This is the story of Penny. A closet Transwoman thrust into the outside world 24-7 when she would rather go and hide away. Perhaps the title should be Welcome to Penny’s Paranoid World…

From part three
Later when John called time, Emily was curled up fast asleep in my lap. John scooped her up and took her up to bed while Evie shooed the twins up behind them. I stretched, slipped my heels back on and went out and started the car engine to warm it up inside before taking mother out.

And now as they say, read on…

I turned over and look at the clock on the phone. 3:10 am. God. Why can I never sleep past three in the morning. A quick check on the baby alarm showed mother was still asleep. She went to the loo when we got home, so that should let her sleep until six or seven or longer if I’m lucky.

It is nice and warm under the duvet, perfect for snuggling up asleep. The only problem is I am now wide awake, and all I can think about is last night at John Farmers house where I sort of played mother to his three girls and it felt so natural, so normal, so fantastic, so what my life should have been.

Instant motherhood and then later on a feeling of utter contentment when little Emily decided to climb up unasked into my lap to curl up and fall asleep tired in my arms. Perfect. My forever hidden dream of being a mother played out for just one night. Something to remember and dream about when times are bad. The perfect memory. And when Emily was on my lap, and John Farmer massaging my feet. Oh god, that felt so good after having cramp in them, and having someone else do that for me. Pure luxury.
And it was so sexy when he was doing it, as well. I had to stop myself squirming about with pleasure. I lost all though of me not being a proper woman. If we had not been playing monopoly at the time and I had not had Emily on my lap, I could have closed my eyes and… well, I was a woman and he was a man doing things only couples do with each other, and I loved it. He could have picked me up and carried me off to…

Oh Crap. What am I thinking.

And Ye Gods, who do I think I am fooling.

I may look for some unbelievable reason like a thirty-five year old woman, but I know the truth, I am like Clair, three years off of fifty. And a Man. A M.A.N. man, for Christ’s sake. I must be thick, an idiot, to be lying here daydreaming about this. When John finds out who am, I mean really who I am. I will not see him or the girls for dust. You are just setting yourself up for one almighty fall you stupid fool. And you like women, remember that little fact, not men. You’re a lipstick lesbian stuck in a male body. You have been for as long as you can remember. You’ve never been attracted to a man. Any man, before in your life have you? No. Not once, ever! For god’s sake, GROW UP!

Oh, fuck. What a mess… What a mess.

I turn over and try to sleep, but my mind keeps wandering.

Why me. I’m not some weak willed little girl who goes all gooey-eyed at the first glance from a handsome man. I am five-seven, six foot in five inch heels. But when I looked up the three or so inches to his eyes in their kitchen, and had butterflies in my tummy. I put it down to nerves, then, afraid he would realise I was not really a woman and say something horrible to me.

Oh God. How could I be so completely and unbelievable totally stupid as to get a crush on a man.

I forced myself to think of something else. What do we have to do later today. Shopping, need to go shopping. And how the hell do I do that now?

The Big problem was we are known in the local supermarkets. A thin middle aged man pushing a friendly old lady in a wheelchair who waves and says hello to everyone while cuddling and talking to a stuffed dog is a hard combination to forget. Maybe I could change back to Paul just to do the shopping? No, that is not on. I have long blonde hair half way down my back and a pair of eyebrows only a girl would have. Phone shopping was a non-starter. We need shopping today. Out here in the countryside you had to book your slot three days in advance to get on the delivery list.

In the end after dropping Trish’s bags off with her, I decided to drive forty miles south to a Morrison’s supermarket on the coast. They are all the same inside, anyway.

I think there are those for who driving is an automatic process and a pleasure, and then there are others like my late father who have to think about every gear change, making driving an ordeal to endure rather than something to be enjoyed. But for me it is relaxing.

At the moment the sky is bright blue with no clouds in sight and I have on my big girly sunglasses I can at long last wear when driving and not just in the back garden. I have on my neat red A-line dress, sexy red underwear, matching pale red sheer old fashioned RHT stockings and red court stilettoes with five inch heels. Chest wise it was my stick-on boobs again today (so I’m getting bounce in them over bumps etc. Now, that was a new driving experience!), as tonight at Evie’s dinner party I am going to wear a slinky cocktail dress that kind of moulded itself to you. With every little bounce in the road a manic little laughter came out of my mouth as I felt the pull on my chest, and when I glanced at my London double-decker bus red nails a broad grin went right across my face. At this moment in time I felt Sexy, Sexy, and a million dollars.

Mother was happily watching the world go by her window, Fred on her lap. Occasionally she would lift him up to show him something of interest as we past it. Until she went quiet and I looked across to check on her and saw she looked subdued and deep in thought.

“Can Morris get in? Does he have a key?”

That is Morris, my late Father. “No, He’s not coming, he went to heaven, remember.”

“Nooooo. He was here last night. He’ll be left outside. He’ll get wet in the rain. I better go back.”

“No, I’m sorry, he passed away three years ago.”

“Nooo! Someone’s been telling you porkies. He’s going to get wet and catch a cold.”

“It’s a sunny day Mother. But he had leukaemia, remember. His blood stopped working and he had to go to heaven. I found him, I did his funeral service, and put his ashes in the family vault. Remember?”

“Noooo.” She thinks about it for a while, then. “Are you sure?” she says slowly.

“Yes.”

“Are you really, really, really sure.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Oh… oh.”

I glanced at her and saw her begin to smile to herself.

“Noooo. I think someone is telling you porkies. He was here last night. And he said he was going to Wycombe library.”

“No, he was…”

What am I doing? I am arguing with an eight-seven year old lady whose memory at times does not last the length of a sentence she is saying. “Your right dear.” I told her. “He went to Wycombe library. He is not coming today.”

“Oh-hmmp, right. Well I’m going to give him a piece of my mind when he gets back.”

Then she adds, peeved. “He’s always going there. Clearing off to heaven like that. And he never takes me with him, does he. Never Ever. I would like to go too. To visit my Mum and Dad. He’s selfish.”

Okay. I think. I’ll settle for that.

We pull out and pass a lorry.

“Past you.” She sings out. All about father forgotten the moment she saw us start to pull out to pass the lorry.

I can’t but help grin. She says that every time we pass a lorry or car and is most put out when someone has the audacity to pass us. I look at my shiny red nails on the steering wheel. Sometimes the littlest things in life that can give you so much pleasure.

Glancing in the rear mirror I can see an Audi coming up fast in the outside lane from way back. Some smart arsed super sales executive no doubt who thinks he owns the road. I was going to overtake the foreign lorry in front, but with Speedy Gonzales trying to make warp speed in the outside lane behind us I will let him past first. Very quickly he closes in and I wait for him to zoom past… and wait… and… wait… and… nothing? Where is? He is not in my rear view mirror…

Slowly the Audi’s nose edges past my door inch by inch and I realise the Audi is not the body beautifully I thought it was, but a beat up wreck with a bunch of boys in it leering at me. I avoid looking at them and drop our speed a couple mph to get them in front of us, but they drop back to keep window to window with us, only now they are grinning at me making kissing faces on the window glass. The one in the rear seat is making a lurid ‘O’ with a fingers and thrusting two fingers back and forth in it, grinning at me flicking his tongue up and down.

Startled, I chop the accelerator and they shoot past, the car behind hits his horn as he swerves violently around us to avoid us. I vaguely notice him yelling at me as he shoots past shaking his fist. I get my foot back down fast before we hit the next car behind us. My hearts banging away in my chest, my hands and arms shaking as I grip the steering wheel.

We are skirting around the city now, the great feeling I had earlier on has gone. I am on edge in case the battered Audi came this way and sees us, as we turn right on the navy base turn off from the A3 and then make the left turn to run alongside the dock yard wall before turning into Morrisons supermarket carpark. Once in a disabled bay, I turn the engine off and just sit holding the steering wheel still shaking. My heart still thumping. Not thinking about anything. Just sitting letting the world pass me by.

“Are we going shopping? Have I got penny’s to spend?”

All I want to do at the moment is forget the world and everything in it and sit here in my own little bubble, safe from the world outside, but… I nodded, then turned to her so she can hear me. “Yes, you have pennies to spend.”

She smiles happy and asks if she can spend it on anything. I nod, then tell her yes. She tells Fred this, cuddling him.
I let out a big sigh. Knowing I cannot just sit here, I have to get on with things, and then do what I have done every time so far since going all fem and catch my heels in the door frame as I get out. I laugh. I am just not use to swinging five inches of stiletto heel out of the car yet. It will come. Eventually, I tell myself.

I feel a bit better now. Although why I should feel better because I cocked up getting out the car in high heels. Yet again! Is a question in its self about my state of mind. Anyway, I am feeling better when I swung the tailgate up, and am just about to haul mother’s wheelchair out, when.

“Here, let me do that for you.”

A Naval Captain at my shoulder smiles at me and steps around me and lifts the wheelchair out for me. With a twinkle in his eyes he has it opened up and is putting on the footrests on before I can say a word.

“That was quick, thank-you.”

He smiles at me.

“My mother has one just like this. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Well, thank-you, anyway.”

“No problem.”

I give him a big smile, and he smiles that beautifully smile back at me.

“Well, must be off, I’m late for a meeting.” He smiles at me again, picks his folder up off the tailgate and walks away.

Wow! I am on cloud nine. Maybe it is because he looks like Cary Grant, and I have always had a soft spot for Cary Grant. And if he had said ‘Why don’t you come too’. I would have been tripping alongside him in my heels, checking my hair while pushing an empty wheelchair with stardust in my eyes and mother abandoned in the car. When I think of Cary Grant I always think of the French Riviera and Grace Kelly and Cary and their sexy banter.

“Paul… Penny… are you there? I’m frightened.”

I am watching Captain Grant walk across the carpark with my head in the clouds.

Mother. Bum. I quickly move round to her door with the wheelchair.

“Sorry, was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

She grips my arm and holds it tight to her chest. “I was so frightened. I thought you had left me.”

I knee down beside her.

“I would never, ever, do that. Shall we go shopping?”

“We going shopping?”

“Yes.”

“Noooo. I’ll stay here with Herbie. He’ll get lonely by himself.”

“No, he will be alright.” After a quick look around I bend in close and whispered, “He wants to chat up that little red Fiat over there, while we’re in the supermarket.”

Mother looks over at the cherry red Fiat 500 as if deciding if it’s good enough for her Herbie, then shakes her head and firmly adds.

“No, I’ll stay and make sure he doesn’t get lonely.”

I sigh, and whisper some more. “Herbie’s shy, he won’t talk to her if you don’t go. And he really wants to as she is such a pretty little car.”

She stares at the little red Fiat.

“Are you sure?” Mother whispers back.

“I am. He really wants to chat her up.”

It is getting more and more difficult to get her out of the car these days when we go shopping, as she is sure he will be lonely without her staying with him. Same thing when we get back home.

“Won’t be long.” She tells Herbie, patting him as we head for the supermarket.

I parked Mother in the warm of the store, there is a gentle breeze outside and while to me it is a nice cooling breeze, to her it will feel ice cold. I go back to the trolley park outside for a wheelchair shopping trolley.

We have about half the shopping done with mother helpfully telling me what we need.

“We need butter, dear.” She say pointing at loo rolls. “I used the last one this morning.”

No we do not. We move to another aisle.

“We need milk, I used the last of the milk this morning.”

Our milk is delivered every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. We are never without.

We need none of these things. I take us on a short cut down an aisle with custard powder and bags of flower and other cooking products on the shelves.

“Teabags, we need tea bags,” she says pointing to the custard powder packets. “I used the last teabag this morning. I know that.” She is starting to get a little annoyed at my ignoring her suggestions.

I slowly become aware that guy’s heads are following us as we pass, well, I guess following me, as we pass. Some women are watching us too. I become very conscious of the slow tap of my heels on the floor as I push mother around the aisles. This is not like yesterday when we were at Boundary Mills when I had Evie and Trish riding shotgun beside me. I am here alone with mother and a trolley load of shopping and making a quick escape is impossible. I try not to panic, but I can feel the cold rising up my spine. I carry on and hope to god my face is not as red as it feels, because it feels like at the moment you could fry eggs on it.

Somehow I get through the rest of the shopping, aware of every glance I get, or think I get.

“Do you get any help?”

I’m at the till and the woman there has on more make-up than I do, but she has a nice smile. Actually I’m jealous. Her make-up is perfect. I mean really super-duper perfect. She should be in Boots or in a department store on a make-up counter, not sitting at a till in a supermarket.

“Someone comes in once a week to help with the cleaning, but I have no other help.”

“You have your hands full then.”

I nod, ‘yes’, adding. “Yes you could say that.”

She smiles as she moves the shopping over the scanner as I packed it into plastic carrier bags.

“Must make life difficult at times.”

“I promised her I would never put her in a home, and I won’t do that.”

Mother has been trying to grab me and finally does and pulls at my dress to get me down to her.

“I didn’t bring the purse. We can’t pay for the shop-ping.” She tells me in a loud whisper.

“It’s ok, I brought my purse with me.”

“Oh, oh… ok.”

The woman on the till sighs.

“We had to put my mum in a home in the end. Broke my heart, but I have to work and it’s a fulltime job in the end, and the kids didn’t understand about their Gran, you know. But I still feel bad about it. And then my husband…” She shrugs, “well, you know men, their big kids really…”

She trailed off leaving what we both knew un-said. At least that was something I will not have to worry about.

Back outside in the warm afternoon sun I felt the pressure ease off. Even the sound of my heels outside seems to lessen. I hurried us at first, but as my panic eased off, slowed down as we went back to the car.

We were soon back on the M275 going around Portsea Island. In fifty-five minutes we will be home.

It is a subdued drive back home for me. Mother without a care in the world is still happily telling the trucks and cars we have past them and getting cross with any cars that have the audacity to speed pass us telling them how lucky they are a police car is not present as they are breaking the law passing us. But I cannot shake off being down in the dumps for being so stupid. Thinking I could carry this off and get away with it.

It’s spitting with rain when we arrive back. The sun has taken the rest of the day off. Must have caught my mood. I get mother and the shopping inside and make her some soup to drink while she watches a cycling race on the television. In Italy by the look of the houses.

“Isle of White.” Mother declares emphatically as I take in her soup. “Yes, Isle of White.”

Well, it makes me a smile for a moment when I go back to putting the shopping away. I was never like this before, but here and now, I am close to tears. I’ve let the fact that Clair and Evie and the others in the Piranha Club have been so nice to me, to let me get carried away with thinking I could really live as Penny full-time in the real world. If it wasn’t for needing to care for mother and Henry. I would lay down and will myself to take the big sleep.

The shopping packed away. Mother is asleep when I go back in with a cup of tea for me. She has had about half of the soup which is good going for her nowadays.

I try to figure out what I am going to do. Can I switch back to being Paul. Not sure I can do that now. That switch in my head has been thrown well and truly from boy to girl. I can get Tesco to do home shopping deliveries, but I will still have to go out to go to the bank, get money out for the milkman etc., and then there is the docs. God knows what my Doctor David Walker will think. And my sister Carol in New Hampshire in the good old US of A. Her disappointment was palpable when I got my ears pierced when she was here last year. She did not want anything to do with a part time Penny, then. And that hurts me more than I can ever say. We are, or maybe it is now were, so close. Penny fulltime is going to be her worst nightmare. I know she will just go on and on over the phone about how she can never bring the boys over to see their grandmother ever again.

I woke up with someone knocking on the door.

“Oh. Hi Clair.” I stand back to let her in. Still a bit sleepy.

“Penny, why aren’t you getting ready.”

“What?”

“Evie’s dinner party.”

“Oh. Not going.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you’re going.”

“No – Look. It was all just a stupid fantasy. I let myself get carried away.”

She is looking shocked at me. I try to grin, brush it off.

“I’m, I’m all in a mess doing this, I must have been mad to even start it. All this dressing up and everything.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I just opened my eyes and saw what a deluded fool I was being.”

“Come.”

She grabs my wrist and just about drags me into my bedroom to the long mirrors on the wardrobes.

“Look!”

I shake my head, I do not want to look up and glimpse what might have been, or worst still, look up and see a man in female clothes. That would be the ultimate horror and humiliation. My worst nightmare.

“Look.” Clair puts her hand firmly under my chin and lifts my head up forcing me to look. “Do you know how many real women close to fifty look like you?”

I sort of shake my head, thinking, ‘none if their lucky’.

“None. Only Movie stars and actresses on chat shows. And believe me they spend a fortune in make-up to look that good. And here you are, just breezing it. I can’t believe how different you look by just wearing make-up. And having your hair long, the whole of you changes. No, don’t shake your head at me. Do you know what Zoey MacTavish called you the other day at my place. ‘A Yummy Mummy, a right little honey pot’. And that she would have to keep an eye on her husband round you. You think she would say that about a guy in a dress.”

I did not say anything.

“Well?”

“No.” I mumble half shaking my head.

She draped her arms around me. “Exactly. Now. What brought all this on. Tell big sister Clair.”

I reluctantly tell her about this afternoon, the drive down, the boys in the car, and what happened in the supermarket. Getting more upset as I tell my tale.

“Oh, you silly sausage.” She hugs me. “Those boys, disgusting as they were, they just saw a hot woman. In the supermarket the men were admiring you. That’s what men do. Ogle pretty woman. Thinking what it would be like if you were there girlfriend or wife, and wondering what you looked like naked and thinking how hot you must be in bed.
You know after John saw me the first time in just stockings and heels when we were young. He told me that whenever he got bored when we were doing the shopping, he thought of me walking around the aisles naked in just my heels and stocking. See, that’s what men are like. One track minds. And the women were doing what women always do when they see a pretty rival, check her out and compare themselves with her.”

“Understand this silly. No one clocked you. That sweetie, is not going to happen to you in a million years, you lucky thing.”

When I did not reply.

“Understand.”

I sort of nodded, not really believing her.

“Now. Time you got ready. You’re behind schedule, so get to it and get that slinky dress on you planned to wear. I’ll keep an eye on Jenny. Now off you go.”

She smacks me lightly on the bum to get me moving.

I head into my room with a little smile on my face, we are more mother/daughter at the moment than the sisters she joked about before. But that little bit of intimacy also reminds me of what I no longer have. To be able to sit and talk with my mother about my hopes, fears, or anything else for that matter. She is the child now and I am the parent. And Claire is a great friend, a true friend. But she is not my mum.

Sitting down at my dressing table I look at the woman in the mirror staring back at me. Clair’s right, the long blonde hair changes everything. I can see none of the old me in her at all. Not even a tiny bit of me.

I have a little grin and smile. What did she say Zoey called me. A Yummy Mummy. Yes, that was it, that is who is looking back at me in the mirror. Someone’s Yummy Mummy. Maybe after a year of putting make-up on most days I am getting it right.

I’m still not sure if I am going to go or not, pretty much sure I’m not going. But I strip my make-up off anyway and nip into the bathroom for a quick shave. Don’t think I need one, but better safe than sorry. And a quick shower with my hair in a shower cap to keep it dry and freshen up. Then back into my bedroom to swap my red underwear for the dark blue set I put out before we went shopping and a pair of my champagne stockings.

Before I do my face I use make-up to conceal the edge between my fake boobs and skin. The dress is a deep dark blue and sort of strapless, above boobs it is a dark blue mesh with sleeves and round neck cut out with a slit and button at the top at the back. But the thing is the mesh is dark enough to disguise they are fake boobs. So I get to show boobs and cleavage if someone looks down my dress without being found out. Well I’m not inviting men to do that. But given a chance men will do won’t they.

When I am all done and just sitting there ready, all dressed up with my make-up on like so many times before now when I had nowhere to go. Only this time I do have somewhere to go and do not want to.

I put some Daisy on before I put my dress on. You know on my wrists, between the boobs etc. hope I have not gone overboard. Last thing I want to do is embarrass myself in front of Evie smelling like a tart.

A gentle knock on the bedroom door is accompanied by Clair’s voice softly asking if I am ready.

“Yep. I guess I am.”

I stand and turn to her as she slips in.

“Oh my. You’re lovely. Zoey will put poor Donald on a lead tonight if he takes a step towards you.”

“I’m sure he won’t.”

She grins at me. “Well anyway. Your date is here.”

“Funny, funny." I say grinning. "I don’t have a date.”

Clair smirks at me. “Well, that’s not what John Farmer thinks. He’s waiting in the sitting room.”

“What!”

To be continued…