I’m really scratching my head to remember the details on this one. It was another life, another time, and I was reminded of it by something someone said the other day. It’s not that I’d rather forget, it’s just the details have been blurred by the passage of time. Let’s start with now and then cast back.

I’m Victoria Garcia, and I’m sixty-seven, a grandmother many times over and still married to Jesus. I’m Scottish whilst Jesus as you may have guessed is Spanish. We adopted and reared six children because I’m trans. Though me being trans has only a small bearing on what I am going to tell you about. I transitioned and had SRS somewhere in my early thirties I think. I’m not going to look it up because this story happened when I was I think sixteen in 1969 long before then and it’s besides the point.

“There are no stories that old, Father!”

“Indeed not many, Naomi, but there are some. Most are not told often, for many are incomplete, some just fragments, and often they disagree with each other. One of the most popular girls’ names for centuries has been Scowla, so would you like to hear of Our Lady of Niok and how Saint Scowla was visited by her with the passion in front of thousands and viewed by millions?”

The idea of having a job and working with more girls who would ignore me and more boys who would hit me terrified me. I was depressed and thinking about ending it all because the idea of possibly another sixty years like the last twenty was too much.

I’m having the surgery next month but there will be traces of it left and there are of course implications if he wants a family.

.

Marcy has started to dress as a girl in public, but was worried her interest in fishing would affect her gender consultant’s belief she is a girl. However, her consultant proved supportive and to Marcy’s surprise said she is interested in steam trains, and she and her husband went on a steam train enthusiasts course on their honeymoon.

Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.

Concerning ℕ, ℤ, ℚ, ℝ and ℂ.

The doctor said I had ambi-something genitals. I found out later it meant, not fully girl or fully boy. Later still I found out it just meant uncertain, which I think was just a fancy way of saying they didn’t know what they were talking about.

My brother David said, “There is no way Caro is a boy. No boy would be seen dead in her clothes.”
My sister Alice added, “There’re more than a few girls, including me, who wouldn’t either.”

“You saying you believe in ghosts, Geoff?”

“You saying you’ve got the balls to tell Karen she’s delusional, Alf?”

“No, I see what you’re saying. Ellen scares me badly enough. Your missus is…, nah you carry on, Geoff.”

Gladys was smiling at Alf’s strategic withdrawal.

I could see Belle’s breasts underneath what I was about to learn was her shift, and I hesitantly asked, “Is there any way we can make me look more like a girl, you know?” I pointed to her breasts.

Belle blushed but said, “Good idea. My breasts will shew through my shift anyway, but if you put my bra on with your socks in it and then my dress that will do it.” I mentally gave Belle her due she was no shrinking violet, once committed to a plan she followed through on it immediately.

There are too many raptors. They’re dominating the landscape.

She was half your age and putting it out!

It was Gran who noticed one of the beef stores was a heifer. “You know I never bought me no heifer, Jenny. I’ve never raised a heifer. A young store costs a bit more, but is as easy to raise, and makes more meat and sells for more money than a heifer. I’ve always paid a bit more out to bring a lot more in three years later.”

This is how it goes. You say, “I’m a writer.” Then they say, “Really‽” You can hear the interrobang in their voice, the compounded question and exclamation marks that say, “An alien, Eh? I never met an alien before!” Which is an example of their reality. Just for God’s sake whatever you do don’t tell them you’re trans too. The shock will kill them, and you’ll be charged with manslaughter. Society has really got it in for trans aliens at the moment. They’re the new gingers.

One definition of justice is the administration of law according to prescribed and accepted principles. Which means it varies according to who is doing the prescribing and who is doing the accepting, and as all should be aware it changes from one place to another.

Another is that which is handed down by a judge, magistrate or other person or body socially recognised as authorised to so do. Which of means such a person or body can not hand down injustice for that is a contradiction in terms.

I don’t give a stuff what folk think about me. I’ve heard it all, butch, dyke, tranny, sissy, queer, faggot, weirdo, paedo and a lot more names I can’t be bothered to recall, many of which are mutually exclusive. I’ve never tried to defend myself against it because it’s pointless. You can’t reason with a bigot.

There were a couple of hundred brassières in every style and fashion from the last seventy-odd years, including ones with cups that couldn’t possibly have reached as high as the nipples which I thought were like what my sisters called quarter cup bras, but Mum told me they were referred to as décolleté brassières in their day, and Granny had worn them with some of her evening gowns.

The other day I just happened to remark the sky seemed lower than usual. What I ask you was so funny about that that he had to get a whisky to recover?

How could I be kissed by a boy if I avoided them all the time?

She wasn’t six stone wringing wet through, but she’d run a taxi office day and night in a city centre for ten years, starting the day she left school, and could handle herself.

“So how come you’re here starring at the weekly bullshit session?”

“Belinda went out to get her hair done this afternoon. She got to yacking with another lassie in the hairdresser’s, and seeing as they were both going shopping at Tesco after they had coffee together. This lassie Gwen mentioned her old man was going out to the pub tonight. She said it was the men’s story telling night and invited her round for a girls night in with some friends and a bottle of wine or two. Now I ask you, how many retired professional liars do you know called Sasha? She found out which pub and here I am. I only live twelve miles a way. Christ, man, it’s good to see you. I’d wondered if you were dead.”

“Nah. Mark Twain had the right of it when he said, ‘The report of my death was an exaggeration.’

Dad was actually less embarrassing than I thought he would be. He told Michael, “I’ve heard good things about you, Michael. Just make sure you live up to them or I’ll turn my daughters loose. I seriously doubt you’d be able to better Lenska, but all of them? Not a chance, son.”

I’d had endless conversations with Harriet concerning the mental well being of a crew of ten thousand women and the ill wisdom of them only having sex toys, masturbation and lesbian relationships available to satisfy their libidos.