“Mmph,” I moan as I feel a gentle breeze blow on my left ear, worsening the thumping headache caused by the alcohol I drank last night.

“Wake up,” A familiar voice whispers, before the breeze on my ear resumes.

“Stop that,” I moan. “I’m on holiday, I don’t want to wake up…”

“WE’RE on holiday,” my fiancée reminds me, her blowing turning from a gentle breeze into a hurricane as she blows directly into my earhole.

“Ugh,” I moan. “Can I at least shift this hangover first?”

“Tell you what,” Jamie giggles. “Get up in the next five minutes, and I’ll blow a different part of your anatomy…” I smile as I whip the covers off my still-tired body, which are quickly replaced by Jamie’s warm, soft arms.

Fifteen minutes later, with my body tingling with energy, I head into Jamie’s en-suite to shower away the sweat of my latest ‘encounter’ with Jamie- and try to wash away the madness of the last seven days.

Ever since Jamie and I got engaged eleven months ago, we’ve spent countless hours planning what we believe will be the most perfect wedding ever. We picked out venues, colour schemes, caterers… Only to have our plans repeatedly dashed as our chosen dates are pushed back and back so that the wedding can be filmed for the Angels’ reality show- even though it hasn’t been renewed yet for a fourth season.

The frustration reached fever pitch last week when Viks- one of Jamie’s chosen bridesmaids- announced that she was pregnant, due in February and would therefore be the size of a house by the time of our wedding in December. The following day, Jamie and I hopped on a plane to Las Vegas, the idea being that we’d elope and ‘get it over with’… Only for calmer minds to prevail once we were in America. The phrase ‘get it over with’ should never, ever apply to an occasion as joyous as a wedding. Jamie and I both agreed that our union should be celebrated in as big and extravagant a manner as possible. It’s our day, not Viks’s or any of the other bridesmaids, and most certainly not a stupid production company’s. We didn’t want our special day- the most special we’ll ever have, given that neither of will ever be able to have children- to be truly special, not celebrated in some ratty chapel in Las Vegas. Therefore, we returned to England still engaged but not married… Yet.

However, our slot at the chapel was used for its intended purpose, as I’m reminded when I head downstairs to find Charlotte sat at the kitchen table with her son and her new husband.

“Morning, mate!” Keith laughs, shoving a plate of bacon and eggs underneath my still-queasy nose.

“Morning,” I say, inwardly sighing at the sight of the plain gold band on Keith’s left ring finger. I’ll get one of my own soon, I mentally remind myself as I tuck into my breakfast. “Not at work today?”

“Nope,” Keith says smugly. “Got the whole rest of the week off, told my bosses I’d eloped and they insisted on giving me the week off as a ‘honeymoon’, heh.”

“Even though you’d just been on holiday to America?” I ask. “Twice, in fact.”

“I’m not going to turn down a holiday!” Keith laughs. “Besides, it means I get to spend more time with my new wife!”

“Even though we’re having an ‘Angel mother & baby’ morning today?” Charlotte asks.

“Mother, baby and godmother, that is,” Jamie giggles as she sits down next to me and gives me a gentle kiss that makes my heart beat faster- not that it wasn’t already pumping at the sight of her in her tight black swimsuit and long, floaty skirt.

“Eh, we’ve still got the pool, I guess,” I laugh, smiling at the feel of the fabric of my own loose swimming shorts underneath my even looser khaki trousers.

“Wrong,” Charlotte says smugly. “WE’VE got the pool. You BOYS can, I dunno, stay indoors all day sweating and playing videogames or something.”

“Sounds like most Augusts when I was at school, heh,” Keith laughs.

“Same here,” I laugh. Well, I think to myself. Most Augusts from the age of sixteen onward, anyway.

Sure enough, an hour later, Keith and I- along with Dan, Jonathan and Mikey- are sat on Charlotte’s expensive leather sofas, videogame controllers in hand and musky, masculine sweat in our armpits.

“Jeez, Keith,” Jonathan moans. “Has your WIFE never heard of air conditioners?”

“Still,” Dan laughs. “Can’t have been as hot as it was in Las Vegas, right?” I chuckle as the men all playfully jeer the newly-married man.

“Especially in a tuxedo,” I say, prompting more laughs.

“You know,” Dan says, “it’s not the eloping I mind so much, it’s the fact that you never let us take you on a stag night.”

“Given how fucked you- and I mean you personally- got both of us on our stags,” Jonathan interjects, “we seriously owe you.”

“Well, it’d be appropriate,” I say, earning quizzical stares from my friends. “He went on the honeymoon first, then got married, so if we keep doing things in reverse, that means the stag night is next, right?”

“You bastard!” Keith cheerfully laughs as the playful jeers continue.

“Mate, we are SO taking you on a stag,” Jonathan laughs.

“You sure that’s appropriate, Mr. Father-to-be?” Mikey asks as the playful jeers get redirected toward Jonathan.

“Viks ain’t due for another six months,” Jonathan laughs. “Dan’s missus, on the other hand…”

“Has got her brother staying with us for the next week,” Dan laughs as we finish our game. “Okay, which game next?”

“You need to ask?” I ask, prompting jeers as I retrieve my copy of Rock Band from the bookshelf and set up the various plastic instruments for my friends. With Paul- our usual lead singer- at work, Mikey and I take turns at the microphone, and after eight songs, we’re both exhausted from the effort and the ridiculous level of heat in the sitting room.

“Great choice, Stu,” Jonathan laughs. “How much sweat will Charlotte have to wring out of her cushions?”

“Okay,” I laugh as I flop onto the sofa. “Maybe back to Battleborn, then?”

“You know…” Dan says. “Playing Rock Band’s give me an idea for Keith’s stag…”

“We’re not spending my stag playing a fucking videogame,” Keith protests.

“Nah, I don’t mean actually playing Rock Band itself,” Dan says. “But, you know, we’ve always talked about going to the Fringe, right? In Edinburgh?”

“And it is an awesome experience that everyone should go to at least once,” Mikey says. “Been trying to persuade Stu to come with me for ages.”

“You’ve never been?” Keith asks me.

“Never had the chance,” I sigh. “When I was at uni, every summer I was either away with my family or getting bits scooped out of me.”

“And you’ve got yet ANOTHER operation next week,” Jonathan sighs.

“The last ever one, hopefully,” I laugh, thinking about the final operation I’m due to go in for a week tomorrow- the operation that will insert an inflatable implant into my penis that will allow it to become erect without the need for wearing a rigid sheath or, worse yet, inserting anything into my penis. Even though it's been eleven months, I still smile whenever I say, or even think, the words 'my penis'.

“Well, it’s a double celebration, then,” Jonathan laughs. “You getting fixed- well, the opposite of ‘fixed’, I suppose, Keith getting hitched. You’ve not got any holiday booked this year, have you?”

“Umm, no,” I reply. “Me and Jamie just stayed home. Unless you count splashing several grand on flights to Las Vegas, anyway.”

“Right,” Jonathan says with a laugh. “We’re going to Edinburgh, then.”

“Don’t Fringe tickets cost money?” Keith asks. “And wouldn’t they all be sold out by now?”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t simply go to the city,” Mikey says. “Edinburgh’s an awesome place even when the Fringe isn’t on, and there are usually non-Fringe attractions to enjoy.”

“…Alright,” I say. “Let’s do it. Edinburgh or bust!”

“And when these three clear it with their wives…” Mikey laughs.

“Oh, piss off!” Jonathan retorts. “Like Krystie wouldn’t rip your balls off if you didn’t tell her beforehand!”

“Same goes for you and Jamie,” Dan snorts at me. “And you’ve only just got your balls!”

“They’ve got a point,” Mikey sighs, shooting a sad smile in my direction.

“Guys,” I sigh. “I think we’re going to need to make a united stand on this one.” My friends all nod at my words, the sombre looks on their faces telling me that they’re not looking forward to what’s coming next…

“Oh look,” Krystie teases as myself, Keith, Dan, Mikey and Jonathan stand by the side of the swimming pool where the girls are all laid out in their bikinis and swimsuits. “I do believe the BOYS are trying to make a stand…”

“Ladies,” Dan says, his nervous gulp ruining his confident exterior.

“BOYS,” the six women- our partners plus Hannah, the only single Angel- respond in unison.

“We’re going on a road trip for the next few days,” Jonathan says, before withering under s stare from his (much shorter) wife. “Umm, if that’s okay…”

“It’s- um, to celebrate Keith getting married,” Dan mumbles. “Kinda like a, um, stag night, only, you know, after the wedding instead of before…”

“And we’re only just finding out about this NOW!?” Charlotte retorts in an incredulous voice that even makes some of the girls wince.

“You’re just going to go swanning off, only stopping long enough to say ‘bye’?” Jamie asks me, making my insides churn.

“You just find out I’m pregnant,” Viks snaps at Jonathan. “We literally only had the party last night, and you’re now telling me you’re sodding off to god knows where?”

“And I’m the size of a house!” Mary snaps, making her husband suddenly look six inches tall. “Where exactly were you thinking of going, anyway?”

“Um, Edinburgh,” I mumble, earning furious stares from the guys and incredulous stares from the girls.

“Oh, so just down the road, then?” Jamie asks, making me wilt even further.

“You- I can’t believe the five of you!” Krystie hisses, leading to an awkward silence as the five of us all stare at our shoes.

“Bwa ha ha!” Hannah yells, breaking the silence as us guys stare on in confusion.

“…Uh?” Jonathan asks as the other five women all laugh smugly.

“Sometimes,” Viks giggles, “you need reminding just who it is who owns your ass!”

“So- so you’re okay with this?” Jonathan asks.

“We were only planning on going for a couple of days, I swear-“ Dan says, before being silencing by a big hug from his wife.

“If I go into labour, your ass is back here IMMEDIATELY,” Mary says, making Dan breathe a sigh of relief.

“Did you really think I’d stop you from going on your first proper guys’ holiday?” Jamie whispers as she wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a long, soft kiss.

“I did kinda worry that I’d have to leave ‘bits’ of me behind as collateral,” I say, making Jamie giggle.

“Well, those ‘bits’ DO belong to me…” Jamie teases. “But I want them in perfect condition when you get back, okay?”

“Okay,” I laugh, returning Jamie’s kiss before returning to the kitchen with the other four guys.

“We are SO whipped,” Mikey sighs.

“Yep,” Dan concedes. “But we love it really, right?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” I say amid general murmurs of agreement.

“Really?” Jonathan asks me with a cautious tone to his voice. “You never, you know, fancied holding the other end of the whip?”

“I was never in a relationship before I was Stuart,” I explain. “Don’t know what it’s like to ‘hold the whip’, heh. And to be honest… I’m happy not knowing.”

“Good man,” Dan laughs, giving me a playful pat on the shoulder.

My friends stick around for another hour, only leaving when their partners (and, where applicable, children) depart. With the pool now free, Keith and I take the opportunity to relax outside in the sun with our partners, before heading inside as the afternoon turns into evening. As we head back into the living room, however, the look or pure disgust that creeps across Charlotte’s and Jamie’s faces tell us that we’re in a LOT of trouble.

“Oh- jeez,” Jamie grimaces, pinching her nose.

“Ugh,” Charlotte gags. “Seriously, do you guys not know how to open a window? This place is going to reek of guy sweat for weeks!”

“You know I’ll take that as a compliment, right?” I ask.

“It wasn’t intended as one,” Jamie chokes as she grabs a can of floral-scented air freshener and liberally sprays it around the room. “Seriously, next time you’re going to sweat everywhere, either open a window or spray the air freshener, or I’ll spray the air freshener all over the two of you!”

“…Yes, Jamie,” I mumble.

“Same applies for whatever vehicle you pick for your road trip,” Jamie says. “Either disinfect it, sell it or burn it when you’re done. And you’re going under that shower for a WEEK before I touch you again.”

“Yes, Jamie,” I mumble, biting my lip to keep myself from giggling at my fiancée’s rant. A quick glance at Keith tells me that he’s also struggling to keep a straight face.

“Now- just- sit down on the floor,” Jamie sighs, before picking an ‘unsoiled’ part of the sofa to relax onto for the rest of the evening.

After a relaxing evening, Jamie and I head to bed, where I grin happily as I watch Jamie peel off the clothes she’s worn all day, before returning the favour and making a show of stripping off my shorts, which I playfully fling into Jamie’s face, making her giggle and grimace in equal measure.

“Eww,” Jamie laughs. “I thought we spent the whole evening talking about how your scent WASN’T good thing?”

“Ahh, you love it really,” I laugh as I climb onto the bed and press my naked body against Jamie’s.

“I love YOU,” Jamie says, giving me a slow, soft kiss. “What comes out of you, on the other hand…”

“It’s summer, people tend to sweat in summer,” I retort. “It’s not like your sweat smells any better…”

“Yes it does,” Jamie snorts. “You’d spend all evening with your face pressed into the gusset of my swimsuit if you had the chance.”

“…Yeah, okay, I probably would,” I sigh, making Jamie giggle even louder.

“You know,” Jamie says, “sometimes I really have a hard time believing that you were ever female. Especially since the addition of ‘Mister Milton’, heh!”

“That is kinda the idea,” I laugh. “Obviously the same goes for you in reverse, and not just because of ‘Miss Burke and the twins’!”

“Thank you,” Jamie giggles. “But I was always a feminine boy, oestrogen didn’t make me 5’ 5” and slender…”

“Whereas at a skinny 5’ 7”, I’ll never be ultra-masculine no matter how much T I take?” I ask.

“…I didn’t want to be the one to say it,” Jamie grimaces. “One thing’s for sure, though- it’s what’s on the inside that counts. And this-“ Jamie smiles as she places her slender hand on my flat, hairy chest- “is the heart of a MAN.”

“…Is this permission to place my hand on your chest?” I ask, making Jamie smile.

“Both hands, yes,” Jamie says, and I don’t need a second invitation.

As I wake up the following morning, I giggle softly as the smell of Jamie’s sweet-smelling sweat drifts into my nostrils. Despite my protests last night, I’m forced to concede that Jamie is correct, especially as I sniff my armpits and recoil at the smell. I have to laugh, though- ten years ago, I’d probably have been proud at smelling the way I do.

Before showering, I take the opportunity to shave off the light layer of stubble that’s accumulated on my face, and I also empty my bladder, smiling at the very familiar, very masculine splashing sound of the urine at it hits the water in the bottom of the bowl. For years I’d use public male toilets and try not to sigh as I was forced to sit in a cubicle, listening to the sound of my ‘stream’ tinkle against the side of the bowl. It still baffles me how some people think that due to an accident of birth, I should be forced to use women’s public toilets whilst Jamie and girls like her should use the men’s room. Despite my height, despite my bone structure, despite my supposedly ‘cute’ face… I AM a man. I don’t need to prove it to anyone- not anymore, anyway.

I’m that confident in my masculinity that as I step out of the shower, I pause before grabbing my deodorant, instead sharing at mine & Jamie’s toiletries shelf with a wicked grin on my face…

“Mmph,” Jamie moans as I wave my armpit in her face. “Mmm… Stu?” Jamie slowly opens her eyes, blinking in confusion at the sight of my hairy armpit in her face. “Why are you- wait… Is that my deodorant!?”

“Well you reckon mine obviously isn’t working, don’t you?”

“You- you arsehole!” Jamie moans. “It’s a roll-on deodorant… I swear, if I find a hair on there I’m taking it and shoving it up your arse!”

“Do you still have any lubricant in your nightstand?” I ask, laughing harder as Jamie hurls a pillow at my face.

Thirty minutes later- with Jamie thankfully not following through on her threat- the two of us head down to the kitchen hand-in-hand, me in the same trousers I was wearing yesterday, whilst Jamie (and, when I see her, Charlotte) is dressed in her typical Wednesday morning attire of a pair of pink tights and a skin-tight black leotard, both of which I’m itching to peel off of Jamie’s body despite (or maybe because of) how sweaty they will inevitably become over the course of the morning.

“And you were complaining at us yesterday for sweating too much,” Keith laughs as he feeds his son his breakfast. “An hour of strenuous physical activity in a room with several other women ISN’T sweaty?”

“Our sweat smells like sunshine and happiness,” Charlotte immediately retorts, making me chuckle at the similarities between my relationship with Jamie and Keith’s with his new wife.

“You could always borrow Charlotte’s deodorant to TRY to prove her wrong,” Jamie says, shooting an accusatory glance in my direction.

“He learned his lesson the hard way the last time he tried that,” Charlotte says with a smug grin. “Why, has Mr. Milton taken a liberty he really shouldn’t have?” I bite my lip as Charlotte and Jamie both look accusingly in my direction- though I can’t help but grin the knowledge that Keith has done the exact same thing as me in the past.

“Men,” Jamie sighs. “They’re ALL idiots.”

“They don’t mean that, son,” Keith chuckles.

“He’ll be okay,” Charlotte says as she gives her son a gentle cuddle. “Right up until he hits thirteen, anyway…”

“Come on, eat up,” Keith urges me and my fiancée. “Gotta get you two to ballet, and meanwhile, this little one’s got a date with his girlfriend!” Jamie and Charlotte both giggle as we finish our breakfast and carry Keith junior out to Keith’s car, and after dropping the two women off at Krystie’s dance studio, we head straight to Dan & Mary’s posh flat, where the couple are relaxing on their sofa- and their two year old daughter is anything but relaxed!

“Uncle Stu! Uncle Stu!” Kristina-Leigh excitedly squeaks as she half-toddles, half-runs toward me in her tiny pink tutu.

“Whoa, easy!” I laugh, picking the tiny girl up before she falls over and handing her to her father. “What have you been feeding her, espresso?”

“She gets her tutu on and all she can think about is dancing,” Dan laughs as he cuddles his daughter, trying to calm her down. “Don’t you, Kristina-Leigh?” Everyone in the room- even us men- sigh happily as the adorable little girl nods her head.

“Is that her boyfriend you’ve got in that car seat?” Dan’s heavily-pregnant wife asks.

“Yep!” Keith says proudly, holding his son next to Dan’s daughter. “Say hello to Kristina-Leigh, Keith!”

“Say hi to Keith, Kristina-Leigh!” Dan coos, prompting yet more happy sighs as the two infants wave at each other. “Have either of you heard from Jon yet?”

“Straight down to business,” Mary laughs. “You’ll be seeing him in about 45 minutes anyway when he picks up Viks.”

“Yeah, true, I guess,” Keith says. “I’m really excited for this, though, been ages since I last went on a proper ‘guy’s holiday’, every holiday I’ve been on recently has been with Charlotte.”

“What- what about when you were, you know…” I ask hesitantly.

“…Didn’t go on any holidays,” Keith mumbles.

“Mate,” Dan whispers. “We’d have taken you on a road trip when you were feeling down, all you had to do was ask.”

“And if it makes you feel any better… This’ll be my first ever ‘guy’s holiday’,” I say, prompting an awkward silence.

“Really?” Mary asks. “I thought you started transitioning before uni, you never went on any road trips then?”

“Nah,” I sigh. “’Spring break’ isn’t quite as big a thing in England as it is in America, and summer I was either getting surgery or going away with my family. Which was a better option anyway, given how rich my parents are, heh.”

“Must’ve been weird,” Keith muses. “I mean, the first holiday as ‘Stuart’. That’d have been ten years ago- well, today, right?”

“Yep,” I sigh. “Last holiday as ‘Claire’ was much weirder, though.” And how, I think to myself as I remember the summer of 2005.

Even though I wouldn’t start properly transitioning for another seven months, I still knew, even at the age of fifteen, that I was fundamentally wrong, that ‘Claire’ was not the person I was supposed to be. Spending a week in Greece, wearing nothing but bikinis, swimsuits and loose skirts all week just served to hammer that home. The worst thing of all, though was my sister Emma.

Emma, of course, didn’t realise what it was that she was doing at the time, and when we were discussing the holiday after I started transitioning she apologised profusely, but all throughout the holiday, I was one provocation away from exploding- and Emma was happy to supply those provocations thick and fast, in the form of ‘handsome’ young Greek men. At the time, Emma was seventeen and has just split from her boyfriend of nine months, whilst I was (of course) single and not looking. This didn’t deter Emma, though- every morning we headed to the beach, she’d come up to me with two Greek boys and all but instructed me to pick one, which I, of course, refused to do. All throughout my final year of school, Emma was constantly concerned that I hadn’t yet found myself a boyfriend, though that concern thankfully vanished on my sixteenth birthday when ‘Stuart’ was born.

In summer 2006- two and a half months after I’d taken my first testosterone tablet- I went with the family on holiday to Cyprus, where I didn’t attract the attention of a single boy all week. Of course, I didn’t attract any girls either, especially as my chest was still ‘endowed’ so I wore an elastic bandage and a loose t-shirt all week, but I was able to relax and enjoy the holiday in a way I’d never been able to before. In summer 2011, after I graduated from university, I went with the family on holiday to Gran Canaria, where I was able to relax in the sun, my chest unencumbered by breasts, bandages or t-shirts. Of course, I didn’t attract many girls then, either- mainly as my time was occupied swatting Spanish boys away from the sixteen year old Becca!

“God, that sounds horrible,” Jamie says later in the night as I recount to her the story of my last holiday as ‘Claire’. “Never really picked Emma as the boy-hungry type, though.”

“Oh, believe me, before she met Lee…” I say, making Jamie laugh.

“Come on, get into bed,” Jamie says, patting the sheets next to her. “Early start tomorrow!”

“Ah, I’m too excited to get to sleep,” I laugh as I get into bed. “There is something that would help me sleep, though…” I smile very smugly as Jamie rolls her eyes, before mouthing ‘you owe me’ and disappearing beneath the sheets…

I let out a loud yawn and stretch my tired body as my alarm clock wakes me just after 6:30am, and after unwrapping my arms from around Jamie’s still-slumbering body, I pad through to her en-suite to shower, before spraying on a liberal cloud of my own Lynx deodorant, grabbing the small overnight bag I packed last night, kissing my fiancée on the cheek and heading down to the vast house’s driveway, where I laugh incredulously at the sight that greets me.

“Say hi to the guymobile!” Jonathan laughs as he gestures to the small minibus that already has Dan and Paul Kennedy sat in the rear seats.

“We’re driving up to Edinburgh in THAT?” I ask.

“We will be when Keith wakes up, anyway,” Jonathan laughs. “Might be a bit of a squeeze but we’ll be fine. Plenty of stops along the way to Edinburgh.”

“Mor-ning…” Keith says, his jaw dropping as he sees the ‘guymobile’. “Seriously? Six of us are squeezing into that all the way to Scotland?”

“Eight,” Jonathan says smugly. “We’re picking up Riley and Danny en route. Would’ve been nine but your brother said he couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Think he’s going on holiday with his girlfriend and her ‘Angels’ this weekend… So, um, are we strapping people to the roof rack or something?”

“Thanks for volunteering, mate,” I laugh as I dump my bag in the rear of the minibus and pick out a window seat. Secretly, though, as much as I’m looking forward to the holiday, the ‘trip’ part of the road trip leaves me feeling apprehensive- not just because of the inevitable smell that will be produced by seven men- well, eight, including myself- trapped in a minibus on a hot summer’s day, but because of just how cramped it’ll inevitably become…

Forty-five minutes later, with the minibus fully packed with people, we leave London behind and set off north. As soon as we pass the M25, however, it becomes clear that this isn’t going to be a straightforward road trip.

“Umm… Jon,” I ask our driver. “I’m no geography expert but isn’t the fastest way from London to Edinburgh on the A1? I mean, that’s literally the main reason that road exists.”

“Life’s a journey, not a destination!” Jonathan laughs. “We’ll be in Edinburgh tomorrow, but first, got a few places I want to visit first. You and Mikey went to uni in Nottingham, didn’t you?”

“Yep,” I reply.

“I’m actually from Nottingham,” Mikey interjects.

“Perfect!” Jonathan laughs. “Next stop: Robin Hood country!” I force a smile on my face as the ‘guymobile’ heads northwards, something made easier when Jonathan sticks a CD in the minibus’s stereo. With the conversation temporarily halted, I (and many of the other guys) immediately get out my smartphone and start checking my email, taking my time composing a reply to a caterer who’d sent myself and Jamie designs for our wedding cake.

“Hey Stu,” Paul laughs, breaking my concentration. “What’re you doing, writing a novel?”

“Ugh, replying to a wedding cake supplier,” I reply. “Jamie and I sent an enquiry to them and they’ve sent back a massive demand for more details.”

“Um, any reason Jamie can’t handle that?” Dan asks. “Thought this was a ‘guymobile’?”

“I’m just giving my tuppence worth,” I say.

“Sounds like you’re giving them £50’s worth,” Dan laughs. “Do you know what details I gave to the people who made mine & Mary’s cake? The word ‘sponge’. That’s it.”

“Same for me and Viks,” Jonathan says. “First bastards we went to actually said ‘do you want half chocolate, half vanilla’, so I just left that all to Viks before I got pissed off and punched someone.”

“Who’s going to be the bride in your wedding again, Stu?” Riley asks, earning an angry stare.

“The one who DOESN’T have a penis,” I retort, silencing the tall blond man.

“Then prove it and put the phone away,” Jonathan orders, and I sigh as I put my phone back in my pocket, leaving my email unfinished.

“Who’s taking care of your gym while you’re away?” I ask Dan & Paul.

“We’ve got employees,” Paul shrugs. “Better question would be who’s taking care of your band while you and Mikey are away?”

“We’re not in the studio EVERY day,” I say. “Think the girls are doing some publicity shots today.”

“Yeah,” Danny- who, like me, has a younger sister in Out of Heaven- concurs. “Steph said they’re doing a shoot in motorcycle leathers or something.”

“Think Becca said the same thing,” Riley says. “Promised she’d send me photos after the shoot-“

“Don’t want to know what type of photos my baby sister sends you, thank you very much,” I say, earning snorts of laughter from the other guys. “Quick reminder that if Becca ever comes to me crying about you, every single person in this bus has pledged to beat the [s**t] out of you.”

“Yes, yes, message received,” Riley sighs.

“Ah, sweet,” Danny laughs. “So if anyone breaks Steph’s heart?”

“Sure,” Jonathan shrugs. “Same also applies to Addie, even though she’s more likely to chuck her fella than the other way round…”

“Only exception,” Dan interjects, “is if one of the ‘little sisters’ hooks up with and has her heart broken by another girl.”

“No danger of that with Becca,” I snort.

“Damn right there isn’t,” Riley says, laughing as I give him a semi-playful elbow in the ribs.

“Guys,” Jonathan interrupts, stopping our ‘fight’ before it begins, “we have officially entered Nottinghamshire!”

“Finally,” Keith laughs. “I am literally dying for a piss.”

“Why have we picked Nottingham as a stopover anyway?” Danny asks. “I know you guys went to uni there, but what else is there in Nottingham?” Mikey and I both grin slyly as the ‘guymobile’ heads into the centre of the midland city, pulling up outside a restaurant that brings a wide smile to Danny’s face.

“Okay,” Danny laughs as we head into the relatively empty branch of Hooters. “NOW I get it.”

“Only Hooters in Britain,” Mikey explains. “Not that it’s the ONLY reason I went to uni here, but we did have a lot of fun nights, didn’t we, Stu?”

“Ah, loads,” I laugh. “Seemed like we were in here every other week in our second year.”

“Who was that guy whose stag started here?” Mikey asks as we take our seat. “Dean something?”

“Dean Marshall,” I say. “And that was our first year, Easter holiday, I think.”

“Thought ‘spring break’ wasn’t as big a deal for Brits as it is for Yanks?” Paul asks.

“The stag didn’t last the whole three weeks!” Mikey laughs as I remember back to the extravagant party that was thrown over nine years ago.

It had only been nine months since I’d had my bilateral mastectomy, and I was still extremely self-conscious about being ‘Stuart’. Sure, I had a flat chest, but I was still internally female, and more to the point, I was only nineteen years old and isolated from my family in a town that was still largely unfamiliar to me. What I had going in my favour, however, were several amazing friends who saw me as a true ‘mate’, and more importantly, as just another one of the boys.

The stag party didn’t stay at Hooters, of course, just as Keith’s ‘stag party’ isn’t. After several filling bowls of nachos and chicken wings, not to mention (for everyone except designated driver Jonathan) several pints of lager, the eight of us stagger back to the ‘guymobile’, where the alcohol has made the atmosphere inside the bus a lot looser- not to mention a lot less politically correct.

“Can you… Hang a brick from it?” Danny asks, making me roll my eyes.

“No,” I sigh.

“Can you… Hang a grapefruit from it?” Paul asks with an evil chuckle.

“I doubt it,” I say.

“Can you… hang a can of coke from it?” Keith asks. “Full, obviously.”

“I’ve really never tried,” I say, making Keith laugh. “Seriously, what’s with this obsession with my cock? I mean, a few beers and you all turn gay?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dan says. “Is it ‘gay’ to take an interest in our friend?”

“And if I asked you about any of your cocks?” I ask.

“Gay!” The seven men all yell, making me roll my eyes as they nearly double over laughing.

“Ah, you sons of bitches,” I sigh. “Where’s our overnight stop?”

“Cockermouth,” Jonathan says, making the entire guymobile double over again. “Nah, seriously, it’s in Leeds. We’ll be there in about half an hour. Then the drinking can REALLY get started!” I force myself to cheer along with the rest of the minibus, even though between the alcohol I’ve already consumed, Jon’s questionable driving skills and the far too close proximity to the other guys, the last thing I need is more alcohol.

Nonetheless, after we’ve checked into our hotel rooms and changed into the smart trousers and shirts that make up our clubbing gear (and I laugh at the fact that Jamie would’ve barely started to get ready by the time I leave the hotel room with Mikey, Riley and Danny), the eight of us head to the nearest club, where we spend the rest of the night immersed in a haze of drinking and partying, a haze that gets more and more blurred as the night draws on…

“Stu…” I hear a soft, masculine voice whisper in my ear. “Stu, come on, wake up…” I open my eyes, only to immediately regret it as the sun assaults my vision. It takes several seconds and several blinks before I realise that the bright light isn’t actually the sun, but rather the flash of a smartphone’s camera, which is pointed straight at my face.

“Wh- what?” I moan, my head pounding.

"Wake up, Stu!" The voice- which belongs to Riley- laughs as I wake up to discover that a kind of net curtain has been draped in front of my face.

"We figured that even though you didn't get married," Mikey's clearly hungover voice laughs, "we still owed you a stag as well!"

"Wh- what?" I ask, reaching for the net curtain only to discover it's a bridal veil, which has been pinned to my hair. "...Are you FUCKING kidding me?"

"Told you the veil was crossing a line," Danny snorts. "Should've left it at just the make-up."

"Just- just the make-" My eyes go wide as I rip the veil from my head- taking a couple of hairs with it- and rush into the bathroom to stare at my face in the mirror- which, despite Danny's statement, is devoid of make-up. It's only after sighing at my 'friends' raucous laughter at my panic that I realise that my face is also now devoid of eyebrows- much as Dean Marshall's face was, the morning after his own stag night.

Tentatively, I reach a hand into my trousers. Normally, I'd trust the guys not to cross this particular line, but if they're taking off eyebrows...

I have a moment of panic as I only discover the stem of my penis- and the scar tissue around where the stitches went- in my boxer shorts, but a quick look downward reveals the rest of my organ poking out of my fly like a sad, dead chicken neck. After 'putting myself away', I zip myself up and head back into the room, where my three friends are staring at me with looks of utter glee on their faces.

"I fucking hate all you cunts," I sigh, earning cheers from my friends. "When exactly did I pass out?"

"About 1am," Mikey laughs. "You were gone. I mean, literally, unconscious. Actually thought I might have to call an ambulance for you at one point."

"It was pretty impressive, though," Danny says. "You literally kept drinking right up until you went, and- this is gonna sound insensitive..."

"More insensitive than putting a fucking wedding veil on me?" I ask.

"...You literally didn't drop the 'mask' all night," Danny says. "Literally, you were just one of the guys, the drunker you got, the more, you know, laddish you got."

"There is no 'mask'," I say. "There's just me."

"Sorry, sorry," Danny sighs. "I guess- you know, everything that's happened with Steph- gah. Got a lot to learn about being friends with a transgendered person..."

"It's simple," Riley shrugs. "Treat him like one of the guys, or in the case of your sister, treat her like another one of the girls."

"It really isn't any more complicated than that," Mikey laughs. "Which means on their stag, you prank the living shit out of them!"

"You do know," I reply, "on your stag, I'm tying your hair to the bed and sounding the fire alarm, right?"

"I would expect nothing less," Mikey laughs. "Just wait until we get to your REAL stag. If you thought the veil was bad..."

"It's more the eyebrows and my cock I'm worried about," I say.

"Oh, the cock was all you," Mikey laughs as he brings up a video on his phone- a video that shows me drunkenly stumbling to the toilet, loudly urinating and vomiting, before passing out on my bed again, my penis hanging loosely out of my fly.

"None of us were gonna touch it," Danny explains.

"No, you were just gonna fucking video it," I sigh. "I hope Keith got the same treatment?"

"We're about to find out," Mikey laughs. "Us three have got a bet with Jon, Dan and Paul to see who can get their 'stag' the most fucked. And..." I grin as Mikey's face falls.

"We lost?" Riley asks.

"Hugely," Mikey sighs, showing all of us the photo on his phone- a photo of an unconscious Keith wearing nothing but an adult diaper. His chest hair has had the outline of a cock and balls shaved into it, and the hair on his head has been dyed a bright blue colour.

Of course, I laugh at the phone, but my feelings are deeply conflicted- and not just because of the hangover. On the one hand, I'm flattered that my friends respect me enough not to prank me to the ridiculous extent that the other lads have done to Keith, but on the other hand, it shows that they're still 'careful' around me, not wanting to cross any lines, not truly treating me as one of the boys despite Riley's words.

And then, there's a part of me that finds the whole stag night tradition of pranking the groom to be as utterly stupid and juvenile, and wishes he was back at home, snuggled up on the sofa with Jamie and picking out colours for our wedding invitation...

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Just gone nine," Riley says. "Why, got somewhere better you'd rather be?"

"Other than Edinburgh, no," I say, though as the four of us head down to breakfast and meet the other four boys (including a furious-looking Keith, who's covering his hair with a flat cap), I can't shake from my mind the image of the six girls sat around the pool, and the question: what if?

It's a question I often ask myself- more often than is probably healthy for me. What if I hadn't had the courage to become Stuart, what if I had remained as Claire? What if I'd been laid at the pool yesterday wearing either a bikini or a one-piece swimsuit, my body unaltered from how it had been at birth? Obviously, such a scenario is unlikely- 'Claire' was never all that good looking and certainly wouldn't have been an Angel, but 'she' would've been a woman and would've been included in all the gossip, all the chat, and wouldn't have been videoed drunkenly stumbling around a room with 'her' penis sticking out.

But then again, 'she' would've been judged for every tiny imperfection in her appearance, every gram she'd put on over a certain weight, she'd be mocked behind her back for everything she said that didn't conform to a certain way of thinking.

That's not to say, of course, that men aren't subject to the same scrutiny, or that women don't play pranks- even ones as vicious as the pranks played on myself and Keith- to each other. Being a woman is hard, but being a man isn't exactly a picnic either. And yet, if I was forced to choose again... I'd make the same choice I made ten years ago. Life as a woman, with all its trappings, is something I simply couldn't conform to in any way, shape or form.

However, as I climb back into the guymobile, complete with its 'powerful' odour, I find myself wishing that I didn't have to conform to EVERY trapping of male life, that I could just be Stuart- but on my own terms, not Dan's, not Jonathan's or Keith's. I love being a man. Being a 'lad', on the other hand...

On Keith's insistence, the eight of us stop off at a clothing store to pick up flat caps that match the one worn by the now turquoise-haired man, and after uploading a photo of the eight of us to Facebook (which my fiancée charmingly captions 'Last of the Summer Wine cast reunion') we get back on the road, heading north (thankfully without any further delays) until we reach Edinburgh.

As Mikey promised, the festival is amazing- we spend the whole day going from one show (usually music or comedy) to another, occasionally stopping to enjoy the scenery of the city. It's easy to see why Edinburgh has regularly been voted the most beautiful city in the UK, and the limited amount of time we have in the city isn't nearly enough to see all of its sights, especially during this busiest time of the year.

As the afternoon wears on to evening and eventually night, I'm reminded of just why I'm friends with this group of guys, and that there really isn't anyone else I would rather have gone on this trip with. Sure, we got brutally drunk, played some cruel pranks on each other and probably condemned our minibus to the scrapyard with the amount of sweat we poured into it, but as I climb into bed in my cramped hotel room, it's all I can do not to tell the other guys how much I love them.

But doing that would be unmanly- and I am a man. I Am a man. If I ever need reminding, all I need do is reach down into my pants to check...

"Wakey wakey, hands off snakey!" Mikey quietly laughs, gently whacking me in the chest with a Gideon's Bible.

"Yes, yes, I'm awake," I sigh. "Is it Saturday already?"

"Yeah, though keep your voice down," Mikey urges. "Riley's still asleep."

"So wake him up then," I moan. "We've only got a couple of hours before we have to be on the road again."

"Yeah... First, though," Mikey whispers as Danny returns to our room with a can of orange spray-on hair dye, a tartan-coloured beret and a fake ginger beard.

"Oh, you evil, immature sons of bitches," I sigh as Mikey and Danny approach the still-slumbering Riley. "I love it. Let me get my phone, I'll video it..."

"Riley..." I whisper twenty minutes later, after Mikey and Danny have had the chance to carry out their 'work'. "Riley, it's time to wake up..."

"We've got you a graduation gift," Mikey says as Riley slowly stirs. "You did graduate this summer, didn't you?"

"Yeah..." Riley moans as he gets up and pads toward the room's en-suite. "Where is this gif- YOU FUCKS!" Danny, Mikey and I all double over laughing as Riley, his bright orange hair, his fake beard and his beret come charging back out of the en-suite with a look of pure fury on his face.

"I fucking owed you for videoing me with my cock hanging out," I tell Riley as he hurls the cap and the beard at us, before jumping underneath the shower in an attempt to wash out the dye.

A few hours later- after more sightseeing- the eight of us pile back into the 'guymobile' for our long drive back home. Rather than the 'grand tour' we'd taken on the drive up, we simply head down the A1 to get home, though this still takes almost eight hours, and when Keith and I stagger through the front door of Charlotte's house just after 9pm, all we want to do is sleep for a week. However, we both immediately perk up when our other halves- sorry, our BETTER halves- emerge from the kitchen and greet us with long, tight hugs.

"You men are the most stupid, immature arseholes ever created," Charlotte sighs as she strokes Keith's slowly-fading dye job.

"You missed us really though, didn't you?" Keith asks smugly.

"Maybe," Charlotte says with an equally smug smile. "Come upstairs and I'll show you how much I missed you..."

"And of course," Jamie giggles after the other couple have vanished, "I missed you too."

"I missed you as well," I sigh, giving Jamie a long kiss on her soft lips.

"And I'm glad you're back in 'one piece'," Jamie whispers, giving my crotch a playful squeeze. "Though after that photo in Leeds, I'm kinda disappointed I didn't get to see any photos of you in a kilt... And don't say that kilts are skirts, because you know better than that."

"If you want to see my legs, all you need to do is ask," I giggle. "In all seriousness, though... I really did miss you the last few days. And I don't just mean the 'obvious parts' of you, I mean... You."

"Aww, you big softy!" Jamie giggles, before giving me yet another kiss. "Thought that 72 straight hours of non-stop male company might've ruined more than just your smell, heh."

"'Ruined'?" I ask.

"You know," Jamie says. "Turned you into a lad, a lager lout, that sort of thing..."

"Never," I say proudly. "I am a man. But I refuse to be a stereotype."

"Good," Jamie says proudly. "Though I take it you won't mind if I keep being a mostly stereotypical girl?" I smile widely, before giving Jamie a long, deep kiss that she eagerly reciprocates.

"Does that answer your question?" I ask, only to receive my own answer when Jamie reaches a hand down past the waistband of my trousers and slowly leads me upstairs to her bedroom, where we're soon freed of all our clothes...

Yeah, I may not be a stereotypical man. I may be skinnier and shorter than the rest of the guys, I may be less interested in football and boxing, and I'll obviously never be able to escape my past as 'Claire'. But you know what? I'm okay with that. I don't need any of that to be a man, I just need to live my life the way I want to be happy, and if that makes me less manly than I'm 'supposed' to be, then so what? I shouldn't have to live my life by other people's standards, even if those people are my friends. As long as I'm true to myself, then that's all that matters. Jamie loves me for who I am, and if my friends are true, they'll still be my friends.

I AM a man. But most importantly of all... I'm the man I always wanted to be.