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Alan knew he wasn't perfect, but not in the ways everyone else would believe. He was a scheming, money hungry, unfeeling Tory who loved to get his own way - even if it meant hurting others. Yet, that somehow wasn't the worst of it. Not to him at least. If taking power by killing a few people along the way and seeing little value in those beneath him wasn't his worst crime, then what was? To the general public, it wasn't much. Perhaps a bit of a news story and something to gossip about, but only few would find themselves up in arms. To the Conservative Party, it was a topic of fierce debate among factions. Many MPs were divided on whether they should live and let live or do something about this radical group who rejected traditional values. To Alan, it was a blessing a curse. He loved himself, sure, but he couldn't help but blame himself for being this way and thinking he was an outcast within society.
Alan Beresford B'Stard, both the poster boy and embarrassment of the Tories, was a transgender man.
The feelings had began early, and had tormented him since. He remembered in his youth how he would fiercely reject any sort of "girly" clothing, only to be met with the harsh palm of his mother's hand and forced into typical attire. It ignited a deep resentment within him that slowly transformed into internalised homophobia as he grew older and tried to repress his feelings. However, he wouldn't be able to hide them forever.
Despite his sadness turned hatred, he couldn't live as he was. Looking in the mirror to see his feminine self everyday was only driving him mad. Plus, he was more likely to make a career in politics if he became a man, therefore going on to spend whatever he could on surgeries and hormone replacement therapy. While it had given him the body he dreamed of as a young child, and helped to enter a career in which he could use his earnings to recoup from the surgery expenses, but there was still a gap. He didn't want to live with the fact he was queer, especially as a conservative, and didn't want his fellow MPs to know for fear of being ousted. It was torment that, if he wasn't careful, would soon come to a head.
During his rather short but eventful time in parliament, Alan had met you. While you were technically more of an opposition politician to him, you had somehow managed to bond. He regarded you to be a good speaker, which he would usually refer to as "leftist dribble", admiring you for your intellect, and hoped that one day he could use you for his scheming. But for now, you were just comrades.
Although, there was one thing that particularly piqued his interest.
Alan had been sat back during a rather late night in the Commons, wishing he was in bed, until he heard you speak. In response to a proposed bill, you had began to raise the issue of transgender rights in Britain and how they should be protected. Alan's head practically shot up, his eyes widening upon hearing this topic being discussed. Usually, he would say something about traditional family values to keep his party happy and to convince himself he was doing the right thing. However, his throat was dry and his body was rigid. Hearing someone like you, who in all fact he had become quite close with, talk so passionately about a subject that had been hidden so deep within him, created an uncomfortable mixture of feelings. He couldn't believe he was agreeing with you, that transgender people, people like him, deserved rights. Deserved a place in the world.
It was all too much, even for someone like Alan. It was bringing back horrid memories from his childhood and making him reflect on his rhetoric. He left the Commons in what looked like a mad dash, returning to the safety of his office. You caught him briefly in your eyeline, but he needed time. You had to argue your case first before Alan would be ready to talk.
Back in his office, Alan was stood in front of a mirror, stripped of his shirt and jacket. He traced his shaky fingers over his top surgery scars, his breath heavy and frantic. There wasn't a chance he could live with himself. A transgender at the forefront of popular politics in Thatcher's Britain - who was he kidding? Maybe his mother was right. Perhaps he should return to old values and live like any normal person. He was about ready to do something brash when a knock came at his door. His head whipped around, once again feeling like his tongue had been ripped from his mouth.
"Alan? Are you alright?" You called from behind.
His heart was practically beating out of his chest. He couldn't let anyone see him like this. He had heard your stances, but what if you suddenly turned upon seeing him? His eyes were slowly turning a pinkish-red with a build up of tears that threatened to spill. After another minute of no answer, you let yourself in. The sight before you was pitiful.
There stood Alan, covering his chest with weak arms as if he was still pre-op and looking like a deer in headlights. There was a hint of guilt in his face. You understood his position all too well; fearful of coming out to those around you due to reactions that could range from acceptance to violence. You slowly came closer until you were right in front of him, placing a comforting hand on his cheek. The initial movement of your arm made him flinch until it made contact and he realised you weren't here to cause harm. In that moment, he poured his heart out to you.
Alan broke down into tears, sobbing into the crook of your neck. These were no crocodile tears like you'd seen before. These were the cries of a man who had learned to hate himself from only a young age. You took him into an embrace and ran your fingers through his hair, attempting to massage his head.
"I'm so sorry! All I wanted was to be a man, not some sort of freak to be laughed at. But I threw away my humanity because I thought people would like me better. Now I'm just a transgender who lives a lie to please others and can't even make peace with myself!"
His confession only hightened his sobbing, bringing tears to your eyes as you tried your best to bring comfort in a time of desperate need. It occurred to you that Alan was more broken than evil, and potentially that if he had supportive parents, then he wouldn't be the sadistic politician that he became.
Feeling Alan's legs tremble, you gently moved the two of you so that you were sat on the edge of the sofa, and he was sitting in your lap, his head resting on your shoulder. His cries were beginning to subside, instead turning into quick, heavy breaths. He looked up at you, his vision slightly blurred, as if he was trying to find an answer. Luckily, you could give him what he needed to hear.
"If it's any consolation, Alan, I don't campaign for transgender rights for my own enjoyment, you know. Nor for the benefit of the party". He looked at you with an air of confusion. You smiled at him warmly.
"I'm a trans man too. I say what I believe so that I can keep living the life I desire, alongside every other transgender person in Britain. You're not alone, Alan. I know it seems that way, but I for one will always be here to support you in both our shared and differing experiences".
Alan went from not understanding to shock. He wasn't the only one? He wasn't some standalone degenerate as he had once been taught? He couldn't believe the relief and joy he felt from your confession. You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched his face contort between emotions, finally landing on happiness.
"I'm not alone! I'm not alone! No more fighting in the dark for Alan B'Stard, no more self hatred. Just you, me, and a lifetime of acceptance ahead of us!" There was the usually charismatic Alan that you knew.
He cuddled closer into your side, his face inching ever closer to yours. For the first time in your life, you saw him display a genuine smile.
"Thank you. I am so grateful that I can continue on my journey without having to look at myself nor my fellows in disgust. And, if it's all the same to you, I wouldn't mind continuing by your side". He still held that kind smile, but his eyes were hooded. This was definitely the Alan that you knew, and you were happy to see him.
"You know," you took in a breath, examining his face, paying close attention to his lips, "I wouldn't mind that either".
You matched his expression, earning you a light, sultry chuckle before he kissed you with much passion and desire. As he held onto your neck and back for support, you traced his scars. He shivered slightly. Eventually needing to breathe, you both gently broke the kiss. Alan, although partly wanting to stare into your eyes and remain in your embrsce forever, was the first to speak.
"I guess we're just two transgender men with wildly different policies who have now fallen in love with each other, no?" He asked with a breathy laugh.
"I guess that's who we are".