Totally Insane 32–Medications.
by Angharad

“She’s taking what?” I heard my father’s voice from the kitchen. I knew it referred to my newly won oestrogen pills. Anyway, I’d taken the first, so was never going to be the same again–never ever. I was female now, with her-mones swimming about my insides. God, it felt so good–I’m sure I could feel my boobs growing–just a little bit.

I was changing out of my school uniform and back into my jeans–goodness they felt tight going over my hips–surely they hadn’t widened already? Um–no, they hadn’t, I forgot to undo the zip in the front–duh!

I went down to face the wrath of my father–a few tears should sort it. I went into the kitchen, “Hello, Daddy, you’re home early.” I threw myself at him and hugged him, which wrong footed him. He’ll know he’s been had, but by then it’ll be too late.

“Hello, Kylie–I don’t know how you wheedled these pills from your shrink, but I can’t say I approve.”

“She said I was ready for them.”

“That isn’t what she said to me, young lady.” Trust my mother to queer my pitch. “She admitted you’d outmanoeuvred her and she was making an exception for you.”

“Well? She said I was exceptional, so that’s why.”

“She told me she understood your concerns about going to a girl’s school without much breast development.”

“Yeah, well it’s true–Gemma’s growing boobs, so I should be too.”

“I don’t think you fully understand what these pills can do to you.” Now Daddy was winding up for the full lecture.

“Yes I do–Dr Andrea said they’d stop me having children–so I’m on the contradictive pill–so what?”

My father stifled a snigger–it was supposed to be a serious brow beating–he wasn’t doing too well, and a snigger would completely blow his authority. He managed to turn it into a snort, then gave another as if to prove it wasn’t related to his lack of self control–it just made him sound like a horse with hay fever. I wonder if horses get it–hay fever, I mean.

“...so these pills are quite dangerous. Do you understand?”

I nodded although I hadn’t listened to one bit of what he’d been saying.

“Kylie, are you listening to me?” he sounded quite irritated.

“Of course I am, Daddy, I always listen to everything you say–you’re such a clever man, and know so much about everything.”

“No I’m not, but I do know a bit about pharmaceuticals. Did you know that some of these are made from horse’s urine.”

What? Black Beauty’s wee? Oh my goodness, have I like just swallowed horsey pee or Daddy’s bull excrement? “So, as long as you wash your hands afterwards, does it matter?” I tried to put a brave face on it.

“These aren’t...”I breathed a sigh of relief. “They’re synthetic; ethinyloestradiol,” he went on and I switched off again.

I mean, like who cares what they are if they make my boobs grow. He’s got to learn about priorities, and mine are having tits and a girly bum.

“...You might find yourself feeling sick in the morning for a couple of weeks, but it soon passes.”

“I’ll be alright, Daddy, I’m sure Dr Andrea wouldn’t give me anything that was bad for me.” I hugged him tightly, once I got his approval, the rest would follow, “and I’ll be ever so careful.”

“Okay, sweetheart, I agree you can use them for the moment and let’s see where it takes you. But if you take them for any length of time, you can’t go back to being a boy–you know that?”

Duh–why does he think I’m taking them? “I know that, Daddy, I don’t ever want to be a boy again–I’m your daughter, Daddy, and proud of it.”

“I’m proud of you too, sweetheart.”

“Can I go and do my sewing now, Mummy, or do you need me to help in the kitchen?”

She gave me a very old fashioned look before saying I could go. I heard her tell my father, “Huh, some lecture that was, she wrapped you round her little finger and kept you there.”

“She did not, Rosemary, I didn’t want to be too hard on her, after all, the doctor is the final arbiter of her treatment–so who am I to argue with her?”

“That’s a cop out, Stuart, and you know it. That little minx has manipulated both of you.”

“You as well then–it was you who got the pills for her–and why didn’t you bring them to one of our shops, we’d have done them at cost for you?”

“Now you tell me...” I heard my mother’s voice, I went up to my room and sent a text to Philip.

‘Pswaded da doc 2 gimme mones. I’m a real grl now. Kx.’

'Cn u pswade her 2 gv u a fanny 2? Pxxx.’ came back his reply half an hour later. Typical bloke, never satisfied. If I had one he’d probably want me to have two.

“Ouch,” I squealed and watched the tiny drop of blood form on my thumb. I’d dropped my thimble, not that it helps very much–it feels very clumsy and I tend to jab myself below it. I sucked my thumb and put down my embroidery. I’m doing a sampler–one of those things with ABC you see hanging on people’s walls. My nan did one when she was a girl, Mummy didn’t, but she can sew and cross stitch. Me? I can jab my thumb–cor it jolly well hurts.

The sampler is a kit complete with a printed pattern and all the silks you need to make it. Nan says that you can get spares, besides she has loads of sewing stuff. Mummy said we’d go and see her again in the school holidays–that’ll be fun, maybe Gramps will be available next time–no stupid people wanting to get married.

I spent my last day of freedom with Gemma, she invited me over for lunch–which meant I got out of helping to cook ours. Karen was doing theirs, or should I say ours? Her mum was decorating the spare bedroom so delegated the job to Karen, and Gemma was told she was cleaning up afterwards. That doesn’t happen in our house. ‘Cos I’m the only girl, I get to help cook it and clear up afterwards–mind you it gives me more chance to poison Brian–maybe I should add some of my girly pills to his dinner–hee-hee.

“Your makeup looks really good now,” Karen observed as she bustled about in the kitchen.

“Thanks, anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you can make Yorkshire puddings?”

“Yorkshire puds? Yep, I can make ‘em–you’ll need the oven a bit hotter though.”

“I was joking–but you can make them?”

“Well yes, of course I can, it’s like one of the first things my mother showed me to do.”

“Well, Nigella, come in to my kitchen.”

I made up the batter mixture and greased a suitable tin, then added a dollop to each of the cavities in the tin. Then we whacked them into the hot oven for about twenty minutes or so.

When we pulled out the tray a while later Karen was most impressed. So was I, I’d only ever made them with my mother standing over me telling me what to do. I’m obviously a natural genius, and so modest with it. I almost laughed at my own thoughts–then they would know I was completely bonkers.

Gemma had invited me over to brief me on their school, I was going to meet her at the gate, Mummy had suggested she take me–but I’d be there too early, like most vampires–I mean school teachers–she leaves before the sun gets up and turns her to dust. So I was going to cycle to school.

“You can’t like, take a bike to school,” said Gemma

“Why?” I asked, because it seemed a perfectly sensible thing to me.

“Because–it’ll like mess your hair up, for one thing.”

“I’ll like, tie it back in a ponytail.”

“I thought you didn’t like ponytails?”

“I don’t but, I do it to play badminton.”

“How about I plait it for you?”

“Mummy’s done that once or twice.” I sat down and Gemma, fiddled about with my hair, plaiting it into two pigtails, which she secured with thin elastic ties.

“You look really good with those.”

I glanced in the mirror–at least I’d look different from my first visit to that school.

“Well, say something,” she urged as I continued to look at myself, twisting and turning to get a better view.

“Yeah–it’s okay,” I offered still distracted by my appearance.

“Gee thanks, Gemma, nice of you to do my hair,” she sarcastically added.

“I’m sorry, thanks Gem–it looks different.”

“Well of course it does–gee whiz, girl, you are so, like, perceptive.”

Karen walked in to announce lunch was ready–“Oh my God, it’s Heidi.”

I felt awful–I started to pull off the ties from the end of the pigtails, but Gemma smacked my hand–“Oi, leave those for now.”

I followed her into the dining room, her dad was there, “Oh hello, Kylie,” he smiled at me, “I think all our locks are working at the moment.”

I smiled back.

Mrs Smith came dashing in from the kitchen having just washed her hands–she still had the towel with her. “Who’s this–oh, it’s Kylie–gosh, you look different, very–um–yes.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Yes, it’s fine–it’s just different.”

Karen brought in the dinner and we sat and ate with very light conversation going.

“Oh, Yorkshires–I didn’t think you could make those,” Mrs Smith said to Karen.

“I didn’t, Kylie did.”

“Well done, Kylie. Hmm, they’re good, too.”

So was the rest of the dinner–I ate far too much, and sat about wanting to sleep until Gemma made me accompany her for a walk.

“Why do we have to walk,” I yawned at her.

“So no one overhears us.”

I looked blankly at her.

“Look, Kylie girl, I think you should stay here tonight and then we can all go from here tomorrow morning–sort of safety in numbers again.”

“People won’t remember me from last time, will they?” I mentioned thinking about my previous visit to the school.

“Nah–not with pigtails. Why don’t you ask your mum to drop your uniform over.”

“I dunno–I think she’d like me at home tonight–why don’t I get her to drop me over tomorrow on her way to work?”

“Yeah, okay, if it’s early enough.”

“Oh don’t worry it will be, she leaves at sparrow fart.”

“Okay, but leave the pigtails–okay?”

“I’ll see–I’d better go back now–oh oh.” I spotted two boys walking towards us–George Carstairs and Patrick Swain, they were in the year above us.

“Keep walking,” said Gemma from the side of her mouth.

“Hi girls, how’s things?” asked George, with hardly the most original pick up line.

“Fine until you came along,” spat back Gemma.

“Oh that’s nice, bloody lezzies.”

“They must be if they can’t see your charms, Georgie boy,” said Swain.

“Need a magnifying glass to see yours, boys, see it hasn’t grown despite the number of times you’ve pulled it.” Gemma and I breezed past them, although my tummy was flipping.

I kept quiet, she was so much better at the put down than I was, although I suppose I need to learn a few more one liners for such situations.

“Hey, what about your friend, the vixen in plaits–doesn’t she have a say in this?” George was a trier, we had to give him that.

“Say something,” Gemma hissed at me.

“Like what?” I felt completely perplexed.

“Anything–tell him to piss off.”

I turned and looked at them–“Nah, you’re not my type–we did cavemen last week.” Gemma sniggered.

“Cavemen? Huh–you look like something out of an Enid Blyton story,” suggested George.

“Oh yeah, it’s Noddy and Bigears,” Gemma retorted, “so they oughta like, know,” I nearly squealed with laughter I was so nervous.

I passed them a bit later riding home, but I was going at a fair lick and they didn’t notice me.

Mummy agreed to take me to Gemma’s the next morning, and she laid out my uniform for me the night before–it was all hanging on my wardrobe door–teasing me all night.

I had some peculiar dreams–in one I’d forgotten to wear any knickers and a gust of wind blew my skirt up and showed everything–so they all knew I was a boy.

I went back to sleep and–I found I’d gone to my old school by mistake. I was horrified and tried to get out but the doors were locked and two teachers grabbed me and dragged me into the hall, where I was made to sit in front of the whole school while the headmaster lectured all the boys about the dangers of homosexuality.

I tried to stand up to protest that I was transgendered, but he shouted me down–“It’s all the same–they’re all bloody queers, only difference is you’re prancing about in a skirt pretending to be a girl.”

Mummy came into me because apparently I was shouting in my sleep, that I was a girl. She calmed me down and I went off to sleep again. However, it only felt like five minutes later she was dragging me from my bed and telling me to get showered and dressed.

My hair was still in plaits and although I wasn’t at all sure about it, I checked it in the mirror and it was clean enough–I’d wash it tomorrow. I dressed in my uniform and put on some makeup and some smellies, then packed my backpack with a notebook and my new pencil case, some water, hankies and my makeup bag and purse. I nearly forgot my mobile phone until Mummy mentioned it. I didn’t want any breakfast but she made me eat some cereal, a piece of toast and some fruit. I also had to take some cereal bars with me in case I was hungry.

Being July, it was warm enough to only need a cardigan–probably even then I wouldn’t really need it, but just in case I felt cold. I was getting used to skirts–although my school one is as short as anything I ever wear, and it has pleats, so I have to be careful how I sit or bend.

Last night, I helped Mummy sew name tapes in all my school clothes–fortunately, the old ones were still usable K.Mosse, so at least we didn’t have to spend anything there. Why are they always done in red stitching? The labels, I mean.

Mummy dropped me off at the Smith’s house and Gemma and Karen were nearly ready–which was a record. “You’ll have to come again, Kylie–they’re never usually ready this early,” joked Mrs Smith, who was going to drive us to school.

Karen commented favourably on my makeup and Gemma smiled at me because I’d kept the plaits. I turned down the offer of another drink–I didn’t want to have to use the loos any more than I absolutely had to.

We’d had a letter from the school, telling me to attend the secretary’s office at eight forty five. She would then do the paperwork and escort me to my first class. I walked into the school with Gemma and she pointed me to the office.

Mrs Martin was the school secretary and it was she who’d phoned a week or so ago to invite me in. She was really nice and helped me through the red tape that seems to be everywhere these days. She also gave me a timetable and a school plan; finally asking if I had any questions–I didn’t; so she led me down the corridor towards my fate.

This was it, I was enrolled in a girl’s school, my records with the local education authority had been changed–I was officially a girl, as far as they were concerned, and with the girly ‘mones swishing round my system I felt almost overcome with terror–so as we passed a loo, I dashed in and vomited–only just making the cubicle in time.

“ You alright?” Mrs Martin asked helping me up.

I nodded, “Nerves,” I managed to say before up came the toast to join the corn flakes. It was crazy, I wasn’t this sick when I’d impersonated a pupil here, but do I now have more to lose? Then I’d have been a criminal, now I’d be a weirdo. Damn, here comes that banana–I heaved once more.

I was pale and trembling when I was eventually taken to my class and introduced. The teacher, our English one, was called Mrs Evans, and she put her hand on my shoulder.

“Class, this is Kylie Mosse, I want you to make her welcome.” I smiled weakly, still feeling sick, even though I knew there was nothing left in my tummy–I think I’d thrown up last week’s dinner as well. I was sent to an empty seat next to Gemma, who smiled at me and asked if I was okay.

“No, I’ve been sick–maybe those pills.”

“Pills? What pills?” she whispered back.

“Birth pills.”

“What are you taking those for–you, like, can’t get pregnant?”

“Hormones,” I whispered back, trying to understand why I was staring at a book of poetry.

At the end of the lesson, I drank some water and ate a cereal bar–that made me feel easier. We had double maths next–the teacher, a Mr Cartwright asked who the new girl was? I raised my hand and he told me what he was teaching–was I okay with it?

Fortunately I’d done logarithms before, so it was.

The fact that he gave me a very good look as he walked up to me, tended to indicate he knew of my past and it was probably his first experience of a weirdo. I ignored it and got on with the lesson. When the bell went and we were leaving to go to break, he called me back.

“Kylie, welcome to my classes–I’m aware you have some issues–if you’re having any problems, please come and see me or any other member of staff. Okay?” He winked at me and I thanked him then went off to join Gemma who was waiting for me in the corridor.

I got through a French lesson and a general science–that was better, they were doing the solar system, which I’d read about a while back, so I kept up pretty well and even managed to answer a question about Mars.

I went back with Gemma and had lunch with her and her mum: Karen stayed behind in school because she was in the choir and they had a practice after lunch. Going back in the afternoon was less daunting and my sickness had passed by then.

We had history and geography, then home skills–they did needlework. The girls were making a skirt for themselves, and Gemma had warned me. So I took my sampler and Miss Jeffries was quite happy for me to play with that while she showed them how to attach the lining to their waistbands. It looked complicated and I politely watched then did my cross-stitch whilst Gemma struggled with her skirt.

At one point she was about to chuck it on the floor, so I helped her and between us we got it pinned up and she could tack it, before she moved to the sewing machine. Miss Jeffries came over to me and said, “Pity you didn’t come earlier, poor Gemma has struggled–she doesn’t like sewing, but I suspect you might.”

“It’s alright,” I shrugged.

“Kylie, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Well next term, we’re doing a dress, with some embroidery, so it might just be up your street.”

I shrugged again, “I’ll do my best, Miss.”

“Good girl,” she said and smiled.

Thanks to Gabi for more editing and suggestions, any mistakes still here are mine.