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I am fast asleep when my father enters my room on Sunday morning with a cup of coffee.

“Wake up...” He stops mid sentence and stares at me, not that I notice, as I am still only partially awake.

“Thanks dad,” I yawn and raise my head off the pillow to look at him. I notice that he is still holding the cup, rather than it being on my bedside cabinet, and that he has a shocked look on his face.

I brush some stray red hair out of my eyes and my brain kicks in as I realise what the problem is. I’m Jennifer, he’s expecting David. “Shit!” I exclaim beneath my breath. I close my eyes and lay back down on my pillow.

“I think I have some explaining to do,” I say from the doorway, behind my father. I have projected myself as my old male form. I am wearing a pair of pale blue satin pyjamas, the same as my body in bed. I walk round him and sit on the bed next to my sleeping form. My father puts the coffee down, grabs the chair from the corner of my room, and sits down next to the bed.

He crosses his arms and asks, “Well, why is Jennifer in your bed. Exactly what have you two been up to, and do her parents know where she is?” He’s playing angry, and although he is definitely not pleased, I get the feeling he’s getting some amusement out of my predicament.

I sigh and look down at the floor to collect my thoughts. I look across at my girl self lying in bed. I think for a moment about trying to pull off a scam, but I realise it would never work. I could try to pretend that Jennifer is my girlfriend, but that raises a whole host of problems. The biggest of which is that I can’t be in two places at the same time, so Jenny stays asleep while David is present. I decide it’s time to tell the truth, although that’s going to be less believable than sneaking a girlfriend into bed for rampant sex.

While still projecting as David I look at my father and lamely reply, “This isn’t what it looks like.” I quickly add, “The person lying in the bed is me. I know that doesn’t make sense, but just watch and keep an open mind.”

I morph my projected appearance to match my new body. I then climb on the bed and lay myself down into my own body so that my projection is now occupying the same space as my physical form. Ending my projection, I slowly sit up and look at my father. He is now looking even more shocked and confused than before, and is noticeably paler.

“I know this seems ridiculous, I can hardly believe it myself. I don’t know how or why this has happened to me, but it has.” I pick up my drink, take a sip, and place it back down. “If you want more proof I can do the astral projection again and bring my old self back temporarily. However, if I do that I won’t be able to drink my coffee. Well actually I could, but as soon as I return to my body the coffee would get left behind in mid air, and that’s kind of messy!”

I see a slight smirk on my father’s face as he pictures what that might look like. I grin widely. “I could demonstrate that if you like, although I’m not wasting this coffee, and it would have to be outside.” I throw the covers on back on my bed and get up. I dash downstairs to the kitchen calling “come on” to my father.

He follows me down, still slightly dazed, entering the kitchen as I’m filling a glass with water. I walk out into the back garden, and place it on the table. I sit down and as soon as I am comfortable, I project David standing next to me. I pick up the glass and drink the water down as quickly as I can.

My father is standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

“Ready?” I ask. He nods and I disappear, this time making sure to keep watch via my remote vision. As soon as my projected body disappears, a glass full of water falls from the approximate position of where my stomach would have been, and hits the ground with an almighty splash. My father comes over and sits down opposite with his cup of coffee.

“I left mine upstairs didn’t I? I’ll go get it. Now don’t dare wake me up, unless you want coffee spilt all over the place!” I project myself back upstairs and grab my coffee and dressing gown. This time I project myself as I currently look.

Returning outside I place the coffee on the table, and then drape the gown over my physical shoulders. Ending the projection, I stand up, wrap the gown around myself then sit back down. The chair is made of metal and is cold on my posterior.

I sip my coffee and wait for my father to ponder my demonstration. We sit in silence drinking our coffees, enjoying the heat of the morning sun on the sides of our faces. I run my fingers through my hair. It’s slightly knotted after sleeping on it all night. I must get myself a decent hairbrush, I managed with a comb yesterday, but it was a struggle. My hair is now longer than I have ever been able to have it in the past, and would be more manageable by brush.

It’s at least ten minutes before my father says anything. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have thought it possible. I don‘t know how, but it is you. The way to play with your hair, how you hold your mug with your little finger stuck out, that crazy look in your eyes and wicked smile as you dreamt up that practical joke with the water, it’s all classic you, just in a different package.”

I explain Friday’s events to my father. “Since then I have been trying to come to terms with my change. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I wasn’t sure how you would react. I have been trying to hide what’s happened. I don’t want to be regarded as a freak, or poked and prodded like a lab rat in some horrid scientific institute.”

“At the bank yesterday people were talking about a ghost helping to rescue the hostages,” my father asks, “was that you?”

“Yes, it was,” I sigh, “I figured if all three robbers made it out of the bank, each with a set of hostages, then things were bound to turn bad. They seemed too prepared, even the police turning up didn’t bother them. I was worried that people could be injured or killed, myself included. Therefore, I used my abilities to try to take them out.” I explain in detail all the events of the previous day.

I try not to, but I start to cry. My father moves round beside me and gives me a hug. I lay my head on his shoulder, comforted by his warm embrace. Up until now, I have been suppressing all emotions to do with the shooting, but describing it has brought the trauma back again, and I have to let it out. I sit weeping on his shoulder for the next ten minutes while he comforts me.

After I recover from my emotional outburst, I notice how late in the morning it is. It’s already past 11 am. No wonder dad came and woke me up. I decide it’s about time I get dressed, and I need the bathroom anyway, so I head back inside.

I am back down 15 minutes later fully dressed. I have on some of my new underwear and one of the new bras. I am wearing a blue denim skirt. It’s the only other skirt I owned prior to yesterday. The green skirt I had worn last week is now in the wash. I’ve put on one of my white t-shirts, and a blue fleece jacket.

“I take it that’s why you went shopping yesterday,” my father says pointing to my skirt, “how many of your old clothes fit you now?”

“Actually the only things I was able to buy yesterday were some bras and a couple of school skirts. I had spent all my available cash. That’s why we went to the bank, so that I could withdraw some more funds. The original plan was to continue shopping for some other clothes,” I reply. “Most of my shirts and t-shirts are OK, but I have longer legs so a lot of my pants look too short. My hips and waist are also a different size. The larger pairs and those with stretch fit are all right, I can use a belt, but quite a few don’t fit very well.”

“You mean that you didn’t buy that skirt yesterday?” he asks.

“Ah, no,” I sheepishly reply. Well I might as well come clean now, “I bought this about three months ago. I may have only been a girl physically for a few days, but mentally and emotionally, I have always been one. Jenny has been my alter ego for quite a while.”

“That doesn’t actually surprise me,” he articulates, “I have suspected you might be a regular cross-dresser. I know that you like to dress up as a girl for costume parties and your choice of clothing has always been rather effeminate. There have been several occasions where I have seen odd pieces of clothing around the house. I never knew if they were yours, or just some of Susan’s that got muddled up in the wash. I never managed to catch you in the act though, despite several tries.”

“I’ve had a lot of close calls, I did wonder if you suspected. I usually dress up and go walk by the river. Several times I have had to do a quick change when you got home before me.” I giggle at some of the memories. I then relate the quick-change act I had to do on Thursday.

“You said you bought some school skirts yesterday,” he states. “Exactly what were you planning on doing in school tomorrow? I can’t believe you were just going to try turning up as a girl, especially as you were trying to hide your change from me.”

“You’re right. It has to be David who turns up to school tomorrow. However, you have already seen that I can still appear as David when I need too. There are however some limitations, apart from the obvious involving food and drink, I explain. “Ideally I could simply stay in my bedroom and project myself into the classroom; however, I have a limited range. The further I project, the more tiring it becomes, and the shorter time I can keep it up. I need to keep the distance to a minimum. I planned on hiding under the stage and projecting from there.”

Our school has a small theatre attached to it. Our drama department is one of the best in the state. At the front of the room is a stage. Half the room has stepped theatre seats, the other half is open space that can either be filled with chairs, or left empty and used as a classroom. It’s used for drama and dance classes. With the room full of chairs, there is just enough room to sit an entire year of the school. There are daily assemblies after morning roll call. Each day a different year attends.

The stage is three feet high. Underneath there is a semi-sunken room, although the ceiling is quite low at only six feet. There is a trap door in the middle of the stage, under which there is a lift. The trap door is kept locked most of the time for safety, and only gets used in actual productions. Because of the machinery down there, the room is kept locked nearly all the time. It’s used as a storeroom for the drama department and isn’t entered very often.

“The room below the stage is rarely visited. There is a door from the stairwell leading up to the art rooms. There is very little foot traffic in that area, so I should have opportunity to slip in unnoticed. The door has a Yale lock, so it can be opened from the inside without a key. They fitted one instead of a conventional lock a few years ago after someone was locked in there by accident. All I have to do is project myself inside and open the door.”

My father listens to my plan then sits back and thinks it through. Eventually, after much consideration, he gives me his opinion. “You can’t just turn up as Jenny, they would never believe you without proof. I can understand you not wanting to make this public, especially after the bank yesterday. Luckily the press haven’t picked up on the unusual aspects of this case.”

At least that’s one advantage. The last thing I need is too much publicity.

“If David were just to disappear that would also cause a lot of questions. It would be a lot easier if you could still attend as David, at least until the end of the school year,” he reasons, “the bit of the plan I don’t like is the hiding on school grounds. It’s a recipe for disaster. I think I may have a better solution, at least for a couple of weeks.”

I look at him quizzically as he continues. “There is an empty shop unit in that block of shops on Hamilton Road. The rear yard of the shop backs onto the side of the school football pitch. The owner has given up hope of renting it out. Nobody wants to open a small corner shop in the middle of a recession when there are already two other such shops and a supermarket nearby. My company is looking after the place, so I suspect I can get you access, if it’s close enough?”

“That’s brilliant!” I reply. “I can easily project myself from there, and I won’t have any risk of being disturbed and woken up.” I smile and then think carefully. “There is only one small issue I have left with my plan, which I haven’t sorted out. My projections are usually fully clothed, which makes changing for gym class difficult. I would have to project naked and put clothes on as normal, which takes a lot more effort to maintain. If the clothes are part of the projection then I don’t have to remain fully solid all the time, which actually takes less energy. The problem is I can’t project myself changing clothes. As soon as they leave contact with my body, they disappear into thin air. Besides which I don’t feel comfortable getting undressed in front of a load of boys, I never have done.”

“Leave that with me, I will see if I can come up with a solution. I may be able to find a way of getting you excluded on medical grounds,” my father answers, stroking his chin.

I suggest gynecomastia as a possible reason. I was actually developing the condition before my change, so it isn’t that far-fetched. The other way would to be to declare myself as transgendered, but I don’t really want to do that. Either way may require a medical professional to be involved. Having a medical could prove challenging, however at least I can exaggerate my symptoms.

We discuss letting Aunt Janice and Uncle Richard in on my secret. I’m slightly uneasy; however, they are very close family, so I reluctantly agree. However, that won’t be today as they are visiting some of Richard’s relatives. Aunt Janice is my father’s sister.

We decide that it would be a good idea to resume the aborted shopping trip, so after a quick lunch we depart. We head over to the next town so that there’s less chance of meeting anybody we know. It isn’t a problem for me, as nobody could possibly recognise me; however, it’s not so easy for my father. It would be awkward to meet people who know he has a son, not a daughter.

I have been shopping with my father loads of times, but shopping as a girl with him is certainly a new experience. It feels very strange at first, but after a while, my embarrassment disappears, and I really enjoy myself.

My father is very good with colours and is able to pick out matching outfits from memory without having to hold the items together. This comes in extremely useful when the items are in two different shops. Considering the age difference, he is also especially good at picking outfits that will look good, and are appropriate for my age. I never realised he has such a good fashion sense.

Shopping with father also brings the added benefit of credit cards. I am able to get a lot more than I would have relying on my funds alone. We don’t go overboard, but I now have a reasonable selection of skirts, leggings, jeans, dresses and tops from which to choose. I tend to go for the more frilly feminine fashions. I missed the little girl stage so I’m overcompensating now. At least that’s my excuse.

I buy more shoes, as my old ones don’t fit any more. These include sandals, slippers, trainers, and even a pair of hiking boots. I do like walking down by the river, and it can get a bit muddy at times.

We also purchase things that I hadn’t considered before. Firstly, I get my ears pierced, at my father’s suggestion. He reckons most teenage girls that he’s met have earrings. The majority of girls in my class do indeed have piercings. I opt for a small pair of gold starter studs. I also pick out a set of ruby earrings, as they match my hair and freckles.

We then head for the drugstore. With the help of one of the assistants, we buy a basic makeup kit. I’ve never been into using makeup, and instead prefer the natural look. Besides which it isn’t something that can be easily hidden. After trying several fragrances, we also chose a nice perfume that really suits me. It’s a smell that reminds me of strawberries. I also pick up some talc, soap, and shampoo in the same range.

While in the hair care aisle, I look at the stand containing hairbrushes. As I look for one I like, my dad whispers in my ear, “is it the bristles you are looking at or the handle? That aluminium brush has a nice long fat straight handle on it. It would comb your hair well as well.” I immediately blush bright red in embarrassment.

He then proceeds to wind me up some more by adding a small tub of Vaseline into the cart. I do indeed pick the aluminium brush, and nonchalantly place it in the cart, much to my father’s amusement. The alternative usage had crossed my mind when I first saw it.

I decide two can play that game, so we go over to the feminine hygiene products and I start to examine the various items on offer. Unfortunately, this doesn’t faze my father as much as I thought it would. He simply advises me on what products my mother used to use, and what he has seen his sister buy when she was my age.

I am probably more knowledgeable on the subject than most boys of my age are. Our school has a policy of explaining such products to both boys and girls during sex education lessons. They like to make the boys know exactly what the girls have to go through. This is to emphasise that it’s not a matter to be joked about, and any teasing of girls experiencing periods will not be tolerated. Following on from that particular lecture several of the girls decided to try to embarrass the boys up by openly discussing which products they found the most comfortable. That was until our teacher intervened and threatened to make the girls write an essay about their experiences and read it out in front of the class. The subject was instantly dropped.

After a couple of hours shopping in town, we head back to the car. With all the commotion yesterday, we haven’t done our usual weekly grocery shop, so our next stop is the supermarket to get some food.

The mention of food reminds me of how much I have been eating over the last few days. I explain this to my father and tell him about my theory about needing extra energy for my unusual abilities. He thinks that it sounds logical, although he’s slightly dismayed that the grocery bill is likely to rise.

My father had been a cross-country runner when younger and had competed at state level while at college, although he wasn’t fast enough to turn professional. One of the things he learnt was how to adjust your diet for energy input. We decide to approach this scientifically and we buy a stock of high-energy food that can easily be digested and won’t be likely to cause constipation, or the opposite.

We return home, and after putting everything away, we sort out my wardrobe. Removing the things I have identified as being no good, we make room for my new purchases. The two of us spend the evening watching TV, curled up on the couch.

I keep an eye out for when Susan and family return, something that is very easy to do with remote viewing.

“I hope you are not going to become a peeping tom with that ability of yours,” my father remarks. “I can imagine how tempting it can be to look into the girls’ changing room.”

“Just because that’s what you would do doesn’t mean I’m going to,” I reply, “Anyway, I don’t need to use remote viewing for that. I can walk into the changing rooms and watch in person, I’m a girl now. Now peering into the boys’ changing room is another matter. Mind you, I have seen all of them often enough not want to look at them again anyway.”

“I know I have never asked this before, and you can tell me to mind my own business if you don’t want to answer,” my father asks tenderly, “but what is your sexual orientation now? Has it changed along with your body?”

I sit and think for a while before responding, “Being confused over your gender rather distorts your outlook a bit. When looking at girls I’m jealous instead of anything else. The thought of gay sex between two men doesn’t appeal to me at all, however now that I am female the thought of going with a man doesn’t feel wrong, but then neither does being with a woman. I guess I can be classed as bisexual, but until I am actually attracted to somebody, I don’t know.”

“Well don’t be in a rush to find out. I really do not want to have to cope with you getting pregnant, as I have to assume you are now capable of doing. That doesn’t mean I would have approved of David sleeping around either, it does take two to tango,” he warns me sternly. I promise to be a good girl.

We wouldn’t normally have talked about such topics, but after all the revelations earlier today this new-found openness between us feels comforting. I’m a lot more relaxed than I have been in a long time and feel refreshed by our newly discovered closeness.