---

 

I am sitting in a chair at the side of the drama studio as the other girls start to file in. When Julie sees me sitting at the edge of the room with Dr Lambert, she grins, assuming that I have been found out. Mr Henry calls the girls to attention.

“Thank you,” he begins, “an issue has been raised about one of the girls in your P.E. class. A complaint has been made that Jasmine Whittaker shouldn’t be allowed to use the changing facilities. We are here to discuss the issue and then conduct an anonymous vote to see if Jasmine should be removed.”

I am invited to take centre stage. I stand in front of the gathered crowd to address them. I can see Julie sitting at the side trying to stifle a laugh, at my discomfort. I decide to turn the tables, “I have been accused of deceiving you by withholding certain facts about my past. Julie, I can see you smirking in the corner. As my chief accuser, would you like to explain your issue with me? Go ahead and say whatever you want, that way I can’t deliberately miss anything out.”

“Okay Simon, if you insist,” Julie replies, emphasising my male name. “Your name isn’t Jasmine; it isn’t even Simone, it’s Simon. You are not a girl at all; in fact, you’re a boy. A boy so sick and perverted that he has to dress up and pretend he’s a girl. A boy so mentally unstable that he self-mutilates his own genitals in order to pass naked. That blood we saw wasn’t menstrual; it was down to him gluing himself up so tightly he tore the skin when running. Simon, you are sick and need help.”

I look around at the shocked faces. All eyes are now on me to respond. “I do indeed suffer from a recognised medical condition known as Gender Dysphoria. There are known differences between the development of male and female brains. In rare cases such as mine, the brain can develop in the opposite direction to the rest of the body. Physically I was born a boy, but mentally I’m a girl. No amount of brainwashing can change my perception that I am in the wrong body, but it is possible to change my body so that it matches my own mental image. I am a girl, but one with defective plumbing, something that up to a point can be surgically corrected.”

There is a short silence before Rebecca asks, “So have you had your bits cut off, or are they somehow hidden?”

“A bit of both,” I answer with a grin, “My testicles have been removed to prevent a male puberty. With the help of female hormones, I can go through puberty as a girl, although I will never be capable of having a period or getting pregnant. My penis is still present, but is glued inside of me. Eventually it will be turned inside out and the nerves used to form a vagina. Final surgery is not usually completed before a patient is eighteen. That is not only for political reasons, it also makes sure that all growing has finished as scar tissue doesn’t expand.”

That last revelation stuns Julie more than the others. While the others will assume that I’m under the care of medical professionals, Julie knows that I don’t have access, as my parents would have needed to give their permission.

I focus my attention back to Julie, my eye contact silently challenging her to say more. She can choose to reveal that I am doing this totally without parental or medical assistance. This is both an advantage and shortcoming to my cause. It shows my determination, but also questions my sanity and stability.

Julie thankfully remains silent. While I am happy to reveal more if necessary, I would rather not say anything further.

“The school recognises Miss Whittaker’s status as a transsexual and respects her decision to live as a girl,” Mr Henry states, seeing that there are no further questions. “Given that she can no longer function as a male, I am willing to allow her to use the facilities associated with her desired gender. However, I will make alternative arrangements if any of you have strong objections. I am going to give you each a bit of paper. Behind the curtain is a ballot box into which you can vote. Please indicate either ‘Accept’ or ‘Object’ to Jasmine sharing the changing facilities. Please form a line. You can then each take a turn to vote in private.”

“Can we have some time to discuss the issue between ourselves before we vote?” Mary asks. I have a feeling I know what she is doing. Mr Henry agrees and takes me outside into the corridor to wait. However, Dr Lambert remains to oversee things so they don’t get out of hand. Twenty minutes later, we are called back in. I wonder what took so long, but don’t question it. The girls need to sort this out for themselves.

The girls line up and one by one, they disappear from view in order to vote. After everybody has voted, Dr Lambert brings the box out from behind the curtain and opens it. She looks at each bit of paper in turn, being careful to keep what is written on the paper hidden.

She then looks at each piece of paper again. Gathering them into a pile, she counts the number of votes cast before checking each piece of paper once more.

“We have a result,” Dr Lambert states, “It’s not what I expected. There are no objections, every single girl has voted to accept Jasmine.”

“Julie?” Mr Henry asks, looking in her direction.

“I voted to accept her,” Julie replies, “My main problem is her dishonesty. Sure, I’m not entirely comfortable being seen naked, but I’m willing to put up with that risk as long as Jasmine agrees to keep her eyes averted.”

I am too emotional to answer. Instead, I simply nod. I am so happy and relieved to be totally accepted for the first time in my life that I am speechless. I sit crying on my chair, grinning.

Mr Henry asks the girls to keep my medical status as private, and then dismisses them. Most head off in the direction of the canteen. Mary and Alison whisper to each other then come over and wrap me in a hug, one either side. I smile at their embrace. I was worried that I had perhaps lost some friends, but it seems like that is not the case.

“Do your parents know yet?” Julie asks.

“No,” I reply, finally getting my voice back. “That is my next hurdle. They don’t know that I’m transgendered. They are probably going to kill me, not to mention freak out when they find out about my surgery.”

“How did you get your surgery done without parental permission, what did they think you were going into hospital for?” Julie asks, puzzled.

“I didn’t go to hospital,” I state, “I performed the procedure on myself. Yes, I know how stupid and dangerous I acted, but I was depressed and desperate.”

“Julie,” Mr Henry interrupts, “am I going to have any further trouble between you and Jasmine? You do realise your attack is an expellable offence?”

“I’m sorry; I won’t cause any more trouble Mr Henry,” Julie replies. “Jasmine, I apologise for swinging at you. I was angry and jealous of how well you had been accepted as a girl. You’re not even a... well, you know, but you are prettier than I will ever be. I was suffering a bit with PMS, although that’s not an excuse, and I let my temper snap. I’m sorry.”

“You think I’m prettier?” I ask with surprise, “I’m exactly what I look like, a boy in drag. My hair is a wig, and my face is hidden behind waterproof makeup. You have natural beauty; I have to work hard to even achieve this much.”

Mary decides to end the discussion before we start an argument by saying we both don’t have anything to worry about in the looks department. Mr Henry then tells us to get going and get some lunch. Both Julie and I are in detention, but it will start tomorrow instead of today. After the amount of crying I have done I need to clean myself up. We head to the nearest girls’ bathroom. Mary, Alison and I go to head inside, but Julie waits outside.

“Sorry, but I don’t think I can go knowing that you can hear me. Sorry, I will wait until you come back out,” an embarrassed Julie says, looking at the floor in shame.

“I understand, I’ll be as quick as possible,” I reply. I know she feels awkward around me so I won’t push things. We all go to the loo and clean ourselves up, me in particular as I have been crying.

When I exit the bathroom, Julie apologies again as she heads inside. Josh is waiting outside.

“Julie told me what happened, congratulations,” he says as I wrap him in a hug. “I don’t think you will get much hassle from the boys either, as Damien pointed out, anybody tough enough to cut their own balls off is somebody you don’t want to mess with.”

“How does he know I cut them off?” I ask.

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Josh apologises. “I tried to start rumours that you were your cousin, but too many people are convinced you’re Simon. There was a rumour going about regarding what you have had done, and I fuelled it. You are already the undisputed arm wrestling champion of our previous school year. Couple raw strength with insanity and you have a combination to be avoided.”

“Thanks,” I say and kiss him lightly on the cheek, “this is turning out to be a good day.” I immediately pull back embarrassed, realising what I have just done. “Sorry Josh, I’m letting myself get too emotional.”

“Hey, you’re a girl, it’s allowed,” he smiles at me, “However, if you insist on kissing me then do it properly.” He pulls me in tight and tilts his head to one side, drawing my lips into his. He stops just short of kissing me, not wanting to force me to do anything I don’t want. I pause for a second thinking whether should I be doing this. I then ignore logical reason, go with the flow, and push my mouth against his, in my first real kiss.

I melt into the moment, until it’s interrupted by cold water hitting the side of my face. We both pull apart and we turn to see where the water came from. A boy from our year is running away, an empty plastic cup in his hand, being chased and sworn at by Julie. I hear a teacher yelling, “Benson!” so I suspect he will be joining us in detention tomorrow. Mary is in fits of giggles and Alison stands shaking her head, trying not to laugh.

We mutually agree to leave further romance until later and join the queue in the canteen.

There are many whispers going on in class that afternoon. It looks like my fear of being labelled a freak may be coming true. However, I haven’t had any nasty comments yet, at least none that concern me. There is the odd remark, but I don’t think I will have any major problems.

What I will have is a problem when I get home. I need to confront my parents about my status, and that isn’t going to go well. Execution by firing squad is a real possibility, as we do own firearms.

I collect my bike from the cycle shed and begin the ride home. The wind has gotten up and the sky looks like it is going to rain. I decide not to stop at the bunker on the way home. It is going to be a shock for my parents when I walk in as a girl, but it might be the easiest way.

I push myself along the road as fast as I can to beat the weather home. I can go twice the speed on this bike. Going to the bunker will add another twenty minutes to my ride by the time I have changed. The wind is strong and I would have to cycle against it to do the detour. I make it into the farmyard as the first rain starts to fall.

I place my bike in the barn and dash across the yard. I try to open the door but find it locked. My parents must be out. I run back to the barn to shelter from the downpour. I don’t carry a set of keys to the house. This is because I don’t need to. Inside the barn is a key safe. It’s a small metal box securely fixed to a concrete wall. I spin the wheels of the four-digit combination lock and retrieve the door keys from inside.

As I unlock the door, the phone starts ringing. I dash over to answer it, “Whittaker Farm.”

“Simon, it’s Mum, we are over at Elm Tree Farm. The milking shed has caught fire,” she tells me.

I look out of the window in the direction of our neighbouring farm, and can see the smoke on the horizon. Several fire engines had whizzed by on my ride home and I had wondered where they were headed.

“The fire crew are dampening it down now, the rain helped, but it means that none of the cows here can be milked. We are going to ferry the cows over to Jason’s place, as he has the spare capacity and is closer than we are,” Mum explains. Jason Yearly is another one of the farmers in our cheesemaking enterprise. Elm Tree Farm is about two miles away and Jason lives another mile further over.

“We are going to be tied up for a while. Can you manage to get our own herd milked?” she asks. “The sheep also need moving to the lower field for the night.”

It’s a lot of work for one person, but I have done this before. “Okay, I’ll get it sorted,” I reply.

“Thanks, we will be back as soon as we can, but it’s all hands to the pumps here at the moment. There are some frozen dinners in the freezer if you want to do yourself one.”

After saying goodbye, we both hang up. John Palmer, who owns Elm Tree Farm, has a herd twice the size of ours, and they will all need transporting to be milked. That means a lot of work and they aren’t likely to be back for a few hours.

I have a look in the freezer and find a homemade shepherd’s pie, which I bung in the oven on a low heat to defrost and cook. I then head upstairs to change out of my school clothes and into my work wear. I go to put on my normal jeans and checked shirt, but pause and change my mind. Going over to my chest of drawers, I remove the bottom drawer.

There are several inches of space between the drawer and the floor, in which I have hidden some clothing. I keep most of my girl clothing hidden in the bunker, but I have to bring it home to wash. I use this as temporary storage. I pull out the denim sleeveless dress. I remove my school uniform, but leave on my knickers and bra. I grab a clean white T-shirt and put the dress on over top. I remove the wig so that it doesn’t get dirty and put it in my schoolbag for tomorrow. Instead, I wear the headscarf I used on Saturday.

I find a pair of long socks and head downstairs to the kitchen. I put on my sturdy wellington boots and waterproof coat in the utility room before heading outside. I lock the door and put the keys back in the barn.

I head over to my dune buggy and climb into the seat. I drive out of the farmyard in the direction of the cow fields. As I reach the field, the cows are waiting by the gate. They know when it’s milking time. I pull off the track and open the gate for them as they start to wander to the milking shed. I close the gate and follow them back to the farm in the buggy.

Fifteen minutes later all the cows are in the yard as I park the buggy and open the milking shed. The cows know the routine and take up their positions to be milked. I switch the machinery on and fix the cups onto the udders of each animal.

While the machinery gets on with the milking, I head into the cowshed to make sure everything is ready for the animals. By the time I have gotten the feed ready, the first lot of cows have finished and I move them into the shed. I then move the other half from the temporary holding pen into be milked.

Once complete, I move the second lot of cows into the cowshed. I then hose down the milk shed, cleaning the foul-smelling mess that some of the cows kindly left behind.

Heading round to the kennels, I whistle and our two dogs come running up to me. I make a fuss of them; they don’t care how I dress. I then pick up my shepherd’s crook and take the dogs with me as I head back to the fields. Sheep are dumb animals, and can be a handful to control. Cows at least can be trained to go where you want. Using the two dogs, I round them up and eventually I get them moved from the grazing field to the more sheltered lower pasture that they spend the night in.

I am not a very good shepherd and despite my best efforts, I still end up with sheep going in all directions. It takes me twice as long to put them to bed as my father does. After rounding up the goats and feeding the dogs, I head inside for a shower.

Normally I would put on a clean set of clothes, but I decide that I will change into my pyjamas. I have actually seen to some of the animals early, as we usually have dinner before some of the chores, but I didn’t fancy stopping and starting later. It is already eight in the evening by the time I finish my shower.

I decide to wear my silk pyjamas again. After drying myself off, I slip the panties and top on. They feel wonderful. Once I have my dressing gown on the pyjamas are totally hidden from view.

I head into the kitchen and take the pie out of the oven. After checking it is fully cooked using the thermometer to make sure it’s hot in the centre, I sit at the table and begin to eat.

After I have finished, I put the dish into soak and settle down on the couch. Having done all the chores by myself, including chasing sheep for over an hour, I’m exhausted. I soon fall asleep.

I am woken up by the sound of the Land Rover parking in the yard. I sit up as my mother opens the back door. I get up and walk into the kitchen.

“Hi,” I say as my parents come in. They both look exhausted and they smell of smoke.

“Did you manage to get everything done okay?” my father asks.

“Yep, cows milked, sheep moved, goats rounded up, and the dogs fed,” I reply.

“Sheep give you any trouble?” my mother asks.

“Oh yes. I swear number twenty-six is trying to kill me,” I answer with annoyance. “Thirty-four decided to lead a rebellion and make a break for Scotland with several friends. By the time I got them back the others had spread back out over the field from the nice flock I had almost managed to assemble.”

My father laughs as he heads outside to double-check everything is in order. I put the kettle on as I ask my mother if they have eaten. My mother replies that John arranged for a pizza delivery so they had something before they came home. She then heads upstairs to have a shower and change.

My father comes back in as I am making some cups of tea.

“Well done, everything looks in order,” he says as he comes over and takes his cup. “The insurance assessors are due tomorrow. It looks like there was an electrical fault that started the problem. The building is intact, but the main pumps look like a write-off. There is a lot of smoke damage to be cleaned up. It’s going to take several weeks to sort out. We will bring some of the herd here tomorrow. The important thing was to get the cows milked and Jason’s closer.”

We sit and drink our tea. Mum comes down in her pyjamas and gown. Father finishes his drink and heads for the shower.

It’s been a hard day for all of us. I was planning to reveal my secret, but I don’t think now is the time. If they comment on my appearance, then I may do so. However, they have yet to notice what I am wearing under my gown. Tired, I say goodnight to my mother and head to bed.

As I climb into bed, the satin material glides over the sheets offering a lot less resistance than my normal nightwear. Comfortable and happy, I settle down to sleep. I will have to sort out how to leave the farm tomorrow as a girl, but I don’t think that will be an issue. I am soon asleep.

My alarm wakes me up at six in the morning. I climb out of bed. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I smile at my girlish appearance, my earrings glinting in the morning sun. I head into the bathroom to use the toilet and wash. Returning to my bedroom, I grab a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Instead of my normal routine of wearing boy underwear until I change at the bunker, I instead put on a fresh pair of panties. I forego the bra for the moment. I don’t need one as I have yet to develop a chest, although I do like wearing them.

I head downstairs to where my father is already eating breakfast. There is some bacon, egg and toast waiting for me as I sit down at the table.

After we have eaten, all three of us head out to start the working day. I assist for an hour and a half before telling my parents that I need to get going. I head back indoors and take a quick five-minute shower to get rid of the farm smells and muck.

Returning to my bedroom, I get dressed in my school uniform. This time I don’t bother with the male version and go straight for the skirt and blouse. After fixing my wig and makeup, I go back downstairs. After checking that I have everything and locking the door, I retrieve my road bike from its position in the barn.

My father mustn’t have noticed it, as he would have said something, as he doesn’t know I own a road bike. My parents are out in the fields so aren’t around to see me. Not that I would have minded them seeing me, I am fed up with lying.

I cycle straight to school, as there is no need to visit the bunker this morning.

The day progresses well. There are a few snide remarks, but the amount of hostility against me is lower than I imagined it would be. Most of my fellow students couldn’t care less and the ones directly affected by my presence seem to be happy to accept me for what I appear to be. I think a few are scared of me and worried I might go on an insane rampage, not that I am planning to do so.

In the past, I don’t think that this would have happened, but being gay or different has become slightly more acceptable in recent years. Five or ten years ago, it would have been unheard of for anybody coming out while at school, however there are now at least two gay couples in the sixth form.

Everybody knew my brother was gay except my parents, who refused to acknowledge the signs. Although he never came out in school, it was obvious he and Matt were slightly closer than friends to anybody who was paying attention.

At morning break, I report for detention as instructed. There are four of us in the science lab used as the detention room. Most of the classrooms can be used by students during break and lunch. However, the science labs are off-limits for safety reasons.

While we sit doing homework in silence, Mr Henry comes in and asks for a word with me. We head into the science prep area where there is an office used by the head of the science department. We step inside out of earshot of everybody else and he asks me if I have spoken to my parents. I explain about the fire and although I am no longer dressing as a boy, they haven’t yet realised this and confronted me.

I will aim to speak to them this evening. I don’t think it a good idea to do so when I get home, as today is my mother’s turn to host the farmers’ wives for tea, cakes and gossip. There is a chance that I may be the gossip, but I will improvise if needed. If the other women haven’t yet found out and if I turn up in girl mode then my mother will likely be upset. She hates making a scene.

My parents would rather keep such a secret silent. It was only after several weeks that my mother finally admitted that my brother had gone to live with another boy.

At the end of the day, I cycle out to the bunker and change into boy mode, possibly for the last time. I am still wearing my panties, but have ditched the bra for the time being. I have hidden the earrings under tape and makeup. Having switched to my mountain bike, I ride the rest of the way home on the farm tracks through the fields.

There are several cars parked in the farmyard when I arrive home. After storing my bike in its usual position, I head inside to the kitchen.

“Is that you Simon?” my mother calls out from the lounge.

“Hi, Mum, ladies,” I say as I walk into the room. As well as my mother there are four other women sitting eating cakes and sipping tea. Several are farmers, but there is also the vicar’s wife, Gloria.

“You might be able to help us,” Janice Yearly says as she beckons me to join them. “I heard a rumour that your school has a boy attending as a girl.”

“Have you heard anything about this?” Susan asks.

“I knew appointing that Mr Henry was a bad idea,” Gloria adds, “Such disgusting behaviour should not be allowed.”

“If what Wendy said is correct then this boy is being allowed to use the girls’ facilities. If it was my daughter then I would be appalled. Luckily, this pervert isn’t in Wendy’s year. I tried to get her to tell me who, but she claimed to not know the name,” Susan adds.

“I am seriously reconsidering sending you to that school,” my mother states. “If that is the sort of behaviour allowed then it might be best to switch to Lakeside.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I reply, “Yes I do know about the transgendered student. I also know that all the girls in her P.E. class conducted a ballot and voted to share the facilities with her. In fact the decision was unanimous.”

Thinking about the support I was given almost makes me cry, but I push my emotions down so that they don’t see it.

“Who is it?” Janice asks. “We need to find out so that we can campaign for his removal and treatment. What on earth are the parents doing letting their son prance around pretending to be a girl?”

As I feared, my mother and her cronies are being their usual bigoted righteous selves. I have put up with their views until now. There was a lot of badmouthing about Mike after he came out, and many commiserations offered to my mother that her son insists on being a poof. I tolerated it before, but it’s time to start making my views known.

“She is already undergoing medical treatment for her condition in that she has undergone the first stage of sex change surgery,” I reply calmly. “There is no need to campaign for her medical care: it is already being taken care of.”

“That’s ridiculous,” states Gloria. “He needs some spiritual guidance, not mutilation by some whacky quack with a knife.”

There are murmurs of agreement from the other women. I sigh; trying to educate this lot is like flogging a dead horse.

“I thought you liked Dr Truman,” I reply. He is a well-known and respected doctor whom they have previously praised. “I don’t know all the details, but he is one of the doctors that she has seen.”

“Tell us who this freak is,” Susan instructs me.

“No, go mind your own business and keep your bigoted opinions out of where they don’t belong,” I reply angrily.

“Simon!” my mother yells at me. “How dare you speak to us like that? Apologise this instant.”

“No. I’m entitled to my opinion. I’m also right,” I angrily shout back. “You obviously have no idea of what being transgendered actually means and you don’t seem willing to learn. Instead of finding out what she has had to go through and why, all you want to do is condemn her for being herself and force her to live a life she cannot possibly lead.”

My mother and I stare at each other across the room for several seconds. This is the first time I have stood up to my mother and openly defied her. I have always been a timid child. I didn’t dare make a fuss when Mike left, although I knew it was wrong. This time I am letting my anger and adrenaline override my fear.

“Go to your room!” my mother shouts.

That sounds like a reasonable request to me. I need to do some homework, and it’s better than the alternative of doing farm chores. I spin round and holding my head high I march out of the room and up the stairs to my bedroom. As soon as I enter, I turn and lock the door behind me.

Our farmhouse is several hundred years old and has sturdy wooden doors with old-fashioned locks. All of the doors in theory can be locked, however we don’t normally bother and most of them are so old and corroded that they won’t turn. My bedroom lock on the other hand is in perfect working order. I saw to and overhauled it a couple of years ago so that I could potentially dress without being caught out. I would always wait until they were out, but having a locking door meant that there was less chance of being disturbed.

The first thing I do is change clothes. I strip naked, removing all the male clothing that I have been wearing since I stopped on the way home. Pulling a pair of lacy panties out of their hiding place, I pull them up my legs into place. I prefer the tightness of the material against my skin to the loose baggy boy briefs.

Next, I find a pair of shorts out of the back of one of my drawers. They are an old pair of cut-off jeans that I used to wear a few years ago. They are now too small for me and I couldn’t wear them because they were too tight in the crotch. With my new genital configuration, I now don’t have the problem. Instead, they now make a nice skin-tight pair of ‘Daisy Dukes’.

I don’t bother with a bra. I still don’t need one, and I want to appear feminine without obviously wearing any girls clothing. I am working on the principle of trying to make my parents see me as a girl in boys’ clothing, which is what I am. I pick out a light-blue short-sleeved shirt and put it on.

Spreading my books out on my desk, I start my homework. About ten minutes later, I hear my mother’s friends drive off.

A couple of hours have now passed and I am now lying on my bed reading when the door handle turns as someone tries to enter my locked room. Realising the door is locked, a sharp rap comes on the door, followed by the voice of my father asking to be let in. I jump off the bed and unlock the door. Opening it slightly, I look out to the landing to see my father standing there holding a tray of food.

I open the door fully and he enters my room. He puts the tray down on my desk. On it is a steaming bowl of soup and some slices of bread.

“I take it Mum is still annoyed,” I say.

My father chuckles - he doesn’t seem angry with me. “You could say that. She didn’t make you any dinner and was going to make you go to bed without. I think she is overreacting and I don’t think it appropriate that you miss a meal.”

I nod, sit on my chair and start to eat the soup before it gets cold. My father sits on the end of my bed while I slowly consume my meal. As he hasn’t left, I assume he wants a father/son type talk. I smile to myself, as he is about to get a father/daughter talk instead, even if he doesn’t yet realise it. I will need to take this carefully so he doesn’t hit me.

After finishing my meal, I take a tissue and dab my lips before getting up and climbing on my bed. I sit facing my father, my legs crossed underneath me in a girlish pose. My father is looking at me closely as I sit in front of him in a tomboyish state.

“I don’t agree with your point of view about this boy. However, you are right in that you are entitled to your opinion. In fact, I agree that that bunch of women are nosy busybodies. I wish I could have seen their faces.” He chuckles again, “I have often thought the same thing, but I don’t dare say it to their faces as I need their help to keep this farm going. You went too far, and I think you should apologise to your mother.”

I take a deep breath and reply, “I can’t do that. I am not at all sorry for what I said. For too long I have been putting up with the homophobic fucking bullshit in and around this family. I stood back and watched Mike be hounded out for falling in love with the wrong person. Well, history is about to repeat itself, only this time I’m too young to be chucked out and ignored from a distance in disgust.”

My father looks at me in shock at my choice of language. The one rule I have always followed is no swearing in front of my parents. My use of the words ‘fucking bullshit’ carries more significance because of this. While he is still processing what I have said, I storm out of the room, down the stairs, and out the house into the yard. My mother is in the kitchen washing up as I pass her.

Crossing the yard, I can barely see where I am going due to the tears in my eyes. I consider grabbing the buggy and driving off out of here, but that isn’t practical when I can’t see where I’m going. Instead, I head into the sheep shed. Climbing into one of the pens, I sit on a bale of hay and sob.

I am sitting for several minutes before I hear my mother call out, “He’s in here.” Wiping my eyes, I see her standing in the doorway. Several seconds later, my father appears at her side. I leap to my feet and dash to the sidewall where we hang some pitchforks for moving the hay. I grab one, turn, and face my approaching parents brandishing my makeshift weapon in their direction.

My aggressive stance causes them to come to a halt.

“Put the fork down,” my father commands, keeping his voice calm and steady.

“Why, so you can beat the shit out of me as you did Mike? I might be crazy, but I’m not fucking stupid,” I angrily reply, my voice cracking with emotion. My mother tries to take a step forward, but I thrust the sharp prongs of the fork in her direction. She jumps back and stands behind my father. I can see the terror in her eyes as she realises I mean what I say.

“I am sorry that I hit Mike,” my father calmly states, “I may not like it, but I would rather learn to accept my sons being gay, than lose them forever. Please, I promise not to hit you. Just put the fork down and we can talk this through.”

“Things aren’t that simple,” I reply. “Yes, I am attracted to a boy, but not like that.”

I see a spark of recognition come into my mother’s eyes. She then says, “You are in love with that freaky sissy poof who dresses as a girl. That’s where you got the wig and clothes the weekend before last, it must have helped you. That’s why you’re so passionate about defending it. You are trying to justify your urges by trying to convince yourself it’s a girl. It’s all right, no wonder you’re confused.”

That is typical of my mother. She would rather blame someone else rather than accept the facts. The same happened after Mike came out. It took her weeks, and several arguments before she would accept that her son was gay and not being corrupted by another boy.

“I’m not confused at all. I know exactly what I am. I have done for years. You wanted to know who the transsexual attending school as a girl is - well I am. You’re looking at Simone Jasmine Whittaker, the freaky sissy poof of Brahms High,” I yell at the top of my voice. I am shaking with nervous energy and my vision is blurred due to the water in my eyes.

Emotionally spent, I drop to the floor, letting the pitchfork clatter to the ground, and curl up in a ball sitting on the floor, my face pressed tight into my bare knees. Wrapping my arms round my legs, I pull them in tight and wait for the inevitable. I fully expect to be kicked like a football, but the strike doesn’t come. Instead, I feel someone touch my shoulder. I flinch and scream as my whole body tenses. I roll onto my side away from the physical contact, trembling in fright.

The concrete is cold and damp against my bare skin, but I ignore it as I continue to sob uncontrollably, scuttling backward on my bottom away from the blurry figure of my mother. I grab the pitchfork and bring the points to face my opponents in self-defence. Through my hysterics, I can hear my parents whispering to each other at a distance, but I can’t make out what they are saying.

My father heads back towards the house as my mother sits down on a bale of hay, about ten feet from my current position.

“Simon, please calm down, we don’t want to hurt you,” she begs me, “Please give me the pitchfork.”

Wiping my eyes so that I can see clearer, I get to my feet and start to edge round towards the door. “Here,” I shout, throwing the weapon sideways at her with all my strength. I break out into a run and dash towards the buggies. I run to the key box and spin the dials to unlock it. I fumble as I grab the key to the single-seater.

I jump in, insert the key into the ignition and turn it.

“Simon, stop!” my mother shouts. She is standing directly in front of me, blocking my exit.

“Get out of my way or I will run you over,” I shout over the noise of the engine as I rev it. I can see the fear in her eyes as I release the clutch and shoot forward. She dives to the ground as I approach her. I swerve to avoid my mother as I leave the barn and clip the doorframe with the back wheel, causing the vehicle to swerve violently to the right and come to a halt.

I’m thrown forwards in my seat banging my head on the steering wheel. The engine stalls and I madly try to restart it. My panic increases when I see my father approaching with a rifle.

“Simon, stop what you are doing and get out,” my father instructs, aiming the rifle in my direction.

Climbing out of the wrecked vehicle, I shout at my father, “I’m not Simon. I hate being called Simon. I’m Jasmine and I’m your daughter. If you can’t accept that, then just fucking shoot me and end this. I’m not pretending to be a boy anymore!”

I watch my father pull the trigger and I suddenly feel a sharp stabbing pain in my shoulder. Screaming in agony, I stagger backwards and fall to the ground as I lose consciousness.