I carefully snap the gold ribbon and take off the red paper. I’m unwrapping a Christmas gift from my grandmother.
“What’s she got you this year, Nathan?” my father asks as I stare dumbfounded into the box, frozen on the spot.
My mother comes up and looks over my shoulder, “Oh dear, it looks like she’s muddled the labels up. I guess that must have been meant for Sally.”
I pull the gorgeous maroon dress from its box and hold it up in front of me. Holding it against me and looking down it is possibly the closest I’m going to get to wearing this. I would so much like to slip it on, it’s painful.
“Hey, don’t look so disappointed, son, we can sort this out,” Dad says. “I bet the old dear is confused again. She really should get someone to help her wrap things.”
My mother gives my father a withering stare. The grandparent in question is my mother’s mother, and Dad recons she is starting to suffer from dementia.
“Wait,” my mother says looking in my direction, “she did get help.”
“I wrapped up all of her presents, except my own,” I say. “I spent most of all last Saturday helping her. I also wrote the labels, as her handwriting is becoming shaky.”
“She obviously missed one, and then labelled it wrong,” my father adds, using logic to understand the mix up.
We are interrupted by the phone. My mother answers it. Aunt Anne, her sister, is ringing us to wish us a happy Christmas. As she is taking, I reach for the second parcel from my grandmother. I was given very specific instructions on which order to open my gifts. She told me that the gifts would make better sense in the correct order.
I delicately unwrap the gift, wondering what it can be with both excited anticipation, and dread that it may be exactly what I want, but would never admit to anybody.
I hold up the silky lace slip, feeling the soft fabric between my fingers.
“Hold on one sec, I’m putting you on speakerphone,” my mother states as she puts down the handset and presses a button on the device. “Has Sally opened her presents from mother?”
“Yes, why?” the voice of my aunt fills the room.
“It looks likes Nathan has Sally’s Christmas presents,” mother replies, “I was wondering if perhaps she’s got them back to front.”
I remember wrapping a dress and slip identical to the ones now sat beside me. All Sally’s presents where wrapped in blue and silver, and I wrote the labels for them myself. That means she either undid and repacked the gifts, or she bought everything twice.
“It doesn’t look like it,” Anne replies, “unless she intended to give Nathan a red Christmas dress with matching slip, panties and shoes. There is also a large teddy bear, a set of princess pyjamas, and some jewellery.”
As she reads out the list of items I rapidly open the other gifts, my heart pounding in anticipation and fear. I know exactly what Sally got for Christmas, having wrapped them, and an identical set of gifts are now sitting in front of me.
“Beside’s which, Sally is smaller than Nathan and these wouldn’t fit,” Anne laughs down the phone. My cousin is three years younger than me at eight.
With a shaking hand I pick up the dress and look at the size on the label. It is not the same size as I wrapped for Sally. It is larger.
My mother sees what I’m doing and examines the labelling herself.
“Is there a problem? What’s mother sent to Nathan?” Anne asks.
“The same,” my father dryly responds.
“The same?” my aunt queries.
“Exactly the same,” I call out, “I helped wrap Sally’s presents. These are almost identical except for one small detail.”
“The size?” my father asks, cottoning on to what my mother and I have already realised.
“This dress should be a perfect fit for him,” my mother states in bemusement. “I know she said she likes to treat both her grandchildren equally when buying gifts, but this is ridiculous, even by her standards.”
I can hear giggling in the background over the phone. Sally must have worked out what is going on from my aunt’s side of the conversation.
“Has he got a dress like mine?” I hear the young girl call out in the background, before bursting out into laughter.
“This isn’t funny, young lady,” Aunt Anne tells her daughter, “how would you like it if you got loads of football shirts and boots?”
My cousin hates football. I can’t say I’m fond of the sport either. This seems to shut her up. She then asks to speak to me.
“Sorry Nathan,” Sally says having been handed the phone. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I’m sure you will look very pretty in the dress. Are you going to wear it today? I’m wearing mine, and we could match.”
I have no idea if she is being serious or sarcastic, but this is a very interesting question nether the less. I have fantasised many times about the magic of Christmas letting me wake up Christmas day as a girl. It would literally be a dream came true. There are two big obstacles to living the dream. Do I dare and will my parents let me? I take a deep breath and let the words, “Yes I will,” slip from my lips.
I’m not sure who is more shocked: my dumbfounded parents, the unusually silent Sally on the phone, or myself.
“You’re not seriously going to make a fool of yourself?” my father questions. “You would look ridiculous.”
“So,” I reply, “everybody who is going to be there already knows about what I’ve been given, which in some respects is the most embarrassing part.”
My family, and my aunt, uncle and cousin, are all going round to my Grandmothers for Christmas dinner.
“What about your Grandmother, she may be upset when she realises what she’s done,” my mother interrupts.
“Serves her right,” my dad chuckles, “if she’s embarrassed about what she’s given her grandson, she’s only got herself to blame. The dotty old bat.”
My mother gives my dad an angry stare before calling out into the phone, “we’ll see you later. I’m going to phone Mother and find out what’s going on.”
We quickly say our goodbyes to Aunt Anne, Uncle Tom and Sally, before mum hangs up the phone and attempts to dial my grandmother. The phone rings, but there is no reply.
“Damn, she either can’t hear the phone, or is ignoring it,” my mother declares as the fourteenth ring emerges from the device. “Now what are we going to do?”
I decide it’s time to take the initiative again. If my dream is going to come true, then I’m going to have to work for it. I carefully pick up the presents and state, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get ready to go out, and as it traditionally takes longer for girls to get ready than boys, I better get started.”
“Hold it right there, mister,” my father states as I start to leave the room. “We can’t get those exchanged once they’ve been worn. The joke has gone far enough. Let’s put them back in the packaging. Hopefully your grandmother has kept the till receipts, she usually does for cloths.”
I can’t fault his logic. Trying them on for size is one thing, but wearing them for a day before taking them back is another. I know some people would be crass enough to do it, treating the shops as a free hire service, but not us.
Once again I’m faced with a tough decision. I can quit now and let my heart’s desire slip through my fingers, or I can grasp it with both hands, hold on tight, and face the possible consequences.
I squeeze the fabric tight in my fingers. My father tries to take the presents from me, but I tighten my grasp.
“Nathan, give them here,” my father instructs, anger creeping into his voice.
“No!” I shout, my voice echoing round the room. I hadn’t intended to yell as loud, and both of us are surprised by the outburst. My father, caught off guard by my unusually forceful behaviour temporarily lets go of the garments. I seize the opportunity and sprint as fast as I can away from his grasp.
Bounding up the stairs as fast as I can, I reach my bedroom and slam the door behind me. I drop the presents on my bed, having no time to be as careful as I feel I should, as I vault over it. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I shove the bed sideways with all my might. The length of the bed is only a few inches shorter than the width of the room. By sliding the bed sideways, as far as the other furniture allows, it overlaps the door by six inches. This is enough to wedge the door closed, preventing my parents from entering.
I only just manage to get the bed positioned before one of my parents tries to open the door. The failure to do so results in banging on the door, and my father demanding for it to be opened.
“If you don’t open the door, then you can forget having those exchanged,” my father angrily calls through the door. “You can also think twice about keeping the rest of the presents you’ve got as well.”
“Fine!” I shout back. I’m shaking with nervous energy and tears are obscuring my face. I don’t care about anything else except the chance to be myself.
“Right, if you don’t want to come out, then you can stay in there,” my father states. “We’ll see you this evening when we get back from Grandma’s.”
“That’s enough, from both of you,” my mother interjects. Her next sentence I struggle to hear, as she has lowered her voice, “John, calm down and go get ready to go out. I don’t know what’s going on here, but for some reason, Nathan seems to want to wear that stupid dress. My mother may have her moments, but she isn’t that senile. This is no accident. Those cloths are our son’s size. This isn’t some labelling mix up, this was planned. She obviously intended for Nathan to wear them, and in any case, Sally can always make use of them when she grows into them.”
I hear footsteps going back downstairs and all is quiet. I dab my eyes with a tissue and wipe away the tears.
I climb onto the bed, reach up and open the cupboard above my wardrobe. The storage space contains extra blankets that are very rarely used. It is a good hiding place. Inside is one final gift from my Grandmother.
She took me aside and gave me this extra gift, telling me to keep it separate and hidden. I didn’t understand what she was telling me at the time, but things are starting to make sense. My grandmother told me that she got me something unusual for Christmas, and she may have made a big mistake, in which case not to worry or be offended. The final gift contains an explanation.
With some trepidation I tear the paper on the box. Inside a shoe box there is something wrapped in an opaque carrier bag, and a letter on top. I unfold the paper and start to read.
Dear granddaughter, for that is what I suspect you are. I hope and pray I’m not making a complete fool of myself.
I know your father criticises you for your effeminate behaviour, and I’ve seen the look of envy when Sally wears pretty clothes. When you have stayed with me over the summer when your parents were both working, I noticed how you always seemed to get on better with the girls in the neighbourhood, avoiding the boys as much as possible.
I also noticed how you sidestepped telling them your name, instead asking to be called by the gender neutral nickname of Biscuit, claiming you were embarrassed by your own name. I thought it odd until your name was revealed and saw how upset you were when the girl’s realised you were a boy, although you hid it well.
You never asked to be called by a girl’s name, presumably you didn’t dare, but you never corrected them, even when they referred to you with feminine pronouns. The fact that you spent several hours with those girls, without any of them realising your physical gender, suggests that you must be both comfortable and naturally capable in that role.
Indeed, I have never seen you as happy and relaxed as when in that short time you seemed to be accepted at face value.
I may be misreading the signs, in which case this whole incident can be written off as the ramblings of a demented old woman. However, if you do consider yourself to be a girl, or have any doubts about being a boy, then please don’t hide yourself any longer. I promise to do whatever is needed to support you.
You don’t have to use any of the items in this box, but I have included them should you feel the need. I don’t care what you look like, as long as you are happy, but I suspect you may want to make an impression, and these will help your self-image.
Granny.
I read the letter several times before placing it on the bed beside me. Her assessment is accurate. I thought I hid myself well, but she saw through my feeble attempts at pretending to be a boy.
I have been too scared for too long. I can’t go on living like this, denying my true nature. I empty the contents of the box onto the bed. There are a few extra items that Sally wouldn’t need for her outfit, but help me no end.
Being older, my grandmother has provided me with a training bra, and also some pads in which to fill it with. I also have been given a dancers belt, and instructions on how to use it. Although I am not yet well developed, I can see how such a device could be helpful in hiding the piece of anatomy that I really don’t like.
She has also taken a gamble and included a long wig. Sally has long hair, and I guess she picked up on how I usually end up combing it for her when we are together. The colour isn’t quite a match for my own, but as it only appears to be a cheap costume piece, I have no complaints.
I take some deep breaths to calm my nerves, and then start work on my transformation. I have imagined doing this many times, but to actually do this in reality may prove more difficult.
I start by stripping naked, discarding my pyjamas into the laundry basket. Given the choice, I will be wearing the new girlish ones tonight. I open the packet of panties and pull them up my legs. I tuck myself in and pull them into position. While not totally flat, they do hold me in reasonably well. As this may be a long day, I decide to go with it rather than using the gaff. I’m going to be in enough emotional discomfort without adding possible physical discomfort into the mix.
It takes me a little while to position the bra and pads, but with the help of some notes on how to adjust things left by my grandmother, I’m able to accomplish the task. I can’t accuse her of not being thorough; she seems to have thought of everything.
I have a mirror on my wall above my bed, and I sit in front of it so that I can apply some make up. I’ve never done this before, but I’ve watched videos on YouTube, so have an idea of what to do. I’m well aware of the “less is more” adage, so resist the temptation to go over the top. I’m going to look a big enough fool, without looking like a clown.
I carefully apply some mascara from the small makeup kit provided, and then outline my eyes with a black marker, to highlight them. A small dash of green to my eyelids compliments and contrasts the red of the dress. A small amount of blush and some lipstick complete the look.
For a first effort I’m satisfied. I don’t even bother to try and analyse if the face in the mirror is that of a girl or a boy. I know from experience the answer is always girl, no matter what I do.
I position the slip around my waste and carefully manoeuvre myself into the dress. I have to use the hook of a wire coat hanger to pull the zip up my back, as I’m struggling to reach.
“Are you ready yet, we leave in five minutes,” I hear my mother call up the stairs.
“I just need to comb my hair and put my shoes on,” I call back.
I carefully role the white tights with Christmas tree motifs up my legs, they also help to hold me in and flat where it matters most. I place the wig on my head, securing it with the clips to my own hair. Holding it firmly in place I brush it into shape. The long wavy hair tickles my ears and hangs down over my shoulders. I adjust the bangs hiding the front edge, so that they are just above my eyes.
Finally I place the red t-bar shoes on my feet. They have a slight heel, more than I’m used to, but not high enough to cause me to lose my balance.
I take my coat off the hook on the back of my door and carefully put it on so not to scrunch the dress. It is a plain black coat and is unisex enough in style that it doesn’t look out of place.
I carefully move the bed back to its normal position, and taking a deep breath, open the door to my room. I can hear my parents moving around downstairs, so with much trepidation, I begin to descend to my fate.
I see dad, dressed in his coat, carry the bags of presents out to the car. My mother is already stood outside holding the door key.
“Hurry up or–,” my mother starts, but never finishes the sentence as she looks up and sees me. Without saying a word, and keeping my eyes straight ahead, I walk past her towards the car, which is parked on the road outside our house.
As I walk the short distance down the pavement to where it is parked, I pass my father going in the other direction.
“Morning,” he says as I go by. I stop dumbfounded as he walks right past me, seemingly failing to recognise me.
“Is Nathan coming?” he asks my mother, who is too shocked to speak. Instead she simply points at me. I can see the surprise come to my father’s face as he looks back and realises who I am.
“Nathan is most certainly not coming,” I reply, “however, I am, so please can we get a move on, it’s cold out here.”
“How? Where?” my mother stutters.
“An extra gift from Grandma that she asked me to keep hidden. It seems she intended that I should be able to look convincing,” I answer.
My father unlocks the car, and without any of us saying another word, we climb in the vehicle. The journey is spent is silence.
I recognise my uncle’s car as we pull up outside my grandmother’s house. As I climb out of the car, trying to be as graceful as possible, a girl on roller-skates slides to a halt in front of me.
“Biscuit, is that you?” she says in slight surprise.
“Hello Jenny,” I reply. “New pair of roller-skates?”
“My old pair where getting rather worn out, and a bit tight,” she answers. “I like your dress, I thought that might look good on you, girl. I’m glad you’ve decided to end your tomboy phase.”
I blush at the compliment and it takes me a couple of seconds to process what she said. She is referring to me as a girl, even though she knows I’m male.
“You’ve seen this dress before?” I ask.
“Er, yes,” she shyly admits. “Your gran wanted some advice on what girls our age like. I’ve never been a lover of frilly dresses myself, but figured you and Sally would probably go for the fancier styling. I saw Sally arrive earlier, and she seemed quite impressed.”
Jenny’s phone beeps at her and she quickly bids her farewell. Her mother has just texted her that lunch is ready. As she skates off, I turn and walk up the garden path. My parents have been unloading the car while I have been chatting, and are now waiting for me at the door.
The three of us walk into the living room, where my grandmother, uncle, aunt and cousin are waiting.
“Oh my god,” Sally exclaims at seeing me. “Nathan, you look stunning.”
My grandmother clears her throat and raises her eyebrow, and Sally immediately has a guilty look come over her face, as if she has said something wrong.
“Oops, sorry Biscuit,” Sally quickly adds.
I give my grandmother a questioning look. It would appear Sally has been instructed to use my chosen nickname.
“Would you care to explain why my son is currently doing a Shirley Temple impression?” my father asks.
“You where thinking what is that demented old fool is doing now, treating her grandson as if he was a granddaughter,” my grandmother replies. Turning to me she asks, “Was my theory correct.”
I nod as I respond, “one hundred percent accurate.”
“I take it you haven’t explained this to your parents,” she states, to which I shake my head.
“How do you want to proceed? We can talk in private about this if you prefer,” she kindly offers, ignoring the obvious hostility from my parents.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve managed so far today, I think I can manage the final hurdle,” I reply.
“The floor is yours, Biscuit, or do you have another name you would prefer to use? I made the assumption that you wouldn’t want to go by your usual one.”
“You’re right,” I reply, “Nathan isn’t a girl’s name, and I’m most definitely a girl. Please, call me Emily.”
“Nice to finally meet you, Emily,” my grandmother says as she wraps me in a big hug.
I savour the moment, safe in her loving arms, hoping the next few minutes don’t explode into a nasty fight. As I cuddle the older woman, I wait for the silence to be broken.
It is my grandmother who speaks first, “Sally, please fetch the big white envelope from the top of the bureau. Inside you will find some leaflets. I would like you to give one to everybody. I’m not the best at explaining things, so I googled up material to help.”
I take a glance at the leaflets Sally is distributing. I knew my grandmother was getting into the internet and becoming a silver surfer, and she has obviously been doing some careful research on the subject. The envelop contains copies of several leaflets explaining transgenderism.
I was expecting open hostility from my parents, especially my father, but instead they seem to be taking the news calmly, and are actually reading the information provided.
“While you adults read the material, and you’re not getting lunch until you do,” my grandmother instructs, “I will finish cooking the meal with the help of my two granddaughters. I have some pretty aprons so your dresses don’t get dirty, unless you prefer to read as well, Sally. I assume Emily probably already knows the definitions.”
“I get the jist,” Sally responds, “Girl brain, boy body, square peg, round hole, trying to bash the two together leaves a wonky mess.”
I can see the impish grin on her lips. Sally is a known joker and an excellent wind up merchant. I know she is isn’t being mean and take her bait. I could use some humour to lighten the mood so respond, “who are you calling a wonky mess, squirt.”
Seeing me wiggle my fingers in a tickling motion, she decides to beat a hasty retreat through to the kitchen.
“Girls,” my Aunt calls out. “Behave.”
I turn and look in her direction. Her smile is infectious, and in one word I know I have her acceptance.
I grin back and follow Sally through to the kitchen with Gran. The only thing needing to be done is to turn on the vegetables. Instead, she has us finish setting the table, polishing the best silver for use, and placing the crackers from there box.
The dinner is excellent, and I’m especially careful not to drip down my dress, even though both Sally and I are still wearing the aprons, just in case. The meal is eaten in silence, something unusual for this house. I guess there is a lot more to digest than just food this afternoon. I note my parents are keeping a close eye on me, but try my best to ignore their stares.
After lunch, Sally and I are sent through the other room to watch a film, while the adults wash up. We are so involved in the story that we fail to notice that we are still alone when the movie ends. I can hear voices coming from the dining room, and it doesn’t take much to work out the subject of conversation.
With trepidation, and backed by Sally, we walk through to where our families are gathered. The room becomes silent as we open the door.
“Emily,” my mother addresses me, “I don’t fully claim to understand this, but I love you, and we will work through this no matter what.”
I always hoped my mother would accept me, but was too afraid to find out. I turn to my father.
“I always wondered what it would be like to have a daughter. I guess I’m going to find out,” he states before wrapping me in a hug.
“I guess it’s a good thing the sales start tomorrow,” my mother says. “It looks like we may have to buy some more cloths.”
With a sigh of relief, it looks like my Christmas wish is coming true. All thanks to an observant old lady, risking being branded mad, and her crazy plan to get me to open up.
Blackmailing Biscuit
Chapter 1 of 4
© 2013 D.L.
I rolled the stockings up my hairless legs, making sure that the seams were straight. I attached them to the black suspenders that I fed through underneath the lacy French knickers so that they could be removed without disturbing the stockings. I was actually wearing two layers of underwear, as I had an extra pair of plain knickers underneath the extremely frilly lacy pair on top.
I tucked myself, but not tightly. Unlike the numerous other times I have cross-dressed, this time I didn’t have to worry about trying to pass. As everybody at school would know I’m male, it’s not important if I have a slight bulge. In fact, it may be odd if I don’t. The one thing I could guarantee was that my underwear would be on show. The skirt of the school dress is exceedingly short, only a couple of inches below the top of my suspenders and barely reaching halfway down to my knees.
I fastened the blue and white diagonal striped tie around my neck, adjusting the collar of my white blouse and tucking the tie into the top of the dark grey dress. The dress was slightly tight round the bust due to the overly large bags of birdseed that I positioned in my bra. I am going for the Barbara Windsor look concerning my proportions.
Leaning forward into the mirror, I applied my lipstick, bright red of course. I had already overdone my eyes with mascara and blue eye shadow. I drop my makeup into my school bag in case I need to touch it up later. Giving one final look in the mirror to make sure that none of the clips from the hair extensions were visible; I slipped my shoes on my feet and headed for the door. I have styled my false hair so that it is in two braids that cover my shoulders and hang down to my breasts. My actual hair is a lot shorter and only just reaches my shoulders. I usually wear it in a low boy ponytail.
I descended the stairs with my school bag and walked into the kitchen where my mother and friend, Stacy, were waiting.
“Holy cow!” Stacy exclaimed at my entrance.
My mother spun round and gave me a long look. “That skirt is too short, and you look ridiculous with that amount of makeup on your face,” she stated, before smiling and adding, “Perfect!”
I giggled in a very schoolgirl like fashion, and took a seat, being careful not to flash my knickers too much.
Stacy is in equally bazaar attire. She was wearing a fluffy towelling dressing gown over the top of satin pyjamas and a pair of moccasins on her feet.
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” my mother asked, “This is the last opportunity to back out.”
“Having spent most weekends and all of the school holidays for the last three years living as a girl, I don’t think one extra day is going to faze me,” I replied.
“This is different and you know it. This will be the first time dressed in front of your peers. Even Stacy has only ever seen photos,” my mother responded with caution. “I’m still worried that this might not come across as a joke. You play the part too well.”
“I’ve already discussed this with the doc. I’ve been over the discovery scenarios and consequences many times. If my blackmailer really wants to expose me, then I would rather it happen on my terms,” I answer.
I was diagnosed with Gender Dysphoria shortly before by twelfth birthday. I’m currently fourteen. I openly admitted being transgender after my grandmother decided to buy me girl’s clothes for Christmas. It came as quite a shock but it served as the kick up the backside I needed to come into the open, at least to my family.
My ultimate aim is to transition and live as a woman. However, I’m in no rush and I’m not yet certain surgery is the solution. The thought of being chopped up doesn’t appeal, although neither does living as a man. I’m on hormone blockers to block puberty.
I spend around half my time living as a girl. I stay at my grandmothers during the holidays and I effectively keep my two lives separate. Those who know me here only see me as a boy, and I live as a girl when staying with my grandmother, so those living nearby never see me as a boy.
With the exception of family members, everybody else I know only sees one of my two modes. Only a select few know my secret. I’m able to live in both roles without detection, but I’m happier and seem more natural with a feminine presentation.
Unfortunately, one of the people at school has found evidence of me dressed as a girl, and is threatening to expose me. I have thought on many occasions about this scenario. I have kept my activities secret for fear of ridicule. I am a private person and don’t want the attention. However, there is no way I am giving in to blackmail. I would rather expose myself than give in.
I can be stubborn like that when I want to be. It was my stubbornness to wear the dress that Nan got me that exposed my desires in the first place.
Picking up our school bags, Stacy and I proceeded outside and climbed into my mother’s car for the drive to school. The reason for our unusual attire is that the school is allowing us to come in fancy dress in order to raise money for charity. It is the last Friday before half-term and normal lessons are going to end at lunchtime.
We have a normal school uniform, which for today only you can buy yourself out of wearing. If you are willing to pay double, then you can come in costume instead of plain clothes. Given that Halloween is next Thursday, I suspect a large proportion of any costumes may be based around that occasion. The only restrictions are that any costumes must be sensible and not interfere with your ability to participate in lessons. Mr Blobby costumes are banned.
I will be one of several St. Trinians pupils attending. I won’t be the only cross-dressed boy. The rugby team are apparently coming as American cheerleaders. Quite where a bunch large rugged blokes are going to find delicate looking outfits I’m not sure, but apparently they have.
I won’t even be the only boy in my class in a skirt. Scotty is coming in full highland regalia, including kilt. However, if anyone teases him about wearing a skirt, then they’re likely to receive a Glasgow kiss (that’s a head-butt if you are not familiar with the term).
Pulling up at the drop off point, Stacy and I got out and started walking into the school. I get a few wolf whistles as I walk past some of the boys. They are not people I know, and I smiled to myself as I wondered whether they realise I usually attend as a boy.
About a third of the pupils are in civvies, the rest are in fancy dress. I can’t see anybody not taking the opportunity to forgo the uniform. The current fashion seems to be to come dressed in nightwear, at least amongst the girls. Vampires seem to be a popular theme, and several of the smaller kids are in skeleton costumes. Most of the shops only supply costumes in little-kid sizes, so not many of my fellow students use shop-bought outfits. Halloween is less than a week away, so that has influenced a lot, but not all, of the costumes. It’s Friday the 25th with Halloween next Thursday. It’s the last day before the half-term break.
Our headmaster, Mr Faraday, was stood in the entrance with several other teachers, inspecting outfits to make sure that nobody has gone too far. We have already been warned that anybody going over the top will be asked to change, and anybody using this as an excuse to be sent home will end up in detention. Turning up as a Teletubby would not be tolerated. All the male teachers are also in fancy dress, mimicking stereotypical Victorian schoolteachers complete with mortarboards and canes.
“Good morning ladies, what have we here? Stacy, I see you got up late this morning, don’t panic you’re not the only one,” Mr Faraday said smiling. He doesn’t do much in the way of teaching, but we do have him for one lesson a week for general studies.
I know him on a more familiar basis than my classmates as he is one of only two staff members, the other being the school nurse, who knows about my medical status. I don’t fancy the stress of transitioning while at school, but if my secret should leak out, then I may change my plans. It is already getting to the point where it is becoming increasingly difficult to hide the physical changes, or lack thereof, of not going through male puberty.
“And an exchange student from St. Trinians,” Mr Faraday continued, “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m the headmaster, Mr Faraday, and who might you be?”
I can see he’s trying to place my face, obviously recognising me to a certain extent, but unable to figure out my identity.
“I’m Emily, Sir. Emily Bridges. You may know my cousin Nathan,” I say with a wink and watch as his draw drops for a moment as he works out who I am. He knows I live part time as a girl, but has never seen me en femme.
He quickly recovered, “well welcome to Lakeside High, I hope you have a good day. Your skirt is shorter than regulation length, but as it’s your first day, I will let it slide once. Good day ladies.”
He then excused himself to go intercept a student arriving in a full suit of armour. I know Steve and he was talking about coming clad as a knight in shining armour. I happen to know the costume he has on is only to wind up the teachers. There is no way he can possibly sit down in what he is currently wearing. He has a tamer version consisting of chainmail that he’ll be dressed in for the rest of the day.
Heading inside to registration, I got a few more wolf whistles as I walked the corridors. I get a few raised eyebrows and double takes from a few people who know me. Only a select few people knew I was planning this, and only Stacy knows the true reasons, so it’s a surprise to most.
To confuse our classmates, I swapped seats with Jessica. She came dressed in Jedi robes and had her head covered in a hood. We have the same hair colour, so we decided to see how long it would take everybody to notice.
We took our seats at the front of the class. We were some of the first to arrive and everybody filed in behind us. I kept my back to everybody, hiding my identity. Stacy sat on a table facing backwards and gave me a commentary of what was happening behind me.
Mr Jones, our form teacher, came in and took his place up front. Everybody settled down and he started to call the register.
“Jessica Anderson,” he asked, looking in my direction. I had my head down looking at the desk, so he doesn’t have a direct sight of my face.
“Here, Sir,” Jessica called from my usual spot, dropping her hood in the process. This caught everybody off guard, as they had all assumed I was sitting in my usual seat. I could hear some murmurs, and Mr Jones immediately called for silence.
“Nathan Bridges?” he asked, looking back in my direction in puzzlement.
I smile and answer, “Here, Sir,” in the most sexy voice I can manage. I blew him a kiss. The room erupted into a mixture of laughter and wolf whistles.
“Dude, you are so gay!” Robert calls out to me.
“One hundred percent lesbian and proud of it,” I replied, smiling.
Technically we are pushing the boundaries of the schools zero tolerance approach to homophobia and bulling. However, it is widely known that Robert lives with his gay farther and his partner. They were the first couple in our town to take advantage of civil partnerships when they were brought in. Given his home circumstances, he is one of the few people who can get away with such a comment in jest.
He is also dressed as a fairy, complete with home-made magic wand. He had on a white lacy dress with and a pair of wings fashioned out of paper and garden wire. Robert is very tall, almost six feet, but also skinny. It looks the dress is probably one of his little sisters old party dresses as it appears to be made for a six year old. The dress, which looks to be designed to be loose, is very tight on him, but does fit. It is however nowhere near long enough and the bottom of what is presumably supposed to be an ankle length skirt barely covers his hips.
Our teacher got everything rapidly back under control, and after congratulating me on my costume, continued with the register.
We have just finished when the speakers in the ceiling crackled and Mr Faraday’s voice filled the room. “Good morning students, and welcome to a fun packed freaky Friday. I hope you are all in the mood for raising some money for Children in Need."
We are a bit early in our fundraising events as the main televised event isn't for another three weeks. However, it was decided the last day before the break was the less disruptive time to stage the fundraising.
"I have a few announcements to go through. Firstly, there are a number of students today who are cross-dressed, both boys dressed as girls and a few girls with fake beards pretending to be boys. As this could cause confusion and embarrassment, the two bathrooms opposite the music room have been designated unisex for today. Any student can therefore use either bathroom, irrespective of their actual gender. So if you decide to use these bathrooms, please bear this in mind.”
I smile at this announcement. I wasn’t sure going into the girls bathroom would be a good idea, and I was worried that I might get a bit of opposition from boys not realising I’m male. What I’m wearing would make using the urinals awkward, not that I ever use them anyway, preferring to sit. Normally in girl mode I wouldn’t think twice about using the female facilities, but there is a high chance of being spotted by someone who knows I’m male, although I doubt anybody else would notice.
“This was requested by the Rugby team as they are all dressed in mini-skirts and tights and felt it would be easier not to have to use the urinals,” our headmaster continued. “Speaking of which, and I never thought I would ever have to make such an announcement, I have been asked to tell you that any adventurous girls who would like to try out using the urinals are welcome to do so and that sixth former Mary Brown will be outside the music room selling aides to facilitate this. For those of you who don’t know her, she will be dressed as Florence Nightingale in a Victorian style nurses uniform.”
This causes a few murmurs to go round the room. I know several girls who are extroverted enough to take that option, even if there are boys stood beside them. I think I will be using the girl’s unisex bathroom if the need arises.
“Lessons will progress as normal until lunch time. After afternoon registration, there will be the elections for the student councillors. I hope that all nominations have been made, seconded and accepted. There will be opportunity for short presentations by candidates, in the form of a debate, before voting will take place,” the tannoy crackled as he continued to speak.
This is where my day could get interesting. Somebody is trying to blackmail me into standing down from the election. I do not intend to do so. Therefore, I will wait and see what happens.
“This will be followed by a number of charity related activities instead of normal lessons, although I will warn you they are designed to be education,” a groan went round the room as the headmaster announced this. “Please study hard this morning, and then have fun this afternoon. That is all, thank you.”
Mr Jones came round the class collecting the uniform buyout money, finishing shortly before the bell rung for the first lesson.
The morning progressed as normal, despite everybody being in weird clothing. I get some strange looks by my classmates, and teachers, but nothing too nasty. I’m accused of being girly and a sissy, which I simply acknowledge and agree with. After all, as I am cross-dressed in a miniskirt, both statements can be considered accurate.
At break time, I find my classmates in the canteen. I know Stacy is conspiring with some of the girls to drag me into a very feminine discussion on the pretence of trying to embarrass me. We both know it won’t, but instead it will be an opportunity for me to simply fit in as a girl, even if for a short time.
A couple of the girls, Charlotte and Mary, attempt to embarrass me by discussing feminine hygiene, but I don’t take the bait. Instead, having an idea this might happen, I have a couple of questions to hand that turned the situation around. The conversation was quickly moved onto safer grounds, much to my and Stacey’s amusement.
We end up discussing makeup, and in particular how the style I’m wearing would work well for me if it was toned down to less extreme measures. I did the job myself, but don’t take credit, saying that I had help from my mother.
Half way through the twenty minute break period, I tell the other girls I need to visit the bathroom, and get up to go to the girls toilets near the music room that have been designated unisex. What surprises me is that some of them decide to tag along and also use the same toilets.
I’m not surprised at Stacy, as she partially sees me as a girl anyway, even though I haven’t dressed as myself in front of her. It is Jessica and Janet who catch me off guard and it is a somewhat surreal experience carrying on our conversation as we relieve ourselves in adjacent cubicles.
This isn’t a new experience for me, as I have used female bathrooms on a number of occasions, including several times with girls my own age. My friend Jennifer saw to that.
Jennifer lives next door to my grandmother, and we became friends when I stayed over the summer while my parents both worked. This was one of the first times I was truly able to let my usual guard down and be myself instead of hiding.
My grandmother had told me that a girl had moved in next door, and I had seen her arrive home from my bedroom window while unpacking the afternoon I arrived.
Each day I would take a book and sit in the small park down the road. After a fortnight of seeing me come and go, she came into the park with a couple of her friends. Jennifer introduced herself, saying she had seen me leave my grandmothers, and assuming correctly that I must be staying with her over the summer and I probably didn’t have any friends here with which to socialise. I deliberately introduced myself by the gender neutral nickname of Biscuit, and refused giving my name saying it was embarrassing.
I didn’t try and deceive them, but neither did I correct their assumption that I was another girl. I had grown my hair as long as I dared, and had put in a ponytail, slightly too high for a guy, but not quite as high up as a girl. Combined with the white t-shirt, khaki shorts, white sports socks, and white trainers, I looked more like a tomboy than a male, but not enough, at least I thought, to raise suspicion in my grandmother.
I had spent most of the day with them, and for that short time I was fully accepted as one of the girls. Luckily on that occasion, I didn’t need to use public facilities, as we ended up back at Lucy’s house for lunch, and ended up playing twister in her back garden.
I was so relaxed by this point that I didn’t even consider the dangers of close body contact combined with the possibility of someone looking up my shorts, given the unusual angles we were contorting ourselves into. Not that they would have seen much, as I was wearing plain white tight underwear that did a good job of holding me in. It wasn’t until we all landed laughing in a heap on top of each other and Natalie’s elbow ended up perilously close to my crotch did I realise how dangerous the situation was getting. I very much doubted the girls would have knowingly let a boy have such close contact.
That sobered me up and made me realise I needed to extract myself from the situation very carefully. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the opportunity. Half an hour later, Jennifer’s mother, Juliette, came to collect the two of us, and regrettably, my grandmother came along for the ride. I had phoned her to let her know where I was, and obviously on learning I was with Jennifer, had spoken with her neighbour.
I knew as soon as I saw them step out into the back garden I was in deep trouble.
“Sorry to break up the fun girls and boys, but it’s time for Nathan and Jennifer to leave,” Juliette stated, looking round in puzzlement trying to spot a boy amongst the girls in front of her.
Any hope of keeping my secret vanished in a puff of smoke, as all eyes fell on me. All the other girls knew each other, so as the only newcomer, I was the logical candidate, especially as I had refused to tell them my real name.
I tried to act nonchalantly, replying lamely, “well I did say I have an embarrassing name.” I couldn’t look the girls in the face and, and despite the warm late afternoon sun, there was a distinct frostiness in the air.
Jennifer quickly said farewell to her friends, while I tried to sink into the shadows. We travelled the short five minute drive back home in silence.
The next few days I spent moping about the house in a state of depression, angry with myself for being so stupid. While I could potentially ignore the other girls, it was difficult to avoid Jennifer as she lived next door. She eventually dragged me outside again and I ended up spending time with her and the other girls, but the initial magic had gone.
They continued to call me Biscuit, but now that they knew I was a boy, they were a lot more reserved in their behaviour towards me. The conversation steered clear of any feminine topics, and there were no activities suggested that would end up with further close physical contact. I also withdrew back to my shyer introverted male persona.
It was Jennifer who brought me back out of my shell, although I didn’t realise it at the time. While the others seemed to distance themselves from me, she continued to treat me as a girl, and openly talked about subjects her friends seemed reluctant to include me in.
Gradually, I had started to feel more at ease with myself, and by the time the holidays were up, the other girls were starting to warm to me.
I didn’t become aware how good a friend she was until Christmas time. She spent a lot of time with my Grandmother, and did her garden for her during the autumn, taking over from me after I went home. She also helped her learn how to use the computer she had bought. It was while helping to recover some lost files that Jennifer found out my grandmother was researching transgenderism. She looked in the browser cache to find a file my grandmother had attempted to save, and found some of the pages she had visited on the subject.
The two of them then discussed my girlishness and conspired together to try and bring me out of my shell. Jennifer helped my grandmother pick out a dress as my Christmas present, setting me up for a shock on Christmas day, and the catalyst for coming out.
I started to live part time as a girl, when staying with my Grandmother. I didn’t have the confidence to dress in public as a girl near home. I was so much happier presenting as a girl, and I was soon included back into her circle of friends as a girl. Only a select few knew my secret, basically the ones who were present that first day. The rest of the girls I met never knew or realised what I was.
I ended up going on many shopping trips with them, and using public restrooms, both with girls that knew about me and ones who didn’t. The last time I spent with Jennifer and Lucy was a couple of weekends ago, picking out the very outfit I am now wearing.
I never thought that I would be sharing bathroom facilities with the girls at school, as I never intended any of them to see me en-femme.
I don’t have many close friends, having always been an outcast. The closest friend at school is Stacy, and that is mainly because we live next door to one another. We have been close friends since were toddlers, and she is the one person who I have always let my guard down around.
I only started to form a protective shield around myself after starting school. I was picked on by some of the kids for being girly. I never really considered my gender until primary school. I knew I was a boy, and that boys and girls where physically different, but only started to learn about the social norms of what girls and boys should like when going to school. It was then that I started to realise I didn't quite fit in with what was expected.
I soon realised it was a bad thing to advertise my girlishness, so learned to put on a masculine charade around other people. Over the years we had remained friends, but we had drifted apart slightly due to peer pressure.
Stacy was a popular girl, and although she didn’t really take notice of my gender, other girls did. They weren’t comfortable having a boy around, and I didn’t want to make Stacy feel awkward by forcing her to choose between her other friends and me. I therefore withdrew myself further into my shell, only daring to let myself out when alone with her, something that happened less and less as the years went by.
I hadn’t realised how depressed and isolated I had become until I came out. The more I opened up, the more I found it hard to present as male. However, I was still too scared to be myself at home, except on special occasions. Too many teens in my neighbourhood go to my school, and although I wouldn’t have a problem with Stacy knowing, some of the other girls nearby I can only describe as spiteful little bitches, and I have no intention of letting them make my life hell.
After my initial coming out, we kept my problems in the family, and it was the difficulty that my parents had not to slip and use the wrong name or pronoun that made me decide to separate my lives in two. Jennifer and her circle of friends, although they know I’m Nathan, they’ve never used that name, and for the most part, hardly ever used male pronouns. I was always Biscuit or Emily round them. It’s therefore very unlikely that they would be likely to slip up, so I could be myself without too much risk.
I didn’t want to risk my secret being revealed, and although I trust Stacy, I had to be sure that she wouldn’t accidentally out me.
I had come to an agreement with my parents to use my nickname for the most part, as this was gender neutral, and wouldn’t cause problems. Stacy picked up on my new nickname, having explained it was given to me when staying with my grandmother, but not going into details. At my request, she started to refer to me by that name, but it took her several weeks to get used to calling me Biscuit rather than Nathan.
For safety I decided not to tell her my feminine name, under the principle that if she doesn’t know it, she can’t accidentally use it.
Unfortunately I made a complete balls-up of keeping my lives separate, accidentally bringing Stacy in on the secret.
About four months ago, we were both sat working on some homework in the dining room at my house. Although we spend time in each other’s houses, we don’t tend to go into each other’s rooms. It’s not so much our parents are worried what we might get up to, it’s that I don’t want Stacy in my bedroom where she could accidentally see some of my girl clothes. Although I tend to only wear unisex or male cut clothing, I do have a few feminine items at home.
As Stacey doesn’t come into my room, I don’t tend to go into her room if I can avoid it.
We were both working on laptops. Both our houses have wireless internet, and the properties are close enough together that we can both use our own broadband connections. I needed to send some files across to Stacy, and the easiest method was via email.
As I have two identities, I have two email accounts. Needless to say, I managed to accidentally open the wrong one, and it wasn’t until Stacey asked why the email she had just received was from someone called Emily, did I realise what I had done.
In retrospect, I might have been able to talk my way out of the situation if I hadn’t spent the next few minutes swearing and banging my head against the desk. That clued Stacy in to the fact I’m deliberately maintaining two online identities.
At first I told her to ignore it and forget about it. However, Stacey wouldn’t take that for an answer, and every time she thought she could get away with it when nobody was listening, would call me Emily, even when at school.
After a week of nagging, I caved in and admitted I live part time as a girl and possibly spend the rest of my life as one.
Blackmailing Biscuit
Chapter 2 of 4
© 2013 D.L.
Having come out of the toilets we headed towards our lockers to drop off our books and pick up our gym kits for the next lesson. I find a letter shoved into my locker. The catch is slightly loose, enough for the paper to be slipped in between the door and the frame. Taking hold of it with my sleeve, I picked it up and after excusing myself from the other girls, headed to the west corridor, where I knew Mr Jones was on patrol. I walked past him and winked. Seeing me holding the paper cautiously, he nodded in my direction as I passed. I continued on to the school office, and took a seat out of sight of anybody who may be watching. A minute later Mr Jones turned up.
“I take it you have another blackmail letter?” he asked. “Are you going to tell me what this is about, this time?”
“I haven’t read it yet, but I assume so,” I replied. “I hoped I wouldn’t need to do this, but it looks like I need to get this in the open.”
After speaking to the secretary, he escorted me into a side office, where we take a seat round a conference table and open the letter. Mr Faraday joined us a few moments later.
“Janice said I was needed, what’s going on?” Mr Faraday asked as he entered and took a seat. A worried look came to his face when he saw it’s me sat in the room.
“Somebody is trying to use blackmail to affect the outcome of the student elections. Nathan here is the favourite candidate of my class, and has been receiving notes,” Mr Jones explained. “He came to me yesterday and told me that he had received a letter instructing him to pull out. He wouldn’t say what it said, but told me to be on the lookout for any weird rumours.”
“Is this connected to your medical status?” Mr Faraday enquired, being careful to word the question vaguely.
I unfold the paper and lay it on the table for the teachers to see. The printout from a colour inkjet printer contains a photo of me from last summer, when I was dressed in a pale yellow sundress. I have matching yellow ribbon in my hair tying my long brown hair up in a high ponytail. I grew my hair as long as I could get away with during term, then had extensions sewn in until I needed to return to school. I spent the summer staying with my grandmother, who lives a couple of hours away, experimenting with being a girl.
Underneath the photo is a message, “Drop out of the elections, or this goes public. You have until noon to publicly announce withdrawal. You failed to heed my previous warning, so I hope you enjoy the guess the student competition this afternoon.”
Both teachers examine the note as I state, “Yes, this is directly connected to being transgendered.”
For the benefit of my form tutor, who had yet to be informed I add, “I live part time as a girl. A fact I try to keep secret, but always realised may not be possible. I intend to transition to being a girl full time, although not yet. I wasn’t going to try to live full time until after I leave school. Trying to come here as a girl would cause no end of problems for both me and the school, and I don’t want to go through that if I don’t have to.”
“That explains a lot,” Mr Jones stated, “Several of the teachers have commented how outgoing you are behaving today. I presume this is why you have been seeing the school nurse a lot recently?” Mr Jones asks.
“My Prentiss,” I reply, referring to my P.E. teacher, “noticed I wasn’t developing like other boys and asked the nurse to examine me. I’m on hormone blockers, so I’m deliberately not going through puberty. Although I don’t feel comfortable using the boy’s changing rooms, I fear I may stand out more by being excluded. Although my doctors were willing to provide a medical certificate excluding me, I decided to continue as normal for as long as possible, although it’s getting to the point where I’m starting to get some funny looks. Nobody has said anything yet, but I’m the least well-endowed of the boys, and I have a small amount of chest growth.”
“Mr Prentiss is very observant,” Mr Jones stated, “we have had bullying of students in the past who suffered from gynecomastia, so I can understand why he would get the nurse involved if he thought there might be a medical issue.”
“I know exactly where and when that photo was taken and by whom, my Aunt Anne at my Cousin Sally’s birthday party last April. She took photos of all the attendees and put them on a private gallery on the internet so that they could download the pictures,” I explain. “Sally’s friends only know me as Emily, and none of them attend this school. I don’t know of any connections between them and anybody I know here. I am very careful to keep my two lives separate.”
“What about this reference to the guess the student competition?” Mr Jones asked. “Have you submitted a photo to be used as a question?”
“No, but I have a nasty suspicion that one may have been entered for me,” I replied, “I just hope it’s one that I can easily explain away as being deliberately misleading for the competition.”
Mr Faraday left the room and returned a minute later with the question and answer sheets that will be used later. There are twelve photos for each year, and students can try to guess the identities of the individuals for a small entrance fee. Several photos are from school sporting events, some are from the drama club productions with individuals in costume, and a few are simply people disguising themselves.
I’m relieved to see that the photo of me can be explained as being deliberately staged for the competition, even though it isn’t. It is from the same party and is cropped from a larger image. It shows my head and shoulders only, so it isn’t clear exactly what I’m wearing. The top of the dress simply looks like a yellow t-shirt. My face is almost entirely hidden behind a balloon that I’m blowing up. I’m known for having long hair, so I can say that I deliberately combed it girly to confuse people for the contest.
“I’ll withdraw the competition and claim there has been a printing issue,” Mr Faraday says, sighing.
“Don’t bother,” I reply. “That particular photo isn’t very damning and I can say it was staged for the contest. Note my hairstyle today almost matches the photo as a clue. The fact I’m dressed as a girl today does show I’m game for a laugh and not afraid to cross-dress.”
“You aren’t cross-dressing though are you?” Mr Jones reasoned. “You always seem timid and withdrawn in class. You are the opposite of that today. Not only are you more outgoing, you are practically oozing confidence.”
“You’re right,” I answer. “I always have to hide myself, and I become very self-conscious trying to act masculine. I don’t have to worry about that today. I can be as girly as I like, and if anybody questions it, then I’m playing the part.”
“I take it you’re not withdrawing from the elections,” Mr Faraday stated.
“Certainly not! Neither do I expect you to be able to do anything about my blackmailer. I’m in a catch 22 situation here. I can’t easily reveal I’m being blackmailed. If I don’t reveal the reasons why, then the rumours could be worse than the actuality. I could also be accused of faking it in order to get a sympathy vote and discredit my competitors. My only hope is that by you knowing there may be the chance the perpetrator can be spotted before they carry out the threat.”
“Okay, we will keep an eye out for any more photos of you in a dress. I will have Janice check all the material printed, and also see if we can find out how your photo ended up on the list,” Mr Faraday stated, adding for Mr Jones benefit more than mine, “As always, what you told us about your medical status is confidential and doesn’t leave this room without your permission.”
We ended the meeting just as the bell rung for the next lesson.
I am one of the last to arrive at the sports block at the end of break. I noticed that the girls were grouped in a bunch whispering to each other. I had a sneaking suspicion they are up to something. Maybe I’m paranoid.
Mrs Phelps, the girls’ games mistress, came out of the building and called for us to line up. We formed the usual two lines, one for each gender. I stand with the boys as per usual, despite my current presentation.
“Hey, Emily, you’re in the wrong line,” Katie shouted at me, “Get your butt over here!”
“Yeah, you can’t be showing all those boy’s your knickers, come join us instead,” Janet added.
A bunch of the girls beckoned me over, while some of the boys whistled and cat called, encouraging me to switch sides. I glanced at Mrs Phelps, who didn’t seem bothered about the fuss.
“I bet you have a girls P.E. kit as well,” Katie stated.
“She does, I’ve seen it,” Stacy replied. I let her see what I was going to wear yesterday.
To the cheers of the boys and giggling of some of the girls, I decided to humour everyone for the moment, casually crossing and stand with the girls, shrugging my shoulders as I did so.
“It doesn’t really bother me which changing room I use. I find it highly embarrassing to undress no matter who is watching. The only slight advantage of changing with the boys is that they have seen me naked before,” I declared, “If you’re happy to have me in the changing room, then I’m willing to join you.”
I haven’t taken the option to remove myself from P.E. as I don’t want to stand out from the crowd. I don’t feel comfortable changing in front of the boys, but have been putting up with it. Changing in front of the girls is only slightly less stressful. There won’t be the comparison going on between myself and other males to highlight that I’m now underdeveloped, as the girls probably don’t have a frame of reference for comparison. On the other hand, they might be more likely to notice that I’m beginning to bud, having all gone through the process themselves.
If I have to change in front of anybody, then I suspect I will find it easier amongst girls. I have partially stripped in front of Jenifer and Lucy, and although embarrassing, I didn’t find it as uncomfortable as I usually do at school. Although that is possibly because I trust them and know they won’t make fun of me.
I smiled at Katie and add, “However, while you may have no issue stripping naked in front of me in order to shower at the end of the lesson, I doubt all the other girls would do the same. Besides, I can’t see the school allowing it anyway.”
“Actually, as the numbers of boys and girls are both odd, joining the girls for today would even things up and make it easier for setting up balanced teams,” Mrs Phelps stated. “Would you like to play hockey instead of Rugby?”
“I’m not a fan of rugby, so I’m happy to join the girls, and yes, I do have a St. Trinians regulation sports kit with me,” I answer.
“In that case, Emily, please lead the way into the girls’ changing room,” Mrs Phelps instructed. “Don’t get changed just yet, just go in and sit down.”
I’m not sure who is more surprised, me or the other girls. The teacher gestured for me to move. Taking a deep breath, I decided I’ve nothing to lose, so walk into the building into a room I never expected to see inside.
I waited for the other girls to sit in their usual places before finding a spot to sit. Katie and Janet make a space between them, gesturing I can sit with them. I don’t necessarily trust them, but reason I’m as safe there as anywhere else in the room.
Stacey was sat on the bench opposite. We have actually seen each other naked, having shared baths as toddlers, but we haven’t done that for many years.
“Alright everybody,” the teacher addressed us. “Simple rule, I’m not asking anybody to undress in front of a member of the opposite sex if they do not want to, but neither will I prevent it from happening. Nathan, if you are comfortable changing in here, please go ahead. Otherwise, you can use my office if you prefer. As several of you insisted Nathan should be allowed in here, I assume you have no inhibitions about the situation. Everybody who isn’t comfortable can wait until Nathan has left the room.”
Mrs Phelps was calling everybody’s bluff. I can see a lot of glances being exchanged. I note that some of the girls immediately start to strip off, one or two even remove their bra’s to swap to sports ones, although they are keeping their backs to me. Most of the girls are waiting for me to disappear before they start to change.
I lean over and look at the toilet cubicles. There are two. One appears to be much larger than normal. The boys changing room has a similar sized cubicle, designed to be large enough to take a wheelchair.
“It may take me longer than usual to change. These suspenders and stockings are a bit fiddly and I’m not used to them. It’s not fair to keep everybody waiting. Therefore if nobody minds, I’ll use the disabled toilet over there,” I state. “If you all want to go ahead and change, I promise not to come out until Mrs Phelps gives the all clear.”
I stood and picked up my sports bag. The teacher nodded as I passed her and entered the enlarged cubicle, shutting the door behind me. A normal sized cubicle would be cramped, but here there is sufficient space to change.
I put on a blue sports skirt that barely covers my bottom. I remove the outer pair of lacy panties I’m wearing and replace them with a plain white pair, suitable for being on view. I will definitely be showing them off when running around. I carefully remove the stockings and suspenders, packing them neatly into my bag to be replaced by long white sports socks and my usual studded football boots.
I’m wearing homemade false breasts, and I can’t run around in them, as they are rather large and likely to come out. I therefore switch to a padded training bra under a plain white polo shirt.
As it is chilly out, I add a pink tracksuit top. The polo shirt is thinner than my rugby shirt I normally wear, and that is bad enough. At least today, I might actually be warm. As I’m used to bare legs in shorts, I don’t think the skirt will make much difference, but at least my body can be warmer than normal. The girls are allowed to wear sweat shirts for P.E. which I never thought fair.
“You can come out now, Emily,” Mrs Phelps called. I exited the stall and walked over to sit on the bench where a place was reserved for me. Once I am sat down, the teacher called the register. I'm almost caught out when she calls, ‘Emily Bridges’ which causes some giggling amongst my peers.
“Emily, you can leave your bags here. At the end of the lesson you can come in, pick up your bags, and then use my private shower,” the teacher declares. “The rest of you, same rules apply. If you want to strip off and head into the showers with Nathan watching, you can do. However, I suspect most of you will probably want to wait until he leaves the room. I will end the lesson a few minutes early, and I won’t be pushing anybody to undress until Nathan has gone.”
We head outside and across to the hockey pitch. The boys were already on the rugby pitch and I hear my feminine name shouted along with some wolf whistles as we all walk past.
While boys do get to play hockey, it isn’t very often. We are normally limited to playing rugby and football, both sports on which I’m not keen. Hockey is a bit better, and I actually start to enjoy myself, even if I’m slightly rusty. I think a lot of the enjoyment comes from being with the girls. I relax and let my mannerisms switch fully into girl mode.
It doesn’t seem that long until the final whistle blows signalling the end of the lesson. Normally P.E. lessons seem to drag on and on, but this time it feels a lot less time.
“Okay girls, time to hit the showers,” Mrs Phelps called. I heard some whispering behind me as we headed towards the facilities. I’m near the front of the line of girls crossing the grass towards the building. Katie distracted me by asking me about how I found shaving my legs. I admit I like the feeling, but hadn’t realised how much colder my legs feel without the hair to protect them.
We entered the changing rooms and the teacher crossed the room and started the showers. Two of the girls ahead of me are already pulling their tops off as soon as we walk through the door; others make their way to the benches and slowly start to remove their shoes.
“Hey, that is a nice jacket where did you get it from?” Janet asked as I reach my bag, “can I try it on, it looks warm?”
“Sure,” I answer slipping it off, “It’s from Next. I got it in a sale a few months ago.”
Janet donned the garment and turned to a mirror on the wall. She asked a few of the other girls for their opinion on the style. While she is messing around, I crouch down and untie my laces. I can’t walk through the building in spiked boots, so remove them. I automatically remove my socks as well. My leg is muddy from where I slipped over earlier in the lesson.
“Emily! Janet! Stop gossiping and get a move on! Now!” Mrs Phelps called from across the room. Being shouted at to get a move on is a regular occurrence for me in the school changing rooms. As I’m always reluctant to undress, I’m usually one of the last into the showers. I immediately go into autopilot without thinking about my surroundings.
Both of us replied, “Yes miss,” and hurriedly start to remove our clothes on her command. I pulled the top off over my head with my left hand as I swiftly unhooked my bra with a flick of my right, letting them both fall from my body into my bag.
I was vaguely aware of some naked bodies passing me on their way to the showers, but this didn’t register as being odd. Over the summer, whilst living as a girl at my grandmothers, I have been to the local swimming pool on a number of occasions. In each case I was with a group of girls my own age, and under the supervision of my grandmother, I used the ladies changing rooms. The group of girls I was with knew my secret. I would wear my swimming costume under my clothes, as did the others, and on arriving quickly strip and head to the pool as swiftly as possible.
When leaving the pool, we would head into the showers. I made sure to keep my lower half covered at all times and then use one of the modesty booths provided to dry and change. While I kept myself covered, some of the girls I was with decided not to bother covering themselves in my presence, and I'm therefore used to seeing naked girls.
I unzipped the skirt hooked my fingers into my panties, flicking them all over my hips. Before they even hit the floor, I had grabbed my towel and bottle of shower gel out of my bag. I am in the habit of not looking down at my body, so I automatically focus my attention to the contents of my bag. I bit the corner of the towel and the string from which the bottle can hang, freeing up my hands so that I could grab my shower cap.
I dashed across to the showers, putting my hair into the cap as I carried the items with my teeth. I dropped the towel on the floor near the entrance, where several other towels had already been deposited, and stepped under the running water.
Blackmailing Biscuit
Chapter 3 of 4
© 2013 D.L.
I started to wash myself down, beginning at my shoulders and working down. The sound of laughter, gasps and wolf whistling in the background didn’t initially register until I look down at myself and realize I’m stood naked in amongst a group of girls. I froze on the spot, paralysed with fear and embarrassment.
“You’ve gone awfully pale. Is something wrong?” a naked Maria states from my side. I turn to face her and see a worried expression on her face.
“I’m not supposed to be in here,” I softly say.
“Why not?” Samantha, who was stood showering on the other side of me, asked. “The same rule applies to you as it does to us. Nobody is being forced to undress in front of a member of the opposite sex, but we can choose to do so if we want. By that logic we are equally guilty of exposing ourselves to you as you to us.”
I stepped out of the shower to where the rest of the class were looking on in amusement at my predicament. I’m more embarrassed about letting my guard down and running into the shower without thinking than I am about being seen naked. I find undressing for P.E. uncomfortable anyway, and I’m used to having to put up with it every other lesson. After the initial shock started to dissipate, I actually start to feel more comfortable in here than I normally do in the boy’s changing room, despite the obvious difference in my physical appearance.
“I’m sorry, everybody,” I said, looking at my audience. “I forgot where I was for a moment. I didn’t intend to shower in here but I sort of went on autopilot when shouted at. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“No, you forgot what you were, and that is an important difference.” The room fell silent except for a few astonished gasps as the nude figure walking towards me spoke. While my behaviour is somewhat surprising, it is nowhere near as shocking as that of the girl in front of me. The only parts of Natasha usually visible are her hands and face. The rest, including her hair, she keeps covered, at least while there is any possibility of being seen by a male. I understand that she does usually shower with the other girls, but like me is last in and keeps herself as hidden as possible under a large towel for as long as practical.
I glanced across at Mrs Phelps, who appeared to be in deeper shock than me. I get the impression that she never intended for this to actually happen, but the situation went beyond her control. She appeared to be on the point of hyperventilating, and two of the girls escorted her out of the room. Most of the attention is on me, so only a few people notice her distress and departure.
Natasha looked round at everyone and added, “I was about the only person here who wasn’t cheering for Emily to join us. So how come now that she’s here, I’m only the fifth person to head to the showers with her?” Turning back to me she continued, “Ignore them and take as long as you like. If they want suddenly to become a bunch of prudes now that the consequence of their actions has come about, then they can put up with being late to lunch. By the way, you still have a patch of mud on the back of your leg, so I suggest you wash it off before getting dressed.”
“You seriously expect us to get changed with a boy in the room?” Stephanie snidely replied, “That’s a bit hypocritical coming from you, Miss ‘Holier than thou’, ‘I must keep my modesty at all times’. I’ll be interested to hear what your parents think about this.”
Natasha stopped walking into the shower and turned to face Stephanie. “I follow the doctrine laid down by my parents and my religion. How I choose to interpret that is between my deity and me. I agree it is improper for a woman to be naked in front of a man outside of wedlock, but I also do not believe there is a man in the room with us.”
“I’ll admit Nathan here is certainly more boy than man,” Stephanie wiggled her little finger in the air. Most boys would be offended at that remark, but I simply accept that as fact. Having seen the other boys, I know I’m one of the smallest in that department. However, it’s still larger than I would like. She continued, “I didn’t realise you had an age limit. You certainly freaked out when Jason tried to swipe your scarf a couple of years ago. There were only younger boys to see you then, but you still made a fuss.”
I see Natasha pause and compose herself before replying, “Sorry Emily, if what I am about to say causes you embarrassment. There is more than one way to interpret gender. I do not believe it is as simple as a person’s sex. Emily here may be male, and even that is debatable given her lack of masculine development and the puffiness of her chest. Even so, I still think the person in front of me is a girl, all be it one with a small birth defect that I’m willing to overlook. I may be wrong on my assumptions, and I don’t expect her to either confirm or deny my suspicion. If I’m proven wrong in time, then that is my mistake and I accept that possibility."
Natasha walked past me as I slowly recovered from the shock. The boy’s up until now haven’t noticed or said anything about my chest. However, the girls, being intimately familiar with the effects of female puberty, appear to be more observant of my physical state. I knew there was a risk of being discovered, but I hadn’t counted on having it pointed out to the whole room.
I noticed a few of the girls twitch nervously, wondering whether to undress so respond, “Don’t feel forced to undress if you are uncomfortable. I don’t want anybody regretting doing so later due to peer pressure. I know what it’s like to have to undress in an environment you are not comfortable in, in order to conform, and I don’t want to inflict that on others.”
I turned and stepped back into the shower next to where Natasha was now washing herself. Stacy, Janet and Katie joined us a few seconds later. Stacy simply smiled and winked at me, as the only girl who officially knows my secret. Although thanks to Natasha, most would probably be thinking about it.
I quickly washed the mud off and rinsed the soap away. I ignored the other girls in the showers with me, making sure to stare at the wall when not looking at my own body to see if it's clean. I walked to the exit, brushing as much water as possible off me as I emerge. I picked my towel up and started to wipe myself down.
I didn’t bother to wrap or hide myself as I walked across the room, drying myself. I could see the rest of the class staring at me, presumably paying my physical development, or lack thereof, close attention. I saw no point in hiding my body, as most of them had opportunity to see me as I dashed into the shower, and I was too shocked to cover myself when I got back out. Thankfully, I haven’t become aroused at the situation, possibly due to the fear and anxiety of being naked, despite the visage of naked flesh I have witnessed. The hormone blockers also help in that department.
The door to the changing room opened a fraction and the voice of our headmaster called through the gap, “All of you who have yet to start changing, please come through to the sports hall now, the rest of you, please make your way here as quickly as possible. I need to speak to you all.”
About a quarter of the girls have headed into the shower, or were in the process of removing clothing. Just over two thirds of the girls leave the room. Stephanie whistled the tune to ‘There may be trouble ahead’ as she departed. What surprises me is a number of girls who have yet to make a move decided to stay sat in the room, even though they could easily have left having not started to undress.
I suspected they wanted to show their support, but were hesitant about showing themselves. Not wanting to make them feel uncomfortable, I deliberately concentrated on getting myself dressed, telling them, “I’ll keep my eyes away from the showers. I promise not to look directly at anyone else. Just keep your back to me if you are uncomfortable about being seen.”
I hesitated as I pulled my knickers up past my knees. Up until now, I hadn’t tucked myself as I normally do, which felt odd. Even though it may have seemed strange to those watching, I decided to go into full girl mode. I carefully arranged my genitals as I put my underwear into position, the tight fabric hiding the evidence that I’m different to the other girls.
I relaxed slightly as making the detested part of my body disappear brings me contentment. I was planning on hiding how familiar I am with wearing girl clothes, but considering the speed in which I removed them without any difficulty, pretending to struggle now is an act I am in no mood to perform. I therefore continued to dress myself without issue as swiftly as possible. By the whispering I could hear, it sounded like my lack of difficulty with dressing was being noticed. So was the fact that I seem to have more chest development than normal.
I am one of the first to finish dressing, and started to head to the door, being very careful to look down at the floor and not at anyone. I’m stopped by Katie, “Don’t go yet, I think it might be an idea if we all went in together. I think safety in numbers may apply here. We are all equally guilty of undressing in front of each other, and I don’t want you to take all the blame for this.”
Some of the other girls agreed, so I sat down again, keeping my gaze to my feet.
“Okay, we are all decent. You can stop diverting your eyes now.” Stacy declared for my benefit. I looked up to see everybody was at least in underwear if not fully dressed, those who were shy keeping their backs to me anyway. “Are you going to do some makeup before stepping out?”
I nodded and proceeded to the mirror, where a few other girls were also preening themselves. I rapidly and expertly reapplied the makeup I did this morning. This gathered a few stares and comments from some of the girls, as well as some compliments on my skill. I smiled back. I could see the quizzical expressions on their faces, but none of them had the courage to ask me outright, so I decided to end the speculation.
“Natasha, your assumption about me is correct. I’m transgendered. A girl trapped in a male body. I would like to thank you all for being so accepting of having me in here. Personally, I would rather be changing in here every lesson, but I know that will never happen. I certainly won’t be changing in the boys’ room anymore. Assuming I’m neither arrested nor expelled, I will either be withdrawn from P.E. altogether or arrangements will be made for me to change in private.”
I’m immediately wrapped in a hug by Stacy. “I wondered if you would be forced to come out today, but I never imagined it would be like this. The blackmail maybe, but not like this.”
“Blackmail?” Jessica says in surprise.
“Somebody is threatening to circulate pictures of her to make her pull out of the elections this afternoon,” Stacy elaborated.
“I have no intention of doing so, and I wasn’t going to say anything about it, in case I got accused of trying to get a sympathy vote," I replied. I then continued to explain about the notes I had been receiving.
With some trepidation, surrounded by a group of girls, I walked slowly into the gym where the head master and the rest of the class were waiting for us.
I took note of the slightly worried look on the headmaster’s face. I also observed the smug grin Stephanie was displaying. Mr Faraday did a double take as Natasha entered the room behind me. I don’t think he registered the fact that she was missing from the room until that point.
“Care to explain yourself?” Mr Faraday asked in my direction. The grin on Stephanie’s face grew wider as my discomfort rose.
“I was invited to join the girls and I took up the offer. There isn’t much else to say on the matter. I hadn’t intended to go as far, but l didn’t anticipate that I would lose track of my surroundings as easily as I did. I have already apologised to the girls for my lack of situational awareness.”
“First of all, nobody is in trouble, at least not yet,” Mr Faraday stated. “As far as I’m aware, no laws have been broken. There are laws on decency and public exposure, but I wouldn’t describe the changing room as a public place. In addition, you all mutually agreed to make what is normally a girl’s changing room into a unisex environment. Therefore, you can’t claim that seeing a member of the opposite sex in a state of undress was unexpected.”
I’m not as sure that seeing me naked was expected. I doubt most of the girls truly believed l would undress in front of them. As for the legal aspect, I do have a carry letter from my doctor for such situations, something Mr Faraday knows about.
“What I am concerned about is if any of you feel that you were bullied, forced or tricked into exposing yourself in front of a person of the opposite sex. You don’t need to say anything now, but if any of you wish to raise a complaint, then please come speak to me or any other member of staff in the next few days. I will understand that you may want to discuss this with your parents first,” the headmaster continued. “Nathan, that specifically includes you as well as you have as much right to feel coerced as anybody else in here. From what Mrs Phelps was able to tell me, you weren’t exactly a willing participant in these events.”
“While l may not have been intending to join the girls in the showers, I don’t blame anybody else for what happened. It was my own fault for not concentrating on what I was doing,” I decided to reply directly to the headmaster, despite not needing to do so.
With nobody else wanting to put in any complaints, Mr Faraday asked if there were any other questions.
“Will you be sending any letters home? I personally don’t have any problems with what has happened, but my parents may think otherwise,” Natasha asked.
“No, I don’t think that necessary unless you specifically want me to inform them. If anyone wants a note to take home, let me know.” The room was silent as Mr Faraday waited for a non-existent reply.
“So that we don’t have a repeat of this situation in the future, from now on I am banning any further usage of changing facilities by members of the inappropriate gender.”
“Hold on,” Jessica asked, “as Emily is obviously a girl, does this mean she is now banned from using the boys changing room? Will she be changing with us from now on?”
“I think you need to get your eyes tested,” Stephanie laughed. “I think Nathan definitely proved he’s male, albeit a very small one.”
“I never said that she isn’t male, just that she is a girl. Physical sex and gender isn’t always the same thing,” Jessica countered, “Mr Faraday, where did you intend her to change from now on?”
At first, I assumed that Jessica was being funny. She certainly got a few sniggers from some of the girls. However, they were the ones not present at my declaration of being transgendered. I think a lot of those in the know realised immediately that she was actually being serious.
“I’m glad at least one you was paying attention in class when we covered LGBTQI topics a few weeks ago. I was wondering if any of you would notice my deliberate choice of words,” The headmaster stated.
I don't think the issues we covered in the past few weeks are part of the standard curriculum. Certainly none of my friends at other schools have undergone similar lessons. I think Mr Faraday deliberately added them to the agenda raise awareness of the issue and soften the impact of my eventual change of presentation.
"The answer to that question really depends on Biscuit. Until I receive notification otherwise, Nathan is a boy and therefore is required to use the male facilities. However, if she were to declare herself as transgendered, and this was backed up by a medical diagnosis of Gender Dysphoria, then I would be required to make alternative arrangements," He continued to say, looking away from Jessica and focussing on me part way through the answer.
The ball was now back in my court to decide if I want to take this any further. Mr Faraday is well aware of my status, but as agreed, he was letting me decide if I came out or not. He obviously didn’t know what was said in the changing rooms. At this point, about a third of the people in the room already knew my status, and therefore what I was about to say. The others looked on in anticipation at my reaction.
Taking a deep breath, I declared "Mr Faraday, I hereby formally request to be recognised as transgendered. With immediate effect I wish to present, and be treated as, a girl. I believe you already have all the paperwork ready from my doctors for my transition?"
The room fell silent with anticipation awaiting the adult's response. He paused to look around at the expectant faces before answering, "Emily, as previously discussed, the school formally recognises your gender identity as female and we will treat you as such. As a girl, it is inappropriate for you to be asked to use the boy's facilities, and therefore will not be required to do so. As to Jessica's question, from now on Emily will use the same facilities as the rest of the girls with two exceptions. Unfortunately, as Emily is well aware, it is inappropriate for me to ask that a male use the female changing rooms, regardless of their gender identity. It is apparent that a number of you are not comfortably sharing the facilities with her, and I will not force anybody to do so. Emily will therefore use the private cubicle in the teacher's office. The other exception is in regard to the toilet facilities. Emily, you may use any of the girl's toilets, except for the girls’ bathroom next to the canteen. That way any girl who is not comfortable with potentially having you enter the room can use that facility without worrying about you being present. I will send a memo to that effect around at this afternoon’s registration."
Our school is almost 'H' shaped, with the canteen being in the centre. Each wing of the school has a set of toilets, with an additional set in the centre next to the canteen. The drama studio and music room is not part of the H, but are sticking out of one side. This is where the bathroom I used earlier is located. If you ignore the toilets in the sports block, which is separate building a short distance from the main school, I have access to five of the six girl's bathrooms on site. This is much better than my initial worry that I would only have access to the three unisex disabled toilets available. Anybody who cares deeply enough to avoid the possibility of me entering the room with them won't be massively inconvenienced by having to walk a long distance to use an alternative lavatory.
I suspect some may argue that it should be the other way round, and that I should only have access to the one of six, so only I am inconvenienced rather than potentially everybody else. Having discussed the issue with Mr Faraday before, I know that his opinion is that it shouldn't matter as all disrobement is done behind a cubicle door anyway, so there is nothing for me to see. It's also a big statement on the school's part that they are treating me as any other girl, irrespective of my physical appearance. It was actually my idea not to use all the facilities available to me to proactively counteract any arguments or objections thrown at my transition by other students. If they feel that strongly about the issue, then they still have one facility guaranteed to be transsexual free.
Seeing the stunned silence before him, with no further ado, Mr Faraday dismissed the class so that the remaining girls could change. The bell for the end of the lesson rung, and some of the girls dashed off to change, as to not to waste their lunch hour. A number of the more accepting individuals congratulated me, and I received several emotional hugs.
After most or the girls have departed, l asked Natasha, “Are you going to be in trouble if anyone tells your parents about this? You effectively said you don’t want them to find out, but I have a feeling Stephanie is spiteful enough to cause you trouble.”
“I sort of hope she does,” Natasha answered. “My parents couldn’t care less and will tear her off a strip if she tries to get me in trouble. Yes, I do wear this scarf for religious purposes, but that isn’t the only reason. They would be perfectly happy for me not to wear it. In fact, I often don’t bother when we go out at the weekends. The real reason I started to wear the headscarf in the first place is that I suffer from alopecia. Luckily, I haven’t had an outbreak for a few years. The school that I used to go to had a number of pupils who already covered their heads for religious reasons, so it was less embarrassing to use that as a reason rather than admitting my hair was falling out. When I moved here, I kept on wearing it out of habit. It is also my way of standing out from the crowd.”
I was simply glad to get out of the situation, without either myself or anybody else, being in serious trouble. One of the eligibility criteria for becoming a student representative is that you have an unblemished record. Any serious disciplinary action voids your ability to be elected. I did wonder if this might have been a ploy to get me in trouble but I disregarded that as unlikely.
As the day was fine, I decided to stay outside to eat my lunch in relative peace while the majority headed to the canteen.
“So, are the rumours true?” Charles asked as he sat down beside me.
“What rumours specifically?” Even though only a short time had passed, l suspected that countless rumours were already spreading through the grapevine about me. I needed to know which before answering.
“Did you shower with the girls?”
“Some of them, yes. But I’m not saying who, or what I saw.”
“We thought it must be a joke,” Clive added. “We assumed if that actually happened, you would have been arrested by now.”
I explained the conversation with the headmaster. They didn’t ask about me being transgendered, and I didn’t bother to volunteer that information.
We were interrupted by an out of breath sixth former skidding to a halt in front of us.
“Are you Emily Bridges?” she asked. I nodded and she continued, “You’re needed in room 16a immediately.”
“What’s going on?” Clive asked before I could respond.
“I’m not sure exactly, but someone was putting pictures of you on a wall and Mr Jones caught them. I gather they were doing it without your permission. I was asked to find you and make you come.”
Her poor choice of words caused raucous laughter to break out amongst the boys. I couldn’t help but giggle as the poor girl turned bright red.
I realised that the person front of me didn’t have a clue I was a boy and didn’t appreciate the significance of the photos. It would appear my fears about being exposed were justified. Although having already come out, the threat was now redundant. I made my way towards the classroom with the boys in tow. I was eager to discover who was behind this and if they knew that they were now wasting their time. As the girls in my class knew, I assumed that perhaps it was one of the boy’s, who may not yet have heard my declaration of my status.
Blackmailing Biscuit
Chapter 4 of 4
© 2013 D.L.
Miss Carter, one of the English teachers, was stood blocking entry to the room. The glass window in the door, which usually allowed a view inside, was covered by a sheet of flip-pad paper.
“Ah, Biscuit, you may go in. The rest of you stay outside. Please stand back and don’t try to sneak a look unless you want to join the others in detention.”
Following the teacher’s instructions l cautiously entered the room in trepidation as to what might be inside. Given the nature of Miss Carters reaction, I suspected I wouldn’t like what I am about to find.
I don’t see anything immediately obvious in the room. Steve and Fred are sat at desks looking extremely nervous. Jessica is standing with her arms crossed looking very annoyed. Mr Jones is sat at his desk waiting. Before he had a chance to explain, Mr Faraday arrived and asked, “What is going on here?”
“Jessica found these two messing with the projector,” Mr Jones responded. Each of our classrooms is fitted with a digital projector. These are used in class when a video is needed. A live video feed can also be relayed from the media classroom over the network. Mr Jones flicked the switch to power on the device. These particular models take a few seconds to boot up, during which they output plain white light. Instead of the expected white rectangle appearing on the wall, an image of me in the party dress is rendered. To make sure that there is no mistake; my name is displayed above my head with an arrow pointing down. Underneath are the words “Cross dressing Genderqueer”.
“A small piece of film has been stuck on the lens,” Mr Jones explained. “Jessica is here because she saw what happened and also because she inexplicably seems to know about the blackmail threats.”
I turned to Mr Faraday, "Jessica knows about the blackmail because l told her. I hadn’t intended to, but while we were getting dressed Stacy let slip by saying that she was surprised that it was P.E. that caused me to out myself and not the blackmail. As l had already told them about being transgendered, I explained the situation.”
Jessica seemed to relax as I confirmed her story. Fred and Steve seemed surprised that I had already come out. I guess they hadn't heard, otherwise they would have known their prank was already redundant. The two teachers then started to interrogate the two boys. However, they refused to say anything, opting instead to remain silent.
I suspected, and I think the teachers did as well, that one of the other councillor candidates might have conspired with them. The other candidates are Robert, Scotty and Stephanie. Given Robert’s home situation and general acceptance of alternative lifestyles, I very much doubted his involvement considering the homophobic nature of the threats.
On the other hand, Steve is best friends with Scotty, and Fred is dating Stephanie (at least this week, their relationship runs very hot and cold).
The two teachers were tag teaming the boys, pointing out just how much trouble they were potentially in. This didn't seem to be helping the situation.
"First, you make threats causing Nathan a great deal of stress and worry. Secondly you tried to manipulate a democratic election by forcing out one of the candidates. Then you sabotage school equipment, which could have potentially caused untold damage, which alone is enough to at least warrant suspension. Finally you choose to use deeply offensive comments to publicly humiliate a fellow student," Mr Jones declared.
I could see that the teachers’ analysis of the situation was deliberately emphasising the seriousness of the supposed crimes, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that the situation was exaggerated. I couldn't help starting to laugh at the situation.
"I'm sorry," I said when I finally regained my composure, "I can fully understand the seriousness of the blackmail and damage of the projector, but as much as I know I probably should be, I don't find that image on screen offensive. Cross dressing Genderqueer? Really? Is that the best you can come up with? I normally come to school as a boy, yet I'm standing here in a classic schoolgirl uniform. I think that counts as being cross-dressed, although technically I could argue I'm cross-dressed when wearing trousers. However, since I usually present myself as a boy in school, I'm not disputing that definition. While 'queer' by itself can be considered offensive, I've seen 'genderqueer' in serious literature as a term that some people used to classify themselves. I consider transgendered a more appropriate term for me than genderqueer, but I'm not overly bothered by that slight inaccuracy."
I looked at the two sheepish individuals sitting in front of me. "You were counting on that, weren't you? You've deliberately picked the lamest possible insults you could have come up with. It’s not difficult to come up with something better. Freak, pervert, sissy, faggot, cocksucker, tranny, transvestite: any of those terms would have worked better. Just throwing in some swearing to emphasis the point would have been an improvement. It's as if you're trying to go out of your way not to upset me, which begs the question, why the hell are you doing this in the first place?"
"Did someone coerce you into this?" Mr Faraday asked, "Because it seems to me that you didn't want to cause offence, yet you still went ahead with it."
"We didn't want to hurt you," Steve admitted with a sigh, "we just wanted you to admit what most of us suspected anyway, that you're a girl."
"When we got the picture, we weren't actually surprised. It actually made sense when we saw it," Fred added. "You're a bit introverted when any of us lads talk to you, yet get you in amongst a bunch of girls, and after a few minutes you lose your self conscious and go all girly. It's actually quite amusing to watch as you gush over the latest fashion mags, making the rest of the girls look practically masculine in comparison."
"I do not gush," I stated firmly. "I admit I sometimes let my guard down, which I'm usually very cautious about, but I don't go that girly. You're exaggerating."
"Yeah, right," Steve replied sarcastically, "if anything Fred's understating it. You're definitely the most effeminate boy in the school, mannerism wise, and if the choice of dress in the photo is anything to go by, your fashion sense is more filly than any other girl I know. I suppose next you'll be denying that the underwear you're wearing isn't lacy."
"In case you hadn't noticed, this is supposed to be a costume," I countered. "St. Trinians girls are known for their sexy undergarments. I am wearing what is befitting for the character."
"So you are wearing lacy knickers then," Steve said, grinning at the confirmation. I hadn't realised that he was only guessing. "You could have made do with plain white panties, it's not as if we would have seen them. You've managed to keep them well hidden, despite many of us trying to sneak glances. I guess it proves you have experience of being in a skirt."
"If I hadn't of been invited into the girl's changing room, you would have got a good glimpse of them when I undressed for P.E. I figured if I was going to make a fool of myself, I would give everybody a good laugh in the process by going all the way."
"There is going all the way, and then taking it to extremes," Fred countered. "None of the rugby team have had hair extensions put in. I notice that the ends of your hair is damp, so I assume that you're not wearing a wig, otherwise you would have taken it off to shower. Several of the lads had bets going as to if you would turn up in a dress, and if so, how far you would go. Robert bet that you would take the opportunity to be yourself for once, which is why he decided to take a risk and dress as a fairy in support. Scotty was convinced you'd never dare."
"Under normal circumstances, Scotty would have been right," I admitted. "I only came dressed like this due to the notes you sent. There was no way I would ever give into blackmail."
"We know," Steve answered. "In fact we were counting on it. We never expected you to pull out, and are glad you didn't. The reason why you're the favourite to win is because everyone knows that once you've decided something you see it through. Part of the job is to represent the class, and if you can't even stand up for yourself, then how could you possibly stand up for all of us? If you pulled out, then you wouldn't have been fit for the position anyway. As it is, you've got our vote, assuming we still can."
"This was never about the election," Fred added, "that was only an excuse. The aim was to get you to open up so you didn't keep trying to hide in your shell. You're always so gloomy when trying to force yourself to be masculine. It’s depressing. We figured that you would be a lot happier if you could just be yourself. We deliberately made the image here as friendly as possible, and tried to keep the caption as accurate and inoffensive as we could. We were hoping that with the evidence on screen we would be able to directly ask the question 'Are you transgendered?' and that you wouldn't then try and deny it. Unfortunately it seems that you have managed to out yourself already rendering all our efforts pointless anyway."
"You succeeded, just not in the way you imagined," Mr Faraday reasoned. "Emily has already stated that she wouldn't have come as herself if you didn't send the notes, and the girl's wouldn't have had a reason to invite her into the changing rooms if she was dressed as a boy. While your intentions may have been honourable, your methods are certainly not. You could have asked Emily in private about the photo in a less confrontational manner that wouldn't have caused several days of torment over whether she was going to get exposed or not. Not only that, by blowing her cover, you have potentially exposed her to possible danger from anyone not sympathetic to her condition."
"Like who?" Fred asked. "Everybody suspected she was a girl anyway. Rumours have been going round for months, yet no-one has had anything negative to say on the subject, certainly none of the boys, and we've been quietly collecting their options for the past couple of weeks. Stephany has been doing the same amongst the girls where she can. I think the only people not to have been asked are Biscuit, obviously, and Natasha. She is the only person not likely to accept the situation, but even then I don't think she would be problem if everybody else gave their support. She hasn't said anything nasty about Robert's parents."
"So Stephany is involved in this conspiracy as well then?" Mr Faraday said picking up on Fred's admission. "Jessica, has Emily's situation been discussed? Who suggested she should join you in the changing room?"
"Stephany asked me a couple of days ago if I thought Biscuit was more girl than boy. Given the increased focus on diversity and acceptance in recent weeks there has been some speculation that the school has been preparing for some form of announcement. Given that we already have some openly gay students, some of us were thinking that there may be a transgendered student either present, or about to attend."
"So you thought of me?" I asked. "I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it."
Jessica laughed before replying, "Yeah, right. I think the boys are right about you 'gushing' isn't far off. We ruled out the possibility of one of the existing students undergoing a real life test given that everybody undresses for P.E., at least in our year group. Also, there hasn't been any talk of a new student transferring in, and we wouldn't normally expect that to happen mid-term anyway. That leaves the possibility of someone about to transition. Your name came up as a possibility and things started to fit."
"I wasn't intending to transition, at least not until the sixth form, but given today's events, I'm going to do so anyway," I clarified.
"As to who suggested Biscuit join us, that was Katie. She thought it would be a laugh given how you were dressed."
"Great, so I'm the laughing stock of the…," I started to say but was interrupted by Jessica.
"No! That is not the case. We realised if our suspicions were correct that you would be uncomfortable in with the boys, even more so today with what we guessed you must be wearing underneath your skirt. We weren't making fun of you by inviting you to our line. While we didn't know if you would accept our offer or not, we fully expected Mrs Phelps to intervene and prevent you from joining anyway, at which point we planned to petition for you to use the staff cubicle, as we knew you would never think to ask yourself."
At this point it was Mr Faraday's turn to laugh at my shocked expression. "I offered Emily that option months ago. It was only today that she finally decided it was time to take me up on that offer. I could have forced the issue by banning her from the boys’ facilities, but I didn't want to out her, and nobody has complained about her presence."
We were interrupted by the sound of the bell signalling the end of the lunch. Miss Carter’s voice could be heard through the door calling for the students now assembling in the corridor for registration to settle down and form an orderly line.
Turning to me, Mr Faraday asked, "You okay with everyone seeing this image? I think it might be a good idea to bring the rest of the class in here."
I told him to go ahead and he went to the door. After dismissing Miss Carter so that she could go to see to her own class, he instructed the other students to enter but remain silent. I watched closely as everybody entered. A few seemed surprised by the image on screen. Most expressions I couldn't read, but I did notice a couple of worried glances and unfortunately for the persons involved, Mr Jones also seemed to observe the same thing.
"I'm sure most if not all of you know of the events of the last lesson," Mr Faraday stated to the class, "However, for any of the boys who weren't there and may not yet have heard through the grapevine, I will state that Nathan Bridges, with the full support of the school administration, and with formal backing from qualified medical professionals, has been diagnosed as being transgendered and will from now on be attending this school as a girl named Emily. I expect everybody to treat her as a girl and with the respect she deserves as both a young woman and fellow student."
The headmaster paused deliberately leaving a silence for emphasis before continuing, "This morning’s events were triggered by an incident of which most of you will be unaware. Over the past few days Emily has been receiving notes demanding that she pull out of the student elections or face being exposed as transgendered. Steve and Fred where found tampering with the projector during the lunch time. Luckily for them Emily doesn't find the image offensive. It wouldn't still be on screen if she did. I am however very disappointed with their behaviour. Steve, Fred, I think you owe Emily an apology."
Both boys openly apologise to me in front of the entire class. I accept their apology as I do believe it to be genuine and not just because they are being forced.
"Now I want you to explain exactly how you came to be in possession of what is a private family photograph of Emily," Mr Faraday instructed.
The two boys exchanged glances. "We found it on the internet," Fred finally answered after a couple of minutes following further prompting by the headmaster. This didn't satisfy Mr Faraday who then began to push for further details on exactly how they came by the photograph. It rapidly became obvious, at least to me and the two teachers who I had already told about the photo's origins, that neither Fred nor Steve knew where the image had come from. This led to the obvious conclusion that someone else had provided it to them. Mr Jones beckoned Mr Faraday to one side and showed him a note he had just scribbled. He had obviously spotted something, and I think it may have been the same thing as I did when everybody came in. Stephanie was one of the two girls who had worried expressions on entering.
"Stephanie," Mr Faraday stated, causing the girl to jump with surprise, "you wouldn't happen to know anything about this photograph would you. You've been asking a lot of questions about Emily over the past couple of weeks."
If looks could kill then the stare that Stephanie gave Fred would be fatal. He visibly shrank at his girlfriend’s expression. The anger at being implicated was apparent and Mr Faraday picked up on this. "Stephanie, if you are in any way involved in this prank, then I suggest you say so now. Both you and Emily are candidates in the student election, and it doesn't look very good if you are implicated in any way with trying to blackmail her to drop out."
"I overheard Stacy calling Nathan Emily a few weeks ago," Stephanie admitted. "A few of us girls had been noticing how effeminate Nathan was becoming, as well as his use of the gender-neutral nickname. Combined with the diversity training we have been undergoing recently, I started to become suspicious. I tried to talk to Stacy, but she completely clammed up and refused to talk about the subject. The fact she refused to say anything at all rather than simply denying it made me think it was more likely to be true. I've talked to most of the girls individually to find out if they think the same thing and what the implications of Nathans possible transition might be. I didn't bother talking to any of his other close friends after talking with Stacy, and I didn't bother speaking to Natasha as I thought her reaction would be obvious."
Natasha started giggling at Stephanie’s statement. Pointing to Fred and Steve, Stephanie continued, "I asked these two idiots to find out how many of the boys think she might be trans and if any would cause any trouble if it were true. I also told them not to do anything that could cause trouble for Nathan or interfere with the elections or face being wired up to an electric fence by their bollocks."
Even though I'm a girl, I'm still male, so I winced with the though along with the boys.
"I have no idea how they got hold of that photo or what they were planning on doing with it," she concluded.
"Stephanie had nothing to do with it," Fred quickly jumped in to defend his girlfriend. He looked across at Steve with a pleading look on his face.
Steve sighed and pulled out a piece of paper from his bag. "Mr Faraday, this note will explain how we came to have the photo and why we did this. You were right earlier about this not being by choice. The other party shown doesn't know about this, and I would appreciate it if she didn't find out."
Mr Faraday took the offered sheet, walked to the edge of the room and carefully unfolded it so that nobody else in the room could get a view of its contents. The look of shock on his face was intriguing. This combined with the very embarrassed look Steve was exhibiting would no doubt fire off some wild theories about just what was going on. I think a number of us worked out that Steve was also being blackmailed, something that was confirmed when the head teacher said, "I can understand you not wanting this to be made public, especially as some might consider this picture depicts a criminal act. Also, unless the person who took this photograph comes forward, I will be referring this matter to the police. While the subject matter may or may not be illegal, the act of taking the photo definitely is."
Mr Faraday hasn't said exactly what Steve is being blackmailed with, but there is only one thing that springs to mind that would logically fit the description. While the photo could show any number of criminal offences, there is only one type of activity that I can think of that would also be illegal to photograph. The image must in some way be sexual in nature. Any photograph in which the subject is below eighteen would be classified as child pornography, which is illegal to take or own.
Taking a post-it note out of his pocket, Mr Faraday noted something down before refolding the blackmail note and putting it into his pocket.
"Does this tell you who did this?" the headmaster asked handing me the slip of paper he wrote on. It contained the URL the boys used to obtain the image.
"It will do once I look up the pass code contained in the link. Everybody who was given access to the site was issued with a unique identifier as part of the URL," I reply. Taking a deep breath I reach into my schoolbag to pull out my mobile phone. Setting it down on the desk I press the on button to boot the smartphone up. "However, I'm not sure I want any of the people who have legitimate access to the photos to end up with a criminal record because of me. I request that you keep the police out of this matter, unless Steve or whoever he was pictured with in a compromising position wants to press charges."
In truth I'm stalling, I recognise the apparently random set of digits and characters. There is only one person with any connection to the people involved in the blackmail, it’s that I just didn't want to accept the possibility that they were involved. I did however memorise their access code.
I focused my attention onto the other person I had noticed when they entered the room. I fixed Stacy in a Paddington hard stare, locking eye contact with my friend. Since she entered the room I had been debating if I should accuse her of being involved. Stacy seemed to have a guilty look about her, and I'm familiar enough with her expressions that I can read her emotional state fairly accurately. On one hand she is the obvious suspect as she is the only student who knew about my dual identity and the existence of the photographs. However, I didn't want to initially consider the possibility that she had broken my trust. I was also acutely aware that our friendship could be damaged by me accusing her if she was innocent. Closely watching her body language while the interrogation of the other students was underway convinced me that she was hiding something. I now have the proof.
While pretending to wait for the website to come up to verify the code, I silently fix my gaze on Stacy subtly letting her know that I know. Stacy was already starting to look exceeding worried and she immediately noticed my expression as we made eye contact and her face became noticeably flushed as she became increasingly uncomfortable under my gaze.
I select the online photo album administration link from the favourites list and scroll down the list of codes displayed, confirming my suspicion. I immediately switch the phone into sleep mode, blanking the screen before anybody can see the results of my search.
I tell Mr Faraday, “I don’t want any police involvement, unless the subjects of the photo particularly want to make complaints. I will speak with the culprit myself. I would rather this whole matter was dropped. Steve, Fred, I'm sorry you got dragged into this."
I have deliberately been focussing my attention to the headmaster, avoiding looking at Stacy so that I don't give her away. I am distracted by the sound of sobbing. Turning my attention back to Stacy I notice that she has started to cry.
"It was me," Stacy declared, "I set Steve up and took the photo of us together."
Before anybody could react, Stacy jumped up and ran from the room, tears streaming from her face as she dashed away.
"Jessica, go keep an eye on her," Mr Jones called out to our mutual friend. Jessica immediately dashed off after the stricken girl.
"Steve, if you have any other copies of the photo, I advise you destroy them. Also, you and Fred need to report for one weeks’ worth of break and lunch time detention after half-term. Consider yourself lucky that I'm not imposing more serious punishment," Mr Faraday instructed. "Stephanie, I accept you had nothing to do with this stupidity, so the elections will go ahead as planned."
My phone, still sat on the desk in front of me sprang to life, indicating an incoming call. The normal rule is that phones remain off during lessons, and I wouldn't expect any calls. Looking at the display, I can see Jessica's name appear on the screen. Considering she has just taken off after Stacy, I suspect that it might be urgent.
I quickly answer it, "What's going on Jessica?" This immediately catches the attention of everyone present. I listen for a few seconds before telling Jessica that help is on the way.
"Has something happened to Stacy?" Mr Faraday asks with concern.
"She is in a bit of an emotional state at the moment. She's panicking that me and Steve will hate her and everybody will think that she's a complete slut," I reply. "I admit I'm annoyed and disappointed, but I don't hate her and I think I need to go and tell her that."
"She may be a bit willing to please. Possibly even classifiable as a bit easy, but there is no way I would ever consider her a slut," Steve declared.
"What exactly did you two get up to anyway," Natasha asked. "I have a feeling a lot of us might be overestimating what actually happened. Especially as Stacy staged the photo, I suspect she made it appear more suggestive than it really might have been."
"May I have the photo back please, Sir?" Steve asked, holding up a permanent marker pen. "I'm willing to let a censored version of the image be seen."
Mr Faraday handed the paper back to the boy, who took it and scribbled over part of the photo before holding it up. The picture was a three-quarter body shot of Steve with his trousers undone. Stacy's hand was positioned in front of his crotch, but her hand and what she was holding had been blacked out by the marker. Given the contented expression on Steve's face, it was pretty obvious what she was holding without it being visible.
"She's only done this the once and was very nervous about it. However, she insisted she needed to do this to confirm her sexuality and begged me to allow it. I guess she was using that as an excuse to set up the blackmail. I don't think she would have considered doing this under normal circumstances," Steve clarified. "Sir, I think Emily and I should go talk to Stacy and calm her down."
"Okay, go talk to her. Bring her to my office when you have finished," The headmaster stated.
The two of us departed and headed for the girls bathroom near the canteen, with Mr Faraday following. As we entered the room, he stood outside preventing anybody else from entering. Jessica was sat on the worktops between two sinks, facing a closed cubicle. Sobbing could be heard from behind the door.
"Come out of there and stop being so dramatic. We need to talk," I declared.
"You're not supposed to be in here. This is the one bathroom you're banned from," Stacy replied.
"So, I'm not supposed to be in here either, but that isn't stopping us," Steve stated. "Mr Faraday is waiting outside so we won't be disturbed."
"Steve!" Stacy squealed.
"If you don't come out I'm going to pop the lock, whether you're decent or not," he added.
Some shuffling was heard for a few seconds before the sound of the bolt sliding open reverberated round the silent room. Slowly the door opened and Stacy half emerged, leaning against the door frame, head down and face covered in tears. "You hate me, don't you? Both of you. You have every right. I'm sorry Emily, but it was for your own good. I knew I screwed up with Stephanie and that she was asking around about you. Despite the whisperings, nothing negative seemed to be being said. I know you're a lot happier when you don't have to be a boy, and as the cat was almost out of the bag anyway, I thought it would be best to push the issue."
"Well it worked last time with my family," I replied. "I'm fully aware that I need the occasional kick up the arse to stop me procrastinating, but I'm still pissed off with the way you went about it. Why did you have to involve Steve and Fred?"
"I'm sorry Steve," Stacy sobbed, more tears streaming down her face. "I knew I would be prime suspect, so had to have somebody else do the blackmailing so that I could be with Emily when she received the threats, giving me an alibi. Please don't hate me. I didn't intend for you to get caught or include Fred."
"I can potentially forgive you. However, there is one thing I have to know first," Steve declared. "Was the affection you showed me just an act. I would honestly like to be your boyfriend, but not if you are only using me."
"For Christ's sake stop looking at each other soppily and just kiss and make up," Jessica interrupted. "Steve, she's been day dreaming about you for months, and I've seen you go all tongue tied whenever she's around."
"I couldn't bring myself to touch any other boy down there. I didn't want my first intimate experiences being with anybody. I love you Steve."
"Come here," he beckoned with open arms. Stacy shuffled towards him. As soon as she was close enough he wrapped her in a big hug. "I love you too, you silly goose. Just don't try manipulating me again."
Steve then swatted her backside causing her to jump and squeal, which was cut short as he pulled her into a kiss. She immediately responded and returned the kiss.
After several minutes of passionate snogging, Jessica asked me, "Do you think that bin will fit under the tap. If these two don't stop in a minute I think we'll need a bucket of water."
Two very embarrassed teens separated and looked appropriately sheepish. I suggested that Stacy may want to clean herself up before leaving to see Mr Faraday. After a quick wash, she let Steve lead her out of the bathroom holding her hand. Jessica and I followed.
Mr Faraday asked Stacy to accompany him to his office. He was slightly surprised when Steve put a protective arm round his girlfriend and asked if he could accompany her. He nodded, and sent Jessica and I back to the classroom.
We arrived back just as the last few people were queuing up to vote for the class elections and were instructed to join the back of the line. A voting booth had been set up at the back of the room where we could mark a slip of paper without being seen. I smiled when it was my turn. The slips had been reprinted with my new name.
There is no rule saying you can't vote for yourself. In fact it's somewhat expected that you do so. I however choose to vote for Stephanie. She had done a very good job of talking to everybody, finding their opinions of me, and smoothing things over for my transition. She does come across as brash and bossy, and can be a bit of a bitch at times, but she is also very good at getting things done. The last few weeks has also demonstrated her more sensitive and subtle side as she canvased everyone for their views on my gender.
Once we had all voted we returned to our seats to watch the live transmission from the media suite that was now being projected onto the whiteboard. The show was hosted by the A-level media students and involved a lot of fun and games with individuals and classes competing in various quizzes.
After half an hour, Stacy and Steve returned to class and added their votes to the box. Stacy would also be joining Steve and Fred in one week of in-school detention. However, she would also face several nights of after school detention on top of what the others were serving.
The results of the election were counted mid-afternoon. I won by three votes. While I suspect that Stephanie might have been the more capable person, she isn't the most liked or approachable person in our class. I also have the advantage of an obvious working relationship with the headmaster.
Unfortunately I didn't win the contest for best costume of the day. That went to a boy in the year above dressed up to look like Jonny Depp as Tonto in the recent Lone Ranger film. I did however get a special joke award for most long term use of a costume for coming to this school for over a year pretending to be a boy.
The usual seating arrangement had been abandoned for the afternoon, and people naturally split up into several smaller groups. I was very glad to be welcomed amongst a bunch of girls rather than being ostracised. I'll grudgingly admit Stacy did me a favour. I won't try to get my own back on her or make her suffer too much. She is going to get enough flak from her parents as it is. This is something that became more obvious when both our mother's cars were parked outside the school at the end of the day. Stacy had to stay behind and report to the office. She was very worried, so I gave her a reassuring hug and said goodbye, leaving her to her fate. If things got to heavy, then I would ask the adults to go easy on her. However, for the mean time she deserved to be stressed out a bit for all the trouble she's put me through.
Epilogue
I rolled the tights up my freshly shaved legs, making sure that the seams were straight. I pulled them over my hips and shuffled them into position on top of the white panties. As usual, I was wearing two layers of underwear, as I had a gaff on underneath the pair on top.
I adjusted the grey pleated skirt, pulling it down a fraction so that if ended just below my knees. I tucked my blouse into my skirt, smoothing the fabric over my chest, admiring the small mounds that were being emphasised by my training bra. Unlike the previous time I appeared at school on the Friday before half-term, this time I was not grossly exaggerating my proportions.
Leaning forward into the mirror, I applied my lipstick, a subtle shade of pink that was only just noticeable, but just enough to emphasise my lips. I had already added a small amount of mascara to my eyes. I drop my makeup into my school bag in case I need to touch it up later. Giving one final look in the mirror to make sure that none of the clips from the hair extensions were visible; I slipped my shoes on my feet and headed for the door.
I descended the stairs with my school bag and walked into the kitchen where my mother and friend, Stacy, were waiting. After a final check that we have everything we need, we head out the door to the car. My mother drops us off at the school gate.
Steve is waiting for Stacy and as soon as my mother has driven off they are pulling themselves into a tight embrace. Leaving them too it, I head into the main building. I smile to people as I pass them, and while I get a few looks, nobody seems surprised or hostile to my appearance. I enter my classroom and take my seat, and immediately get drawn into a conversation with the other girls about the latest Dreamworks film, Turbo. A bunch of us went and saw it over half-term.
Steve and Stacy come in just as the bell is ringing. Mr Jones starts the register and I answer my name when he calls "Emily Bridges".
It is a perfectly normal start to a perfectly normal day. The only difference being I'm no longer in a costume or pretending to be somebody else.