Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Epicene Part 1

The Kindness Of Strangers

by Cerilla 0 reviews

Sometimes, it's the only thing you can depend on.

Category: Metallica - Rating: R - Genres: Angst,Drama,Humor - Published: 2016-02-21 - Updated: 2016-02-28 - 2313 words - Complete

Dave sat down on the sidewalk of a busy street with a dirty small cup he had found near a trash can in front of him. He spent half of the day thinking and rethinking about what had happened to him and what he could do. Not much, that was it. He was at the mercy of mysterious and sadistic forces that apparently hated him and he could only hope that his sex change would go away as it had come. But how long would it take? Would it even happen at all? Moreover, what in hell had he done to deserve such a dirt, vile trick pulled on him?
Of course, Dave wasn’t one to surrender to anguish and despair, he was more likely to grab hardships by the throat and beat them into submission, or die trying. He would grind his teeth, push and shove and go ahead until he would rise above all the shit that life liked throwing at him. He had done it before, he could do it now.

Half the day had passed, and Dave had collected less than three dollars, so he decided to move to another zone and try again. His feet hurt, covered in blisters, and his bladder was about to explode, so he went to a back alley, squatted behind a dumpster and peed in front of a stray dog.
“The hell are you looking at?” Dave growled, trying to control the urine flow and not pee on his shoes. “Jeez, pussies are so fucking inconvenient. I really miss my dick.”
Back to the main street, he opted for a more active begging approach, but very few people were inclined to give him some money. Don’t I look so fucking pitiful enough for you to give me money, you motherfucking assholes? Do I have to throw myself at your feet and cry?
The sun was going down and Dave was too tired to keep standing up cajoling people into giving him money. He laid down his blanket and sat on it, preparing to pass another night outdoors; thankfully, April nights were temperate, so he wouldn’t freeze.

Dave was trying to ignore the increasingly loud and insistent noises from his belly, when an old woman approached him and spoke to him.
“Oh, honey, you must be starving, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, you can say that, ma’am.”
“Please, allow me to buy you dinner, it would be a pleasure to me.” She smiled.
“Well, I certainly don’t need pleading, ma’am. Lead the way.” Replied Dave, getting on his feet.
The old woman –Nancy was her name– brought the boy (the girl, to her eyes) to a diner nearby and told him to order anything that pleased him.

Dave stuffed his mouth with pizza, fries, and strawberry milkshake, while Nancy watched him with concern. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten something, my dear?”
“Mmm… Four, five days, I think?” Dave belched loudly. “Sorry.” He apologized, before jumping on a piece of chocolate cake.
“Are you in financial dire straits, darling? I don’t mean to pry, and forgive me if I overstep the mark. I’d just like to help you.”
“Well, I’m piss poor and homeless with no one to go to, so you could say I’m basically in deep shit.” Answered Dave, licking the plate. He froze, then cleaned his mouth with a napkin, suddenly realizing he was acting like a pig. “Um… I… should thank you for your kindness, ma’am. You are a very nice person.”
Nancy shook her head gently. “No need to thank me.” She pulled a flyer out of her purse and handed it to Dave. “This is a list of all the homeless shelters and soup kitchens in the city, in case you need help.”
“Are you a volunteer, ma’am?” Dave asked, taking the flyer.
“I do what I can.” She smiled, “Here’s some money for the bus. Take care.”
Dave was about to leave, when Nancy stopped him. “How forgetful of me, I haven’t even asked your name.”
“Oh, it’s…” Dave tried to think fast. What could he say? Maybe he could use his mother’s maiden name. But what about his first name? “Vivien.” He answered, suddenly reminding his mother’s favourite actress, Vivien Leigh. “Vivien David.”

That was how, thanks to the kindness of a stranger, Dave found a shelter for the night. They offered showers, a service he gladly took advantage of; he had his toiletries with him, which consisted in a comb, a toothbrush, half a tube of toothpaste, a safety razor and an aftershave, which he clearly didn’t need anymore. He brushed his teeth carefully; he certainly couldn’t afford going to a dentist.
That night Dave slept soundly, hugging his bag, dreaming of his last concert with Metallica, of the power that music gave him when he jumped on stage and made the crowd go wild playing his guitar.

Washing his face in the morning, Dave took a good look at himself for the first time since the transformation. He made a very fine girl, with a pretty face and good body, even though the last few days had taken their toll on him.
One thing he had learned, as superficial as it sounds, was that the image you project can determine you success or your downfall. For example, if you are walking through a seedy neighbourhood, you better look like you belong the place, if you want to make out of it unscathed; if you look like a victim, you will be treated as such. The same way, he certainly wasn’t going to get a job while looking like a hobo, so he put on the only clean clothes he had and combed his hair, trying to look like a presentable and well-adjusted member of society.

Dave found a discarded newspaper at the park and read the jobs ads, trying to guess who would accept to pay him cash in hand. With no connections and no references, it’s going to be a hard task. Babysitting, maybe, but hell, working with children? He wouldn’t last a day. He was a decent mechanic, but who would hire a chick? Cleaning… ha! That was a good one! Like he had ever cleaned anything in his life. Of course, beggars can’t be choosers, so he might as well give it a try.

He faced the director of the cleaning enterprise with a fake smile. “I don’t have any professional experience as a cleaner, but I’ve always been the one doing the cleaning at home, after mom fell ill.” He lied.
The greasy middle-aged man didn’t seem to be listening to a word Dave was saying, more interested in checking is comb-over than conducting an interview. The only moment he bothered casting a look at Dave was when the boy stated that he would prefer working under the table.
“You’re in.” He simply said, and redirected Dave to the secretary for all the information he needed.
Dave could decide whether to work during the day, at night or both (he chose both), he would work with another cleaning lady or in group, depending on the size of the building, and was to be trained by a more experienced maid.
“How much am I going to get paid?” He asked the secretary.
“Three dollars an hour, honey.”
“That’s below the minimum wage!”
“You’re working cash in hand, what do you expect?” She replied, narrowing her eyes at him.
He sighed. “Can I start tonight?”

In the following weeks, Dave settled on doing as many shifts as he could take, even when he could barely keep his eyes open. He tried following the instructions of the older maids he worked with, and do what he could not to stir up complaints, but he was mediocre at best as a cleaner.
Dave saved every cent he made, buying only the cheapest fast food and washing his clothes at laundromats only when they started stinking.
He wasn’t well liked by the other maids, they considered him snobby and lazy because he kept to himself and did everything very slowly. But he was always worn out and cranky, that was the truth, because of the stressing working schedule and poor food; he cleaned offices at night, so he could stay out of the streets, find a bench to sleep on, clean houses during the day, sleep again and then restart working again. That was the typical day of his new life.

“Wake up, Vivien!” Antonia shook Dave’s shoulder brusquely. “Always sleeping on her feet, this girl.” She scolded the boy.
Dave looked at the stout woman with glassy eyes and sobbed, quietly at first, then more and more loudly until he burst in tears. He hugged the older woman as strong as he could and refused to let her go.
Antonia was left speechless that the apathetic, detached girl was cracking down in front of her. “There, there.” She said, rubbing Dave’s back. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s wrong?”
It took a while before Dave calmed down and could speak. “Everything…” He sniffed, “Everything is wrong. I work day and night because I need money, I have no place to stay, I’m always tired and hungry, I’m… I’m…” He cried again, soaking Antonia’s shoulder with his tears.

That morning Dave had gone to a shelter to take a shower and, in a perfect ‘Carrie’ scene, he had discovered blood between his thighs. He had managed to stifle the scream that was about to erupt from his throat and quickly dried himself and got dressed, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He hadn’t been prepared for that, at all. He hadn’t even taken the possibility of menstruating into consideration. Of course, he knew that women bled once a month, but the perspective that the same could happen to his female form too hadn’t crossed his mind.
Dave had thrown up, even though his stomach was empty. He had reached for the toilet paper and had stuffed some into his pants, trying to stop the blood. He had ran out to the closest minimarket, his hair still moist, and had stopped in front of the sanitary napkins and tampons shelves, staring at loss at the various products. In a previous life, he had been sent by his sisters to buy them pads and tampons, so he had some idea about the variety of the offers, but what was he supposed to buy for himself? Was his flow light or heavy? His flow… he had swallowed not to vomit again and had picked a packet of night pads. Better safe than sorry; also, he wasn’t going to stick anything up his cunt, so no tampons. When it was time to pay, the shock and disgust from bleeding from his genitals had been overcome by the shock and disgust from the price he had to pay for a box of pressed cotton rectangles.

It was all too much for Dave’s mind and body, and that night he exploded. “I can’t take it anymore.” He sobbed.
“Now, now, everything can be solved.” Said Antonia, “You said you’ve got no place to stay. Does it mean you are homeless?” Dave nodded. “My dear, why didn’t you tell us? We maids are quite a family, you know? But you always kept to yourself, it must have corroded your soul, poor girl.”

Antonia managed to convince Dave to drop the night shift, claiming that all his efforts to put aside money would be completely useless if he had a nervous breakdown.
She also insisted Dave moved in with her, her friend Rachel and Rachel’s daughter, Faith, in their small inner city apartment, if he agreed to sleep on the couch, split the expenses and do his share of housework. Dave agreed and finally, for the first time in weeks, he slept eight hours straight; he ate better, too, thanks to Rachel’s cooking, and felt generally healthier. He had even allowed himself to buy a pair of new shoes, since the ones he had were like a torture device to his feet.
He had to admit it, having some good people to rely on was much better than doing things all by yourself, when you are going through some hard times. He was glad he could call the women he lived with his friends. Not the same way he had called the guys from Metallica his friends, obviously; they had been his partners in crime, his brothers in arms. But those days were gone anyway.

One thing that surprised the three women was how much of a butch ‘Vivien’ was; she was completely unrefined, cursed like a sailor, cracked dirty jokes, dressed like a boy, wore no bra nor makeup, burped and farted and scratched her crotch and ass nonchalantly.
Faith, a high school senior, decided that making ‘Vivien’ more ladylike was her new life mission, much to Dave’s dismay.
“First, I have no money to waste on shit like that, second, I have no will to smear my face with paintings like a clown whore.”
“Ok, fine, you don’t like makeup, but at least buy better skin products!”
“Soap is all I need. It gets me cleaned.”
“But it dries your skin, you should use a face cleanser and a good body wash. Also, you need a moisturizer, and use it every day; the secret is to preserve your youthful freshness, because once it’s gone, there’s not much you can do.”
“Oh my fucking god, stop it!”
“And stop swearing every two words, for Pete’s sake!”
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