London Cab
Two Vignettes
By Maryanne Peters

Meeting His Parents

We met again in London, two years after we had got drunk together in a Soho bar. Mark was still working for the same investment firm, and I was working for an associated one, just as I had been back then. He was more charming than I remember, but only by a fraction. I put that down to circumstance.

He said – “It’s an old line, I know, but have we met before?”

I told him that we had. I even gave him the name of the bar, and then I waited. This was something that used to make me wince, but after two years I have learned to accept whatever happens. You go through a period of uncertainty, and the dread of being “outed”, but then you realize that you always were a woman, and now you just look like one. Call it self-confidence, but it is won through effort and the tireless pursuit of beauty.

I saw the realization slowly appear and I gave him a little practiced smile.

“Please say something nice,” I said.

“That is easy,” he smiled back. “You are certainly better looking than you used to be … in fact, you are absolutely gorgeous. Would you like to join me for dinner tonight? Not at that bar we went to, but somewhere nice … somewhere intimate.” Mark’s eyes beckoned me.

Even before there was something about a suave British gentleman and that accent that got me wet in places I didn’t yet have. I could not say no.

We ended up back at his flat that same night. It was modest because he had already explained that his ex-wife had the house, but that was all settled and his job and his own personal portfolio were his and his alone. We had sex and I showed him that no woman can do better than a woman who was once a man like him. There was just no prospect of progeny, a fact that pleased him given recent family events.

My stay was supposed to be short, but we extended it so that we could visit his Paris office. We must have spent just a few minutes there – Paris the city of love and the bridal suite was built for that too.

Then came the discussion of what happens next, and things got serious.

“Regardless of what is the situation over there, we can marry here,” he said. “The European Union has a common position on transgender rights. But perhaps you should meet my parents first?”

He said that they were a little old fashioned so I decided to buy something modest – perhaps overly so, with a high collar and ruffles and lace trim on the skirt. Perhaps I am guilty of finding the opposite of drag, on the correct assumption that he had told them my origin story.

In the cab on the way over I was so nervous that even the Cockney cabbie noticed. He smiled warmly.

“A little nervous are you, Darling?” he said.

“Meeting the parents,” said Mark.

“They’ll love you from the moment they said eyes on you, Darling,” said the cabbie.

The End? Or to be continued?
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Prospective Father in Law

At that first meeting with his parents, Marks’ father, Sir Peter Dalminton, had asked for my business card. I really had no choice but to hand it over. It was at the conclusion of a very pleasant evening. He looked at it intently and then up at me.

“The investment world has changed so much since I was part of it,” he said. “And can I say for the better. You are just so beautiful. How can such beauty be anything other than good.”

It seemed as if he was trying to say that despite my past as a man, he approved of me, even as a potential partner for his son, because I had brought more beauty into the world by removing a man from it. I was happy to take that. What woman doesn’t appreciate that kind of compliment, regardless of her “background”.

It seemed as if Mark and I had the green light to pursue a more permanent relationship, but for the time being it would have to be one separated by an ocean. I had to go back to New York City, but I would be looking to arrange another visit, while Mark was to discuss with his boss the possible advantages of having an American on his permanent staff.

It was just bad planning that saw Mark in Dubai when I landed back in London a few weeks after my previous visit.

“My father had offered to look after you,” he said. “He will contact you when you arrive. Where are you staying?”

When I arrived at my hotel there was a gift box waiting for me. I assumed that it must be from Mark with an apology note, so I eagerly fumbled to open the envelope. But it was not from Mark, it was from his father.

I am taking you out to dinner tonight.
Somewhere special, needing the just the right attire.
Please wear this.
Peter

It was a little black dress, although it might just as well have been a little black nightie, and it was expensive. The note was in the singular – Mark’s mother would not be there.

He picked me up in a cab. Those traditional London cabs sometimes seem better than a limousine – so easy to get in a out of, especially in a dress like that, and so roomy inside. There was really no reason for him to sit so closely beside me, but he did. I suppose I should have guessed what was coming next.

He reached for my hand. It hardly seemed appropriate, but I could hardly pull it away from you.

“You have such strong hands,” he said. “And yet so soft and delicate. Why no nail polish?”

“I would love to have longer nails, but I learned my keyboard skills so long ago that it would not seem practical,” I said. “I do have them manicured with a transparent coat, but I keep them short. I think color on short nails looks tacky.”

“You should not be concerned about concerned about practicality, only beauty,” he said. “You need a man who will give you that opportunity.”

But I had one – his son Mark? It seemed to me that the old man was coming on to me, and in a way that I found slightly unsettling. Why talk about my hands being strong yet soft? It occurred to me that he was one of those types who is fascinated by men who have become women. Perhaps the look that I had received from him that first night, when he had so readily accepted that his son was dating a transwoman? Had he been leering at me then, thinking of my breast implants and vaginoplasty?

“I work because I like to,” I said. “Mark and I have spoken about this. We want to be together but when he is working I will be working, and when we are not working we will be side by side. We will have no family together, so we will want to enjoy life to the full. Our family will be his family, including you, Sir Peter, and your wife, of course.

“You really are the most magnificent creature,” he said.

It seemed a wonderful thing to say.

“Would you mind if I called you Daddy?” I asked him.

His body shook with excitement. I even imagined that he might have come in his pants!

The End … of maybe not?
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Author’s Note: These two AI images are of a transwoman (the same one I think) in the back of a London cab with two different men. The stories came easily, but the sequence of images gave me no room for anything more. Perhaps reader’s can find another image for me to work with?