Sometimes my muse ambushes me with odd little things like this. I hope you'll like it.

"Here's your tea, love," the girl said, putting the mug down on the table.

The man carried on eating his Full English breakfast, only nodding briefly to thank her. After a short while he became aware that she was still standing beside him and he paused, knife and fork in mid-air.

"Do you mind if I ask you," she said softly, "are those yours?"

He knew exactly to what she was referring and nodded again, keeping his head low.

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Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. Everything is fictitious. This story is copyright (c) 2011 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

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"Here's your tea, love," the girl said, putting the mug down on the table.

The man carried on eating his Full English breakfast, only nodding briefly to thank her. After a short while he became aware that she was still standing beside him and he paused, knife and fork in mid-air.

"Do you mind if I ask you," she said softly, "are those yours?"

He knew exactly to what she was referring and nodded again, keeping his head low. He resumed eating, his eyes straying to the newspaper on the cafe table beside him. She sensed that he wanted to be left alone and returned to the counter.

It was August, holiday time, and the cafe was quiet this morning. Not until the factory workers came back from sunnier climes would the place buzz with activity again. Diane turned to one of the three proprietors standing behind the counter and asked, in a low voice, "What happened to him? How is it he has... those, now?"

The Indian member of the ownership answered her. "You don't know? Of course not, you've been on holiday, it all happened then. There was a fuss, a terrible fuss. The factory unit was shut down by Health and Safety, a big commotion it caused. In all the national papers, it was. Now poor Dave is stuck, deformed... nobody is going to give him a job looking like that, are they?"

"But how..?"

"Something in the chemicals, they said," spoke up the Jamaican owner. "Some kind of hormone or something. Seems they got a batch that wasn't made up the way it was supposed to have been, came from China so they say, got into the men and altered them." He shook his head. "Bad business, man."

"That's horrible! Was it only him, then? What about the others who worked there, Brian and Ismal?"

"You wouldn't have heard, would you, being away and all that," the Jamaican said. "That's what started the whole thing off. Brian Carswick threw himself off a footbridge over the bypass what, two weeks ago? Possibly the day you flew out to Benidorm."

The Pakistani explained, "That was what started it all right. They discovered the two... growths on his body and immediately started asking questions. The moment they went to the factory and saw Dave they closed the whole place down. Ismal, may Allah bless him, had a breakdown and is in a mental hospital at the moment."

"Oh, the poor men! What are we going to do for them?"

The three regarded her with interest. "What do you suggest, Diane?" asked the Indian.

She looked at them helplessly. "How do I know? He's a human being and he needs help, that's all I can say."

The Jamaican gestured with a hand. "We're going to be quiet today, with many people away on holiday. I think you might be able to help more than three like us could."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I might be able to, at that. I'll take it slow to start with, though. I don't want to drive him away, make him do something stupid."

The time slot for factory workers having ended, the next one for office workers soon began and the four were kept busy for some time until the flow of diners slackened. Diane knew that she would have half an hour before the next batch of customers appeared, those wanting breakfast sandwiches to take back to their places of work, so she approached Dave's table again. He was still there, by now nursing a third mug of tea and working his way through the crossword page.

She sat down opposite him, causing him to start and put his pen down. His face was completely closed, dull, and she knew why.

"I'd rather be left on my own, if you don't mind."

"Please. I want to help."

He looked at her, expressionless. "What can you do?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I do know the saying that a trouble shared is a trouble halved."

She left it there and it looked as if he was going to burst into tears.

"You already know the details," he said finally.

"No, I don't," she told him. "I've been on holiday in Spain for a fortnight, today is my first day back at work."

He looked a bit more closely, then. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I wondered where you'd gone, if you'd found a better job somewhere else, or just gone back on the dole or something."

"So."

He gave a great sigh and leaned back in his chair. His eyes looked in her direction but they were fixed in the recent past, the traumatic days that had brought him to this.

"You know where I work, don't you? Worked, I mean. Bradvale Plastics, on Brockmoor Road."

"Yes," she nodded. "I knew a boy tried to get a job there once. Sorry, go on."

"We, I mean they, make small batches of plastic items that would cost a bigger company too much in tooling to do," he explained. "The two men who managed Bradvale had figured out a way we could do it cheaper. So me and Brian and Ismal did the dirty work on the floor, mixing the granules and the plasticisers and colouring powder and setting up the moulds... you don't want me to go on, do you? It gets a bit technical."

"That's all right," she said. "I'd heard the firm was doing all right, though. What happened?"

"We used to get all our raw materials from wholesalers, like every other engineering firm round here does. Our wholesaler found some cheap imports, saved us a ton of money so we said yes. What we didn't know was that the imports came through about three other wholesalers and importers all the way from China, and the Chinese had mixed the plasticisers up wrong. Safe enough if you were just using the finished product, I suppose, but for those involved in the manufacturing process it was too much."

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes. First inkling we had was when Jenny Hardwick, the secretary in the office, had a miscarriage. No-one thought much of it then, but the stuff was already beginning to affect us. Soon, we all started growing these lumps."

"But, when I saw you before I went on holiday, you didn't look... like that."

"No. I went to my doctor and he said it was gynecomastia. I was given some special elasticated tops that flattened everything down. Not one of us realised we were all going through the same thing, we were all too embarrassed to mention such things at work."

"Oh, I can quite imagine that!"

"Then Brian went and threw himself off a bridge and blew the whole thing wide open. They did a post-mortem and found... lumps, and then Health and Safety got involved real quick. The factory got shut down and sealed off and the owners got arrested for failing to look after their employees. Ismal, you remember Ismal? He had a breakdown and they had to take him in for his own safety. Me, they decided I was well depressed but not actually suicidal, yet, so they just let me suffer in public." He looked down at his chest.

"What about those elasticated tops you mentioned, then? I can see you're not wearing one now."

"No, because I'm now too big for them to make any real difference. And to be frank, this morning I just couldn't be bothered. Depressed, remember? The only reason I came out at all was because I've got nothing left in the flat to eat. I might try putting one on when I get home, though. I hadn't appreciated just how uncomfortable these things can be when they're let loose."

She gave him a weak smile. "I wouldn't know, sorry. It's funny, really, I'd rather have those and you'd probably rather have my flat chest."

He managed to return the smile. "Ironic, isn't it?" His smile faded. "So, just what was it you thought you could do for someone like me, then?"

"Well, the owners have told me to tell you that whatever happens to you, you'll always be welcome at the Empire Cafe," she said. "They know you'll likely be tight for cash, so they're prepared to cut you a little slack when times get hard. After all, you've been coming here, what, eight years? I remember seeing you come out of here when I used to pass by on my way to school. Loyalty works both ways, you know."

His eyes misted up and he dropped his head so she wouldn't see the tears. "Thank you," he said softly.

"Whoops!" she said suddenly. "Customers. Look, I have to go, but I'll do some thinking and come back, all right? And any more tea you drink will be on the house, you only have to ask."

Diane got up and briskly moved to greet the several people who had come in through the door and spread out amongst the tables. When she came back an hour later, in the slack before the early lunch crowd arrived, she had a suggestion.

"Look, if it's getting too embarrassing for you to do your own shopping," she told him, "I could do some of it for you. That would save you being out in crowds and I really don't like to think of you running out of food, living on your own." She hesitated. "I can't say I'd be able to do it all the time, mind, but I could probably manage a weekly shop for essentials. How does that sound?"

"That's very kind of you," he said, misting up again. "I didn't expect to find such people around, I thought they were all going to treat me like a freak."

She pursed her lips. "We-ll, in one way, you are a kind of freak, aren't you?" A stab of pain came, as he thought of betrayal. She was a young girl, he would just be an exhibit for her 'crowd', wouldn't he? But then he realised that he was being uncharitable as she said, "On the other hand, half the world's population has those and they're not considered freaks."

"But, I'm not a woman," he objected. "There's a distinct difference how a man should look and how a woman should."

"I know," she agreed. "Tell me, what have the doctors suggested to you? For the future, I mean?"

"I can have them cut off," he said bluntly, and she winced. Mastectomy was the last resort option for any woman as they were so bound up with her identity. For a man, a possible solution, but the operation would still leave significant scars, mental as well as physical.

"Now, this may seem like an odd suggestion to you," she said tentatively, "but have you considered the alternative? Keeping them?"

"You mean, exist as I am now? Not a chance. Can you see me getting a job looking like this? I'd become a laughing stock from one end of town to the other. No. They'll have to come off, eventually. The doctors won't let me do it right away in case there's more changes to come, they wants everything to stabilise before they'll consider operating."

"I didn't quite mean stay the same as you are now -"

"You want me to become a woman?" he interrupted. "I'm a man, I can't do that!"

"That's not entirely what I meant either, but it's still an option, isn't it? No, I have another idea in mind. Now, I have a girlfriend who I met at a pub night a while back and we've become quite close friends. Only she isn't entirely a girlfriend, she has what you have down there."

"She's a mixture, you mean? How did that happen, then?"

Diane shook her head. "Nobody knows. She grew up a boy but when puberty came she developed up top as well as down below. Her parents let her choose what she wanted to be and she chose to be neither, so to speak." She frowned. "I think she's still legally male. I'll have to ask her next time we meet up. Anyway, the point is, you'd have to dress as a woman, which would make sense anyway. If you kept those, you'll have to start wearing bras just to support them, and then all the rest sort of follows on naturally, doesn't it? Looking at your face, I don't see any big problem there. You don't look as if you shave much, do you?"

"No, never did. Since... this happened, I've shaved even less, come to think about it."

"There you go, then! Bit of make-up, new hair style, and I'd think you could make a go of it. All the while keeping your assets safe and sound below. And I can tell you there are women who will go for a person like that, even round these parts. Debra gets quite a few invitations."

He shook his head, overwhelmed with concepts he'd never heard of before. Dress as a woman? Crazy, he didn't know the first thing about it, he'd never even thought about doing it, ever. But the thought of having proper support for what was hanging off his chest sort of made sense, and then as Diane said all the rest followed naturally.

But women do things differently! It was a whole secret society no man got more than a glimpse of, normally. He'd have an awful lot to learn... but then, whatever he did, he'd have to do some learning. Could he do it? Maybe not, but he'd be a fool to discard the possibility without finding out more. He looked up at Diane, his expression more animated than she had seen it all morning.

"I'd never heard of such a possibility," he told her. "I didn't know such people existed. Perhaps you're right, perhaps what you say might be possible. It's a whole new idea for me to think about, and I'll need some more information. Could you arrange a meeting between me and Debra, please?"

Suddenly the future didn't look so bleak after all.