It's best if any new readers find this story, to have read 'Skipper!' first.
This story explores the progress of one of the four girls in Skipper, namely Sian's transgendered child who, whilst born with male plumbing, has not yet determined what gender she is, though she presents as a female.
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Martina’s Story.

List of Characters.

Myself. Martina, A sexually dysphoric child whose sexuality has not
yet been ascertained but who chooses to present as a girl.

Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature shemale and my most supportive adult friend.

Chenille My older half sister.

Jennifer Aunt Beverly’s adopted daughter.

Beatrice Aunt Beverly’s second adopted daughter and Jennifer’s younger sister.

Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —

Margaret Who is Chenille’s lesbian mother.

Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite shemale father.

Sandie. My doctor, psychiatrist and sexual counsellor.

Judge Elizabeth Porter. The judge who ruled that I should be allowed to live and dress as a girl.

Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who would eventually marry my Aunt Beverly who is a shemale.

Baroness Wemite’ Sian’s old School Chum

Peter Baroness Wemite’s son

Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my friend.

Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.

For those readers who wish to get a deeper insight and appreciation of my home circumstances, I suggest that they read Skipper, the story about Aunty Beverly’s rescue and adoption of Jennifer and Beatrice. This is a ‘follow on story’ about my childhood. It starts chronologically after Aunty Beverly finally married Aunty Angela. Some people might disapprove of our life style but I like it, as do my sisters, my mothers and my aunts.

Martina. Chapter 1.

The knock on the bedroom door wasn’t really necessary.

“Come along children, there’s lots to do.”

We all four girls were excited. Jennifer and Beatrice had been sharing a sleepover during the last weekend of the holidays because Aunty Beverly had been in Amsterdam on business. Early this Monday morning, Aunty Beverly had returned and Jennifer and Chenille were starting their first day at St Angela’s School. Beatrice and I had to wait another week before St Angela’s junior section opened but we were going to see the school anyway. I was to have my final special interview because of my ‘condition’ and Beatrice was coming along just for the ride.

Firstly I have to explain. I am a sexually dysphoric nine-year-old child who has not yet determined my sexuality. I was born a boy, but since the age of six, I have felt a distinct preference to live and appear as a girl. Without a view of my naked body, nobody would realise I was a boy. When dressed, I live and present completely as a girl. My preferred condition is to appear as a girl whilst remaining a boy.

The head mistress of St Angela’s has taken a daring step in interviewing me but after much advice and support from Doctor Sandie, my psychiatrist, Miss Frobisher is on the verge of accepting me into her ‘all girls’ school.
My two older sisters have both won scholarships and our previous school reports demonstrated that we all four ‘girls’ are good academic material. St Angela’s prides itself on academic prowess and achievement. When our turn comes, Beatrice and I also hope to win scholarships to help fund our attendance at the senior school. The school is located in the next valley on the other side of the hill called ‘The Dumplin.

At mother’s call, we scrambled out of bed and headed for the shower to freshen up before breakfast.

When we emerged from the bathroom, our mummies were laying out our new school uniforms. I noted that they had also laid out one for me and I smiled. It seemed my acceptance at St Angie’s was almost a fait accompli.
Jennifer and Chenille giggled as they stood in their regulation maroon cotton knickers, trainer bras and opaque grey tights before slipping on their white cotton blouses and pleated grey gymslips. Then they slipped on their ties and shoes before finally donning their maroon, dark red blazers. Once they were dressed, they turned to study Beatrice and me as we sported similar versions. We all wore the same uniform except for the opaque grey tights. I was a bit disappointed that I couldn’t wear silky panties under my gymslip but the school regulations stipulated cotton interlock maroon knickers. We junior girls also wore knee length grey socks instead of tights. I was a bit disappointed with this as well. I loved wearing silky tights.
As we studied each other, Mummy Margaret arrived with her camera and videoed us as we processed down to breakfast.

“Will we always have to walk in lines?” Asked Chenille.

“Not at home darling,” replied Mummy Sian, “this is just a practice run, but you will have to when you are in school. St Angie’s is a huge school and there has to be some sort of order. You’ll have to walk in lines down the corridors to prevent congestion and chaos. You’ll understand when we show you around. Don’t forget, St Angie’s is my old school. I know all about it.”

After breakfast we chattered eagerly then climbed into the big Land rover and drove to school along the bridle path over ‘The Dumplin’.

For the first few years, we were to be day students because we only lived over the other side of ‘The Dumplin’ from the school. Recently Aunty Beverly had bought the neighbouring farm and our land now stretched up to the crest of ‘The Dumplin’ where it bordered with The Baron Wemite’s vast Estates. As we topped the brow of The Dumplin, we looked down into the panorama of the valley that contained The Baron Wemite’s land and St Angela’s school with it’s own extensive grounds.
Next to the Baron’s fields and woodlands lay the grounds and playing fields that surrounded St Angela’s school buildings. Different parts had been added throughout the years and the school now comprised an interlocking maze of assorted blocks of different ages and styles connected by corridors.

All these corridors and connections led to the old limestone centre block that was the original part of the school.

The old section of the school was a forbidding Victorian building that boldly said ‘School!’ to any first time visitors. The newer sections and buildings had an altogether more pleasant and airy appearance for they were placed behind the old block amidst the playing fields.

Fortunately, we looked down on the school from our own unique route over ‘The Dumplin’ so we could view the park-like grounds that encompassed the whole school. Other pupils approached via the main road so their first view of St Angie’s was the monolithic original building of the old school. Some said it resembled Dracula’s castle.

As we fell silent, Mummy Sian reassured us.

“Don’t be put off by the appearance. The old buildings are for the senior pupils and administration. All the newer buildings are for the younger pupils. You only go the old block for morning assembly, meal times and later on when you become senior pupils.

“That stone part looks like a castle, has it got dungeons?” Asked Beatrice nervously.

Our mummies laughed and Sian reassured us.

“No there are no dungeons. I spent twelve years there as a girl and I never found any dungeons.”

As we descended, the bridle path led onto the main valley road where our view of the school was now lost behind the trees.
Next we passed the large country house were Baron Wemite lived with his wife and two children, Peter and Melanie. Melanie was one of our best friends for we often went riding together. She was the same age as Beatrice and I, and she had been a day pupil at St Angie’s nursery and junior school since she was only four.

This time we drove straight past Wemite’ House and travelled a little further down the road before turning into the wide school gateway. The old school certainly did present a forbidding facade to those who had not had the benefit of our view from the top of ‘The Dumplin’. Even so, we still shuddered when we drove up the long drive.

Teachers and prefects were checking each car for new pupils then directing them to the great hall whilst the other pupils renewed acquaintances and prepared for the new academic year. Finally a prefect arrived all smiles and led Mummy Margaret and Mummy Angela to the registration hall with Jennifer and Chenille. Bea and I remained in the Landrover with Mummy Sian and Aunty Beverly, until an older lady appeared to greet us. She recognised Mummy Sian as an old pupil then she introduced herself to Aunty Beverly.

“Ah. Here you are. So glad you made it. I’m Mrs Warburton, the school matron, and which one of these two young ladies is the special pupil in question? “ She asked as she smiled at Beatrice and me kindly

Mummy Sian and Aunty Beverly indicated me and we were invited to the main entrance of the old block. I lowered myself down from the Landrover with as much decorum as I could muster and stood nervously re-adjusting the hem of my gymslip as Beatrice followed suit. Mrs Warburton studied us then smiled approvingly as we stepped into line behind the adults and followed them towards the headmistresses study.

Curious eyes followed us as we took the unusual procedure of going straight towards the main entrance and Miss Frobisher’s study. Bea and I exchanged nervous glances as Miss Frobisher rose to meet our parents.

“Ah so glad you could make it. There have been developments. I only received Martina’s final acceptance from the governing council this morning. It’s a trial arrangement, but Martina will be allowed to attend. I’ve studied the children’s reports and there’s no problem at all with the academic side.

Now as to Martina’s circumstances, I’ve studied Doctor Sandie Page’s letters and I think I understand the issues.
If young Miss Martina is to study here, we will have to recognise that she has a medical condition that requires her to follow certain restrictions until everybody can assess the situation and take the requisite steps.”

“And that mean’s?” finished my Aunty Beverly.

Miss Frobisher shrugged and spread her hands expansively as she smiled disarmingly.

“Well frankly, I don’t know. This is a very novel situation for St Angela’s and we’ll just have to feel our way. The governors have shown a lot of trust in me to get it right and I’m under quite a bit of pressure. Fortunately there should be no problems in the junior school.

As you’ve agreed, all your children will be day students so the younger pair won’t even have to change formally for games or gym. Usually they dress in shorts and a sport shirt. Only the older girls change into leotards or sports outfits. What we have done is to arrange for Martina and Beatrice’s class to have their games periods at the end of the day so that there’s no need to change after school. The younger girls can go straight home as day pupils. If this arrangement works satisfactorily, then we can amend things later as and if Martina continues up the school and into the senior years. I think ‘small steps’ seem to be the best way forward.”

Aunty Beverly and Mummy Sian agreed to these arrangements then Miss Frobisher went into further detail.

“I see that from Doctor Sandie page’s report, that Martina lives entirely as a girl. I assume that means her lavatory habits are female?”

“Of course.” Replied Mummy Sian.

“Well for now then, provided nothing untoward arises, I’m sure we can see a way forward,” continued Miss Frobisher. “I’d like to have a confidential chat without the girls being here so I’ll ask Miss Warburton to show the girls around the school.”

At this, Miss Warburton took Beatrice and me along the maze of corridors and showed us the junior section while our parents talked about I don’t know what. I liked Mrs Warburton; she had a kindly smile and readily answered any questions we asked. She even brought us some cake and milk from the senior school admissions tea, as we waited for our mummies to finish with Miss Frobisher.
Eventually, the day ended and we collected Chenille and Jennifer before returning home. In the Landrover, Aunty Beverly asked them how they felt.

“I wish we could do the boarding bit, replied Chenille, “the older girls say it’s fun.”

Mummy Sian smiled and nodded.

“Yes it is, but we’ll wait until you’re a little older and then all of you can board together. Anyway, the fees are less for day students so we’ll save a lot of money. You can always stay late for after school activities, because we are not far from the school. You won’t miss out on anything.

If anything, I suspect the boarders will envy you,” added Mummy Sian, “you’ll always be free to go into town or go riding when you’re at home, but you’ll be able to enjoy the school activities any time you like. You’ll even be able to ride to school if you wish. The school has stabling facilities for any girls who wish to keep a horse. However, that is very expensive, so you’re ponies will remain stabled at home. You’ll have the best of both worlds.”

Jenny and Chenille fell silent. They were not entirely convinced. Obviously the older girls had been telling exciting stories about dormitory life.

At home I found an email from Melanie asking me how I had felt about St Angie’s.

I explained that we’d been to the school and asked why she wasn’t there to meet us. She replied that she had been up to a large boy’s school near Windsor where her older brother Peter had been registered. Anyway, junior registration was not until the next Monday and she would look forward to meeting us then. I replied that we could see her the next morning on the Dumplin. As juniors, we still had another week’s holiday.

On Tuesday, we met as arranged but it was boring without Jennifer and Chenille and we were at a bit of a loose end. After a brief gallop we all three rode back down to Wemite’ house and had lunch with Melanie’s mum, the Baroness.
In the afternoon, we rode to the school and Melanie showed us the school’s equestrian facility where she introduced us to Mrs Smith the riding instructor. When she learned I was Sian’s daughter, she showed us the photographs of my mother as a junior champion. It was no wonder that Mummy Sian had turned out such a good horsewoman.

As we rode back to Melanie’s, we saw Jenny and Chenny playing hockey. We waved excitedly, but they were too engrossed in their game and ignored us. Either that or they had already ‘outgrown’ their younger sisters and didn’t want to be associated with juniors.

We got home just as Jennifer and Chenille were alighting from the minibus that collected day pupils from around the local district. Beatrice immediately scolded her older sister Jenny about ignoring us by the hockey field.

“Why didn’t you wave to us?”

“We were too busy. We were losing and had to concentrate.”

“Did you win?” I asked.

“No,” replied Chenille, “next week, she’s changing the teams around to make it more even.”

At that, Aunty Beverly met us by the cottage gate.

“How long did it take in the minibus?”

“About thirty minutes,” replied Chenille, “we put three other girls off in the village by the crossroads, then we drove around The Dumplin to the bottom of our lane.

“And how long did the ponies take over The Dumplin?” Aunty Bev asked me.

I turned to Bea and we both shrugged.

“We weren’t counting. About half an hour I suppose, but we weren’t rushing. We both had to stop for a tinkle and these jodhpurs are the devil to pull down. We drank pop with Melanie in Baroness Wemite’s. That made us want a wee.”

Aunty Beverly smiled, and suggested that we check out the journey the next morning. If riding was faster than using the minibus, we could take the horses occasionally and tell the minibus driver on the mobile phone.

“We’d have to change when we got to school.” Protested Chenille.

“If it’s fine and sunny, you can ride in your gymslips. There won’t be any mud.”

“I’m not sure Miss Frobisher will approve. Our tights could get awfully sweaty in the saddle,” giggled Jennifer.

“If it’s sunny, you can leave your tights off until you get to Wemite House. Nobody will see you. The bridle path is pretty quiet on weekdays. You know we have recently bought old farmer Legg’s farm since he became too ill to run it and his daughters aren’t interested. We rent the land out to Mr Turpin but it’s ours all the way up this side of The Dumplin. Melanie’s mum says you can change your clothes in her house then take Melanie with you the rest of the way to school. Miss Frobisher has spoken to Mrs Smith the equestrian instructor and your extra horses will be welcome for the school’s equestrian lessons. Melanie lends her pony to the school already.”

“Will we have to ride over every day?” Jenny protested.

“No. If it’s too wet or muddy the school won’t be holding equestrian lessons, then you use the minibus, it passes by the bottom of the lane anyway whether you use it or not.”

“Can’t you take us in the Landrover?”

“Only rarely, more probably it’ll be the horse box if they need the ponies.”

This arrangement later proved to work well. We soon took to leaving school clothes at Baroness Wemite’s then changing before we rode the last few yards to school.

When we started junior school on the following Monday, we were already ahead of the game. We were the first to arrive that Monday morning and watched the other junior girls returning or starting for the first time.
Melanie of course knew most of the other girls and described them as they arrived. She particularly warned us about two rather nasty bullies who arrived together in the same car.

“Just watch those two,” warned Melanie, “they love getting other girls into trouble or just pushing everybody around.” They always try to pick on new girls.”

“What are their names?” Bea asked, wishing to be forearmed.

“Rosemary and Monika and they’re nasty bits of work.” Melanie cautioned. “They try to make all the new girls pull their knickers down in the junior girl’s dormitories.”

I swallowed nervously but then realised that we would not be boarding for the first couple of years. For the moment, it would not be an issue.

I exchanged a glance with Bea but she smiled reassuringly. Melanie did not know about my ‘condition’.

“Don’t the prefects stop them?” Bea asked.

“Only if they catch them, but like all bullies, they pick their moments and they like to gather any cronies around them.”

Beatrice and I realised we were getting good wisdom from Melanie who had several years of experience already in the school. That afternoon, we discussed the bullying issues with Melanie’s mum before we rode home. Her advice was to stand us in good stead for the early years in the school. She told us to stick together and always try to nip any bullying in the bud. That way we would garner the friendship of other new girls who would be grateful for support or protection.

“It will grow like a pact girls, you mark my words,” smiled the baroness as she waved us off over The Dumplin.

When we discussed it with Jenny and Chenny, they promised any support they could and when we got home, our mummies agreed with Baroness Wemite. We were truly grateful to Melanie for warning us. Forewarned was forearmed.

It did not take long before Rosemary and Monika were plying their trade. Naturally, they picked on a rather fat, plump new girl named Lucinda who had not yet made any friends. Because she was fat she was shy and nervous. Lucinda was the classic target.

The bullies chose an opportunity during our class’s second riding lesson. They thought Lucinda was alone and vulnerable as she groomed Jennifer’s pony in the loosebox. They soon met their comeuppance for Melanie had already anticipated their tactics.
Despite her rather upper class titled background, Melanie proved to be a hard-bitten streetwise kid. She had obviously fought her corner when Monika and Rosemary had tried bullying her in earlier years.

This time, Melanie had spotted them plotting in the dining hall during lunch. The pair kept looking at Lucinda as the naíve, overweight new girl sat alone and still friendless. Melanie forewarned us and we slipped into the stables ahead of the rest of the class on the pretext of saddling our own ponies.

Our advantage of course lay in our having already won the equestrian teacher, Mrs Smith’s trust because of our proven record with the ponies.

Melanie chose the loosebox on the far side with her and Chenille’s ponies while Beatrice and I waited quietly in the nearer loose box where our own ponies were waiting for the rest of the class to arrive.
Needless to say, because our own horses knew us thoroughly, they made no noise or disturbance as we waited silently for the bullies to make their first attack on the unsuspecting Lucinda.

Lucinda had been appointed to a horse because she had demonstrated some experience in the first lesson. She was given Appledancer, Jennifer’s pony. Appledancer, was by far the best behaved of our five ponies. He was a perfect gentleman and could be trusted with even the most novice rider. That was why Lucinda was allowed to go into his loosebox alone for the second lesson. Appledancer turned and extended a friendly nose the moment Lucinda entered.

As we peeped secretively through the woodwork, Beatrice and I hugged ourselves with anticipation as we watched the unsuspecting Lucinda enter the loosebox and stroke Appledancer’s soft velvety nose.

For Lucinda it was a very reassuring moment and she smiled happily as Appledancer stood obediently while she prepared the saddle blanket as she had been shown. She did not notice the malicious bullies sneaking in and Lucinda gave a nervous squeal as the bullies trapped her in the corner.

“Hello fatty. You’re too fat and heavy for that horse!” Monika sniggered.

“No I’m not!” Squealed Lucinda as Rosemary tugged at Lucinda’s hair.

Lucinda naturally reached up to grab Rosemary’s wrists but Monika quickly followed on and grabbed at the elasticated waistband of Lucinda’s jodhpurs and knickers.

Instantly Monika’s jodhpurs and knickers were down around her knees and she naturally reached down to secure her modesty. Lucinda then lost her balance as she tugged her knickers back and Rosemary deftly pulled her forward by her hair to dump her unceremoniously into the straw.

It was obvious that Rosemary and Monika were a practiced pair and they started sniggering as they started to stuff straw down Lucinda’s knickers.

Now we three seized our opportunity.

The bullies were so engrossed as they bent over the whimpering Lucinda that they failed utterly to see three avenging angels descending on them from above. We had each stood on our pony’s saddles and leapt over the dividing partitions between the looseboxes.

We fell on the bullies and completely stunned them as they crashed under our onslaught. Within seconds, they were completely
covered in horse dung as we bundled them into the dirty corner were Appledancer had thoughtfully made his toilet.
Naturally like most bullies, they were cowards at heart and they started screaming as they were ploughed into the dung. Their cries alerted Mrs Smith with the rest of the class and the door burst open just as the bullies were recovering. As Miss Smith entered, we were calming the excited Appledancer. He was not really excited at all, for he knew all three of us too well and had behaved impeccably throughout the whole action. We knew he would.

As Mrs Smith entered, the tearful Lucinda was frantically recovering her composure and picking the straw out of her knickers before tugging her jodhpurs up.

“What’s going on here girls?” She demanded.

Fortunately, Lucinda was a quick thinking girl and came up with a plausible tale.

“Why Mrs Smith, I was putting Appledancer’s saddle blanket on when these two girls burst in and frightened him. He got excited and knocked us down. Then these other three realised what had happened and came in to calm him down.”

Mrs Smith was not stupid and a knowing smile played along her lips.

She knew all about Rosemary and Monika’s nasty little ways but it was difficult to catch the pair red handed. It was obvious that this time, Rosemary and Monika had received their comeuppance.

She turned to us and asked.

“Is that right?”

“Why yes, Miss Smith,” lied Melanie smoothly.

She then turned to the filthy dung stained bullies and demanded their version.

“Did you burst in on the horse?”

The pair nodded sheepishly for they wouldn’t dare go telling tales. They had obviously bragged about their intentions to some of the other girls earlier.

“Well that was a very silly thing to do and you should know better! You’ve been around horses long enough. It’s a good job that this horse is so well behaved. Now go and get cleaned up and have those filthy clothes washed. I can’t have you turned out like stable rats whilst taking an equestrian lesson. There’s some new parents coming around today, and there’s the school’s reputation to consider. Go and get cleaned up immediately and then write out a hundred lines, ‘I must not scare the horses’!”
The pair left with maniacal expressions of rage as Lucinda turned again to attend Appledancer. Miss Smith checked Lucinda’s nervousness.

“Now Lucinda, are you happy to stay with Appledancer. I gave you him because he’s very well behaved. “

“Oh yes Miss Smith,” replied Lucinda gratefully. I’m quite happy with him and he’s quite calm now.”

“Very well then; as to you three young ladies, well done for calming him down. That was very quick thinking. Now please go and attend to your own animals. Then you can accompany Miss Lucinda out into the paddock.

I caught Mrs Smith giving Melanie a knowing wink before she turned to address the other staring class members.

“Come along girls, there’s no time to stand around gawping!”

Once Miss Smith’s back was turned, Lucinda grinned hugely.

“Gosh! Thanks! That was jolly super of you. Why did they attack me?”

“They’re just bullies,” replied Melanie, “they pick a different victim every term; but you’ll have to watch yourself in future. We’re only day students and we can’t watch your back in the dormitory at night. Now get your pony saddled and meet us outside.”
“Oh. By the way.” I interjected. “Your pony. If you really want to be his friend, bring him an apple every time. That’s why he’s named Appledancer.”

“Gosh, you seem to know him awfully well.”

Beatrice explained the set up.

“Of course we know him well! Appledancer belongs to my sister Jennifer. She’s in the senior school and that’s why he’s a bit bigger than ours. The other big one belongs to Chenille. That’s Martina’s big sister. Jenny and Chenny are in year seven.”

“Are they boarding?” Asked Lucinda hopefully, looking for protection.

“Sorry. No, they are day students as well. We live over that hill called The Dumplin.”

“I’m a day student as well,” added Melanie who refrained from mentioning that she actually lived in the huge country house just next door to the school. I really liked Melanie; she had no airs or graces despite her family’s titled background.

We gave Lucinda a few extra tips about how to get the best out of Appledancer then finished saddling up our own ponies. Mrs Smith had given Chenille’s pony Brandy, to another older girl from year six. The girl was an experienced rider for Brandy could be a bit of a handful at times. Our equestrian instructor was good at matching horses to riders for it wasn’t just a matter of weight. Soon the whole class, sans the bullies, were out in the paddock going through their paces in front of some visiting new parents.

As the lesson ended, we bid goodbye to Lucinda. She was going to her common room, whilst we would be trekking our four ponies home over the Dumplin

“Don’t be afraid of the bullies,” we reassured Lucinda, “Mrs Smith has it in hand.”

Lucinda didn’t look too confident as we bid her farewell but there was little we could do. As Lucinda’s nervous tearful eyes followed us out of the stables Melanie turned to us.

“I’d better stay with her, for dinner and prep. Will you take my pony home to mum’s and let her know where I am. She can pick me up later.”

We did as asked and Baroness Wemite nodded understandingly as we delivered Melanie’s pony then turned to trek home over the Dumplin with our remaining four mounts.

The following morning it was pouring with rain and riding lessons were cancelled. Mummy Angela drove us to the bottom of the lane and we sat in the Landrover and waited for the minibus as the rain bucketed down.

“I wonder what it would be like driving over the Dumplin in this?” Hazarded Jenny.

“We’ll not start that. Taking vehicles over the bridle path in this rain would soon reduce it to a muddy quagmire. It’s for horses and people, not vehicles.” Countered Mummy Angela.

“But you drove over it last week.” Added Chenille.

“It was sunny and dry. Besides, our fields and Baron Wemite’s land border the path. We are allowed to use it for access to our fields. It’s our privilege but that gives us responsibilities as well. We only hold the bridle path in trust! It’s actually an old bronze-age right of way and it’s thousands of years old. We must respect it. Anybody can walk over it or ride their horses but if we set a precedent with motor vehicles, then green-laners would soon destroy its peace and beauty."

We fell silent. Mummy Angela was quite right. The bridle path over the Dumplin was a beautiful ride. On our side of the path, it was lined with old oaks and sycamores, whilst the other side permitted an unrestricted view of the whole valley. This was mainly Earl Wemite’s estate and the school grounds. Our mature trees acted as an excellent windbreak for riders and hikers. Eventually the rain appeared to ease and Mummy Angela left us to wait by the hedge as she returned to the cottage. The minibus arrived, just as another squall struck and we got soaked. When we arrived at the school, we had to remove our blazers because the driven rain had soaked right through our regulation school mackintoshes.

That particular day we had chosen just to wear skirts and blouses instead of our gymslips, which were really for the colder winter days. It had been an unfortunate choice for now our damp blouses had become transparent and our bras were clearly visible underneath.

As I sat at my desk I suddenly felt little fingers lightly fingering my bra strap then a little voice whispered.

“You should wear a thicker blouse Martie. Your pink bra shows through when it’s wet. I like your bra though, it’s very pretty.”

I recognised Melanie’s voice and twitched as her delicate fingers tickled the small of my back then twanged my shoulder straps.

“Stoppit!” I whispered as loudly as I dared.

Melanie giggled softly and whipped her fingers away as Miss James turned from the blackboard. She eyed us disapprovingly but said nothing. As an experienced form teacher, she knew exactly when to act upon a serious transgression and ignore a minor one. She knew us to be friends and we were both smiling when she had turned. There was obviously no offence or bullying and the rest of the class had not yet caught on. Fortunately Mel and I sat in the back corner beside Beatrice, and no one else had noticed.
I knew that Melanie was a little envious of my physical development for my tiny rosebuds had already started to grow. That was why she had ‘tested’ my bra back strap.

I did not know it then, but Doctor Sandie’s hormones had slightly accelerated my female development and my budding nipples were already sensitive. Despite only nearing my tenth birthday, I was already one of the most developed ‘girls’ in my class.
As Miss James resumed her attentions to the blackboard, I smiled inwardly and Bea turned and grinned. Only she knew about my other attributes but she was fully alert to any dangers and knew just how to keep a secret. Melanie was blissfully ignorant of what other little blessings I had tucked away in my knickers. At lunchtime we returned to find Miss James rearranging our desks.

“Why are you changing our desks around Miss?” Asked Melanie boldly.

“The other new girl, Lucinda, you met her yesterday.”

“Yes Miss, in the stables.”

“Well she’s had a bit of trouble with two other girls and she’s asked to sit by you. I was speaking to Miss Smith and this is the way it’s to be.”

“Which is to be her desk Miss James?” I asked.

“This one.”

She indicated the one by the window and pointed to ours that were relocated behind it, ahead of it and across the isle. Our little corner fiefdom had been changed but not dramatically so.

“If you’ll notice,” added Miss James, “ I’ve placed you three around Lucinda’s desk. That will prevent any interference.”

“Like a fortress,” grinned Melanie.

Miss James said nothing but just smiled enigmatically. She and Miss Smith the riding teacher had obviously been chatting.

“You’ll notice Martina, that your desk is now in the back corner. I’m trusting you to behave. I don’t miss much!”

I smiled at Beatrice and grinned at Melanie.

“Now you won’t be able to snap my bra straps.”

“Yes. Exactly!” riposted Miss James, “Melanie was behaving like a silly, naughty boy yesterday and we can’t have that can we? Now off you go and play, I’ve got a lesson to write up on the blackboard.”

During playtime, we three picked our favourite spot under one of the huge spreading oak trees and chatted about school life. The dense crown of the oak had kept the ground dry during the morning rains.

“Why do you keep wanting to play with my bra?” I giggled as I asked Melanie.

“Because it’s a pretty frilly pink one and you’ve got the nicest boobies.”

“You mean the biggest boobies,” corrected Bea.

Melanie smiled shyly as her gaze fell enviously on the noticeable swellings under my blouse.

“Yeah,” she added, “I’ll be glad when mine start to grow.”

I blushed self-consciously as my arms almost automatically folded in a subconscious attempt to hide the sensitive buds inside my trainer bra.

“There’s no need to feel ashamed of them,” objected Melanie as she gently restrained my arms, “they’re really nice.”

“Yes. Be proud of them!” Added Bea. “Boys will like you much more with big boobies.”

I felt me tummy squirm with confusion inside me. ‘Did I really want boys groping my body?’ I asked myself.
I far preferred girl’s company. They weren’t so rough and you could share feelings with girls. Boys could be fun when playing football and stuff but I was glad I was now going to a girl’s school.

We girls could still enjoy team sports like hockey, rounders and La Crosse, but it was much nicer afterwards when we could sit and chat about other stuff, personal stuff like feelings and friends. Just like we were doing now, under our oak tree.
As we lay on the grass between the roots, I felt Melanie’s fingers stray from the casual hug to a more inquisitive exploration of my sensitive titties. I squeaked affectionately but let her fingers roam. Bea simply grinned and turned on her tummy to watch as Melanie cautiously fingered the buttons on my blouse.

“Do you like that?” She asked. “Does it feel nice?”

“Mmm.” I sighed as I twitched salaciously.

Beatrice giggled and slithered closer on her tummy as her own curiosity drew her to my opened blouse.

Melanie became emboldened by my lack of protest and Beatrice’s seeming acquiescence. Her fingers became bolder and she gently stoked the flimsy silky material of my trainer bra cups. I shuddered, as my nipples became stiff and poked hard against the silky bra cups. Beatrice’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Gosh Martie! Your nipples! They look like, - like thimbles!”

I croaked and jerked spasmodically as Melanie gently brushed one of the stiff little buds through the silky material. Then she gently eased my bra cup down to expose my nipple to the cool October air. Beatrice gasped as she noticed the size of my swollen nipple and she drew closer as if irresistibly drawn to the new discovery. Melanie had obviously done this sort of thing before somewhere and she smiled invitingly to Beatrice to ‘do my other nipple’. Cautiously, Beatrice extended a nervous hand to my other bra cup and gently thumbed the swollen nipple under the silky cup. Her fingers traced along the underwire for a moment until Melanie gently directed her to lower the soft silky cup and expose my other nipple.

I groaned with pleasure and squeezed my thighs together as my boy bits started to respond in harmony with my excited titties.
Fortunately, Melanie was too engrossed in attaching her lips to my titties to notice any activity under my skirt. Instead, she smiled again at Bea and invited her to latch onto my other engorged bud.

Within minutes, I enjoyed a weird fantastic sensation surge through my body and I cried out helplessly as my body thrashed desperately. I wrapped my arms desperately around my friends and beseeched them to stop as my heart hammered furiously and my neck fused bright red with passion. Beatrice stopped in alarm for neither she nor I understood what was happening but Melanie obviously was wiser to these things and she remained cuddled against me. Beatrice sat up and stared down at me as I gasped with confusion, then she spied Melanie's other hand exploring the waistband of my skirt. It was obvious that Melanie was bent on further explorations.

“Oh No! That’s rude. You mustn’t go down there!” Objected Bea.

As I recovered my wits and realised where Melanie was bound, I stiffened with shock and grabbed at Melanie’s other hand.

“No!” I squawked. “Bea’s right. Not down there!”

Melanie let go of my nipple and sat up looking a little hurt.

“But why not. It’s nicer still down there.”

“No. Not down there, and that’s that!” I finished firmly.

“OK,” she shrugged. “You’re weird. Nothing can happen. We’re all girls.”

“That’s as maybe,” interrupted the quick thinking Bea, “but it’s wrong to go down there. Boobies yes, that’s fun, but down there; no!”

Melanie stood up and stepped out from behind the tree to stare at the school.

“I don’t know what your scared of. Nobody can see us from here.”

“It’s just wrong,” I protested again, “our mummies say so and anyway, I’m just not ready to go that far.”

Melanie simply shrugged and grinned as I buttoned up my blouse.

“Huh you two are a pair of scaredy-cats. You’ll grow to like it soon and then you’re bodies will make you. My cousin showed me what happens and she gets all wet down there cos she’s older. But anyway, you’ve still got lovely titties Martie; I hope my titties grow like yours.

“Amen to that,” sighed Beatrice, who realised just how close I had come to being ‘discovered’. “Come on, it’s nearly time for lessons.”

We returned to class early and met Lucinda alone in the corridor. She had some nasty scratches under her swollen eye. It was obvious the bullies had been busy again during playtime. It was a grateful Lucinda who found her new place surrounded by we three amigos.

When the class reassembled after lunch, the bullies glared in our direction but there was nothing they could do across three aisles and five rows. At least Lucinda was safe during the day, but as for the nights in the dormitories, she was left to the wolves. Several times it was obvious to us that Lucinda was having a hellish time at the bully’s’ hands.
Eventually, however, Rosemary and Monika’s bullying came to the attention of the prefects and steps were taken at the highest level. The prefects and Miss Frobisher became aware for sometimes, it is necessary to tell tales. Two additional prefects were appointed to that particular junior dormitory and law was enforced as the supervision improved.
I will admit here and now, that it was me that ‘told the tales’ and when Miss Frobisher asked me why I had ‘broken the playground code’, I explained quite bluntly, that I would be particularly vulnerable if or when Melanie, Beatrice and I started boarding with our older sisters in the senior school. The last thing I wanted was to be ‘exposed’ by bullies, especially as their favourite trick was ‘de-bagging’.

“How very practical and realistic of you young lady”, observed Miss Frobisher, “and thank you for alerting the school.”

With Lucinda’s problems resolved, she eventually came out of her shell. As the year progressed, the school’s curriculum and healthy active lifestyle soon changed Lucinda from a fat, overweight wallflower to an active, healthy and attractive girl. With that good health came a confidence and fitness that would prove to make her a useful ally in my later years at the school.