This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

I had walked dripping into the dining room, with a towel wrapped around my soaking wet hair. I looked like a dog’s dinner and there in front of me, in full technicolour, large as life and twice as beautiful was. Well, it could only be one person couldn’t it?

He stood there with arms open, “Hi princess,” was all he had time to say before I literally jumped on him. Well, at him. Fortunately, he’d read the script and caught me. He hugged me and we kissed, and kissed and then we kissed some more. I could smell and taste him. I could feel his strong arms around my body, and his lips and tongue played upon my own.

“Put that young man down Jamie! Don’t you know it’s rude to eat the guests?” I let him go and we both smiled with embarrassment, my mother’s timing was as always, impeccable. We were, however, more than pecking.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded of him, once I got my breath back.

“I came to see you, but if you don’t want me, I’ll go.” He pretended to be dejected, but his eyes were sparkling.

“You’ll do no such thing, not at least until you’ve had lunch.” Spouted my mother.

“Jamie, go and put some clothes on and do something with your hair, you look a mess.”

Shocked but happy, I flew up the stairs and somehow managed to dry my hair, dress and put on a tiny bit of makeup all at the same time. I was positively buzzing, or possibly buzzing positively. No matter, I was back downstairs again in about twelve minutes. So my hair was in a ponytail and up in a clip, but it was dry. I had dived into my underwear, rubbed on some antiperspirant under my arms, pulled on my jeans and pulled on a top as I ran down the stairs. The makeup, well, it was a touch of mascara and my eyebrow pencil. I have a thing about my eyebrows, you can’t usually see them they are so fair. I spritzed on some Coco, and dashed downstairs, in my loafers. Told you twelve minutes, you try it, see if you can do better. Okay, so my bedroom got trashed, I’ll clean it up later, stop nagging me.

Lunch was wonderful, although I can’t remember what we had. For some reason I wasn’t that hungry, can’t think why. I do remember drowning in those grey, limpid pools. Every time he looked at me, I dived in again. All I wanted to do was feel his arm around me, feel his body next to mine, feel his lips touching mine – and what happens? My mother sat between us, making comments about my seeming loss of appetite!

I did manage to run my bare foot up and down his leg, feeling its hairiness under my foot. Maybe I didn’t need to shave mine so badly after all.

As we ate John explained how his assignment had finished a couple of days early so he came to see me as soon as he could. I asked him where he’d been and he told me he couldn’t say.

“You’re not a simple copper are you?” I asked accusingly.

“Yes and no,” he replied diffidently.

“You’re on special ops aren’t you?” I pressed on my interrogation.

“If I was I couldn’t say. Sorry.”

“I knew it. You’re SIS aren’t you?” I said referring to a branch of the military which is Special Investigations Service.

“If I say, I won’t deny it, will that stop the questions?” Although he was smiling his eyes had stopped sparkling. He was very serious and I had to watch my step here.

“Alright, no more questions about your work.” I smiled at him and he smiled back. “In return, I don’t want any about lions or lionesses.”

“Done.” He said and offered his hand, which I shook. Now his eyes were twinkling again. My hand felt tiny in his, I shivered a little as I realised it. I felt that same strange mixture of fascination and fear about how powerful his body was compared to mine, that I had felt when I recognised it in my father.

I felt safe with my dad, I’d known him all my life but it still gave me a frisson of excitement, I suppose as my sensuality awoke that day. With John, I felt a different sort of safety. I knew he would protect me against the world if he had to, but perhaps he might be a danger himself. He had possibly saved my life, yet I didn’t know much about him other than I began to acknowledge to myself that I was falling in love. It was a crazy feeling, but wonderful.

I felt as if I had more energy than ever before, my senses were more acute yet I was ignoring most of them, at least where my mother’s prattling was concerned. I hope John was listening because I wasn’t.

We finished eating and I thought it wise to offer to help with the dishes. I was disgusted when my mother accepted. John came to dry them. We have a dishwasher for God’s sake! The table has never been cleared so quickly, dishes rinsed and slammed into the washer at such speed before, as I did it that day.
Then, at last, we were off. I grabbed my black jacket and my bag and holding hands we practically ran to his car. My mother waved us off, and we drove out of the close.
“Where shall I take thee milady?” he asked as we left the close.

Part of me wanted to say, right here and now. But I didn’t ‘cos he couldn’t anyway if you remember. But that didn’t stop me wanting it. Eventually, I settled for a drive in the country, we stopped in a quiet spot and just lay in each other’s arms.
I made my play for chastity, well it seemed like the best defence. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“I thought you might be. It could be something we have in common.”

“What?” I giggled. “You’re falling in love with you too?”

“No you silly goose. All men love themselves from birth. I’m falling for you.” He smiled and we kissed.

“I’ll be upfront with you. I’m a virgin and I have to stay that way for the moment. I have a small gynae problem which will have to be sorted before you know what.” Well, it was nearly true. I did have a small gynae problem. It’s a couple of inches and shouldn’t be there.

“That’s okay. I can wait.” He squeezed me and we kissed again. I smiled back at him and thanked him. We just cuddled and kissed and talked. Even after that, I didn’t know that much about him. He was twenty-three, a graduate in politics and modern languages, and came from Brighton originally. He’d had several girlfriends and had lived with one while at uni.

“So am I some sort of retro model?” I asked.

“No, you are the prettiest girl I have ever seen, and I fell in love with you when you swooned in my arms at the police station. I knew then that no matter what else life had to offer, it had to include a large slice of you. The lion business and talking to dead people threw me a bit. It was so different from anything I’d ever known. If you had told me you’d been born a boy or something, it wouldn’t have thrown me as much…..Jamie, you alright?”

I was busy choking on the drink I had just sipped. The conversation was lost for a few minutes as I coughed and spluttered until I presumed my lungs emptied all the fluid which had gone down the wrong way. He was patting my back, and my eyes were running and my face was like a beetroot. Talk about feeling stupid, I went off the scale.

It stopped eventually, and we cuddled together again. Then I started to cough again. Jeez. Can you believe it? Thankfully he just laughed, and so did I, and finally it did stop, but then I needed to wee. He laughed and decided that perhaps he’d better do so too.

Can you believe that as I crouched down, a stinging nettle caught me on both cheeks of my bum. It was not my day. I did rub them with a dock leaf, but it didn’t help too much. John offered to kiss them better, but I put up with the pain for about half an hour. It just meant we had to go for a walk because I couldn’t sit still. I promised myself, that next time, I would look where I was going.

Despite my urticaria, (see this is educational, for those, not medically-minded urticaria is just nettle rash, ‘cos it looks like my bottom did) we managed to have a good time. It was autumn and although the sun was shining only weakly, we felt warm and the birds serenaded us. Even the stinkhorn we passed in the woods, didn’t seem to smell that bad. Normally, it smells like something died there, the spores are dispersed by flies. Being in love is just wonderful. Sorry but it is. If you haven’t tried it, I thoroughly recommend it. It’s like….wonderful. I think you get the idea anyway. (It seems to make one verbally challenged too.).

John did spend the night but in a separate room. He respected my privacy and I reciprocated. We’d had a fabulous evening out with my parents. My dad went to pay but John argued it was his turn. In the end, they split it between them. As a poor penniless student, I was pleased not to be involved in this particular argument. If I’d had to pay, it would have been beans on toast and a glass of water all around.
Instead, we ate well at our local Italian restaurant. I like pasta but after a bowl of minestrone soup, which was a meal in itself, I passed on the pasta. I did however have a sweet. Profiteroles, one of my favourites. Okay, they may not be Italian, but what the heck, I just like them. I spent much of the evening watching the two most important men in my life talking. I enjoyed just watching them being grateful that they got on so well.

It was good that finally, my father could have a good chat with someone on subjects as varied as the ruck and maul rules in rugby union, and the sonnets of John Keats, and have that person understand and stay with him. It was quite a learning curve for me, I didn’t know much about either. (I still don’t.).

The wine flowed and the conversation also flowed. Not to be outdone, my mother brought into the arena, the talents of one of her favourite poets, Robert Burns. I was transfixed, she was quite an authority. It was an area of great ignorance to me, I knew bits of ‘Auld lang syne’ and ‘The Selkirk Grace’ simply because they were quoted at home regularly enough for bits to stick. The latter is the one that goes, “Some ha’e meat and canna eat.” I also know that Burns wrote a poem, To a haggis and, To a mouse, as well as things like Tam’o’shanter.

As they were talking about Burns, and naturally my father had an opinion, my mind drifted back to a visit to Dumfries, a few years ago. Burns died in Dumfries and his house there is now a museum. It’s on the banks of the local river, the Nith I think. I quite liked Dumfries, it was friendly place with a fair bit of history about it. Coupled with some cracking coastline nearby and lots of castles and things to see we had a brilliant holiday there. I really liked Threave Castle. In itself, there wasn’t much to see, but you park in a farmyard trying to avoid kamikaze sheep and lambs. Then, when the sign says, 'follow the path for three-quarters of a mile to the jetty', you think, something strange is going on here. So we went along the path, through countless gates and suddenly there is a jetty. The castle is on an island in the middle of the river Dee. You ring a bell and a little boat comes and takes you across, then brings you back later. It really tickled me.

“Jamie…… Jamie, anyone at home?”

“Eh? What?” My mother had poked me in the ribs, spoiling my reverie.

“A penny for them.” She added.

“I was up in Scotland, in Dumfries and Galloway.”

“Aye, we had a rare time there.” Now it was my mother’s turn to be wistful.

“Do you remember Threave Castle?” I asked her.

“Aye, I do.” She responded.

“Was that the one in the river?” asked my dad.

“Yes, it was.”

“Have you been there John, it was most interesting. You walk miles down this path…” He was off again. John had not been there, so my dad had him on a topic in which he couldn’t compete. Little things please little minds. I watched the game of chess they were now playing. John came back with something about the Nile, dad has been there so he moved bishop to queen’s pawn. He upped the ante by flitting to Cyprus, but John had spent several months there, queen takes bishop. He went to San Francisco, Dad had been there and in mentioning a conference in New Zealand, it was white queen takes black queen, checkmate.

After the jousting, with Mum and me watching our champions in action, it was a draw we decided in the end, we went home by taxi. All three of the proper grown-ups, were over the limit to drive, I’d been on soft drinks so could have driven, but I was over the limit on oxytocin, a hormone that features in labour and lactation but is also found in people who are in love. It’s just….wonderful. It’s like walking on air, or floating or….I think you get the idea, but I’m trying to be subtle about it.

As we walked out to the taxi, my mother said, “You look like the cat who got the cream. There’s nothing you want to tell me is there?”

For a moment I didn’t understand what she meant. I felt like an alien who didn’t speak earthling. Then the penny dropped. “What? D’you think I’m stupid?”

“No just full of yourself.”

“We had a kiss and a cuddle, that’s all.” I humphed my way into the car, leaving her whispered apologies to scatter in the breeze.

That night my dreams were delicious fantasies revolving around one particular person. One which I do remember a little was about a chess match, only Mum and I were the two opposing queens. I was the white queen, angelic and virgin (okay, virgin anyway) and she was the red queen. Shades of Alice in Wonderland? Dunno.

I can’t remember who won John or my dad, but it doesn’t really matter. There were no lions or rabbit holes, not even profiteroles. I did enjoy those last night.
I was up and showered and dressed for breakfast. I went to take John a morning cuppa, but he was in the shower, so I didn’t get to see him in bed or waking up. Oh, bummer. That’ll teach me.

I did linger a bit, but he came out of the shower with towels wrapped around himself, and while he has a nice physique, a flat tummy and firm arm muscles I only managed one kiss before my mother called me. As I was leaving his room, his mobile rang. It was his office. He was on his way back to it an hour later and I was left stumping around with a face like a fiddle. Life is so unfair.

The rest of the weekend was okay. My parents tried to cheer me up but it was obvious what I wanted, and that was something they couldn’t provide.
We were sat at tea on the Sunday. Mum who had been watching me for several minutes said, “You were asking about what we thought about the film you sent us.” I nodded and listened. “Naturally you must make your own mind up, but after seeing you with John, I know what I feel.”

“Which is?” my father stopped mid sandwich.

“I have been watching a young woman who is absolutely smitten with her man. The son has become a daughter completely, he is no more. Life may have dealt you a strange hand, but watching you play it yesterday, you were doing it as well as any young woman could. I think you need to move on and leave the past truly behind. Go and have your op, get the bits sorted and then go and be happy as the woman and daughter you are, and as the wife and lover you could be.”

I sat there goldfishing, this was my mother. Goodness, she was talking about me with feelings. The tears were forming, and scalding my cheeks as they dripped onto my lap. I rushed to my mother and embraced her. “Oh, Mummy, I love you so much,” was all I could say before I began to sob.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She cooed as she cuddled me and rubbed my back.

“Hey, don’t I get a say as well?” my dad was muscling in on our girly moment.

“Of course you do, Daddy.” I sniffed back at him.

“Well, just for the record, I considered you were my daughter the moment I saw you with Sheila that day. It took a little adjustment, but I got there. Since then, nothing you have said or done makes me want to change my mind, and seeing you drooling over that poor copper….”

“Daddy?” I pouted at him.

“… Confirms everything I felt was true.” My god, Daddy was talking about feelings. Have I missed something? Am I in the right house? Is this a parallel universe I somehow slipped into? “Your mother is absolutely right, get your bits sorted and get on with your life. The clock’s ticking.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I sniffed at both of them.

“We did indirectly.” Said my mum.

“If we’d been too direct you’d have been possibly unsure if you’d made your own decision, or if you’d been influenced by us. It was too important for us to let that happen, so we kept a deliberately low profile, taking our cues from you. It hasn’t been easy at times, and when you sent us that film, we wondered if you were having second thoughts.” My father had been associated with his feelings, and they were for me.

I burst into tears of shame and joy at the same time. I know I seem to cry a lot, but this was quite appropriate. I launched myself at him and we hugged. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I sobbed.

“Whatever for, my baby?” He whispered back at me, hugging and squeezing me gently. I could smell him and feel the warmth of his embrace, and I felt safe and happy.

“For doubting you, and Mummy.” I paused to sniff and shudder with a giant sob. “I knew you both cared and loved me, but I didn’t know if you really accepted me or were just humouring me.”

“Oh darling, we love you so much and we want you to be happy. The last day or so, we have seen you happier than ever. You love that chap of yours, and we like him too. You are a girl. No, you are a young woman. No buts, ifs or maybes, it is a fact. What else can I or your mother say?”

“I love you, Daddy.” I said and kissed him. He kissed me back and there were tears in his eyes, my mother was also sniffing. “I love you too, daughter.” Was his response.

‘Live long enough to embarrass your children.’ said the motto on the card in the gift shop. Parents, huh, you can’t take ‘em anywhere. Just when I think they are only self-absorbed, they prove me wrong. Bloody typical, completely and utterly unreliable Thank God.

They had come up trumps, again and I had doubted them, again. Is there a pattern here I wondered? Better dig out those self-help books from the charity bag, just in case.

As you can imagine, the rest of the evening went quietly. We were all rather charged up emotionally and as I was going back the next morning, had an early night. I don’t remember anything until the next morning when I awoke early, but refreshed and relaxed, more so than I had for ages. I showered and dried my hair, tied it in a ponytail and then up into a clip. It felt tidier like that and it didn’t tickle the back of my neck.

I dressed in jeans and top, my Superman tee shirt. My dad always made some comment about it whenever I wore it. It’s interesting if Mum does make a comment about my clothes she says things like, “That’s nice dear”, or “You’re not wearing that old thing are you?” or similar, whereas dad always says things like, “Is it a bird, is it a plane, no it’s lion woman!” or “Faster than a speeding pullet,” with actions to go with it and associated chicken noises. Sometimes it was painful. Then I’d think, but they’re all little boys really and it would be okay again.

To prove my point, last Christmas I bought him a set of mini planes you put together and then fire them with a rubber band launcher. He played with it all afternoon, giggling like a schoolboy until he broke a favourite vase and then my mother made him put it away. If I bought my mother a doll, she’d ask what I wanted her to do with it, or was it a joke?

If I’d worn the other tee shirt I had, a ‘US Postal Services’ one which I bought after reading Lance Armstrong’s book, he’d have made comments about the Tour de France, or something just as banal. This was the man who was commissioned to write the definitive biography of Robert Browning, with access to all sorts of private collections of letters, and probably a trip to the Caribbean against his tax bill to boot. I didn’t understand men one bit.

That got me thinking. If I didn’t understand men was it because I was a woman as I believed, or could it just be because I failed the medical? At times I was far too analytical, must have Virgo somewhere important in my chart. Oh, bugger it.
Dad dropped me at the station on his way to college, he was back on the Browning track once more. “Did I know that Elizabeth Barrett…..” I had drifted off to a different place. John had sent me a text, ‘@ airport again. Won't B 2 long, CU soon. Loadza luv. J. XXXXX’. I was beginning to hate his job.

When I got back to the hospital I went to see Sheila Brice. Fortunately, she was now back at work. I knocked on her office door.

“Hello Nurse Curtis, what can I do for you?” She was being very formal, then I saw the senior physician pass behind me. They nodded at each other.

“I’d like to ask your advice on a personal matter.” I felt very anxious even though I’d rehearsed it in mind all the way up on the train.

“Sure, come on in.”

I beat about the bush for a few minutes then it slipped out before I could stop it. “I want the sex change.”

She bug-eyed for a moment, then said, “ You mean you want corrective surgery to your genitals.”

“I don’t care what it’s called, how soon can I have it?” I was now sweating and feeling hot and bothered.

“I don’t know. I could speak to Major Collins, see what he can do.”

“He doesn’t do the surgery himself?”

“Goodness no, it’s far too specialised. You need a good urologist and maybe a plastic surgeon too.”

My heart fell. I was psyched up to do this, I didn’t want delays, I might chicken out. I thought of my father’s quip about the ‘speeding pullet’ and my chickening out. I giggled and wet myself, I was so tense.

“Go home and change, come and see me at home tonight, I’ll see what I can find out. “

I got to Sheila’s house about eight-thirty, she made me welcome and offered me tea. As I sipped it she began. “I’ve spoken to Major Collins, he knows a chap near Leicester who does them. He’s e-mailed a referral. We both think you need to do this a little way from here, just to keep things quiet.” I nodded my agreement and understanding.

“I knew you were going to come and see me.”

“How come?” was she becoming psychic?

“Your dad e-mailed me, saying that you were likely to and if so, he was prepared to pay privately if it hurried things along.”

“He did what?” I didn’t know if I was angry or quite how I felt.

“He didn’t say what you were coming for, although seeing you with John gave me a good clue some weeks ago. Also, this business with the ‘Horizon’ film made it a subject you needed to resolve one way or another. I’m glad you’ve chosen, and I wholeheartedly agree with you. I suspect he just wanted to speed things up as much as he could. It isn’t cheap, so he must love you.”

I swallowed hard. “He does,” I confirmed.

The next weekend I was on my way to Leicester.