John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 7 of 25 — Payments

I knew that I had to start somewhere so, full of trepidation, I went to see my doctor. I went dressed in male clothes; I thought it best for a first visit. Maybe I was wrong; I seemed to be wrong about so many things lately.

Doctor Michael Carter was in his late fifties, with receding, grey hair, and had been my doctor since I first moved to the town. In that time I’d seen him only once. I wasn’t looking forward to the next few minutes.

“Hello John; long time, no see. Have a seat. Now; what seems to be the trouble?”

In answer, I took out a photograph and placed it in front of him.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” he queried, “What’s she got to do with your visit?”

“I haven’t a sister, this is me. I’d be very grateful if you could please refer me to a Gender Identity Clinic.”

“Are you telling me that it’s you in the photograph?”

“Yes.”

“And how long has this been going on?” he asked, incredulously.

“Since early childhood,” I nervously replied.

“Do you have sex with other men? Do you need testing for HIV or something? Is that why you’re here?”

“Sex with men? In early childhood? Hardly! I’m not a homosexual man, and I’m not even sure that I’m all male. If I am, I presume that I’m transsexual.”

“I don’t believe in all that stuff, it’s just made up by the newspapers. Anyway, most homosexuals just want to dress as tarts to attract other men; it’s all in the mind and shows a lack of social skills. I’ll test you for HIV and then send you to a psychiatrist; he’ll cure you.”

I wondered why his chosen psychiatrist was male. I said firmly, but losing patience fast, “I’ve never had sex, either with a man or a woman and, in case you’re wondering, I wasn’t abused as a child — unless you count bullying at school or my being told by my father at every opportunity that I was a failure. I don’t have a mental illness but I would be grateful if you would please refer me to a Gender Identity Clinic. I believe that the nearest one is the Glendale Clinic in London.”

“You’re obviously suffering from delusions so decided to be homosexual. I’m prepared to take a blood sample to check for Sexually Transmitted Diseases and I’ll refer you to a local psychiatrist; he’ll soon sort you out. You just need to admit to being a queer, though why you should decide to be queer is beyond me. The world is full of them, though I can’t say I hold with all that sort of thing myself.” He waved dismissively. “Normal men are attracted to women and women to men and that’s that; it’s how the human race is designed to continue, after all. Is it because you can’t get a girlfriend that you thought you’d try men instead?”

“I have a girlfriend.”

He looked stunned, as though I’d hit him in the face with a large wet fish. “If you’ve got a girlfriend, how on earth would you be able to satisfy her if you had all your bits cut off? Many of these queers do; do you?”

“I think that’s no business of yours. I just want my body to match my mind. Anyway, I can’t believe you’re asking questions like this, I’m sure it’s unprofessional,” I replied, hotly. “I’ve known that I was female since I was a toddler; it’s just that my body is wrong and I’ve had to live with it for over twenty very frustrating years.”

He turned in his chair and faced me. “I can’t subscribe to the existence of a condition for which I have no medical evidence. You look healthy enough to me, although somewhat under-nourished and effeminate; I’m sure that a proper diet and some decent exercise will fill you out and toughen you up. Your hair doesn’t help; get a decent haircut. I’ll refer you to a psychiatrist but I’ll do no more. I can’t waste this practice’s limited budget on a whim or a lifestyle choice. Why don’t you join a gym or something? Do some weight training?”

“My father seems to think that a spell in the Navy cures everything; but it hasn’t cured him of bigotry,” I said, sarcastically.

“There’s a lot to be said for bringing back National Service; if nothing else, the exercise and the discipline would be good for you.”

I shook my head in disgust.

He stood to dismiss me and made to shake hands. I was extremely angry and flatly refused his gesture. Instead, turning on my heel, I left the consulting room and stormed out of the surgery.

~ O ~

As soon as I could, I rang Jane. She was amazed that any doctor would take such a line in this day and age but suggested that I wait for the appointment with the psychiatrist and see how that developed. Meanwhile, she would visit that evening. “Didn’t he even do any blood tests?”

“No; I refused to be tested for STDs.”

“I think we need to change our police doctor; I’ll see you later.”

I returned to the office and was greeted by Greg. “How did the appointment with the doctor go?” he asked.

“Not well,” I replied, angrily, “He thinks I’m gay and that a psychiatrist can cure me. I tried to explain but he wouldn’t even consider it.”

He snorted. “Being gay’s not a disease; you don’t catch it, like ‘flu, it’s the way your brain’s wired. Perhaps it might be an idea to discuss it with Sue Fuller; she might have found more information for you.”

~ O ~

Sue’s face darkened as I related the sorry tale of that morning’s visit to the doctor.

I said, “Maybe it would be better all round if I was a gay man; perhaps then even my father could eventually accept it, although, every time I visit my parents, he just calls me a bloody queer. The trouble is, he’d crow for weeks if he thought he was right.”

“But you’re not a gay man, are you?”

“No. I feel as though I’ve just hit a brick wall.”

“Well, I’ve some news for you. There’s nothing to stop you legally changing your name and continuing to work here as a woman, although it would be good if you could have a supporting letter from a psychiatrist. You can get a new passport, National Insurance card, medical card and so on and the Income Tax people don’t care a fig what sex you are and what your name is. You should complete a Statutory Declaration or Deed Poll in order to change your name but that’s quickly done. All you then have to decide is when you want to do it and how you want it handled.”

“Handled?”

“The other staff will need to be told, although I suspect that for most of the other women in your department, it’ll be a case of “what took her so long?”” She laughed.

“Oh, there might be some articles on the Internet relating to transitioning at work; if there are, I’ll print them off and bring them in. I didn’t realise that it would be this straightforward and that it could be done before I visit the Clinic.”

“Maybe it’s not a bad idea to see the local psychiatrist. If he or she knows anything at all, you can still be referred and it might be quicker than waiting for Doctor Carter to do anything. And I suggest that you start investigating alternative doctors; yours sounds like a right dinosaur.”

“I’ll do that, and thank you once again for your help. I suppose I’ll firstly have to work out how to tell my family,” I said, gloomily, as I left.

~ O ~

Jane arrived straight from work that evening, and found me wearing a long sleeved top, denim skirt and wedge sandals. My jewellery, of course, included my new sapphire ring.

“Yummy,” she said, as she scooped me into her arms for a kiss. “You smell nice.”

“It’s Estée Lauder. I had a bad morning and needed some retail therapy, so this fragrance insisted that I purchase it.”

She smiled. “It suits you. Now, tell me all about your doctor’s visit.”

I related the tale of woe.

“What happened after you saw Doctor Do-Nothing and returned to work?”

I giggled and told her what Sue Fuller had said.

“Wow, that’s progress, even without the medical profession. So when do you become you legally?”

“I suppose I’d better warn my family soon; that’ll really screw any chance of patching things up with my father; probably my brother too.”

“Well, you’ll need to legally change your name first. I’ll take a few decent digital photos of you; you write a letter detailing a bit of history, timetable, and so on, then we’ll drop in the best of the pictures and post the letters.”

“But what if they don’t like it?” I asked, timidly.

“Are you going to let your family keep ruling your life and deciding how you’ll live the rest of it? You, my girl, have a birth anomaly. Did your mother hesitate to have you seen by a specialist when it was discovered that you had sight problems?”

I shook my head.

She continued. “You happen to have something else as well. You’re going to fix it and they can just get used to the idea. If that’s too difficult for them, then they don’t love you as much as they should do. If they do love you, then they should want what is best for you, not just for them.”

“I suppose you’re right, “I conceded, hesitantly, “but I’m a little scared all the same.”

“Yes, I know,” Jane gathered me in her arms and kissed me again to reassure me, “but we’ll get through it together, just you see.”

With that, she continued where she left off, that is, trying to taste the back of my throat — on the inside.

After a while, I broke off and asked, “Dinner?”

“Yes please, I’m starving; I had a sandwich for lunch, but nothing else. Have you eaten?”

I shook my head.

“Take-away?”

She nodded.

I found the menus in the kitchen and we decided on Chinese takeaway. I smiled to myself as I ordered our meal from the ‘Lucky Horse’.

~ O ~

We found some useful documents on the Internet, along with all of the other information that we needed.

Soon afterwards, Jane complained of withdrawal symptoms and so I was once again subjected to police interrogation, but not the kind that criminals get. She left me with dire warnings about what would happen if she again found me either in male disguise or feeling sorry for myself.

~ O ~

May 2004

Life had been much more fun over the past two months than it had previously been. Even the visit to my parents a few days earlier hadn’t dampened my enthusiasm, despite what I saw as a worsening relationship with my father. Jane spent most of her spare time with me; Saturdays usually found us in Southampton or Winchester indulging in retail therapy. We didn’t always purchase anything; then again, shopping is looking, not necessarily spending money.

I hoped that progress could now be made; I was much brighter and more productive at work and this wasn’t lost on my colleagues. Celia had taken to calling me Jenny when no one else was within earshot and, although I was at first embarrassed, I eventually gave in, accepting it as good-natured banter. It was good to feel part of a team for the first time, instead of a leper.

Jane and I wrote the letter to the family. I told them what my new name would be and what I knew of my medical history. I told them that I was under medical supervision and had the support of both my employer and a dear friend. I concluded with a brief but optimistic timetable, and the hope that they would see things from my point of view and maintain contact with me. Not having spoken to my brother for at least a year, I wondered what his reaction would be. I hoped that he would speak to my mother first, rather than to my father.

I realised that, although my employer had so far been very supportive, they had only a vague idea of what they were letting themselves in for, so a copy of the photo was made for me to take to work.

Jane insisted on having a copy as well so that she could display a partner photo on her desk. I wondered if this was wise but she dismissed my fears. “Look love, if they don’t know by now that I’m a dyke, they must be blind, in the wrong job, or both.”

I decided that my mother should see the letter first and then show it to my father when she judged the time to be right. I also thought that she would appreciate my choice of second forename.

I was surprised to receive a call from my cousin Shirley, with whom I hadn’t spoken in years.

She said, “Look, we don’t have a problem with this: maybe we aren’t your typical family but our children are great and Alex and I love them all to bits. Tim and his partner aren’t married, Lucy’s husband is black, Sarah is divorced and Annabelle has been in a same-sex relationship for ten years and has two children by artificial insemination. So don’t worry about diversity, it’s certainly no big deal here.”

My parents were the only survivors of their generation of the family. Shirley was the daughter of one of the aged aunts, which explained why she and Alex were older than I. I never received replies from cousins Muriel, Wendy, Eddie and Jimmy: I presumed that they couldn’t cope with the fact that the person that they thought was their cousin John, and who they’d not seen for at least fifteen years, wasn’t their cousin John after all.

My mother called me at work as soon as the post had been delivered. “Darling, I’ve just received your letter. I’m ashamed; I know you told me how much you’d suffered all these years, but I wondered if you were trying to excuse laziness, as your father said. I never appreciated how hard life has been for you without any support, and I really can’t believe how attractive you are. I’m trying to decide when to show the letter to your father. I’ll ring off now because you’re at work but I just wanted you to know that I love you and want to keep in touch with you. By the way, I presume that you’ve also written to Peter; he hasn’t called me, I just hope that he doesn’t call your father before I get to him. Oh, and I’m honoured that you chose Ellen as your second forename.”

I was silent as I put down the phone. I hoped that this could be the start of a new relationship with my mother, but was worried about how my father would react to the news. Part of me tried to say that things could get no worse but another voice feared for the new relationship with my mother. I could just see my father forbidding her from seeing me. If she just acquiesced, then I really would be on my own — except for my darling Jane, of course. There was no immediate reply from Peter; I suspected that he couldn’t cope with his unexpected sister, and would never want to speak to me again.

The photo which made its way to the office got plenty of attention. Celia and Jill ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over the colour of my top. Greg theatrically complained that he would soon have another woman to make his life a misery in the office in addition to Celia, Jill, Maddy and Sarah.

I took the photo down to Sue Fuller, who asked, “How on earth have you managed to get away with the disguise for so long?

“Disguise?”

“As a man.”

“Oh, I never thought that I looked feminine.”

She smiled indulgently. “Who took the photo?”

“My girlfriend.”

“Oh! Is that girlfriend or friend-who-is-a-girl?”

I smiled and said, “Jane seems to have laid claim to Jenny so I guess it must be the former.”

“You didn’t waste any time then, did you?” she laughed. “Not only testing our, as yet, uncompleted policy regarding transsexual people but also our policy on sexual orientation. Looking at this photo, there are likely to be some interesting times ahead and I feel very privileged to be in at the start of it. Depending upon your views on the subject, it’s either a Personnel Director’s nightmare or something really interesting and challenging to want to come to work for. I’m really looking forward to the next few months.”

We were both chuckling as I left to return to my desk.

~ O ~

The day of the psychiatrist’s appointment was soon upon us and Jane took a day off work to accompany me, insisting that I might need her support. We agreed that I should wear whatever would be appropriate for the office and so I appeared for my appointment in a cerise tee-top, straight, black skirt, a lightweight jacket and black mid-heeled sandals.

The Royal Hampshire County Hospital at Winchester is a labyrinth of walkways and passages linking a range of buildings. Without the map that accompanied the appointment details, we’d have got hopelessly lost. Against these odds, the hospital had a well-deserved reputation for sensitive and professional patient care.

Doctor Judy Davenport looked to be in her mid-thirties, was slim and had shoulder-length dark-brown hair framing a round face. After introductions, she said, “Jane should really wait outside but I suppose that she can stay if you really want her to do so.”

“Yes please.”

She continued, “Doctor Carter has written a brief referral but he seems to have made an incorrect assessment. Oh and please call me Judy.”

I felt much happier as I answered, “He insists that I’m a gay male but, when acting as a male, I had no sexual feelings whatsoever. As a woman, well, that’s a different matter entirely. I suppose I couldn’t have been a simple case. Jane is my girlfriend and my name is, or soon will be, Jennifer Ellen Smith, known as Jenny.”

“Why do you want to be a woman?”

I asked, “Would you like to re-phrase the question?”

“Pardon?”

“I am twenty two years of age; I’m no longer a child, therefore I must be an adult, a female adult. I’ve always been female, but with a couple of birth defects and a need to be in disguise at work.” Then I said, “You look like a woman; do you consider yourself one?”

“Certainly I do,” she responded.

“Try to imagine that it’s dark, you’re naked and you can’t move your hands. Are you male or female?”

“Female, of course.”

“Why ‘of course’?” I asked.

“Because I just am.”

“But why?”

“I feel it.”

“So do I, I’ve always felt it.”

Judy sat in silence for a minute, appearing to absorb this. Then she nodded and said, “Well Jenny, you certainly make a very attractive woman. So do you consider yourself to be transsexual?” She noted the name on her folder.

“I don’t know; all I do know is that I’m female. I never seemed to be very masculine, thank God,” I replied, somewhat relieved. I related a concise but fairly complete history and ended, “It was only recently, when I met Jane, that things came to a head and now here I am.”

“Wouldn’t you like the feelings of being female to go away?” Judy asked.

“And just how do you think that you could do that? Assuming of course that I’d want you to do so — which I don’t. I presume that you’d try some form of electric treatment. From what I’ve read, that never worked.”

Judy was silent.

I continued. “I’m quite happy being female, although I would like my defective body fixed.”

Judy thought for a moment, nodded again and then responded, “I know that my questioning was blunt but I had to ask; to clear the air, so to speak. Now that he has referred you to me, the matter is out of Doctor Carter’s hands. I’d like some blood tests in order to check your hormone levels; we can do them here as Michael Carter is unlikely to be co-operative.”

When I’d arranged to call in the next day, Judy said, “I’d like an endocrinologist to see if there’s a medical reason for you developing the way you have. Then we need another psychiatric opinion and that should be from a specialist in the field. I need to form a detailed picture for myself and also for the letter that I shall write to the Gender Clinic. I’m not unfamiliar with your situation, Jenny, and am satisfied that you are a well-balanced individual with a clear idea of what you want to achieve and how to get it. You are also a very attractive woman and, I presume, you never made a very masculine male. You have skin and a facial structure for which many women would envy you, and I can’t presently see any reason why I shouldn’t refer you.”

I was relieved and spent the next half an hour answering questions about my family, my work and anything else that Judy thought might be important.

After she was satisfied with my answers, she said, “You’ve convinced me that the present either/or situation does you no good at all and the sooner you begin to live full-time as a woman, the better it will be for you. Have you broached the subject with your employer?”

I was taken aback with the suddenness of it all but eventually managed to say, “Yes, and they seem to be very supportive.”

“That’s good,” enthused Judy. “I’ll get this referral letter off to London straight away. I’ll write to you with copies of all the correspondence. You can use my professional opinion for official bodies as required. I can see that you and Jane think a lot of each other and I wish you long life, health and happiness together.”

I was shocked. “Is it that obvious?”

She laughed. “By the way Jane looks at you; yes it is.”

We stood to leave and thanked Judy for her help; we detoured via the supermarket to stock up on groceries. We had a fight over who would pay for them, and Jane grabbed my arms behind my back as she handed over her credit card.

“Help! Police brutality!” I whispered in jest.

“I’ll give you police brutality.”

“Yes please! Now?”

“Behave!”

She affectionately squeezed my shoulder and I felt a pleasant warm tingle.

We returned to my flat and Jane got ready for work. I cooked a quick meal of grilled chicken, new potatoes and green vegetables. I was determined that Jane wouldn’t go to work hungry and she seemed grateful that she didn’t have to sort out her own evening meal. We planned the next day’s activities and I realised that I was becoming increasingly comfortable with my new role; I felt as though a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

~ O ~

The next morning, I drove myself to Winchester for the blood tests. I cooked a meal for us that evening and we sat together afterwards just watching a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie. I noticed that Jane seemed to be getting more amorous.

Would we stay together? I guess that time would tell

~ O ~

I breezed into work on the Monday morning, greeted the girls by name, nodded to the men, and sat at my desk, working, with a big smile on my face.

Celia rushed over to my desk. “What’re you on? You look like you’ve won the lottery, been promoted and been injected with a large dose of Happy Juice all at once. Come on, tell me before I burst.”

“Well,” I answered, smugly, “I had a good day on Friday, a great weekend and I feel wonderful today.” I related all that had happened and that I would see Greg and Mrs Fuller as soon as possible, as I had a transition date. “While on the subject can I ask you a huge favour? I think I’d like someone to field questions on my behalf, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have to do that than you. You’ve been a terrific friend to me recently and I will always be grateful to you.”

“Don’t be silly, “Celia chided, “of course I’ll do it. We could work out some likely questions and suitable answers.”

“Would you like to come to lunch on Sunday? Please say if you think that’s too much to ask.”

“Of course; I’m sure that my husband can cope on his own for one day,” Celia enthused. “Tell you what. Can you manage two for lunch? I think you should also ask Jill; she could help to make things easier for you as well.”

I hardly knew Jill, but at least she didn’t treat me like something the cat had dragged in.

Jill’s grin threatened to split her face in half as she enthusiastically agreed with the idea. “Super! I’ve seen the photo, but it’ll be great to meet Jenny in the flesh after all this time of seeing glimpses of her in the office, when you let your guard down.”

When I showed Greg the photo, he grinned and said, “You look like the cat that just won a year’s supply of cream.”

I laughed.

“How’d it go with the shrink?”

“Very well; I’ve a letter for the authorities and one for the company and, if it’s okay with you and Personnel, I’d like to transition on the first of July.” I then went on to relate the events of the interview with Judy Davenport.

“It’s okay by me,” he said, “Have you seen Sue Fuller yet to ask her how she feels about it?”

“Not yet, I’ll ring now for an appointment. I wanted to tell you first.”

“Thanks, I’m really glad that things seem to be working out for you. I suppose I’d better prepare for the onslaught: just don’t pull ‘time of the month’ on me too often!”

I said that was unlikely and left to make an appointment with Personnel.

~ O ~

Melanie smiled, sensing the change in me.

I walked into Sue Fuller’s office and gave her a copy of the letter from Judy Davenport.

“My! What a transformation,” she said, “you look positively radiant and you’re still in disguise. I just wonder how you’ll be when you are here for real.”

“Like a scared little schoolgirl in her first lowly office job,” I replied, ruefully.

“Not for long, I’ll bet,” she laughed. “Have you thought out a transition date yet?”

“I’d like to make it the first of July. I know it’s a Thursday but it just seems right somehow; new month, new me. I’ve invited Celia and Jill for lunch on Sunday so that they can meet Jenny. They’ve also agreed to answer any questions that people might have.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “I also think it might be a good idea to make a brief statement without going into too much detail.”

“Yes, I don’t think that everyone needs to know all the gory details at this stage, just the bare facts of ‘goodbye John, hello Jenny’.”

She agreed and asked me to draft a note, which she’d put out on the twenty-first of June. “If you go on leave on the eighteenth, it gives you twelve days to get yourself organised and then come back on the first. Does that sound okay?”

I nodded, smiled and left.

~ O ~

On the morning of the Wednesday following the psychiatrist appointment, Jane called me at work to say that someone had been arrested for the murder of Abigail Jones. She said that my witness statement had been vital; other than that she wouldn’t tell me any more about the case. We agreed that she would arrive in time for dinner on the Friday evening; it would be a little celebration of our progress.

~ O ~

At about 7:30pm on the Friday evening, I buzzed Jane in through the front door.

I’d finished work early and prepared the meal before my shower, hair and makeup. I pushed up my very small testicles into my body and then pushed back the penis into my body so as to hide the offending piece of meat and avoid spoiling the lines of my clothes. It was easy to do and relatively pain-free, particularly using sanitary towels and a body shaper, a bit like a strong elastic thong. Maybe I’d quickly become used to it but, then again, maybe the hormones that I was taking had stopped my bits growing to a larger size. Having had to endure the obligatory showers at school after Monday afternoon ‘hell on a sports field’, I knew that I wasn’t particularly well endowed anyway. I suffered at the time but it was a godsend now.

All in all, I was reasonably happy with my complexion, my skin and my bone structure and was very grateful that I didn’t have large hands and feet and an obvious Adam’s apple. I thanked God that I took after my mother; Peter is tall and broad, much like my father. Don’t get me wrong; Peter is a very handsome man but I would have hated to look like that.

Then I dressed in my cream underwear set. My new silky cream sleeveless dress was self-lined and the skirt came to just above the knee: the scoop neckline showed some cleavage but hid the fact that I was using silicone breast enhancers. Cream sandals completed the look. I wore my gold locket on a chain, some crystal drop earrings and my sapphire ring. I added my gold watch, some bangles and a spritz of my favourite Chanel Allure and I was ready. I hoped that Jane would approve; it was strange that, even after so short a time, Jane’s approval was very important to me.

She arrived punctually and, as she proffered a bottle of wine, she gaped open-mouthed at me. “Wow! You really have exceeded my wildest dreams tonight,” she enthused as she grabbed me and started kissing me soundly.

Now THAT was the reaction I had tried for and achieved!

“Wow yourself. You…are…gorgeous!”

She wore a red dress; it just about covered her nipples and her stocking tops and there was a lot of luscious skin on display. She also wore matching red medium-heeled sandals. She wasn’t a slightly built woman by any stretch of the imagination, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her substantial frame. We both stood and admired each other’s dresses and again kissed before I asked if she would pour the wine that was already open on the table.

I led her to the dining table, on which were two silver candlesticks, crystal glasses and a bottle of red Mersault. I knew that Jane would have no objection to French wine.

She pointed out, “I have to drive home this evening so I should have a soft drink.”

I smiled. “Really, and I thought that you weren’t working tomorrow. Who says that you have to drive home this evening? And what happens if I cry out in the night and my bodyguard isn’t here to protect me?”

She put her hand to her mouth to try and suppress a giggle, but failed. “Damned body language gets me every time. So Miss Smith, what are we going to do about it?”

I replied, “Nothing at the moment because dinner is ready. But maybe later…?” I raised my eyebrows and smiled.

After dinner we washed up and then, of course, Jane claimed fiancée’s rights.

“But we’re not engaged, are we?”

“You wouldn’t want to be accused of resisting arrest, would you?”

I had to agree.

She popped out to her car and returned with a small suitcase.

I raised my eyebrows and wagged an accusing finger at her. “Jane Dyson, you are a fraud. You planned to stay all the time.”

“I didn’t get where I am today by not being prepared. You never know when you might have to bunk somewhere other than your own place. This is my emergency case.”

“So now I’m an emergency, am I?”

I advanced upon her with a glint in my eye: she dropped the case, and proceeded to head off any retribution by scooping me into her arms and again kissing me senseless.

When we both came up for air, she agreed to take a few more photos of me. I also took one or two of Jane, simply so that I had something to put on my desk, and to show my parents, although I couldn’t for the life of me see why I was bothering in my father’s case; he just wouldn’t be interested. Then there were the pictures of me. Some of the poses were a little risqué and I felt that I couldn’t let even my mother see them just yet, if ever! With the camera perched on the corner of the table and the self-timer set, we posed for some pictures together. This had been Jane’s idea: as she said, she wanted some other mementoes of the evening besides….

After the photographic session she said, “Do you realise that, in the weeks since we met, I haven’t seen the rest of your home?”

“Oh,” I replied, “I suppose we should remedy that, though there’s not much else to see.” I led her on a little tour.

She had already seen the entrance hall, kitchen, living room and bathroom. If she’d seen the bathroom on the night of Mrs Jones’ murder, she’d have known about me straight away; there were almost enough hair and skin care products to stock a shop. We peeped into the second bedroom, which Jane had seen when we wrote the letter to the family. It was big enough for a single bed, with a rollout bed underneath in case I had guests, although nobody ever visited, not even my parents. I also used it as a little study; it housed the computer desk and some bookshelves, which held an eclectic mix of literature, from architecture to zoology and many points in between. The room was quite a reasonable size for a single room and was furnished with a maple-effect wardrobe and dressing table. With white eggshell paintwork, peach emulsion walls and matching roller blind it made a pleasant and airy guest room.

I then led her into my bedroom. The new duvet set and curtains, mint green walls and white eggshell woodwork made this a bright and restful room. Wardrobe doors covered one wall of the room and another wall had fitted drawers and cupboards and a vanity unit on which were an array of cosmetics, Griselda, my stuffed bear and a box of pastel green tissues. There was a subtle aroma of pot-pourri, and a small vase on the vanity unit held a single pink rose. It was clearly a room designed for a woman, and would have been a giveaway if any other visitors had seen it.

“I ought to try the bed to see if it’s firm or soft,” Jane said, smirking.

“Good idea.”

She did, and then said, “We ought to check that it doesn’t have a dip in the middle”.

I smiled and joined her.

Very soon she started nibbling at my ears and covering my face with kisses. Our lips lightly touched and I felt little tingles all over my body. I had been kissed before by Jane but the anticipation made the whole experience electrifying and new. I’d already found two hangers for our dresses.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Jane looked up at me and said, with feeling, “I think that my investigations wouldn’t be complete without a full exploration of your body. Didn’t you say that you had some breast growth of your own?”

I nodded, smiling.

“You need an unbiased opinion as to their sensitivity.”

I smiled again, and then was lost in a maelstrom of feelings, the like of which I’d never before experienced. My whole body seemed to be a centre of pleasure; it was out of control. For that time, it belonged only to Jane and I was lost in ecstasy. She could have asked for anything and I would have willingly given it.

Some time later she came up for air, muttered something like “about time that bit of research was carried out” and declared that, yes, there did appear to be some significant breast growth. She raised an eyebrow and I pointed out that she already knew about my small dose of hormones. She didn’t think that the small dose of oestrogen was enough to give me the body shape that I had and that there must be another explanation — maybe something to do with a late, or failed, puberty.

Who cares? I was hot and bothered by then, but it was a nice ‘hot and bothered’.

All I know is that my breasts never before felt so sensitive

I then asked her where her most sensitive areas were.

“You find them!”

So I did.

I tried to mention that which was between my legs but she gently put her fingers to my lips, told me to lay back and think of England and that The Thing would be dealt with as soon as possible. She later whispered to me “See, I told you that you were a natural.”

Some noisy time after that — and Jane, I discovered, made a lot of noise when stimulated in the right way — she held me very close and whispered in my ear, “Thank you, darling, that was amazing.”

I was a little confused. “How did I know to do all that?”

“I told you, you are a natural. It takes a woman to know how to please a woman. Men may be okay for some, but I much prefer the real thing.”

I just held her and stroked her face, kissing her with little butterfly kisses from time to time. She said that she loved me very much and vowed that she would help me to be as complete a woman, as modern medicine could make, in as short a time as possible. I was content and just lay there, smiling, as she held me in her arms.

Somewhat later still, when both sets of makeup were well and truly smudged and two sets of underwear were quite dishevelled, I asked, “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“Yes please,” she replied, dreamily, “I’d love some.” She made a T-sign with her fingers.

I returned with the tea and smiled when I saw her; she had slipped under the duvet. With a little smile and a raised eyebrow, I asked if she expected me to come to bed and received an enthusiastic nod in reply. I was stripped down to just bra and panties with a pale green silky wrap over the top. I was again thinking of that between my legs when I took off the wrap and started to ask, “But what about…”

She interrupted me with, “All in good time, my love, all in good time.” And then in an atrocious accent, “You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet, baby.”

I didn’t have time to think any more about it because….

~ O ~

I was at my desk when one of the managers came up to me. “Hello, Jenny. I want you to come and work for me,” he said.

“No thank you,” I replied, “I’m happy where I am.”

“Really? I can insist.”

“I said no thank you and that’s just what I mean,” I replied. “I’m very happy where I am.”

“I think that you could be persuaded. If the story of your past was to be made public you wouldn’t like it one little bit. What I want, I get. Come and work for me or I can’t guarantee that the papers won’t hear of it.”

And so it went on, and on, and on. I was becoming hotter and hotter and looked around the office for support. Everyone, including Greg, Celia and Jill, was laughing and pointing at me and I started to cry. I was trying to hide behind my desk and huddled down in my chair.

I screamed

End of part 7