To Fight for a Dream by Tanya Allan     An autobiography is an account of one’s life up to a certain point.   This isn’t my autobiography. It is, however, a fictitious biography of someone very like me, or me if one or two things had happened differently.   This is a WHAT IF scenario plus a lot of wishful thinking.

 
 
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Author's Note:
 
This is a work of fiction, but some of the events, some of the people and most of the feelings and emotions are real. Some of the events were events that I experienced, while others were researched, and others are simply made up.

ALL names have been changed to protect the innocent. In 2005, I first posted an early version of this as a blog on my Yahoo 360 site, but removed it when Yahoo became silly about what they considered indecent. I used a photograph that they believed was for adults only and restricted viewing. I have since rewritten and revised it into its current form.

I know what is real and what isn’t.

I leave it to you to guess and wonder what is real and what isn’t.

Actually, it doesn’t matter, as it should stand alone as a good yarn. Please note, I have maintained my record for happy endings, even though the real ending has yet to be written.

It is tough to fly in the face of convention and social mores. It is tough to break away and to declare that you want to be you, in spite of what the world decrees you should be.

In 2008, the world read of Captain Ian Hamilton of the Parachute Regiment. He turned my fiction into reality by undergoing transition and surgery to become Jan.

I dedicate it to all those who have the courage to go with their convictions; and to those who stand by them, no matter how hard it might be. May God bless you all.

Tanya
Originally written in 2005, revised in 2008.
 
 
The Legal Stuff:To Fight for a Dream  ©2005, 2008 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Chapter 17. Growing Up
 
 
It would have been lovely if that had been the end of all the strife, but it wasn’t. It may have been the end of the beginning, as Churchill once spoke about the Second World War, for my father remained as prickly and as difficult as he could be. I think he was more in a sulk at being exposed as a miserable bugger, particularly as so many people whom he knew well had accepted me. The difference was I no longer cared so much, particularly as I had someone who took away the hurt.

Ray stayed for dinner, but then drove out of my life for a month. Dinner was rather strained, which wasn’t helped by Aunt Mary getting sloshed. Dad sat at his usual place, at the head of the table, but said very little. The high point was when he leaned towards me and said, “Jane, pass the bloody cabbage!”

I walked out with Ray to the car.

“Sorry my dear, but I’ve so much to do,” he said.

“I understand, but you have no idea how grateful I am. You managed the impossible.”

“Not really, it just took someone outside the family to show him the light. He’s not yet convinced, you know?”

“I know, but at least he called me Jane.”

He rummaged in his jacket pocket, producing a small box. He opened it and took out a ring.

“This was my grandmothers, I’d like you to have it,” he said, slipping it onto my left ring finger. It was rather tight.
“She didn’t have soldier’s fingers, though.”

It twinkled in the poor light. I could make out a circular cluster of diamonds with a larger stone in the middle

“It’s lovely, are you sure?”

He kissed my forehead. “Yes, are you?”

“Oh yes, but there’s a lot of problems to face.”

“Then we face them together. Okay?”

I nodded. “Ray?”

“Hmm?”

“We’ve not really talked this through. I’m hardly what you’d call a typical army wife. Are you really, really sure?”

He sighed, smiling gently as he clasped both my hands.

“Look, I’m forty two, I’ve given the best years of my life to the army, and now I want to enjoy what I have left. Ever since I met you, despite not knowing the truth, I thought I’d found the one person I could see out my time on this planet. Then you bared all, so to speak, and I had to have a serious rethink. Having done that, I found it made no difference, or in fact, it simply strengthened my determination to see more of you. Now, I’m not sure what a psychologist would make of this, but somehow, and in a perverse sort of way, your past makes you more attractive to me. As I said before, I feel you understand me so much better than any other woman I’ve ever met.”

“What about sex?” I asked.

“Sex?”

“Ray, sex is supposed to be important to all men, yet we’ve never even talked about it, let alone tried anything. Yet you’ve sort of proposed without even knowing whether we’re compatible.”

“If I recall, you sort of accepted under the same conditions.”

“I know, but we women are supposed to be more concerned with the emotional than the physical aspects of relationships.”

“Jane, sex with you is something I’ve thought about, but to be honest, if we never manage more than a kiss and a cuddle, then I’d be happy just to be doing that much with you. Whatever happens, happens, okay?”

At this moment, I wanted this man more than I’d wanted anything than at any other time in my life.

“Ray?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“And I love you too.”

He held me then, for only a few minutes, but if I died at that moment, I’d have almost been happy, for it couldn’t get better than this.

Then he left me; back to the army and Belgium, for at least a month. I’d done everything I wanted to in Scotland, but stayed for another few days, just to allow my mother to get to know her daughter, and to give the opportunity for my father to open further communication with me. He declined, but at least he didn’t go out of his way to be nasty to me, he made it quite plain that with Ray out of the picture, he wasn’t going to back down too much.

He did, however, speak to me when he couldn’t avoid it, and called me Jane. He also used the female pronouns in respect of me, so I felt I’d won a significant victory.

The strange thing was that I didn’t actually care that much, which seemed to wind him up even more. I simply smiled at him and was as sweet as I could be. Aunt Mary sniggered and told me I was being a delightful little bitch, which pleased me.

The day after Ray left, Charlotte and I got together for a day out in Perth. We met at a coffee shop and spent the day shopping, chatting and having a real hoot. We had lunch at a small restaurant, in which, Charlotte reminded me, we’d once eaten on a date back in the old days.

“You were a very sweet boy, but not really my type. I never really knew why I didn’t fancy you, now I know,” she said, giggling. “Did you fancy me?”

“I think so, sort of. I mean, you were, and still are very pretty, but I think it was more that I was expected to fancy you than any sexual chemistry. I was so confused about my gender that I just went with what others expected of me just to keep the peace.”

“When did you first realise you should have been a girl?”

I told her my story, when I got to the part about Ray and the ring, she gasped like a goldfish out of water.

“Oh my God! He didn’t?”

So, I shared my feelings and dreams with her, finding a new friend along the way. In return, she told me of her life, her relationships and problems. We laughed over some silly things and cried over some sad ones.

“Don’t lose touch, Jane, it’d be really cool if we could get together as often as we can,” she said as we parted

I promised to try, giving her my address and phone number in London. Back home, I found my demons had diminished, so once the week was up, I caught the train south once more.

As the train crossed the Forth Bridge once more, I smiled, as I was a very different person on this trip.

“Going to London?” asked the young man in the seat opposite.

“Yes, are you?”

“Yup.”

He was about twenty-two or so, dressed casually in jeans and a tee shirt, with blond hair curling over his collar. He told me his name was Alistair and he was on his way south to start a job in London.

“I got my degree in media management, so I’m working with a company that deals with selling publicity, like for exhibitions and such like. What do you do?”

“I manage a business in the West End, but probably not for much longer.”

“Why not?”

“My fiancé is an army officer.”

We chatted all the way south and, as we pulled into Kings Cross, I realised that this Jane was a very different one to the one that left a week ago.

I dropped into the shop, as it was still open when I arrived. Needless to say, my ring was gushed over and I had Sarah and Julie fascinated in my tale of what happened in Scotland. I didn’t elaborate into the reasons for my father’s attitude, because Julie was still unaware of my true history. She just thought we’d had a bust up many years ago, which was not uncommon with many families.

They’d already seen Ray, and Julie was feeling smug.

“See, I told you, a good looking girl like you was bound to find a good one before too long.”

Mark was equally enthusiastic, when I told him on the phone.

“We’ll have to go out for dinner to celebrate. A full Brigadier General, my God, how wonderful; I can’t wait to see you at the Sovereign’s Parade at Sandhurst, with a hat and all the trimmings, rubbing shoulders with all those snotty army wives, and none of them knowing that you fought on the ground in the Falklands!”

I returned to my flat, where I found the remains of a hastily prepared and half-demolished meal. Suzy was back! As I unpacked and had a long soak in my small bath, I wondered what she was up to. I was a little disappointed she wasn’t here, as I had so much to share with her.

After my bath, I examined my body in the full-length mirror. All evidence of the surgeon’s handiwork had disappeared, and I was blissfully content with my new curves. When I went to bed, I was more content than at any other time in my life.

On the following day, Suzannah appeared at lunchtime looking totally dishevelled and with a huge grin on her face. The shop was quite empty, so Julie and I were doing some stocktaking, which we cast aside as soon as Suzy appeared.

She was full of life, bubbling over with enthusiasm, as she had just been offered a good part in a film, which was due to start filming in Italy in April.

“It’s something about the Romans, and I play a captured slave girl who ends up the wife of a Roman general,” she said, with her usual vagueness.

“So what happened to the doctor?” I asked.

“Gone back to his wife, I expect,” she said, with a sheepish grin.

I restrained for saying, ‘I told you so,’ as her expression told me that it was completely unnecessary.

“So what happened last night? I saw the remains of a meal, were you interrupted?”

“Oh that, I had an old friend call out of the blue, and ask me to go to out to dinner. The director of this movie was there and he offered me a screen test. That’s where I was this morning.”

She spent the next hour telling me about her life, and only then did she ask about mine.

I simply said things were fine, but Julie grabbed my left hand and said, “Fine? Look at this, she’s only engaged to a general in the army!”

“Shit? What happened to the German?”

I then had to explain in detail about my trip north and Ray’s weird appearance. It was quite hard to do, as Julie was still unaware of my past. Finally, Suzy looked at her watch, swore and disappeared, muttering about meeting her agent.

Life got back to normal, or as normal as it could for me. With all my emotional ups and downs, I was quite looking forward to a period of stability. I even managed to write a couple of articles for magazines, and tried writing my autobiography, but my mind wasn’t able to work efficiently without dwelling on the negative too much. I found it quite emotional as I went back in time and dredged up my past life. I was unable to think of events without recalling the emotions I experienced at the time.

Ray called me most evenings, and we spent far too long talking about everything and nothing. I found I was living for these calls, and would sit by the phone, waiting, every evening. We seemed to spend most of the time laughing. I’d tell him about my day, then he’d do the same, but he made everyone sound so interesting and funny.

The week he was due to return, the arrival of a German truck woke me at some ungodly hour. I looked out to see Martin jump down from the cab. He had one other man with him.

“Bugger!”

Now I had some explaining to do. I dressed, deciding not to put on the ring that Ray have given me, and went down to meet him.

He seemed as pleased to see me as before, so I gave him a hug and a kiss. The kiss was nice, but it didn’t feel the same. I wondered whether that was me or him.

“Hi Jane, good to see you. You didn’t call me,” he said.

I gave them all breakfast after they unloaded the truck. The cabinets were proving popular, so the next order was already nearly double this one. Max, the driver, wanted to have a nap before the return trip, so he lay on the sofa and was snoring in no time.

As it was a fresh spring morning, Martin joined me for a walk in the park.

“So, you have settled things with your father, ja?”

“Sort of. He at least calls me Jane now, but he’s still hardly embracing me with open arms.”

We walked for a few moments in silence.

“You have changed,” he said, glancing at me.

“Oh, in what way?”

He shrugged, “I’m not sure, but I sense you are different.”

I tried to make light of it, so laughing, said, “I’m about as different as you can get.”

“No, when I first meet you, in Germany, you were like the girl I met at school. Now you are a different person.”

“Perhaps I needed to grow up and move on.”

“You are not the person I remember,” he said, almost petulantly.

“That’s because I’m not the same person. I’m now the woman I always wanted to be. I don’t want to be that other, not quite either person.”

The dawn mist made the park into a surreal place, with swirling grey banks of mist partially hiding and strangely distorting familiar features such as trees and bushes. We stopped and sat on a bench.

“I also sense you do not feel the same for me any more,” he said, holding my hand.

“Martin, I’m not sure what I feel. You were the subject of my dreams for so long, you will always be part of who I am, but those dreams are in the past, as is the person I used to be. I’m looking forward to the person I am now and will remain for the rest of my life. I sense that you’re attached to that person I no longer want to be.”

Nodding, he looked out into the park.

“My mother asks me whether we are getting married. I tell her that you may not want to marry me.”

I felt guilty and angry. These were pressures I didn’t need.

“What do you want, Martin?”

He shrugged again. “I’m not sure.”

“I thought you wanted to marry me?”

“I did.”

“But not any more?”

Again a shrug. “Perhaps.”

“Why? Is it me?”

“A little. It is also me, a little, too.”

“Oh?”

“You know I’ve always been confused?”

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

“Well, I was curious, so I met a girl in Bonn about three weeks ago.”

“And?”

“And nothing. She was interested, but I told her about you.”

“Not everything?” I asked, suddenly worried.

“No, of course not, I just said there was a girl in England who was special.”

“So?”

“She told me that if ever things change, she would be interested in seeing me again.”

“And what do you feel about that?”

“I am pleased, but I do not want to upset you.”

“Well, I met someone too, and it’s more or less the same,” I said, feeling relieved.

“You are still special to me, but I do not understand how you have changed.”

“Do you not like the changes?”

“I’m not sure. You are different.”

“How so?”

“You are less,…. how do you say? Zaghafte - timid, ja, less timid. You are confident and kultivierte, in English, sophisticated, ja?”

“I’m not sure, but possibly. Go on.”

“I’m not sure that we have the things in common any more,” he said.

“I agree. I think I am less timid and certainly, as I become more confident in being who I am, I’d like to think I am sophisticated and cultured, but underneath, I am still me.”

“Ja, but that you is not the same either.”

“None of us stay the same, Martin, and I wouldn’t want to.”

“I think that is my problem. I remember you all those years ago, and that was the girl I fell I love with. You are now a woman, and you frighten me a little.”

“Frighten you, how?” I asked, surprised.

“I’m not sure, it is like you have grown up too much, and leave me behind.”

I sat quietly for a moment, mulling over what he’d said. He was right on the button, as I felt exactly the same way.

“Martin, you are still very special to me, but I agree, I think I have moved on to a place that is far from the person you fell in love with. I don’t want to hurt you, not after my memory of you was what got me through to this point, but I’m not sure that we are right for each other at the moment.”

“I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Jane, so be not angry with me?”

“I’m not. Of course, I’ll always be your friend, and you are still so special to me. You are one of the few people who know all my secrets.

We walked back. Symbolically, the mist was clearing and the sun was coming out, so I felt that a fog had lifted from my life, making things clearer for me as a result.

“What’s her name?”

“Who?”

“The girl you met in Bonn?”

“Oh, Renate.”

“Give her a call, I’d hate for you to miss out.”

“The person you met, what is his name?”

“Ray.”

“He’s a good man?”

“Yes, a very good man.”

“He is older than you, ja?”

“How did you know?”

“You have grown up, Jane, I am too young. He has children, ja?”

“Two, both teenagers. He’s been divorced for a few years.”

“Gut, you can be a mother after all.”

His words stopped me. I hadn’t considered this as a factor, but I suppose I would be a sort-of step-mother after all. I smiled, as I would partly realise my dream.

We parted good friends, but I experienced a sense of loss and sadness. The girl had gone completely now.

Jane was now the woman she wanted to be.
 
 
Chapter 18. Complete
 
 
Normally, that point would have been a good place to stop, but events have moved on since that wonderful moment. Once more, I recalled reading of the young couple in Paris who became engaged and then committed suicide together as they could not imagine ever being as happy. They wanted to end it on a high before anything came along to ruin that perfection.

I was neither so brave nor so foolish. My years of struggle made me more stubborn and determined than they, so I was eager to see what else life had in store for me. “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get,” so said Forrest Gump in the movie starring Tom Hanks.

My box had been full of marzipan up to now, with the occasional surprising strawberry cream. I’ve always hated marzipan!

My bust was now slightly larger than I had anticipated, so after talking things through with Ray, I elected to have the implants removed. This left me with a C cup, and a feeling that I would avoid the potential for sagging bosoms in later life. Once this was completed and I had recovered, I was now technically finished with surgeons and psychologists, and permitted to just get on as best I could on my daily dose of oestrogen. My body had virtually finished changing, leaving me with a constant battle to keep the weight down, as the hormones seemed to want me to run to the plump side.

Constant visits to the gym and the occasional jog around the local park kept my weight stable, but I knew that the days of stuffing myself on loads of gorgeous food had long-gone, and my dietary habits became disgustingly healthy.

The shop was another constant in my life, but I sensed that the days were numbered. By the end of the summer of 1986, Mark shared the feeling and would joke about my moving on and up in the world. I felt incredibly grateful to this gentle man, as he had given me a real rock to cling to throughout my ordeal.

I was in the shop one morning, talking to Ray on the telephone when Mark popped in to see how things were going. I made my excuses to Ray and put the phone down.

“Morning, Janey darling, how is the Field Marshal?”

“Ray’s just fine, thanks, and he’ll not be a soldier for much longer,” I replied.

“Oh?” he said, raising one expressive eyebrow.

“He’s been offered retirement.”

“He’s a bit young, isn’t he?”

“The government is desperate to make cuts, so fifteen percent of senior officers are being let go. He was thinking about jacking it in ages ago, so this is just at the right time.”

“Is this the end for us?” he asked, with a pseudo-melodramatic air.

“Not quite, he’s working out the next six weeks in Belgium and then his post is being withdrawn.”

“And?”

“I honestly don’t know. His father wants him to take on the farm, but he’s rather reluctant to do that, as he loathes farming. That’s why he joined the army in the first place, to get away from the damn thing.”

“I meant, and you, dear.”

“Me? I still don’t know. We’ve not had the opportunity to make firm plans.”

“Don’t give me that, Jane, you spend more time speaking to him than is normal, you must have some idea.”

“Not really, as we can’t make firm plans until he gets home and has decided exactly what he’s going to do.”

“Will you stay on with us?”

“I’m not sure, I’d like to, if that’s all right?” I said, feeling a bit of a fraud.

“Jane dear, you’re not fooling anyone, you know? I can sense you’ll be off with your man as soon as you can,” he said with a smile.

I simply grinned, shrugging my shoulders. “Can I let you know when I know?”

“Of course, but give us plenty of notice, okay?”

“Like?”

“At least five days,” he replied, grinning.

Ray didn’t stay in Belgium for the six weeks. He saw no point, as he was achieving nothing and felt a fraud accepting a healthy salary for doing nothing in a job that was being withdrawn in a few weeks time. He flew home without telling me and walked into the shop as I was about to close on a Friday evening.

It had been a tough week, as all the schools had gone back, the tourists had dropped away and sales had plummeted as people saved for the Christmas holidays. The restoration side was blooming as fewer people could afford quality new furniture and sought to make the best of what they already had, while sales of soft furnishings stayed quite slow.

“Ray! You bastard, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, as he took me into his arms. Suddenly I felt so much happier.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he said after kissing me.

“You have, but how long are you back for?”

“As long as you want, as I’m on terminal leave.”

“That sounds serious, you mean you’ve quit?”

“Yup, all done and dusted. I’m paid up to the end of October and then I’m completely free.”

“Fantastic, what are you going to do?” I asked.

“Me, nothing, we, however, are going on a long holiday.”

“How long?”

“Several months. I’ve booked two British Airways World Tickets.”

“What’s that?”

“It means, dear Jane, that we can go wherever we want in the six months that they’re valid.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere, as long as BA fly there.”

“So, where do you plan to go?”

“I have no idea, but I thought we’d have fun making some plans.”

“Anywhere?”

“Just about, yes.”

“Gosh!”

“Gosh?”

“Okay, bloody hell! Better?”

He smiled and kissed me again.

“So, when do we go?” he asked.

“How about at the end of next week?”

“Why so soon?” he asked.

“Because I said I’d give Mark five days notice.”

“That long?”

I simply grinned.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re moving out of here and into my flat.”

I stood to attention and saluted him. “Yes sir!”

“Don’t be an arse, Jane; you know that my place is so much bigger.”

Thus, my time in that little flat above the shop came to an abrupt end. I was surprised how little stuff I’d accumulated over the last couple of years, as it took us one day and a few car-loads to move me into his more spacious flat a few miles away.

His flat was in a large up-market townhouse on a prestigious square in the right part of town. From the imposing frontage to the private gated park in the middle of the square, it was a different league to my little place. It even had a doorman and concierge who worked twenty-four hour shifts to keep out the riff-raff.

George, the main man in charge, already knew me by sight, but when Ray told him that I was his fiancée and was moving in, he suddenly treated me like one of the family.

We rode up in the wood-panelled lift and down the carpeted hallway to his front door. After inserting his key, he lifted me off my feet and carried me over the threshold.

“Someday I hope to do this properly, but until then, please accept me as your common-law husband.

I felt really quite emotional as tears of joy stung my eyes. I said nothing, simply nodding and kissing him.

He’d obviously already been home, for the table was laid and he’d arranged a lovely meal for two to be delivered from a little Italian restaurant from around the corner.

After the meal, which was special, he held out his hand and led me to the bedroom. Shaking like a leaf, I allowed him to undress me. He was so gentle; kissing me all over as he removed each article of clothing.

By the time I was naked and on the bed, so was he, but I was aquiver in anticipation, so reached out to pull him close to me. For quite a long time, we simply held each other, caressing and kissing, stroking and exploring, learning little secrets of each body, and enjoying the experience.

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you, Jane, my love,” he whispered as he stroked my breast. I responded to him, aching for him and wanting him to make me complete.

His body told me exactly what he wanted, so I held the only other penis I’d ever touched apart from my own.

It seemed completely different and crudely beautiful, as it throbbed its demands in no uncertain terms. I held it tightly, feeling his power emanating from deep within him.

I shifted, opening my legs and pulling him onto me, guiding him into me.

He was so slow and gentle, I almost became impatient, but as I felt him slide deep within me, I experienced the strangest phenomenon.

I can’t fully describe it, but at that moment, although my new vagina wasn’t that sensitive, I felt a euphoric elation that transcended physical sensation. The physical act in which we indulged, including the visual, sensual, emotional and mental aspects of our love-making was sufficient to transport me to a new plain of existence.

As I held my man tightly, wrapping my legs around him, so as to keep him captured inside me, I could feel him thrusting deep within with short powerful strokes, so I found myself grinning and almost crying at the perfection of my predicament. The force of his strokes, as his pelvis and mine came into contact, was sufficient to jolt me firmly and rhythmically, so that it almost became a lateral dance.

As my hands ran over his powerful shoulders, feeling his strength and warmth, I marvelled at what I had become. This was more fulfilling than any single act of any sexual nature in which I had ever indulged. This man wanted me; he loved me emotionally, mentally and now, at long last — physically and carnally. I felt the animal within, so rocked my pelvis in rhythm with him, feeling a growing sense of elation and joy with each stroke. This moment was worth all the waiting, all the pain, all the angst, and all the physical and emotional suffering.

To say I experienced an orgasm may not be true, but what I experienced went beyond any experience I had enjoyed as a male. As Ray’s strokes became faster and deeper, until he finally shuddered and came inside me, I found myself shouting in sheer elation as all that I now was, shared in a common joy.

I refused to let him move, trapping him on top of me and locking him in place with my legs around his torso. Our sweat mingled as we kissed, our breath coming in short, explosive gasps as I held him tightly. I felt his penis shrink and slide wetly out from me.

Finally, I allowed him to roll from me, and he lay on his side facing me, supporting his head on his hand.

I stroked his face, looking into his eyes with a mixture of incredulity and worship.

“What can I possible say?” I whispered, kissing him.

“You don’t have to say anything, my love. All I can say is you can never doubt who or what you are. You are undoubtedly a beautiful and sensual woman, and I love you with everything that is in me.”

I smiled, stroking his face again, enjoying feeling the roughness of his stubble. The heady smell of our sweat and juices made me feel slightly heady. He rested a hand on my breast, idly twiddling a nipple between his finger and thumb. I felt weird sensations inside me, and I ached for him again.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling shyly.

He grinned, looking much younger for a moment.

“No, thank you, my love, thanks for being you. You know I’m hardly a virgin, but that, without exaggeration, was the most wonderful experience I’ve ever had.”

I yearned for him, filled with a deep gratitude and longing. I pulled him closer and kissed him, revelling in the weight of his body pressed against mine.

“Ditto,” I said, making him chuckle.

Filled with a sense of peace that I had never before felt, I laid back to sleep next to my man, aware that his semen seeped from me, making the sheet damp but making me feel complete. I touched myself with my fingers, bringing that dampness to my nose and breathing in his musk. I moved my hand to his crotch, grasping the flaccid penis and cradling it gently in the palm of my hand.

Holding him, I drifted off to sleep.

I hadn’t shared a bed with anyone for a long time, and I didn’t count Suzy on holiday. Yet I slept soundly and deeply. I awoke around six wanting a pee, but also aware that I was not alone. I opened an eye to see Ray still facing me, but fast asleep, his breathing slow and regular.

I smiled, as he looked so peaceful and calm. I just lay there, watching him sleep, feeling an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

I was a woman.

It wasn’t that I was no longer a man, as I’d not been a true male for ages, if ever.

No, this was different.

I knew that my mind and my body were in tune with my emotions and my soul for the first time in my life. Regardless of what my chromosomes might say, regardless of what I was in the eyes of the medical profession or the law, I knew that I was now a woman.

Whatever happened after this moment, no one could take away this feeling.

It was the most real thing to have ever happened to me, and I smiled at the completeness I felt.

Quietly, and as gently as I could, so as not to wake him, I crept to the bathroom and sat on the loo. His semen had dried in my short pubic hair, acting as a reminder as to the realities of the dream-like experience that I’d gone through a few short hours previously.

After relieving myself, I stared at my naked body and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

I was a bit of a mess, but something gleamed from my eyes as if to say, “I’ve arrived!” As I returned to the bed, he opened a lazy eye.

“Mmm, morning,” he mumbled, stretching and scratching himself. I reached out and held that small part of his anatomy that I had hated on myself.

It immediately responded, by growing in my hand like an alien creature.

“Bugger!” Ray said, rolling from the bed and heading for the bathroom.

When he came back, his erection was still present. Filled with a sense of curiosity and bravado, I knelt on the bed, pulling him down so he lay on his back beside me. Before he could say anything, I took him in my mouth, relishing the taste and smell of sex.

In moments, he was writhing, pushing himself into my mouth, almost choking me, so I had to hold the base to prevent him from doing so.

“No, Jane, no. I want you properly!” he said, trying to push me off.

In the end, I simply shifted and sat on him, allowing him to impale me. He wasn’t long, but I still managed to have some fun. I found this position, with me astride him, very much more sensual, as I felt more from my nether regions. I also had a super feeling of control and could slow down to make him last longer or speedup accordingly.

Afterwards, we showered together, which in itself was a sensual and very sexy activity, which only succeeded in arousing us both yet again, but we resisted the temptation, or rather I did, as Ray was feeling somewhat knackered and claimed he needed more time before his ‘third innings’.

So started our first day as a ‘couple’.

They were not all to start as this one, but I have to admit, we enjoyed an active and very exciting physical relationship. Apart from the sex, which was wonderful, we were very well matched, as we had more than a little in common.

As Mark had foreseen, I handed in my notice to him for both the job and the flat. I also gave him a case of champagne and a big hug for being a faithful friend who’d helped me through the rough part without a quibble.

He’d been philosophical about my leaving, managing some witty remarks likening me to the ugly duckling.

“We knew that when you turned into a swan, you’d leave the duck pond and all we ducks,” he said.

In actual fact, I think I was doing them a favour, as Julie and her husband were getting fed up with their travelling in from Essex and wanted the flat so at least one of them could stay during the week. There were problems relating to their children’s schooling, but it would alleviate things considerably.

My next task was to accompany Ray on a weekend trip to rural Gloucestershire to visit the family farm. His parents still lived in the eighteenth century home that had seen four generations of Carlyles, all of whom had farmed this particular little bit of England.

To make the trip even more fraught, we were to meet up with Ray’s ex-wife, collect the children and travel as a nice little happy family. I suppose I shouldn’t call them children, as Jon was nineteen now, and Sally had just turned seventeen. It was their grandmother’s seventy-fourth birthday in three days, so Ray thought it would be nice to have the children help her celebrate the occasion. My presence was a complication, but one he wanted to have along from the ride.

“Have you told Julia or the kids about me?” I asked, as we left the flat.

“No, I haven’t.”

“How about your parents, have you told them?”

“I’ve mentioned I’ve met a lovely girl who has now moved in with me. Actually, I told them I met a lovely girl a little prematurely, it seems,” he said with a grin.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I told them that I’d met the girl of my dreams before you were really a girl.”

“You silly sod, when was this?”

“The day after I’d first met you, you remember, when those two queers got pissed?”

“Ray, don’t be an arse, they’re my good friends, so please don’t put them down so.”

“I’m sorry, but they succeeded in letting the side down and getting right up my nose on that occasion,” said, suitably chastised.

However, it made me think, if he’d felt that way about me after one meeting, it explained why he had been so daft as to want me even after he’d found out the truth.

“So, what do you plan to say about me?” I asked.

We were walking to his car, a large Rover, and put the cases in the boot.

“That depends on you, really. I wasn’t planning to say much, just, ‘hello, oh, this is Jane, we’re living together,’ or something like that. I certainly wasn’t going to give your life history. I’ll leave what you tell them to you. I daren’t try to tell you what to say, as I know how sensitive you are about your past. I don’t actually think it’ll help if you tell the whole truth, but you needn’t lie, just omit the more sensitive bits.”

I smiled as I got into the car.

“That means most of my sodding life! Don’t lie, that’s going to be hard. I went to an all-boys prep-school, an all-boys public school, Sandhurst, the Paras, and damn near got killed in Northern Ireland and the Falklands, it doesn’t leave me much to talk about if I can’t fib a little.”

“Okay, fib a little but to be honest, I’d rather the old folks didn’t know the real story just now.”

“You didn’t have to hitch up with me, you know?” I said.

He took my hand.

“Yes, Jane, I did. You see, I happen to have put a lot of thought into this, and, well, I happen to love you and want to be with you. I accept things will be bloody difficult at times, but I think it would be safer if we just kept things as discreet as we can. I won’t deny things if I’m ever put on the spot, because I’m damn proud of you and what you’ve been through, but I refuse to let either of us to be hurt or to be embarrassed unnecessarily.”

That got to me, so I simply nodded, squeezing his hand and releasing it so he could start the car.

The journey to Guildford was mostly in silence, as I had much to think about. I tried to work out what I’d say to people, and attempted to imagine the sorts of questions they’d ask.

In the event, I didn’t have to face the ex-wife, as Ray parked at the bottom of a drive to a large and rather uninteresting modern home and honked the horn. A few minutes later his children clambered into the back of the car, after placing their cases in the boot with ours.

“Hi Dad!” they said in unison and both looked enquiringly at me.

“You must be Jane, I’m Jon and this is Sal,” said the young man who looked rather like his father, but younger.

“Not told them?” I said to Ray as I greeted them with a subdued, “Hello.”

Ray and his children spent most of the journey chatting about life that has passed since their last meeting. I was happy to sit and listen as I learned quite a lot about all three of them.

Jon was just nineteen and beginning his gap-year before going to university the following autumn. He had plans to go to Australia with two friends, while Sally was just starting her last year of A levels. They were relaxed and the banter was cheerful. Very little mention was made of Julia, their mother, and I got the impression that once school was finished Sally was more inclined to come and live with her father, given a choice. Jon was obviously that much older and had no inclination to remain with either parent once he returned from his globe-trotting.

I became aware that I was under scrutiny, and gradually was eased into the conversation, usually by Ray who kept asking my opinion on this or that, and soon both his children started asking me questions.

“So, how did you meet Dad?” Sally asked.

“We actually met ages ago, when your father was a Major. I had a relative in the same regiment, so we knew each other by sight,” I said, glancing at Ray for confirmation. He nodded imperceptibly.

“I actually bumped into Jane again last year in London. She was in a restaurant with a gay couple who were the worse for wear for booze, so I helped her get them into a taxi.”

“That’s romantic,” his daughter said.

We chuckled at her sarcasm, grateful for her sense of humour. They continued with the questions, so I found myself filling them in on my immediate past, omitting any mention of the unmentionable. By the time we reached the Cotswolds, I was just beginning to relax, so became stressed again at the prospect at meeting Ray’s parents.
 
 
Chapter 19. A Confession From The Heart
 
 
I needn’t have worried, as Matthew and June were the most charming couple I’d met in a long time. I’d started calling them, Mr and Mrs Carlyle and both told me not to be silly. So, Matthew and June they became, and they went out of their way to make me feel at home.

The house was quite beautiful, built out of distinctive Cotswold stone, set in rolling countryside that would be the epitome of England. It was a large house, set on the south facing side of a hill with mature trees sheltering it from the potential cold north winds of winter. The large garden and wall enclosed vegetable garden covered at least two acres, with the acre of paddock with out-buildings, and then the farm buildings further down the hill.

There was a rustic charm to the whole setting, but there was also a deadness to the way of life, so that I could understand why Ray was reluctant to carry on the family tradition. Things had hardly changed here for many years, apart from the improvements in mechanical aids to farming, the life had largely remained the same. Clearly, Matthew held his son in high regard, yet he also had hopes that Ray would be eager to take over the responsibility for managing the farm, allowing the older man to retire gracefully.

They’d even restored a small cottage some half a mile from the main house into which they intended to retire, leaving Ray the house, in the hope that the children would want to come and live there, along with whatever woman Ray eventually selected to be his life-partner, in other words — me!

There was no embarrassment about my presence, so Ray and I were placed in the same room without a hair being turned. In fact, while Ray was talking to his father, June told me that they were pleased to see me, as Ray had been too long without female companionship.

“We hadn’t realised just how hard he took that bitch’s treachery,” she said, her face hardening as she couldn’t even bring herself to say Julia’s name. “It affected him deeply, so we were quite worried about him. You’re the first girl he’s spoken about since the divorce, and that was ages ago now.”

I regarded her for a moment, as she clearly was still quite angry over the incident. She was a very elegant lady in her seventies, with white hair impeccably set and had obviously been a stunning woman when younger as she was still attractive and very poised.

“Did he have no warning that anything was amiss with the marriage?” I asked, aware that I was as much under scrutiny as she had been.

“I don’t think so, not that he told us, anyway. He was so wrapped up in his job that I don’t think he saw what was going on at home. The army isn’t a good life for a married couple.”

“So I understand,” I said.

“How about you, no skeletons?” she asked.

I laughed, if only she knew.

“Only the standard few; I’m not married, and never have been. My previous boyfriend was a sweet German who was in love with someone I was years ago. I’m an only child from a vaguely dysfunctional family and was coming to terms with being a life-long spinster when your son came into my life.”

“You’re much younger than he, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I’m thirty and so I’m not that much younger than Ray. Also, I’m unable to have children due to a problem I had quite recently, so I’m happy enough to grow old gracefully without the pitter-patter of little feet.”

June smiled and rested her hand on my arm.

“You don’t fool me for one second, my dear, your eyes don’t lie. You’d love to be a mother and it hurts like hell that you can’t have them, doesn’t it?”

Tears sprang to my eyes and I looked down, unaware that I was that transparent. What else could she see?

“Don’t worry, they can do marvels with modern medicine,” she said, as if to give me some hope.

I shook my head, “No, June, not this time, I’ve nothing in there to repair. Unless we adopt, I’m doomed to be just a step-mother.”

“Would you adopt?”

“I doubt it. For a start, Ray’s rather too old to be considered by the standard agencies, and I’m not sure I’m interested in traipsing abroad to find some abandoned native baby.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I believe that a woman is only complete when she becomes a mother, don’t you agree?”

“I do, in a way, but I think I’m enough of a woman for Ray.”

She chuckled and nodded. “I’m sure of it, and you’re a lot nicer and prettier than the last one.”

Jon and his sister appeared at mealtimes, disappearing in between to God knows where. Ray spent a good deal of the time in deep discussion with his father over plans for the farm, so I knew things were probably getting quite heated. June showed me around the house and grounds, obviously proud of their home.

She gently probed me with open questions, which I answered as honestly and briefly as I could. In return, I asked about her and the family, particularly of Ray as a child and young man. I was interested in his relationships, especially his marriage.

I gave nothing away that would cause embarrassment, yet I never actually lied, even if I was rather economical with the truth. I hated deceiving her, but knew that the complete truth would be hard for her at this time. Our relationship was sufficiently new and fragile for me to justify my action by telling myself that if the relationship didn’t last, then Ray and his family would be spared unnecessary pain.

I shared my feelings with Ray when we finally went to bed together that first night.

“I think you’re doing the right thing, but the situation might change,” he told me.

“How about you? Your father looked quite sombre at dinner.”

“He was, as I told him I wasn’t going to take on the farm.”

“How did he take it?”

“Not as badly as he could have. He already knew I was hardly enthusiastic, as I’ve told him that for years.”

“So, what did you agree on?”

“I said that I’d look into an alternative activity from which we could generate sufficient income without spoiling the environment and keep things as much as they are as possible.”

“Oh, like what?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.

He shrugged, rolling his eyes in frustration. “Hell, how the heck would I know? I just said I’d look into it. I’m a soldier, for God’s sake, how would I know how to make money from a bloody farm without farming it?”

I grinned at his testiness, making him relax and smile.

“Sorry, my love, but I’m a bit frustrated. I never intended to agree to even consider coming here to live.”

“It’s quite nice, but rather remote. I mean, there’s Cheltenham and Oxford both about fifty miles away, but sod-all in between,” I said.

“Would you consider living here?”

“Will you be here?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, that all depends on you.”

“I’ll be wherever you are, so unless you want me to go away, it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

He kissed me then, ending the conversation and leading to a gentle love-making session, in which we tried not to move too much due to the bed making the most awful squeak.

We got the giggles, but managed the most wonderfully long and sensual session in which we ended up incredibly turned-on and carnal. In the end, he muttered, “Bugger the bed,” and set to with gusto, finally climaxing inside me and ending the moment.

On the following day, Matthew and June expected the family to attend the small parish church in the nearly village. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to church; I think it was to attend a friend’s wedding some three years previously.

The service was pretty dreary, but I was proud to be next to Ray and his family. It was a strange feeling to be part of a proper family and I felt guilty that my own family split because of me.

Ray sensed my feelings and gave me a squeeze, telling me, “It’s not your fault!”

At the end of the service, the vicar shook everyone by the hand as we left. When it was my turn, Ray introduced me as his new bride-to-be.

“Oh, congratulations, when’s the great day?”

That caused a pregnant pause, so I filled it as best as I could.

“As soon as we can. There are one or two minor problems that need to be resolved first.”

“Oh, I take it you’re in the throws of a divorce?” the vicar asked.

“No, I’ve never been married, so the problems aren’t quite that sort,” I said.

The man frowned, but I simply smiled, moving off without satisfying his curiosity.

Luckily, June and Matthew were out of earshot, but I guessed that that statement would get back to them eventuality, which would make it harder to keep the secret for that much longer.

The rest of the weekend went quietly and we left just after supper on that Sunday evening. Jon and Sally had been round with some in the local pub for most of the weekend and were quite keen to get back so they could get on with their lives, despite appearing to be pleased and happy to be withy their grandparents.

Just before we left, Matthew took me to one side.

“I know June has spoken to you, my dear, but I just wanted to thank you. Raymond’s been really down for quite a while, so it is such a relief to see him back on form again. We knew something happened just before he made Brigadier, so for a while we thought it was his promotion, but then he told us he’d met you. You have no idea how much he’s changed. The divorce really crippled the poor sod for some time, so much so we never thought he’d get over it. Treat him gently, please, I know he looks all macho, but he’s just a hurting little boy at heart.”

“Aren’t all men?” I asked with a smile.

“You could be right,” he replied, chuckling. His laugh was very like his son’s.

“I promise, I’ll look after him as best I can.”

“I couldn’t ask for more,” he said, kissing my cheek.

Ray was quiet on the return journey, at least until he dropped off the children.

As we set off for home, he turned to me.

“Well?” he said.

“Well what?” I asked back.

“What did you think?”

“They’re all lovely.”

“And?”

“And nothing, they’re charming people and I feel awful deceiving them.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve a confession to make,” he said.

“What?”

“I told my mother about you ages ago.”

I was stunned into silence. After all, we’d had that conversation about children and things. She knew I’d lied to her. I felt dreadful, as if I was dirty and unclean.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I started to cry, as I felt all my hard efforts at being ‘normal’ had just flushed down the pan. All I wanted was to be accepted as me, a woman.

“Shit, look, I’m sorry, but I needed to talk about it with someone. It was she who told me to get back in touch with you and see what happened,” he said.

“She did?” I asked, surprised.

“While Dad was talking to you, you know, just before we left, she came up to me and told me you were quite lovely and she’d never have known, not in a month of Sundays. She loves you, sweetie, and she wants you to know your secret’s safe with her. Dad doesn’t know and she won’t tell him, unless you want to. She doesn’t actually think that’s a very good idea, as he has some old fashioned ideas.”

I felt the emotions tumble inside me. The self-pity and shame gave way to rising anger.

“I can’t believe you kept this from me, as now I feel such a fucking fraud. I mean, she knew and still let me talk a complete load of crap! Honestly, Ray, I’m really pissed off about this, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, but she didn’t want you to know and feel self conscious.”

“Self-conscious? Ray, what the fuck am I meant to feel the next time I meet her? Shit, always supposing there is a next bloody time!”

The rest of the journey was spent with me being somewhat un-ladylike, as the Para in me gave vent to my feelings in no uncertain terms. I may be a woman, but my anger was genuine and the hurt bloody hurt!

I was still fuming when I stomped off to bed, and I lay facing away from him when he came to bed about half an hour after me. I refused to speak to him, even to say goodnight. I was so cross, I couldn’t sleep, conscious of his breathing next to me.

Hours ticked by, and I was crying silently into my pillow. I was extremely unhappy.

“Jane?”

I froze, not moving and hardly breathing. I thought he’d gone to sleep.

“Look, Jane, I know you’re awake, I was wrong. I should have told you.”

I felt myself start to weaken, as the bastard sounded sorry. Was it a sham?

I remained still and silent.

“This is bloody silly,” he muttered, rolling onto his side and placing and arm on my shoulder. “At least hit me or something, I can’t stand this!”

I had to laugh. I didn’t want to, but the silliness hit me. I’d never had a domestic before, so it was a new experience.

A chuckle broke out, and I tried to turn it into a cough, but I don’t think I fooled anyone.

He gently pulled me round to face him. It was almost pith dark, so all I could make out was his vague shape in the darkness.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I know I have, but you have to understand my position. I thought I was having a breakdown back then, as the only woman who ever made me feel human turned out to be a soldier I knew from the old days. I needed to talk to someone, and I’ve always been able to talk to my mother.”

“What did you tell her about me?”

“Everything I knew at the time.”

“Shit, Ray, you should have told me,” I said.

“She asked me not to,” he said, shrugging in the darkness. “So that left me between a rock and a hard place.”

“Yeah, well, you’re living with this rock, or am I the hard place?”

He kissed me, surprising me in the dark.

“You’re my rock; you’re my angel and my salvation.”

“You’ve a funny way of showing it.”

“She asked me to just let you be as natural as you could. I knew you’d have no problem and I wasn’t going to even tell you that I’d said anything, but I found I couldn’t.”

“You managed it so far, what made you suddenly get a conscience?” I asked.

“She told me I should. She told me to tell you that you’ll do just fine. Jane, she likes you very much, also she knows what you mean to me, so she’ll be willing to forgive anything for my happiness.”

“Hmmph! So what have I done to her for her to forgive?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, Ray, I’m not sure I do. A relationship is built on trust and you deliberately deceived me with all that bullshit about not telling them and stuff. What am I meant to believe?”

I could tell that his patience was wearing thin, yet he still maintained his calm and spoke to me in soothing terms.

“Believe me that I meant you no harm, but there are two people in this relationship, so, like it or not, I have had to deal with issues and I just happened to speak to my mother about them.”

“You could have told me,” I said.

“Yes, in fact, I should have, not could have. I didn’t and that’s happened, so I can’t undo it, and I have expressed my sorrow and regret. The question is simple, what more do you want of me?”

I was silent, actually wondering how I could answer him. Eventually, I thought of how.

“I just want to trust you.”

“You can, I promise.”

“No more surprises?”

“Not that I can think of at the moment,” he said with an attempt at humour. I wasn’t rising.

“Ray, this is important! Have you told anyone else about me?”

“No, but would it make any difference?”

“Sod it, I don’t know. I don’t want to be seen as a freak. I’m not that bothered about me but I don’t want you caught up in any shit that flies. You know that it’s likely that the press with get hold of my story and embarrass the hell out of us?”

“Why should they?”

“Money. Someone who knows my story will spill the beans for a few quid.”

“Like whom?” he asked.

“Like a nurse or medical technician, the girl who eradicated my facial hair, or someone who saw me in one of those therapy groups I had to undergo. The list is endless, and there’s no such thing as a secret these days. It’s bound to come out sooner or later, but I want to protect you and your family and try to reduce the impact of any publicity generally.”

“Then, as in all the military text-books, strike first, under your conditions, without giving the enemy the opportunity to control the situation,” he suggested gently.

“How do you mean?”

“Simple, go public after you’ve warned everyone who needs to know. Give only the information you want to and be upfront and honest. That way you may avoid any scandal, particularly as you’ve not been caught out trying to hide anything.”

The suggestion stunned me, so I lay there, with my mind in a whirl. This was something I had never even considered, yet it made sense in a perverse sort of way.

“Jane?” he asked, after an age.

“Hmm?”

“I thought you’d dropped off.”

“Fat chance.”

“Are you still angry with me?”

“Stupid question, but I forgive you.”

He rolled over to my side of the bed, cradling me in his arms, so I snuggled in closer.

“Promise me something?” he said.

“What?”

“Can we promise to try never to go to sleep angry?”

I smiled. “I’ll try, only if you will,” I said.

It was fun sealing our promise, but afterwards I lay awake for a long time, listening to his breathing and with my mind too active to sleep. Many questions burned themselves on my addled brain, as I tried to deal with them all at once.

Could I, in all honesty, submit myself, and those I loved, to the exposure and scrutiny of the press, with all the potential for ridicule and ostracism?

Even by pre-empting my story leaked to the press, what could I gain from such exposure?

Could I actually succeed in keeping my story quiet, and if so, would anyone really be interested in it?

If I tried to keep my secret, would any future exposure be worse?

What would be the result of exposure?

Too many questions and no answers.

I must have dropped off eventually, for Ray woke me with a cup of coffee just after seven. Even in the light of day, my mind was still burdened with my thoughts, and I could not actually see a clear path through all the options.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sitting on the bed next to me.

“Not really.”

“Still angry at me?”

“Not really, slightly pissed off, but not angry.”

“Thank God for that! So, why the long face?”

“Why do you think?” I asked, with a note of testiness in my voice.

“Ah, our discussion.”

I shook my head, as for an intelligent man, he was amazingly thick at times.

“I don’t see a problem, as it happens,” he said.

“Lucky you. I do.”

“What problem?”

“Okay, for starters, I don’t actually want to hang out all my dirty washing in public, and I certainly don’t relish you and everyone else being dragged through the brown and pungent.”

“I don’t think we will.”

“I do, as I know the press. They love sex-change scandals, and whether you like it or not, my history is just the sort of thing the tabloids love to spread over the centre pages. I’ve just managed to get my father to acknowledge that I exist, so this sort of shit will put be back at square one.”

He nodded, frowning. “Hmm, I suppose you’ve got a point, but I still think you’re blowing the whole thing out of proportion. Do you know what you should do?”

“Oh, great wise one, please enlighten me,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” he said, grinning at me.

I boxed his ears.

“Oh, just get on with it, then. What should I do?”

“Write and publish your autobiography. Put all the photos you want in, and get in first.”

“Oh, Ray, you are so tied into your first strike, it just so happens that I’m not that interested in telling the whole bloody world all about my life. I’ve tried to write it, but ran out of steam.”

“Maybe, but have you thought how it might help others in a similar predicament to you? Only they’re unsure how to take those first steps down the same torturous road you’ve just travelled,” he asked.

I hadn’t.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“Well, you’ve got time, as we’re off on our hols in a couple of days, so take some note books and some biros and you can at least write an outline and see where you go from there.
 
 
Chapter 20. Preparing For The Worst
 
 
I was surprised, as an agent cast a look at my book almost as soon as I finished it. Mark, with all his contacts in the arty-farty world had a few friendly agents, and one of them, Hugo Granger proved to be amazingly eager to take on my work.

We first met a few weeks after Ray and I returned from our grand tour. The trip had been simply marvellous, particularly as we’d been ‘married’ in some obscure island ceremony in the Indian Ocean. We’d stood on the beach, wearing swimming costumes and floral necklaces, while the local Chief blew into a conch shell and muttered some chant while some half-naked local girls chanted delightfully in the background. The resulting piece of paper wasn’t worth the paper it was written on, but it was sufficient for me to assume the name of Jane Carlyle by deed poll and had all my documents changed to read ‘MRS Jane Carlyle’.

Legally, as far as the UK was concerned, I was still the gender with which I was born, but to the world, I was Ray’s wife. Our relationship had deepened, helped immensely by his parents’ supportive attitude.

We’d gone to see them before flying off on our jaunt, which was a visit that I was dreading.

In fact, June and I spent most of the time with each other, as she wanted to encourage me as much as she could. She was so supportive, I have to admit I spent most of the time either crying or laughing. It was her idea that I assume the name and title of Mrs, but she had no idea that the islanders of Katanga-Banga (or some such unpronounceable place) offered wedding ceremonies in their ancient traditions.

Matthew was aware that I had a strange past, but actually wasn’t that interested, as now Ray was back to his old self, I could have been a fire-breathing dragon and he’d still think I was wonderful.

Once the visit was over, we arrived at Heathrow on a rainy Autumn morning, and took off, flying East, stopping for a week in Dubai, then on to India, Thailand, Singapore, Australia, New Zealand, the Islands, back to New Zealand, USA, Canada, Mexico, then to Madeira, Portugal and then to most of Europe, including a week in the Alps skiing along with my step-daughter. Wow, that is so weird, step-children! Was I really a step-mother? It was April when we finally returned, looking tanned, fit and disgustingly healthy.

I also had seven notebooks crammed with handwritten notes that were my autobiography. It took me three weeks on a small portable typewriter to get them is some semblance of order, by which time I’d arranged to show the rough draft to Hugo.

“Wow! I love the contrast between the Falklands and your new life,” he said, as he patted the bundle of type written sheets.

“Will it sell?” I asked.

“Sell? Of course, it’s actually a fantastic story, packed with humour, romance, tragedy and excitement. A work of fiction couldn’t contain half as much as your life has, so there’ll be no problem selling it. You’re problem is keeping out of the limelight.”

“How do you mean?”

“Once this hits the shelves, every TV talk show, radio show and literary critic are going to want to meet you. Your private life will be suddenly in the open and you’ll get no peace. Is this what you want?” he asked.

“No, but at least I can control what is released and pre-empt any sneaky journalist publishing material that I have no control over.”

“They’ll still try. Once you publish this lot, they’ll try to find out other stuff by talking to ex-army buddies and raking through all the shit they can find.”

I put my head in my hands.

“This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen!” I said, feeling depressed.

“You can always hope that something big happens when you publish,” he said chuckling.

In the end, Ray persuaded me to wait, so Hugo held onto it, awaiting my decision to go ahead. I was so reluctant to make a splash, that I’d only release the book if there was a chance of being ‘outed’ by some nasty journalist. I thought Hugo would be constantly pestering me to publish, so when he was silent I asked him why.

“Well, the way I see it, dear, your life has been so packed to date, any more will simply increase the book size, which will increase the price on the shelves and thereby my fees,” he told me, grinning.

On the 11th June, the country had a general election, in which the electorate elected Maggie Thatcher for her third term.

Meanwhile, I was settling down into the first proper relationship of my life. Ray officially left the army, but was still too young to retire, so he decided to look into money-making schemes with a view to transposing them, or similar onto the farm in Gloucestershire. However, on the back of his experience, an ex-army buddy talked him into becoming a consultant advising large corporations and various government departments on security issues.

As he was based in London, at a small office off Sloane Square, we made London our base, rather than moving to the country just yet. Much to his father’s dismay, he put back taking over the farm and any linked plans for twelve months. He was aware that Matthew was torn between doing what had been his life and putting his feet up, despite June telling us that Matthew would and could never retire!

I loved the flat and the urban lifestyle, becoming more involved in my writing. I wrote several more travel pieces for airline magazines and tour guides, which necessitated me really travelling around the capital to seek out good restaurants, pubs, hotels and places of interest that were slightly off the tourist track. Ray loved coming with me on many of these jaunts, as it usually meant a free meal or at least a complimentary bottle of wine. He was only working three or four hours a day, for which he was being paid a silly amount of money. I never realised how valuable consultants were!

I was even persuaded to write a feature on a transgender club for one particular magazine, and discovered a whole sub-culture of which I had been completely ignorant. The editor wanted to run a lengthy feature on alternative life-styles, entitled ‘Different Strokes - Different Folks’. She had six writers going to different venues that ranged from naturists, SMBD, those who enjoyed dressing as babies and soiling themselves, a gay club, a lesbian club and a transgender club. I wasn’t that sad to have drawn the straw I had. My editor hadn’t a clue about my past and spent some time on the phone preparing me for what she believed I’d find. I stayed quiet and smiled throughout. Ray politely declined to join me on this particular trip, claiming he had to work. However, it was in this club that I was identified by a fellow m-to-f transwoman.

We’d met in the club in Fulham, just off the Broadway, down a small side street. With very little evidence to mark its existence, the club was quite a large premises incorporating the basement and ground floors of what had been a clothing factory. With a large bar with dance floor, two smaller private function rooms and a dining room, it was a haven for those who felt ostracised and marginalised by society and yearned for space in which they could be themselves without judgment and ridicule.

It was normally open from four pm every day. I met the owner, who now called herself Tiffany, at three, before the doors opened, so I could get an idea about her and her club before the clientele arrived.

Tiff was a shade under six foot, having gone through the ‘works’ (as she put it) some five years before me. She was, I was to discover, a good fifteen years my senior. I arrived just before three and rang the bell. A small brass plaque by the door told me that this was the Liberty Belle, and that it was a private club for members only.

I liked the name, for here was a brief liberty for those in bondage to various constraints, as well as the play on words using the French Belle for beauty.

The door opened and I had to look up when Tiffany answered.

“Mrs Carlyle, I assume?” she said, opening the door.

“Please call me Jane. You must be Tiffany?”

I’d written to her, having read of the club in a magazine. We’d reached the telephoning stage when I asked if I could visit with a view to doing a piece on the club that might be of interest to foreign visitors the London.

She had been naturally cautious but agreed to my visit.

It was quite comical really, as in those first few moments we took stock of each other. She was, as I said, tall and broad, unable to lose that inherent maleness of width and bulk.

I guessed she’d undergone extensive facial reconstruction surgery, for she was fine-featured and quite attractive. She obviously suffered from the same problem that I did, in that she had put on quite a bit of weight, giving her a plump appearance that actually reduced the hardness of her size. With a large bosom and bum, she looked like so many big women with a slight weight problem. If it hadn’t been for the rather too thick makeup, I’d have not noticed her in a crowd.

Dressed in a Chinese wrap and fluffy pink pumps, she waved a delicately manicured hand with enormous crimson nails vaguely at the interior.

“Welcome to the Belle, my dear,” she said. Her voice was quite and husky, thus giving me the impression she had a problem keeping her voice feminine.

“Thanks, it really is good of you,” I replied, moving into the lobby.

I was initially surprised at the bright colours and crisp decoration. I was half expecting heavy red and velvety interiors, in line with my perception of a slightly seedy establishment. Instead, there were clean pale woods, stainless steel and smoked glass furniture and contemporary art on crisp white walls.

“Wow, this is nice,” I said.

“What did you expect?” she asked, smiling at my surprise.

“I’m not sure, just not this.”

“Most of our members are professionals and are used to patronising the better restaurants and clubs, so we have to be on a par with them to survive. Membership isn’t cheap, so there’s no excuse not to provide the best of everything.”

I followed her through the various rooms as she gave me a guided tour before ending in her office. I was impressed, as it was certainly as good as any of the better mainstream establishments I had recently visited. She lived in the apartment above the club, so had her office at the top of the stairs, out of the way and away from the noise and bustle of the club.

We sat together on a sofa at one end of her spacious office. I was wearing a charcoal grey trouser suit with a pale blouse and neck scarf. I put my bag down and took out my note book.

“Would you mind if I made some notes?” I asked.

She shook her head and smiled. “I’d expect you to, but I not certain that this will actually come to anything.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “The kind of people who frequent the club are not the sort of people to drop in having seen an article in an in-flight magazine. Most members learn of us through counselling groups and word of mouth. I suspect if published any article would only draw readers because it deals with what they perceive as a perversion and weirdoes.”

“Is that how you think the world sees you?” I asked.

“How do you think they see us?” she asked.

“I’m not sure about everyone, but I think most people don’t understand any form of gender confusion. I agree that ignorance breeds a fear and natural reaction which can either be aggressive or certainly negative, inducing ridicule and name calling at best; resorting to acts of violence at worst.”

“Ah, so at least you see things properly, how unusual. That’s why was might have been somewhat less than enthusiastic when you asked to come. Most people see us as freaks and want to poke fun at us, drawing attention to our obvious differences,” she said.

“I’m not like most people,” I replied, sharing the bitterness that she felt.

“So, Mrs Carlyle, I take it you’re married?”

“Yes,” I said, holding up my left hand to display the rings.

“That means nothing. Does he know?”

I was stunned for a moment.

“I’m sorry?”

“Does he know what you were?” she asked, smiling slightly and without malice.

I struggled to keep a calm appearance. How do I play this? I asked myself. Do I bluff her and feign ignorance or do I own up and form a bond of unity with her over our commonality?

I decided.

“Yes, he does, actually.”

“Then you are one lucky girl,” she said. “Most of us dream of what you’ve achieved.”

“How did you know?” I asked, feeling as if I’d been caught smoking at school.

“Oh, it isn’t what you look or sound like, but what you said and some of your mannerisms. For I’m in the business, darling, I’ve been watching people for years and can always tell. With you, I wasn’t sure, but took a chance. You were just too calm and understanding about me, so there had to be a reason. Once the thought was there I looked for the tell-tale signs, but couldn’t see them. However, you’re just a little too firm and strong, which isn’t in keeping with your appearance. Had you bluffed me out, I’d have backed down and made some lame excuse, and you’d be none the wiser. If it’s any consolation, you’re one of the best I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks, I think. Although, I’d rather you hadn’t guessed.”

“I can relate to that. With me, I’m just too bloody big, so I stand out in any crowd. It used to bother me, but then I thought, what the fuck, and I just gave up caring about what they thought. If there’s a problem, it theirs and not mine.”

“I don’t believe you gave up caring,” I said.

“Okay, so I do care, but I try hard not to let it get to me. In fact, I found when I took that attitude, I had less difficulties. I make all the effort to fit into what society expects, so why the fuck can’t they just accept me?”

I smiled sadly at her frustration, as I knew exactly what she meant.

“So, what’s your story?” she asked.

As briefly as possible, I shared the story of my transition from James to Jane, sparing her some of the personal details of my current life.

“How about you?” I asked.

“Not that dissimilar, only I had complications in the form of a wife and two kids. You were lucky on three counts, your size and build, your age and the fact you were alone. Like you, I knew I was in the wrong body when I was little, but there was no way I could do anything about it for ages. When you’re over six foot that is one hell of a barrier. Also, I’m forty-three next month, so it took me longer than you to bite the bullet.”

Tiffany told me her story. As Thomas, she was the younger son of working class parents where to admit to being gay or transgendered would have been a licence to be on the receiving end of such a load of abuse and prejudice to make poor Thomas’s life hardly worth living.

He’s been a bright and sensitive boy, scraping into a Grammar school in Milton Keynes. His father was a fire-fighter, but to this day still refused to acknowledge his daughter. His mother died of lung cancer when he was fifteen, after which his father became withdrawn and unapproachable, appearing to blame the boy for his mother’s death. Somehow, Thomas stayed on at school to complete his GCSEs and then A levels, despite his father virtually shutting himself off from his family.

Mike, the elder brother was three years older, so had already left home and joined the Air Force before his mother died, leaving Tom to carry all the flack. Tiff occasionally had contact with Mike, who openly admitted he only joined the forces to escape the atmosphere at home. With their mother ill and their father in complete denial, it wasn’t exactly a happy household. Tom grew up with deep emotional scars on top of his gender confusion, which resulted in him clinging to the first person who showed him any sympathy and love. That person was a girl called Helen in the office he worked in when he got his first job.

They married and had two children almost before he knew what was happening.

“The real reason I married Helen was to get away for my Dad and to live somewhere nice. I did love her, still do, actually, but I’m certain we should never have got married. Once we settled down, I relaxed and my bloody gender confusion came to the surface. I tried to bury those damn feelings but they never stayed buried for long.”

“Tell me about it,” said, to which she smiled.

“You know what I went through, and to give Helen her due, she stuck by me when I went to see those psychiatrists, but the transition was the final straw. She gave me an ultimatum I couldn’t accept, and here I am, the person I want to be, but alone.”

“Do you ever see the children?”

A look of real pain flitted briefly across her face, before being controlled and transformed into a sad smile.

“No, that’s the real killer. I haven’t seen them for over five years. Helen didn’t want them to suffer any psychological damage, so told them I’d moved away and didn’t want to see them.

“How awful. Is there nothing you can do?” I asked.

“Like what? How do you explain to a four year old that Daddy doesn’t want to be a daddy any more, and wants to be like mummy instead? I agreed, as it seemed the right thing to do at the time. Maybe when they’re older, I can….” Her voice trailed off into another what if scenario.

She changed the subject and offered me a coffee. Having made us some coffee, we chatted for another half an hour. I heard some noise from the club and glanced at my note book. I’d written nothing down.

“I envy you, Jane, more than you’ll ever know,” she said, regarding me with an intent stare.

“I’m sorry, truly, if there’s anything I can do,” I said, feeling genuine sympathy for this larger than life character.

“Oh, come off it, there’s bugger all you can do, as you’re in a similar boat to me. I can only hope you manage to keep in the dark. This bloody world can be a real bitch when word gets out.”

“Mmm, I can’t disagree with you. It’s my daily nightmare. My husband suggested I pre-empt any disclosure by producing an autobiography, where I have a degree of control over what is disclosed,” I said.

“Yeah, right. Look, sweetie, as soon as you give them an inch, the buggers will sneak about and find out a couple of miles you’d rather stayed hidden. They’ll pester your parents, school friends, old army buddies and anyone else who can give them a story. If they can’t find real stuff, they’ll make it up and dare you to sue them when they get miles of free publicity.”

“Not if they lose, it isn’t.”

“I don’t know about you, honey, but people like Rupert Murdoch have a lot more cash to spend on lawyers than me. Your husband is probably an honourable man, you have to realise there’s no honour amongst reporters, just plain cash. Truth and honesty mean bugger all to men and women who only care about beating the opposition and making a name for themselves and more money for their paper than anyone else.”

She simply confirmed my fears.

“Come on, let’s go and see them opening the club,” she said. “Just let me change first, we can’t let the punters see me like this.

I waited in her office looking at a photograph album she had of her transition. Studying at her ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures, I could see the profound change that had taken place. Thomas really had been a big, beefy bloke. It was hard to reconcile the pair were the same person.

She appeared wearing a sparkly, black, knee-length dress with a very low cut front, displaying her ample bosom for all to see. With very high heels, she had to bend slightly passing through doorways to allow her coiffured hair to miss the top.

“The show must go on,” she said, smiling and leading the way down stairs.

“Have you no one?” I asked.

“I had, but a couple of months ago things came to a head. He was older than me, around fifty and divorced with three kids from his first wife. We had a good thing going for a while, but I don’t think I was respectable enough for him. He was on the rebound from his divorce and it was good while it lasted, but people like us have a shadow in the past that most men can’t deal with.”

Once again, I was impressed how fortunate I was — so far.

I left the club a good deal wiser and richer for having met Tiffany. As I was still there when a few of the members were drifting in, I could see they regarded me, an apparently normal female, with a degree of suspicion. It was with some relief that I left, but I was very glad I had gone. Tiffany allowed me to take some photographs of the interior, as long as neither staff nor clients were in the shots.

I like to think the finished article was sympathetically written. The editor seemed pleased but was disappointed I hadn’t loads of pictures of men dressed as women. In the event it went to press with little or no editing, and I returned to normality.

Normality?
 
 
Chapter 21. Dreams Realised
 
 
What the hell was normal?

This is a question that all of us who suffer gender confusion struggle with, as we don’t feel abnormal, just ordinary people with an extra burden that is not easily solved.

To me, normality was living my life as the person I wanted to be, and had always wanted to be. The fact I ‘passed’ without drawing attention to my past was a bonus, and a credit to the skills of the medical people who had helped. Normal was being a woman.

I also thanked who or whatever designed me that I wasn’t as big and butch as I could have been, for without doubt, that was another bonus.

On the whole, I lived the life I’d always wanted to, feeling ‘normal’ for the first time. By the late summer of 1987, Jon returned from abroad and Sally left school. They came to stay with us, as their mother’s new husband was making them both feel uncomfortable. That made me smile. Considering my past, the fact they felt more comfortable with me spoke volumes. I spent quite a bit of time with Sally, while Jon disappeared with his friends as they prepared to depart to Durham University. I was there when Sally’s A level results arrived, so shared with her joy at getting three A grades.

Ray was discussing some project with his bank manager in Gloucestershire, so it was left to me to celebrate with Sally. We spent the day shopping in Oxford Street and then I took her to see a show.

As we took a cab home, she linked her arm through mine and confessed that she was so pleased that I’d come into her father’s life.

“Why?” I asked.

“Oh, he was such a miserable sod. I know Mum left him, but I’d have done the same, as he was so wrapped up in his job, he never saw what it was doing to us. I tried to tell him, but he didn’t really understand. Besides, I was only twelve at the time.”

“Has he changed?”

“Oh God, yes, out of all recognition. I mean, after mum divorced him, he was twice as miserable as before she left, if that’s possible. Then he just went downhill, shutting everything out except the bloody army. I’d cry at night because he’d completely changed.”

“He never speaks about Julia, was their marriage a happy one?” I asked.

“I always thought so, but then we didn’t see half of what went on. With hindsight and listening to Jon and others, I’d say it was at the beginning, but the magic died after just a few years. Mum was a very social person and Dad wasn’t, so they probably shouldn’t have got married. But then you came along and he changed again.”

“How?”

“The old dad I remembered from when I was little came back. He’d smile a lot, crack jokes and just be a nice person to be around. I can almost pin-point the moment he changed, and having spoken to Gran, it was the week you met him.”

Both Ray’s children came to accept me, so in late September, I shared my secret with them. Again, to my surprise, they were good about it. Sally thought it a hoot and didn’t actually believe me, while Jon seemed to take it in his stride, shocking me by asking, “Does Dad know?”

When I explained that we’d met when I’d been a soldier, he smiled and asked if any hanky panky had gone on then.

To his relief, I told him, “No.”

However, they both seemed to be more independent now, having both left home, more of less, and both sought their fortunes in different areas. Jon went to Durham University to read business management while Sally went to stay with some relatives on a farm in Canada, planning to work for six months and then to travel around Canada and America before starting university.

We moved to the farm in the early spring of 1988, just after the SAS shot three unarmed IRA suspects on the Island of Gibraltar, and just before Colonel Oliver North was indicted in the US over the Iran-Contra affair. I remembered it was spring because the snowdrops and crocuses were all out, with a few daffodils beginning to show their heads.

In fact, 1988 was quite a year, but for me most of it passed as if it was on another planet. The USSR withdrew from Afghanistan, the North Sea drilling platform Piper Alpha blew up, and most surprisingly, Wimbledon won the FA Cup by beating Liverpool. Ray spent quite a bit of time in London, consulting. We’d kept the flat on, so he’d stay there and commute at the weekends.

Much to my embarrassment, Matthew and June moved into the much smaller cottage, leaving Ray and I to lose ourselves in the big house. The cottage was lovely, and if I’m honest, I’d have been happier to have moved in there instead of the other house, but Matthew and June beat me down by claiming their arthritis was such that they really wanted a small cottage with no stairs!

I was uneasy becoming the mistress of such a home, as Ray was happy leaving it exactly as it had always been. June told me to redecorate and refurnish to my taste, but I knew that any changes would be highly scrutinised and I didn’t want to offend anyone. It was the main reason I was uneasy, but having my ‘mother-in-law’ living half a mile down the road was another cause. With Ray away during most weeks, I was conscious of being alone, and was initially hesitant of making any real changes.

For the first few months, June was wonderful, never once referring to my secret and for the most part, not interfering with our life in any way. Matthew was still keen that Ray take on the farm as a going concern, but understood that some things just were not to be.

Ray was getting fed up with what he called ‘the circus of Whitehall’ and became less involved in his consulting work. If people wanted to talk to him, he made them take the trip to come to Gloucestershire, so after a while, the work lessened considerably.

I was much happier that he was back and we found we enjoyed spending time together. We both had our interests, so even when we were together, we were focussing on different things, occasionally bouncing ideas off the other. We also played practical jokes on each other, becoming almost juvenile for the first time in a long time for him, and what seemed my entire life.

Ray was more than my husband and lover, he was also the big brother I never had and my best friend. If ever I lost him, I think I’d shrivel up and die!

He now had the time, so began to look seriously at various schemes to generate income without the need to till the soil, but came to believe that we were too far from most cities and centres of population to offer effective alternatives. However, one morning, he and I were out in the Land Rover, checking some of the dry stone walls on the eastern fringe of the property. I was driving, and, harking back to when I drove a Land Rover in the army, drove very fast and rather wildly across a field, fording a stream and climbing a long and particularly steep bank.

I stopped at the top, for it was as if a light bulb had suddenly illuminated in my brain.

“What’s the matter?” Ray asked.

Turning to look at him, I started to smile.

“How much is a tatty old Land Rover?” I asked.

“How Tatty?”

“Good mechanical condition, just not showroom material.”

“I suppose anything from four hundred quid to a couple of grand, why?”

“Okay, say you bought six ex-MOD Land Rovers, all in good working order, but not necessarily in pristine road condition, how much?”

“Ten, maybe twelve grand, perhaps a little more, depending on mileage and condition. What are you thinking?”

“Ray, how many people would just love to come out into the country, spend a morning driving one of these around a four by four track and then enjoying a slap-up lunch in true rustic tradition, and then spend the afternoon shooting clay pigeons?”

Ray stared at me for a moment, and then turned and looked back the way we’d just come. Our vehicle’s tracks showed out starkly across the field and up the bank. I pressed home my idea.

“Think. I reckon you could charge three hundred quid for a day out, all inclusive. Take three people per vehicle, plus one professional, possibly ex-army driver, that’s almost five and a half grand a day, take off say twenty quid a vehicle per day for fuel, then say a hundred for cartridges and clays, you’re still over five grand a day.”

“What about wages for the help, and then there’s vehicle maintenance, as the daft sods are bound the break the cars?” he asked, getting the idea.

“Wages would be about fifty quid a day per driver, and set aside another fifty a week per vehicle, you’re still making over twenty grand a week.”

“”That’s if we get every day booked up. Even if we only get the weekends booked up, ten grand a week isn’t bad. And you mentioned food?”

“Perhaps we could get the pub interested in providing the lunches, say food only and any beer the punters have to pay for?”

It was the start of an idea that was to prove the farm’s saving.

It didn’t happen overnight, but over the next few weeks we formed a company called “Shift and Shoot”, negotiated to purchase ten second-hand lightweight Land Rovers that the military had no further use for, and applied for a change in land use from farming to leisure through the local council. The vehicles cost just under a thousand each, as Ray worked out that by using only a small fraction of the farmland for this, he could lease out the remainder to other local farmers for a reasonable rent.

The council turned us down at the first application, for a variety of reasons. We were initially despondent, but when we reapplied, ensuring we showed that we were neither building any hideous edifices nor were we operating near any other dwellings, or after the hours of darkness. We showed that we offer employment to local people and bring much needed revenue to the local amenities such as restaurants and pubs.

There were more hurdles to jump, covering the use of shotguns with the local police and health and safety implications for the whole issue. Ray had a printer run up brochures, so we both spent ages trolling through magazines and interested groups to undertake mail shots and adverts.

“This is proving to be bloody expensive,” Ray remarked one evening as we sat on the sofa going through our expenses to date. We now had the guns, several thousand clay pigeons and the traps to fire them, the vehicles, the towers to house the traps and the designated track for the land Rovers. Ray had found a dozen ex-army driver/mechanics who were more than happy to come and work for us, but they needed somewhere to stay. House prices in the Cotswolds were not quite London standard, but not cheap. By converting a barn into ten single rooms with a large common room and a wash area, we solved the problem temporarily.

Although the local publican was initially interested in the possible custom, he decided to wait and see what our take-up rate was before committing himself. That meant we had to find an alternative refreshment source, at least in the short term. Relief came in the form of one of the drivers. Having been trained as a chef in the army, he designed and with the other ex-soldiers, built a barbeque area, complete with shelters with benches and tables.

Creating a limited menu of buns, burgers, sausages, bacon, chips and chicken pieces, we were able to satisfy the hunger of most men who were exerting themselves and generally having a good time. We tried to make the days attractive for women as well, but I knew the take-up rate would be less than the men.

My original idea of charging three hundred pounds was rather optimistic. Our few competitors charged considerably less, so we brought the price down to a hundred and fifty pounds a head — all inclusive. However, having ten vehicles meant that we could have a maximum of two sets of twenty-four people a day, given that we always had two vehicles in reserve or being fixed. Those who drove in the morning session would shoot in the afternoon, and vice versa. If we managed to get all forty-eight in a day, that gave us just over eleven thousand a day, gross, which meant around ten thousand after all deductions. Even so, with all the money we’d paid out to buy the equipment and get things ready, we needed a full set of bookings for every weekend until the and of the autumn. Any weekday bookings would be a bonus.

We had planned to be ready for the summer and open during the last week of May, but the paperwork proved too much. Eventually we opened for business on the fifteenth of June, having started taking bookings in May.

We started slowly, as it was taking a while to get the word round. With around ten or twelve people on each day, it would take us a while to reach a profit. But it did allow the blokes to improve the various facilities. When not driving, the ex-soldiers built a good set of latrines, so even us girlies wouldn’t feel to fearful of entering. They also extended the shooting area, to allow two more variations for those taking part. We now could offer mid and high birds to the front, from each side, low from the side and three heights from behind.

They also built a SWAT style walk-through range, with twenty five automated targets appearing from behind trees and walls. The client would be armed with a pump action shotgun with special cartridges designed to shoot cardboard targets. Some targets were human size while others were of animals and objects. Points were awarded for the animals, as long as they were in season or not protected, like the swan. Humans were either armed or unarmed. Points were deducted for any unarmed targets shot. Again, some objects, like the bomb, would cause points to be deducted, while other objects carried a few points, to the TV that carried the most at twenty-five.

It was a bit silly, but it became very popular and so we even managed to take individual bookings to the range alone at fifty pounds a session.

It was inevitable, I suppose, given the degree of commonality with both our pasts, that eventually someone would appear who had known me in those army days. It arrived, one September Saturday, in the form of Major Will Kennedy of the Parachute Regiment. The event was his stag do, prior to his impending marriage to a girl called Lucy.

Will and I had been at Sandhurst together, after which we’d gone to different battalions, but we’d been friends through the training and early stages of our careers. His rank was what I’d have expected had I stayed the course. I had no regrets.

It was a fully booked Saturday, with twenty-four booked in to drive in the morning and another twenty-four for the afternoon. Twelve of whom were Will’s stag do. The men turned up for the day’s activities, eight of which were army officers and the other four were either brothers or friends. One of Ray’s leaflets had ended up in the officer’s mess, so advertising was beginning to pay off.

With all the cars in action, a full day meant that I had to run the kitchen for lunch time, as Charlie Hutchins, the army chef, was needed to supervise one of the Land Rovers.

It was a warm day, so I was wearing the barest minimum if I had to work behind the barbeque. I had a scarf around my hair, which was the longest it had ever been, and a skimpy top and shorts. The apron over the top kept most of me clean, but my cleavage was on display.

The format of the day was almost a formality. The clients would arrive, park in the car park by the small woodlands and make their way to what Ray called HQ. This was a C shaped area with the eating area to the left, the armoury to the right and the offices at the far end. Ray would gather them all around him and stand on the bonnet of one of the Land Rovers. He would welcome everyone give an overview of the day. The he’d split the group into shooters and drivers and introduce the drivers to those who were driving and the shooting coaches to those who were off to the butts. At some point he’s mention refreshments and wave in the direction of the kitchen and bar. We had a large fridge with cans of soft drinks and beer, for which the clients had to pay. Everything else was inclusive. At this point he’d introduce whoever was the cook for the day, and on this occasion, that was me.

“Today you are truly blessed,” said my husband. “For behind the smoke is a vision in pale pink, and that vision is my dear wife Jane. Please don’t give her a hard time, for believe me, she trained as a paratrooper and could take most of you with her hands tied behind her back.”

I gave a wave to the testosterone laden clients and continued preparing the bits and pieces for the daily fare. The men laughed and very soon disappeared to undertake whatever they’d paid for.

At twelve thirty they all arrived, sweaty and boisterous, ready for cold beer and food. They were all behaving like schoolboys, and as there were no women clients on this particular day, their behaviour was worse than usual. As the only female present, I was the recipient of a good deal of good natured ribaldry, and simply smiled and let it all wash over me. Indeed, the only person not being as noisy as the rest was my old friend Will.

After they had all been fed and watered, they settled down slightly while Ray allocated the afternoon sessions. Will came over to where I was washing up in the kitchen area.

“Thanks for lunch, it was just what the doctor ordered,” he said, depositing his dirty plates on the drainer.

“It’s a pleasure. I just hope no one has drunk too much, otherwise someone might get shot,” I said.

“This is going to sound rather lame, I’m afraid, but have we met?”

I sighed inwardly, as I suppose it was inevitable. Outwardly I simply smiled and shook my head.

“I don’t think so.”

“You remind me of an old chum of mine. We joined the mob (UK slang for the Army) together, and I wondered if you were related. What was your maiden name?”

As my brain attempted to recover from a seizure, a friendly hand fell on Will’s shoulder. Ray, bless him, had arrived to rescue me.

“Hullo old man, everything okay?”

Will jumped as if startled, and turned to face Ray.

“Oh, Ray, yup, fine. No, better than fine, it’s great; a fantastic day, so far, that is. I was just greeting your lovely wife. You know, she reminds me a bit of Jamie Allan, do you remember him? He used to be with the regiment before you went off to Hereford.”

“Jamie Allan, wasn’t he a Scot?”

“I think so, but he never had an accent. We went through Sandhurst together, but then went to different battalions.”

“Talking of Sandhurst, have you seen old Bill Bradley recently?” Ray asked, gently easing Will away from the kitchen, so I could slip quietly away.

Fortunately, we never got to complete the conversation, but it did make Ray change his mind about the autobiography.

“I was thinking, sweetie,” he said that evening, as we put our feet up and enjoyed a nice bottle of Chardonnay.

“Mmm?”

“Your book, perhaps it’s not such a good idea, just yet anyway.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think we’re ready for the fallout. What with young Will today, it made me realise that it might come a little too close for comfort. I still think you keep it up to date and ready, so if the secret escapes we can run a damage limitation exercise. But for now, let’s just enjoy quiet anonymity,” he said.

I smiled and kissed him, having already decided just that.
 
 
Epilogue
 
 
That was twenty years ago now. A hell of a lot of water has gone under the bridge since then. For a start the law changed, so after legally changing my birth certificate in 2006, Ray and I were married at a small registrar’s office with just his children in attendance. It legitimised our South-Seas wedding, but as far as the both of us and the world was concerned we’d been married for ages. I was just forty-nine when I was finally and legally Mrs Jane Carlyle.

I’m getting ahead of myself. In 1991, after graduating, Jon came to live with us while he sent his CV all over the place applying for work. In the meantime, he rolled up his sleeves and mucked in with us on the farm with the corporate entertainment. Ray decided that he wasn’t getting any younger, so after a year of Jon’s help, he made him a partner, with a view to handing the whole shebang over to him to manage.

My relationship with my father hadn’t really improved that much. He tolerated me, and would at least speak to me, but he had never been able to forgive my betrayal of what plans he had made for me.

According to my mother, he had started drinking too much and was becoming more reclusive and less pleasant to her and anyone else. She and I would speak on the telephone at least three times a week, and she would come and stay with us for a couple of weeks every year.

On the 3^rd July, 1994, my father had a heart attack and was rushed to Ninewells Hospital in Dundee. I drove north and stayed with my mother to support her, while my father was fighting for his life in intensive care. She spent several hours a day for the first week by his unconscious form while I waited outside. I tried to go in the first day he’d come round, briefly, but as the nurse told me he only wanted to see his son, I didn’t even go in. He died three days later. I never spoke to him, but I did go in and look at his dead body. He looked frail and weak, so I wondered why he’d created such a block at acknowledging me as an individual.

Ray and the children came to support me at the funeral, which was a quiet and rather dismal affair. I don’t know why I called them children, for Jon was a hefty six foot one and Sally was a stunning twenty something.

My father thought himself a popular and charming character, and so made arrangements for hordes of mourners to attend his funeral. Sixteen people attended, and three of them were my husband and his children. It was very sad, as with a small change of heart he could have been that character he thought himself.

His heart!

In a moment of guilt-ridden self pity, I told Ray that my father had died of a broken heart and that I’d broken it.

“Don’t be so bloody daft, woman, he made his own bed and so he had to lie in it. You did everything you could. Hell! We all tried, and he would have none of it. He’s no one to blame but himself,” he told me.

I still carried some guilt even though everything he said made sense.

“Mary has asked me if I fancy moving in with her, as it would make sense,” my mother told me, as we returned home after the funeral.

“You’re welcome to come and live with us. We’ve room.”

“No dear, you need your freedom. Besides, you’ve Ray’s parents just down the road,” she said.

“We rarely see them. Ever since they joined Holiday property Bond, they’ve been jet setting all over the world. They stay for six weeks every winter in the south of Spain,” Ray said.

“There’s another little cottage we could do up and let you have,” I suggested.

“No dear, but thanks all the same. You see, all my friends are here, and with your father gone, I think I may travel a bit and see all my relatives I’ve not seen in years. Would it be all right if I came to stay with you now and then?”

“Don’t be silly, of course we’d love to have you,” I said, hugging her.

The house seemed different with him gone.

Him.

I couldn’t use his name and I didn’t like to call him anything other than my father. I might have called him Daddy when I was little, but hadn’t really called him much after I was ten or eleven.

It was sad, really, as we could have been very close, had he let me have a little freedom. Who knows, perhaps I’d have chosen a different path if he’d been less intransigent and stifling. I glanced at Ray who was exchanging a joke with Mary. Jon and Sally were there, standing looking sophisticated and slightly out of place. My love for them couldn’t have been greater if I’d have been their natural mother.

I had a family, and it was wonderful. They didn’t call me Mum, but they spent more time with Ray and me than with their mother. Sally had blossomed into a lovely girl and had qualified as a lawyer. She had just joined a firm in Gloucester and specialised in civil law, having moved into her first flat just a few weeks ago. I felt very proud of my man and his children.

As Mary organised everyone to help make the tea, I took the dogs out for a walk. As I covered familiar ground I let my mind wander of the what ifs and might have beens. I was crossing a stile when I met an older man with two Labradors coming the other way.

“Afternoon,” he said.

“Hello,” I replied, smiling.

“You’ll be Bob Allan’s daughter?” he asked.

How was I to take this?

“Yes,” I replied, cautiously.

“I heard what happened, it was quite a shock. Please pass on my condolences to your mother.”

“Oh, thanks, I will. Can I pass on your name?” I said.

“John Cheyne. I met you years ago. You were a little different then,” he said with a gentle smile.

“I was, wasn’t I?” I said.

“How’re things? I heard you got married.”

“Yes, things are fine. Ray was a Brigadier in the army and, well, things are great, thanks.”

“I heard your dad was a bit, um, a bit difficult. I’m sorry, as that must have made things hard.”

“Things were hard enough without his attitude, but hey, life’s too short,” I said, rather lamely.

He looked a trifle embarrassed.

“Look, I know it’s no business of mine, Robert told me that on several occasions, but I think you must have had some balls to do what you did,” he said. Then he realised what he’d actually said, went red and tried to unsay it.

I laughed.

“Thanks, I know what you mean. It was a tough time, but life has sort of made up for it since. I just wish he could have come round. It’s horrible knowing that he’s dead and we parted on bad terms.”

“You tried, your mum told me how hard you both tried, so don’t you go feeling sorry for yourself. I know it’s hardly the time or the place, what with the funeral just over, but that Bob Allan was a fool. He had a good thing and never saw it.”

With that he mounted the stile and walked off. I stood for a moment feeling confused as I don’t recall ever having seen him before. Yet, here almost a complete stranger knew all about me and was bold enough to say what he felt about what I’d done. It lifted my spirits.

I stayed there for a few moments, taking in the familiar views of the river Tay and the hills beyond. I’d seen this view so many times, and yet the view had never seen me as I wanted to be seen. I had an urge to strip off my clothes and dance naked in the cowpats. I was a woman and I was on top of the world.

All I wanted to do was marry my lover — legally.

There was one other person I knew I had to go and see, for when I was in need, she was there for me. Although I never took her up on her offer, I knew that if ever I needed a friend in those early days, she would be the one.

I got the opportunity a few years after my father’s death. It was winter, so the business was slow and Jon could cope happily without us. Ray was invited to an army reunion, and although wives were invited, we decided that that might be pushing our luck. There would be several people that would have known the old me, and neither of us was that keen of running the risk of our secret escaping. We’d been very fortunate, for the press seemed very keen to winkle out sex-change stories, but we’d managed to keep things close for several years without having any press sniffing around. My autobiography was on hold, permanently, it seemed.

I was staying with my mother and Aunt Mary in their cottage. The November weather was grey and very wet, and sitting with two elderly women as they dozed through the afternoon was hardly scintillating. I took myself off in the car to visit the only other person who knew my secret, but with whom I had completely lost touch after leaving school.

Hillary Groves looked very much the same as when I had been at school, just slightly more grey in her hair and rather tired. Her husband was a housemaster now, and ironically of my old house. He was due to retire in a couple of years, so I was pleased I had made the decision.

I had called the school first, to find out where the Groves lived, or indeed, whether they were still on the staff. I arrived in mid-afternoon, during the games period, so knew Mr Groves would be out taking one of the rugby games.

Hillary answered the door and looked at me quizzically.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“Hello, Mrs Green. You probably won’t remember me, and I’m sure you wouldn’t recognise me like this, but I just had to come and say thanks for your kindness to me all those years ago.”

She frowned and looked me up and down, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, what?” she said.

“Back in the early seventies, when you helped your husband with the plays, we met when I took a role of one of the girls in a play,” I gently reminded her.

The frown increased.

“I’m called Jane now, Jane Carlyle, but back then you’d have known me as Jamie or James Allan.”

Her confusion slowly turned to recall and then recognition. Her face was a picture of shock, realisation and then, surprisingly, joy. She laughed out loud and literally grabbed me and gave me a huge hug.

“My God, you look amazing! I knew it, I just knew it, you poor girl; has it been awful? Oh, where are my manners, come in, come in. You have got time for a coffee, haven’t you?”

I followed her into her private area of the house and she never stopped talking.

“We heard you became a soldier and were decorated after the Falklands, was that right?” she asked, as she filled the kettle.

“Unfortunately, yes. And I completed several tours of Northern Ireland.”

“Then, how, why, when?” she asked, looking at my very female form.

“It’s a long story,” I said.

She handed me a coffee mug and showed me into the sitting room.

“I’ve got all afternoon,” she said, grinning.

So we sat and I shared with her my life story.

“It’s like a fairy tale,” she said, when I’d finished.

“I hope it’s not over yet,” I added.

“Indeed, but you’ve been fortunate for meet such a lovely man.”

“Tell me about it. He’s my rock,” I said.

She reached out and took my hand.

“I used to lie awake at night and worry about you, you know?” she told me.

“I didn’t know.”

“I found it hard to believe that the girl I saw in those plays could have been that gallant soldier, but I felt happy for you. I thought you’d moved on and left the girl behind. I was wrong.”

“I tried, really I did, but Jane was too strong. I’ve few regrets now.”

“I bet you wish you started transitioning earlier?”

I smiled. “I’d have changed when I was eight or nine had I the opportunity. The one regret I have is that I never got to be a little girl. But my life has made up for it.”

“I’m so pleased for you, but it is so sad that your dad never came around.”

“It is, but he came round a bit. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“I must say, you look fabulous. I’d have never recognised you, and certainly never have known you’d ever been anything other than a very attractive woman.”

I smiled as tears came to my eyes. “Thanks, that’s what I keep needing to hear.”

I left her knowing I had another friend. I trusted her to keep my secret, as I had to laugh when she said goodbye.

“I won’t tell my husband, as he would neither understand nor cope with it. Please keep in touch as I’d love to buy your book when it comes out.”
 

*          *          *
 
It’s now March 2009 and I’m sitting in the study, gazing across the hills to the wonderfully blue Mediterranean in the distance, wondering if this isn’t a fantastic dream and I will wake up to find myself in the Barracks in Northern Ireland. But, it’s no dream, or rather there is a dream-like quality to my life now, but it’s as real as I dare believe.

After getting married, Ray and I passed the farm over to Jon and his fiancée, Georgie. Georgina McCavot had been a chum of his at university that developed into something deeper. They were due to get married next year, but both were fully committed to the farm and the projects. The financial crisis was making things a little tough, but there were still those who wanted to spend money and have a fantastic day out. Under Jon’s guiding hand, there was now a quad bike course, a paintball combat section and a fully equipped restaurant, which was developing nicely under Georgie’s care.

Ray’s pension meant that we didn’t need to work, and we still retained a thirty percent share of the business. My father, in line with his attitude, left everything to my mother and nothing to me. My name wasn’t even mentioned in his will. My mother, however, through a deed of transfer on the will, simply transferred the house deeds to my name and half of the capital he’d left her.

Our days of financial concern were over.

One particularly wet November day, we’d just finished rinsing off the Land Rovers after a very muddy session when Ray turned to me and asked, “My Darling, would you be utterly devastated if I suggested we buggered off and lived somewhere warm and dry?”

We’d been only married a few months, so I thought he meant a late honeymoon.

I was wrong, this was permanent.

The Villa cost seven hundred thousand Euros. But it was worth it. Set in the hills on the Island of Mallorca, not far from Pollensa in the north, we could just see the sea and the tops of the roofs of Puerto Pollensa a few kilometres away.

It had been a farm, some years ago now. The modernised and extended main house had four en-suite bedrooms and a massive living area downstairs. There were three outhouses, each fitted out with two bedrooms and a bathroom, a living/dining area and a small kitchen. Set apart from the village by a five hundred metre drive, it was perfect. One could walk to the shops in a few minutes, and yet were guaranteed privacy and silence with the wonderful trees and shrubs that surrounded us.

With one large pool by the main house and a smaller one for the cottages, it really was the nearest thing to heaven on earth. My mother and Aunt Mary, as well as Ray’s elderly, but amazingly fit parents were frequent visitors, as were Jon and Gerogie, and of course Sally and her current girl friend Grace.

When Sally came out and announced she thought she was a lesbian, the reaction was everything that I hadn’t experienced. Her father was supportive and non judgemental, although he confided to me that he’d would have rather she hadn’t been. Indeed, her mother was the one who couldn’t accept it, and obscurely blamed Ray.

I supported Sally as much as I could, and was humbled when I found out that I was the first to know. She’d told me, in confidence, a few weeks before telling her father, and asked for advice and support. She was still wavering between the bisexual and lesbian labels.

“Sal, just be you. You don’t have to pretend, you don’t have to live a lie, just be the you on the outside that the inside tells you that you are,” I’d said.

“My problem, Jane, is that I don’t actually know what the inner me is. When did you know?”

“That I was a girl?”

“Yes.”

“I was about four, I think. By the time I hit eleven I was as certain as one can be. Between four and eleven there were great moments of nothing, but the only over-riding feeling was that I should have been a girl. Once the dreaded hormones started working, I started heading the wrong way, and that was when I knew without any doubt.”

She looked pensive for a moment. “I’m not sure, because I like both boys and girls. Boys can be rather hard work, while girls are more gentle.”

“Boys are fun, and some girls can be harder than the boys, so keep an open mind and wait and see. You’ve no rush, just see what happens,” I said.

On my advice she told her father and brother on the same day, and later explained it to her grandparents and mother.

The only person who was in complete denial was her mother. I was strangely pleased to be able to advise Sally how to deal with it from my experience from my father.

When she first brought Grace to meet her family, the poor girl was terrified. Grace was a petite dark girl, very attractive and I think of mixed parentage. Her family had disowned her, so I suspected she was expecting a similar reaction from Ray and me.

When Ray was warm and friendly, she relaxed a little, but then Sally introduced her to me.

“This is Jane, my evil step mother,” said Sally with a naughty look in her eye.

I smiled and kissed the girl on the cheek.

“Don’t you believe a word that girl says,” I said.

“Oh, and Jane used to be a man, so she’s fine,” added sally.

Grace, on hearing me tell her not to believe anything Sally said, clearly didn’t believe it, but laughed politely. The moment passed, but a few days later I showed her my photographs. Then she believed, burst into tears and hugged me for all she was worth.
 
 
That’s almost it. Oh, no, I almost forgot.
 
 
My autobiography?

…………………………………….it’s not quite finished….

……so…………..not quite……the End.
 

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