This chapter describes the continuation of Melanie and Beatrice's pregnancies with a slightly deeper discusiion of Martina's sexuality and decision to transition.
She may not yet transition yet for reasons explained in the story.
This quite a short chapter. It is not the end but I won't be adding to it for a couple of months as lifestyle choices begin to occupy my summer months.
I usuall write when it's too cold or wet to go out. I've also hit a bit of a block with 'Martina's Story'. Another story, 'The Angry Mermaid' occupies my time. This is not a transgendered tale but I might make it one by re-writing it along the lines of Alfidre later on.
Lookout Summer, Beverly's coming out to play!! Sparkle here I come!!!

Enjoy.

Beverly.

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Martina’s Story 12.

Myself, Martina, A sexually dysphoric transsexual who has not yet determined what
Sex she is but prefers to present as a girl

Beverly My adoptive ‘aunt’ who is a mature she-male 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. One of my two best friends.

Sian. My lesbian mother who is married to —

Margaret Chenille’s lesbian mother.

Sissy. My and Chenille’s transvestite she-male 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. (Wonderful woman.)

Angela Hunt. Jennifer and Beatrice’s natural blood mother who is now married to Aunt Beverly who is a she male.

Baroness Wemite Sian’s old School Chum and Melanie’s mum

Peter Baroness Wemite’s son

Melanie Baroness Wemite’s daughter and my other ‘best friend’.

Rosemary & Monika. Two bullies in the junior school.

Chrissie My older step transsexual sister.

Jeanette My transvestite friend at University.

Sally Transgendered Warden of Girls Hall of Residence.

Charlie Jeanette’s sympathetic big brother

Esther Jeanette and Charlie’s mum.

Miranda Charlie’s wife.

James and Belinda Margaret and Sian’s second children by Auntie Bev.
Charlotte Melanie’s and my baby.

With the decision taken by Mel to ‘get married’ her mum was informed that same evening. Baroness Wemite had long known of my gender dysphoria and had always been thoroughly supportive. She realised the need for speed. She wanted to get her daughter married and pregnant to assure her inheritance before it passed to some odious first cousin who had been waiting in the wings ever since the family had learned of Melanie’s sexual orientation. Besides, Melanie’s unusual distaff inheritance complimented her brother, Peter’s future title and estates. It meant Melanie and her partner would always have a ‘bolt hole’ close to her mum if life got too hectic.

Naturally the wedding was organised in the Family Chapel at Wemite House. Bands were read and within a month we were gathered excitedly at the delightful little church that bordered the grounds of the house and served as a village church as well as the school chapel for St Angela’s School.

We thought we had managed to keep the wedding low key because both bride and ‘groom’ would be wearing gowns. Jeanette acted as my best man though cross-dressed and Beatrice played senior bride’s maid while a whole host of younger female relatives were invited to act as bride’s maids. It was truly a happy family occasion.

Baron Wemite bravely volunteered to give his only daughter away and he described the event as more daunting than launching the attacks on Mount Longdon during the Falklands War. He had our sympathy for there were enough detractors waiting to pounce, notably the odious cousins.

The padre even had to privately approach the resentful relatives before the service and explain that the wedding was perfectly legal. Melanie was a woman in every respect and I was still legally a man with functioning male parts. In the church’s eyes the union despite the cross-dressed groom and best man, was legal. That made the inheritance conditions legal and no amount of protesting by the cousins could alter that. They tried to argue that everybody knew I intended to undergo transition later on but the Padre was quite firm about it. It was the here and now that the cannon law applied to not some vague future event or circumstances.

The hardest part was keeping the gutter press at bay. The evil cousins had made it their business to see that the press knew the where and when of the wedding. The story of some upper-class ‘bimbo’ marrying her transsexual partner was just too salacious a morsel for the prurient Sunday press to ignore. Sadly, the little Wemite family church was at the edge of the estate, next to the tiny village and also next to the public highway. Consequently, the slavering hordes had easy access with their invasive cameras and hyper-sensitive listening equipment. Mel was distraught with the lies they produced in their Sunday editions and it was all I could do to comfort her. Fortunately, my half sister and brother, James and Belinda, got something back on the press. They sneaked away from the reception and let all the tires down then stole all the wind-screen wipers.

The press were so preoccupied with obtaining the smallest bit of gossip that they failed to see two children tampering with their cars. It was easy to recognise the press cars; they love to advertise their status with window badges and photographic equipment on the rear window shelf. It may win them better access to the front rows at photo-shoots and other events but gosh, they’re dumb! They are the easiest cars to identify.

Naturally the local car dealerships were closed on Saturday evening and Sunday so the press had an interesting time arranging transport back to London, especially as Melanie’s dad had arranged with the local taxi firms to be ‘too busy’ with ferrying wedding guests to and fro. It was a sweet, visceral comfort to the wedding guests to see the press still stranded by their cars well into the late evening as the guests gradually dispersed from the wedding reception.
Melanie and I ‘honeymooned’ in Amsterdam and we were overjoyed some eight weeks later to learn that Mel was pregnant. Naturally both Mel and Bea invariably ended up comparing notes as their pregnancies progressed with the five month gap between the predicted deliveries.

As time progressed Beatrice started to look like the side of a house and she began to have difficulty moving easily. Fortunately, the doctors did not seem unduly concerned though Jeanette was still a bit puzzled as to why Bea was so secretive when she went for her tests and check-ups. The truth was made spectacularly clear to us when Beatrice finally went into labour.
The big secret was revealed by Jeanette who came squealing ecstatically out of the delivery room once everything had gone to Beatrice’s closely guarded plan.

“They’re twins! She’s only gone and delivered twins!”

“Are they healthy,” I asked, pointedly avoiding the gender question.

“Oh yes Martie! Yes! Yes! Yes! They’re healthy and they’re beautiful. “D’you want to know what they are, well; I mean; what they’ve got between their legs?”

The paediatrician was stepping out of the delivery room as Jeanette said this and she gave us both a funny look. Then she stopped and asked curiously.

“Are you by any chance transgendered?”

We both nodded and she nodded back with a knowing smile.

“Yes. I thought so, only a TG would say something like that. How are you going to bring them up?”

“As they appear until or unless they say different.”

“Oh good. So no danger to the babies then?”

“How dare you suggest that!” Jeanette Snarled.

The paediatrician recoiled in shock then apologised profusely.

“I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. It’s just that, -“

“Just what, -?” Jeanette demanded.

“Well you hear of some unusual situations these days. So you’re bringing them up as son and daughter.”

“How else. I appear to have a son and daughter. It seems the obvious way to go.”

“So you are the father then?”

“Yes!”

The paediatrician studied Jeanette’s exquisitely feminine appearance and wagged her head disbelievingly.

“So you’re a transvestite.”

“It would seem so, wouldn’t it? If I was a transitioned transsexual I’d have difficulty being a father wouldn’t I?”

“Well then, congratulations are due to you. You’re a very lucky father. They’re perfectly healthy and beautiful, as is your wife.”

Jeanette didn’t bother to correct the Paediatrician’s misapprehension; to have done so might have invited un-necessary attentions from the detested social services.

Instead, Jeanette and I went in to see Beatrice. She was sitting up and giving the twins their first feed of colostrums. She smiled a beaming grin as she chuckled.

“Gotchya! There's one of each to heal the breech!”

“You clever little bunny you,” I squeaked as I suppressed my squeal of delight and took the non-drinking baby into my arms.”

“I’d better go and tell Mama,” Jeanette sighed, “She’ll give me a hell of a row if she finds out by phoning the hospital.”

So saying, Jeanette slipped outside and spent a full half hour gabbling on the phone as her mother and every sister exchanged happiness’s. By the time they had finished gabbling away on the mobile, Charlie was driving through the hospital gates with the whole Benoon tribe in the back of his older sister’s synagogue minibus. Jeanette spotted them immediately and bounced up and down with excitement as she directed them to the parking slot she had manfully kept empty. Within minutes, the Benoon herd had stampeded Beatrice’s room and a solid half hour of chaos ensued as babies were passed back and forth between doting aunts, uncle and grandmother.

Eventually the midwife intervened.

“Come on now ladies. I’ve indulged you long enough. The poor girl hasn’t slept properly yet since delivery and she’s already given one colostrum feed. Now let her rest. Come, all of you, out; you as well daddy. Jeanette reluctantly followed her mother and brother to the car and they made plans about visiting until Beatrice was discharged. That evening my beloved Aunties Bev and Angie came up from Dorset with the Taff tribe and once again the room was crowded with more relatives. Later both the Benoon tribe and the Taff tribe had a spontaneous celebratory barbeque in Esther’s garden, the most joyous event being the choice of names. Beatrice had made her feelings quite clear about the girl’s first name but she had given Jeanette carte blanch for the little boy.

The daughter’s name was to be Beverly Angela in honour of the brave, kind, compassionate sea captain who had rescued Beatrice all those years ago and of course Angela the newborn girl’s maternal grandmother. Her twin brother’s name was left to the Benoon clan to choose.

Beatrice was more than pleased with Esther’s compassion and liberality concerning her acceptance of Jeanette’s transvestism and had accordingly allowed Esther the generous privilege of choosing her new grandson’s name.
Esther was ecstatically happy to be given such a rare present and she spent the whole evening sounding out ideas from her clan. She even sounded out my Aunties Beverly and Angie in case there were possible common family names. It turned out there was one. It was Andrew. Beatrice’s paternal grandfather had been called Andrew and Esther’s grandfather was also called Andrew. It was a name matched in heaven. Andrew it was. Esther’s privilege naturally extended to the choice of Andrew’s second name. In this she was utterly undecided whether to give the name Jacob after Andrew’s own father Jeanette or Charles after Andrew’s uncle who had once saved Jeanette’s life from the near fatal beating and kicking by their own homophobic father.

In the end she decided to toss the coin and who better to flip the coin than Andrew’s mother Bea. Both brothers sat hopefully around the bed with the grandmothers as Bea solemnly flipped the coin. Many eyes watched as the coin span in blur of silver and rang from the force of Beatrice’s flick. Beatrice helped out in a disadvantaged children’s home and she often refereed junior, girl’s hockey matches where she had developed an excellent flipping technique. The coin landed with a healthy ‘plop’ on the bed sheet and a dozen heads craned forward as Bea declared.

“Heads! Charles it is then. Andrew, Charles Benoon.”

Charlie smiled while Jeanette sighed a little wistfully but nobody was upset. Esther had shown admirable political skills in choosing the coin method. The brothers had to accept the final decision and they did so by shaking hands and hugging affectionately.

The following day mother and twins were discharged and a routine was soon established for the extended family to provide baby-care. A rough roster was organised amongst the extended family and within a week all wrinkles were more or less sorted. Everybody wanted to spoil the twins rotten but none more so than the transgendered Sally.

She had undergone her SRS during Bea’s pregnancy and was now a functioning woman when it came time for her to indulge in her baby-caring pleasures. Sally now only had a few years to go to retirement.
Five months later Melanie delivered a daughter Charlotte to add to the fun and please her Wemite family by fulfilling her inheritance obligations.

Little Charlotte was christened in the family chapel and the vicar was more than obliged to sign the register confirming Melanie’s fulfilment of her ‘duties’ Two weeks later she claimed her inheritance and put the estate under her father’s management. It was the most convenient thing to do. Melanie wished to continue her studies in London where the baby support structure was well established. For Baron Wemite and his wife Sally (Baroness Wemite,) and my mother Sian it was an easy step to visit London and stay over to indulge their Grandparental needs. Even Sissy turned up to dote on her first grandchild. She really hit it off with Sally the Warden and a new friendship was spawned there. I of course was ecstatic that my duties had been fulfilled and even Baron Wemite and his son Peter hugged and kissed me for managing what I had despite all the odds.

“Will you and my Daughter Melanie be trying for another baby?” The baron asked.

I smiled coquettishly and sort of shrugged uncertainly.

“If Melanie is happy then we shall try. I’m not sure if we’ll manage it. It was a small miracle that we managed Charlotte. I am changing slowly daddy, there isn’t much time.”

“Well the baroness and I would love it if you could. Maybe even a son, just to complement our beautiful granddaughter.”
I did not rankle at this apparent sexism. Melanie’s mum and dad had demonstrated their fair-minded liberality in accepting their daughter’s lesbianism and my (their son in law’s) transgenderism. I knew with absolute certainty that the Wemites were not sexist.
I smiled and kissed my father in law on the cheek as I whispered that I would make every endeavour. The baroness could not hide her tears of happiness.

“Please do Martie. I would be desperately happy to have a grandson by you and my beloved daughter. You make a lovely couple.

‘How could anybody refuse a beseechment like that?’ I wondered.

Melanie and I made an appointment with Doctor Sandie and my endocrinologist James Williams (Everybody called him Jimmy.)that very next week.

“Your sperm counts are getting lower Martina, Sandie cautioned me, though the motility seems to be holding up. D’you want to store some sperm in the sperm bank?”

“Is that an option?” I asked as Mel nodded affirmation

“If you pay, yes.” Jimmy explained. “The government only enables patients to avail themselves freely of the national health if there are genuine fertility issues or other conditions. You are fertile but getting less so. In fact I’m very pleased that the regime we put you on as a child has worked out so well. Here you are, a beautiful woman and yet a father already. Are you happy?”

“Ecstatic. I should say so! I’ve got it all. Look at me! As you say I’m a woman, -“

“And a beautiful one at that if I might say so,” Sandie interjected.

“Okay, if you must say so, thank you for being so nice; but that aside, I’m married to an even more beautiful wife, (It was Melanie’s turn to blush.) I’m doing well at college, I love my own gay parents deeply, I get on with my in-laws and I’m already a daddy and I’m only just turning twenty. Happy, happy me!”

“So shall we put in for the sperm bank?” Sandie persisted as Jimmy the endocrinologist nodded sagely.

“Yes. Maybe that’s best.” I agreed then added. “Can we choose the baby’s sex if we have to use a turkey baster?”

“It can be done with a fairly high chance of success,” Jimmy said, “I would hesitate to offer you the option if it was your first child because it’s often pandering to the parent’s prejudices but being as we’re talking of the second child, I’m more amenable to agreeing to it.

“Is there any particular reason?” Sandie asked both of us.

“It’s just that we’ve got a beautiful daughter and it would be nice to have a set.” I replied with a grin.

“How do you feel about that Melanie?” Sandie persisted.

“Yes. Yes, it’s fine by me. I’d like a son now that I’ve got Charlotte.”

“Well, being as your paying privately, there are fewer issues to circumvent.” Jimmy explained. “We’ve got a research project going at the clinic; gender selection improvement is an accidental by-product of the investigations and tests. We could include you as a couple in that programme however it would involve considerable invasion of your privacy, especially your sexualities. D’you have a problem with that?”

I grinned at the endocrinologist and wagged my head as I faced Sandie.

“How long have we known each other Doctor Sandie?”

“Oh gosh, how long is it now, since you were about seven wasn’t it?”

“Actually, it was nearer six; so what don’t you know about me?” I grinned.

“Point taken Martie." Sandie Chuckled. "Come back this afternoon and we’ll start the pair of you on the research programme.”

“As we rose to leave Doctor Sandie stood up and peered into Charlotte’s pram.”

“She’s pretty, but she would be wouldn’t she, with her genes.”

“You mean our genes,” Melanie replied.

Sandie smiled and we went for lunch with both doctors. After all Sandie and I had been friends for years!
Over lunch we chatted about genetics and transgenderism and the meal seemed to pass by in a flash. By the afternoon, both Mel and I were undergoing tests then Melanie helped me donate a sperm sample.

“You be careful with that now,” I giggled as Mel held up the sample and prepared to take it to the sperm bank, “there’s not much of that left. The old mother load is nearly exhausted.”

“Don’t you mean the father load.” Grinned Mel provocatively.

“Take your pick darling. I’m easy.”

Mel wagged her head and stepped into the corridor as I made myself respectable.With that Doctor Sandie returned.

“What was Mel grinning about?”

I explained and Sandie smiled.

“I’m glad to see we didn’t make any mistakes with your sexuality. You’re happy now to have the option of transitioning, aren’t you?”

Yes, thoroughly; but not just yet. I’ll wait a year though just to give Mel a chance of conceiving naturally. You never know, there might just be one last brave little wriggly bent on having his evil way with Melanie’s egg.

“You’re strange case you know Martie.” Sandie smiled, “Most transsexuals can’t wait to transition, look at your own step sister Chrissie, she was depositing her sperm almost as soon as she knew she would have the option to transition, but not you. You’re a strange one. A delayed transsexual; you’re unique d’you know that. You’ve had the option since you were sixteen and you had puberty blockers even before that but here you are now, twenty and still moving cautiously. Any ideas why that might be?”

“I suppose I’ve always wanted kids, my own kids, my own genes, something of me to leave to posterity. D’you suppose that becoming a parent, you know, my own flesh and blood; is that some sort of higher, subconscious plane of human awareness; even higher perhaps that determining one’s sexuality?”

Sandie frowned and shrugged.

That’s an interesting question. I don’t think there’s ever been any accurate scientific studies of that one Martie. Anyway, I would think sexuality is closely tied up with parenting issues, after all sex is the root connector to both issues. Transsexualism would be an interesting place to start the research because the sexuality issue is clearly marked as it were. Where would you start a research programme like that?”

“Well transsexuals would be the right place to start but I wouldn’t be the right person to control a research project on that; after all I’d be carrying a huge personal issue that would probably affect my impartiality.”

“Why? Are you thinking of doing research when you graduate?”

“I don’t know yet; besides, the question is really only of interest to TG’s isn’t it?”

Sandie sat in a brief thoughtful silence before replying.

“Not necessarily, an answer to that question would give an interesting insight and a productive one into the functioning of the psyche. It could offer answers to all sorts of issues connected to sexuality, like sex crimes and such like. It might even create an alternative forensic route to problem solving.”

We carried on chatting like this as I filled out the research project questionnaire. I had just completed it as Mel returned.

“Have you completed the sperm deposit?” Sandie asked.

“Yeah, does it gather interest?” Mel replied with a giggle.

We all smiled as I riposted.

“Only mine and yours Mel, only mine and yours.”

“Yeah and whole bunch of relations, like our mums and dads for starters.”

I smiled and nodded.

“Yeah maybe that and all.”

After completing Mel’s questionnaire Sandie bid us good day. I had to deposit a few more samples over the next few days and then we were free to return to London. We spent an Idyllic week with Mel’s parents and mine as we savoured our old childhood haunts. Chrissie was enchanted with Charlotte and we spent a fair bit of time down with the Turpins as well. I took the opportunity to have some long chats with Chrissie about transitioning. The more she enthused about it the more I felt the need to cross over. Could I hold out for a whole year I wondered. Did I need to ‘hold out’, now that the sperm bank held my seed?