Justin Caas: The Third Sex

Privately Published

I decided to publish this manuscript because I knew the author himself would not. Justin never saw himself as a ‘real author’, writing only for his own amusement and occasionally sharing his rather unusual concepts with a close friend or two. It is enough to say that he succumbed to my persuasion which is how this story has come to be visible to a wider audience. But it is offered in the spirit of an earlier era, when friends did write to entertain each other and sometimes privately published their work.

Again in the spirit of an earlier era, you are free to share this with anyone. As editor, all I ask is that you respect what the writer has written and do not change anything. That said, enjoy an unusual perspective on life. I hope that the insights that the author makes into some aspects of the human condition will find a resonance with you as it has with those friends with whom he has shared them.

Any resemblance by characters in this story to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

—James Bates

To my good friend Jim.

Here is another fantasy, this time about the hazards and highlights of growing up ‘different’ from one’s fellow beings: the story of an erotic journey through life for someone who does not fit the usual norms.

I drew upon some of the experiences of colourful people in the sexually liberated ‘Flower Power’ years of the sixties. The rest is purely whimsical and imaginary.

It is a peculiar aberration in our society that horror and violence is considered ‘acceptable’ but explicit portrayals of love and intimacy are not.

In ‘real life’ people don’t always stop at the respectably romantic but go on to explore more daring configurations. Strangely enough what is deviant in one culture is considered permissible or even normal in another. For better or worse this narrative explores through the medium of a fictional character some of the motivations that have impelled people throughout the ages to explore what lies a bit beyond the social norms.

—Justin Caas

I knew from the beginning that I was different. But it was a while before I understood the full significance. The obvious ones were physical and could be readily seen. The more subtle ones took rather more uncovering.

I was born into an ordinary family, an older brother Alf two years my senior, and a twin sister Kate. At first my parents thought we were identical twins, both girls. I was named Erin. The mistake was understandable. But they later decided that at best, we were fraternal twins because despite having what appeared to be a vagina, it turned out that I was actually a male. How strange is that? Actually it gets a lot stranger.

So for a start, naturally enough, I was brought up as a girl. I sort of felt that wasn’t quite right but when you’re less than two how do you convey such concepts to an adult. That changed one evening when Kate and I were sharing a tub for our nightly bath. For no particular reason I experienced a strange sensation, a sort of pressure, and when I looked down I could see a tip of flesh emerging. Mother and Kate stared in fascination, but when the tip became a pink shaft mother’s initial surprise quickly turned to understanding.

Later on when I had learned to talk, mother reassured me. “Nothing to worry about, some boys have their penis inside them. It’s not common—” an understatement if ever there was one—but it’s not unique either.” That was true I later learned. “You will understand more as you grow older.”

On one occasion Alf coarsely referred to me as a dog cock which caused a swift rebuke from mother, and father demanded an apology. None of it made much sense so for the time being I mostly ignored it.

Ours was a modest home set in a quiet suburb of neither wealth nor poverty. Our neighbours were people who went about the material trades as builders, plumbers, electricians and gardeners—who were hired by families in the more affluent suburbs.

Father came from a family of wood-workers and fell into the same line of work as a young man. But it soon became apparent that he had a special knack for working and fitting shapes with awkward angles or flowing curves. So before long he was able to move away from the modest craft of cabinet-making to the more lucrative work of a ship fitter which commanded considerably higher fees. As his reputation grew, his services became much in demand.

Mother had originally trained as a computer IT specialist and quickly became skilled enough to command a good salary. In time she was able to set aside substantial savings before withdrawing from active commerce in order to raise a family. My mother’s name was Molly and I loved her dearly. To my eyes she was very beautiful and was always warm and comforting. My dad was named Bert. A man of few words he nevertheless was a good father to us although I found his manner at times gruff. He seldom showed much warmth towards us, perhaps as if fearing that any display of emotion might call his masculinity into doubt, and if Alf or I fell over and grazed a knee his response was likely to be, “Such is life. Get used to it.” My mother, on the contrary would soothe childish tears with hugs and soft words of comfort.

With the earnings of mother and father combined they were in due course able to afford a more luxurious home. But they liked the neighbourhood where they had grown up. And of course it wouldn’t do to display a home openly more ostentatious than those of their neighbours. My father provided a clever solution in a range of beautiful interior fittings carved from ordinary timber, and as these were created by his skill rather than his money, the result was warmly appreciated by those in our village.

I looked up to my older brother Alf with a certain awe because he always seemed to know much more than I and was familiar with the ways of the world and had friends who were also older and a bit mysterious. I tried to include myself in his games and activities and sometimes he went along with my pleadings, often after some earnest coaxing from mother, but he was generally uneasy including me as older brothers often tend to be with younger ones. Then of course I was different which tended to subtly alienate me from his friends. Not wishing to fall out of favour with his friends Alf tended to mirror their same sentiments towards me whether he agreed with their assessment at the time or not. So I often ended up playing with my sister Kate, which wasn’t so bad because mostly we got on pretty well together.

Being a girl, my sister’s games were naturally oriented towards girl activities which included play-houses and dolls. I learned at an early age that life doesn’t always arrange itself to suit our personal preferences so a flexible outlook is helpful.

In the summer we would often play in the back garden which was largely an overgrown wilderness with long grass through which interesting tunnels could be formed. I think I was about eight when an unexpected event occurred. Kate and I had been rattling around in our grass house when we both realised that we needed to pee. We were right in the middle of an absorbing game and it was a long walk back to the real house. We looked at each other and agreed to do it where we were. Or rather in a grass space a little distance away from our house . I squatted down like Kate and even as I did so I remember feeling annoyed that I could not simply stand and do it like my brother. As I had nothing to aim I had to squat like a girl. I was aware of a soft hissing, quite unlike the silent stream my brother made if he pissed outdoors. When you are young it is sometimes the little things that stand out in your mind.