I am a reserve warden at the Spring Hill Academy about two hours southwest of London. The academy is on the border of Dorset and Somerset, less than fifteen miles from where those counties meet the eastern tip of Devon. The academy is about five miles from my home.

By reserve warden, I mean I am an extra person on a roving watch at the academy. There have been some nasty things going on there over the last six to nine months, and after I took in Penny and Jane who were students there, the headmistress roped me into helping her.

Hmmm... it might help if you know a bit more about me first. Well, until I was ten, I was raised by my mom and dad in Reading, a city to the west of London. We had a nice but cozy three bedroom house that held many pleasant early memories I still fondly recall from time to time.

Then some twit from London, who was the son of a well-to-do merchant, decided the day after he turned sixteen that he just had to have a muscle car, specifically something from the mid-60s, but updated with modern gizmos and a brand new high-powered engine.

The kid had the car rebuilt and tuned by a mechanic that his dad knew from his business trips around southern England and Wales.

When the car was finished, the kid picked it up and headed out for a test drive. It was the first and last time he would ever drive a car alone.

He raced out of London on the M3, then onto the A303 doing speeds in excess of 120 miles per hour.

My parents had been in London, why I can't remember, then they were heading into Devon to visit a friend, I think.

As he approached the junction of the A36 near Fisherton de la Mere, he lost control of the car, which spun out and slammed into the smaller sedan being driven by my parents. Both cars went off the road, his impacted a tree still doing over 100 miles per hour.

To be blunt, the kid went though the windshield head first. He hadn't even bothered to put on the seat belt and he paid for it with his life.

My parents' car rolled over, from what witnesses reported afterward, more than a dozen times, then landed in the water west of the junction.

Dad hit his head quite hard on the driver's side window when the car rolled, suffered a major concussion and died while still in the water.

Mom apparently smashed her chest against the dash, hard enough to break bones, one of which punctured her heart quite severely.

She was still alive when they found her, but died as the ambulance raced to the nearest hospital with an accident and emergency area.

Dad was an only child, mom had a sister, five years older than her, who died from cancer of the ovaries while mom was a teenager. All of the grandparents were gone, from various causes ranging from heart disease to lung cancer to death by gunshots.

That would have been my mom's parents, they had dropped in for a visit about a year after mom and dad were married. This would have been about a year or so before I was born, and my parents were living for a while in a flat in west London while they searched for a house.

So my grandparents went down to a nearby large food store, and were in there while four jerks robbed the place with guns in hand. Gramps had been in the armed forces and was pissed, he said something and the bloody leader shot him almost point blank in the head. Grams saw that, started freaking out and one of the other three turned and shot her three times in the chest when she wouldn't calm down.

The armed robbery turned into a hostage situation, which ended after a police sniper took out two of them and the other two surrendered.

I'm glad to say that those bastards, well the two that survived, ended up with extremely long sentences in Her Majesty's prisons.

I came along about eighteen months later, in the middle of a typical English summer.

Well, when my parents died, the last surviving relative was my mom's great-uncle Bertram Adolphus Hardaway.

People from social services showed up, discovered that he was a relative and I was soon sent off to his home on the Somerset/Dorset border.

He had a nice little bit of land, not a great deal of it, but enough to provide plenty of space for a growing child.

As I entered my teenage years, I learned to ride horses from a former equestrienne that lived several miles away from us. My small size and low weight made me ideal for training and riding as a jockey. I was in quite a few races over the next three years, winning one now and then.

Then the growth spurt hit. At the time, I was about two months past my seventeenth birthday and starting my A levels in sixth form.

Over the next year, I shot up, going from 4'9" in height and 85 pounds up to 5'10" in height and a rather lean 135 pounds.

The oddity is that, even though I gained quite a bit of height, nothing else happened. During that school year, I ended up in the offices of several doctors in London, who eventually determined that my hormones, both male and female, were extremely low for my age.

I never saw more than an odd hair or two on my upper lip or chin, my voice never deepened, my musculature stayed long and lean.

When I finished school that year, I told Uncle Bertram that I would be going to London for university and that I would be transitioning while I was there. He took it in stride, I'd been showing signs for two or three years that female things interested me much more than male ones.

The deaths of my parents had left me with a modest inheritance, about £200k in total. I put quite a bit of that into tuition and a place. I suppose I could have lived in the dormitories on the campus, but I preferred my privacy and a psychologist agreed with my preference.

That psychologist, Dr. Beth Anston, proved to be a great help as I transitioned. She was a steady rock in a sometimes overwhelming world.

I had sent a letter in advance informing the university of my intent to transition. They had no problem with it.

My main courses were all fashion design ones. I loved learning how to design and then make many different pieces of clothing.

I was near the top of my classes due to being a steady, hard working student, and finished my studies with a 1st degree. My marks were not spectacular, or as good as some others, but most were in the low to mid 70s with one course reaching an excellent 81% overall score.

Once my last exam had been done, and I had my degree, I went under the knife in Charing Cross Hospital in London.

I have to say that I wasn't particularly happy about having to stick those stents inside there so often over the first few months. You might say I showed a wee bit of a temper around Uncle Bertram in that time period, which eventually settled down as I adjusted to my new status.

By the time Hallowe'en arrived that year, I was in a better mood and had fun going out as a rather nasty looking witch to a few parties.

Miss Sandoval, the retired equestrienne, brought me back to riding horses again. I still enjoyed the riding, but not enough to return to racing.

I think it was about a year after I finished my degree that the academy opened. That would mean that it was not quite four years ago.

I stayed out of things there for the most part. The academy was, as I said, about five miles away, so we were not close neighbours.

I said I stayed out of things for the most part. Well, except for running a class on caring for horses and learning to ride them. When the headmistress of the academy, Miss April Heatherton, learned that Miss Sandoval was an equestrienne, she talked Miss Sandoval into providing equestrian classes at the school. Then Miss Sandoval got me involved and we ended up teaching those classes three times a week.

Those classes started a year after the school first opened. Things stayed the same for about two years after that.

In the late fall of 2016, Uncle Bertram passed away. He was 93 years old and I was quite lost for a while at his no longer being there.

It took a few months of patience on the part of Miss Sandoval and Miss Heatherton, but I eventually returned to my former self.

Then the newest twist in my life took place, involving two of the students at the school.

In late February of last year, the two students, both of them pre-teen girls, were told that their elderly aunts were not long for this world. Like myself, these girls had no other living relatives, and I found myself drawn to them in ways that I had never thought would happen.

With the help of both Miss Sandoval and Miss Heatherton, as well as a rather decent social worker, Mrs. Shelton, I gained custody of the girls late that spring. Within two months of that taking place, both elderly aunts passed away. I took the girls to each of the funerals.

I suppose you might stay there was no reason to take the other girl each time, but I wasn't about to leave one of them alone at home. Besides, Penny and Jane had been fairly close friends since they started at the academy three years ago, and their aunts had also been friends.

Now comes the part that I wish I could avoid telling, but as I was the only adult witness, I could not let what happened that day slide by.

It was perhaps two weeks before the end of the last term before the summer holidays when it happened.

I had been out near the small horse barn that had been built after Miss Sandoval and I became equestrian trainers here.

As I said earlier, there had been a series of nasty incidents involving a boy inappropriately touching pre-pubescent girls at the school.

I had exited through the small door at the back of the barn and had just passed a large bush when I heard noises nearby.

I stopped to watch and listen. Ahhh, I would hope you remember that that is one of my duties as a reserve warden at the academy?

I had my cell phone in my fanny pack which I usually carried when attending to the horses in the barn and the paddock nearby.

I saw a young male, Robert Jonathan Edgmore, Jr. I believe he was 15 at the time, he was dragging a young girl by the side of the barn. When they came into view, I was shocked to see that the young girl was my little Jane and I immediately started watching them closely.

That filthy little wretch pulled her skirt off, then pulled her panties down and stuck his finger in her vaginal cavity.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing, I took several pictures showing each bit of what he was doing, then stuffed the phone into my fanny pack and ran forward. I guess I took him completely by surprise as I grabbed him by the ear, almost lifting him from the ground.

"You, Robert, will come with me, I'm sure Miss Heatherton will be happy to know who has been molesting the girls here since the spring. Jane, pull your panties up, put your skirt back on, then follow us to the office. You will need to tell Miss Heatherton your side of it."

I marched Robert to the double doors at the front of the school building, then into the headmistress' office. Her administrative assistant, Shelley Burnes, looked up as we entered, then became startled as I dropped my phone onto her desk, still holding Robert quite firmly.

"Tell Miss Heatherton I need to speak with her right away, she will need to see the photos I just took a few minutes ago," I growled.

Shelley realized then that something was seriously wrong, as I only growled at people when one of the kids was hurt or at risk of serious harm.

Miss Heatherton opened her office door a few minutes later, apologizing as she had been taking an important call on the phone.

I hustled Robert into her office, having picked up my phone again, noticing that Jane had entered just behind me.

Jane closed the door and I proceeded to tell Mrs. Heatherton what I had seen and caught on camera. Jane then said her piece.

I took the phone out again, handed it to Miss Heatherton and let her look at the photos detailing what had happened.

The look on her face as she set the phone down was one you might see on an avenging angel as it prepared to do its duty.

She sat there in her office chair, deep in thought for a good ten minutes before she finally spoke.

"We have no choice about informing the parents. What happens then will depend on whether they decide on the police or an alternative. If they pick the police, Robert here will end up in a lock-up somewhere in the area and might be facing time as an adult. Many courts are willing to go for statutory rape when there is more than a two year difference in age between the perpetrator and the victim. That's one option.

"The other option, Robert, if your parents agree to it, would be that you attend school here as a young female until you graduate."

So Miss Heatherton video called his parents using Skype, told them exactly what had happened, then sent copies of the photos to them.

That got quite the reaction from the boy's father. "So that's what the little pisspot has been bragging about since last autumn."

His mother listened to the options on the table and shook her head. "Is there any chance that him appearing as a female will sort this out?"

Miss Heatherton sighed, then replied, "That would depend entirely on him. If he cooperated, perhaps, otherwise I don't know."

Robert, Sr. spoke again, "If there's a chance it might straighten him out, you have my permission. I'll send legal forms your way tomorrow."

The boy's mother, Janice, added her opinion, "I am adding my permission as well. It will be noted in the legal forms."

Mrs. Heatherton nodded, "His grades are good enough he could get by now with a decent pass and move into the next grade."

Robert, Sr., looked at Miss Heatherton, then glared at his son briefly. "You may start at once if you wish to do so, Miss Heatherton."

Miss Heatherton turned to face Robert, whom I still held by the ear to prevent him from running away.

"It's your choice now, boy. Be a girl here at school until you graduate, or face time in prison for what happened. In the last nine months, eleven young girls have been hurt or molested and in every case, it has strongly affected their ability to function here at the academy.

"If those girls were to identify you as their assailant and this went to trial, you could be looking at a long, long time in prison."

Robert, Jr., blanched, then whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear that he would submit to attending from now on as a girl.