The front door of the apartment creaked open announcing Sylvia’s arrival home after an early morning departure. Dakota looked up from the pot of soup she was watching at the noise and shot Sylvia a smile as she untied her boots and set them next to the door. “Hi honey! How did your meeting with the therapist go?” 

Sylvia walked over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and peered down into the pot before answering. “Uh, it was fine. Is that beef stew?”

Dakota shot Sylvia a glare for her non-answer answer. “You answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”

“He, um, gave me my second letter, no questions asked other than if I still wanted it and who’s my insurance provider.”

“That’s great! It is beef stew, by the way. I had to put the last of our meat for the week in it, but we should have enough to last a couple of days until we get groceries on Thursday.”

“It smells good.”

“Thanks, but why are you so gloomy? I thought you’d be jumping for joy now that you can finally start making appointments for bottom surgery.”

Sylvia shrugged and leaned on the counter as she collected her thoughts. “I mean, it’s just a lot to think about, you know? It’s a big decision and a major surgery. I guess I’m just having second thoughts at this point.”

Dakota rubbed Sylvia’s back with her right hand as she spoke, both as a comforting gesture and because she knew how the seats in Sylvia’s truck dug in and often left knots for days. “I get that. I just know that this is something you’ve really wanted for as long as I’ve known you and something you’ve thought a lot about. Those letters are good for twelve months though, so you’ve got plenty of time to think before you contact anyone else.”

“I mean, there’s just a lot of elements at play you know?”

“Do you want to sit down? The stew needs to cook for a couple of hours still and only needs to be stirred every once in a while, so we can sit if you’d like.” 

Sylvia nodded and the two women moved to sit down at the kitchen table facing each other. Dakota sat down first, her left hand bouncing on top of her right as they sat on the table top in an attempt to subtly burn off the nervous energy that was coursing through her. Sylvia walked over much slower, rubbing her back as she did her best to prevent the pain from reaching her face. Even her best efforts couldn’t manage to stop the obvious wince that crossed her face as she pushed into the back of the wooden chair. 

“Do you want to talk about it or do you not want to?”

Sylvia’s hands sat in her lap slowly running over each other, the effort required to lean forward to put them on the table too much at the moment. “I guess I should. Otherwise, I’ll probably just bottle it up and ignore it.”

“Okay. Can you put a name to it or maybe just describe what you're feeling?”

“Some of it is definitely guilt. I mean, why should I be able to get this surgery when so many others who’ve been through so much worse can’t?”

“You’re not wrong in saying that a lot of people who should be able to access bottom surgery can’t, but that’s not your fault Sylvia. You can’t hold the world on your shoulders. They’ll break.”

Sylvia looked away as she spoke. “Lord, where’d you go off and get all this good psychology?”

“Hazard Community and Technical College, the same place that also trained me to cut hair and where you went and got all that knowledge of speech you have. But, you already know that.”

“I always forget just how good you were at those psych electives you took. I don’t think you even looked anything up once, did you?”

“I didn’t. What can I say, I enjoyed the classes. Even if the textbook was a little… questionable at times.”

Sylvia scoffed and looked back at Dakota. “At times? Honey, that book claimed that ROGD was a real thing and thought Blanchard was the fucking messiah. That book was only questionable at the best of times.”

“Yeah, true. Still was an interesting class. I mean, I feel like with some of the shit clients have told me while I’m cutting their hair I might as well be a full blown therapist.”

“You’d be a good one. I mean that too, I really think you would.”

“Well, if I ever scrounge up enough money to pay for a whole new bachelor’s and then grad school I might think about it.”

“Ugh, don’t get me started on grad school. I’ll rant your ear off.”

“I know you could babe, but if you’re going to rant at me about something why don’t you make it about how you’re feeling?”

“You have no right to be this smooth while I feel this shitty.”

“Sorry, but it’s just a natural talent I can’t turn off.” Dakota winked at Sylvia, prompting her to roll her eyes at Dakota’s behavior. “Seriously though, what else are you feeling besides guilt?”

“I mean, the guilt is a pretty damn big part of it.”

“I know it is hon, but there’s nothing to feel guilty over. Sure the distribution of luck isn’t equal, but you’ve been given enough to be able to make yourself feel better. It’d be a waste to not use it.”

Sylvia leaned forward and brought her hands up to point at Dakota before continuing. “But that’s just it! What - what if it doesn’t make me feel better?”

“Do you mean missing your dick?”

The burst of energy that had allowed Sylvia to move quickly drained out of her as she set her left hand down on the table and used her right hand to hold up her head. “Kinda, I guess. More like missing the idea of what it coulda been?”

“Babe, I’m sorry but you’ve lost me.”

“It’s just - look, we both know I’m not exactly the most well endowed down there. That’s why I wanna go to Roth up in Indianapolis after all, he can make it work with less. That’s besides the point though. For years, I thought I disliked my equipment just because I thought it was lacking. Then I learned about dysphoria and I changed the label, but the feelings stayed the same. Throughout my whole life though, the idea of having a dick never sounded bad per se just the idea of having the dick I currently have.”

“Huh. Well, I’ll be honest, that’s not a fear I hear very often.”

Sylvia sighed dejectedly before she continued. “It’s a new one to everyone I’ve ever told this to, so don’t feel lonesome. Honestly, I’m starting to think I’m actually crazy for feeling like this.”

“I didn’t say it was new to me, just one I haven’t heard a lot.”

“What?”

Dakota leaned towards Sylvia and laid her hand on top of hers as she started speaking. “Look, when I was younger, fourteen or fifteen maybe, me and my family were still living in Covington, up near the river. When I came out, my dad told me to just leave the house for a little while, just give him and mom a few hours on their own to process everything. Told me not to come home before eight. I ended up just eating peanuts and drinking Coke in this little local gay bar named Rosie’s because I had forgotten my fake ID and couldn’t get anything stronger. But while I was waiting for eight to roll around, I met this woman named George.”

Sylvia’s eyes were narrowed in disbelief. “George?”

Dakota nodded. “Uh-huh, George. She was, and I mean this with the utmost respect, a capital D Dyke. Like the homophobe’s sterotpye of a butch woman all the way down to her bike. Trans too. She never used the term, but we both knew we were like each other. Probably why she came over and sat with me, thought I needed the protection or something. We ended up just talking until I left, her nursing a beer and me a pop. At one point, her boi came over and said something to her about hard packing. I must have had a look on my face because after she left George looked over at me and laughed. Then she said, and this has been burned in my memory ever since, ‘Plastic is a lot cooler on the skin than the real thing.’ I was still confused as all hell but I just nodded along. I guess she was trying to say I had options in her own way.” 

The couple were silent as Dakota paused for a moment, clearly lost in remembering that night. “No reason in my mind why you couldn’t just do the same as her.”

“I - I - I thought that your parents were accepting, Dakota.”

“They are. I came home that night at a little past eight, they called me their daughter and then we had dinner and went to services like usual. They just needed some time and space and asked for it. Not in the best way, but it is what it is. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing is.” Sylvia nodded at that, the racing thoughts of her mind still clear on her face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the dodge of my proposal, by the way. You’re not that smooth, my dear.”

“What proposal? I didn’t see no ring.”

Dakota rolled her eyes. “Ha-ha, you’re hilarious. Now, tell me what you’re thinking honey. Please.”

“You promise you won’t judge me?”

“Honey, I promise you that the only thing I’ll ever judge you for is your love of spicy food. I swear that whatever you’re feeling will not change how much I love you.”

“I’ve, um, kinda heard of hard packing before. After you suggested the idea of me actually using the butch label, I kinda did a bit of a deep dive into the online communities and found a lot of stuff. Some of that stuff was a bit more adult than I had originally intended to look at and some of that more adult material may kinda have been butch4butch stuff. So, I have a bit of an understanding of what hard packing entails.”

“Sylvia, I’m not going to judge you or, God forbid, hate you because of the porn you like. Sometimes you just have an itch I can’t quite scratch. It’s perfectly fine.”

Sylvia’s face was beet red from embarrassment at the topic. “For the record it wasn’t porn, it was erotica. Porn grosses me out.”

Sylvia sighed and fondly shook her head at her girlfriend’s behavior. “Fine, I’m not going to hate you for liking butch4butch erotica. But, please, just tell me how the idea of hard packing sounds?”

“I mean, it sounds pretty great. Like, it’s basically just the best of both worlds you know? I get to get rid of my shitty all natural dick, get the vaginia I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember, and get a dick that’s actually usable. Or I could even get a soft packer, if I just want the look that day and don’t care about the usability. From an objective point of view, I can’t see any reason why I wouldn’t jump at the opportunity.”

“From the subjective view?”

Sylvia laid her head down on top of her arms on the table before answering. “What kind of a trans woman packs, let alone hard packs? I’m the fucking antithesis of the community.”

“George does. I’m sure others do too.”

“Whatever happened to her anyway?”

“Who, George?” Sylvia nodded at Dakota before she continued. “I assume she went back to her shop in Columbus since she had an IAM 1471 patch on her jacket. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Great, so there’s me and this mysterious George who you met at a bar eight years ago. What a party.”

“Like I said Sylvia, I’m sure there’s more besides you two. We just don’t know them yet.”

“God, what the hell is wrong with me? What kind of woman wants a dick but not the one she was born with?”

“I hate to be the one to say it, but maybe you should think about thinking of yourself with a different label. Labels are supposed to be used to make you feel good, not determine what you can and can’t do. Hell, that’s why I stopped thinking of myself as a woman months ago. I got tired of the restrictiveness.”

Sylvia sat up at that, looking worried. “You never told me that. Did you, um, want me to change anything about how I refer to you?”

Dakota shook her head. “No, which is why I never really bothered telling anyone. It’s just an internal thing. I went from ‘woman’ to ‘feminine’ in my own thinking and that's all it took for me and all I wanted. I’m happier with myself now and all I had to do was loosen my grip on a word.”

“I like the word though. It was, and still is, a very important word to me. I can’t just throw it out with the morning eggshells. That’d just feel wrong to me.”

“I am not saying you have to. I’m just saying that you should give it some thought. Maybe you don’t have to toss the word, just change it. Add a modifier or expand what it means or something. Just don’t force yourself to do something you don’t want to do only because you think it’s what a ‘woman’ would do.”

“I promise I’ll think about it. How long til dinner’s done by the way? I want to go lie down and rest my back after driving all day.”

“Good. Um, a couple hours probably. Needs to cook down and thicken quite a bit still.”

Sylvia stood up as she nodded at Dakota. “Alright, I’m gonna go lie down in bed then. Holler if you need me.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too baby.” Sylvia responded as she walked down the hallway to the bedroom rubbing her sore back.