Alterations are started at the cottage as the 'family' grows. Chrissie finally gets the okay from the doctors but there's an interesting little wrinkle.

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After the Sunday’s trekking activities had finished, Sandie joined us for an early dinner while her daughter Mary attached herself to our girls, Beatrice, Jennifer, Martina and Chenille. They disappeared up to Jenny and Bea’s bedroom to practice ‘make up’ and we adults prepared the meal in a sense of ‘anticipation.

When the children were called down to dinner they appeared with made up faces that proved the point that with makeup, ‘Less is more’. Even Chrissie was forced to smile as five virtual ‘clowns’ settled around the large dining table.

“You lot will need lessons.” She declared confidently with all the assurance of one who’d only had a couple of weeks experience herself.

Sylvia just smiled and wagged her head as we older girls suppressed our smiles and got on with the food. She grinned at Chenille and Jenny then made them an offer.

“Tomorrow, after school, I’ll pick you up and we’ll pop down to the shops for some proper makeup. I’ve got a friend called Charlotte who’s a beautician and she’s got a new apprentice. She’ll find you lot okay as models but you’ll have to supply the paint. Your mums will have to fork out for that.”

“Paint?” Wondered Chenille.

“Yeah; war-paint, - makeup.”

“Whooar. Brill!” Squealed the older girls.

“What about us?” Demanded Martina and Bea in unison.

“Yeah. You two monkeys as well.”

Sylvia raised an expectant eyebrow towards us and how could we refuse. Chrissie’s eyes also lit up in expectation.

“Ooohh! Can I come?”

“Yeah, why not. Come one come all. You’ll be more useful as an older kid for the apprentice to practice on.”

“What about my hair? It’s still short.”

“Duuh! Hello, Earth to teenaged bimbo, have you walked down the high-street lately?”

“Yeah, I know. Lots of girls have got short hair, but I’m growing mine out. It’ll help me pass.”

“That’s fine, so this apprentice chick can help you find a temporary look until your hair grows.”

Chrissie sucked her lip. Apart from our brief sojourns down to Sandie’s clinic and the first day when Angie and I took her shopping for a whole new wardrobe, Chrissie had yet to go abroad in public. Since her beating on the train she had never gone alone and she turned to me as the question showed nervousness in her eyes. I nodded encouragement and smiled.

“Don’t worry. You’ll pass. Nobody will pick you out amongst a gang of girls. Besides, it will be here in Poole; your old friends, - or should I say enemies- are in Bournemouth.”

Chrissie smiled wanly but nodded her consent and Sylvia gave her a squeeze.

“Don’t worry little sis, by the time Charlotte has done your face, nobody will recognise you.”

“That sounds ominous, grinned Angie.”

The buzz around the table turned to different styles of makeup as the girls gabbled at length about the forthcoming expedition.

The only other sound was the industrious clatter of cutlery on china as the food was packed away. The outdoor life certainly gave all the girls healthy appetites but they remained as skinny as lathes.

The following Monday morning the girls only stopped by my bedroom momentarily for a perfunctory cuddle as they anticipated the make-up session after school. Angie had offered to get their breakfasts ready and that gave Chrissie a chance to chat with me about her next visit to the other psychiatrist, Sandie’s colleague.

“If she’s happy on Wednesday Chrissie, you’ll probably be starting hormones.”

Chrissies eyes lit up with expectations.

“And that mean’s I’ll become a girl.”

“Eventually, yes. Sandie has already said it’s virtually a fait-accompli now. They’re convinced you’re a post op tee ess. But you know you’ll never have babies.”

“Yeah. That’s a bummer but at least I’ll be able to live as a girl.”
I reached one arm around Chrissie’s shoulders and hugged her to me. Her face pressed against my boob and she tested the soft roundness with her cheek.

“I’ll at least have some of these.”

“Oh most certainly you will girl. Are you looking forward?”

“Yes. You and Angie have been so kind to me.”

“Well, you’d better get up and help Sylvia. The sooner you get all your chores finished, the sooner you can go to town with her.”

Chrissie realised that this could mean a whole afternoon devoted to just her and Sylvia before picking up the younger girls. Her eyes widened with excitement and she scrambled out of bed.

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“You didn’t ask. And don’t worry about your looks. You’ll pass.”

She peered into the mirror then dashed down the landing to the girl’s bathroom and quickly showered before snatching a breakfast and joining Sylvia in the stables. She worked extra hard and the pair were finished by eleven. They forewent lunch with us in the cottage and opted for something in town. While they were away, Mr Price the builder arrived with his workmen to start the alterations to Angie and Chrissie’s bedrooms. Soon that end of the house rang to the crash and thump of builders demolishing walls. When he learned that I was anticipating eventually putting ‘en-suits’ in all the bedrooms on that side of the upstairs landing, Mr Price gave me a Price I couldn’t ignore. The crashing and banging became unbearable and I retreated with Angie to Sian’s apartment for lunch.

He even offered to extend the house westwards to form a complete southern boundary to the yard but funds just wouldn’t run to it this year. Building work was proving hard to find in these depressed times. However, I gave him licence to knock down the old adjoining out houses. They had been Victorian additions anyway and destroyed the whole balance of the original Georgian farmhouse.

In my original planning application the plan to attach a sympathetic extension to that end of the house had received outline permission and the county heritage representative had actually expressed her hopes that the ghastly brick outhouses would eventually go.

Now they were going and I emailed the county representative to advise her of current progress. It always paid to keep the authorities sweet; they were full of their own importance.

When the time came to rebuild, I hoped to have funds enough to do a sympathetic extension in exactly the same style as the original part of the house.

One thing I liked about Mr Price’s work was that he was tidy and clean. The whole area was properly sealed off and dust was not carried around the house. Each evening his men spent a good half hour cleaning up and one would hardly know men had been working in the house once the bedroom doors were closed for the night.

He was just finishing up the tidying around and we were discussing the plans in the dining room when Sylvia returned with Chrissie and the four younger girls. Immediately Mr Price’s son and building apprentice David’s eyes fell greedily on Chrissie and she naturally started to blush. I must admit, Sylvia’s friend Charlotte and her new apprentice had worked wonders on Chrissie’s appearance. In addition to the excellent make-over on Chrissie’s face, Chrissie’s hair looked absolutely stunning. I hadn’t realised that Charlotte worked in a hair salon with her companion. As Chrissie started to become all coquettish and shy in front of David, Sylvia grinned to me and explained.

“When we walked through the door, Charlotte’s companion and business partner took one look at Chrissie and decided the poor kid desperately needed the professional touch. He literally ordered Chrissie into the chair and promptly set about her hair. What d’you think?”

“Well he’s done a fantastic job. Has he put extensions in?” Whereabouts is their salon,” I asked.”

“Yes to your first question and to the second; they’ve just opened in that new extension to the shopping precinct at the entrance to the market. He’s good. All my friends are raving about him.”

“Yes. That’s fantastic. He’s really done a number on Chrissie just look at her flirting with Mr Price’s son David.”

“There’s only one drawback.” Sylvia cautioned

“Oh go on,” I asked fearing the worst.”

“She won’t be able to shampoo it every night and the stables can get dusty. It’s going to be hell’s own job looking after the extensions for a few more months, at least until Chrissie’s hair is long enough to be useful.”

“She’ll just have to live with dirty hair then, or until the extensions come out.”

“Or wear a dust cap in the stables. It won’t show too much under her safety helmet.”

“Oh my God! Does she have to wear a safety helmet?

“Not really,” grinned Sylvia, “she could get away with a riding hat but the safety helmet is better protection. Besides, a safety helmet is much cheaper than a riding helmet.”

“Well I suppose so but I wasn’t thinking of costs.”

“I was,” countered Sylvia, “we still have to count the pennies.”

“She’ll have to work out a style that isn’t damaged by a hard hat.” I observed.

“Well it’s not all bad news. Next week, he’s offered to show Chrissie how to put the extensions in and take them out herself.”

“Thank God for that. So every Monday, Chrissie has to go to the hairdressers until her hair is manageable.”

“Fraid’ so.” Sylvia confessed, “or at least if she wants to go to town.”

“Well she’ll just have to get used to being a girl then; a visit to the salon every week. It’s what we do.”
Sylvia grinned then beckoned the younger girls over.

“What d’you think of these little monkeys.”

The girls reluctantly stepped away from studying themselves in the large drawing room mirror and presented themselves for my inspection.

Charlotte or her apprentice had done a good job on the four of them.

“Well, I’m glad to see that they’ve been shown that ‘less really is more’, they look really good.” I said.
After my inspection was over, the five of them went up to the bedroom and practiced some more in the connecting bathroom.

Realising that Sylvia was going to give the four girls more make-up lessons Chrissie wanted to join the fun. She decided she’d had enough of David’s ogling and joined the girls. I did notice though that she’d developed quite a ‘wiggle’ as she flounced provocatively up the stairs and her mini dress was showing a lot more than was decent.

Angie and I exchanged knowing looks as we spotted Mr Price eying his son and wagging his fatherly head. He caught my and Angie’s eye as he spoke sharply to his son.

“Put your bloody eyes back in their sockets lad and take these bloody tools out to the van.”

‘What it was to be young,’ I thought.

While David was putting the tools on the Van, Mr Price turned to me.

“She’s a little temptress that one. I’ll have to watch my lad. How old is she?”

“She’s just shy of fifteen, and you’re right. We’ll have to watch her as well.”

“Aye, well my David’s just turned eighteen. I’ll have a word with him but she’s still jail-bait. Try and get her to tone it
down a bit eh.”

“Don’t worry Harry,” I reassured him, “she’ll be working all day in the stables tomorrow it’ll be jeans and a work shirt.”

“Yeah, well you know what it is with young lads, he’s a walking gland!”

So saying he bid us goodnight and left with a promise to be back early the following day. I knew he would. I slipped up stairs to have a word with our foster-daughter to be.

She knew she had pushed the boundaries too far and appeared suitably contrite when I took her in hand and gave her a long talking to about offering something for sale that she did not have. Then I warned her about a girl’s power to exploit boys and manipulate them that is sometimes followed by the potential for trouble if it back-fired. I told her of Mr Price’s concerns for her safety if she persisted in tempting not only his son David but the other builders as well. Apart from old Mr Price and his fortyish foreman, most of the other tradesmen were in their twenties.

Sadly I knew that Chrissie was besotted with her newfound female status and she was desperate to commence her path to full femininity.

“God help us all,” I prayed silently, “when the female hormone pills start to kick in.”

That process was started the following Wednesday. Chrissie’s next assessment took place that week and she emerged beaming as
she waved her prescription for her feminising drugs.

“At last mummy! Look! They’ve said yes!”

‘You lucky kid, I thought as I was ushered in by Sandie and her colleague. They explained the procedures and strategies at length and gave me anticipated time lines for Chrissie’s progress. I listened avidly and accepted the written plan as I wagged my head with relief.

“My God how things have progressed,” I sighed,”I mean only a few years ago, she would have had to wait at least until she was sixteen.”

“Yes, Bev,” Sandie replied, “We have a lot to thank our continental colleagues for,-“

“And the internet,” I added as I rattled off several famous recent cases.

“And that,” her colleague June replied. “It’s helped us, Miss Beverly, just as much as it’s helped everybody else.”

“Yes. Now all we have to do is try and spread the gospel according to St Oestrogen.”

They both smiled as Sandie added.

“That’ll be your job, Beverly, or at least the job of the whole transgendered community and you’ve got the whole internet to help you.”

“And psychiatrists who have at last accepted that most transsexuals know they are transgendered from a very early age.” I added.

“Yes,” added June, “it’s been an interesting journey. Sandie and I were discussing your case just before Chrissie’s appointment. Your life journey deserves a book.”

“Uuhhm. No thanks. Besides; I’m thinking the supporting evidence is lost forever. I never found out where the graves were. They took us to the site blindfolded and brought the survivors back blindfold. All we could tell the others was that Mickey or Janie or Willy or Bridgette or whoever; had been snuffed out and buried. I never found out where. I suppose it’s somewhere in Wales, or maybe England. I know it seemed like a lifetime’s travelling in the van with our arms tied and our eyes blindfolded and we had absolutely no idea in which direction we were travelling. It could even be in Scotland for all I know. I was a kid and those journeys seemed like forever.”

“So you’ll never find requital,” June observed as her voice softened.

“No. They’re probably all dead now, or too old and frail to punish. As I said, there’s only my word against dozens of them. I think I’m the only one that escaped and I’ve got absolutely no evidence. All I escaped with were the clothes I stood up in.”

Both psychiatrists fell silent and I made my excuses. It was no use raking over cold embers and I could feel a weepy coming on. It never did me any good to resurrect my memories. Sandie sensed my mood and nodded slightly as I stood up and raised a questioning eyebrow.

I managed to escape the room without actually tearing up but it was touch and go for the ladies room. Chrissie had been waiting impatiently in the foyer and just caught me scuttling for cover. She followed me into the ladies room intending to hurry me along and fill her prescription. Instead she found me blubbering in one of the hand-basins.

“What’s wrong mummy?”

For several seconds I couldn’t answer as my hiccupping sobs stole my words. Finally I managed to choke out the single word, “Nothing,” but of course it was obviously a lie and Chrissie could readily see it.

“Yes there is. There’s nothing wrong with me is there?”

Her apparent selfishness brought me to my senses. The kid probably thought I had received bad news about her. I dried my tears and tried to smile but my ‘panda-eyes’ turned it into a clown’s grimace. Chrissie giggled at my freakish appearance.

“You’ve got a serious repair job mummy, can I watch?”

“If you want darling, but this is more stone masonry than art.”

“She giggled again and her innocent laughter sweetened my mood. Within half an hour I had repaired my wrinkled face and Chrissie gazed in fascination.

“Crikey mummy, that was some repair job. Mr Price has an easier job with the bathrooms.”

“Don’t be cheeky young lady. Old age comes to all of us. And don’t forget young lady I was over thirty years at sea in tropical sun, ocean storms and polar freeze-ups. The heat, cold, salt and the winds don’t do a girl’s skin any good. Your skin would be like leather if you’d lived my life. I’m allowed a few wrinkles.”

“It’s okay mummy, they make your smiles that much nicer, and you do a superb makeup job, -

I waited for the other shoe to drop and it came.

“Considering.”

“Considering what?”

“Your past life.”

A few instaneous flashbacks flickered through my mind but I kept my counsel.

‘If Chrissie had but known,’ I thought. ‘Best she never found out.’

As we were exiting the ladies room, Sandie spotted us and hurried over.

“Oh there’s something important I’ve just remembered. Your fathering of James and Belinda Margaret and Sian’s second children just reminded me of something.”

I knew what was coming and nodded knowingly.

“Babies.”

“Yes, for Chrissie.”

Chrissies ears pricked up eagerly at the mention of ‘babies’ and her name in the following sentences. She turned as her eyes widened. Sandie quickly explained.

“Listen Chrissie, you mentioned in there that you’d love to be a mother one day.”

“Oooh. Will I be able to, a womb transplant or something?”

“Sorry darling, medicine hasn’t advanced that far; yet. But there is another possibility.”

“Go on, pressed Chrissie hopefully.”

“Well it’s Beverly’s children, James and Belinda; they reminded me. If you can find a suitable mother who’s prepared to accept your sperm as the donor father, then why don’t you consider supplying your sperm now to a sperm bank before you embark on the hormones? That way at least you can become a parent and if the girl is amenable at a later date you might be able to nurse the children, just like Beverly did. It’s the next best thing to mothering.”

Chrissie turned to me eyes wide open.

“Is that what you did?”

I nodded and tapped my breasts.

“Yes darling, these beauties fed James and Belinda until they were completely weaned. I’m James and Belinda’s mummy-dad.”

Chrissie turned to Sandie.

“How long would it take, to provide enough sperm I mean?”

“Couple of weeks I suppose. You’re potent aren’t you?”

Chrissie sighed and gave a funny confused little smile.

“Sadly yes. I’ve always hated my boy bits, but now, strangely, the idea sounds brilliant.”

“Right. Don’t start medicating yet. Stay off the female hormones while you’re producing your samples, they could affect your sperm. Take a sample to the fertility clinic in Southampton A.S.A.P., and we’ll get the sperm bank deal out of the way in short order.”

Chrissie thanked Sandie enthusiastically and finally we made our goodbyes. In the car, Chrissie turned to me.

“What was it like, breast feeding the babies?”

“Very fulfilling and very pleasant. It was one of the nicest experiences in my life.”

“Did you feed them both?”

“Yes.”

“Crickey! You must have had udders like a Jersey cow.”

I smiled. My breasts had certainly grown temporarily and it had been an exciting time. Sandie looked at me thoughtfully.

“What sort of woman would want my sperm for their baby?”

“I don’t know Chrissie. There’s no knowing who’s out there.”

“I wasn’t saying, but I could think of a certain older girl who lived on our very farm. She intimated to Sian and Margaret that she would like to have a baby later on but she had sensibly decided upon waiting for all the usual economic reasons. She also intimated that it would be a ‘turkey baster’ or invitrio job.”

If Sylvia knew that having a baby earlier wouldn’t compromise her economic situation, she might choose to have a baby earlier and when all said and done, it was better, biologically for girls to have babies earlier, rather than later. In fact biologically, the best physical age for a girl to have babies was her late teens but this usually proved to be an economic setback. Although Sylvia was a lesbian she had strong maternal instincts, one only had to watch her mothering the toddlers James and Belinda. I had once or twice spotted her eying them wistfully and I secretly garnished where Sylvia’s yearnings lay. I kept silent however. It wouldn’t do to be seen to be some sort of matchmaker.

As we drove home, Chrissie chattered on about dozens of potential situations. She mentioned Bea and Jenny and Chenille as potential partners but I pulled a wry face and remarked that as far I could ascertain, the three girls were heterosexual and would probably want to go the conventional route to parenthood. Chrissie knew of course that Martina was like her and me, transgendered so there was no opportunities for shared parenting there. Strangely she never once considered Sylvia as a mother. I supposed it was because Sylvia was now nineteen to Chrissie’s approaching fifteenth birthday and she somehow didn’t think of Sylvia as a potential mother to her baby. To a fourteen-year-old, I suppose nineteen seems like the end of the earth away. Things could readily change in a couple of years though, once Chrissie was over sixteen.

The following Friday, Sandie phoned me to say she was going over to Southampton on the next Wednesday and that if she wanted, Chrissie could accompany her.

“My Southampton clinic is held in the same building as the sperm bank so if you wish, I can arrange an appointment for Chrissie and we can kill two birds with one stone. Has Chrissie been abstaining?” She asked me.

“How should I know? You’d better ask her.”

I handed the phone to a prancing Chrissie who was truly grateful to have an informative companion to take her to the hospital.

After chatting to Sandie for several minutes she called from the conservatory.

“Are you coming next Wednesday mummy?”

“D’you want me to?”

“Yes please. We can go shopping afterwards.”

As she mentioned ‘shopping’ Angie walked in from the yard.

“Shopping? Where, when?”

“My God Ange, you can pick your moments.”

“I never miss a shopping trip.” She grinned.

“Yes; I’ve noticed.”

I explained the plan while Chrissie continued talking at length until eventually she re-emerged from the conservatory.

“It’s all fixed. Eleven o’clock next Wednesday.” I might have to stay over for a few days.”

“Crickey, how much do they need!” I squealed.

"They don’t know until they’ve completed all the tests. It’s cos’ I’m so young and slightly femme.

Angie and I exchanged smiles. Her teenaged experiences of boys had taught her that all teen-aged boys, - even effeminate ones- were nothing but walking glands whilst my memories of my boyhood more or less confirmed the same. Chrissie didn’t notice our smiles; she was too engrossed in the forthcoming events.

“What’s for dinner?” She asked.

“Chicken. You can peel some potatoes if you want.”

The fact that there wasn’t the slightest murmur of discontent confirmed that Chrissie was engrossed in the whole idea of storing her sperm to give her some options in later life. I had hardly put down my cup of tea when I saw her tumbling some potatoes from the big bag into the sink. The girl was obviously excited; so much so that she tackled the rest of the veg with equal enthusiasm. Later she skipped across the yard to tell Sylvia about developments. For Chrissie things were really beginning to take a turn for the better. For Sylvia, curiosity stirred the cat.

Late that night when all the ‘children’ including Chrissie had gone to bed. Sylvia approached me alone in the kitchen as I marinated some lamb.

“Is that right auntie Bev?”

“Is what right?” I replied.

“About Chrissie storing her sperm in a sperm bank in case she wants children when she’s older.”

“Uuhhm, - yes. Why?”

“Well what’s her strategy? I mean if she wants’ to be a woman then surely she should be thinking of adopting or something when she’s older; just like you’ve done.”

“She’s hoping to find a girl who’s prepared to be a sort of surrogate mother and give her a child with the frozen sperm.”

Sylvia fell silent for a moment then realised I was clocking her and she moved to allay my suspicions.

“Huh! She’ll be expecting a lot if she hopes to find some sort of girl who’s willing to give her a baby and then let Chrissie adopt it.”

“Well, they do exist Sylvia. After all I found Sian and Jane, or rather they found me; but you know what happened with James and Belinda.”

“Yes, you breast fed them, lucky you.”

“Well that’s what Chrissie’s hoping to do; when she’s older of course.”

“But of course when she’s old enough to legally adopt, she’ll be well on the way to total feminisation and incapable of impregnating a woman.”

“Exactly, hence the sperm bank.”

“Well, I wish her the best of luck. She’s going to have a long search but it’s not impossible.”

I nodded and shrugged.

“Well, that’s up to Chrissie. I can’t plan her life for her. What will be, will be. Maybe she’ll find somebody, maybe she won’t. I’ve got some work to do for the Moroccan file, will you excuse me.”

“Gosh Auntie Bev, you work late don’t you?”

“I do my best work after midnight, call me a vampire.”

Sylvia smiled and made her excuses so I settled down in my study. It wasn’t long before the familiar soft ‘click’ of the door handle announced Chrissie’s arrival. She stood in her silky all-in-one and smiled.

“D’you want a cup of coffee or something?” She whispered.

“Not just yet darling. Can’t you sleep?”

“I’m too excited.”

“What about; the sperm thing or the feminisation programme?”

“Both; and everything else. D’you think I might find a girl who’ll do for me what Margaret and Sian did with James and Belinda for you?”

“Well to tell the truth, Marge and Sian weren’t that philanthropical, they really only wanted to use me to have children, the nurturing bit only came about because it suited them to have a ‘wet-nurse’ right next to hand.”

“But you liked it.” Chrissie double checked.

“Yes of course I liked it, I loved it, and maybe you will if you ever get that opportunity.”

She curled up tight in the ‘saggy chair’ and smiled as sleep soon overtook her. Chrissie was like a large pet who only ever wanted to be near its owner. Once her eyes had closed I resumed working on my laptop into the small hours. Eventually I finished the work I had planned and I gently kissed the sleeping girl on the forehead.

“Come on sleepy-head. I’m going up.”

She yawned and stretched like a warm cuddly kitten then smiled sleepily as she reluctantly uncurled and felt for her mules. I couldn’t help smiling as I watched her. Watching a young teen-aged girl stirring reluctantly from her slumbers was always a wonderful maternal pleasure.

“D’you want a hot chocolate or something to go up with. I’ve boiled the kettle.”

Her smile widened and her hands reached skywards as she nodded gratefully. As I made the drink she appeared silently beside me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Thanks mummy, thanks for everything.”

“And what about Angie?”

“Yeah, she’s really nice as well, but your my real mummy.”

“But why’s that?” I asked as I handed her the chocolate. “After all, Angie’s a real girl, she’s a natural mother.”

“But it’s cos’ you understand, you’re more like me and Martina.”

Her logic was impeccable; at least to a transsexual and we three were all transsexuals to some degree or other. The truth was I did understand and understanding was going to be one of the major factors in Chrissie’s development. I followed her upstairs and she asked once again to join me in my bed. How could I refuse? Angie didn’t even stir as we carefully slipped in behind her.