Synopsis
It's 2003, meet Joe Fortune, a bright and pleasant young man, with a secret life as a drag artist, and an overwhelming desire to be the woman he feels he should be.

Working in a shop he and some friends have set up, he does some photo imaging work for a client, which starts him on a roller-coaster ride, involving hired killers, a corrupt M.P., and the police. He takes the opportunity to pretend to be his twin sister, and become a ski rep for a month to avoid the heat.

With more twists and turns than is good for him, he has a fling with a female to male transsexual, who teaches him how to be a woman, and then, after surgery as Josie, she falls in love with her best friend.

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Edwardian Script ITC font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word installs this font automatically.

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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The Legal Stuff: When Fortune Smiles!  ©2004 Tanya Allan
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Part 1
 
 
I finished processing the Internet orders, so sat back and stretched. I glanced at the clock and relaxed, for I had another three hours to go. The shop was quiet, as not a single customer had interrupted me, so I was way ahead of schedule. I took out my books and got down to my assignment. With luck I could finish it tonight, giving me two weeks before I needed to do any more work. In fact, with the Easter holidays only three weeks away, I might get away with no more work until next term.

It was chucking it down outside, so for a moment I watched the rain lash at the grey Oxford streets. I noticed my reflection in the window, experiencing that painful feeling in my gut that always hit me when I saw what I was.

I was a short guy, about 5’ 6”, slim, wearing a baggy sweater, a beaten up old tatty brown leather jacket and jeans. I tied my long fair hair back in a ponytail, and wore large clumpy brown boots on my feet. I stared at my reflection, feeling the anguish in my heart at what should have been.

My mobile buzzed at me, it was my sister, so I answered it.

“Hi Jezzy.”

“Joe. Are you busy?”

“What’s up, sis?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m working in the shop. And I have this assignment to do,” I said.

“Can I come round?” she asked.

Shit. She was a real pain at times.

“Yeah, if you want, what's the matter, this time?”

“I need to talk, as I have a little problem.”

“So what else is new?”

“Please?”

Double shit. That’s all I needed, a twin sister with romantic difficulties. It was bad enough being me and living with my problems, let alone having hers dumped on me every time she had a fight.

“Okay, give me an hour. I really need to finish this assignment.”

She muttered and rang off. I was just getting down to the assignment again when the shop phone went.

“Still Life Dot Com,” I said, automatically.

“Joe?” It was Martin, the co-owner of our little business.

“Yeah, how’s Birmingham?” I asked. He was up at a Movie Buff’s convention at the NEC. (National Exhibition Centre)

“Busy. Have we had any orders through?”

“Yeah, I just finished processing them. I think eight or nine were from your stand.”

“Cool. I think we should have a few more than that when I'm done.”

“That’s just as well, because trade in the shop is dead.”

“It always is on a Monday, but we can’t afford to close, just in case.”

“Yeah, but at least I got up to date with the orders. And my assignment is almost done.”

“Great. Okay, I’ll call tomorrow, are you sure you are okay keeping an eye on the shop until the weekend?”

“Yeah. No problems.”

“Great, see you.”

He rang off, so I struggled to get my brain back into assignment mode when the shop bell went. The first customer of the day, just when I didn't want one.

“Shit!”

I went out to see this tall, well-dressed man, in a suit and tie, looking at the prints in the frames. We dealt with stills from movies, digitally enhanced and in any shape, or form, the customer wants - whether you wanted them in glassware, mirrors, pictures, or even on tee shirts or even wallpaper.

It had started as a joke, my friend Stewart and I managed to work out a program that captured and manipulated old film, transferred the cells to digital memory, and it then had a multitude of uses. There were commercial programs and products that did similar, but ours was cheaper and more effective, as far as film was concerned. Then we approached Martin, who was into tee shirts and other souvenir production, and showed him what we could do.

Not having capital was a drag, but he took us in as partners, despite at the time we were both only sixteen. The shop in Oxford was a leftover from his tee shirt days, but the dot Com side was the real money-maker. We even attracted tourists in who wanted some tacky film souvenir, which alone paid the shop lease.

People could drop off, or send us 8mm, 16mm or any other size of film or video, and we produced first class stills from the cells of their choice.

The prints the man was looking at were simply copies of some of our work.

“Can I help?” I asked.

“Are these originals?”

“They're examples of what we can do with your film. The original cells are still on the film, which we put onto DVD or video.”

“Do you enhance film?”

“You mean focus and clarity, or do you want individuals isolated and others removed from shot?”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah. We’ve got better stuff that the local police, they even use us to capture number plates when their machines can’t.”

He pulled out a small can of Super 8.

“I need to identify someone on this. It's quite old, but it has only recently come into my possession. The shot is over a distance, could you do it?”

I shrugged.

“I’d have to see it first.”

“Oh, how long would that take?” he asked, looking at his watch.

“Two minutes to set up, and then as long as the film is to run. Do you want it on DVD or CD Rom?”

“You can do that now?”

“Yeah, that leaflet sets out the charges,” I said pointing to the display box.

He passed over the film.

“May I watch?”

“If you want me to isolate your friend, you’ll have to,” I said, and went to the small lab off to one side. I expertly threaded the film through the projector, and switched on the PC.

Once the screen was on, he was standing behind me.

I started the system and a very shaky and grainy film started. It appeared to have been shot out of a stationary car window, but all I could see was a cottage. No clues as to where it was, except England, somewhere. Nothing happened for a while, and a couple of cars passed in each direction. Judging by the cars, it was in the 1970s.

Then a person came out of the cottage, a man. He opened the gate, stepping into shot.

“Him!” said the customer.

We watched the film of the man as he walked across the road, slightly towards the camera, but then disappeared out of shot. He gave no indication that he was aware of the camera. There was about seven seconds of useful footage.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“Yes, can you do anything?”

I stopped the projector, rewound the film and gave it to him back.

I then started the program and selected the short piece of footage. I removed some of the graininess and cut so I just had the man. I worked my way forwards until I had the best frontal shot of the man’s features.

I enhanced the dpi, increased the resolution and dithering.

After a few minutes, he was a lot clearer and looked almost recognisable.

I saved and printed the best still I could get. It came out on A4 photographic paper.

I let it dry and then handed it over in one of our card folders.

He looked at it for a while. His eyes narrowed.

“George Lambert. I’ve got you now, you bastard!” he muttered.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“Nothing. This is really very good. What happens to the footage in your computer?”

“Nothing, I never save the footage, only the still, if you wanted a second, for example.”

“I don’t, and I would be obliged if you would eradicate any of this from your computer memory. Could I get a copy on floppy?”

I chuckled.

“Floppy? No one uses floppies these days, as the memory is just too small for graphic files. I can do a CD or DVD if you want?”

“Whatever you think is best.”

“No problem!” I said, and saved the enhanced footage to a DVD.

“DVD is better as it'll work on any domestic machine,” I said.

I then deleted all records from the C drive, he watched me closely as I hit the ‘Delete’ key.

“How much?”

I made a rough calculation, and added a bit for buggering me about.

“Sixty pounds,” I said.

He paid with three crisp new twenty pound notes, took the DVD and left the shop declining a receipt.

Not bad, for ten minutes work.

I smiled, putting the cash into my pocket. Then I recovered the footage and stills from the computer’s recycle bin, captured the shop’s CCTV footage of my customer and burned them both onto a DVD, which I put in my bag.

After wiping the CCTV video, I then cleared the PC’s memory of the whole incident, and returned to my assignment.

I just finished my conclusion and Bibliography, when my darling sister arrived looking worried.
 
 
I suppose I had better explain.
 
 
My sister was a very good-looking girl, some would even say beautiful.

However, she was about as stupid as they come. All the blonde jokes, well, they could all refer to Jessica. She had left school at sixteen, having managed a couple of scraped passes at GCSE.

Whereas I was now at Sixth Form College, she was working as a rep for a travel firm. She spent most of her time out in exotic places looking after morons in Newcastle or Liverpool football shirts. I had to admit that she worked hard, however, she also kept falling in love with the wrong blokes. Countless times I had to try to help her see the truth even when it was so blatant that a cod with an IQ of 0.3 could see it!

I, on the other hand, was not a good-looking girl - more's the pity! Instead, I was a boy who had always wanted to be a girl, as long as I could remember. Our darling mother, already having two boys, gave birth to the pair of us, (me first by half an hour) and insisted on presenting us wearing similar clothes for all our formative years.

We weren’t identical, apart from not being possible as different gender twins, but we were very similar. Apparently, I had screamed when my father, a rather lofty professor of archaeological studies at Oxford, decreed that enough was enough, and at four, I should start wearing boy’s clothes.

Although I don’t remember the incident, I can certainly relate to it.

When I was thirteen, Jezzy caught me at home wearing her clothes, and had held it over my head as a blackmail lever ever since. She wasn’t too dumb not to realise a good thing when she saw one.

She then added salt into the wound by actually encouraging me in my little vice. Whenever our parents and older brothers were away, which was quite frequently, (as Mark and Jeremy were in their twenties before we reached fifteen) she would dress me up and practice with her make up on me. Then she taught me how to apply make up, walk, talk and move, so we would go on bus trips to unfamiliar towns and shop for clothes and make up for me.

We ended up more like sisters than anyone imagined. At first she thought I just got a kick from it, but then, as we became more aware of my condition, we both realised that I wasn’t just a transvestite, I simply wanted to be the girl I should have been born as.

I grew my hair long, but kept it in a ponytail for most of the time. Whenever I became Josie, it would be brushed out and allowed to hang down to my shoulders. Jessica had the same long fair hair, but when I was en femme, we were frequently taken for twin sisters, albeit not quite identical.

It got to the point at sixteen that I was Josie whenever I could, and started taking low doses of female hormones, just to keep me from becoming more masculine. Jezzy had a boyfriend at the time who was sort of in the pharmaceutical industry, or to put it another way, he dealt in all kinds of controlled drugs - mostly illegally!

My dream was simply to be a girl, but I had no idea how or when it would become a reality.

I was, as I explained, a gawky bloke, but made up and dressed up, I was the nearest thing to my sister’s identical twin as I could manage. My figure was slim, and with a little devious dressing and some padding (less these days thanks to the pills), I was more than passable.

I had never had a girlfriend, nor a boyfriend either, if it came to it. I suppose, if I had to be honest, I wasn’t after a girlfriend, but if I found the right bloke, who could love me as a girl, then… ah well, one can but dream!

But as I was, the very thought of a homosexual relationship revolted me slightly, only because I was so afraid of everything to do with sexuality. I had a gender identity problem, so I wasn’t that bothered about sex. But when I was Josie, I fantasised about being a complete woman, and eagerly submitted to sex with an imaginary man.

Needless to say, this increased the lever she had against me, and I found myself forever doing her favours.

Much to our father’s disgust, Jezzy was not at all academic, being more like our mother. Mum was one of the gentlest and kindest persons I knew, but she was about the most naíve person in the world. My parents were very ill-matched. Dad was very tall and thin, with great dignity in his bearing, and was able to trace his forebears back to before William the Conqueror’s outing to Kent all those years ago.

Mum had been the daughter of a farmer from Shropshire. Dad had been a young man doing post-graduate studies at Oxford, when, once on a dig in rural Shropshire, he was put up in the farm on which the dig was located.

There was this little local lass, who was small and cherubic, with a lovely smile, who fell in love with the tall and rather gauche student. He in turn had never felt comfortable with the very forward, liberated female fellow students, was suddenly at his ease with this girl who thought he was like a god. He lost his heart to her, so just after he qualified, they married.

Everyone said it wouldn’t last, but they were all proved wrong. They celebrated their thirty-second wedding anniversary last year.

But, back to me.

I knew what I was, and so did Jezzy (I think), but to announce to my parents that I was a transsexual and was considering a sex change, was one task I could not bring myself to do.

So, I was now eighteen, still studying at sixth-form college (as I did have some brains), was living a lie, and I was basically bloody miserable. Financially, I was a lot better off than most eighteen year olds. The company was nearly two years old, and last year made a net profit of ninety thousand pounds. However, that was split three ways, but we had then to pay for the new machinery and computers, the shop’s lease and the bills. I had a nice little bit put away, none the less.

I did not tell my family, as my father was opposed to the whole computer generation, and my mother simply wouldn’t understand. They just thought I helped out in Martin’s shop to supplement my meagre income.
 
 
“Hi Jezzy. What's happened now?”

She came in and immediately put the kettle on. She was wearing a pair of jeans that looked as if they had been sprayed on, and a tight top, which left nothing to the imagination. Her leather bomber style jacket was undone, and her scarf was so long that it almost touched the floor. I looked at her boots, which went up to her knees and had 4” heels. She looked absolutely gorgeous.

I ached with jealousy. I so wanted to have a body like hers.

“Oh Joe. I don’t know what to do.”

This did not give me much of a clue. It could be a simple choice between a green dress and a blue one, or it could be the Turk or the Greek.

“Tell me about it,” I said, and made us a couple of coffees.
 
 
She started to talk and the tale took about half an hour, but I still was none the wiser. She went off on so many tangents and mentioned so many first names that I was completely confused. But I nodded and grunted at appropriate intervals, so she seemed to take some comfort from me.

I think she was saying that she had an offer of a holiday with a wealthy American boyfriend in the Caribbean, at the same time she had the offer of a month or so as a rep in some ski resort or other over the Easter period.

Basically, the company wanted her to do one, but she wanted to do the other.

“Why not tell the company to go stuff themselves? There will be other jobs.”

“But I want to get on with the company, and if I don’t do this, they will be less inclined to give me the good jobs in the summer,” she said, looking at me with those scheming eyes. Ahah, the penny dropped, as I recognised that look.

“Are you suggesting that I pretend to be you for four weeks?”

“Five.”

“Four, five, who give a fuck? Jezzy, you must be mad.”

“Why not? You look brilliant, and you fooled everyone at that party last Christmas.”

“That was in poor lights, for a few hours, and most people were so pissed they would have had a hard job recognising themselves in a mirror.”

“You know you’d like to.”

“Jezzy, there’s a difference between fantasy and reality.”

“Only in opportunity,” she said.

“Oh, come on, don’t be ridiculous. You may be able to pressurise me into some things, but this? No way, besides, how the hell will I get a month off college over Easter? I have ‘A’ levels just after I get back in the summer.”

“Look, it’s not as if you need to put a swimsuit on, or anything. You look enough like me to pass for me, your languages are better, and you ski. What more could you want?”

“Jezzy, don’t you listen? I'm at college.”

“I’ll get you some more pills,” she said, with a devious tone in her voice.

“Look, I appreciate you getting me the hormones, but I told you, you don’t have to. I could go to the doctor.”

“Yeah, you could, but you won’t,” she said, knowing she was right.

“What about college?” I asked.

She looked around.

“So, which classroom is yours then?” she asked.

“Look, I have time off for my assignments,” I explained.

“Well, I have to have an answer by Friday, the plane leaves on Monday. You would be back before the start of next term,”

I was running out of objections.

“What about passport, as mine clearly states I am a boy?”

She pulled out her passport from her bag.

“You can have my spare,” she said.

“Spare? Don’t be silly, you can’t have a spare.”

“I do. I thought I lost this one, so they sent me a new one, but then it turned up. See, they’re the same.”

“Jezzy, that's illegal!” I said.

“I've used both since then, and no one seems to mind,” she said quite innocently, so I banged my forehead with my fist.

See - I told you she was dumb.

“No, Jezzy, not this time. It's too bloody complicated. Too many things could go wrong.”

“Ah, well, you don’t need to decide now, let me know by four o’clock Friday.”

She finished her coffee and walked out as I shouted, “What bit of NO don’t you understand?”

“Fuck!” I said, to the empty shop.
 
 
I logged on to Sapphire’s Place and Big Closet on the Internet, and read some wonderful transgender stories. It was so nice to know that I was not alone, and it helped to read the fantasies of others. I took another couple of calls, and there were three more orders on our website, when I checked it.

I dealt with them, and as the machine had finished processing the previous orders by now, I finished off the new orders and packed up the finished products. I looked at the clock. With luck, I could just make the post box before the last post, so have nothing to do tomorrow morning.

I slung my bags over my shoulder and switched everything off. I set the alarm and locked up, pulling the grills down and locking them in place.

I managed to post the parcels before the last post, and then caught the bus home.

We lived in a large mausoleum of a house on the north side of the city. The top floor had bats in it, I was positive.

Mum was cooking and was perpetually cheerful. Dad was in yet another meeting and would be late. I was the last of the offspring to leave home, as Jezzy now had her own flat near Heathrow.

She was rarely there, as she was abroad or here with us. But she had decided that she needed a place of her own, and Dad had dutifully bought her a two bedroom flat in Staines. It was worth about  £10,000 more in the year she had been in it.

“Hello darling, good day at school?” she asked.

I didn’t bother correcting her.

“Fine Mum, fine. That smells nice. What time is supper?”

“Eight, as always. Your father may be late. He has a meeting. Is your sister coming home?”

“I have no idea, I saw her at about four, but she didn’t mention it,” I said, going up stairs to my room.

Since the others had moved out, I had annexed two rooms at the back of the house. One was my computer room/study and the other was my bedroom. I had a double bed and a large wardrobe. The dressing table seemed innocuous in a boy’s room, but then I wasn’t a normal boy.

I kept my wardrobe locked, as I had more girls’ clothes than boys’.

I stripped off and went for a shower. I washed my hair and checked for body hair. I regularly waxed, using immac on my legs. My beard had never started, so I was completely bereft of body hair, except for my trimmed pubic hair.

I washed my hair and rinsed it off. I stepped out, regarding my reflection in the mirror.

My figure was definitely more feminine than masculine. I had a narrow waist, slightly wider in the hips and the beginnings of breasts. My legs were brilliant, and my arms were slender, as were my hands and fingers.

I dried my hair and slipped on a black silk wrap. I adored the feel of the material next to my skin, so I tucked my hated genitals between my legs.

I was probably capable of a partial erection still, but thanks to the pills and a singular lack of opportunities it rarely happened these days. I pulled on a pair of seamed stockings and fastened the suspender belt around my waist. I dug out a matching bra and panties in black lace, and put them on. I slipped the breast enhancers over my existing flesh in the bra and looked at my reflection. I dried my hair, brushing it out. It looked gorgeous - full of shine and body.

Dumb blonde? Not me!

Blonde maybe, but dumb? - Never!

I slipped on a black slip with lacy straps. I put on some make up and a pair of earrings. I then felt my penis twitch, so simply sat and waited for it to go down. I felt irritated, as this wasn’t a sexual thing. I was not into dressing for kicks, as I just wanted to be like this always.

After I slipped on a pair of strappy heels, I went into my study and logged on to the Internet.

My Emails as Josie_36_24_36 were frequent and varied. I occasionally logged on under various alias profiles and went to Transgender chat rooms. But I found them rather silly most of the time. When I chatted, I liked to pretend I was a real girl, as my web cam told everyone how I looked.

I answered my Emails and then slipped into chat mode for a laugh.

I didn’t need to log into a room, as my ‘friends’ saw as soon as I went on-line, and within seconds had several men lusting after me. I was left with six open IM boxes to deal with. All could see me if they logged on to my cam, so to them there was no doubt that I was a girl.

They were all known to me, in that we had chatted before, and all thought I was a girl. I had fun with them for a while, teasing them by taking my slip off and showing them my barely clad upper torso, and then stood so they could see my stockings.

I heard Dad arrive home, so I shut down and took my make up off.

I slipped a baggy sweater over my bra, and pulled on a pair of jeans. My boots covered my stockings, and I went and greeted the old man.

“Hi Dad.”

“Joseph. Good day?”

“Yes thanks, you?”

“So-so, bloody meetings. It is so degrading to keep grovelling for funding.”

He wandered off mumbling about petty minded bureaucrats and helped himself to a strong whisky.

I laid the table and helped mother dish up. Jessica did not show.

Dinner was very quiet, as usual. Father was distracted by work and mother just sat and smiled at us both. Conversation was never exactly free flowing, so often I yearned for people just to be silly with.

I helped clear the dishes and returned to my room. It was nine o’ clock. I collected a small holdall and went downstairs again.

“I’m popping out for a bit. I have a key,” I shouted, but Dad was watching the news, but mum just smiled and waved.

I went out to my old Mini, unlocking the driver's door. I got in and drove out and off to the ring road. I arrived at the club at twenty past, which left me ten minutes.

I dashed in the back, into a small cupboard of a room. I took off my jeans and pullover, and opened my bag. I pulled on the very short black sequinned dress, and hastily did my nails and make up. I brushed out my hair and slipped onto my high-heeled boots. I was using the curler to put some ringlets in my hair when a head popped round the door.

“Hi Babe. Thought you might not make it.”

“Hi Mike. No, I’m here. Many in tonight?”

“The usual, but several are only here for you.”

I laughed, but just had a final check of my make up in the mirror.

“You look hot. If I didn’t know, I’d swear you were a girl,” he said, and grinned lewdly at me.

“I am a girl, Mike, in my heart!”

“Yeah, you know it and I know it. Any time you want some action, let me know.”

“Thanks, but I’m off luxuries this week,” I said, to which he laughed.
 
 
The club, Sister Act, was one of a few genuine TG/TS clubs in this part of the world. I had found it on the Internet by accident, and it took me a long time to summon up the courage to go.

I had gone in normal clothes the first time, just to see what it was like. I had taken a holdall with me, as changing facilities were advertised on the website.

Suddenly, I was no longer alone, despite being out-numbered by transvestites and gays, there were several Transsexuals, with whom I was able to relax and discuss our common problems. It was a huge relief to me to be with people who knew what I was going through.

I took to arriving, availing myself of the changing facilities and then just hung about and chatted with the friends I made there. It was odd, as the mix was a peculiar blend of types. We even had curious ‘straights’, who came to gawp as if it was a freak show. Many predatory gay men came to try to pick up a ‘girl’. And I found myself turning down a heck of a lot of propositions, and a surprising amount from straight men who really thought I was a girl.

I would always dance with anyone, gay, TS, TV, straight, male, female or somewhere in the confused grey area in between. In fact, I had several rather severe lesbians come on to me, believing I was one of them.

The revues and acts were pretty dire, and one day I just turned up and asked if they needed a new act.

“What do you do, kid?” Mike, the manager, had asked.

“I do a cool Britney Spears and Kylie Minogue impressions,” I said.

“Show me.”

I then went and changed into a mini skirt and make up, and went through a routine I had practised in front of my sister and the mirror for months.

He and his partner, a very tall glamorous girl called Celleste, who had been a Colin many years ago, had watched me grind my stuff.

“When can you start?” she asked, so I grinned.

“When would you like me to?”

I had been performing three evenings a week for six months, with the occasional breaks when I had to be elsewhere. The money was good, it all added to my savings.
 
 
Stepping onto the small stage, I performed three numbers as usual, to be whistled at by the small but incredibly loyal crowd, to whom I blew some kisses as I finished. There were about fifty people in, and half were dressed as girls. It was sometimes difficult to tell who was male, who was female, and who was half way between.

I stayed for a drink with a couple of acquaintances, as Kylie, of course. I sat at the bar, and perched on a stool, showing my legs off in all their glory. A stocky guy in denim approached me. I had never seen him here before.

Here we go again. I said to myself.

“That was very impressive. Even your own voice,” he said, I caught a north American accent in his voice.

“Thanks. But hardly Stars in their Eyes.”

“Don’t do yourself down, have you ever considered doing the London scene?”

“Not really. Maybe later, but hopefully I won’t need to go to TG clubs then.”

“Planning SRS?”

“Dreaming, more like, but eventually - yes. But life is too complicated to say when.”

“You look tremendous. How much is padding?”

“Not that much actually. I’ve been on hormones for months.”

“You even look a lot like Kylie.”

“Thanks. But I know I'm far too tall.” I said, aware that in my heels I was about 5’10”.

“Yeah, that’s true, she is really small. I saw her perform live once, and couldn’t believe she was so short.”

I smiled, taking the opportunity to look at him more closely. He was mid twenties, about my height, perhaps a little taller but certainly broader. He had thick dark hair, cut short, and looked remarkably ‘straight’, so I wondered what the hell he was doing here.

He smiled at me.

“My name’s Paul,” he said, holding out his hand in a strangely formal gesture that seemed out of place here. “I can't call you Kylie all evening.”

I shook it, saying “I’m Josie.”

“Nice to meet you Josie!”

He had quite a small hand, I noticed that it was about the same size as mine, and I had very small hands, for a bloke at any rate. I suddenly twigged, so smiled at him.

“You guessed?” he asked.

I nodded. “Because I’m one too. If it's any consolation, if it had been anywhere else but here, I'd never even have considered it. How long?” I asked.

“I had my final surgery about twelve weeks ago, but I've been living as a man for over eighteen months.”

“You look brilliant. Though why you want to be a bloke beats me,” I said, and he grinned.

“I could say similar to you.”

We smiled together at the ridiculous nature of our weird condition.

“Any regrets?” I asked him.

He shook his head, finishing his drink.

“None at all. Even though my family have disowned me, and I've literally had to start a completely new life thousands of miles away from home.”

“You're American?”

“By birth I'm British, but my folks moved to Canada in the 80s, so I was brought up there. All my family are still there. I came home to change, so to speak.”

“I like the accent, it's cool.”

“Thanks. Look, do you want another drink?”

I looked into my empty glass and nodded.

“The last one was tonic, perhaps a little gin with it this time?” I asked.

He smiled and ordered for us. I couldn’t help but notice he kept glancing at my legs.

“So, why come here? Surely you could find action in any ordinary singles club or bar?” I asked.

Paul smiled, taking a swig of his pint. He really did look relaxed and very much the part.

“I still have a confidence thing. I mean, look at you, you could go to any bar and come away with any straight guy, and he’d be none the wiser. Why don’t you?”

I smiled, looking down into my glass, as I thought about my answer.

“I suppose it comes down to what happens when I leave the bar. How far do I let him go before telling him, and what will the reaction be?”

“So, it's the same with me. Even with the surgery, I'm still not quite all there, so to speak. I know that here I’ll be accepted for what I am.”

“Sad aren’t we?” I said, and he smiled.

“It certainly sorts out the tough nuts from the wimps.”

“Yeah. That’s true.”

“So how long have you been taking the hormones?”

“Since I was sixteen. They’re not prescribed, but only low dosage.”

“Not prescribed? You mean that you haven’t gone to a doctor about this?”

I shook my head. My large hoop earrings banged against my neck.

“Not yet, it’s a little tricky.”

“Tricky or not, you could be doing yourself an injury. I read of one guy who didn’t go through a doctor, and he ended up with serious cancer problems.”

I had read that too, but chose to ignore it.

“Maybe this week,” I said.

“Please do. I’d hate to see you suffer because of something avoidable like this.”

I stared at him. He sounded as if he cared, and that surprised me. The one thing about our complaint, it made one very self-centred and selfish. One became rather introverted and insular. It surprised me that he cared.

He looked embarrassed and looked down at his drink.

“Okay, I will,” I said.

He looked at me.

“Promise?”

I grinned and nodded.

“Great. So, what are you in real life?”

“Student, doing French, I.T. and Design and Technology for A level.”

“A level? How old are you?”

“Eighteen, why?”

“You look way older than eighteen. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve had a hard life,” I said, secretly pleased.

“I know what you mean.”

“What do you do?”

“I write travel features and books.”

“Cool, does that mean you get to go to all the nice places?”

“Yes, it's a great job for a loner.”

“Did you do that before?”

“Yes, it's quite amazing the change in attitude of people now.”

“In what way?”

“They treat me so much differently as a man. I never looked as sexy as you, so I suppose that makes a big difference, but as an ordinary girl, I found it tough to get on. Whereas as an ordinary guy, life is so much easier.”

We chatted for ages, and I actually found myself forgetting what I was for the first time in my life. I was a girl, and he treated me as one. It was wonderful.

He asked me to dance, so for the first time ever, I stayed for the slow ones. He held me close without crushing me, while I just enjoyed being held. He was nice.

I looked at my watch.

“Shit! I have to go.”

Paul looked embarrassed. “Are you supposed to be somewhere?” he asked.

“I have to get home, and then open the shop tomorrow.”

“Shop?”

“I've an interest in a little business in Oxford. My boss is in Birmingham and so I'm looking after the shop.”

“What about college?”

“It's all coursework, and I’ve done my current assignment, so I'll hand it in sometime over the next day or so.”

He was looking really quite uncomfortable, and I felt he wanted to proposition me.

“You still live at home?” he asked.

“Yes, but my parents go to bed at ten, so I always leave before they get up. I always keep a change of clothes in the car, so I sometimes stay out with friends.”

“Have you anyone special, a boy, that is? Or are you into girls?”

“No. I have no one, boy or girl. Given a choice, I think I’d go for a bloke. But, I am afraid that most boys I like will be disappointed with what secrets I have. I tend to chicken out before I get to that stage. Bummer, but it saves on getting the shit kicked out of me,” I said, and he chuckled.

“Where do you live?”

“Oxford, you?”

“Just up the road. Look, would you like to come back for a coffee or something?”

I looked at him, and he dropped his gaze, reddening a little.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“If you want.”

“How many girls have you picked up using that line?” I asked, and to my relief he laughed.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you accept.”

“And, if I were to?”

“Then it will bring my grand total to one.”

I laughed and nodded.

“Okay, let me get my stuff. I have my car here, so I'll follow you home.”

He looked surprised when I accepted, and smiled at me.

“Oh, Josie?”

“Yes?”

“Stay as you are, please?”

I smiled and stood up. I kissed his cheek, and said, “Okay.” His cheek was slightly bristly.

I followed him the couple of miles that was ‘just down the road’.

He lived in a picturesque little cottage with a thatched roof. I parked next to his car, so together we went into the cottage. It was warm and very snug. All the furnishings were in keeping with the old feel of the place.

“This is lovely,” I said.

“Thanks. I used a little inheritance to buy and renovate it, I like it.”

“It’s gorgeous!” I said, and he looked pleased.

I had repaired my make up before leaving the club, but needed the loo.

He showed me where it was, so I went and did what I had to do. I looked at myself in the mirror, and thought I looked like a tart. But maybe that was what he wanted.

I was quite curious to find out what was going to happen, as he had been a she, so it was all very peculiar. I had never had relationship with anyone, which went beyond mere friendship. I was not really into sex, as my main concern was to get my head round my gender. Having a girl’s mind and spirit in a bloke’s body was not the best recipe for a successful relationship.

The hormones I had been taking must have reduced my libido, for sex just wasn’t something I thought about.

I came out and he asked if I wanted milk and sugar.

“Milk and one sugar please,” I said, sitting on the sofa.

He passed me a mug, as he sat beside me.

We chatted for a while, and I found that as Pauline, she had been aware of her transsexuality from an early age. But her home background was as stilted as mine, so she was unable to realise her dreams while still staying with her parents.

She went off to college in Guelph, and drifted into a series of lesbian relationships, simply because she was attracted to girls and not boys. However, she wanted to be a man, and not a lesbian female.

She became a travel journalist and then, after a few years her parents found out that she was a lesbian, and virtually disowned her at that point. This proved that she had nothing more to lose, so taking her inheritance from her grandmother, she returned to England, and at twenty-five went for the sex change.

“You poor thing. It's so awful knowing that parents won’t accept you,” I said.

He looked at me.

“You’re the same?”

I nodded, “I suppose so, but I haven't even had the balls to tell them. I think it would destroy what little we have.” Despite myself, I felt a tear form in my eye. It was partly my frustration, but also partly the way life had treated Paul. I said so, and before I knew what was happening we were kissing.

It started as a sort of cuddle and make-you-better type kiss. But as his hands caressed me, we became more and more turned on, and the kiss became vacuum-packed.

I had never kissed or been kissed like this in my short life, and I felt things that I had never experienced before. Strange feelings coursed through my body, and I found myself wanting more.

The coffee half drunk, we spent the next ten minutes kissing, and I loved it. Here was someone who treated me like a girl. He appeared to be a man, and knew and didn’t care what was between my legs.

We moved to the bedroom, partially undressing each other. I kept my padded bra and knickers, as I had never been naked with another person like this in my life. He turned the lights down low, so we just lay cuddling and caressing each other under the huge duvet.

I caressed his slightly scarred chest, now covered in quite a thick layer of hair. His double mastectomy was a hell of a price to pay to feel part of the human race again.

“You poor soul. Why couldn’t we have just swapped?” I said.

He smiled, holding my hand against his chest.

“You'll experience more than your fair share of pain before you're through. It's so unfair.”

Sexually, neither of us had the equipment necessary to really provide the gratification that the other really wanted, but we had a really good go. I caressed him letting my fingers slowly make their way towards his crotch, not really knowing what to expect. He had taken his boxers off, so I was pleasantly surprised at what my questing hand found.

He undressed me completely, kissing and licking my small but very sensitive breasts. It drove me wild and I allowed him to do things to me that I would have never even considered before, and I did things to him that gave him pleasure. As we lay in a close embrace, smiling at the silliness of it all, I felt the nearest thing to being a woman I had ever felt in my life.

“Thanks,” I said, kissing him.

“Ditto, I was wondering what we could do, between the pair of us.”

I laughed.

“Well, I have to admit to have not thought about sex very often. I think I'm more concerned with becoming what I want to be rather that what I want to do. Right now, all I really want now is the right equipment. Because if that was as nice as it was, then to actually have a man inside me must be so much better,” I said, and he stroked my bottom again.

“I’m not as big as some men,” he said, almost apologetically.

“I’m hardly equipped to accommodate you.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t consider using what you do have?”

“Quite sure! As I said, sex isn't important to me, as I just want to be loved. I think it must be something to do with the hormones.”

“I have to admit that I never used to think about sex until I started on testosterone. Now I think of it all the time,” he said chuckling, and looking at his penis.

I held it, and it seemed fine to me, sort of semi rigid, and of a reasonable size.

“I like you touching me,” he said.

I moved round, and rubbed my bum against him, he slid his member between the cheeks of my bum, and just rubbed against me. He didn’t penetrate me, but I loved it. It made me feel so, I don’t know, desirable.
 
 
I awoke at seven, and for a moment forgot where I was. I was still in his bed, and one of his arms was pinning me down. I moved and he opened an eye.

“Hi!”

I kissed him, and we played with each other for a little while.

“Sorry. Loo!” I said, and went to the bathroom. I sat on the loo, and peed. I wanted to be a girl all the time so badly, it hurt!

He came in and kissed me. I was naked and so was he, so together we represented that grey area between the genders. We showered together, and than, after drying off, I dressed in my jeans and tee shirt. I kept my bra on, and wore my high heel boots. I put make up on, and figured - what the hell, I only have to open the shop. I could change later!

We had breakfast together, and it was surreally domesticated. I was the female and he the male, and we seemed so normal. Just as I got my stuff together, there was a knock on the door.

A small middle-aged woman stood there, so Paul let her in. She was the daily help.

“This is my friend Josie, Mrs Hawkins. She stayed the night,” Paul said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Hello,” I said, smiling at the woman.

“Oh, right Mr Gardner, will the spare bed need changing?”

“No, it didn’t get used,” Paul said, and I escaped before I got the giggles. He followed me out and kissed me goodbye.

“My reputation is now secure,” he said, with a grin. “I think she thought I was gay.”

I slung my stuff into the car.

“Josie, will I see you again?”

“I don’t see why not. After all, you're my first one-night stand, ever. I’d like to think I was capable of more than one night.”

He looked embarrassed again.

“Well, you're my first since the operation.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t the real thing for you,” I said, meaning it.

“You're more the real thing than many girls born that way. I’d really like to see you again,”

I gave him a card with my mobile and the shop number on it.

“Ring me. Or, if you want a coffee, drop in any time,” I said, and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for making me feel like the person I want to be,” I said, leaving him watching me drive away.
 
 
Part 2
 
 
I drove carefully, as I didn’t want to have to produce my boy's driving licence to a police officer while dressed as a girl. I parked near the shop and went to opened it up. I was still dressed en-femme, and I just checked the mail, taking my bag to the back, intending to change.

The shop bell went, and I swore. I went back out and two men were standing there.

“Hi, can I help you?” I said.

“Yes love, is the man who was working here last evening, in?”

Shit! What could I say?

“Not today, he’s tied up. Is there anything wrong?”

“It's something only he could help us with,” said the taller one. The other one said something to him.

“Well, maybe. He did a job for a colleague of ours last night. We just wanted to know whether he saved anything of that job on the computer.”

My heart raced, these were to do with the man and his short bit of film - the one that I took a CD copy.

“Okay, it's unlikely, as hard drive space is very precious, so we don't save stuff as a rule. What time was it, yesterday?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, after three, I think,” said the tall one, looking at his colleague who nodded.

“Okay. Let's have a look,” I said, and opened up the PC files. The men were standing behind me.

“He did a film to still job, and he has erased all records. This shows a job at about four o’clock, and that he made no copies. Oh yes he did, he made a DVD copy, obviously the picture was too big for a straight save to an old floppy disc. The copy was given to the client, who paid cash. He invoiced the man, but he didn’t take it.

“He sent all items to the recycle bin, which is empty. No other copies were made,” I said.

The men looked at me suspiciously.

“Could he have made a copy but the computer wouldn’t show it?”

“It's possible, but highly unlikely. As I said, we get hundreds of jobs in every week, and if we kept copies of everything, we’d run out of storage room very fast. Have you any idea how much drive space graphic files take up?” I asked.

“When is he due in?” the shorter man asked, ignoring my question.

“I don’t know. He only fills in occasionally, he's a college kid, so comes when we're short,” I said, my heart thumping.

“What's his name?”

“Joe, something. I don’t know his last name. He's just one of the many nerdy school kids who like to help out.”

“Do you work here full time?”

I smiled, and tried to look like a dumb blonde.

“No, I’m another geek who helps out.”

“So, no copies, and nothing on the computer?”

“No, but if it's important, I can see if I can get him to call you.”

“No it isn’t important, as long as you're sure.”

“I'm as sure as I can be. But I think it highly unlikely.”

“Thank you, Miss. If he calls in, could you just make sure that no copies exist. If any do, give me a call on this mobile number.”

I looked at the card.

Global Technics Ltd. Based in Hounslow, near Heathrow Airport.

“Okay. Is there anything else?” I asked.

“No, thanks for your help, love.”

Then they were gone.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and went and made myself a coffee. I sat and read the emails, processing the few orders that had come in over night.

I switched on the TV and watched the news.

I saw another murder had been reported. Some bloke was found shot near a petrol station in Headington. Then they produced a photograph, and I almost died. It was the customer who came in for the print.

They said his name was William Henderson, and he was a civil servant. It was not known what the motive was.

I didn’t know the facts, but I knew why he was killed, and I was positive it was because of the man in the film, someone called George Lambert.

I quickly ran an Internet search and found several men with than name, but only one was now a junior Home Office minister for industry. I got his picture up, and froze, as there was little doubt, it was the same man. Looking older and respectable, but still the same man.

“Shit!” I said.

Two more customers came in, so it was lunchtime before I realised that I had been dressed as a girl all morning. I hadn't thought about it at all.

I shrugged, if the cap fits, wear it.

I shut the shop for an hour and went over to the sandwich bar and bought some lunch, I thought that if I could I would hand in my assignment before Friday.

I was weeks ahead of everyone else, so I was now free until next term. I had a thought; I could bugger off to Europe for Jezzy, and that way would be out of harm's way for several weeks.

I was walking back to the shop when my mobile went.

“Hi?” I said.

“Josie? It’s Paul.”

My heart had a little flutter as soon as I recognised his voice.

“Hi, thanks for remembering me.”

“Are you free for lunch?”

I experienced feelings that were completely alien to me, and found myself grinning like a fool. I stared at the bag in my hand, containing a crusty baguette with coronation chicken.

“Yeah, if you like,” I said.

“How about the Three Feathers, in ten minutes?”

I smiled as it was literally two minutes away from the shop.

“Where are you now?” I asked.

“Outside a shop saying closed for lunch.”

I walked round the corner, to see him standing facing the shop.

“How about fifteen seconds?” I said.

“Where are you?”

“Standing right behind you.”

He turned round and saw me still dressed as a girl.

He put the phone away, and walked over to me.

“Hi,” he said, kissing my cheek.

“Hi yourself.”

He looked at my baguette.

“If I got one too, we could eat it in the shop and save the cost of the drink.”

I smiled. “I’ll put the kettle on, the sandwich shop is just down there on the left.”

I went back in and found I was shaking like a girl on her first date. Well, I was, sort of.

I put the kettle on, and he was back by the time it boiled.

We chatted for a while about the business, but then he surprised the hell out of me.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, thus rendering me speechless. “You look wonderful. Why don’t you always dress like a girl?”

“I’d love to, but it would kill my parents.”

“Well, you look the part. You really are very attractive.”

I blushed, as I was unused to such comments.

“Have you made an appointment with the doctor yet?”

“No. Too chicken,” I admitted.

He came over and took my hand.

“Look, I’ve been through it. It may have been the other way, but I know exactly what you're feeling, and you need to see the doctor. Believe me, this has to be done properly.”

I was silent. He picked up my mobile and keyed through to the names. He found ‘doctor’, and rang it. I opened my mouth, but he put his hand up.

“Hello, I’d like to make an appointment for….?”

“Joe Fortune, I’m with Dr Simpson,” I said.

“J. Fortune, for Dr Simpson.”

“In an hour, a cancellation, that’ll be fine, thanks.”

He hung up.

“There!”

“Bastard,” I said, and he smiled.

“Do you mean that?”

“No, yes, hell, I don’t know. Maybe.”

The shop phone went. It was Martin.

“Hi Martin, how’s it going?”

“Brilliant. Stewart is here.”

“Yeah, he said he would try to get up.”

“Look, he’s taken loads of orders, so will be back to the shop tomorrow, will you be in?”

“I was going to be, why?”

“I was going to say, as he will be there, you can take the rest of the week off. Unless you fancy coming up here?”

I didn’t.

“No, look that’s great, I need more time for my assignment, so I’ll take a break,” I said.

“Okay, how’s business?”

“Very quiet, I have processed all the orders so far, and I’ve had a couple off the street.”

“Great. Look I’ll be back on Monday, will you be in?”

“Ah, maybe not. I’ve got a chance of going on a little break.”

“You lucky dog you, anyone I know?”

I looked at Paul.

“I very much doubt it,” I said, and hung up.

We ate lunch, but then I had to open up at two.

I took a couple of calls, and dealt with some orders on the site. I called Jezzy.

“Jezzy, it’s me. Can you pop round?”

“Not right now, why?”

“I might do that job of yours.”

“I’ll be round in ten.”

Paul was looking at me.

“Little break?”

“My sister wants me to take on her travel rep’s job for a few weeks, so she can bugger off to the Caribbean with a new boyfriend.”

“As a girl?”

I nodded.

“That’s a bit complicated, isn’t it?”

“Well, I want to fuck off out of the country for a bit, let the heat die down. This way I will be able to vanish.”

“Heat?”

I explained everything to him, so he looked worried.

“Call the police, tell them.”

“I don’t know, if there's a Minister involved, whom do I trust?”

“You’ve a point, where is the CD?”

I held it up.

“I still think you should tell the police. But if you don’t want to, then send it to a solicitor, and ask them to forward it to the police in the event of you not contacting them in, say, six weeks time. And make a copy and put it in a safe deposit box in a bank.”

“What do you think it means?”

“If a man has died, and it implicates George Lambert, then it stinks. Somehow the photograph proves he was up to no good. But what?”

I put it in the PC and we watched it. The only other feature was a cottage.

“Where is that?” I asked, and he shrugged.

“Maybe it is the scene of a crime, and he was filmed coming away from it,” I suggested facetiously.

He looked at me.

“That’s it. That has got to be it.”

We looked at it again, and I managed to just zoom in on a parked car in the distance. All I could see were the first three letters on the number plate, FUD.

“It's an Oxfordshire plate,” I said.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a geek, I know such crappy things. UD was always used by the Oxford licensing authority.”

“Josie, tell the police.”

“Okay, I will tomorrow,” I said.

I made another copy and typed up a letter to the family solicitor. I put one in a Jiffy bag with the letter and the other into my bag. Then Jezzy arrived.

She took one look at me and her jaw hit the floor. I may have been wearing jeans, but what with my nail varnish, make up, and 36C chest, I was looking more like her than she was!

“Shit! Look at you. Joe, what the fuck are you doing?” she said, and then saw Paul.

“Hi Jezzy, this is my friend Paul. Paul, my dumb twin, Jessica.”

Paul pretended to play stupid.

He frowned. “Jo? You said your name was Josie?”

“Oh, it is, I just tease her and call her Jo!” said Jezzy, looking really concerned at me.

Paul grinned and Jezzy realised she was having her leg pulled.

“So, what the hell is going on?” she asked.

“I’ll do that job for you, but I’ll need that passport and other ID. I can’t go as me. And you have to tell me what will be expected of me.” I said.

“Well, you could have my Barclaycard, I don’t use it much, but please don’t put too much on it. I’ll pop back later with the passport and all the paperwork, where will you be?”

I looked at Paul and he nodded.

“She'll be at my place,” he said, and Jezzy looked astounded, both at the word ‘she’, and the fact that I was going to be staying with Paul.

He wrote down the address for her, and then she rushed out again, telling me that I was the greatest and she would be there by eight.

“You, doctor, now,” Paul said firmly to me.

“I’ll change.”

“No, you will make more of an impact like this.”

“I can’t, the doctor is a friend of the family.”

“Oh, and I suppose telling him is different to showing him?”

“What about my voice?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you sound more female than I do.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be hard!” I teased, and he tried to tickle me.
 
 
Twenty minutes later, with one of my hands firmly grasped in his, we walked into the surgery. Paul was not letting me chicken out. I was still dressed as a girl. I had shut the shop up, and had lowered the shutters down, as I wasn’t going back there tonight.

“J. Fortune for Doctor Simpson,” I said to the receptionist.

“Take a seat, dear.” The lady said without looking up, simply ticking me off the list.

We sat, and I was physically shaking.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Shut up!”

“J. Fortune?”

I stood.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Paul asked.

I shook my head, and went to the doctor’s door. I swallowed and went in. The doctor was typing on his PC.

“Young Joe, what can I do……..” He looked up, frowned and then looked at the notes on his desk.

“There has been a mistake, Jessica, I’m so sorry, the receptionist said it was a male who called. I have the wrong name on my list.”

“It's me, Doctor, I am, no, was, hell, I suppose I still am Joe.”

Robin Simpson knew me quite well; after all, he had been my doctor all my life.

He sat back, looking me up and down.

“Well! This explains a few things, but I hope you will enlighten me further?”
 
 
Twenty minutes later, after explaining things to him and allowing him to examine me, I was dressed and sitting in the chair again.

“What can I say, Jo, or Josie, is it?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“You've been very irresponsible with the pills. How did you come by them?”

“I’d rather not say. Have I done harm?”

“Probably, but I don’t know how much, why did you come to me only now?”

“My friend made me. I haven’t come before in case my parents found out.”

“So, someone else knows?”

“Jessica, and my friend.”

“Well, your friend has probably saved your life. Is she with you?”

“He is, he’s outside in the waiting room.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, Josie, this is getting complicated.”

“No more than the rest of my life,” I said, sighing.

“I suppose so, but those pills stop now, okay?”

“Only if you start me on the proper stuff,” I said, obstinately.

He smiled, but with little humour.

“The pills you've been taking have certainly arrested your male development, so much so, that I doubt whether you could ever revert. You do seem to be developing a distinctly feminine shape. Are you sure this is the road you want to travel?”

I nodded. “Oh yes.”

“Then, as you are eighteen, I have to take you seriously. I'll refer you to a psychiatrist who will assess you through the process, and her final assessment will determine the course we follow. Do you understand?”

I nodded, and he looked at me closely.

“You really look very like your sister. It’s quite uncanny. Look, on a personal note, and this is me talking, not your doctor, I think you are probably doing the right thing, as you are far too beautiful and feminine to be a boy. I think you probably always have, but I would have been out of line to mention it.”

I looked at him sharply and smiled.

“As I said, this explains a few things. What about your parents?”

“Don’t!” I said, reeling inside.

“They have to be told.”

“I can’t.”

“I think your mother has guessed.”

I looked at him and frowned.

“Mum? Never!”

“Don’t judge a book by its covers. Your Mum may not be an academic, but she knows her children.”

“You reckon?”

He nodded. “Your father won’t have a clue, but if I know him as well as I think I do, he won’t mind too much, as long as you're honest.”

“He’ll kill me.”

Dr Simpson smiled again. “No, he loves you, he may not like it, but he will accept it.”

“How do I tell them?”

“That’s up to you, but if you walk in looking like that, it may be a bit of a shock, but at least they will be able to see things more clearly.”

The whole thing got too much, so I felt the tears build up. He handed me a tissue, leaving me alone for a minute. I felt a strong arm on my shoulders, and looked up to find Paul there. The doctor had fetched him.

I lost it then, and sobbed my heart out into his shoulder. He just held me as I cried.

The doctor came back and Paul held my hand.

“Everyone needs someone, and I am so pleased Josie has someone,” the doctor said to Paul. This made me smile.

He then wrote a prescription for my hormones.

“Look, Josie. The pills you have been taken have done a good job, in that you have chemically castrated yourself. Do you ever experience an erection?”

I shook my head, as I was embarrassed now.

“I used to, occasionally and partially. But not recently and I haven’t ejaculated in ages.”

“I think we will have to remove the testicles. They've shrunk to a fraction of their original size and I suppose they are surplus to requirements, and there is a possibility they could become cancerous.”

Paul looked at me with that ‘I told you so’ expression.

“When?”

He looked at his watch.

“It's a short job, so I could do it this evening under a local. Can you pop back at five?”

“That soon?” I asked, surprised.

“As I said, if I don’t you could regret it, and it is just a quick snip and a couple of stitches.”

I looked at Paul.

He looked at the doctor.

“We’ll be back at five,” he said.

“Good. Then that gives you time to go to the chemist, and grab a cup of tea. Really, in your current condition, this is no worse than a vasectomy.”

I immediately started worrying about the stitches.

“Um, doctor, these stitches, do they need taking out?”

“No, they self-dissolve in a few days! Just no rugby,” he said, laughing at his little joke.

We left and Paul drove me to the nearest chemist. I handed over the prescription, and we popped into a small café for a tea while we waited.

“Thanks for coming with me, you didn’t have to,” I said.

“I did, you’d have never gone through with it.”

I laughed.

“I suppose you're right. Paul, you only met me yesterday, why are you doing this?”

He took my hand.

“Look, Josie, I don’t know where we are going with this, but for some reason our paths crossed, and you met a need of mine last night. You make me feel like the man I have always wanted to be, and you need me. I want you to be the girl that you so obviously are, and if we have a future as a couple, then fine, but if not, we can at least be there for each other for a while.

“I have no expectations and make no demands of you. I find I have strong feelings for you, and I want you to be happy. I know I can help you through this time and, as I said, you make me feel good about myself,” he said.

He made me want to cry again, so I kissed him.

“Thanks, I do need you, and I have feelings for you too. I think I have been so wrapped up in myself for so long, I'm not very good at sharing feelings, so please forgive me.”

“Tell me about it. I know exactly what you're going through,” he said.

I collected my medication and then we had a walk in the park.

I felt completely at ease with my arm looped through his. I realised that I had been living as a girl in public for the longest period in my life, and I loved it. It came completely naturally to me.

We chatted about all kinds of things, so he steered the conversation to my parents.

“You will have to tell them,” he said.

“I know,” I said, rather crossly.

He chuckled. “After the surgery tonight.”

“No way!” I said, shocked.

“Why not? You'll have taken the first, irrevocable step, so you can he honest and open.”

“Oh God! Paul, I can’t,” I wailed.

“Okay, we'll talk about it later. Time to go.”
 
 
An hour later, I was still numb between the legs. It was six o’clock, and the doctor had been right, as it had only taken him a few minutes. It actually took him longer to sew me up than to remove what was left of my testicles.

They were both shrivelled up and useless.

I had watched, fascinated, as he did it, and he explained it all for me as he went through it.

I had no feelings of attachment or loss as he removed them; rather, I felt this was one big step towards my goal.

“Look, I can just do something for you, as a temporary cosmetic thing, if you like?” the doctor asked.

“What?”

“Well, if I tuck your small penis back here, and fold over the skin of the empty sac like this, and stitch here, here and here. It gives the appearance of female genitalia. It looks like a vaginal opening, and would pass cursory glance. You can wear normal clothes, go swimming and all that sort of stuff. You obviously can’t have sex, and you must wash thoroughly. You will have to pee sitting down, obviously.”

“I have been for the last year, anyway.”

He did what he showed me, and it looked brilliant.

I grinned at him, and he tidied up and told me to get dressed. I took a denim skirt out of my bag, as the jeans were too damn tight in the crotch.

He sat there and looked at my legs.

“I find it hard to believe you are a boy,” he said.

“I’m not, really, now am I?”

“No, I suppose you aren’t. Look, Josie, you really must tell your parents. If you want me to be there when you do, I may be able to help explain things to them.”

“Thanks, but I must try and do this myself. I have been putting it off for so long, but I don’t think I can put it off any longer.”

“Well, you know my number if you or they need to talk.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“You know, and this is me talking again, not your doctor, I actually thought you might be having such difficulties some time ago, but couldn’t broach the subject, for obvious reasons. I really believe you're doing the right thing, and I know you certainly look like a very pretty girl. If you do now, then you should get through this with fewer problems than most. I must warn you, the path you have chosen is not an easy one, as you'll have a very tough time ahead, physically, mentally and emotionally. You're very lucky to have a boyfriend who seems to understand.”

“Yes, I know, and he really does understand. He’s great.”

I left the office and found Paul in the waiting room.

He laughed as I walked over to him.

“What?”

“You’re walking like John Wayne in a skirt.”

I hit him and he laughed.

“Sorted?” he asked.

“Yes, one step closer.”

He took my hand and we left the medical centre.

“You drive,” I said, giving him the Mini keys. He opened the passenger door and I got in, gingerly. I was still numb, but it was beginning to wear off.

“Where to?” he asked.

“I suppose I have to tell the folks.”

He looked at me.

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t hide the truth any more, can I?”

“Not really. Do you want me to come in with you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

He drove in silence for a while.

“You ought to repair your make up, you’ve been crying,” he suggested.

“Oh fuck, I forgot. I’m sort of new at this shit,” I said, and he chuckled!

I looked at him. Nothing in his appearance and demeanour suggested he had ever been anything other than a male. I told him and he smiled.

“Thanks, I always need to hear that,” he said.

I put the interior light on and repaired my make up. I put on a little more than usual, as I think I thought it would help. God, I was screwed up.

He pulled up into the driveway.

“My God, what a house! Your parents must be pretty damn well off, then?”

“Maybe, I think it has been in the family a while. Dad is a senior lecturer at the University, he’s not really into material things, but we are reasonably well off, I suppose.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m fucking not. I can’t do this, Paul.”

“Yes you can.”

“I can’t.”

“I did it, and they didn’t take it well, I knew they wouldn’t, and I still did it. It’s positive only in that once done, you never need worry about it any more.”

“Fuck!” I said.

“Josie, you have to do it.”

“I know. Fuck it.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Paul?”

“What?”

“Can you come in with me? I really don’t think I can do it by myself.”

“If you want me to.”

“I want!”

He got out of the car and it started to snow.

He opened my door, so I got out, shivering.

“How are your bits?” he asked.

“Tender. The feeling is coming back.” I said.

I stared at the front door.

Paul was just waiting for me.

“Okay, let's get this over with,” I said and went for the door. I felt physically sick.

I opened the door and we went in.

“Joe, is that you?” said my mother from the kitchen.

“Yes, Mum. It's me, and a friend,” I said.

She came out wiping her hands on her apron. She looked at me and went very pale.

“Oh, dear God, Joe?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Yes, Mum. Look, this is Paul. I need to explain a few things.”

“Joe, why are you dressed like your sister?”

“Is Dad home?”

“Yes, he's in his study,” she said, looking at Paul for help.

“Then I think I need to speak to you both,” I said.

“Oh Joe, you look like a pretty girl,” she said.

“I know. That’s what I must talk to you about.”

She was on the verge of tears, and so was I. I was about to crack up, so Paul took my hand.

“You are doing fine. Hang in there, you can break down afterwards,” he said to me.

“I’ll get your father,” she said.

I went into the drawing room and stood by the window, watching the snow fall onto the lawn.

“Good God, Joseph, what the hell is this?” father asked, as he came into the room. Mum was behind him, wringing her hands in worry.

“Mr and Mrs Fortune. My name is Paul Gardner, I'm a friend of Josie’s, and this is something which needs to be explained, so I would ask you to be very understanding so she can tell you.”

“She? Josie? Joseph, what is this?”

“Dad, please just shut up and let me explain. Look, this isn’t about you, or anything that you have done or not done. I'm one of those people born into the wrong body. I've known since I was four that I should have been a girl like Jessica. Well, I can’t live a lie any more, so I'm going to have to live as the person I've always known I should have been.

“I know this is tough for you to understand, but it's even tougher for me to actually experience. Honestly, I've tried to be a son to you, but I can’t do it any longer. If you never want to see me again, I'll understand, but I am telling you that you're going to have another daughter, and that I still love you.

“I'd love to go through this with your love and support, but I do understand that you may be ashamed of me and want nothing to do with me. This is the hardest thing I have done in my life, so I need to tell you the truth.

“I have been living part of the time as a girl for a few years, and have been on medication to arrest any male development. I've seen Doctor Simpson and he’s prescribed hormone treatment for to so I can develop fully as a woman. I anticipate further surgery to make me as near a woman as they can make me.”

I paused for breath.

My dad was just standing there, whisky glass in hand. The grandfather clock’s tick sounded very loud in the corner.

“You said - further surgery?” Dad said, his voice unnaturally quiet.

“Yes, I have already had cosmetic surgery on my genitalia. I was castrated, and the appearance of a vagina was created,” I said, sounding very apologetic, my voice was on the edge of breaking.

Dad walked over to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself another large whisky.

He turned and faced me.

“What do we call you? I would feel somewhat foolish calling you Joseph,” he asked, not unkindly.

“Josie. It is short for Josephine.”

He nodded and took a large mouthful of whisky. He looked at Paul.

“I’m sorry, young man, my manners have evaporated, whisky?”

“No, thank you, sir.”

He nodded. “This is a rum do,” he said, and looked at my mother who was sitting on the sofa with tears sliding down her cheeks. I was almost there as well.

Dad went and sat next to his wife, putting his arm around her shoulders.

He looked up at me.

“Come here girl,” he said, and I ran over and soon he was cuddling the two of us, both with tears streaming down our faces.

Paul turned to go.

“Young man, don’t go. If my daughter wanted you to be here, then you’d better stay.”

Paul smiled and sat in the easy chair, looking as if he was about to cry too.

I don’t know how long we sat there, but eventually Dad broke the spell.

“Well, I have been prepared for the announcement that you were gay for a long time. I suppose this is better, in a way” he said, and I was taken over by the giggles.

“Better?” I asked.

“Well, maybe not better, just different.”

“I think I have always known,” Mum muttered. “I just hoped you’d grow out of it.”

“I think, I’d like that whisky, if that’s all right,” Paul said.

Dad got up and went to the cabinet.

“Anyone else?”

I shook my head, as Mum moved across and put her arm around me. She looked at my breasts.

“Are they, um, you?”

“Some, but not all. Soon it should be,” I said.

Dad handed Paul his glass, and turned and looked at me.

“You look a damned sight better as a girl as you did as a boy,” he said, and I smiled weakly.

“Thanks, I think.”

“So, there is no way back?”

I shook my head. “Even if there was, I wouldn’t go.”

He nodded. “It’s funny, as one reads about these things, but never appreciates that it could happen in one’s own family,” Dad said.

I just looked guilty.

We sat in silence for a moment. The clock was making the only sound.

“This is all very hard for you. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Dad asked.

I looked at Paul, who smiled.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought I could deal with it, but it just took over too quickly.”

“You're a fool, Josie. If you ever thought we would disown you, or stop loving you, then you don’t know us very well. We might find it hard to come to terms with, but looking at you, there is no doubt that we have another daughter, so welcome to our family, Josephine.”

I burst into tears again and gave them both a hug.

“Does your sister know?” Mother said.

“Yes, she has known for years. I think she has known since we were very young, but certainly since she caught me dressing in her clothes when I was about twelve.”

“Oh. How difficult this must be for you.”

Dad looked at Paul.

“So, young man. I'm sorry, with all this fuss, I seem to have forgotten your name?”

“Paul Gardner, sir.”

“Where do you fit in to this, Paul?”

“Josie and I are friends. She needed moral support, so I gave it to her. She helped me, and that’s what friends do.”

“Thank you for being there for her. I can appreciate that this must have seemed like a very tough thing to do.”

“For some, the reaction can be very hostile and negative, so I understand,” Paul said, looking at me. Tears were in his eyes, and my heart went out to him. I left my mother and went over to him and gave him a hug.

“Have we enough for dinner?” Dad asked.

“Yes, I think so,” mother said.

“Good, then, Paul you will stay, won’t you?”

“Thank you, but I should get my car. I left it by the shop.”

“I’ll drive you to get it,” I said.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at my groin.

I nodded. “I’m fine, and it'll give them a chance to talk about me behind my back,” I said, and Dad smiled.

We went out and I drove back to the shop.

“Your parents were lovely. You're so lucky.”

“I know, but my heart went out to you, knowing how your family behaved.”

“How do you feel now?”

“So much better, thanks for making me do it,” I said.

“No problem. It was a privilege to be part of it.”

We arrived back at the shop and he collected his car. I called Jezzy and told her to meet us at home. She was intending to drop in anyway.
 
 
I arrived home, to find Dad had withdrawn to his study, and mum was in the kitchen. I went and helped her. She kept giving me little looks.

“Mum, are you okay with this, or do you want me to change?” I asked, aware that my appearance was probably the cause.

“No dear. I just can’t believe someone as pretty as you could ever have been that little boy. I feel so guilty for dressing you in the same clothes as your sister when you were babies.”

“It isn’t that, it's something I was born with. It isn’t anything you did, or didn’t do,” I said.

Paul helped and explained it a little more scientifically, although I didn’t think Mum would be able to understand it.

Jessica arrived and walked in, stopping dead when she saw me in a skirt and make up.

“Oh-my-God! You told them?”

“Yes, I told them.”

“Where’s Daddy?”

“In his study.”

She came over to me and hugged me.

“It must have been so hard for you.”

“It was, but it’s out now,” I said.

“I’ll go check on Dad. How did he take it?”

“Quite well, considering,” I said, and she went out again.
 
 
Dinner was remarkably normal, with all things considered. Dad tried in vain to act as if nothing had happened; yet he never failed to refer to me as Josie or use the female pronouns. Mum was a little unsure, and kept staring at me.

Jezzy was great, and was so relaxed that it made things even easier, while Paul was just lovely. God know what he must have been feeling, but he just sat there and made small talk with my parents as if everything was fine.

After dinner, I helped clear up, and it was as if I had always been a girl. Dad asked me to go to his study, where we had a serious chat about what was going to happen regarding the surgery, and how it would affect my education and such like.

“This young man, Paul. He's a good deal older than you?”

“He's twenty-seven next birthday.”

“So, why is he interested in someone like you, is he gay?”

“No Dad, he likes girls, but he likes me, and so we are just good friends. He has had some experience of my sort of problems, so is able to help.”

“Well, I am grateful for that. Just find it odd he, um, ah, he, ah…”

“He goes for a girl with a dick?” I interrupted.

“Josie, that's crude and unnecessary,” he said, frowning with embarrassment.

“But it is what you wanted to say,” I insisted.

He smiled a little sadly, I thought.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he admitted.

“Well, he's not interested in my dick, particularly as I may as well not have one. You can’t see it anyway.”

He frowned, and I felt so sorry for him.

“Look Dad, the best way to deal with this, is to let it just flow over you. Paul is a friend, nothing more, but he does understand, regardless of how much older he is, he is able to help me, so be grateful for that. I don’t know what is in the future, but I promise to do nothing to embarrass you and the family. I want to live a normal life as a girl. The only thing I won’t be able to do is have a baby.”

He looked at me.

“A normal life?”

“As possible.”

He nodded. “Do you need money, for the operation, or whatever?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you could speak to Dr Simpson. If it's done privately, then it may be easier. I can’t see the national health being that eager to foot the bills.”

“I will. He might answer some questions I have. So, you have really made your choice?”

I nodded.

“Yes Dad. There is no turning back now.”

“What about your A levels?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t see a problem. I can do most of it by assignment and in the workshop. I can dress suitably ambiguously so as not to draw attention to myself. As long as the college principal is aware, I should be able to finish the one last term. Not even that, as I should be finished the exams by the end of May, beginning of June.”

He nodded.

“I had visions of you coming here, to Oxford.”

“I know Dad, and I may still. We’ll have to see how things pan out.”

“What are you going to do over the next few weeks?”

“I have an offer of a break. So I will be out of your hair for a while.”

“Anything to do with Paul?”

“No. He has his job. This is something else.”

“What does he do?”

“He is a travel journalist. He writes books and features on all kinds of travel related matters.”

Dad kissed the top of my head.

“All right. Just be careful.”

I smiled and left him alone.

Jezzy and Paul were getting on well in the dining room. The way they spoke, I guessed that Paul had confided in her about her past. Jezzy was so cool about it and she thought it was really sweet. Mum was in front of the TV, so then Jezzy pulled out a wad of papers.

Two hours later, having received a crash course as to how to be a holiday rep, she gave me a holdall.

“Right, in there is my ski stuff, my uniforms and everything else I was given. The posh one is the one with the skirt, blouse and jacket, and my less formal one with tee shirt and jumper. Your passport, and company ID, and here is my Barclaycard. If you over-spend, I will go ballistic.”

“Jezzy, get stuffed! If I do this favour for you, you accept your lumps with grace.”

We adjourned to my room, and I showed them both my real wardrobe. I actually had about the same amount of clothes as my sister, so she was utterly amazed.

She looked through them, and was staggered that our tastes were so similar.

They persuaded me to try on the Lynx Ski Holidays uniforms, and we had a hoot. They actually fitted well, apart from a shortfall in the boob department. That was the only part that we did not match — yet!

Paul was quiet, and eventually he told me he’d better go.

“Stay if you want?” I said.

He looked at me, and then at my sister.

“I think it best that I go. Your Dad is concerned enough about me.”

“Dad and mum are in bed. Stay, don’t worry about it,” said Jezzy.

I could tell he was tempted, but in the end, he kissed me and said he was going.

“I have to get up early, as I have to be in London for eight.”

Jessica left at the same time.

I was sad to see him go, but I was also very tender in the nether regions, so it was perhaps for the best.
 
 
Part 3
 
 
I had nothing to get up for the next morning, so I stayed in bed, and dozed, luxuriating in my silk nightdress. It had snowed heavily during the night, and the view from my window was like a Christmas card, but in late February.

I got a call from Stewart at ten to say there had been a break-in at the shop. Nothing was taken, but it looked like someone tampered with the hard drive of the main PC. I immediately knew who it was, Global Technics Ltd.

There was a need for me to attend, as I had to make a statement that I had locked up, but I was now worried. Would they try to find me?

I asked Stewart to meet me in the café round the corner first. Then I set off. I was in jeans and an old sweater, but was still wearing the breast enhancers in my bra, and was en femme again.

I met him and he saw that I was wearing a little make up, and my hair was flowing freely. He also saw my red-varnished nails and earrings. I saw him frown, but he said nothing.

He was about my height, with very short fair hair, in a crew cut. He was very lazy, so having his hair this short saved at least three minutes each morning. Like me he was slim, but he had more muscle, although more lithe than chunky. He was quick and quite strong, and he had a great sense of humour.
 
 
“Stewart. Look, you’ve been a mate for a long time. I have to tell you something,” I said.

“Yeah, like I don’t know what’s coming?”

I looked at him.

“Look, you are the most camp bloke I've ever met. You're gay, aren’t you?”

I shook my head.

“No, I’m a transsexual, and I'm going for a sex change. I had the first little operation yesterday. I'm called Josie now.”

Stewart did a wonderful goldfish impression.

“You're going to be a girl?”

“No Stewart. I am a girl, I always have been, inside. I just need some corrective surgery to finish the job.”

He stared at me, and slowly nodded.

“You certainly look the part. I’m amazed I never noticed before. Are those your boobs or what?”

“Some is me, and some is padding. Soon it will be all me.”

“Wicked! You look fucking awesome. Man, this is weird. Do your folks know?”

“I told them yesterday.”

“Shit! I told the cops that you were a bloke.”

“Okay, stay here,” I said. The café had only one unisex loo, so I simply removed all the feminine stuff, and appeared a few minutes later as Joe again.

We returned to the shop, and a bored policeman filled out a pre-printed statement form saying I had locked the premises up, and given no one permission to enter over night.

I made a decision. I told him about the strange visitors, and gave him the spare DVD that I was going to give to the solicitor and the business card. I explained about the man that had been shot, and that I was intending to tell the police later in the day. I did not mention about the other DVD. I wasn’t prepared to hang onto this any longer. If it would help, then I was happy to let the Police figure it all out.

The police left after making me do another statement exhibiting the card and the DVD. I immediately went into the back and became Josie again. I hated being Joe so much.

This time I put on a pair of warm tights and my denim skirt. I had warm knee length boots on, and when I reappeared, Stewart whistled.

“Shit, this is so weird. My mate is a babe!”

I smiled and blew him a kiss.

My mobile rang; it was Paul.

“Hi babe,” he said, and I giggled.

“Hi.”

“What’s so funny?”

“My mate Stewart has just called me a babe, and now you have too.”

“Well, you are.”

“Thanks, Honey,” I said, in an American accent.

“Can I come over?”

I explained about the break-in, and that I had given the DVD to the police.

“Well done. It has to be for the best.”

He arrived half an hour later, and walked straight up and gave me a hug and a kiss. The kiss went on a while, and made my legs go weak. Stewart’s eyes popped out, and I started to giggle.

We broke off for air, and Stewart was looking at me in a weird way.

“Stewart, this is my friend Paul, Paul, my old mate Stewart.”

“Hi Stewart. Are you okay?” Paul said. He pronounced his name as ‘Stoo-art’, and it sounded strange.

“Ah, not really. This is totally odd. I mean, a couple of days ago, my mate Joe was a bloke, and now she’s a girl, who has a boyfriend an all. I can’t take this.”

“I’ve bought you something,” Paul said, and passed me a box.

It contained realistic silicone breast forms, which even had large nipples and aureoles. There was a bottle of fixative, and removal resin.

“They actually stick to you, and look like the real thing,” he explained.

I rushed out the back and within a few minutes had a lovely pair of breasts.

They felt brilliant, so realistic and the shape was perfect. I gave him a huge hug.

“Mind you, you shouldn’t need them for that long.”

Stewart was shaking his head and muttering. The security fitters arrived and repaired the grill. The burglars had only damaged the locks, and they were easily replaced.

Paul had to leave, and promised to call later. We kissed again, which caused Stewart some more distress.

“Look, I need to hand in my D&T assignment. Could you come with me, and I’ll get it out the way?” I said to Stewart.

“You're going to college looking like that?” Stewart squeaked at me.

“Why not? It's who I am from now on.”

“This I have to see,” he said, so we set off together.

We arrived just before the lunch break, so it was quite quiet. But the few people about stared at me a little. I felt very vulnerable and self-conscious, believing that everyone would see through me instantly.

“They're looking at me,” I said.

“Only because you're a very attractive girl.”

We went up to Mr Cooper’s room, and I knocked.

“Come.”

I entered and he looked up from his desk.

“Yes?”

“Assignment, sir.”

“Put it down there,” he said, pointing to an empty space on a table by the door.

He was frowning.

“Remind me, who are you?”

“Jo Fortune, Design and Technology, upper sixth.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said, still frowning.

I went to leave and he called me back.

“I don’t have any girls in upper sixth. I should certainly remember one as pretty as you.”

“Yes, you do, just me sir.”

He frowned and I escaped.
 
 
We walked rapidly away, and rounded a corner. Coming towards us was a group of guys in my IT class.

“Shit!” I muttered.

“Stay cool,” said Stewart.

“Hey Stewie! Wow, who’s your friend?” said Craig, the tallest geek with the silly woolly hat.

Stewart gave him one finger.

“She’s called Josie, and she is spoken for.”

“Not by you, you little runt?” Craig asked.

“No, not that it's any business of yours,” said Stewart.

“Hello, Josie. You aren’t a student here, by any chance?”

“Hello Craig, I see your charm is no better,” I said, and the others sniggered.

“Do I know you?” he asked, frowning.

“Not intimately, but let's say our paths have crossed. Bye-bye boys!” I said, and we walked off. They stood staring after us.

“Next term is going to be very interesting,” said Stewart, ruefully.
 
 
We went back to the shop. Stewart checked over the computers, to see if any lasting damage had been done. He decided that we needed some new bits, so he disappeared to see his geeky computer-fixer friend. I went into the back room and practised doing my make up like my sister. She called and told me she had accepted the job for me, and was flying out early in the morning.

“Right, you owe me big time now sis.”

“Okay, Sis, I’ll make it up to you when I get back. You never know, I may be an engaged lady by then.”

It seems that the rich American was very interested in her, and my dumb sister was intelligent enough to recognise a good thing when she saw one. She also had the sexual appetite of a rampant rabbit.
 
 
Stewart returned with a new hard drive and some other bits and pieces, so I left Stewart at the shop, surrounded by a dismantled computer, and went home early. I found Mum alone, so we had a real heart-to-heart chat. She was slowly coming to terms with me, and the implications of my change in gender. I told her I was going out and was staying with Paul for a bit.

She was concerned for me, so I jokingly told her I was a big girl, and that at least I couldn’t get in the family way. She almost smiled, but I felt awful.

I drove round to Paul’s and he opened the door.

He kissed me, so I felt wanted again.

I called Mike at the club, to tell him that I was going to be away for a while. He was good about it and asked whether I was going for SRS.

“Not this time, but soon,” I said.

“We’ll miss you.”

“Maybe, but there will always be someone else.”
 
 
Paul took me out to the local pub for supper.

“I’ve been here a couple of times, it's quiet, but they seem a decent bunch,” he told me.

We sat at a small table by a roaring fire, where we ate had a very nice, simple meal. No one gave us a second glance, as we were just a very ordinary couple, enjoying a meal together.

“You have no idea how good this makes me feel,” he said.

“What, being normal?” I asked.

“Yes, just fitting in. All my life I've felt different, and odd. For the first time, I feel like I belong, and that you belong with me.”

“Is that a proposal?” I joked.

“If you want it to be?” he said, rather too seriously.

“I didn’t think we could marry,” I said.

“There was a case at the European Court of Human Rights, which says we can, but if you think about it, we could. You would be legally a male, and I would be legally female. Legally we could marry.”

“Cool!” I said, and grinned.

I saw he looked serious again.

“Hey, don’t look so serious. I never said no.”

He smiled.

“A bit early, eh?

“A bit. I’m only two days old.”

He laughed.

“Happy birthday,” he said, and we chinked glasses.

I noticed he frowned slightly. I took his hand.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said, and smiled.

“Liar,” I said. And he smiled again.

“Maybe you're right, and we're going too quick. I just find things so nice with you.”

“But?” I added.

“But, I’m not sure I’m the right person for you.”

“Or I’m the right person for you.”

He nodded.

“So, what do you say we just see where we get to?”

“That suits me,” he said, and the frown had gone.
 
 
We returned to his little cottage and snuggled together in bed. I was still tender down below, so he didn’t try anything, but we both enjoyed just being held.

I woke early, and had a warm bath, letting Paul sleep. I was amazed at the job the doctor had done, it really looked the thing. I tried to make my breasts look bigger by squashing the flesh together. They were definitely bigger, and certainly sensitive, for after I had played with them a bit, they hurt.

I was just getting out when Paul came in.

“You should have woken me,” he said.

“Why? You looked so peaceful,” I said, and he noticed my crotch.

“Jeez. That looks the part.”

“It does, doesn’t it? But it's for show only,” I said.

“You look so lovely. So soft and feminine,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.

“I could do with a bit more boob.”

“You’ll get there.”

He helped me stick on my breast forms, and we ended up kissing and rolling on the bed. I made a decision then, and as he promised not to hurt me, it ended up with him sliding into my lubed up ass, doggie style, and I adored feeling him inside me. He was sufficiently small for it not to be painful, yet big enough to give me pleasure. Neither of us could really achieve orgasm, but the visual impact in the mirrors and what we could feel and see, seemed to bring us very close. For both of us the psychological aspects of ‘being’ the genders we so wanted to be, was ultimately more important than the achievement of an orgasm.

He was so gentle, and didn’t touch the sensitive parts, and I just liked feeling him slide in and out of me. I watched him in the mirror, and it made me feel like the woman I looked like. I felt a build up of sensations and a burst of pleasure that I had never experienced before, and screamed out and ground myself against him. He grinned and screwed me faster, and I went wild.

We then showered again together, and I washed his genitals. I was fascinated, as he had a penis, and two spheroids in a sac. It felt almost like the real thing.

“I wish you could come inside me,” I said.

“I do too. But it's enough just to be inside you at all.”

“I never thought I’d let anyone bugger me.”

“I’m not buggering you, I’m making love to you.”

“I just love having you inside me. It would be so cool to have a baby.”

“Well, this is one couple destined to be childless.”

“We could adopt,” I said.

He went quiet.

“I’d love to be a Dad,” he said, his voice quietly serious.

“You’d be so good,” I said.

“Let's see what happens, we may not be together in a few weeks.”

I smiled and kissed him. I didn’t care, we were together now, and that was all that mattered.

After breakfast, he kissed me and logged on to write his latest article. I went out to do a bit of shopping for my forthcoming trip. I was looking forward in one respect, but I didn’t want to leave Paul behind. It was nice having someone, and I didn’t want to be alone again quite so soon. He gave me a confidence that I knew wouldn't be there if I was alone.

The weekend went quickly, and we spent a lot of the time in bed, finding out about each other. I didn’t think of Paul as anything other than a normal guy and he treated me as a normal girl. I was the happiest I had even been.

Monday came, so I dressed in my Lynx Ski rep gear, the cool looking sweater and tight pants. I wore my long winter boots, just to show off. The plan was that I had to meet a group of clients at Gatwick, and see them through to the plane, and then on to Grenoble. We were then coaching it to various destinations, and I was heading for Risoul in the French Alps.

I had been skiing since I was about six. My father had passed on to all four of his children his one passion. It was also one sport at which I excelled. I was the best of the four of us children.

Paul had a silly smile on his face, which annoyed me intensely, as I was leaving him for five weeks, and he didn’t seem to care.

“You look very smart, Jessica,” he said, and I smiled at his use of my temporary name.

“I wish you were coming. It won’t be the same sleeping alone.”

“You will have a big blonde ski instructor very soon.”

“Yeah, I wish,” I said.

He drove me to Gatwick, and I was very quiet. He was inordinately cheerful, and I even wondered whether he had lined up another woman.

He dropped me off, and I kissed him. I watched as he drove off, and lugged my huge suitcase on wheels into the concourse. The Lynx supervisor was there, so I reported to her. She was a tall, good-looking woman in her thirties.

“Hi, I’m Jessica Fortune.”

“Hello Jessica. I’m Miranda Scott. You're nice and early.”

“Well, with the M25, it's better to be safe than sorry.”

“Quite. Have you worked with us before?”

“Not on the Winter Holiday side,” I said, quite truthfully.

She went through everything that Jezzy had, and I was able to ask the right questions.

“Okay, if you can gather your Risoul customers together this end, it will save time at the other end. The first thing is to make sure everyone has a passport. It's quite amazing how many forget theirs, or fail to notice it’s out of date.”

She gave me a list and several brown envelopes containing facts for each individual, family or group.

I checked in my stuff first, and then I stood there, by the check in, and waited.

I looked down the list, and saw I had about forty people to deal with. There would be another rep in Risoul to meet the plane, with probably another one was flying home, which was why I was here.

One by one the holiday makers arrived and checked in with me. I checked them off the list, giving them their envelopes, checked they had passports and tickets, and directed them to the check in.

“Excuse me, Miss, is this the line for Risoul?” said a familiar North American twang.

I turned round. It was Paul, grinning inanely at me.

There were several other clients also queuing behind him, so I couldn’t hit him.

“Yes sir. Do you have your passport?” I said, through clenched teeth. There was so much I wanted to say to him.

He waved it at me.

“And your name, this time?” I asked.

“Paul Gardner. Without the E in the middle.”

I found his name on the list. P Gardener. That was why I hadn’t twigged.

“You look so fuckable in that uniform,” he said in my ear. It sent shivers of expectant pleasure down my spine.

“Here is your envelope, please go and check-in your luggage.”

He took the envelope, and kissed me on the cheek.

“I love you, Jessica,” he whispered, and I grinned, I couldn’t stay angry for long.

Eventually, all the passengers were checked in, with none missing, and all had valid passports. I said goodbye to Miranda, and went through to wait for the plane. I felt I was walking on air. Paul was sitting by himself, so I sat next to him.

“So, when did you arrange this?” I asked.

“As soon as I found out what you were doing. I was planning to do a piece on a ski resort in any case, so you simply helped out where and when.”

“You're an utter bastard. You knew how miserable I was at leaving you behind.”

“Yeah, but think how happy you are now. Wasn’t it worth it?”

I just smiled. One of my clients, Mr Hoskins, came over to me.

“Excuse me, Miss, but can I ask you some questions?”

“Yes, Mr Hoskins, and please call me Jessica.”

He then went off about ski school, ski passes, coach trips and child minding facilities. I answered him as best I could, and he wandered off apparently satisfied.

Just before the flight was called, my mobile rang. It was Stewart.

“Josie, I’ve had the police here. They want to speak to you.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know. It was a detective chief something, from special branch.”

“Shit! What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t know where the hell you were.”

“Good, let's keep it that way!”

“What happens if they come back?”

“Then you still don’t know where I am.”

“But I don’t!”

“All the better for you,” I said, and switched the phone off.

There was a full flight, as other tour operators were also heading the same way. I had a chat with the Thomson reps, and found that all were very similar.

The flight wasn’t that long, so I managed to get everyone there without losing anyone. Paul and I couldn’t sit together, which perhaps was a good thing. No good getting the tongues wagging this early.

There was another rep waiting as planned, he was called Miles, and he was a nice boy, but as gay as they come. We gathered our coach load together and boarded our coach.

Once everyone was in their seats and the driver had closed the luggage compartments, Miles took the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to Grenoble, the coach trip will take nearly three hours, but there is some wonderful scenery on the way. My name is Miles, and together with the delectable Jessica, whom you already know, we will be your reps for your Lynx holiday.

“Jessica has already given you your information booklet and details of extra activities, and I’m sure you will have an opportunity to read them before the welcome meeting this evening. We will be having a pit stop in about an hour and a half, so you can stretch your legs and get some fresh air then. We have a DVD in the coach, and we hope you enjoy the show.”

I stowed my Lynx ski jacket in the overhead rack, and sat next to Miles.

“So, Jessica, ever been skiing before?” Miles asked.

“Yes. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Oh, what standard?”

“Advanced.”

“Really, ooh, lucky you, there are some real hunky advanced ski instructors.”

“I won’t need any instruction, thanks.”

“How’s your French?”

“Almost fluent, how’s yours?”

“Oh, well, pardon me for breathing. They said you were new.”

“New to Lynx, but not to skiing or France,” I said.

He grinned.

“Then we should have fun. Thank God I don’t have to teach you everything. I was dreading having a real new-bod on my hands.”

I sat back and relaxed.

“Miles, I may need some help, but not much.”

The scenery was spectacular, and as we climbed into the Alps, the snow was there in abundance.

“What's the reps’ accommodation like?” I asked.

“Okay. You're in the apartments by the main tow, I think. You will be sharing with Debbie.”

“What’s she like?”

“You won’t see much of her, she spends most nights with her boyfriend, Jean-Claude.”

“Oh yes, a ski instructor?”

“Of course.”

“How about you Miles, have you got lucky?”

He grinned, flushing slightly. “Oh yes, let's say, there is something for everyone.”

“Is he nice?”

“Is it that obvious?” he asked.

“Miles, it couldn’t be more obvious even if you had a placard around your neck.”

He smiled, and made an effeminate wrist movement just to prove the point.

We climbed slowly up into the mountains, the twisty roads sometimes on the edge of sheer drops. The scenery simply went from wonderful to superb.

Finally, we arrived in the small purpose built resort of Risoul. With its circular shape, the chair lifts and tows that came right into the centre of the resort, a large car park slap bang in the middle, displayed how it was equally accessible to the day visitor, as much as the resident guests. All the architecture was wooden and with the typical Alpine roofs. I loved the whole atmosphere, so smiled as I looked out on my new home.

The punters were dropped off at their hotels or apartments. Surprise, surprise, Paul was in the same block as me. Only he had taken a luxury apartment, whereas I had to share a basic one. There was a welcoming meeting for all Lynx clients in a central restaurant at 8 pm, and as it was 6 pm now, it gave me enough time to find my apartment and find Paul.

Debbie was in, stark naked, but in. She waved at me, and started to get dressed.

“Hi, you must be Jessica, I’m Debbie. I’m just out, don’t worry about me, I’ve a friend I stay with.”

“You mean Jean-Claude?”

“That bastard Miles. He can be such a bitch,” she said, and I laughed.

“As it happens, I may not be here a lot, either,” I said.

“Already? Shit, that was bloody quick!” There was a hint of admiration in her voice.

I just smiled.

“Look we have to be at the bloody meeting at eight. I may be late, if I am, don’t let Miles fob you off with anything extra.”

“Okay.”

She was like a whirlwind, and before my eyes, was dressed, made up and gone in a flash.

I dumped my case and went looking for Paul.

He answered his door very quickly.

“Hello you,” he said, kissing me.

“Mm, that was nice.”

I looked round his apartment. Compared to mine it was huge.

“Well, are you moving up?”

Ten minutes later, my case was in ‘our’ room, and I was hanging my stuff up in the wardrobe. He watched me with a smile on his face.

“You're so much a girl. I mean, look at the amount of clothes you’ve brought. I never owned a quarter of what you have, in my life.”

“And what do you do to girls?” I asked.

He kissed me and slipped my pants down.

I pushed him onto the bed and stripped his trousers and boxers off.

I stripped off, and knelt astride him. We had a fondling session, and I felt him rubbing some KY up my ass. I grinned.

What do you want?” I asked.

“You.”

Then I felt him slip up into my tight little ass.

“Mmm, I have wanted you inside me all day,” I said, as his dick hit my G spot, and I was away.
 
 
The meeting was very dull, but it gave me an insight as to what was expected of me. I had to help with the boots, skis and passes, and then to assist with ski school allocation. Then I had days when I had to be available in the Lynx office, and specific times to be in various apartment blocks or hotels.

For the more advanced skiers, we had days for ski trips across the pass to the neighbouring resort. Andy, one of our better skiers was the ‘Ranger’ for this. I thought I’d be up to help on that one.

There were six reps in the resort, and we managed to spread the load evenly. Apart from Debbie and Miles, there was Andy, the randy Scotsman, who fancied himself rotten, but always ended up bedding sixteen year olds. And finally, there was Cathy and Sue, whom I was almost positive were lesbians. They did everything together, even their duty time. They didn’t ski, so as I came to know them, I realised my early assessment was entirely correct.

The next morning, I was up early, and dressed in my very sexy ski suit, with the Lynx logo.

Paul and I had breakfast together, but then I went off to sort out the idiots.

By ten they were all sorted, my French was a little rusty, but after a while it came flooding back, and I was almost fluent again. Miles looked rather jealous at me, as I was free for the rest of the day. As a new-bod, I was to observe for the first week, and just shadow the others, Miles in particular, as he was my buddy, and the guy I would work with the most.

I met Paul at the bottom of the chair lift.

“Hi, you look very professional,” I said.

He grinned.

“Look is all. I've been skiing once before, and that was years ago, in my previous life.”

“Why not join a ski school?”

“I’d rather ski with you?”

“You're hopeless. Come on, let’s try you on the nursery slopes first.”

We spent a hilarious morning, with him on his bum more than upright.

He got steadily better, and so after a quick lunch, we headed up the first tow.

By the end of the day, he managed to slip and snowplough his way down a blue run. It was fun, as I didn’t want to leap straight into the red and black runs on my first day anyway.

As the days progressed, I got fitter and more tanned, while Paul got better at skiing. Nearly all the ski instructors, and a lot of the single blokes, made passes at me, but I smiled as I turned them all down. I discovered that Paul was booked in for the duration, and after the first week, it became well known that we were a couple.

In the end, I forced him to join a ski school, so he could write about it in his piece, if nothing else. I took the opportunity to join the ski tour, and took up the rear as our party made its way across the Alps.

I was able to ski at my pace and at a level I felt was challenging me. As I swished down a red run to the small café in the middle section, Andy was waiting at the bottom. The punters had all gone for a break.

“You really ski well,” he said, perfect white teeth flashing.

“Thanks, you manage pretty good yourself,” I said, as I kicked myself out of the bindings.

“This guy you're seeing. How serious is it?” he asked.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Andy was very good looking, a dream skier and probably wonderful in bed, and to cap it all I was flattered that he was interested in me. However, he wasn’t my type. I wasn’t sure what was, as Paul and I were a couple of misfits who got together because of loneliness and circumstances. I think deep down we cared deeply about each other, while all Andy was after was a quick fuck and another notch on his gun, so to speak.

“Put it this way, we have discussed children,” I said, quite truthfully.

“Oh, so no chance of a quick, je ne sais quoi?”

“Absolument pas, you over-sexed Scotsman you,” I said, and he grinned good naturedly.

“Ah well, one can but ask,” he said, buying me a mulled wine instead.

Life was really good. I enjoyed the job, and was pretty good at it. My personality as Josie, or in this place, Jessica, was totally different to what I had been like as Joe.

I found I had time for people, and patience with their problems. Miles was okay, but he had no time for people. In the end I was given more work, as people would deliberately wait for my duty time to come with their problems.

Occasionally, we six would have little meetings to discuss tactics, and as each week ended, we would take it in turns to take the three hour coach trip to the airport, to bring the new lot back, on the three hour coach trip.

Debbie definitely did not pull her weight, and Miles was very frustrated with her. Miles was supposed to be the supervisor, but he was pretty useless. He was too weak, so everyone walked all over him. He tried pushing me about, and I too found him easy to bully. I took him aside and had a long talk with him.

As with lots of travel companies, the staff were not well trained, and we all were dumped into the deep end and allowed to struggle on. I offered my help to Miles, so that we would get organised a bit better. I devised proper paper schedules, which were given to everyone so they knew what was expected of them in advance. If they wanted to swap, that was up to them. Debbie tried to buck the system, and failed, as everyone was fed up with her doing bugger all.

After three weeks, Debbie and Miles were due to fly home, and that left Cathy, Sue, Andy and me left. I went with the coach, along with Debbie and Miles, who were not even speaking to each other at this stage.

It was a gruesome journey, as it started snowing as soon as we left, and Miles was in a hump as he was leaving his new boyfriend.

We arrived at Grenoble to find the incoming plane was delayed by fog at Gatwick, so was going to be at least two hours late. That meant that I would not be back for supper. I called Paul and told him the good news.

As I sat and waited, trying to calm the passengers down, I reflected on my life to date.

Here I was, for the first time ever, totally at ease with who I was. I was in loving relationship with a lovely man, and we gave each other what we both needed at the moment. Whether this was to last, time would tell, but I wasn’t really bothered.

The passengers were all checked in, so I said goodbye to Miles and Debbie, and was by myself again. I went out into the town and found a little café. I sat in the warmth and ordered a hot chocolate.

It was snowing quite hard, so I prayed the plane could land, and if it did, we'd be able to get back to the resort.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” someone asked in French

I looked up, and found myself looking at a very dishy French bloke, nearer my age.

I waved vaguely at the seat he wanted, so he smiled and sat down.

“You are English?” he asked, in English.

“Oui, je suis anglaise.”

“You speak good French.”

“You speak good English.”

“My name is Thierry.”

“Jessica.”

We shook hands, very Gallic.

“You work for the ski company, yes?”

I smiled, as I was in the uniform.

“Funny you should guess that,” I said and he laughed.

“So, you always do this?”

“I’m a student, but need some cash.”

“Same as me. I’m studying architecture.”

“Cool, I’m doing IT, design and technology.”

“That is unusual for a pretty girl.”

“I'm an unusual girl,” I said.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes, do you?”

He laughed at this.

“No, and I have no girlfriend at the moment. Is your boy in England?”

I smiled, boy, was he transparent or what?

“No, he's in France with me.”

“In Grenoble?”

“No, in Risoul.”

“So, you are alone for the moment.”

“For the moment.”

He smiled. “I buy you another chocolate?”

“If you insist,”

Grinning, he waved at the waitress, and she came over with another chocolate and a coffee for him.

“Do you live in Grenoble?” I asked.

“Yes. It is nice. Yes?”

“I don’t know, as I’ve only seen the airport and this café.”

“You wait for more tourists?”

“Yes, but the plane is late. It won’t land for another two hours.”

“Then I show you my town.”

I shrugged, as it was the best offer I had had so far.

“Okay.”

Thierry was a nice lad, and he took me straight home to show me off to his younger sister and brother. His mother was a wan creature, who looked tired, and seemed vaguely pleased to see me. I wondered how many stray English girls he had brought home.

We walked through the old town, and it was very pretty.

He bought me some pastries at a little shop, and then we threw snowballs at each other in a small square.

Eventually, the two hours gone he returned me to the airport as the plane landed.

He shook my hand very solemnly.

“Thank you for a nice day. You are very nice, it is a pity you have a boyfriend,” he said, and I had to laugh.

I kissed his cheek.

“Bye Thierry, thanks for showing me your home town.”

“De rien.”

I walked into airport, and he was just standing there. I was actually very pleased that I managed that all by myself. It was funny how little everyday things gave me such a buzz.

I met the off loading passengers, all looking weary and fed up. I tried to be cheerful, but was secretly worried that the roads would be impassable.

Suddenly there was Miranda Scott, my boss.

“Jessica, how are you getting along?”

“Fine thanks,” I said.

“I’ve just had a word with Miles, he was full of your praises. It seems you're a natural.”

“That was nice of him.”

Further discussion was hampered by the arrival of passengers and their luggage.

Another girl, Kelly, appeared, and Miranda introduced us.

“Kelly has just started with us, so look after her.”

I gathered all the folk onto the coach, and gave them my welcome spiel.

I was keen to get started as soon as possible.

Georges, the driver, was as worried as I was about the weather, so, once we set off, he really raced along the clear roads on the flat. As we started climbing, it was apparent that the snowploughs had been out, so the roads were not too bad, but it was getting late and we were not yet half way.

As it happened, it was the last half-mile which was the worst, but we managed it, just. It was after 9 pm, and everyone was tired and fed up. Poor old Georges had a decision to make, to try to get home, which was a good hour's drive, or spend the night in his coach and head off in the morning.

We dropped everyone off, and postponed the welcome talk to 08:00 the following morning. George muttered about getting a drink, so I guessed he was staying in his coach. I went home to find that Paul had bought some lovely pizzas, and had some red wine open and ready for me. With Debbie gone, Kelly was supposed to be sharing with me, so she found herself in an apartment on her own. I invited her round to share the pizza and wine. Paul was fine, as he had ordered too much as usual.

With Miranda here for two weeks, all slack practices went by the board, and we worked properly for a change. I for one appreciated it, and actually liked working in a team that worked well together.

Miranda noticed that I did not stay in my apartment, and drew me aside. When she realised that my boyfriend was a travel journalist doing a piece on the ski business, she got a shrewd look in her eyes.

“He has promised to give us a terrific plug,” I said, cashing in on my advantage.

“Okay, but keep this as discreet as possible,” she had said, and that was the end of the matter.

Cathy and Sue, however, came in for a really hard time after she caught them snogging in a hotel reception area. It was only that we were short handed anyway that prevented her from sacking them on the spot. But they were left in no doubt as to what was expected of them in the future.

Miranda took two days to find a slightly more mature member of the ski patrol called Robert, and Paul and I ended up going out with them as two couples for most evenings. Paul’s French was very good, with his Canadian accent, everyone thought he was French Canadian, which he found even slightly less insulting than being thought of as an American.

As my time in Risoul was drawing to a close, I felt really sad, particularly as Miranda tried to persuade me to stay on as supervisor. She wrote some glowing reports about me, that I was acutely embarrassed. In fact as she went on and on about how wonderful I was, I had a word with Paul, and he told me to be open and honest with her.

On our last evening, we four returned to Paul’s apartment for nightcaps, and I took Miranda aside.

“Look, Miranda, I have to be honest with you. I’m not Jessica Fortune. She is my twin sister. I’m Josie. But she really needed to be somewhere else, and she asked me to fill in for her. I didn’t want her to lose out, but equally, you need to know the truth. And I am not prepared to be dishonest about what I’ve done.”

I waited for the explosion, but it never came.

I frowned, and saw she was smiling at me.

“I knew you weren’t Jessica. I worked with her once in Greece, and found her a fun, but not a desperately imaginative girl. In fact, you're so like her, that when you first came up to me I thought you were she, but when you didn’t recognise me, I knew you were pulling a flanker, but I couldn’t work out what. I was determined to leave it to see how you got on, and I have to be honest, you’re ten times better at this than your sister, even though she is good.

“So, I waited, and if you managed to get back to Britain without saying anything, I would instigate an investigation, but as you have been honest, I will be honest with you. I like you, Josie, is it? I think you have everything it takes to get on in this business. And I would love it if you came to work with me full time.”

I was stunned. It's not often I'm ever lost for words, but this time I was.

“What can I say?” was all I could manage.

“Say yes, and stay on. I’d like you to think about it seriously, as I think you’d make a very good supervisor.”

“I can’t. I have commitments. I have studies and a business I'm involved in.”

“You are a complicated girl. If I recall, your sister is rather more basic.”

“Jezzy is your average dumb blonde,” I said, and we both grinned.

“And you're not?”

“Most definitely not,” I said.

“Look, I understand, and I admire loyalty. I also admire honesty and you have bags of both. Finish your studies, wind up your business and then call me. I really want you as one of my supervisors. You speak good French, you handle people wonderfully, and you ski like a dream. Please Josie, I really mean this.”

“I’d like to. Really, I would, as I've so enjoyed my time here. Can I call you in the summer?”

“Please do. I'll wait twelve months. Think about it, you could take a year out before university, and work for me for as much of it as you like. Then, if you decide against further education, stay on. I can promise you a fun career.”

“Thanks, and I'm so sorry about not being my sister.”

“Listen, you've made a real impact on the clients, as I have so many glowing letters about you, you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Will Jessica get into trouble?”

“She and I will have a little talk. But no, she won’t. In her way she is as good, but not so dynamic as her sister.”
 
 
Later I told Paul about our conversation, and he chuckled.

“Just as well you weren’t completely honest.”

I frowned.

“What about?”

“About being a boy, and all the rest.”

For a very short time, I had genuinely forgotten, and it all came back in a rush.

“Bloody hell. I’d got so into role, I had almost completely forgotten.” I said.

“Are you serious?” he asked, aghast.

“Mmm. Seriously, I had forgotten. Isn’t that weird?”

“So, what happens when you get back?” he asked.

“I don’t know. One thing at a time.”

“What about us?”

“What about us?”

“Now you have stretched your wings, have we a future?”

I looked at this kind and gentle man, without whom I would still be stuck in a very uncertain rut.

“You have to ask?” I asked.

“I need to ask. I have watched a butterfly appear, and I feel very uncertain which way she may fly.”

I stroked his head. I had grown to love him, in a real way. He was my rock, and I couldn’t imagine how my life up to now would have been without him.

“Paul, I love you, and you’ve made all the difference for me so far. Does that answer your question?”

To my surprise he started to cry, and we simply held each other all night.
 
 
Part 4
 
 
It was raining at Gatwick, and once I had said goodbye to all the clients and Miranda, Paul and I drove home. To his home that is. I called my parents to let them know I was back in the country.

My mother was very worried, as lots of strange men had been looking for me. Or, rather, they had been looking for Joseph.

My mother had no idea where I was, and had started to panic. Jessica, in the Caribbean, was unaware of everything, so had simply told her that I was fine, and that I was getting away from the hassle of my condition, so I was probably on a beach somewhere.

Dad had found my passport, so that story went out the window.

He contacted Martin, who spoke to Stewart, who started to panic, and I suddenly received hundreds of texts as soon I was back with my mobile on.

It was late, so we simply went to bed after a light supper.

We snuggled together, and he started to caress my nipples. They had grown some since I started my new prescription, and even the breasts had swollen. I still used the breast forms, but could see that I would no longer need to if they continued at this rate.

“You are so lovely,” he said, as we made love. He made me feel so much the woman, and I adored being that for him. In fact, we each took our pleasure from pleasing the other, and it was superb.

The next morning, Monday, Paul had to submit his first part of his article, and dashed off to London. I went home, and walked in to find a strange man in the kitchen with my mother.

I simply kissed mother, and looked at him. She was clearly flustered.

“Hello, I’m Josie. Who are you?” I said.

I was dressed in a dark grey skirt and roll-neck matching sweater, with black high heel boots on. I had a string of pearls on the outside of the sweater, and a gold chain link belt loosely round my waist. My sun-bleached blonde hair was the longest it had ever been, and I knew my make up was very good.

“My name is Detective Superintendent Michael Hutchings. I'm with the Metropolitan Police Special Branch, and I'm in charge of an investigation that appears to implicate a senior government figure. I was hoping to find Joseph Fortune. Now, you are his sister?”

The man was confused, and mother was wringing her hands again. Not a good sign. I turned to her.

“I’ll sort this out, mother. Let me speak to him alone. Superintendent, please come with me, we'll be more private in the sitting room.”

I took him through to the sitting room, and he sat down, looking unsure and a little nervous.

“Now this is to do with the man that was shot, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Fortune. I understand your brother may have somehow dealt with the deceased somewhere along the line?”

“May I see your identification? I’ve always wanted to ask that.”

He smiled and produced a black leather wallet, and opened it up, showing me an enamelled badge and a plastic card with his photograph.

“I’m sorry, even I could make a card like that on my computer. Which office do you work from?”

“Special Branch, New Scotland Yard.”

I went to the phone, and dialled directory enquiries, and asked for Special Branch. Once through I asked about the man I had with me, and a detective chief inspector seemed to think it was hilarious.

Once I was satisfied I had the right man, I gave him the card back, and sat down.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“You don’t understand. I need to talk to Joseph Fortune.”

“Superintendent, you don’t understand. I am Jo Fortune. Josephine Fortune. I was the person who the dead man came to get the photograph of George Lambert.”

His confusion was complete, and his expression was so wonderful, that I wished I had a camera. I had to smile.

“Let me be honest with you. I was born a boy, but am in transition to what I obviously should be. Legally, I suppose I'm still male, but I hope you'll forgive me if I don’t actually think of myself as a boy.”

Once he got over his embarrassment, we had a full and frank discussion. He even had the DVD that I had given to the police. I took him upstairs, where, on my computer, I managed to use the DVD to show him the short film I had worked with.

“All I can tell you is that it is somewhere in Oxfordshire, and it's in the 1970’s.”

“How do you know?”

I enhanced the number plate again, showing FUD.

“See, an Oxford plate.”

“Yes, I accept that, but the date?”

I showed the film slowed down, and a Hillman Hunter and a Mark One Ford Cortina drove past.

“See, that makes it early 1970s. Unless there is a classic car show on nearby.”

He nodded.

“Is there any way to find out where that cottage is?”

“Short of searching through newspaper records of suspicious deaths, and working that angle, not really.”

I frowned.

“Wait a minute,” I said.

I played the piece again, and there was a very distinctive tall chimney on the cottage. I had seen it recently.

“One of the Courtneys.” I said.

“What?”

“Either Sutton Courtney or Nuneham Courtney. They have cottages like that. I came past one this morning.”

“Can you show me?”

“If you want, but I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour or so.”

“How long will it take?”

“Not long, twenty minutes, maybe,” I said.

He had a Ford Mondeo, so we drove to Nuneham Courtney. The chimneys were similar, but none were as close to the road as in the film. We then went to Sutton Courtney, and there, still looking remarkably similar, was the cottage in question.

We parked the car near where the film was shot, and the scene was still the same. There were larger kerb stones and modern road markings now, but essentially, it was recognisable.

I felt very pleased with myself.

The Superintendent drove back in silence. He parked outside my parent’s home, and looked solemn.

“You have been exceptionally helpful, particularly when one considers your rather difficult personal circumstances. I must warn you that you may be in danger. There are parties who would seek to frustrate this investigation. It seems that considerable business interests are dependant upon certain individuals, and these parties would like to see the status quo maintained.”

“You mean Global Technics Ltd?”

“That's a false company, but I'm sure they're representatives of the people concerned, yes.”

“How much danger?”

“Anyone with knowledge is a threat to them, and you have knowledge.”

“They think I'm a boy, don’t they?”

He smiled, “Yes, and so do we, or rather, we did.”

“Then who’s to know? You don’t need to tell them what I am now, you could just say you saw Joe, and he was helpful. You needn’t tell anyone I'm a girl, it would be safer for both of us that way.”

He nodded. He handed me a card with a mobile number on it. I was to call it if ever I felt threatened.

“Boy or girl, you're very astute and brave, but, if it's any consolation, I'm in no doubt that you are a girl. If I was twenty years younger, I should ask you out.”

“If I was ten years older, I’d accept,” I said, and he laughed.

“Good luck, Josephine.”

I got out of the car.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see if I can get someone to watch your back,” he said.

“Only if he's hunky.”

He laughed and drove off.

I went in and managed to bring mother down from 50,000 feet. Once she was back on planet Earth, I went off for my first appointment with the psychiatrist.
 
 
I wandered into the hospital, and made my way to the reception.

“Hi, I’m Josie Fortune for Doctor Ruth Carradine.”

The receptionist did a double take, and smiled nervously.

“If you’d like to take a seat, Miss. I’ll let her know that you're here.”

I sat down and opened a copy of Cosmopolitan. I was reading a stunning article of erogenous zones when I was called for. I left rather reluctantly.

Ruth was a tall woman, of indeterminate years, at a guess I’d have to say forty-six to fifty. She was rather severe in appearance, by virtue of her grey short hair.

She looked at me and smiled, I noticed her eyes widen in surprise.

“Hello, Josie, is it?”

“Yup, Jo, Josie, Josephine, or hey you,” I said.

“Come in, and please sit,” she said, shaking my hand. She took in my slender hands and well manicured varnished nails.

I sat, and put my knees together.

She looked at her notes, and then at me.

“Well, I have to admit, your appearance surprises me a little. I was expecting someone a little less convincing.”

“Thanks, I try.”

“You succeed. How long have you been living as a female?”

“All my life, but openly for a few months.”

“I take it you're on hormones, how long for?”

“Illegally, since I was sixteen, so two and a half years. Legally, just three months. Since I saw Dr Simpson.”

“Illegally?”

“I acquired some hormones, when I knew I would never get them through the doctor at my age.”

“That was very risky.”

“Perhaps, but I'm now almost where I want to be.”

“And where is that?”

“Look, you're the psychiatrist. I've to come and see you, and that pisses me off, because all I've ever wanted to be is a girl. I know I'm a girl, and so it's relatively straightforward to make the physiology match the psychology and the emotional. You need to be sure that I'm well adjusted enough to cope, and I ask you, are you well adjusted to cope with your life?”

She stared at me, blinking and saying nothing.

“Why do you want to be a girl?”

“You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to be a girl any more. I am a girl, I've always been a girl, inside that is, it's just that my body is a little slow in catching up.”

“Why do you think that you're a girl, as opposed to a boy with female traits?”

“Where would you like me to start? The physical, the emotional, the psychological or the simple feeling of where I belong?”

“Tell me about your childhood?”

So, we were off, and as pointless as I thought it was, I played her game. I didn’t make it easy for her, so when she tried to deliberately upset me, I laughed at her, and took the piss. She didn’t like that, but couldn’t say anything.

“If you could become a genetically perfect woman, what would you do?”

“Go to the medical profession, and make a fortune out of the miracle. But, as it's a hypothetical question, I would offer a private thanks to whatever power was responsible, and get on and live my life.”

“Do you believe in God?”

“Someone or something has to exist with a sense of humour to have created us.”

“What about evolution?”

“Sorry, more far fetched than creation, particularly as there is no evidence of any of the evolutionary links for any species, either extinct or in existence.”

She frowned, I don't think she she was prepared for that one from one so young.

“Why were you made as you are?”

“The same reason you are you, and Tony Blair is a complete dick,” I said, and she stifled a smile.

“Which is?”

“The lottery of life. Once those little cells start to form, it's all in the making, some connections are fine, and some aren’t. Take me, I like to think that I'm bright and relatively intelligent. I make a good-looking girl, yet was a real geek as a bloke. My sister is a real cracker. She is a seriously good-looking girl. However, sometimes, she has the brains of a rocking horse, and the sexual appetite of a rodent.

“Why? Who knows, just someone somewhere has a really wicked sense of humour. We are dealt a hand of cards at birth, and occasionally we get to throw one card and pick another. Some are good and many aren’t. The trick is to get a peek at the next card, and deal a few from the bottom of the pack when no one is looking.”

“So, are you a product of genetics or your environment and upbringing?”

“The total ‘me’ is a product of my life to date, including my genetics. The transsexual element is wholly in my genetic make up, aggravated by circumstances possibly. But as my parents manage to love me as much now as when I was in the male form, I know it was nothing they did or didn’t do to or for me.”

“Do you feel bitter?”

“What about?”

“What you are?”

“Why should I be?”

“Well, you could have been born without the urge to change physical gender.”

“I could also have been autistic or downs syndrome. Instead I am reasonably presentable, intelligent, have some wonderful parents and a smashing patient loving partner. Why the hell should I be bitter? The only thing that could make me bitter would be if some egotistical medic decides to get difficult and prevent me following through with what I feel is right.”

“Is that a reference to me?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

She smiled. “You're very determined and angry, aren’t you?”

“Determination is a word. It denotes a frame of mind, and a set goal. Angry is a feeling that comes and goes. No, I'm not angry, frustrated maybe, but then I do appreciate that there have to be set procedures and safeguards to prevent mistakes from happening. So in a way, yes, I am determined, but don’t forget that I also have patience and a degree of forbearance.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, if I get no further than this point, then for whatever reason, I will make the best of it. But if I can continue, my best will be better.”

She smiled again.

“What about sex?”

“What about it?”

“Can you see yourself having sex with a man?”

“Only if the mirror is in the right place.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been having sex with a man for some weeks now, and it can only see SRS as an improvement in the equipment stakes.”

“So, is your partner a gay man?”

“No, as far as he’s concerned, I'm a girl who needs some extra surgery.”

“How certain are you that he isn’t gay?”

I smiled. “I'm very certain,” I said.

“How can you be so certain?”

“If I was more masculine, with a set of balls and a big dick, he'd run a mile. He likes me for the female side.”

This confused her, so I showed her what had been done, down there, I mean.

“What's your dream?” she asked, changing the subject rapidly, after having made copious notes.

“I have many.”

“Your favourite, then?”

“My favourite. That will be the one where I can conceive and bear a child of my own.”

“Would you like to be a mother?”

“Of course, wouldn’t you?”

She flushed at this, and seemed put off.

“I apologise, but seriously, surely one of the core functions of being female is the miracle of conception and birth?” I said.

“Isn’t that a matter of choice?”

“Forget personal fears and preferences, think about genetic and organic functions. As a woman, your potential was always to be a mother. Sometimes it isn’t physically possible, so that's fate, and other times the individual refuses to accept that destiny. That's choice. What is your excuse?”

“I’m not in that chair.”

“No, but I’m still interested, otherwise, what credibility does that piece of paper you have stuck on the wall have?”

She turned and looked at her qualifications.

“With me it was personal choice.”

“Which you now bitterly regret.” I said.

She almost smiled.

“I made my decisions for the best of reasons at the time.”

“Which you now bitterly regret.”

This time she did smile.

“Do you always turn the tables?” she asked.

“Only when I know where you're going.”

“And where is that?”

“Round in circles. You want me to jump through hoops, but you are beginning to realise that I won’t play by the rules. So we will end this session, and you will attempt to start afresh next time, but find that strategy will fail also.”

“What am I trying to do?”

“If you don’t know, then you're collecting your salary by deception,” I told her.

This time the smile broke through properly.

“Josie, you should be a psychiatrist. You're amazingly quick. But it doesn’t tell me what I want to know.”

“You want to know whether I am really a girl, or just another screwed up kid with a gender identity problem. Well, what do you really think?”

She smiled. “There, you've done it again.”

“What do you think?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You don’t have a gender identity problem, your female identity is actually very fixed; it's your physical body which needs adjusting to bring it in line.”

“You took an hour to get that? I told you that in the first four minutes.”

“There is a difference in telling it and meaning it.”

“True, but now you know, I always mean what I say, otherwise it's just a waste of words.”

She looked at her note pad. There was only a little about my lack of genitalia on it, apart from my name.

She asked me a few more questions, but I felt her heart wasn’t in it any more.

“So doctor, do we do this again, or what?”

She looked at me, her half smile fixed in place, then she wrote a few lines on her headed note paper.

“I am duty bound to regularly hold these meetings, however, I will be recommending full SRS for you at the earliest opportunity. The sooner we get you sorted, the sooner the medical profession can deal with people who actually need our help.”

I grinned and she shook her head.

“Good luck, Josie. Somehow I think you'll make your own.”

“Thanks doc. If I offended you, I apologise. I still think your life would have been better if you’d had kids.”

She nodded. “Perhaps, you could be right, why weren’t you around when I made the decision?” she asked.

“Would you have listened?”

“Probably not.”

“Then make the best of what you have. That’s what I do.”

We shook hands, and I left.
 
 
The next day, Tuesday, I went back to my GP who read the recommendation from the psychiatrist. He was a bit surprised, as normally it took several months to get to that point.

“Well, I'll now send you to the specialist. Your father has contacted me, and we are going privately from now on. Mr Boyle is the best, and I have made an appointment for you on Friday. He has a clinic near Brighton, and will see you there at 2 p.m.”

He also completed several official letters that I was to use for the applications to change my name and gender on my passport, drivers licence, National Insurance, Inland Revenue, College and for the bank.

I was really excited, and went home to find Dad looking glum.

“What’s up Daddy?” I asked, and he looked sharply at me. Of course. Jezzy was the only one to call him that. Not any more.

“It's your sister. She's staying in America a bit longer. It seems she has got herself engaged.”

I grinned.

“So why the long face?”

“To an American.”

“Paul is Canadian.”

“You're not engaged.”

“Not yet.”

He looked at me.

“There are legal ramifications,” he muttered.

“Oh, we can get round them,” I said.

Mother came in, at least she was happy with the news.

“Have you heard about your sister, dear?”

“Yes, and I understand he is a multi-millionaire.”

“He’s a what?” asked Dad.

“He's a Texan, and into oil in a big way. Jezzy said that Max was worth several billion dollars.”

The frown deepened, so I had to walk out, otherwise my laughter would offend.

I rang Paul. He was still in London, having found a taker for his article on the ski resort. He also had a possible contract to do a series on various hotels up and down the country. Anyway he was in a brilliant mood, which got better when I told him my news.

“Do you want me to take you?”

“Only if you're free. It's not as if I'm going in yet.”

“No, I’d like to come with you.”

“Fine.”

He said he would be back tomorrow, and I missed him awfully.

I drove to the shop and walked in.

Martin was in the front talking to a client, and I saw Stewart in the back, working on the PC.

“I won’t be a moment, Miss,” said Martin, glancing my way.

Stewart popped his head round the door, looked at me and almost fell off his stool. He was grinning for all he was worth, but he was in the middle of a job and couldn’t leave the process.

Martin finished with the customer, and turned to me.

“Yes Miss, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you would consider giving me twenty thousand pounds?”

He stared at me, and blinked a couple of times.

“I’m sorry?”

“Martin, it’s me, Jo. Remember, Jo Fortune.”

He shook his head and a light bulb went on somewhere between his ears.

“Joe? Why the fuck are you dressed like that?”

“Because Martin, I'm a girl, and us girls dress like this.”

His brain had difficulty taking it in.

He looked at my breasts, and then my legs and then at my face again. His eyes kept dipping to my breasts.

“Ask yourself, does Jo look like a boy or a girl?”

“Huh?”

“Martin. I need out, and I figure for twenty grand, you can have my share.”

“Why?”

“Because I have other things to do with my life, and this shop is not one of them.”

“I don’t have twenty grand right now. I've invested in a new machine. It comes next week.”

“Then, I’ll take my twenty percent when it comes free. But I reckon you missed out on the cheapest chance. If things go well, it could be a hundred grand this time next year.”

“Or it could be twenty per cent of nothing,” said Stewart.

“Hello tosspot,” I said.

“Hi, Barbie doll.”

“You two, cut it out, and will someone please tell me why Joe is dressed as a girl?”

“Jo is a girl, Martin. Didn’t you know?” Stewart said.

“Jo was not a girl. But she, no he, no she, oh shit. What the fuck happened?”

“Martin, I've always been a girl, but my body said otherwise. Now it's almost there.”

“Almost?”

“One little bit of excess flesh to go, and I will be all woman.”

“You're having a sex change?” I swear his voice went up a couple of octaves.

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Two for one at Tescos,” I said, and Stewart chuckled.

“What?”

“Duh. Because I'm a transsexual, and want to be a girl.”

“You never told me.”

“I never told anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is not the best way of starting a conversation.”

“I never even guessed.”

“Good, neither did my parents. It shows that at least I'm discreet.”

“She’s even got a boyfriend,” said Stewart.

“Shut up, tosspot.”

“Bugger off, Barbie doll.”

We grinned at each other, and Martin looked completely confused.

At that moment two men walked in. They were not the same as the last two, but they looked much rougher. They stood behind me, and waited for me to go.

“Look, I have to go. I’ll pick up the order after I’ve had my hair done. If you need me, you have my mobile, just ask for Jessica,” I said.

Stewart, bless him, was more switched on than Martin.

“Okay Miss Carter, do you want them in the usual format?”

“That would be fine. I’ll see you later,” I turned and walked out. I saw Stewart drag Martin into the back room.

I dug out my mobile and rang the Superintendent’s number.

“Two men at the shop now. I have a bad feeling about them. I am outside, in an alleyway opposite.”

“Good, stay there. If they come out and get into a car, then give me the number.”

“Do you want me to follow them?”

“Do you have your car with you?”

“Yes. Just along the street.”

“They might have your car number and registered details. Is it registered to Joseph Fortune?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t go near it.”

At that moment a cab came along the road, and I waved it to stop.

“Yes luv?”

“Hang on, I want to play a surprise on a friend.”

“It’s your cash, darling, the meter is running.”

The two men came out of the shop and looked up and down the street. Then they walked to my car and peered into it. I loved that mini.

The got into a Vauxhall Vectra and took off quite fast.

“Follow the Vauxhall.”

“For real?” he asked.

“For real.”

“Fucking hell. I never thought it really happened.”

I was on the phone to the Superintendent, and gave a commentary to him.

The car was not keeping to the speed limit, but equally, those inside seemed unaware we were following. I was worried that if they were nasty men, they would become aware of the cab quickly.

“Don’t get too close,” I said.

“I may have to, these lights are bloody quick,” said the driver.

We just made it on the amber, and we dropped back a bit.

“How long for, luv?”

“Until the blue lights arrive.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Fuck me. They’ll never believe this in the pub.”

We left Oxford, and were soon heading towards Wallingford and Henley on Thames. I asked him to drop back so as to put a bit of distance between us. The Superintendent was still on the other end of the phone, and he had alerted the local police. Because it was a different force area, there was a problem in communications.

Great. I thought.

At Nuneham Courtney, the Vauxhall suddenly stopped, and reversed rapidly up the road towards us.

“Fuck. Back up, quick!” I shouted, but the cabbie had already stuck it in reverse, and so the pair of cars were going backwards really fast. A truck came over the hill behind us and cut off our retreat.

“Now what?” he asked, and I froze. It was a very good question, and I had to admit the answer was not immediately forthcoming.

At that moment two Police Vauxhall Omega estate cars, with florescent stripes and blacked out windows overtook us and flanked the Vectra. Blue lights and sirens going. Two armed officers deployed and pointed their MP5 carbines at the occupants of the car.

It was over.

The two men were carefully extracted from the car, and I watched two handguns being taken from them. I stayed in the cab, simply watching as they were each handcuffed and placed into two more police cars, which had since arrived.

“Bloody hell, them’s shooters!” said my driver.

“Yes, I rather think they are,” I said, sounding a lot calmer than I felt.

“Are you a copper?” he asked.

“No. Secret service. My name is Bond, Jane Bond.”

I got out of the cab, as a plain car pulled up. A young fit guy in a suit got out and approached me.

“Miss Fortune?” he asked, smiling at the name.

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Sergeant Gillett. Mr Hutchings sends his regards, I’m to take you home,” he said.

“Could someone pay the cabbie?” I asked, and someone did, much to the cabbie’s relief. Still, he had a tale for the pub that no one would ever believe.
 
 
Pete Gillett was a Sergeant in the Thames Valley Police’s Special Branch. He had received the call through the Headquarters, and hotfooted it out to my location. He took a quick statement from me about the incident, and went to speak to one of the uniform officers supervising the recovery of the Vectra.

“Does anyone know what the hell is going on?” I asked, as he started to drive me home.

“I don’t, I just got a call to go and pick you up. It seems that you may have upset some very influential people.”

“Lucky me,” I said, and he smiled.

“Seriously, all I was told was you assisted the Met’s SB into identifying a highly placed individual with a possible crime scene. And, that it relates to a drive by shooting which occurred in Headington a few weeks ago.”

He looked at me for reaction and confirmation. I gave neither.

“Oh,” I said, and he grinned.

As we turned into my road, I saw a Mondeo parked outside my parents’ home. It was the Superintendent.

He thanked the Sergeant, who handed over my statement, and we watched him leave.

“So, how did you recognise them?” he asked.

“I didn’t. Not as such. They just didn’t look like normal shop customers.”

“How did you get past them?”

“Ah, they didn’t recognise me. In my masterful disguise as a female spy, I was able to pretend to be a customer and walk out. I waited for them up the alley opposite, called you, and then jumped into a cab. It was all rather exciting really. The cabbie will dine out on it forever. He nearly wet himself when all the guns appeared.”

He smiled, and gave me a funny look.

“You're a remarkable girl.”

“I have to confess to being somewhat unique.”

He laughed. “Look, they probably know they are dealing with a girl now, so I have arranged for you to be protected. A team will be allocated to you for the foreseeable future. They will be covert, as I am afraid we want to use you as a sacrificial goat.”

“Thanks a bunch,” I said.

“If you think it's too dangerous, then we won’t,” he said, believing that I was afraid.

“I’m not bothered about that, I object to being called a goat. I’ll have you know I take a hell of a lot of trouble on my appearance.”

He chuckled again.

“Now, do you live permanently with your parents, or somewhere else?”

“I live here, but sometimes I stay with my friend in his cottage.”

“Okay, now, you are going back to college next week, yes?”

“I suppose so, but that might be awkward.”

“How?”

I opened my arms up, to show off my obvious female appearance.

“The last they knew I was a bloke.”

“Hmm, we might be able to assist there. The last thing we want is you in an open college every day. You would be particularly vulnerable. What does your college attendance amount to?”

“Not a lot. I have ‘A’ levels soon, and some course work to complete. I am ahead by a long way, so really I could get by with just attending the exams.”

He took out a notebook and started to write down some notes.

“I will contact the college and arrange for you to be kept out. Any course work will delivered to you, and for the duration of the exams, we could have one of the team nearby. Will that help?”

I just smiled and nodded.

“I did a little digging. That cottage you showed me was the scene of an unsolved murder in 1974. A prominent homosexual banker was found dead, at first they thought it was natural causes, but a single syringe mark was found, and it was shown that a large bubble of air was injected into a vein, and it triggered an aneurysm and a heart attack.

“There was no apparent motive, as no property was missing, and no suspects were ever found,” he told me.

“So this Lambert, who is he?”

“Now, he is a respectable man. Married, and an MP, he is a junior Minister for Industry. Has a bit to do with appointing contracts.”

“Gay lover’s tiff?”

“We’ve been through all the options, but I think it all comes down to power. George was a young man of no special background. He worked as a clerk in a city financial house, but soon after the murder, he started his own company. Did very well, and sold it for a small fortune. Then he was a consultant for various banks and financial institutions, and at thirty-eight, became an MP in Bedfordshire. Luton, or somewhere like that.

“Anyway, his business dealings always seemed straight, and he has a good track record in the house. Somewhat conservative in outlook, but a real New Labour man, he has risen along with the ex-public schoolboy Blair, to his current ministerial position.

“The one question mark hangs over his sudden ability to start his own business in 1976. He was only twenty-six, and although well paid, he was not really in a position to get his hands on the capital required for an undertaking of that magnitude. So, did he get a loan? It seems not, as his company showed pre-tax profits after the first year of fifteen million. So, I am looking into his possible relationship, business or otherwise, with the dead man.”

“Why the heavy mob?”

“I honestly don’t know. My guess would be that Mr Lambert has allies in the darker side of the financial world, and his placement is vital for certain interested parties and their shareholders. If Lambert’s department is responsible for allocating government contracts, then who knows what shady deals are lurking under the surface? An awful lot of people could have an awful lot to lose if Lambert falls.

“But the key is the link to Norman Spooner, the dead banker.”

“So, who actually benefited from the banker’s death?”

“His partners in the bank. He had no family to speak of, and no partner.”

“Could he have simply been a highly specialised hit man, paid for by the partners, and his reward was the capital to start his own company, and in return, his influence is now very useful to these people?” I asked.

He stared at me, and smiled.

“It shows that you don’t need years of training to be able to think. It was one aspect we hadn’t even considered.”

“Really?” I asked, somewhat surprised.

He chuckled. “You see we came up with highly complex conspiracy theories. Weird and wonderful sexual motives. It took a fresh young mind to see the potentially obvious,” he said.

“Look, I hate to be rude, but I'm getting chilly, do you want to continue this inside?” I asked.

He looked at his watch.

“The team will be here in half an hour, so if I could come in for a while.”

I went in and found mum entertaining two ladies in the sitting room. I waved and she looked embarrassed. I took the Superintendent into the kitchen, and put the kettle on. I made some tea, giving him a mug.

“I suppose I should pop in and tell my mother what is happening,” I told him, and he nodded.

I went into the sitting room, and recognised the women as old friends of mum’s. One was Jean Jackson, who used to teach English at the girl’s school down the road, and the other was Hazel McKay, the wife of one of the other Dons.

“Jessica. I haven’t seen you for ages,” said Jean.

I kissed her cheek, and smiled.

“Actually, I’m Josie. Jessica is in America,” I said, and both women frowned.

“Mum probably didn’t tell you, but I had a genetic problem, and looked rather boyish. But as you can see, I'm alright now.”

The women stared at me, and I was well aware of what I looked like.

Hazel recovered first.

“So, all that time, you were really a girl?”

“Not entirely, but I am getting the plumbing fixed soon. I'm one of those unfortunate people who wasn’t put together properly, but now I am almost who I want to be.”

“Well, you look very well. Doesn’t she, Anne?” Hazel asked my mother.

My mother smiled.

“She looks lovely. We are so proud of her,” she said, and I almost burst into tears.

“What's your sister doing in America?” Jean asked.

I wanted to say — shagging, but decided not to.

“Getting to know her fiancé’s family. She went and got herself engaged a couple of weeks ago,” I said.

This started a conversation about marriage and living in sin.

“Have you a young man?” asked Jean.

“Yes, he's called Paul,” I said, and this caused some eyebrows to be lifted.

“Gosh, you young girls today, you seem far more liberated than we were.”

“I don’t know,” said the busty Hazel, “I rather enjoyed my youth.”

“What was his name?” I asked, and after a second or two for the penny to drop, there was much laughter.

“Mum, that detective is here again about the business with the shop. I have given him a cup of tea, and I ought to just speak to him. So, ladies, it was lovely to see you again, if you will excuse me, I'll leave you to it.”

I left the women to it, secure in the knowledge that my current condition would be circulated everywhere that mattered within a very short space of time.

I went back to the kitchen, and found that another police officer had arrived. He had been very quiet about it.

He was about twenty-five, tall and fair. He looked lean and very fit, and was wearing a black polo shirt, and black trousers, that were pulled in at the boots. He looked very paramilitary.

“Josie, this is Ed Ryan. He is a sergeant on one of our specialised firearms teams. He and his team will be watching your back for the next few days, or weeks, depending how long it takes to get sorted. You won’t see them, but just trust them to be there. I will leave it for you two to sort out communications, and let's hope we get an early result on this.”

I shook Ed’s hand, and he grinned at me.

I went out with the Superintendent.

“By the way, I haven’t told him about you. As far as he is concerned, you are just what you appear. A very pretty girl,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“No, thank you. You're a very brave and sensible girl, and you don’t deserve this shit.”

“Actually, it's quite fun. It takes away the stress of my forthcoming surgery.”

“When is it?”

“I don’t know yet. But it can’t come soon enough.”

“Well good luck. I have little knowledge about such things, but from where I am standing, there is no doubt you are what you appear.”

“Bye.”

He drove off, and I returned to the kitchen. Mother was frowning at the strange man in her kitchen, so I extricated Ed as quickly as I could.

We went to the study, where I closed the door.

“Your mum is very protective.”

“She has reasons to be. My sister is a nymphomaniac, so all men are potential victims.”

“Really?” he asked, looking worried.

“No, but your face was a picture.”

He relaxed.

“Okay. I need to go over your movements and routines.”

“I don’t have any routines. I have an appointment with my surgeon on Friday at two, and that is near Brighton. Then, I'm supposed to be going back to college on Monday, but I think the Superintendent is sorting that. I have my boyfriend I visit every now and again. He is in London at the moment, but will be back tomorrow, and will give me a lift to the clinic. I am due to have some surgery soon, but no date is set for that. So I will be hanging around here or the cottage most of the time.”

“Surgery?”

“Women’s problems.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, and then there's the shop. I guess I've given in my notice, but my car is still there. You wouldn’t like to give me a lift to go and pick it up?”

“Sure.”

He took me out to a blacked out Range Rover, and I jumped in the back, as there was another officer in the front.

“Mike Howard, meet our principal. Josie Fortune, this is PC Howard, my marksman.”

“Hi Mike.”

“Josie.”

He drove well and fast. There was a blue light in a shielded box on the front dash, and several radios were all going at once. I saw that Mike was wearing a side arm in a holster on his belt.

We were there in no time, and he drove up and down the street first. Then he insisted on unlocking the car and checking it over, before letting me drive it home.

Once home, they disappeared, and I went indoors again.

Mother was in the kitchen, and I went and made myself a mug of tea.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asked.

“Fine, Mum, why?”

“You seem to be rushing about so much. It isn’t like you.”

“What am I like, Mum?”

She smiled.

“I don’t know you any more. You are so different. Jean and Hazel seemed to think you have always been a girl, and had a minor problem, you know, down below.”

“Then they're absolutely right. Because that is exactly how I look at it.”

“This is all very hard,” she said.

I went and gave her a hug.

“Look, I’m still me. I'm just your daughter now, instead of a son. The only difference is that I'm really happy.”

“Then I'm glad for you. But I still find it all very odd.”

“In time, you’ll forget I was ever a boy.”

“I doubt it. But maybe so.”

---

 
To Be Continued...