The Way Things Happen

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Thursday; written in the annals of my history like the day of doom. Though in the eventuality it turned out to be something that became a bit of a non entity.

I arrived at the clinic having had nothing at all by mouth and felt like a dry rag — one with dirty teeth too.

The doctor came through and invited mum and me into his surgery and sat me down.

“Now er young lady, you realise the operation I’m about to carry out is to remove your testes?”

“Yes”

“and that is it not reversible?” I nodded.

“You will not be able to fertilise a female and have children”. I nodded, “out loud if you would?”

“Yes I understand that you’re going to remove the bits that make sperm and I won’t be able to make babies”.

“Right; could you and your Guardian sign here and here” — indicating two dotted lines on the form for consent.

We signed, I felt really light headed, but sort of calm as well. I wondered if the same feeling was felt by someone going to the gallows.

He called his nurse through and asked that I be prepped in the mini operating theatre next door.

Nurse had me remove my clothes and don another of those awful gowns — in pink this time… sit up on the gurney — which had the stirrups of torture on them she gave me a little injection and put a needle into my hand and taped it there then put a saline drip on it.

I felt all drowsy and the doc came in — and mum was ushered out.

“Right in about thirty seconds you’ll be waking up and you’ll feel a bit groggy — then you’ll be able to have a nice glass of water OK?”

I nodded and then I was awake again with a feeling like I’d been kicked by a pony. Right in the goolies… then I realised that I could never be kicked there — it was as apparent as anything that I no longer had any. There was a vacant throb — like a neurological vacuum. I had nerves that told me there was nothing to be nervy about.

I felt like I was about to throw up when I felt a cool hand on my brow and mum looking at me with that tender mother look. I felt a whole lot better.

I got to lie there for about 30 mins then I got my water. The doctor came in and told me “Now be careful what you do for a week or two, no lifting, and come and see me next Friday for a quick check and remove any stiches that feel nasty — they should dissolve on their own but they sometimes get caught and itch like crazy.”

As I got dressed mum handed me the skirt that she’d bought on our first exped for clothes…. “I think you’ll find this is more comfy than jeans right now” she had a bit of a smirk on her face but I thought it was a kind one so I didn’t take offence — I could hardly walk (not without a waddle anyway, I had a maxi pad in my knickers) — what offence could I possibly take.

I wasn’t in any real pain, but I think the weekend was wasted on me — I was absolutely in agony till Sunday afternoon and my groin looked like I’d been given a pair of bullocks testes rather than lost two tiny mouses’ ones.

I went to school on Monday — but only to prove I could. Someone in class asked if I’d been kicked in the nuts over the weekend — as I was walking like John Wayne. I said “something like that” and left it at that.

But the movement became easier as the day went on and I was aware of a freedom I had never experienced before.

By the weekend I had my exam results , which were mostly Bs and As, which assured me of a place in the best stream at the Girls’ school. I told Wendy and she was rapt she was in the top stream too so I would be in her class.

I started the last week of Boys’ Grammar with a sort of restrained glee that I would never have to enter those horrid halls once more. There was nothing there — not a friend nor a memory that made me regret what had happened.

I also lost my stitches and had my check up which took up all of half of the lunch hour. The longest sentence I think I heard was “Ah yes, it seems to be healing nicely”.

Back at school later, one of the teachers said to me, “I believe you’re not going to be with us next term?” He looked expectantly for an explanation.

“No sir”. I replied without filling him in on where I was going. Since my brother had also graduated it was not really easy to glean information that wasn’t forthcoming.

“Well all the best, Holland, keep up the good work–you’ll make a good husband for someone one day.”

“Yes sir, thanks.” I should co-co, I thought—

There was the usual boisterousness and lack of concentration in the class as the sun beckoned outside and we stifled because the boilers were still on inside and the windows had ceased to function as a ventilation source years ago.

As we broke up we all shook hands “see you next term”… etc… I acquiesced and allowed that I would…. I figured they would be trying to ‘pull’ me by next term if things went the same as they had over the previous 8 weeks and they actually got to see me at all.

When I got home I changed into a pair of Jeans and a scoop neck top and put on my little bra as well — a sort of ritualistic finish to my life as Jerry. I let my hair down literally, and threw my head back and shook out the feeling or restraint as I did so — like a horse given it’s head.

I took my uniform and the rest of my school clothes out to the bin and unceremoniously dumped them. They were too worn for the recycling shop — and I would never ever again wear boy’s clothes.

That night I had some of the worst dreams imaginable — I was beaten to a pulp by my class mate as he discovered my secret. My brother plotted against me and told all my high school friends that I was a transvestite. My father beat me for not being a good son. My mother shunned me because I couldn’t bear children.

I awoke screaming in agony as I was raped by my old friends all gathered round to mock me.

As I came to, with my eyes unfocussed, my father had leapt into the room and gathered me up in his arms and held me as I wailed in pain. I sobbed my heart out for it seemed half the night — grieving for my lost manhood and frightened for my future.

Mum made me a mug of cocoa and she cuddled me as I drank it down — hiccoughing and sobbing alternately.

“Julie said this would likely happen, and to watch out for it, it’ a sort of release mechanism, so don’t worry about it — post op blues.”

She settled me down and peace returned for the rest of the night — I awoke surprisingly refreshed though heavy eyed.

My life had flashed before my eyes — all two months of it. I had little notion that I had a long way to go — it was all being taken as a day to day thing. I got more and more distant from Jerry’s life seemingly all too easily.

“I’m going into town later and I’m going to see someone about the legalities of who you are.”

“What do you mean mum?”

“Well we’ll need to do some official things like changing your name, but since there’s only a few things that you have that require legal names, it’s not going to be too onerous, you’ll need to change your name on your savings bank account for a start, your national insurance number may change and your name on it will certainly have to be changed.

I may also be able to get you a new birth certificate eventually, but not I think until we have cleared up the anatomical anomalies — I’ll enquire anyway and get the forms.

You want to come along?”

“I guess I’d better, since it’s likely that the “powers that be” will scoff if you tell them my story. It’s likely to be more easily digested if I’m tagging along like a good little girl….Did I just say that?”

Mum grinned and gripped me on the shoulder, “seems you are coming round to the idea quite well darling”.

The outcome of the day was that most of my identity was set to fade and Jenny was prominently displayed on the page of my life.

The doctor advised that he had sent a form signed by him and the psychiatrist and a copy of my old birth certificate to attest to my mistaken birth gender. I would get a new birth certificate.

Nigel was even getting used to being around me and watched my life with interest as I started to interface as a ‘chick’. I guess it was more to do with the other girls I was going to be bringing home than the fact of my being a girl with an extra bit.

So I started my summer hols with a sort of eyes wide open aspect of absorbing everything from a different point of view a whole new spectrum of colours and textures entered my ken and I felt like someone had spilt a paintbox on all I saw.

I mentioned it to mum and she said that, “women see life a lot differently, it’s a brighter softer world — it’s caused by the hormone levels — which are probably quite high in you at the moment. We’ll find out on Tuesday since it’s time for your blood test again.” That’s mum, always ending the conversation on a positive note. ‘May the female force be with you’ might a good translation be - mmm. (sorry Yoda)

Monday was fun — it usually is on the first week of summer hols — a sort of relaxed euphoria of 8 weeks with nothing to do and you are right at the beginning of it.

Carol and Wendy made a point of dropping in and telling me their plans and asking if I wanted to fall in with them. On the curriculum was lots of swimming and wandering round town window shopping and hanging out at the local coffee joint — together with some picnics and stuff at the weekend.

It sounded a good way to join in with the general scene, except that in this mortal existence, I had never gone bare-chested since I was about 7, I had always felt ridiculous so always wore a T-shirt or polo shirt on the beach, even in swimming I had usually worn a vest. The reality of wearing a girl’s swimming costume said 10,000 things about how I felt about me and I wasn’t too heroic. To wear a bikini was almost a chasm of fear to overcome. What they also didn’t tell me about was the boys…. and how many of them there would be and how insistent (and pestilent) they are.

Wendy called up and told me what she was wearing on the Tuesday morning, “Um and how does this affect me?” I asked with that sort of puzzled remnant of boy lack of curiosity.

“Silly girl. I’m telling you so you can match me and we won’t look odd when we go to the “grounds”” (the coffee bar was called “Grounds for Enjoyment”) They sold the ground beans as well as the perked stuff. “Carol’s wearing the same stuff too.”

“When you come over, we’ll give you a bit of a makeover, you can’t go out without makeup. See you in an hour.”

The phone fell from my nerveless fingers as my mind went into shock… makeup….

“MUM!!!!”

She ran out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel — “what on Earth is the matter?”

“The girls are going to take me to “grounds” and put makeup on me.”

“Why can’t they do it at Wendy’s place?”

“What?”

“Why are they going to do your makeup in town?”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“You said they were going to take you to Grounds and put makeup on you”

“Oh mum, not in that order, they’re actually….” I stopped, mum had a grin a mile wide…. My panic started to subside. “Oh,” I looked a little phased and went and put on a pair of jeans and sandals with a bra and Tshirt.

I could feel my heart pounding a bit, I was about to be thrown to the lions. In one swoop I was going to go out without my mum, dressed as a girl, with a bra and makeup on. Was I really going to do this? I suddenly realised that Jerry couldn’t go out anyway, he didn’t have any clothes — Jenny had precious few, but I guess they’re all new so that’s not a burden and the beginning of summer hols is the time to buy up big.

I’d get some stuff with Carol and Wendy in town if I could coerce mum into giving me a few quid.

Twenty minutes later I swallowed, took a deep breath and opened the door, “bye mum,” I shouted.

“Wait a second honey, I want to see how you look,” came back from the study.

Mum came out holding a small shoulder bag in her hand. “Here, there’s a few things in there and a new Purse, I put some money and your ID in there.”

“ID?”

“Better have a look hadn’t you?” mum smirked and held out the bag.

I took it and retrieved a smart looking leather purse I opened it and there inside was a picture of me taken the week before for school ID next term. In fact it was my school ID card — Girl’s High School ID… I looked up at mum and grabbed her by the neck in a monster hug. “Wow, that was quick, I feel like I really am real now.” In my mind a metaphorical tick went on the list of things I had to do, my chest hurt as if I was having a heart attack (not that I knew what one felt like) anxiety was a nasty creature, I was reminded of an old Black and white Vincent Price movie — “The Tingler” — I was brought back to reality

“--Well we don’t want you not being able to prove your identity when you use your credit card, do we?”

“Credit card? I looked deeper into the purse. Five ten pound notes, some change, a credit card with Miss Jenny K Holland on it, debit card also named to me.

I couldn’t see much more, the tears were falling so fast, “hey less tears into the bag, you’ll soak it.”

“Oh mum, you’re fantastic, and dad of course, but he’s not here so you get all the hugs…”

Suddenly, the abyss of my limit of competent thought was being reached, I sat down abruptly on the chair in the hall.

“It’s no good mum, I can’t do it, noway notime nohow. I can’t cope with all this so fast.” I wasn’t crying, I was in shock, my mind had shut down, I could hear my breath shuffling in and out like a steam train on a steep grade. The stars in front of my eyes turned into spangles and I felt the edge of my sight go black as I started to hyperventilate into unconciousness, I felt my mothers arm at my back as she lowered me to the floor….

I awoke a little later, I was on the sofa with a cool flannel on my forehead. I could hear mum in the kitchen on the phone. The words were not clear so I relaxed — I guess she was phoning the doctor. When she came back into the lounge, she had a worried look that she was trying to mask with a smile.

“That was Julie, she said that once you’d had a chance to get your breath back you should try to go and see your friends — it’s important that you don’t back out now as you may be left behind and that’ll be worse for you in the long run.”

I looked at the clock on the mantelpiece it had only moved 5 minutes from the time I had keeled over (or more or less since I’d looked at my watch as I left the house).

“You’re kidding me? I pass out from anxiety and you tell me to jump into the lion’s mouth anyway?”

“Julie said it was more likely a correcting action due to the excitement and the fear together. Don’t forget you’ve only been on HRT for a short while, it’s quite an emotional load.”

“Do you expect me to ignore it altogether? I haven’t got a clue how to react in any situation that involves interfacing with anyone other than one or two friends and my family. How do you expect me to cope with a mall full?”

Mum came over and sat with me, she took both my hands in hers — mine were still quite a bit smaller. “Are you seriously suffering darling? If you are we can go and see Julie and maybe get some tranquillisers or something, maybe she can hypnotise you.”

She made googly eye expressions and pretended to zombie her head. I shook my head and grinned at the ridiculous goon show.

“You’re right mum, but I need to rethink my position later — I don’t want to get onto drugs that I can’t get out of my system and I need to make as much use of the holidays as possible to learn who I am. I’m just going to have to take a deep breath and run with it and hope no one kills me in the meantime. Do I really pass OK?”

Mum narrowed her eyes and looked at me, “what do you mean by that?”

“Do you think you’d recognise me as a guy if you didn’t know?”

“Darling, I hate to tell you this, you’re not a guy at all, you certainly don’t look like one and you should be highly insulted if anyone looks twice at you with that in mind.”

I searched her face for a hint of a lie, I found none.

“I’m sorry mum, I have this awful feeling lurking at the back of my mind that I look like I used to and no one ever thought I was a girl before now.”

I got up from the sofa and my handbag fell from my lap where I’d forgotten it, I reached down and retrieved it. “I’d better go, Wendy will be wondering where I am.”

Mum held out her hand — in it were two cards — I looked at her with an expression usually seen on Christmas morning.

“OK the credit card has a limit of 200 pounds and the debit card may only be used in emergencies, the pin number is the last four digits of your id card, change it if you think you need to. You can draw up to 50 pounds on it. Sign the Visa card now” She handed me a pen.

“Since when do I get to have so much money to spend? Did you win the pools?”

“Well the fact is, that as long as you give me all the receipts for clothes that you buy, the insurance company will wear the cost, don’t spend up big on buying gifts for everyone, this is purely so you can build up your wardrobe. You’re not stupid and you’re not immature. They way you have worked through your gender problems have been a true mark of your courage and responsibility and this is the reward for your good grades in a time of what must have been pure hell. Treat the privilege wisely and you will retain it.”

Mum gave me a huge hug, patted my bottom and ushered me to the doorstep, “now go on, have a nice day with the girls and don’t kiss all the boys.” She grinned at the last statement. I almost stalled again.

“I never thought of that, there’ll be boys there mum, what’ll I do?”

“Just follow Wendy’s lead sweetie, you’ll be OK.”

It seemed no sooner I had stepped outside I was at Wendy’s door, pulse racing again.

“Come in, come in, give us a hug, summer holidays and we’re 15 and hot to trot, girl this is going to be a blast. Carol! Jenny’s here.”

“Bring her up here, we gotta shift and get into town.”

I was ushered into the bedroom where once my dreams had been to be invited. I was pushed into the stool by the vanity with my back to it and Carol got to work, “We’ll do this now, but you’ve got to learn this stuff or you’ll have to go without. We haven’t got time every day to dish you up.”

I have no idea what they did, but when I looked I appeared to be a little older and accentuated, but didn’t look like I was wearing makeup. I was duly impressed — it had only taken them about ten minutes too.

“MUM, we’re off into town now, we’ll be back at 4pm or we’ll ring.” Wendy sang out to her mum.

“Bring Jenny in here, I want to see what she looks like.”

Wendy groaned and turned me to the kitchen, “Go and get ‘the inspection’. We’re right behind you.”

Denise looked me up and down, “well I must say, you make a lovely young woman. Have a nice time, please try to stay together girls and don’t forget this is Jenny’s first time out in public. Oh and don’t forget she’s probably not been to the ladies yet, better give her the rundown on that too.”

“Well I have actually Mrs Roberts, but I’d appreciate any help anyway.” I tried to sound nonchalant but sounded a bit silly. I felt like throwing up really but I guess hurling wasn’t allowed if I was to get to town at all today.

Denise handed Wendy a ten pound note, Wendy’s eyes lit up, “wow thanks mum.”

“Make it count” was all Denise said.

We turned and left before she could put it in her purse… “coffee’s on you” Carol said hugging Wendy across the shoulders. We all snickered and headed for the bus stop.

Town was crowded with school kids — second day of holidays was like that… everyone finding their strategy for the coming weeks; who had transport, where the best coffee/boys/girls/snacks (even beer if you looked old enough) was to be had.

“You got any money Jenny?” Carol asked as we looked in the local shops.

“Actually I don’t like to say it, so keep it to yourselves, mum gave me a credit card but I have to treat it like a non-renewable resource — I don’t know how long I get to keep it, but the nicer I am with it, the longer it will be.”

The other girls looked at me with round eyes… “A CREDIT CARD? Holy Hell girl, you’ve been a girl 2 months and you managed to squeeze a card out of your folks? You are unreal!”

“I didn’t even ask actually, but I also don’t really know how much I can use it, so I have to be really careful. Besides, I have a few quid if I want to buy something for my wardrobe, but I need to know what you guys have so I can get something similar.

Just sort of catch up if you know what I mean.”

“Sounds like we get to have some fun trying stuff on anyway.”

“Have you got pierced ears?”

I pulled my hair back revealing virgin ears… “We’ll get that done this afternoon then” Carol offered…

I blanched

“Hey it’s not painful, I had it done when I was six.” Wendy consoled.

“Anyway you don’t want clip on stuff, they hurt heaps more and you knock them off all the time and lose them.” Carol added pulling on her hoops to show they don’t fall off. I winced, she laughed, “it doesn’t hurt silly.”

After we got settled into the coffee bar, Carol put her hand on my arm and asked gently if I would tell them all about what happened to me, they’d heard bits and I’d told them some, but they wanted to know all about it. I looked at them and hoped they had as much integrity as they appeared to. I really needed to tell them what the story was completely. I needed to trust them wholly. I stirred my frothy coffee and looked at my two friends.

“I’m going to tell you my story, and I’m not going to leave out any of it, good bad or indifferent, but I want to tell you also that I’m telling you this because you’re my best friends and I trust you. I don’t want this to become tittletattle and gossip. I want to leave this behind and have a real life without becoming the local weirdo. Ok?”

I looked at them again and they both nodded and placed their hands on mine, “We promise we won’t let you down Jenny,” Wendy looked so sincere and Carol affirmed with a “Me too, I promise.” I squeezed both their hands. I told them my story.

After the saga was finished, Wendy told me that she’d suspected I was a bit different but realised I wasn’t gay, she hadn’t worked out the transgender thing at all.

Lunchtime arrived and we had a plate of toasted sandwiches and some more coffee…

Then we went shopping, and before I could get onto the pavement from the coffee bar I was turned into the nail parlour next door — a sign on the wall said “ear piercing while you wait.”

I wondered how they did it if you didn’t wait.

I heard the click of the gun and felt almost nothing — painful it wasn’t but I ended up with a pair of blue topaz birth stone studs sparkling from my ears.

“Wash round them with antiseptic every 12 hours and turn them in your ear as often as you remember.” I was told by the assistant who tagged me.

I always wondered why girl’s played with their earrings…

At this point I only had one skirt, and three pairs of jeans/pants and a few tops — mostly Tshirts. I didn’t want to explode onto the scene as if I had no clothes, I wanted to build up quietly and be able to have the right clothes for the occasion — I hated the sort of buying that epitomises the bimboesque culture. All that afternoon, I didn’t see one person that I knew from school. But then I wasn’t in an area that catered to males for most of the time.

I went home that evening worn out and with two bags I’d spent only 25 pounds and I’d got two pairs of shorts and another skirt a lightweight jacket and some minor makeup products — enough for day wear in summer.

Mum was really chuffed that I hadn’t gone overboard.

Nigel had all but disappeared since we broke up but he rang to tell mum where he was on a regular basis — he wasn’t bad as a guy goes and he was quite responsible. He had actually gotten a job in town bussing tables at a restaurant in the evenings. During the day he was soaking up the sun at the local outdoor pool and ogling girls.

Living near the sea was something of a bonus as there was a lot of traffic in humans that go to the seaside in summer and hence there was a plethora of pubs clubs and restaurants in the area — Pubs were out for me for a while, but there was potential for work from the age of 16 — which is why being 15 is a bonus… it’s the last summer that you can be free of responsibility. I hated the beach and I don’t think I’d been there more than 6 times since I was 5. I hated the sand in my costume and the salt on my skin. I preferred the softness of a decent freshwater pool and knowing that you weren’t swimming in something someone flushed down the loo.

I was also conscious of the fact that for 1000 people in any large pool, there were only about 20 toilets… this was as off-putting as the sand so I tended to sit on grass and swim in private pools if I could. I didn’t have many friends whose fortunes extended to owning a pool (nor their parents for that matter).

As the week wore on and I acquired a sense of fashion Wendy and Carol made sure that I also acquired a Bikini. I had actually bought a one piece and it was really quite demure inasmuch as it covered more than most costumes that were available. Wendy had bought another bikini and I had thought it was for her. When I got home on the Wednesday, I found it in my bags along with the one I had bought with a little note, “keep the other one till you are a granny” a small heart and Wendy signed across the bottom.

I phoned her and asked her what the go was, “I don’t think I could ever wear a bikini Wendy, it’s a nice thought but you’ll have to take it back,” I felt I’d disappointed her. She put down the phone without another word. I was just finishing putting my stuff away, feeling a bit sad that Wendy had rung off and downcast generally about my general lack of discretion when Mum called upstairs, “Wendy’s here, I’ll send her up?” the last bit was a question and I shouted “sure, as long as she’s unarmed”. I could feel mum frown even from inside my room.

She appeared at the door (Wendy that is), “What’s all this about missy?” she waved her arm at the bikini that sat on the bed — her bikini — the four little triangles sown together, with stretchy string to hold them onto your body. Insubstantial and totally impractical, barely covering anything that one holds (or at least should hold) sacrosanct.

“Strip!” It was an order.

“Come on Wendy, you know I can’t do that, I’m not wearing a bikini this summer, I’ll never be able to hold my head up if someone recognises me as it is, with a bikini on, it makes it a thousand times worse. I feel like a target zone for every bigot and homophobe in the country.” I tried to keep my tears at bay but I felt my nose getting sniffy and I reached for a tissue.

Wendy sat on the bed next to the offending garment, “Jenny, please let me help you a little bit, I’m trying, really I am. I want you to slip quickly into the mainstream and I think I understand where you’re coming from. If you turn up at the pool with a ‘one piece’ on, they’re gonna go for your throat — why would you wear one of those? To cover something up — people are going to wonder what and you’re going to find a lot of curiosity and the type of attention you’re not seeking. If you want to wear the bikini with a Tshirt, then that’s probably ok — or even an open lightweight blouse, you can tie it under your boobs and make more of them too… I might even try it myself.”

She grinned suddenly at the thought of Ursula Andress in “She”, looking down over the bay at Villefranche.

I looked over at the bikini, lying innocuously on the bed, source of every man’s dreams and every badly shapen woman’s nightmare.

“Go on Jen, Please give it a try.”

I nodded not moving my eyes from the colourful object, “ok I’ll try it, avert your gaze while I remove my garments”… I flushed, god when am I going to get over this.

“If it will make you feel any better, I’ll strip as well,” Wendy offered… I flushed even more, my newly pierced ears throbbed suddenly, “NOOO, I don’t think that such a good idea.”

I disrobed and before I removed my panties I donned a robe then swapped them for the bikini bottom. It felt no different to the panties and felt in fact more substantial. I reached for the top and tried to position it. Wendy lent a hand and I was soon prim and proper (as you could be in a bikini).

“Well come on then, take off the dressing gown,” Wendy rolled her eyes in supplication to a mightier power. I complied. “Wow, you sure grew fast,” got through the roaring in my ears.

I looked across at the mirror and there I was, Jennifer K Holland spinster of this parish — clad in my first Bikini and I DIDN’T look like a boy — not in the slightest, not one iota.

“Mrs Holland, can I borrow you for a moment,” Wendy had called down the stair as I admired myself — mum appeared at the door, “that’s Auntie Beth dear if that’s ok by you.” She looked over at me by the mirror — she could see my back and the reflection of my front in the mirror, an instant all round view. “My, my, quite a knockout, ok who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” she grinned at my reflection.

I grinned back, my embarrassment taking a back seat to my awful pride. “Wendy bought it for me, is it ok?”

“I’d say so sweetie, that sure makes you look something, are you going to wear that to the pool? You’ll have all the boys drooling and making the pool water slimy.” I laughed out loud — my mother had given me the sort of boost that only a mother knows how. ‘I shall go to the ball’.

I had all Thursday to think about my day coming — I blew hot and cold and I backed out a dozen times. Only to reclaim the lost land when my confidence returned. I started to understand how my mind was working — I began to feel that I was beginning to live as me and not some mental cripple who had no right to be themselves.

So it happened that on the Friday of the first week I ended up at the pool wearing a little bikini, over it I wore a cropped halter top just to assuage my modesty and pure blue funk. I have to admit it was a fairly modest one which I filled reasonably well if you think of a 15 year old late into puberty. The remains of my manhood were all but indiscernible in my bikini bottom and hence my shape for a 100lb chick was about what you’d expect… a promise of things to come and worth reconnoitring.

I was there with Wendy and Carol of course (they made sure I was between them at all times- my request) and one or two others, Joanne and Helen, had come into the circle, so there were five of us lined up on the grassy bank above the pool edge. Joanne and Helen didn’t know of my sudden rise to fame and took me as a new kid on the block — I was regarded as a bit of a Tomboy as I was a little less refined, but stripped down, I had a tidy shape and was quite acceptable — particularly as my hair was luxuriant and my skin was in nice condition. Lying there watching the world pass by was nice and it wasn’t expensive — just a coke and some snacky stuff now and then… acquire a tan and give the boys something to ogle at.

A group of 5 guys about our age were doing the rounds and the other girls were making cracks about them, it didn’t interest me much so I dozed quietly until a shadow fell across my skin making me suddenly chill — “Hi Girls what’re you all doing makin’ this place look like the Riviera?” I recognised the voice….Nigel, my own bloody brother hadn’t the sense to stay away from me until I realised, he hadn’t recognised me yet he hadn’t seen past the sunglasses I was wearing and obviously hadn’t associated a pubescent chick with his ex brother.

The guys stood around as we all sat up expecting one of them to do the introductions.

Instead I jumped the gun hoping Nigel would back off, “Ah girls, my brother Nigel,” gesturing to him “and his friends Graham, Peter, Martin and Geoff.” Marking off the row. My brother’s face went paler than my backside. Oddly none of the guys turned a hair except him.

“Bloody hell Nigel — you didn’t tell me your sister was a babe” Peter enthused.

“Oh forgive me guys I’m Jenny this is Joanne, Helen, Carol and Wendy.”

I lay back down and started to sweat. I had just tested every line in the sand — at once.

I had put all my eggs into the one basket and all my cards on the table, I clichéd my whole existence waiting for the other shoe to fall.

“How’s about you all accompanying us up to the Lakeside Café for a drink? Graham pipes up. My brother is saying something about having to go early and sidling away a bit. I’m not in the least interested in making out with a load of Nigel’s friends, but my friends are interested, so I guess it’s a good ploy to get them all into the same circle.

I wonder if they realise we’re only 15 and they’re mostly 18.

Is that too big a gap? I don’t know, maybe they’ll wander off, maybe they won’t.

We got up and slung our towels around our shoulders and picked up our bags — we seem to have snagged ourselves some free coffees. I felt sick, I felt like someone was going to rip me another hole just as soon as they discovered my brother’s brother was my brother’s sister.

What I didn’t know was that my brother and his friends had already decided on who they wanted to escort and as we sorted ourselves I found myself next to Martin who uttered the immortal words, “I didn’t know Nige had a sister, you seemed to know us, have I met you before?”

“Ah — there’s a photo of you on Nigel’s dresser — from when you went skiing last year. He pointed you all out to me. I have a funny memory for faces.” I tried to suppress the laugh and the hysteria mounting in my chest. This was some bluff I was hauling. I hope I didn’t get it all out of shape.

Martin pulled a chair back for me to sit on and I draped my towel over the back and seat so I didn’t burn my tush, I smiled a thank you at him. Nigel in the meantime has picked up Wendy who is looking a bit overwhelmed by the attention. Nigel is not happy. By the looks of it he’s realised we’re all too young to earn his wings on — and one of them is his sister….

He came over to me and leaned over to whisper, “My god, what’re we going to do?”

“Why ask me? you’re the one who can’t recognise his own sister. Do they know we’re only 15 year olds for a start?”

My dear idiot brother smacked his forehead and said, “Thanks, that’s it, I’ll tell them you’re all underage and we can back off gracefully.”

“Don’t bet on it, I just watched Graham and he’s really into Carol. You may be stuck with us, I hope you can warn Martin that if he touches me you’ll kill him. He’s going to get a big shock if he gets into my panties.”

Nigel groaned, “My God, what a mess. I’ll sort it out.”

He stood and went to regroup with his mates — I’m feeling wretched by this time, almost nauseous with anxiety. Helen leaned over and commiserated, “I know how you must be feeling — all your brother’s mates, the guys you’ve always wanted to keep clear of, my brother’s mates are too old thank God but they leer at me all the time.”

“These guys are all over 18 too,” I returned, “I wouldn’t want to go out with them, all hands and hairy faces yuck.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad to me…” Helen smiled back at me and giggled suddenly — obviously thinking about the hands bit.

The men returned with a tray loaded with cold drinks, “first in best dressed,” Martin called” and I grabbed a Coke — there was a lot of Pepsi and Fanta on that tray and I hate them.

“Nigel tells me you’re all jailbait?” Martin said quietly, “I’m ok with that, how do you feel?”

Suddenly it was all up to me, “Well personally I think you’re ok, but the fact you’re a mate of Nigel’s messes me up a bit. I’m not sure it would work too well.” I’m trying to dampen his ardour and not give the game up for my friends.

“I’d need to confer, but I think it’s up to individual tastes. What do you think?”

“Well I think Nigel is a sod for keeping it quiet he had a sister as well as a brother, you look quite a lot like him too.” He smiled at me.

I’m thinking my God he knows. Does he know? He can’t know. He must know, will he hurt me? Everyone else is laughing and joking and having a great time. I’m sinking fast — trying to get Nigel’s attention but he’s locked eyes with Wendy and I can’t break in.

“Are you ok?” Martin sounded concerned but not overly.

“Yeah I’m ok, I’m just not used to being in Nigel’s territory, he’s very diffident when it comes to his mates — he’s warned my to keep away from you guys, he doesn’t want to have squabbles with his mates over his sister’s virtue.” I put it bluntly.

“Oh, I see,” he stood up and walked over to Nigel leaving me feeling guilty and isolated. Nigel rose when Martin neared him. They conferred for a moment or two then Nigel sat down again. Martin returned.

“He said he trusted me.” He grinned and asked, “do you?”

“Actually no, but I’m willing to talk to you this afternoon if you want, just to keep my friends happy.” I gave him a short smile.

“So be it.” He bowed his head, “Seems I have this afternoon to convince you that I’m a good guy.”

“I‘d rather you didn’t, I really don’t want to develop this any further.” I pushed trying to convince him that it was no use. “He replied “No pain, no gain.”

The next hour or two was difficult, I came over as a Tomboy and I knew too much about sports and cars and stuff. It seemed I was Martin’s kind of girl and he was even more convinced I should be his girlfriend or at least give him a try.

Some of the other girls had really paired off and seemed happy to have an 18 year old as a BF. I wasn’t happy about it at all. I knew I would be pumped about these guys and I knew some pretty base stuff about them. I’d sat in on some of their conversations and been appalled by their second brains coming into play as they described what they’d done to this girl or that. The girls would get to know but I couldn’t hold open court on it now.

Eventually the sun sank low enough for us to need to cover up and we rose to leave and change. Martin turned my face towards him with his finger under my chin and before I could react, he’d kissed me. “I hope you’ll reconsider,” I was too stunned to answer, I just looked down and picked up my bag, trying to hold off the tears. I’m not sure what the tears signified, joy that I was a woman, fear that I would be killed by him for not declaring my past or misery that I wasn’t able to make it happen again.

The other girls (other girls — yup that’s me, one of them) were all ready to go so we upped and left the guys — some of us had given out telephone numbers — no one needed mine — they all knew Nigel’s. I needed space because the other girls hadn’t been au fait with my past — so they knew little except that my brother’s mates were their potential boyfriends and that they’d seen me being kissed by Martin.

Helen, who was closest to me (she was sat next to me at the café), had seen the twinkle in Martin’s eye. “Girl, you surely got him to come on line fast, conquest no 1 for the summer and it’s not a week old.”

“Aw come on Helen, he just fancied his chances with his mate’s little sister, he reckons he’s on privileges.”

“Yeah — like Le Droit de signeur privileges you mean?”

Joanne asked, “What’s Le Droit De Signeur then?”

“The right of the lord of the manor to have the bride of one of his serfs on the first night of the honeymoon.”

My face paled, I hadn’t realised that meaning either. “Gawd, don’t go there…”

Helen giggled and was about to tease me some more when Carol came over and gave me a hug and told me not to worry. She explained to Helen I’d had a bad experience with a family friend when I was younger. Pure lie, but it fitted quite well with how I was feeling.Two weeks ago I had the same accoutrements as Martin, now he was testing the temperature of my tonsils with his tongue. I suddenly felt sick. I dry reached a couple of times and Helen suddenly looked a bit frightened.

“You ok?”

“I’ve felt better.”

We split up and went our way, Carol and Wendy of course coming my way.

Wendy was quite pleased she had ‘trapped’ my brother. I asked her not to kiss him in front of me — at least not yet, I was still in culture shock for someone whom I regarded as my old girlfriend. I really didn’t want to have that image in my mind.

“Sorry, yes that must be a bit off of me.” She chided herself looking guilty and reaching out her hand and touching my arm. I squeezed her hand, “S’ok.”

We parted at our gate and I promised to ring with any news as did they.

Mum and dad were home, Nigel wasn’t. I decided to tell mum what had transpired before I told dad so she could break it gently to him if she thought it was touchy material. I spoke timely words of wisdom, Dad hit the walls fast enough to stay off the floor for two full circuits.

“What do you mean he kissed a boy?” I heard through the walls.

“A friend of Nigel’s? I’ll kill him taking advantage of my little girl…”

I buried my head in my pillow — I didn’t want to hear any more. Trouble is, it wasn’t going to go away. It wasn’t just the fact dad had become protective of me, he still hadn’t even worked out the pronouns. I knew this wasn’t going to be a short haul situation.

Nigel came through the door about 30 minutes later nonchalantly whistling tunelessly through his teeth… I was wondering if he’d have any left when dad had fini--- “NIGEL !! front and centre!”

I sat stiffly waiting for the “Jenny” call.

It came, gently from the bottom of the stairs “Jenny dear, could you come down, we need to clear this up.”

“Coming.”

I looked at mum as I descended, no hint of wrath in her face, her eyes regarded me with soft and loving care. I relaxed.

“Ok, we seem to have hit a real sticky spot here, Nigel says he would’ve backed off from introducing if he’d realised you were there. What is your version?”

I looked over at Nigel, his face looked pale and I could see pleading and fear in his eyes.

“I introduced them simply because I would’ve looked stupid if I hadn’t — If Nigel had cared to actually recognise me by being familiar with who I am it might have helped a lot. I also found myself unable to chat with him after he abandoned me to the “charms”(I wiggled my fingers in the air for the emphasis) of his mate. I’m not sure if he felt it was his duty to help his mates find some female company, but I thought it a bit crass of him to let his sister get familiar with someone that he knows might have identified his “brother” (I wiggled my fingers again) and caused no end of damage both to his circle of friends and mine. I was not amused.”

“What about this kissing?” My father probed looking me squarely in the eyes for some indication that I’d liked it.

“It happened, I wasn’t expecting it, and though I was appalled at first, the idea wasn’t hard to come to terms with.” I looked over at Nigel — I could sense rather than see relief in his eyes.

“So you are telling me that you’re going to be available to boys?” My father looked sickened.

I suppose he really hadn’t thought it through any more than I had. Even though he’d given me the go ahead to be female accepted me as his daughter, he still regarded me as something of a sexless person. Had I been the one to have kissed another girl previous to this, he’d have been proud I guess.

“I’m really sorry to have to shake the basket like this, but I’m a girl dad, and though I didn’t expect to be in this position three months ago, nevertheless I am. I’m nearly 16 years old, I’m full of hormones - female hormones — and I have discovered that I’m heterosexual. I’m sorry if that’s not what you expected.”

I hadn’t foreseen the irritation that my kiss would cause both me and my father, but we’d taken diametrically opposed sides and though I didn’t want to let Nigel off the hook for causing this situation, it made sense to me that he hadn’t really made too much of the scenario.

“I would like to add however that Nigel should ring his mate, Martin, and tell him to lay off his sister. I have been in company with him whilst he’s been bragging about his conquests and I don’t like the idea of being with him… or holding hands with him either.” I grimaced and shuddered remembering the times he’d boasted about his masturbation ‘techniques’ and I felt quite sickened.

“Fair enough I think Nigel, what do you think?” My father pointed his question with his eyes, brow lowered and teeth almost gritted. He was master of the house again and Nigel was back to being the young buck.

“Ok, I ring the guys and tell them to leave off.” He sounded completely done like a dinner.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” (am I daft or what).

All eyes turned back to me. “All I want is Martin to leave me alone, I’m not going to answer for the other girls, though I will tell them via Wendy and Carol who know my past what sort of guys they are, so as to be forewarned.” I felt manipulative and conniving all of a sudden, I had got the situation where it needed to be, with us Girls. Did I just think that….?

My dad grinned, “Christ you’re just like your mum,” mum patted me on the shoulder and gave me a “that’s my girl,” under her breath.

“Nigel, ring your mates and tell them to back off, I’m not going to be hearing about this sort of stuff again. Is that clear?” Father has spoken.

“Yes dad,”

“Now!”

“Ok ok, I’m shaking the bush, I’m shaking the bush” he left to phone round.

“I’m happy that you let us know what happened, I’m glad you have that sort of confidence in us, I will try not to interfere unless I feel that you’re going too fast, is that understood Jenny?” My father stood in front of me, I looked up into his eyes, I was a little taken aback, there was a tenderness there that I’d never seen in my life. I threw myself into his arms and whispered, “Yes daddy, I love you, thank you.” Had I looked up at that point I would have seen the wetness in his eyes that reflected my own.

When Nigel reported back he said that he’d warned Martin off and that Martin had been really pissed with him, but understood. The other guys had also decided to stay as a group rather than try their hand with the girls on an individual basis.

“I didn’t think it through sis, I’m really sorry. I’d pretty much forgotten that you were Jerry and had been almost part of the group when they were round here. I guess that must be pretty disgusting. I’m starting to understand why guys don’t let their mates date their sisters. Won’t happen again.” He gave me a shoulder hug and tousled my hair, I looked up at him… then slapped his face, he was looking down my front again.

“MEN!”

We went through for tea.

Once the commotion had died down over the weekend, we (!) girls all got together again and pretty much decided to make a pact to chase boys on an individual basis as it was too fraught with angst to try to match five guys with us as a group.

So we were back to lounging in the sun if it was out and dossing in the café if it was rainy. One or two of the girls did get off with guys there but for the time being I was happy to acquire the taste slowly so to speak.

 

*          *          *

 

End of Part 2

 

 

To Be Continued...