Chris Drewett, a teenage transsexual, is caught dressing in his sister’s clothes by his mother. Faced with a problem she can’t deal with, she turns to her sister-in law, a doctor who practices nearby, and she starts Chris on an amazing and very surprising journey.

A gentle tale of teenage angst and discovery, and of relationships and conflicts. Where sexual awakenings cause confusion and tears as well as joy and lasting friendships.

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The Legal Stuff: Why Me?  © 2009,2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Chapter 1
 
 
The girl in the mirror pouted her red painted lips and thrust her pert young breasts out in a provocative manner. The mascara and blue eye shadow showing her blue eyes off to their best advantage, with her long lashes framing them perfectly.

The tight mini dress showed off her slim figure, while her flesh coloured tights displayed her long slender legs with the knee length high-heeled boots. Her blonde hair was cut in a chic pageboy style, so she cast a stray curl back from in front of her face with a practised flick, making her large hoop earrings shake. The red nail varnish highlighted her long slender fingers, as she blew a kiss at her reflection.

The front door banged, shattering that perfect illusion, as I felt real panic rise in my chest. My heart raced and I felt light-headed. I raced across the landing, slamming my bedroom door behind me.

“Chris?” my mother shouted.

I stood behind my door, with the sound of my heart pumping in my ears. My breasts were rising and falling. I was shaking like a jelly.

“Chris, where are you?” she said, as I heard her climbing the stairs.

What was she doing home?

She was due to be gone for three hours.

“Chris, are you all right?” she asked. I heard her approach the door.

The door opened. We stared at each other, each with horror on our faces.
 
 
I ought to explain.
 
 
My name is Chris Drewett, and that is Christopher Drewett, not Christina or some other female derivation of Christopher. Although I dearly wish, with all my heart and soul, that it could have been a female version.

I am, however, as fate decreed, a twelve year old boy, and my mother has just caught me dressing in my sister’s clothes.

I had been cross-dressing since I was nine, when I started wearing my older sister’s underwear. Shelly was sixteen months older than I, but we were now the same size, in height at least. I was the youngest of three children, with Rob, at sixteen, being the eldest.

It had started with just a pair of panties and then the occasional bra. But over the years I had progressed to full makeup and the works. I would wait until I had the house to myself, which was not as often as I would have liked, but then I dressed for as long as I could.

It was never a sexual thing, as I didn’t do it to get turned on, I did it so I could feel and look how I wanted to feel and look. I had to admit, the sexual fantasies came recently, as I imagined a boy kissing me. I never experienced an erection, nor did I ever have any form of discharge. In fact, I don’t think I ever had an erection in my life, but then I wasn’t through puberty yet, as my mother said, I was a late developer.

I suppose I first thought, no it was stronger than that, I first believed that I should have been a girl when I was four. by six I knew it for certain, so I asked my mother how I could change.

“I’ve done with being a boy, I want to be a girl now,” I’d told her.

A series of sessions with a child psychologist was unable to eradicate that particular desire from my mind, and indeed, by the time I was nine, it was the most permanent, all pervasive thought in my brain for all my waking hours, and in most of my dreams.

The psychologist told my mother I would grow out of it - fool that he was. My father was in the petrochemical industry, spending much of the time travelling the globe. The disadvantage was that I was without an effective male role model for much of the time (Rob didn’t count). The advantage was that I spent lots of time with my sister and her friends. Rob, being four years older, was out of my social scene, so we rarely spent time together. When we did, he would treat me badly, teasing me about my effeminate looks and un-macho and inadequate ways.

Rob was a big lad and excelled in all the usual sports that young men are expected to enjoy. Another advantage, if indeed it was such, was that my father’s salary was such that private schooling was accepted for all his children. By the time Rob was thirteen, I was nine, so he was moved up to his senior school, leaving me at the prep-school, now unhampered by a bully of an elder brother, whose example I never seemed to be able to emulate.

Such was my predicament, that although my desire to be a girl was ever-present in my brain, I was quite able to hide such feelings, in order to enjoy a relatively normal existence. I had several friends and took part in most normal activities, as did everyone else. I was not brilliantly sporty, but average in most things, except swimming, in which I excelled. I had a streamlined physique, so was proud at being the fastest in my year.

Academically I was well above average, but deliberately tended to under achieve, thereby avoiding shining out in front of everyone. I liked to be as anonymous as possible, so was content to be in the middle band of life.
 
 
Back to the present and this dreadful confrontation.
 
 
My mother recovered before I did, and sat on the bed. I stood there, tears falling down my cheeks, making the black mascara run in small dark rivulets on my face.

“Oh, Chris! My poor baby, why?” she said.

I shook my head, unable to speak. I was overwhelmed with a mixture of guilt, shame and shock. I was still shaking.

She tried to catch my hand, but I held it out of her reach, I could not face her touching me, not yet.

“Chris, oh God. It’s all my fault. If only we had persisted with that doctor.”

I stared at her, the shock abating and anger taking over.

“Doctor? Don’t you understand? I’m a girl. I’ve always been a girl inside. There’s not a doctor in the land who can help me! Unless he cuts my miserable little prick off,” I almost screamed at her.

She looked at me, as tears were now streaming down her face as well.

One consolation, I thought, Shelly was away at pony camp, while Rob was away with the army cadets. He was a Cadet corporal, and was intending to apply for a Regular Army Commission when he left school.

We looked at each other for a while. I stopped crying and saw my reflection. The makeup had run, so I took a tissue and wiped the worst off. My long hair was my own, as it was one affectation that I had been permitted. It was sort of fashionable for boys to have reasonably long hair, as it was 1970 after all! My school was not that tolerant, but it had been five weeks since my last haircut, so it was relatively long, over my ears and collar. I had not had my ears pierced, and the hoops were clip-ons.

“Sit down Chris. It’s time we had a talk.”

I sat.

She took my hand, so I let her hold it. She stared at my nails, all shaped and painted. It was a girl’s hand.

“What a mess,” she said.

I said nothing. What could I say?

“You still want to be a girl?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“How badly?”

“With all my heart,” I said. It was true.

She brushed my hair away from my face. I used to comb it back when Christopher, but brushed it in a different style as Christina.

I stared at her, sullenly and feeling stubborn.

She smiled, with little humour, but still a smile.

“Well, you’re too pretty to be a boy, really.”

I looked down, as I could feel that the tears were near again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” I said.

“Perhaps it is best. How long has this been going on?”

“Feeling like a girl? All my life.”

“No, this dressing and make up.”

“Three years.”

“Oh dear God. You’re just a baby.”

“I’m twelve, so I’m old enough to know my mind,” I said, feeling a little defiant strength.

She smiled again, wiping some of the dark streak from my face.

“Alright, young lady, what the hell do we do now?” she asked, so I looked at her in surprise.

“Yes, you heard. This is beyond me. I admit that I’d much prefer for it not to be happening, but it is, and I know enough to know that it’s unlikely that you’ll ever grow out of this, so we have got to make some decisions together, you and I.”

“But Dad?”

“Dad is not here and, to be quite honest, he would have even less of a clue than me. So, this is something that the two of us are going to have to sort out between us.”

“How?”

“Good question, so, let’s start with that. How do we sort this out?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“Okay, let’s look at this in bits. What options are open to us?” she asked.

I shrugged again. She looked a little cross, with her voice displaying the same impatience.

“Come on Chris, this is your life we’re talking about. This isn’t a case of childish dressing up. This is serious. What options do we have?”

“Keep things as they are?” I offered.

“Okay. If we do that, what happens? You dress in secret, probably getting caught again, and possibly in more embarrassing situations. The problem is that it isn’t a secret anymore, as I know about it. So, then you try to live a dual life, even forming a relationship with someone, pretending to be something and someone you most probably aren’t. What happens then?”

I didn’t like this conversation. It was too grown-up, too much like being made to choose between a hard place and a rock. My mother immediately saw through me.

“Chris, like it or not, you have a major problem. You can’t run away and hide, nor can you pretend it doesn’t exist. I am your mother and I love you dearly, so just remember that, whether you end up Christopher or Christina!”

I could hardly believe she said that. It made me think. All my fears and all my frustrations seemed to well up, so I found myself sobbing in my mother’s arms.

She held me for what seemed ages. She stroked my hair, holding me close, telling me that it was all right. Eventually, with an enormous weight lifted from my shoulders, I stopped sobbing and sat up.

“Finished?” she asked.

I nodded, blowing my nose into a tissue.

“Good, now go and wash your face, you look like a vampire’s victim, so get all that stuff cleared away,” she said, so I did as she asked. I came out of the bathroom, to find that she was waiting on the landing.

“Come on, my girl, downstairs. We can chat and you can help me get supper as we go!”

“Like this?”

“Do you feel uncomfortable like that?”

I shook my head. She reached out and straightened my ‘breasts’.

“What are these, socks?” she asked.

I nodded again. She smiled as she shook her head.

She went downstairs so I followed, seeing my reflection and enjoying the feel of walking about dressed as I wanted to be. With her accepting me like this, it seemed to make it almost real.

She gave me an apron, so I put it on. She told me to chop an onion, so I got out a chopping board and proceeded to do just that.

“Right, we’ve looked at the ‘pretend nothing happened’ option, and it won’t work, because it has happened and I am not prepared to allow you to muck up your life like that. So what else can we do?” she said.

“Doctor?”

“Okay, for what? The last one didn’t work, so will another psychiatrist persuade you that this is just a phase you will grow out of?”

I shook my head.

“Fine, so what then?”

“I could become a girl?” I said, very tentatively.

“Sweetie, you are a girl, you know it, and I suppose deep down I’ve known it for years.”

I stared at her in surprise.

“Don’t look so shocked! You kids, you think we are all so stupid. I’ve suspected this for some time, and just look at you, you aren’t exactly the most convincing boy, are you?”

“I suppose not.”

“So, tell me, what do you think a doctor could do for you?”

“Physically, I mean, he could cut me, down there.”

“You would go for a surgical sex change?”

I nodded.

She took the chopped onion, putting it in a pan with some olive oil. Then she added some mince.

“Shit, Chris, why can’t you just suffer from an in-growing toenail?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, as the tears almost started again.

“Oh, Chris, don’t cry again. I can’t stand any more tears. We have to use our brains on this.”

“Would Aunt Eileen have any ideas?” I asked.

Eileen was my father’s younger sister. She was a G.P. in a Medical Centre in Guildford, the town near where we lived, so she lived about fifteen miles away.

My mother looked at me and smiled.

“Hmm, well done. Yes, she might at that.”

With instructions to add some tomatoes and keep stirring, she went off to phone her sister-in-law.

Half an hour later, with the dinner almost ready, Aunt Eileen walked into the kitchen, unannounced, as usual.

“Hi Caz, hello Chris, well, well, what a pretty pickle have you got into?” she said.

Aunt Eileen was quite tall and thin, with long dark hair. She was thirty-eight, just a year younger than her brother, my Dad, but was the same age as my mother, who was called Carol, or Caz to her friends.

She looked at me in the dress and boots, and smiled.

“Well, at least you look very attractive. Come on, let’s you and I have a little chat,” she said, taking my hand and leading me into the sitting room.

Still holding my hand, she sat next to me on the sofa and asked lots of questions, the kind that needed long answers, which involved me having to think carefully about each answer.

She wasn’t our G.P., as she decided that it wasn’t right for us to be treated by an aunt, so we saw another doctor in the same surgery. I had not seen a doctor for at least four years.

After our chat, she asked me to take her up to my bedroom. There she asked me to undress, and then she examined me carefully.

It took quite a long time, as she was very thorough.

“Okay, Chris, get dressed again, there’s a love,” she said, but I hesitated.

She looked at me, smiling.

“Oh Chris, you sad poppet. You’re more a girl than we all suspected. Put the dress back on, I have a feeling you may have to get used to it.”

“Why?”

“I’m not telling you. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t sweetie, as I might be wrong. But all I will say is you’re may not be the boy you thought you were!”

I grinned, slipping back into the dress. Eileen left me alone, so I even reapplied a little makeup. I wasn’t planning to cry again.

I went down and found the two women in deep conversation. I paused by the door, and heard the words… “ …female pelvic structure!”

My mother saw me, so she waved me to come in.

“Chris, this is more complicated than we thought. Eileen thinks that you may need to see a specialist.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure if you’d understand, and, as I said, I may be wrong.”

“I’ll understand. I’ve read a lot about transsexuals. I’ve read Christine Jorgensen’s book, and The Roberta Cowell Story.”

“Okay, Chris, you show some signs of developing the beginnings of the secondary characteristics of a girl, but not those of a boy. You have what at first glance appears to be the genitalia of a male, but some of the physical features of a girl. In other words you have what looks like a penis, albeit quite small and immature, however, I can’t feel much where your testes should be. They’re either still up inside your body, as I can feel some uneven lumps in what should be your scrotum, but nonetheless something is there. More importantly, your body shape seems more female,” said Aunt Eileen.

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I was telling your mum that your hips and pelvis seem almost more female than male, so I think you should see a specialist so tests can be made.”

I looked at my mother, and saw she was worried now.

I sat down, feeling lost. What had started as a kind of game was turning into a nightmare.

“Chris, just answer me one question?” Eileen asked.

“What?”

“If you could push a button and change yourself into the person you would want to live your life as, bearing in mind if you choose male, you would have no desire to be or dress as a female, which would it be?”

“A girl!” I said, without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what I am, it hasn’t anything to do with clothes, they are just on the outside. On the inside I am a girl.”

She smiled at me.

“Okay. Look, it will take me a few days, as I will have to talk to your own GP and explain things. Then I have to find the right specialist, and as it is July, it will probably all have to wait until the end of the holidays.”

I was due to go back to school at the beginning of September, for my last year at my junior school. I was attending a private school, called a prep school, at which I stayed until I was thirteen. I could see this dragging on well into the school year, and I had the common entrance exam to my senior school to sit in the following summer.

Eileen stayed for supper, when we had the spaghetti bolognaise. I still wore the dress, which felt so right. I noticed that the other two kept glancing at me, smiling and shaking their heads.

“What?” I asked, after the eighth time.

“Oh, Chris, if you could see yourself,” said my mother.

“I look stupid,” I declared, miserably.

“Not at all, just the opposite. I find it hard to believe you haven’t always been as you appear now. You are so feminine and naturally so, it beggars belief.”

Suddenly, it was if the sun had just come out and shone directly onto me. I had just been paid the loveliest compliment and, I knew with all certainty, where my destiny now lay.
 
 
Eileen left after supper, leaving my mother and I to wash up the dishes.

We sat and watched some TV together, sitting on the sofa with our arms around each other. I couldn’t remember feeling so happy. Finally, she stood up and switched the TV off.

“Okay, we need to set some ground rules,” she said.

“What?”

“Chris, the rest of your life is an open book, in which the pages have yet to be written. But if we aren’t careful now, those pages could be spoiled and ripped before we get very far.”

I frowned. My mother was a writer, so would often exist in a different world to the rest of us. She was there now.

“You’re in a very dangerous place. Our beloved society doesn’t like people who don’t conform to one thing or another. Being a boy, dressing as a girl, and wanting to be a girl is not something that will be easy to do or be. So we have to have rules for your safety and general well being.

“One: While physically a boy, dressing up is for special times, and not to be over-done.

“Two: If you have to go down the road of transition, then it is carefully handled, with no sudden revelations. We take everything slowly.

“Three: You and I are the only ones who know. Apart from Eileen of course. Shelly, Rob and Dad, are not to know until we know more as far as the medical situation becomes clear and final decisions are to be made. And even then, I think it wise to keep things to a minimum.”

“Four: We talk through everything, so no decisions are made without these talks, agreed?”

I nodded.

“Okay, and if you are to dress, then you dress properly, so none of this looking like a teenage tart! Tomorrow you and I are going shopping, so we will get you your own clothes, so no more using Shelly’s clothes.”

I could hardly believe my ears. Was mum really offering to get me girl’s clothes?

She told me to take off the clothes I had on, and she put them in the washing machine. I was sent up for a bath, so streaked upstairs in the nude. While the bath was running I looked at my naked body in the full-length mirror.

Eileen was right, although slim, I had comparatively broad hips and a very narrow waist. My shoulders were not broad like Rob’s had been at my age, while my legs and arms were slender and graceful. I had no real boobs though, and my hated little willy nestled between my legs, like a malevolent little snake with its little sac hiding whatever was inside.

I tucked them all out of sight, holding one arm across my chest, as if hiding my boobs. I looked so much like a girl that it hurt!

The areas around my nipples were slightly sensitive and a little puffy, and I felt tissue under the skin. I rather hoped that I was growing breasts, but that would be an awful problem for me at school in the showers after games. As I looked at them, I realised that they were slightly protruding. Not much, but like a girl who was just starting to grow breasts. I felt a butterfly in my tummy, which was a little flutter of uncertain excitement.

I had my bath and, when I got out, I wrapped my self in the large towel. I wound my wet hair in a smaller towel just like I had seen my sister do it.

I sat on the edge of my bed, and was drying my hair when mum walked in.

“Bloody hell, Chris, you look so like your sister, it’s uncanny,” she said.

She handed me a nightdress.

“Here, put this on. You may as well start to know what it is like to be a girl. I may be way of beam here, but your happiness is so important to me, and I know that to try to smother the girl in you could well be a tragic mistake.”

I hugged her so hard. I was so lucky to have someone who understood.

“I don’t understand what you are going through, but I want you to know that I am here for you. Okay?”

I nodded.

“I don’t understand either,” I mumbled.

I put on my nightie, while my mother brushed my hair.

“Another thing, this is getting cut properly. You have split ends and it’s a real mess.”

She kissed me goodnight and I snuggled into bed, the nightie riding up under my armpits. I grinned, pulling it down, enjoying the feel of the garment. I swore never to wear pyjamas again, unless absolutely necessary.
 
 
Chapter 2
 
 
I slept brilliantly, only waking when Mum pulled my curtains and allowed the bright shaft of sunlight to shine straight onto my pillow.

“Come on sleepyhead, we have a lot to do,” she said. She gave me a pair of girl’s panties, and walked out without saying anything else.

I put the panties on, and then dressed in a white tee shirt and jeans with open sandals on my feet. Mum came back in and helped me brush my hair into a unisex style and told me not to put makeup on. I had some breakfast, after which we were soon in the car, heading for the shops in Woking.

We went there because we rarely came here to shop. Mum was wary of meeting anyone we knew, so wanted to keep me as safe as she could. The school I went to was many miles away and no one from this area went to it, as far as I knew.

“Now, Chris, with your hair like this, you appear a pretty normal girl to me. But less so as a boy, but still within acceptable bounds, effeminate, yes, but not overtly so. Your name is Chris, so if anyone asks, and they believe you to be a girl, just tell them it is short for Christina. If you meet anyone you know, just be yourself, okay?”

“Okay!” I said, and stared at my nails. Mum had made me take off the varnish, but I could see little residues by the cuticles.

“How do you feel about people thinking you are a girl?”

“I like the idea. I just wish I really was one.”

“Well, most of your movements and gestures are very feminine. Do you do it naturally, or is it something you put on?”

“I’m just me.”

“Well, it’s not very boyish.”

“Most of the boys I know think I am gay anyway.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Last term, the top form all called me Tina.”

“Why”

“Because Rob used to call me Christina, and the Tina bit stuck.”

“Was Rob a terrible bully?”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry. I will speak to him.”

“You said that every holiday, but every time you told him off he beat me up more.”

“Do you think that you are gay?”

“I think of myself as a girl, and I see girls as friends, but boys are different,” I said, going red.

“What a mess. It’s no wonder we are so screwed up.”

We arrived and parked the car.

The first stop was a clothes shop.

Mum went in and I was rather subdued. I was certain they would know I was a boy.
 
 
She just started looking at the racks, and kept asking me if I liked this top, or that skirt. Eventually she turned on me.

“Chris, come on, get a grip! We’re here for you, so loosen up and get with it. If we’re to get through this, you have to at least make an effort to persuade the world to believe in you. That is the battle, if they believe you, you will make it. If you don’t believe in yourself, how the hell do you think others will?”

I shrugged, but took an interest.

Actually the clothes were great, and I was able to choose some I really liked. One of the assistants came up.

“Can I help you, ladies?” she said.

“Yes,” Mum said, “Chris here has grown out of all her clothes, and she needs some new stuff, including underwear.”

“Okay, let’s do some measuring,” said the girl.

I stood, with my face beetroot red, as she measured me. I looked down as she wrapped the tape around my chest, and saw that my slight breasts were just pushing the material of my tee shirt out.

“Fine, you’re quite tall, how old are you?”

“Twelve,” I said.

“You must be 5’5”, and you have a super figure. I wish I had your waist!”

She went off and returned carrying an assortment of underwear.

“Here is a training bra. You’re starting to sprout, so I remember just how sensitive it is and how embarrassed you must feel. This just gives you some padding, protecting the nipples and enhances what you have got.” She opened the packet and showed me how to adjust it. I went off and put in on in the fitting room.

I stood and looked at myself in the mirror, just with the white bra and panties on. I looked like a girl. I had tucked you know what up and between my legs, so there was no telltale bulge to give me away.

The curtain went back, and Mum stood there, with the assistant hovering in the background.

“Well?” Mum asked.

She could tell by my smile what I felt. She smiled.

“Right, try these on,” she said, handing me an armful of skirts and tops.
 
 
An hour later we left the shop. I was wearing one of the skirts and a top, with my new underwear. The next stop was a shoe shop. Mum was quite strict with me, so kept me from getting any really high heels, but I followed her advice.

“You’re only twelve, so stop trying to look twenty,” she said.
 
 
By lunchtime, I had had my hair done, a full facial and makeover, and was clad from head to toe in the most wonderful clothes and shoes. I had several bulging carrier bags, which were all mine.

We went into The Plaice, a brilliant fish and chip shop, with a restaurant above it.

We ordered, so I painted my nails while we waited for the food to come.

Mum just watched me with a smile on her face. I knew I was grinning from ear to ear.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you so animated and happy,” she said.

I was blowing on my nails to dry them, so I just smiled. It said it all.

The young waiter brought our food.

“Here you go, ladies. Whose is the cod?” he asked.

“That’s mine,” I said, and he smiled, placing it in front of me and giving my mother her plaice.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” he said to me, as he brought the tartar sauce over.

“Oh, you must have missed me,” I said, as my mum shook her head and smiled.

“Nah, I’d never miss someone like you. Are you local?”

“Not really, just passing through,” I said, and Mum nodded, discreetly.

“Pity. Enjoy your meal,” he said, leaving us alone.

“Tart!” Mum said.

“Why?”

“You know how to use what you’ve got. I’ll say that for you,” she said.

I just smiled. I was so happy!

Mum was great, she would gently tell me when I was a bit too boyish - like eating too much too quickly or taking too large a stride when walking. But for most of the time, she seemed amazed as how naturally I behaved as a girl.
 
 
After lunch she took me to have my ears pierced, from which I came away with small sleeper studs in both earlobes. She then drove us home.

I gave my mother a private fashion show of all my new clothes, as she sat and watched me with a sad smile on her face. I stopped and sat beside her on the sofa.

I took her hand.

“You have no idea how happy I feel like this,” I said.

“I do. You see, it used to crack me up seeing you look so miserable for most of the time. As I told you, I actually suspected your dressing up ages ago, so yesterday I came back on purpose to see whether you were.”

I looked down.

“I’m sorry,” I said, but she put her arm around me.

“Sweetie, don’t be. It isn’t something you chose, and you didn’t ask for it, so there is nothing to be sorry about. We just have to sort it.”

The phone rang, so I jumped up and answered it. It was Aunty Eileen and she wanted to speak to Mum.

I took my stuff upstairs, putting them away nicely in the wardrobe.

When I went back down, mum was just hanging up the phone.

“You have an appointment this afternoon with a specialist. He’s off on holiday tomorrow, so he’s seeing us as a favour to your aunt. He’ll see us at St. Margaret’s hospital at four.”

It was three now.

“Will I have to change?” I asked.

“There isn’t time, so you will have to go as you are.”

I was wearing a dark blue denim miniskirt, tights and a red top, which was just a boob tube. There was denim jacket that matched the skirt.

A few moments later I was having a severe case of the wobblies in the passenger seat of the car.

We arrived at the hospital and walked into the relevant wing. My mother approached the desk and asked for Mr Sweeney.

“Who is the appointment for?” the woman asked.

My mother put her hand on my shoulder and looked at me.

“Chris, here. I’m Chris’s mother, Mrs Drewett.”

“Fine. If you and your daughter will have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

We sat, and I was shaking again.

“Calm down, you’ll be fine,” Mum said.

She picked up a magazine and calmly flicked through the pages. She told me later she was as nervous as I was, but wanted me to feel calm.

“Mrs Drewett? The doctor will see you and Chris now,” a nurse announced, and led the way.

We followed the nurse into the consulting room. She left us alone with the doctor.

Mr Sweeney was in his late fifties and was bald. He was sitting at his large mahogany desk, but all I could see was the top of his head, as he was bent over writing.

“Sorry about this, just finishing some notes before I forget them all,” he said without looking up.

Then he looked up. He had a nice face with kind eyes. He looked at Mum and stood up, smiling. Then he looked at me, and his mouth opened in surprise.

“Well. Now I can see why Eileen was in such a tizzy. It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Jonathon Sweeney.” He shook our hands, and we all sat on some easy chairs at one end of the room.

He looked at me closely and smiled.

“It seems you’re here not before time, young lady. Now, why don’t I have a chat with you on your own first, and then we will bring Mum back in?”

Mum smiled and went out, and Mr Sweeney sat opposite me.

“Okay, tell me all about it,” he said.

So I did. It took twenty minutes, with his questions and half a box of tissues.

“Thanks. Now I need to see the physical evidence,” he said, so I went behind the screen and got undressed. A nurse hovered in the background.

Aunt Eileen had been thorough, but it was a casual glance compared to the examination that Mr Sweeney put me through. He poked and prodded, and put fingers where no fingers had ever been before. He took measurements, noting everything down in his little book.

I lay down on the couch, with a blanket over the top half, as he probed around my genitals.

Every now and again he would suck air through his teeth, or say “Hmm!”

He took a substantial amount of blood from my arm, which he placed into several small vials, which he sealed.

Finally, he took his glasses off.
 
 
“Okay, you can get dressed again, and we’ll get your mum,” he said, leaving me alone to dress.

A few minutes later we were all in the easy chairs again, and Mr Sweeney was looking at his notes.

“Right, Mrs Drewett. Firstly, you did the right thing. Young Chris is not just someone who likes dressing up as a girl. So you can put any idea out of your mind that we just have a case of transvestism here.

“Chris, you need not feel guilty about what you feel you are. I believe there is a medical problem here, which is causing you a lot of confusion and distress. I have taken a sample of your blood, so that various tests can be done on your hormone levels, and other things. But until I get those test results, anything I say may be pure conjecture.

“I suspect to find one, two or all of three things. One, you are partly hermaphrodite, or inter-sexed as we say these days. This means that you may have certain female bits inside you, which are producing female hormones. Just how much remains to be seen.

“Two, you actually are a genetic female, with XX chromosomes, or abnormal, with perhaps XXY, this again will be verified by the tests.

“Three, your male genitalia, is not actually functioning. In fact I don’t think your testicles are even properly formed. I could feel some unusual lumps and bumps, also there appears to be an abnormal depression just between your legs, where a vagina should be, so I suspect that some female plumbing may be in place just beneath the surface.”

I stared at him.

“How long will these tests take to come back?” Mum asked.

“Ah, there’s the rub. These are recent innovations, and still in the early days. Lots of people are taking samples, but only a couple of laboratories are testing these samples in this country. So I doubt whether the results will be back for about eight to ten weeks!”

I was due to go back to school in five weeks. The disappointment must have been on both our faces.

“Two things are certain. The first is that Chris is physiologically closer to being a girl, and judging by how she responded to me, she is psychologically a girl, and the second is that there is no point making her be the boy she obviously isn’t,” he said.

“What about schooling? She is due to go back for her final year at Fromley Hall.”

“I know it, good school. Well, I don’t actually think she would fit into an all-boys’ school.”

“But a girls’ school wouldn’t want her either. Not yet, any way.”

“True. Then I suppose she will have to stay at Fromley Hall as a boy, until such time as it is no longer tenable.”

I shook my head.

“I get teased rotten anyway, I don’t think I would be able to take it.”

“Then there has to be another way. I actually think that Chris is developing as a normal girl, which means that she may well have ovarian development which is triggering female secondary characteristics, so in effect is changing her into a young woman. If this is indeed the case, then we may have to operate on the hurry up as she may well start menstruation but has no outlet for the used womb lining. But as I said, until the tests come back, this is pure conjecture,” Mr Sweeney said.

“So, what do we do in the meantime?” Mum asked, rather exasperated.

“Well, I am referring Christina to a psychologist, and this is different to the last time, as she is there to assess and, if necessary, prepare the subject for any transition. Although, I don’t actually feel that Chris will need much help. The psychologist is also there to help me decide the best course of treatment. I’m a surgeon, dealing with the physical side of things. Janice deals with the mind, but I do not foresee Christina having any problems in that area. To be frank, I really thought she was a girl when I first saw her,” he said, smiling at me.

“One thing. Your path is not going to be an easy one. You’re young and you have a supportive mother, so be brave and strong. Make no mistake, you will have a tough time ahead.”

We left the hospital no further forward really. We knew very little more, if anything there was more uncertainty. I was now in limbo, neither a boy nor a girl, and the threat of having to go back to school filled me with dread.

Mum was quiet as she drove home. I didn’t want to talk either. I had been so happy, but now I was confused.

“Mum, if I’m not a real boy, and not a girl, what am I?” I asked, as we went inside.

She turned and gave me a cuddle.

“You are Christina, my daughter,” she said, and we both cried.
 
 
Shelly was due back from Pony Club Camp, so Christina, her clothes, ear rings and makeup were shut away. Then Rob returned, swaggering in, full of himself, as usual. I truly hated Rob, so avoided him as much as I could. I spent my time riding my bike in the nearby woods, and making model aircraft and boats. I had a couple of friends, so occasionally they would come over. We were all the same age.

Bruce was at school with me, and was the nearest thing I had to a best friend. Mike was just someone who I had known for ages. He went to a different school, a state school, so I was jealous, as he didn’t board. The good thing was that we got longer holidays than him.

One day we were all in my room, trying to fit the masts and rigging onto one of my model ships, when Bruce asked me a question.

“Chris, how come you look so much like a girl?”

I stared at him, and although my heart was racing, I was calm on the outside.

I shrugged.

“Do I?”

“A bit. It is more the way you move. Doesn’t he Mike?”

“I dunno. I hadn’t thought about it,” Mike said.

“Not that it matters, I just wondered if anyone else noticed.” said Bruce.

“Have you had your ears pierced?” Mike asked.

I went redder. “Yeah, but Mum says I shouldn’t have.”

“I think that’s cool, my mum would go spare, too. I suppose you do look a bit girly.”

“I sometime feel I should have been a girl. But I’m not, and unless I wake up and find some has stolen my willy, I’m just me,” I tried to be honest, and play down the situation.

They laughed, so the moment passed, but I wondered why Bruce had asked me. Later, after Mike had gone home, I had Bruce to myself. We were in the woods, climbing a tree.

“Bruce?”

“What?”

“Why did you ask me about looking like a girl?”

“I dunno. It occurred to me several times. You walk like a girl, and even sound like one. I think you would make a very pretty girl if you tried.”

I was shocked, but pleased.

“Cor, are you gay or what?” I asked, feigning disgust.

He reddened, so I knew I had hit a nerve of sorts.

“No, you are just a mate, that’s all. And I wondered why I kept seeing you as a girl,” he said, slightly embarrassed.

I felt immediately sorry for him.

“Bruce can you keep a secret?”

“What?”

“I mean it! This mustn’t go beyond us.”

“I promise it won’t. What?”

“I have always thought I should have been a girl, so I went to the doctor a couple of days ago, and I may be more girl than boy.”

He stared at me.

“He says that I may have to have an operation to make me one or the other, and if I get a choice, I will choose to be a girl!”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I just have bits of both and they will need sorting.”

“Really? Can I see?”

I laughed.

“On the inside, dummy.”

“Oh. So you said you feel like a girl, is that all the time?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Even now?”

I nodded again.

“So, do you fancy me?” he asked with a grin.

“I don’t know. I don’t think like that when I have to be a boy.”

“So, do you ever dress as a girl?”

“Sometimes. When there is no one at home. My Mum knows and bought me some clothes and stuff. She took me to the doctor. They are doing some tests, but I won’t know the results until after term starts.”

“Could I see you dressed as a girl?” he asked, his face serious.

“Why?”

“I’m curious, that’s all.”

I looked at him.

“You asked me if I fancied you, do you fancy me or something?”

He reddened again, but went all quiet.

“You do!”

“Yeah, but not as a boy. I started trying to imagine you as a girl, and it made me feel stramge. I just kept thinking of it, and that’s why I asked you. I don’t think that I’m gay, as I don’t fancy boys at all. It’s just I see you as a girl. It’s weird.”

I looked at him, and he seemed very embarrassed.

“Chris?”

“Don’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Then we each have a secret then,” I said, and he smiled and nodded.

“I’ll see when my brother and sister are away. Maybe I can dress a bit before term starts,” I said.

“I’d like that,” he said. I felt strangely confused.

We cycled back home and Bruce left after tea.
 
 
Four days later, Shelly was going to stay with a friend from Pony Club, as they had an event over the weekend, so she was going to be away for three days, Friday to Sunday. Rob had disappeared to Newquay, as a friend wanted him to go and try surfing. I was alone with Mum, again.

Dad had been back and had gone again. I loved my Dad, but he was rarely at home, so I often wondered why Mum put up with him. I think she suspected he had another woman, but the financial situation was sound, and when he was home he was great. Mum was always happy, but each time, he seemed just to upset things, as he wanted things his way, as when he was gone, they were run differently.

I asked if Bruce could come and stay.

Mum looked at me.

“I thought you’d want to be alone so Christina could come out again?”

I blushed, and she frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“Bruce asked why I looked like a girl,” I said.

“And you thought you’d show him?”

I nodded.

“Bit of a risk, isn’t it?”

I smiled. “I have a secret of his, so I think it is okay.”

“Chris, don’t make a mistake, you have to be patient.”

“I know, but I want to have one friend as Christina.”

“Maybe, but a boyfriend?”

I looked at her, and she relented.

“Okay, but be careful, you’re playing with fire.”

I went and called Bruce and he asked his parents. They agreed, and he was allowed to come and stay the weekend.

I went to my room and changed into my favourite skirt and top. My hand was shaking so much when I put my makeup on, that I had to walk away and come back to it, otherwise it would have been all over my face. The hardest thing was putting the studs in my ears, as the holes had almost healed up.
 
 
When the doorbell rang, I was so nervous. I almost ran to answer it.

“Christina, slow down. Relax, it is only Bruce!”

I smiled and slowed down. I opened the door and Bruce’s jaw hit the step.

“Hi Bruce, come in,” I said and walked off, leaving him on the doorstep.

I went into the kitchen, where Mum was preparing lunch.

Bruce came in, but he couldn’t take his eyes off me.

“Hello Bruce, how are you?” Mum asked.

“Hi, Mrs Drewett. I’m fine,” he said, still staring at me.

“Why don’t you take Bruce up to his room, Christina?”

“Okay, come on Bruce,” I said, walking out.

He followed me upstairs, but by the time we reached the spare room, he was able to control his dribble.

“You’re in here. The bathroom is there, but then you’ll remember that,” I said.

He pointed to my breasts.

“You’ve got, got, them!” he managed to stammer.

“See, I told you, I am a girl.” I said, sitting on his bed as he put his bag down.

“Shit!” he said.

“Thanks, how complimentary,” I said with a smile.

“You’re pretty!” he said.

I smiled even more.

“So, are you gay or not?” I teased.

“Not, definitely not! The girl I fancy is amazing,” he said, and it was my turn to go red.

“So you fancy me?”

“Do I!”

I looked at him from under my eyelashes.

“How much?” I asked, not certain what I was doing or where we were going with this.

He looked down. I had him where I wanted him. It was very odd, as we’d been friends for ages, and yet there had never been any chemistry between us like this.

“Enough to kiss me?” I heard my voice say.

He looked sharply at me, but nodded, rather uncertainly.

I’d never either kissed or been kissed, so my heart was pounding.

I stood up, and he moved close to me. I watched him as he moved his head towards me, so I tilted my head slightly to one side so out noses didn’t collide. I felt his lips touch mine, so I reached up and put my arms around his neck. Our lips met briefly and it was over.

I felt a tingle all over my body, and then his arms went round my waist. One of his hands grabbed my buttock and he pulled me towards him.

Our lips met again, for slightly longer, and then he stepped back, releasing me.

“Kids, Lunch!” shouted my mother from downstairs.

I smiled. He stood there panting slightly, red in the face, with my lipstick all over his mouth. I got a damp tissue and cleaned him off. I noticed that there was a large bulge in his trousers, so I was tempted to let my hand brush against it, but decided not to.

The odd thing was, I had felt really aroused, and yet my worm had not even moved.

I went to my room and repaired my lips. We then went down to lunch.

Mum gave me a knowing look and frowned at me. I smiled and shrugged. I chatted all through lunch and gradually Bruce relaxed.

“I can’t believe the change in you,” he said.

“How has she changed?” Mum asked.

“She is just so way out. She is everything that Chris isn’t. She is chatty and outgoing, and just so different,” he said, going red again.

“Bruce, do I detect a little male hormone reacting to my daughter?” Mum asked, and Bruce couldn’t look at her.

“Mum! That’s so unfair. Bruce has been a friend for years,” I said.

She looked at me.

“Christina, you know perfectly well that that friendship ended as soon as you opened the front door. What we have here is something very different, Right Bruce?”

Bruce nodded and I frowned.

“What is wrong with everyone? I’m still me!”

“No, Christina, you’re not just you. You are a stunningly pretty girl. You have affected poor Bruce deeply, and what is worse, you know it.”

I stared at her, but realised that she was right.

“Sorry Brucie, didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said, much subdued.

“You haven’t hurt me,” he was quick to reply.

“Yet!” added Mum.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Cone on Christina, act your age. You know what affect you have had, so be nice and be honest with him. Don’t tease the poor boy.”
 
 
We finished lunch, and went back upstairs. We sat in my room just getting to know each other again. I was different, I knew that I reacted totally differently to him, and I loved it. He was attentive and interested, and it was as if I never knew him at all before. Mum came up and found us just sitting chatting, and she joined us.

Bruce was genuinely interested in my medical problems, so we told him all that we knew. Mum told him that is he breathed a word of this to anyone she would personally castrate him. He went pale, so I thought the secret was safe.

“Come on, I’ll take you to the Cinema. There’s a James Bond film showing,” she said.

We arrived, and instead of coming in with us, she dropped us off, saying she would pick us up in a couple of hours. She gave me the money, and told me to behave.

I paid for the tickets, so we went in and sat at the back.

Half way through the film, he put his arm around my shoulders, and I let him kiss me again. I enjoyed kissing and being kissed by him. I felt all strange and tingly. I also felt a little frustrated that I wasn’t a real girl, yet, for some reason it didn’t seem to matter to him.

At one point, my hand was in his lap, and I felt his hard-on through his trousers. It gave me a thrill to know that I could arouse a boy. I knew exactly how to, and the feeling of power was amazing. I didn’t let my hand linger, as I was afraid and not really sure why.

The film was very good, whenever James Bond kissed the girl, Bruce kissed me, and I even tried to imagine that Sean Connery was kissing me. However, Bruce’s kisses were just a brief touch to my lips.
 
 
The film ended, and we walked out hand-in-hand. It was raining, so we ducked into the Wimpy bar next door and ordered a couple of milk shakes.

We were sitting close together when a voice intruded.

“Bruce?”

I looked up and two strange boys were staring at us. They were both about Rob’s age, so they were four years older than us.

“Hi Jamie, Peter. What are you guys doing?”

“We have been seeing the film. I thought it was you, but Pete wouldn’t have it. Who’s your friend?” the taller boy, Jamie, asked.

“This is .. ah, a friend, ah, um, my girlfriend, Chris, um, Christina. Chris, this is Jamie Roberts, and Peter McVeigh. They live in the same road as me.”

“Hi guys,” I said, and without invitation, they joined us.

“How come you kept the fact you had a girlfriend quiet?” Jamie asked, staring at me.

“We just sort of got together recently,” Bruce said, rather embarrassed.

“So, Christina, do you live in Guildford?”

“No, several miles away. My mum is picking us up.”

“Hey there is a party at my place tomorrow, do you two want to come?”

“Oh, that sounds like fun, but we have already got something on,” I said, and Bruce looked relieved. At that moment I saw Mum looking in, so I waved, and we finished the shakes.

“Sorry, our lift is here, gotta go. It’s been nice to meet you,” I said.

“Well, another time. It was good to meet you too,” Jamie said, and he stared at me in such a way, that I felt goose bumps all over my body. I smiled and pushed Bruce out in front of me.

I was quiet on the way home. Bruce was clearly a little unsettled, but I think he was pleased to have been spotted with a girl, but I believed he was worried in case someone told his mother.

I went to bed that night feeling more like a girl than ever. Bruce was sweet, but it was of Jamie that I dreamed.
 
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 1
 
 
To Be Continued...