Something to Declare by Cyclist

Chapter 54

It was finally over, the women getting three years each for the conspiracy and the Marines declining to press charges for the assault, although their assailants did get a few hundred hours Community Service for affray.

The newspapers covered the full details in varying degree, from subtle hints to “exclusive” and sick computer generated images of what their slimy little minds thought her injuries would have looked like.

Finis, time to let Melanie rest and move on with our own lives. The family continued as ever, and the Grahams seemed to have adopted Naomi and Albert as surrogate grandparents. I really hoped that their biological family could come around to understand what they had done, but as a realist I wasn’t holding my breath.

Stewart had been true to his word, and a headstone was produced to the pattern of those of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. It bore the Corps badge, and the dedication “To the memory of Sgt Melanie ‘Mike’ Stevens, Royal Marine Commando. Comrade, Friend, Beloved Aunt and Great Aunt. Invicta est.” We had a small military ceremony at its installation.

From being a loner in an inherited house I now seemed to be forever surrounded by genuine friends and family. The Grahams were regulars, and Sally seemed grafted to her new bootneck friend, but I was having little moments of fear. May was approaching, and an urbane man with a nice smile would be taking a very sharp knife to me.

Both Raj and Sally were helping, of course, but it was my family who were there for me at all hours as the nerves began to niggle. I had another reason to be nervous.

The publicity over Melanie’s death had done no harm. There was much more evidence of a true commitment to support the transgendered locally, and my MP had contacted me directly and asked, very bluntly, if and when I wanted my official change of gender. He promised to push it ahead, and Geoff asked a very simple question: would it be possible to have it done by the third weekend in August, assuming my surgery went ahead as planned.

The sneaky little AUK.

“What have you arranged, oh man of mine?”

After a few threats relating to spare bedrooms and unwashed cycle kit, he broke under interrogation.

“I spoke to Simon, love. He has a space the weekend before our festival, and as you will be official and you already said ‘yes’ to me…”

Time for yet another moment of privacy, dear reader.

May arrived and, not to put too fine a point on it, I was shitting myself. There were so many risks to this, and although I wanted so much to be complete I was wavering and havering. After all, we had managed a sort of sex life together for well over a year, and Geoff hadn’t complained. No, strike that, we didn’t have ‘sex’.

I have never had ‘sex’ and never will. I had by now made love rather a lot, and the distinction is intensely important to me. Geoff had never complained about the limits we…worked under, he simply took me as I was. I owed him.

So, one day in May, an outie walked into the hospital, and the next day woke as an innie on a bed.

Once again, dear readers, I am afraid I will not be going down the route of certain tales I have read. To be very, very blunt, just as I felt no compulsion to indulge in anal sex to make me “feel like a woman” (how would that work, exactly?) I also feel no need to go into a litany about drips, catheters, stents, surgeons discussing their embroidery, and so on. If you have stuck with me this far you must remember exactly what hospitals mean to me, even when brought up to date with more privacy and gentler regimes.

I still get occasional night visitors, old men screaming for their burning comrades, and the mere smell of a ward terrifies me, so I am sorry I cannot supply chapter and verse of something I could only endure until Geoff was able to take me home. The staff were lovely, the surgeon was funny, his work, in hindsight, was spectacular, but I am simply traumatised by hospitals.

Recuperation was a long job, but astonishingly and thankfully the Home Office puts no limit on sick leave for gender reassignment, so I had no worries about work. Jan and Kelly were staying, it being school holiday time, and so I was pampered and loved and…I can’t think of a better word. Both girls insisted on a visual inspection, of course, and told me in my complete inexperience of girly bits that I was most definitely now in the club.

No, they did not help with the dilation. I have my limits, and so should you.

I fucking HURT, though. For a long while.

I returned to work towards the end of June, and reported in to c-m-Vanessa, who asked how it had gone. After all too many rather personal questions, she hugged me again and presented me with a small envelope.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s your new electronic key card. I rather assumed you would want to be able to get into your locker room and toilets now you are back. There’s also a locker key. Welcome back”

And yes, the team were waiting, and the girls wanted a look, and Little John asked for one, and I cried of course. There was serious business to sort, though. I called the team together.

“Right, the third weekend in August we are on long weekend. Keep the Saturday free, if you can, I have an appointment at St Nicholas’ church”

Little John was on form that day. “Bollocks, Steph, he can’t do that. There’s no way anyone could ever make an honest woman out of you!”

“Well, my surgeon’s had a bloody good try!”

Dave held up his hands for silence.

“Earlies tomorrow, back late Wednesday. Shall we get pissed, boys and girls?”

The motion was carried unanimously. And we dd.

I will gloss over certain events. Some of them, you will have guessed. I had a fitting for a simple but rather elegant strapless white gown, which made me cry when I saw my reflection. Sue, Ali, and Jackie from the team, together with Donna and Kelly, were asked to be bridesmaids. Sally was matron of honour, while Jan held her brother’s side together and Naomi and Albert stood as surrogate parents.

I modelled my dress for the Woods, and for the first and only time since I buried my mother I saw Naomi cry.

“You are so like Bron, you know, and I miss her dreadfully. Shit, you are ruining my fucking eyes”

I cried myself, long and hard, and happily, when Geoff and I were first, and at last, able to make love properly, and that is all you need to know.