A Tammyverse Prelude Tom's Revelation

 

How & when did Tom realise he should be Tammy?
 
Now available as a novel

 

 
Please note this is a work of fiction and any perceived references to real people, real places or real institutions are for artistic purposes only!
 
Author's note: This story is set over a year before Tom's Fireworks & Tamara's Début. It is the first story in an occasional series of Preludes leading up to Tom Smart's metamorphosis into Tammy Smart.
 

-o-
 
Tom Smart settled in his Business Class seat as the Boeing aircraft left Doha for the breakfast time seven hour flight East. Right up to the previous evening he'd been expecting to head in the opposite direction but his father had been called to attend talks in KL and Tom had no choice but to travel with him.

It wasn't fair. He was sixteen, nearly seventeen, and had flown by himself across Europe for several years.

"We're not in Europe right now, son."

"Or even Kansas? I know, Dad, but I should be on my way back to London?"

"I'm well aware, but my Chairman assumed you'd still be with me for this meeting and I need your noting skills."

"Don't forget I'm back at school in under two weeks and it always takes me a few days to get ready!"

"I'm sure this will only take a couple of days, then we can head home?"

"Yeah, until we get told to go to Ulan Bator or Ursa Minor Beta?"

"Don't be silly, we don't do any business with Outer Mongolia."

Richard Smart's job as a Senior Director for one of the major London banks often sent him across the planet at short notice and during the school holidays Tom would travel with him, sometimes acting as note-taker or personal assistant.

Back in Doha Tom had been able to attend one meeting with his father, but had otherwise been stuck in their hotel suite for two days. Richard had insisted this was for his safety, but Tom wasn't convinced.

"Look, I'm sorry, but the Qatari Central Bank have insisted on total secrecy for these meetings."

"Can't I at least have a look around?"

"No, I said it's for your safety and I mean it."

"What about the pool?"

"I'll organise a chaperone."

"I'm sixteen, Dad!"

"The laws and customs are different here, Tom. Why don't you do some research then write up your diary? I'll need your help later, regardless."

The previous month or so Tom had been able to wander through the European capitals, and had enjoyed a few glasses of beer or wine with meals: he'd expected something similar in Doha and had been disappointed.

Tom woke as the plane hit Kuala Lumpur's runway but he tuned out as the Captain made an announcement about the local weather: His phone had locked onto a local network and told him it was warm, the plane's window told him it was raining.

There were a few minutes delay before the Qatar Airways 777 finally stopped by an airbridge, and a few more minutes before that was locked onto the plane. The seatbelt sign had already gone out but Tom left it on until the door was open, just in case.

At least the formalities were quick as twenty minutes later they were catching a cab to one of the Kuala Lumpur downtown hotel resorts. Richard checked them in and ensured Tom had a door card once they arrived in their suite.

"So I'm not going to be locked in the room?"

"No, I'm sorry about the last few days, but I've only been to Doha twice before and the official guidance was for females and children to be kept out of sight."

"Okay, accepted. What's here?"

"There's a couple of pools and a fitness centre. Stores and salons are apparently just a few streets away."

"Bars and restaurants?"

"Yes, there's a bar by one of the pools and the restaurant is on the top floor. Don't forget you're still quite pale and can burn easily, so cover up if you're going to be outside for a long while?"

"Sure, but are you certain I'm not going to get kidnapped?"

"Absolutely, Tom."

"Can I have that in writing?"

"Don't try it on or I will ground you!"

"I turn seventeen next week!"

"Indeed, and you start sixth form, so do you need some new suits? I think you've grown since Easter?"

"Yeah." Maybe half an inch, probably less.

"I'll be back here at lunchtime tomorrow, we can go for a walk then. We'll just use the hotel restaurant tonight, did you want to catch a bit of sleep?"

"Not a bad idea, how long do we have?"

"A couple of hours, I have some calls to make."

-o-

They had been originally due to fly back to the UK after just two days in Malaysia but Richard had now been called to represent his bank at further negotiations; the Chairman had insisted.

One aspect of the extended meetings was that Tom had to spend repeated afternoon and evening sessions with his father transferring Richard's jotted meetings notes into a detailed report for his Chairman. Tom's name had also gone on the report and that meant he'd get a 'thank you' gift from the bank a week or so later. Tom didn't mind this work, he'd done it for a few years, but it was the waiting around that he didn't like.

At least Tom could use the mornings to take a walk around the resort and on the first full day had ventured out into the city on his own to find a few clothing stores but none of the off-the-shelf suits would fit him. One of the female assistants had, perhaps jokingly, suggested he tried the Next store for their Petite range. Tom had, however, already been into Next and found that store didn't sell any male clothing and the manager had almost shooed him out of the place. He decided instead to deal with it back in the UK, somehow. What he had noticed, outside of the hotel, was the prevalence of head scarves and full head coverings for many of the females.

On the second full day he'd spent the morning by the outside pool, topping up his tan and enjoying an occasional dip in the water to cool off. Richard had informed him that morning of the extended stay so Tom now had three days to add to his tan, hopefully without burning.

One additional benefit of spending time by the pool was to observe the many and diverse folk who passed by, especially as it bore little resonance with what was apparent outside of the resort. It seemed to Tom that most international hotels contained a microcosm of the world around them and none more so than Kuala Lumpur. This hotel seemingly played host to many of the planet's nationalities but Tom mostly ignored that - his eye had been observing how folk dressed and how they presented themselves.

In essence, the few days he was spending in that hotel had been very enlightening and had opened his eyes to what was happening in the real world. If gender was a spectrum, then Tom wondered if he’d possibly seen all of it in the resort in just a few days? Tom's outlook on society up to that point had been his isolated experience in a private school, whilst during school holidays his vista was city centre hotels and formal bank meeting rooms. Up to this summer, so far as he was concerned, only the binary model of gender existed. He now knew different and it was a visual revelation.

The unspoken truth was that Tom had spent several years knowing he was different, but for much of that time hadn’t known why. His nagging doubts persisted but he really had no idea how to resolve his issues, or even how to put a name to them. Whatever it was, he guessed it wasn’t a subject for discussion in a boys’ school. He knew the system well enough; independent research was difficult as he suspected the local Intranet was monitored whilst the school librarian kept excellent records, particularly for those books on human biology.

Hotel internet connections got around these perceived difficulties, but how can you search for something if you have no idea what the search terms are? What is the answer to the question when you have no idea what the question is?

One of the staff had sat next to him on his last morning there, her English was impeccable but he couldn’t place the accent.

“What’s your name, dear?”

“Tom.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes….”

“You’ve been watching me and the other girls for the last few days?”

“Um-mm, yes.”

“Do you like what you saw?”

“Well….?”

“Did you want to date one of us?”

“No, I mean, I’m sixteen and my father said….”

“So you’re looking for a different reason?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Do you like how we look?”

“Yes.”

“Our faces? Our clothes?”

“Clothes, and your faces, and hair.”

“You like what we wear?”

“Yes, and how you wear it.”

“What about the male staff?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Their clothes aren’t interesting.”

“That’s interesting, so you like the girls’ clothes?”

“Yes.”

“I think some of the outfits would suit you?”

“No, no they wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just no.”

“Are you sure? You have some girly looks yourself? I think they would look good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, what’s your full name?”

“Thomas Smart.”

“I know that accent, you’re Scottish? I see you as a Tamara, Tamara Smart?”

“Tamara?”

“Maybe Tammy, yes, you’re a Tammy.”

“Am I?”

“You are. What’s your name?”

“Tammy.”

“Well done, Tammy girl.”

Tom walked back to the hotel room ever so slightly more confused and wrote up his diary. He at least now knew what question to ask.

Their flight was at nine that evening with a short hop to Singapore, then an hour's layover followed by fifteen hours to Amsterdam. The original plan had been to go back the way they'd come but that entailed a six hour, or longer, layover in Doha complete with a de-plane into the terminal.

It was approaching eight in the morning when they landed at Schipol and it wasn't long before they had a flight into Heathrow, followed by the usual 'Welcome to Britain' queue. Richard decided that, after nineteen hours of travelling he could afford to splash on a cab to take them directly home.

Of course there was a pile of mail sitting on the doormat, it had been three weeks since either Tom or Richard had visited the Edgware house. Tom scooped it up, looking for just one item.

"Got it!"

He dropped the remainder on the kitchen table and tore open the Thurso postmarked envelope. Two slips and a covering letter fell out. The letter was dated nine days earlier.

"Based on your GCSE results we can confirm your admission into the Sixth Form. Your parents/guardians should contact the school before the end of August to confirm their son's place."

The slips confirmed what Tom already suspected, nearly top marks in every subject. One side effect of his dedication to his studies was that his efforts had been worthwhile. Tom's plan right now was to head to Cambridge two years down the line, just as his father had done.

"Good news, Tom?"

He passed the contents over. "Looks like it. Can you call the school?"

"Hmmm, you missed the A* in French?"

"The master refuses to teach colloquial French, guess what came up in the exam?"

"Modern language?"

"I had to translate a review of a teen movie. I misread one piece of dialogue and it threw me."

"But your spoken French is excellent?"

"True, but the written language is harder."

"Fair point, what's your plan now, Tom?"

"Firstly a shower then I'm going shopping. You?"

"I have to report to the Chairman, that's going to take all afternoon."

"It's Saturday! The bank's closed."

"I'm meeting him at his club."

"Well, it's my birthday tomorrow and I only have a few more days before I have to head back to Scotland, but please make that call?"

"I will. We'll have to do something tomorrow then?"

"Perhaps you can take me to a pub and buy me a beer?"

"You're not eighteen for another year."

"Yeah, look I really don't fancy mediocre pub food anyway?"

"Perhaps I could order in a curry tomorrow and then you can have a small beer?"

"How about a bottle of wine?"

"Sure."

Tom was back out the door an hour later and walked into the middle of Edgware looking for school clothing. He'd spent much of the past five years in a kilt, some of the time, but as a sixth former he was expected to be suited. He admitted defeat half an hour later and caught a bus to Brent Cross shopping centre. His first stop was the Fenwicks department store.

"Hi, I need a couple of suits for school."

"What colour?"

"Black, charcoal or navy - my school's sixth form demands we wear a suit."

"Right, let's get you measured."

That caused a problem, Tom was slender and under-sized for his almost seventeen years. The smallest sized blazer just hung off his shoulders, badly.

"Don't take this wrong, but the ladies range would fit you better."

"Not you as well?"

"I see. Look, I think we can find you trousers but the blazer will be a problem, let's head over to the other side."

Tom had to admit that the black square cut jacket was a good fit and didn't look out of place.

"Will you be wearing a jumper or a cardigan under the blazer?"

"I'll be in the Highlands a week from now!"

"Okay, in that case we'll go up a size."

Tom was having second thoughts. "Somehow this doesn't feel right, I mean it fits but...."

"Well, clothes don't have a gender, nor an agenda, it's only what folk attribute to them. The alternative is to have a couple of jackets made for you; the time-scale for that is several weeks to a month."

"Perhaps we can order those and send them up to me?"

"Can you get back for fitting?"

"Not before Christmas."

"By which time you may have grown out of them?"

Tom was looking for excuses, even though the jacket felt comfortable on him. The material was lighter than he was used to but it was definitely a good quality. One thing he noted was the lack of an inside pocket, and the breast pocket was fake.

"We'll ask my father what he thinks, can you take a photo of me?"

The positive reply arrived two minutes later, plus a reminder to get some new shirts.

"Oh well, I'll take two jackets and three pairs of trousers. Hmm, five white long sleeved shirts too."

Tom added a new satchel, in black, to replace the well worn tan satchel he'd used for the past few years, given the pocket situation he would be using it more frequently now. The final bill was close to £300, softened slightly with a shareholder's card.

"Thank you Mr Smart, hopefully we'll see you again soon?"

"Christmas, definitely not sooner."

He picked up a filled baguette from a sandwich shop and dropped it into his satchel. Tom's next stop was a barbers for a school-ready cut, which meant joining a queue of boys getting the same treatment. In an ideal world he would have let it grow but, rules were rules and Tom had survived boarding school so far by keeping his head down. He finally made it home at three and was still carrying his lunchtime baguette, having decided against eating it on the bus.

His father messaged him, could he sort himself out as the chairman was taking him out to dinner. Tom booked a pizza for seven - so much for a family life.

-o-

Tom took the Friday night sleeper having seen his father jet off to the States a day earlier. It was only after Richard's taxi had departed that Tom realised he hadn't spoken to his mother even once during the past few weeks. He'd been told she was in Rimini but there had been no message, nothing, since the middle of August when she'd told him it was impossible for Tom to stay with her at that time. His initial thought was that his mother was having an affair - but that seemed so wrong and wouldn't his father have said something? Tom dismissed the idea.

After an uneventful overnight journey Tom's luggage was dumped on the platform at Inverness on Saturday morning and he now waited in the cool air for the diesel railcar to arrive: He'd spent many hours waiting for trains on this very platform but at least it was familiar ground. Breakfast had been several hours earlier and right now he needed a coffee and perhaps a bun?

"Hi Tom."

"Oh, John, I didn't see you on the sleeper?"

"I picked it up in Glasgow. Did you want a drink?"

"Yes, but what about the bags?"

"Come on Tom, you're a sixth former now! Did you put in for prefect?"

"No."

"Never mind, I did."

John Hibbert called one of the junior boys. "Keep an eye on our bags, it'll be worth your while."

"Yes, sir."

John grabbed Tom's arm. "Come on, we still have twenty five minutes before the chug-along gets here."

"What you just did?"

"Didn't a sixth former do that to you a few years ago?"

"Yes, but ... how can you justify it?"

"RHIP, Tom! Rank Has Its Privileges, that's all you need."

"You said it'll be worth that boy's while?"

"That's right, if I'm a prefect then I might overlook a minor issue once, possibly twice."

"I'm not convinced that's right?"

"Come on, it's how things are done. You can buy."

Tom and John had shared a twin room for the past three years so his familiarity wasn't unprecedented but Tom was praying for a single room for the next two years.

A couple of hours later they were finally dropped outside St Andrews by a school minibus and were met inside by one of the Deputy Heads.

"Please sign in, then collect your room keys from your common rooms, don't wait in the lobby, questions can be dealt with later. Any new boys, wait here."

Tom wasn't keen on Common Rooms and had done his best to avoid them but made his way, following John into the wood panelled space. The first thing Tom noticed were the armchairs, low tables and the kitchenette in a far corner. "I've been dying to get in here forever, Tom."

There didn't seem to be any logical order to the room allocation but the former co-habitants had ended up with adjacent rooms. As soon as the key was in his hand, Tom was on his way back out of the common room, he wasn't comfortable in there and, so far, every boy entering the room was taller and broader than him; he didn't want to wait for the first inevitable insult.

His room wasn't far away and it was, at least, recently painted. There was a bar of soap on the basin but it was otherwise familiarly spartan. Tom hoisted his large case onto the unmade bed and started to unpack. For some reason he'd brought his old school blazer back, even though he wouldn't wear it again. It was, however, in excellent condition and might be a good replacement for a junior boy who needed an urgent replacement. It was when he hung his new blazers next to it that he noticed the buttons were reversed.

The buttons were, at least, black so didn't stand out, but it was now a glaring issue for him. Tom pulled off his sweatshirt, the put one of the blazers on, leaving the tags in place. There was a mirror on the wall and he examined his reflection. His school scarf was found and he wrapped this around his neck, letting it fall across the front of the blazer. That would work if he was outside, but what about in school?

He pulled his sweatshirt and coat back on then abandoned his bags. He used his phone to call for a cab into town then made his way down to the entrance lobby.

"Where are you going, Smart?"

"Into town, Sir, my mother seems to have messed up my luggage and I need a few bits."

"I see. The town passes are still locked away, but at least I know where you're going."

"Thank you, Sir."

Shopping in Thurso gave limited options but Tom didn't have the time to head into Wick for a better selection. He decided to be dropped by Tesco and to see what he could get in there. His basket first gained shampoo, which he'd genuinely forgotten, and then he went looking for light scarves, deciding that they looked too feminine for his liking. On a whim he picked several thin jumpers in pastel shades from the womens-wear shelves that would detract from the blazer. The colours might cause some grief with the backward looking masters but Tom couldn't remember any applicable dress code rules.

From a distance he could see one of the history masters, Tom decided to circle around the store to avoid him. Almost immediately he went past the hosiery selection and picked up some thick tights. These were lost in his basket under the pullovers. During the winter months the outside temperature could stay below zero for several days at a time and Tom had wanted to experiment with tights a year before, but his co-habitation had ruled this out.

He reached a self-checkout and ran the items through the scanner; Tom paid then left as quickly he could without looking back. The words of that girl, poolside in Kuala Lumpur, came back to him - had he just taken the first steps towards girlhood?

-o-
 
The next Prelude is Tom's Christmas
 
 
-o-
 
The Preludes stories are also available as a part of Tammy Beginnings, Part 1 is out now

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