“You are, beautiful woman.” He paused, seeing the sad, maybe rueful little smile on her lips.
“Non. Yes, you are. So it is only natural you must have been beautiful girl when you were growing up. Yes? But sadly you had been identified as a boy. Did not your parents not ask your doctors why was their son, turning into this beautiful girl in front of their very eyes? They cannot have failed to ave noticed this happening. And not turning into the andsome young man as they expected? Mmm.”

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…

As it has been a little while since I posted part nine, I have included a bigger bit of part 9 that usual.
From part nine
“I’ve got a video of Penny and the girls on the beach there, on my phone.” Trish gleefully tells her, her i-phone appearing surprisingly quickly in her hands. She passes it over to Jenni with a video clip playing.

I interrupted him. “I know, it’s me you’re waiting for...”

And now as they say, read on…
Penny waited. Alec looked at her stunned. Paul sat with a small smile on his face gently tapping the ring finger of his right hand against the ex-Canberra easy chair and gave her a friendly conspiratorial wink. John sat with a blank look on his face choosing to studiously study something on the wall behind her, and Ann looked faintly annoyed as if Penny was playing games with them. Malcom had a small knowing smile as he watched his colleagues and not her. Penny thought she saw a knowing look and slight nod pass between him and the Frenchman.

Finally it was Ann who spoke, her lips pressed tight together.

“Penny, how long have you been on hormones?”

With a little shake of my head, “Never had any.”

Ann stared at her for a moment, then said something to Malcom. He nodded. She looked back to Penny, she still looked cross, but her face and voice softened as if having to sweet-talk something from a reluctant child.

“Penny. Maybe not from your doctor… but perhaps, maybe from the internet? We are not judging you, you understand. We do understand how driven a transsexual person can be to have the body that matches there mind. But we do need to know what has been chemically introduced into your body to know what effect they may have had on it and what effect there might be because of it, if you joined our program. But it is clear you started taking something in your early teens.”

I shook my head, visually saying No... Some of my hair billowing out onto my shoulders. I resisted the temptation to brush it back behind me with my hand.

“No, I’ve never taken any hormones. Ever.”

“None at all?”

“Nothing.”

“Any other drugs?”

“Apart from Paracetamol when I’ve had a headache, tummy bug, that sort of thing. Nothing.”

“I believe Penny only spoke to her doctor a couple of months ago about the fact that she is a transsexual female, and is on the waiting list to see a specialist at a gender clinic. She has to yet to receive an appointment at this moment in time. Is that correct Penny?”

Malcom asked with a gentle smile.

“Yes - I did see someone at Charing Cross many, many, years ago when I was young, but that did not work out well and I only had two appointments.”

Ann smiled at Penny, nodding, but a little confused by Penny’s statement. Then began a quite convoluted murmured conversation with Malcom.

A quick glance at Alec shows he was staring Stoney faced at the carpet.

“Pen-ny.”

Paul looked at her with those deep friendly eyes that reminded her of Yves Montand in Grand Prix, she could see why Jenni had fallen in love with him. He had all the charm Frenchmen were supposed to have and never did have. If she wasn’t sort of entangled herself and he had been free, and she a proper girl?

“Pen-ny.” She looked up at him with her eyes, her head still a little down.

“You are, beautiful woman.” He paused, seeing the sad, maybe rueful little smile on her lips.

“Non. Yes, you are. So it is only natural you must have been beautiful girl when you were growing up. Yes? But sadly you had been identified as a boy. Did not your parents not ask your doctors why was their son, turning into this beautiful girl in front of their very eyes? They cannot have failed to ave noticed this happening. And not turning into the andsome young man as they expected? Mmm.”

The question caused her to vaguely remember long repressed memories of the arguments her parents had. How old had she, he? been then? Seven, eight at the most, she was not sure. It was hard to remember a time when it had not been a topic her parents talked about in hushed tones, but quickly dropped when she came into a room as a child. The rows getting more heated the older she got. She stopped thinking about it for a moment, another thought having captured her attention. She realised she was already finding it hard to think of herself as the boy that she was brought up as and not the girl she thought of herself to be. She remembered her father angrily telling her mother he knew his children better than any damn doctor did, when there was talk of her seeing someone. And that was that. Afterwards her father never called him by his name again until the year of his death four years ago. Always calling him ‘Son’, it was ‘Son’ this or ‘Son’ that. But never by the name had they given her.

She remembered telling her father in her mid-teens that she hated being called ‘Son’. Hated it, loathed it. She had a name the same as her sister Carol had. She did not say aloud that she hated the male name. Just as much as she hated being called Son. And that her REAL name was Penny. P,e,n,n,y. But all her father told her was he only had one son and having a son was important to a Man. That it was up to Paul to carry on the family name, and that was the end to the matter.

“I think my parents discussed it.”

“Just discussed it?”

“Argued, I guess. My father said he knew his children better than any doctor did.”

“Oh, one of those.” John said quietly sighing.

Penny shrugged her shoulders.

“School must have been hard.” That was Ann.

Penny tried to keep the smile on her face, but anyone watching her closely saw the involuntary twitch of her mouth as more un-wanted memories long put aside began to cloud her thoughts.

She quietly told them. “Oh, the girls would ask if I wanted to borrow a dress to wear as I walked past. Boys would say ‘Hello darling, give us a kiss’, some would offer to meet me round the back of the cycle sheds so I could please them in a more physical way. That sort of thing. You got use to it. Learnt to ignore it.”

She felt herself colouring up, embarrassment by the memories.

“You had a boyfriend?”

“No, I’m not gay.”

“If you are transgendered that would not be gay.”

She looked directly at John.

“However you want to describe it, I did not have a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Never have had one of either, ever.”

“Never ever, in all your life?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

There was a pause, until Ann spoke again, her voice soft, more caring, understanding, now.

“You must have been a very lonely child at school, did you not have any friends?”

Penny shrugged her shoulders again, embarrassed. “I guess… I had what you would call third best friends.”

“I’ve not heard that saying before, what do you mean by ‘Third, best friends.”

Penny did not look at them. “Well, they only wanted to be friends with me if they had no one else to talk to. If they did, then, I, I was not wanted and was told to go away. To leave them alone. Like I said, I was only their Third best friend. I guess I was more there, ‘occasional friend’ when required. So they were not alone in the playground.”

“And what about you. When you were alone.”

Penny just shrugged.

“That does not sound much like a friend to me.” John’s voice was quiet. As if he was almost embarrassed to say it.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Penny forgive me asking this, but are those your own breasts, or prosthetics.” Ann wanted to change the subject. She had been a popular girl at school and this was reminding her too much of maybe how her group of friends treated some of the other girls.

Penny smiled shyly looking at the carpet.

“Sadly, not mine.”

Malcom spoke again.

“I think maybe you do have some, though, don’t you Penny?”

She shrugged again. “A bit of man boob, I guess. That’s all.”

“You’re a bit thin to have male breast fat. Penny. You can’t have much fat on you at all. I’m jealous.”

Ann smiled, adding. “Oh to be in my thirties again.” And laughed. The doctors had begun to realised Penny was in a far more fragile state than they had realised on finding she was their subject to night. The arrogance that beautiful woman can have, which she showed on entering the room was gone, leaving them with a very vulnerable young woman they needed to treat carefully.

Malcom smiled. “Perhaps, Penny it would be a good time if you told my colleagues your age.”

“I’m forty-seven.”

Finally Alec smiled amused, and laughed. “Malcom. You really had us all going there for a while. Well done. Hiring an actress to string us all along. Brilliant.” He chuckled, “forty-seven indeed.” He got up, ready for them to go and join the women.

“I’m forty-seven. Although some people seem to think I look younger...”

Penny could not sleep. She lay awake for ages before giving in and getting up. A quick check on mother showed she was fast asleep with Henry asleep on her lap. She watched the two of them for a while. Henry seemed to be able to count the days as he spend exactly four days on her mother’s lap at night and then spent four days on Penny’s bed with her at night, and then back to her mother’s lap for another four days.

It was time to go and make a cuppa. Light was breaking over in the east and she always enjoyed this time of day. Outside seemed so fresh and clean and untouched by everyday life.

When Henry was younger he would disappear twice during the summer for five days at a time to enjoy his past time of annihilating the local rabbit population in the fields behind the bungalow, but now the picnic table in the back garden was as far as he went. He often went out at this time to take care of nature’s needs.

She did not understand why she was so depressed about the meeting with Malcom’s colleagues at Trish’s dinner party. They wanted her to go and have tests on Tuesday at their hospital in London. They were not sure if she would fit in there program medical. But they felt they could not leave matters to wait for the appointment with the specialist at a gender clinic to happen. They were clearly worried about something about her health and she thought she heard them mentioning the likely hood of an underlying cancer problem. When they realised she had heard them, they said it was most unlikely, but it needed to be checked just to make sure it was not present.

“I want to wee. No-one can hear me. I want to weee.”

Mother’s awake.

“It’s ok, I’m coming.”

Don’t know why I call out to her like that since she can’t hear me. But I always do.

“Okay, up you come.” I pull her up out of her armchair and start to move her over to the wheelchair.

“I’m going to wee.”

“No you’re not. You’re nearly in the wheelchair.”

“I’m GOING to WEEE.”

“No, you’re not. No, no, don’t stop. Don’t freeze… Don’t… DON’T”

She tries to sit down on a non-existent loo and I have to pull back hard to stop her falling down on her bum on the floor, but as we were turning momentum keeps us turning and topples us back onto me.

She screams,

I cry out in pain.

As we are going down backwards I fall hard against the corner of my wooden filling cabinet which until now has been hiding away in a safe out of the way corner minding its own business, and now I find is perfectly placed to rake a grove in my bum cheek you could float the Queen Mary down as I fall back breaking mother’s fall.

I get her up trying to ignoring the little yelp of pain I make as I do it.

“I wet my nikkies, I wet my nikkies.” Mother bursts into tears.

I can feel blood on my backside and move the wheelchair with mother crying into the bathroom.

“Lift your feet up. No, lift your feet up.”

If you are not careful she does not do that and just lets them drag on the floor and pushing the wheelchair backwards from the front you are in danger of tripping and falling over them. Done that, Been their! It hurts as you force yourself sideways to avoid landing on her and you bash your side on the wheel, the footrest and anything else sticking out of it as you head to the floor.

“I wet my nikkies, I wet my nik…”

“No you didn’t.” I have her out of the wheelchair now, the seat is bone dry.

“I’m gonna go agin, I’m gonna go agin.”

NO! you are not. Wait!”

I get her round and pull her nighty up. “Okay, drop your knickers.”

She does.
“Okay sweethart, drop your Bum!” I add in my best Humphrey Bogart, and lower her down onto the loo. Saying that normally makes her laugh, but tonight she is too worried about peeing in her knickers to really hear me. A couple of seconds later she lets rip a stream of wee.

“Okay. Let’s have your knickers."

She has wet them a little, but only a dribble. I have a quick glance at my bum cheek as I dump them in the laundry bin and see a thick red line of blood running down from my bum to my ankle. I grab some loo roll and run it up my leg and then use some more held against it while I get her fresh knickers. That I think, is going to be sore in the morning.

With mother in a new nighty and knickers and back in her chair. I cut the ends off two stick on dressing so I can use them together. The bleeding has just about stopped. It looks worse than it is really. All doctored up I check on mother who is fast asleep now, and go back and make another cup of tea. The old one is cold. I make some toast as well, despite feeling tired myself now.

In the morning I cancel my Tuesday appointment at the doctors asking Carol the receptionist to give David my doc a note letting him know why. And then get on with the laundry. Evie phones to check I’m ok, she says I was a bit washed out when I came to collect mother last night and did I want to leave her with her on Tuesday. I tell her thanks, but I think it would be too long a time for her. I will take her with me.

I should be excited about going to Malcom’s hospital as it should hopefully be the start of changing my body to how I feel it should be. But I feel nothing, I’m not moved, if anything I’m un-excited, untouched by it all. Which I do not understand. Tomorrow should be one of the greatest days in my life, and I feel nothing.

I’m glad I have the washing to take my mind off everything. My bum cheek hurts as well when I walk and bend down. But that is to be expected really.

I’m not driving up. The hospital is in central London on the south side of the river Thames. Traffic will be a stop start bumper to bumper crawl, once in London. Plus there will be the Eleven pound fifty congestion charge to pay and hospital parking is in the hospitals own underground carpark where they charge an arm and a leg if you can find a space for a couple of hours, and if we end up staying all day I will need a mortgage to pay to get the car back out again. So the train it is.

Mother’s enjoying the train ride. Pointing out to Fred whose sitting on the table anything of interest she sees out the window. The odd person looks a bit funny at her as they pass by looking for a seat, but most just smile and some stop and admire Fred asking his name. All who do are women. The men just glance and hurry on looking embarrassed. There is a little girl about Em’s age sitting opposite us on the other side of the carriage with her mother. She has abandon her colouring book and is watching Mother open mouthed as Mother talks to Fred.

Finally she asks her mother for something and her mother takes a pretty doll from her backpack and hands it over to her. The little girl holds her tight and cradling her in her arms starts to whisper and point to things she sees out the window.

I glance between the two of them. They are close enough mentally the same age at the moment. Both totally lost in what they are doing. Her mother smiles at me and I smile back. We both sort of connect recognising the fact.

To be continued…