as 1997, when the twins found out about it and went public to denounce this vile man and try to save other kids from the same fate. Sadly, they both committed suicide, all in huge part thanks to the trauma caused by Dr. Money. The charlatan himself died of old age and still retains a positive reputation among too many people.

Gender isn’t one and the same as biological sex, even though most people never feel much or any disconnect between the two. I’ve always known I’m female, hated how my parents wouldn’t let me have long hair when I was young, enjoy going to women’s-only events and davening behind a mechitza, love jewelry, the color purple, cute fluffy animals, and painting my nails, frequently wear dresses and skirts, and look forward to someday experiencing pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding, covering my hair after marriage, and going to the mikvah.

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On the flip side, I also have a lot of interests and behaviors stereotypically associated with men in the modern West, but in some cultures, that would be considered more feminine behavior. There are places where men stay home as nurturing caretakers while women hunt and fight, just as there are places where both sexes take equal part in farming, hunting, fighting, and gathering.

As much as I believe in equality and egalitarianism, there are some things no amount of socialization one way or the other can change. Men tend to be physically stronger and taller than women, with more tendency towards aggression, due to testosterone, while women have more body fat and a calmer, more nurturing nature. Perhaps this is part of our race memories, as Jung theorized, not just because of typical socialization and the effects of hormones.

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We’re all made up of different aspects, along a spectrum. No one is 100% masculine or feminine, just as being 100% right- or left-handed tends to be a sign of neurological damage. Even someone as liberal as myself has some conservative views. Sexual orientation exists along a continuum too. Perhaps you only have relationships with men, but feel more emotionally attracted to women. Maybe you’re a man who’s bedded lots of women, but enjoy gay erotica. Your core identity shouldn’t feel insecure, since we ultimately know who we really are, even if society has tried to convince us we have to pretend to be someone else or choose between two boxes.

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50th Anniversary Special

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In celebration of the 50th anniversary of The Beatles’ arrival in America (7 February) and their first appearance on Ed Sullivan (9 February), I decided to share the entirety of Chapter 25, “Ernestine and Girl Are Beatlemaniacs,” from Little Ragdoll. I posted the Ed Sullivan section for Sweet Saturday Samples awhile ago, but not the whole chapter. That was also before I wrote in left-handedness for a number of the characters, so that original post was missing the children’s excited discovery that Paul is a lefty.

Ernestine, Girl, and Betsy are almost 12; Julie is almost 10; Boy is 9; Baby is almost 7; and Infant is almost 5.

***

“Wanna come over to my place and watch Ed Sullivan?” Betsy asks Ernestine as they’re playing Aggravation, which Betsy brought over for them to play this Sunday afternoon.

“You mean watch television?” Julie asks excitedly. “Sure, I’d watch anything on television, even if it was just a station pattern!”

“I’ve never watched television except for in store windows,” Ernestine says longingly. “Isn’t Ed Sullivan a variety show, from what I’ve heard?”

“He has on musical acts.  It’s on every Sunday at eight o’clock.  Tonight he’s having on a British group called The Beatles.  They have the number one record in America right now.  I have their single.  It’s called ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand,’ and it’s very good.  I can bring it over and play it on your record player now, unless you wanna wait for the show tonight.”

“We haven’t even thought about buying popular records yet,” Girl says. “We’ve been waiting to break even with our begging and odd job money before buying stuff we don’t need to get by.”

“I don’t wanna miss it.  I’ve been waiting to see this group in person since December.  All of you are welcome to come over tonight to watch it with me.  My parents will make us popcorn and egg creams.”

“It might be fun,” Ernestine concedes. “We do need a break from being miniature grownups sometimes.”

“What kinda music do they make?” Boy asks. “I hope it ain’t like this boring Pat Boone stuff the former owners left behind.”

“They do rock music,” Betsy says. “Like The Beach Boys or The Four Seasons.  You remember we’ve listened to some of those records when you’ve been over to my place, and you liked them.”

“I remember my oldest sister Gemma useta play Elvis records sometimes,” Ernestine says. “Our parents thought he sounded like a cat in heat, whatever that means.  Gemma’s ex-husband said he couldn’t sing or act his way out of a paper bag, which is a funny expression I don’t know the meaning of either.  She had some popular records by Negro singers too, even though our parents don’t approve of Negroes.”

“Oh, they don’t sound like Elvis.  I’m not such a big Elvis fan myself.  My favorites are still The Four Seasons.  Elvis seems like a nice guy, but his old records aren’t my style.  The records he cuts now are kinda boring, like he sold out to the people who useta complain he was too rough around the edges.”

“Your parents are pretty neat for letting you buy and listen to popular rock music,” Girl says. “I’ve heard a lot of parents don’t approve of modern popular music.”

“My parents don’t even care yous guys are squatting.  They’re very open-minded and progressive about almost everything.”

Infant reaches for a grape in the bowl of fruit on the coffeetable. “Will we really get to watch a real television tonight?”

“Yes, we’ll watch television for the first time in our lives,” Girl tells her smilingly. “We’re going to watch a popular music group from England.”

“Where’s England?” Baby asks.

“It’s across the ocean from us,” Ernestine says. “It’s an island that’s part of Europe.  There are two other countries on the same island, Scotland and Wales.  England is in the middle.  Together with Northern Ireland, they make up Great Britain.  Betsy, do you know where in England this group is from?”

“Liverpool.  It’s a sailing city on the coast and along the Mersey River.”

“I don’t remember if I’ve ever heard a British accent before,” Girl says. “I only remember that one of the grownups at the squat once said an English person can make a shopping list sound like Shakespeare.”

“What’s Shakespeare?” Infant asks.

“He was the greatest writer of all time, at least in the English language,” Ernestine says. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.  Emeline and Lucine had to read some of his sonnets and plays in their English classes, and they said it was almost impossible to understand what he was saying without a lot of footnotes.  He wrote in a form of English we don’t use anymore.  Emeline said his appeal over the centuries is more about how he was a writer for all time, with characters and stories that seem real in any era or place.”

“English people also drop their Rs and use long As,” Betsy says. “They have some funny pronunciations of words too, my mother said, like how they say ‘aluminum’ with five syllables instead of four, and pronounce schedule ‘shedule.’”

“Do you know how old they are?” Julie asks.

“I’ve seen some pictures.  They’re pretty young.  Early twenties, I think.  They’re pretty cute too.”

“So they’re a little older than Allen,” Ernestine says.

“Your big brother is cute.  Do you have any other brothers where he came from?”

“My oldest brother Carlos is gonna be twenty-one this month.  He’s a cripple.  Then I have a little brother, Tommy, who turns eight this month.  He’s the spoilt brat of spoilt brats.  Allen’s the only one with a lick of sense or decency.”

“Isn’t Carlos a Spanish name?  What’s the story with giving him a name that doesn’t match with the rest of your names?”

“Who knows what my mother was thinking when she named him.  She doesn’t even like Spanish people, though apparently she doesn’t hate them enough to have refrained from using a Spanish name for her oldest son.”

“Why is he crippled?  Did he catch polio, or was he born crippled?”

“He was in an accident at work in July of ’62.  A car fell on top of him and crushed his spinal column.  He was going in and out of his senses for a long time and only regained his senses a couple of months ago.  I hear he’s going crazy now on account of realizing what happened to him and that he’ll be in a wheelchair the rest of his sorry life.”

“He’s not just any cripple, but paralyzed too,” Girl jumps in. “Paralyzed people can’t even move their legs or anything else below where they was paralyzed.  If you’re paralyzed at the very top of your spine, that means you can’t even move your arms and don’t feel nothing below the neck.”

“Carlos was supposed to be arrested for arson, petty theft, and drugs, but the cops can’t do anything when he’s a helpless hospital patient.  I feel bad for him for being crippled so young, but he was never gonna amount to anything anyway.  It’s not some huge loss to society that he’s a permanent cripple and invalid.  All he did was sell drugs and work low-paying jobs where he tried to get away with stealing.  He was fired from his first job for eating cereal off the conveyer belt, and at his second job, the one where he had the accident, he was found out for stealing stuff from people’s cars.”

“No wonder you don’t want anything to do with certain people in your family,” Betsy says. “I’d move out young too if I were you.”

“Is there enough room for all of us to watch television?” Baby asks. “A davenport only seats three or four people, and the rest of us would have to sit on the floor.  I don’t wanna sit on the floor my very first time watching television.”

“My dad sits in his recliner and my mom has her own cushioned chair.  Julie, Ernestine, and Girl can sit on the davenport with me, and we can find some soft cushions for Boy, Baby, and Infant to sit on.”

“I can’t wait!” Infant says excitedly.

***

A little before 8:00 that night, the six of them trot across the hall and into the van Niftriks’ apartment to watch Ed Sullivan.  Betsy shows Girl, Ernestine, and Julie some newspaper articles she cut out about the British group that’s going to be on the show tonight.  The girls think they kind of look similar, since they all have brown hair and the same haircut, but they agree with Betsy that they are pretty cute.  Betsy is a little surprised they have haircuts on the long side for a man, but Ernestine tells her there were a number of men with hair that long back in the West Village and Greenwich Village.  Mrs. Troy would probably lecture them about being interested in male singers with long hair, but thankfully she’s not here now to spoil their fun.  Someone who was born in 1923 doesn’t know jack about what’s popular nowadays, anyway.

“Here they are!” Betsy shouts as Mr. Sullivan is introducing them.

She and the other three girls on the davenport sit at rapt attention as the band begins their first song, “All My Loving.” Girl’s eyes light up when she realizes the bass player is a lefty, and she turns to Ernestine and her siblings with a huge smile.  Ernestine and the younger Ryans are thrilled to see one of their own in such a public venue, and to see some grownups who stayed true to their left-handedness instead of giving in to attempts to shame and bully them out of their natural inclination.

Ernestine thinks it’s pretty rude how the majority of the girls in the studio audience are screaming.  Even if you really like a band and are excited to see them perform, that’s no excuse for screaming nonstop.  They’re probably screaming over the entire performance and making it hard for the band to hear themselves play, and are missing the entire show because all they’re doing is screaming.

During the next song, a cover of what Mrs. van Niftrik says is a Broadway tune, “Till There Was You,” there are close-ups of each member of the band, providing each one’s name.  Ernestine rolls her eyes when a caption appears under John’s name, saying, “Sorry girls, he’s married.” As though any of the girls in the audience or watching at home stand a chance of marrying someone that much older and that famous.  She and Girl both think he’s the handsomest, besides, married man or not.  The others are cute, but John seems to have a more mature face, like a handsome adult man, not a man still carrying the look of a cute, soft-faced boy into early adulthood.  Girl also feels a special energy coming from him, an aura she has a very good feeling about.

After the third song, “She Loves You,” there’s a commercial break, and then a magician named Fred Kaps performs some tricks.  Infant and Baby are more interested in the magic tricks than in The Beatles.  Boy seems more interested in the tricks too, feeling the musical stars of the evening are more for girls.

Performing next are some of the members of the play Oliver!  After the opening musical act, Ernestine and her friends can’t help but feel bored and anxious for The Beatles to return.  A day ago, they never would’ve been so picky about what they did or didn’t watch on television, never having watched it before, but now everything seems somehow different, like a special kind of magic has been worked upon them by these cute visitors from across the ocean.

Finally The Beatles return and sing “I Saw Her Standing There.” Julie decides she thinks Paul is the cutest one during this song.  Their final song of the evening is the one Betsy told them about, “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” Ernestine, Julie, and Girl think it does sound fantastic, and hope they can buy their own copy if they can hustle up enough money after they’ve bought some food for the week.

The final performers of the night are Wells and The Four Fays, who do some kind of comedy routine.  The four girls on the davenport barely care about them at this point.  All they can think about are the four cute young British musicians who just stole their hearts and did something to them they can’t find words to explain.  All they know is they feel really different now.

“I don’t feel sad anymore,” Ernestine announces. “There’s been such a black cloud hanging over everyone since we lost President Kennedy, but now it’s like the bad spell has been broken.”

“I think I feel the same way,” Betsy agrees.

“Do they have a full LP do you know?” Girl asks. “After tonight, I could listen to those fellows singing the phonebook!”

“They have an album called Meet The Beatles.  I’ve been saving up my money so I can buy it.  LPs are about three bucks, two bucks more than a single, but I like them so much I don’t care how much I have to pay.”

“When can we see them again?” Julie begs.

“I think they’re going to be on again next week.”

“Can we come over again next Sunday night, Mr. and Mrs. van Niftrik?” Girl asks.

“You girls are welcome anytime you like,” Mrs. van Niftrik tells them.

“Do you have a favorite yet, Betsy?” Ernestine asks. “I like John.”

“So do I!” Girl says. “We haven’t been best friends for almost two years for nothing!  It’s like we’re sharing a brain at this point!”

“I don’t know who my favorite is yet,” Betsy says. “I think I’ll have to see them again and read a little more about them before I make my decision.”

“Paul is cute,” Julie says. “He has pretty eyes.”

“I didn’t know you was into that girly stuff,” Boy says.

“What, just because we don’t do other girly stuff doesn’t mean we can’t do one girly thing in our lives?” Girl challenges him. “Why can’t we fawn over cute guys in a band?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking this happy, Julie,” Ernestine says. “I guess the special magic these guys brought over the ocean with them healed even you.”

“Maybe we can even see them in concert!” Betsy says. “I’m sure they’ll be playing here in New York.  After all, they’re right here in the city as we speak, right in the CBS studio.”

“Maybe if they’re here over the summer, you can go to a show as a summer vacation present,” Mr. van Niftrik says. “You do deserve something nice as a reward for your upcoming sixth grade graduation.”

“That would be the best present ever, Dad!”

“We’ll start stepping up our begging and odd jobs to earn money for our own concert tickets!” Girl says with bright eyes.

She, Ernestine, Julie, and Betsy look around at one another with happy expressions and the same special feeling in their souls.  They have no idea exactly what just happened, but they do know they’re never going to be the same again after tonight.

Sweet Saturday Samples

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This week’s excerpt for Sweet Saturday Samples comes from Chapter 35 of Little Ragdoll, “Welcoming a New Troy.” While Allen and Lenore are having their first meeting with their prospective midwife in March of 1967, Adicia and her sisters make a joyful discovery in the midwife’s photo album.

***

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Troy,” she says, shaking their hands. “I’m Veronica Zoravkov and I hope I can be your midwife when the time comes.  I’ll give you a chance to talk with me about what you’d like out of your birth experience, what your expectations are, and what your plans are if you need to be transferred to the hospital, but first introduce me to everybody.  Are all these girls going to be present at the birth?”

“I ain’t no girl!” Boy protests. “Just ‘cause I’m the only guy in a group of girls don’t mean my maleness don’t count!”

“These are my younger sisters, Ernestine, Adicia, and Justine,” Allen indicates. “Those are my sisters’ friends, Julie and the Ryans.  Their parents called them Girl, Boy, Baby, and Infant, though they decided on some real names, I think, for when they go into wider society when they’re older.”

“Deirdre,” Girl reminds him. “My brother is David, Baby is Fiona, and Infant is Aoife, or Eva.”

“Are you a Miss or a Mrs.?” Adicia asks.

“Just call me Veronica.  We’re all friends here.  I probably won’t answer if you call me Mrs. Zoravkov anyway, since only people who don’t personally know me address me by my title instead of my first name.”

“Is that a Russian name?” Julie asks.

“Bulgarian.  My maiden name was Bulgarian too.  I wanted to marry another Bulgarian-American to keep my heritage alive instead of diluting it, since I’m so proud of where I come from.”

“Where’s Bulgaria?” Infant asks. “Is it very far away?”

“It’s on the Black Sea,” Ernestine says. “It’s in Southeastern Europe, in an area called the Balkans.  It borders Romania, Greece, and Yugoslavia.”

“What’s in your picture book?” Justine asks. “Can we look at it?”

“They’re pictures of past clients and their babies. If your brother and sister-in-law choose me and everything goes well, their pictures will be in here too come June.  It’s meant to reassure my prospective clients that normal people just like them have had their babies with a midwife, and that everything turns out alright in the majority of cases.  Of course, if the baby’s breech, we’ll have to take you to the hospital.”

“What’s a breech?” Baby asks.

“It’s when the baby is facing the wrong way,” Girl explains. “Babies are supposed to be born head-first, but sometimes they come out with their feet or rear end facing first.”

While Allen and Lenore are chatting with Veronica, the girls look at the pictures in the album.  A number of times they express surprise that the newly-born babies look rather unattractive instead of all cute, cuddly, and cleaned-up.  The people in the pictures look like normal people, just as Veronica said.  They don’t look like oddballs, but rather people they might pass in the street and not assume any anti-establishment thoughts about.

Allen looks over at them questioningly when there hasn’t been a peep out of them for more than several minutes.  Adicia, Ernestine, and Justine in particular are bent over one page, looking intently at one photograph.

“What’s so interesting?” he asks. “Something we should be alarmed about?”

“Sarah!” Adicia shouts. “It’s Sarah!  She’s in a picture!”

“You’ll have to tell me more details,” Veronica says. “Sarah is a common enough name that I know I’ve delivered more than a few.  Most of my Sarahs didn’t pronounce it with a long A, though.”

“Sarah Katz, our nanny till our mean mother fired her in June of ’62! She was born in Germany and came to America in ’47.  I know it’s our Sarah.  Even the tattoo on this woman’s arm has the same numbers as our Sarah’s tattoo.”

Ernestine brings the book over to show Allen, and his jaw drops when he too recognizes the face of the woman who helped to raise him since he was three years old.  Since he wasn’t as close to her as his sisters were, he wouldn’t know if the tattoo bears the exact same numbers, but he does see a serial number tattooed on this woman’s left forearm.

“I remember that woman.  Her name is Sarah with a long A, and her last name is still Katz.  I think she’s the only woman I’ve ever delivered who had a different last name from her husband.  She said after all she went through under the Nazis, may they all burn in Hell for what they did to so many innocent people, she couldn’t dream of giving up the identity she had when she survived.  She also said she was the only member of her family to survive, so it was doubly important to her to hold onto her original name.  Her husband’s name is Henry Rosen, short for Heinrich.  She was one of the oldest first-time mothers I’ve ever worked with.  I delivered her son Friedrich in August of ’65, when she was thirty-eight.  She called him Fritz for short, after her father.  She’s expecting another child now, and wants me to deliver her again.”

“Sarah finally found a husband and had her own baby!” Justine says happily. “Our mother wouldn’t let her even go back to school.  The bad guys in Germany kicked her out of public school when she was fourteen, so she never went to high school or college.  And then she had to spend all her time taking care of us, so she was never able to really do anything else.  Our mother wouldn’t have let her go on dates, get married, or have a baby anyway.”

Sweet Saturday Samples

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My R post for the A-Z Challenge is here.

This week’s excerpt for Sweet Saturday Samples is another unused excerpt from Little Ragdoll, Chapter 40, “What Does the Future Hold?” It’s December 1969, and the four Ryan siblings are at the local health department to finally get birth certificates, social security cards, and legal names.

***

“We’re here to get birth certificates and social security cards,” Girl tells the man behind the desk at the health department. “None of us ever got ‘em.”

Infant smiles up at the man, hoping to charm him and make him more amenable to their cause even after he finds out just why they don’t have those documents.

“Are you sure you don’t have those documents?  What have your parents said about it?  They might know where they are even if you don’t.”

“Please don’t patronize us,” Girl says, smiling at him sarcastically. “Why the hell would we waste a trip down here and waiting three hours in line if we weren’t a million percent sure we never had birth certificates or social security cards?  We might be young, but we’re not stupid.  In fact, we’re probably more adult for our ages than the middle-class and rich kids who’ve been shielded from unpleasant truths their whole lives and not been made to grow up and fend for themselves from an early age.”

He looks at her dismissively. “Okay then.  Do you know which hospital or hospitals you were born in, so we can request copies of the records from them?”

“We weren’t born in hospitals.”

He stares at them for a good long while before finding his tongue again. “What were your parents, hippies who didn’t trust the system?”

“We were born in 1952, 1954, 1957, and 1959.  Our parents were rather ahead of the hippie movement.  They had their own reasons for wanting to do unassisted homebirths.  And to save you another needless question, no, we didn’t have a midwife or any other type of birth assistant present who’d have some kind of documentation of our births.”

He gapes at them again. “So what does this mean, that the four of you have basically been living as undocumented residents of New York your entire lives?”

“Sort of.  That’s why we need proper documents now, particularly since I’m going to college next fall.  I passed my GED with flying colors, and applied to Vassar along with my best friend and our same-aged neighbor.  And don’t give me that dismissive mocking look.  Just ‘cause I grew up poor and fending for myself doesn’t mean I’m not intelligent, smart, and capable of handling the work at a prestigious college.”

“We don’t even have proper names,” Boy says. “Our parents just called us Girl, Boy, Baby, and Infant.  Girl’s been going by Deirdre for awhile now, but it’s not a consistent thing yet.”

“Don’t ask where our parents are, ‘cause we don’t know,” Baby says. “They disappeared when Girl was seven, shortly after Infant was born.  They left us in the care of a community of like-minded people.  But we do have a last name.  We’re the Ryans.”

“Excuse me for a moment.” The man gets up from behind the desk and goes off into another section of the building.

“Wow, we sure rocked his world,” Girl laughs. “He’s clearly middle-class or upper-class if he’s this surprised to find out folks like us exist.  God forbid you not be born in a hospital or be raised with your parents in a so-called traditional family in a nice part of town.”

Twenty minutes later, the man returns with a woman in a dark gray business jacket and skirt.  She beckons to them to step aside with her so the line behind them can keep moving up.

“My name is Miss Cecilia Skoloda, and I’m here to help you.  I was told all four of you are lacking birth certificates and social security numbers because your parents never registered your births.  Would you like to come into my office downstairs?”

“Do you have lollipops or candy on your desk?” Infant asks.

“Yes, for a pretty little girl like you, I sure do.  Follow me.”

Horny Hump Day—Justine and David

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Warning: Not safe for work or appropriate for those under 18!

Welcome back to Horny Hump Day, where participants share 3 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m currently sharing from a hiatused contemporary historical, Justine Grown Up, set in the early 1980s in Upstate New York.

It’s several days after last week’s scene, and Justine has decided to come over to David’s apartment after classes unannounced, so they can have some fun. David has no idea she’s coming, nor of the erotic surprise she has under her coat.

***

David steps back smiling at the sight of Justine.  She strides into the apartment, hoping she’s walking with a sexy gait, and throws off her coat to reveal nothing but a red lace camisole, fishnets, and a black lace microminiskirt with a barely-legal hemline.

“Are you real?”