Buyer’s Remorse Chapters 15 - 16 by Maeryn Lamonte Copyright © 2023 Still some bad language, but things are getting better.

-oOo-

Chapter 15

I stuck my head through to find a ghostly shape wavering back and forth. There was a sickly-sweet smell in the room which told me all I needed to know. I led Steven through to the en-suite off my bedroom and turned on the light.

He blinked and squinted at the sudden brilliance. I could see the front of his nightdress was spattered with pale stains.

I turned on the shower and undressed him while the water warmed up. When it wasn’t going to come as too much of a shock, I pushed him in and helped him clean the sticky mess from his front. I then left him towelling off while I went to fetch him some PJs. He only had the one nightie, so that would have to wait till I could run a wash.

“I don’t know what happened, Mum.”

“It’s alright sweetheart, I do. Did you dream of anything?”

His reddening ears told me the answer.

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to.”

“I was with Ann at the prom, and we were both wearing the same dress. Then we were kissing and it felt so wonderful, then I kind of woke up gasping and everything was, you know.”

“I do. Tell me, what do you learn in PHSE classes. I know you have them because I’ve seen them timetabled in your diary.”

“Mostly it’s about STDs and how easy it is to get a girl pregnant.”

“Did they ever teach you about wet dreams?”

“Oh. Is that what that was?”

“Yes. You should be okay for the rest of the night, but we should have a chat soon. Not now because you need to sleep, and I need to clean up. You sleep in my bed, and I’ll take some spare bedding downstairs.”

“It’s not fair. We just fixed your bed.”

“Yes, and I’m glad we did because at least you have somewhere to sleep tonight. Go on, settle down. I’ll see you in the morning.”

So, that left me to strip his bed and take a wet cloth to where the semen had made its way through to the mattress. I took the soiled bedclothes downstairs and put them in the bath to soak. A quick examination of the duvet showed it hadn’t escaped unscathed either, however, the washing machine was family sized and would take both duvet and bedding. I loaded it up and set it running, then hunted out a few musty blankets and settled on the couch. I was warm and cosy enough and slept through to my usual waking time.

Upstairs to take a semi-comatose Michael through to the toilet. I was probably being over cautious, but I didn’t want to take chances with his first night without pull-ups resulting in an accident.

“Why’s Steven in your bed?” he asked after a mammoth yawn.

“He had a bad dream, sweetie. Are you done?”

He nodded so I helped him down and back into his nightclothes. He didn’t take much persuading to climb back into bed, and he was asleep before I’d left the room.

The weather looked promising, so I emptied the washing machine and stepped outside in my dressing gown to hang up Steven’s bedding. The skies may have been clear, but it was chilly enough that my legs were turning blue by the time I’d done.

I tip-toed into my room and sorted out my new clothes, removed the tags and stepped into the en-suite to change. Both bra and knickers felt a little loose, which was pleasing. Sorting the bra meant adjusting the straps a little. The knickers didn’t have that option, but they weren’t that loose and the tights helped keep them I’m place. I dressed as quietly as I could, but Steven was still sitting up in bed when I reappeared.

“Wow, Mum. Looking good.”

I thanked him for the complement then suggested he should get dressed.

“Could we have that talk? I mean, I know we don’t have much time, but...”

“Of course, sweetie.” I sat next to him. “Do you want to start, or should I?”

“You go.”

“Okay. You know what happened last night, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“It means your body’s beginning to mature. That almost certainly won’t be the last time you have an experience like that, but it’s nothing to be ashamed about. It’s just a bit messy and it’s part of my job as your mum to help get you sorted when it happens, so don’t feel you have to go through it on your own.”

“Okay.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something else though, because now this has started to happen, you’re going to start changing. You’ll most likely grow tall like your dad, and you’ll develop quite a bit more muscle, most likely get hairier, also like your dad.”

“I don’t want to be anything like him.”

“Wait there a moment.”

Something else that had turned up when I’d been clearing through the aftermath of George’s wanton destruction was a box of photographs. Not great quality since they’d been taken with phone cameras from ten to fifteen years ago and printed on photo paper using a cheap inkjet printer, but they were still good enough to make out a few details, like the smiles. I handed a selection over to Steven.

“Is that you? Wow, you were hot!”

He didn’t mean to be unkind. Besides, it gave me incentive to stick with the diet. Maybe I could be again.

“Your dad looked pretty good too,” I said pointing him out in a few shots. “You have a mix of his and my genes in you which means I think you’re going to end up looking pretty amazing yourself.”

“So what happened? I mean I don’t remember either of you ever being this happy.”

“It’s rather a sad story, love, and not one for right now.” I held up a photograph of his dad in his prime. “I want you to imagine him in a dress for a moment.”

His mouth writhed as he fought to hide the smile.

“Now imagine yourself in maybe a year’s time looking like your own version of this. Think about how wearing girl clothes helps you find the gentle part of your soul at the moment. Do you think you’ll be able to do the same if you look like this?”

He didn’t have to fight the smile anymore. It was gone.

“There are a few things we can explore, sweetie. The first, if you want, is we could go see a doctor...”

“I’m not sick.”

“I know, I’m not suggesting you are. But do you remember what I said to you a while back about those drugs to stop you developing?”

“Yeah?” He replied warily.

“I don’t know a lot about them. I mean, I don’t even know if they’d be right for you in any case, but we could ask. What I remember reading about it is that they can stop the changes you’re about to go through, at least temporarily. The way I understand it is as soon as you stop taking them, your body picks up where it left off.

“The thing is, if we don’t do anything, your body will develop, and it’ll be pretty much impossible to reverse the changes once they’ve happened. Now I realise you may not want to do that, but until we know for sure, or until you’re ready for them to happen, maybe it would be worth seeing if we can put it all on hold. That way we’ll have a little more time to figure out what’s right for you.

“Or we could just let nature run its course and make sure you at least have a nightdress or two to wear so you won’t feel the weight of all that anger while you’re asleep. And since it’ll just be you me and Michael that sees you, we’ll know not to laugh at you if you look a bit ridiculous.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“That’s not really for me to say. How do you feel about the idea of growing tall and strong and hairy? Does it excite you or scare you?”

“I think it scares me a little. I don’t want to turn into Dad.”

“Not wanting it is at least half the battle won, love, and it took more than being big and strong to turn your dad into an arsehole. That being said, we don’t really know enough to make any well-informed decisions, so maybe we should talk to someone who knows a bit more about this sort of thing and get some professional advice. There’s a kind of doctor called an endocrinologist who specialises in the body’s hormonal systems, like the one that’s starting to change you. He’ll be able to tell us what we need to help make up our minds what’s best. But if we’re going to do it we have to do it soon before your body changes too much.”

“How soon?”

“I really don’t know, sweetie. I’d guess we have a month or two before the changes start to show, but it could be a lot more or a lot less. The thing is, just talking to someone doesn’t commit us to doing anything, it just gives us options.

“Okay, let’s talk to this doctor. I’m not sure about the drugs thing, but I don’t really want to look stupid doing the cheerleading stuff.”

“There are male cheerleaders as well you know? We could make you a uniform that would look good on you.”

“Would it still have a skirt?”

“That would be a challenge. Making a skirt that would look good on a young man, but I think maybe I could figure something out.

“Whatever else happens, just know that nothing you’re going through is unusual. All men have to cope with what happened to you last night at some stage, and you’re not the first young man to benefit from wearing a dress. Whatever you decide, I’ll be beside you all the way.”

“I love you, Mum.” He buried his face in my chest. “I wish you’d always been like this.”

“Well, I am now, and it’ll have to do. Go and get dressed and give your brother a gentle nudge. I may have woken him a little early this morning.”

I found a mirror to make sure I still looked good. My blouse was a little rumpled but with some straightening and tucking back in, I was happy enough with the result.

I noticed a few heads swivelling in my direction when we arrived at the school. They turned away just as quickly when I looked back, so there didn’t seem much mileage in responding. The boys disappeared towards their respective establishments and with nothing more to keep me there, I left, heading towards the bus stop.

On the way into town, I brought up my GP surgery’s website and put in a request for a call back. It had a box for preferred time, so I put in after three pm to avoid awkwardness at work. I then did a little research on broadband solutions and settled on what looked like my best option, given that I needed it pretty much immediately.

There was a shop that offered what I was looking for about a hundred yards from Clark’s and Sparks. By managing to catch an earlier bus, I just had time to pop in and make use of my newly minted debit card to buy the necessary hardware and set up the associated contracts.

The day at work whizzed by. With the work I’d done the previous evening I was ahead of the game, but you don’t stay in the lead if you stop for a rest when you see how far ahead you’ve gone. That’s what happened to the hare in Aesop’s fable. Slow and steady may have won the race there, but that was just because they hadn’t considered fast and steady. I was on probation, so this was the time to shine.

As three o’clock approached, I was struggling to find enough work to keep me going for the evening. What there was, I downloaded before packing up, then on the way out I had a quiet word with my line manager, asking for a few more bits to work on when I came in the following morning.

The doctor called during my bus journey home.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Bush,” he said with a world-weary sigh. “How can I help you today?”

“Good afternoon, doctor,” I replied, ignoring his sarcastic tone. “I’m worried about one of my sons. He’s been showing some indication of gender fluidity, and last night he took his first major step into puberty. I was hoping you could arrange for him to speak with someone to discuss options before he changes too much.”

I’ll give him his due, he took the call seriously from that point on, asked several questions to clarify the situation, then made notes while I was still on the line. We hadn’t quite finished when the bus pulled into my stop and I stepped off onto the kerb with the phone still glued to my ear.

He said he would email a few specialists that afternoon, making a point of the urgency of the matter, and that I should have a response within a week. I thanked him and joined the rest of the mum’s awaiting the release of the masses.

“You’re looking very smart, Sandra.” It sounded more like an accusation than a compliment, but I took it as one anyway. A compliment I mean.

“Thank you,” I replied cheerfully. The speaker had a pinched expression that added at least a decade to her appearance. I looked her over for any clue as to her name, but there was nothing.

“So, what’s the occasion?”

“Nothing special,” I smiled, “but you have to make an effort for work, especially on your first day, don’t you?”

“He has you working now, does he? What’s the matter? Can’t he scam enough out of people by himself?”

A few sycophantic titters fluttered around us.

“I don’t know, and I really don’t care. I kicked him out a week ago and he’s being awkward about child support. It seemed sensible to arrange an alternate source of income.”

“Doing what? I didn’t think there was much call for screaming profanities. at the top of one’s voice.

Yet again that ripple of suppressed laughter. Enough was enough. I rounded on her.

“At least when I don’t like someone, I have the courage to say it to her face.” I said it calmly with a smile. “Hiding behind a thin veneer of false civility and sniping at people for cheap laughs is pathetic and cowardly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve better things to do with my time and better people to do them with.”

With perfect timing, Michael chose that moment to come running up to me. I stopped to embrace him and gave him my full attention. Steven took longer to appear, but given that he was walking alongside Ann Summers, I was inclined to forgive him. I was filled with a vicarious thrill just from watching them. They separated reluctantly, Steven approaching me and his companion heading towards the pinch faced woman.

Oh shit.

It was hard to see the resemblance between her daughter’s carefree smile and her own sour demeanour, now overshadowed with a simmering rage at having been bested by the likes of me.

I sighed. For the sake of my son’s happiness, I was going to have to eat a little humble pie. I walked over to her.

“Mrs Summers?”

She looked up and pursed her lips.

“We got off on the wrong foot there. I overreacted, and I’m sorry.”

“I’d like you to stay away from me, thank you very much. Just who do you think you are? And your freak of a son can stay away from my daughter too.”

“Now that’s uncalled for. Whatever your feelings towards me, there’s no need to take them out on Steven.” I could feel something of my eldest’s sullen anger returning. I put a hand on his shoulder and felt him tense under my touch. It had all been going so well too.

“What did you do?” he raged at me as we walked home.

“I reacted angrily, a bit like you’re doing now.”

“You ruin everything! I hate you!” He stormed off ahead leaving Michael and me trailing in his wake. His little tantrum was spoiled slightly when he had to wait, fuming, at the front door until we caught him up and I opened the door. The moment I did so, he charged in and upstairs where he slammed the bedroom door. Teen speak for leave me alone. Okay, so he wasn’t quite a teen, but he was getting there.

I set Michael playing with a few toys he’d left downstairs. We’d both had enough experience of their dad to know it was unwise to disturb Steven in his current mood. Considering his mood, I scrapped my original plans for tea and dug some sausages out of the freezer, setting them to defrost in the microwave.

While it was humming away, I gathered in Steven’s bedding, then unpacked and set up the G4 router I’d bought at the mobile phone shop and linked both the TV and computer to it, my phone as well since it gave us an unlimited amount of data and I wasn’t sure about the contract I had there.

The microwave dinged and I set the oven heating. It didn’t take long to put the sausages and chips in the oven and set a pan of water boiling for some peas. I’d have to invest in a steamer sometime soon, but that could happen when I was a little more financially independent.

My body seemed to have a sense when things needed doing to the food, so by listening to it, everything ended up cooked as well as could be done with such things. I served up one plate for Michael and sat him at the table with a reminder that any peas left on his plate would be in his lunchbox the next day, then I took the other plate up to Steven.

A knock on the door gained no response. I stepped into the room to find him still in his uniform and sitting in the corner.

“I thought you might be hungry,” I said settling beside him.

“Mnph,” he replied.

“Oh. That really is a shame. I mean, you know I hate to waste food and this is all calories and no goodness. Except the peas maybe. I hate to think how this will set back my diet if you make me eat it.”

He ignored me.

“Oh well, here goes.” I cut a piece of sausage and lifted it towards my mouth.

He raised his head enough to watch me.

“Okay, so you called my bluff.” I put the knife and fork back down. “I’m not going to eat your dinner, but you need to. You have practice tomorrow.”

“I’m not going.”

“I thought you were the group leader. Aren’t they all relying on you?”

“I don’t care.”

“Isn’t Ann part of the group?”

“Do you think she will be now? Who’d want to be in a cheerleading squad led by a freak?”

“You know, mean words can only hurt us if we let them. Huh! Look at me handing out advice I should really be listening to myself.”

“What do you mean?”

There’s something I need to remember. Nothing brings a youngster out of a sulk quicker than curiosity.

“I mean your girlfriend’s mother...”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She could be if you wanted her to be. She’s really into you, but okay, your friend – who also happens to be a girl – ’s mother said a few mean spirited things to me while we were waiting for you guys to come out, and I really should have just ignored her. Instead I did something really cruel.”

“What?”

See what I mean about curiosity?

“I told her the truth about herself.”

“I thought you were all about the truth.”

“Oh I am, but some people are so good at lying they can even lie to themselves, and about the worst thing you can do to someone like that is hold up a mirror.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ann’s mum thinks she’s a good person, and the way she convinces herself this is true is by telling the people she thinks aren’t so good just how bad they are.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You tell someone the same thing enough times, they start to believe it. There are few things worse than taking away a person’s ability to believe in themselves.”

“Like Dad did to us.”

“Yes, like Dad, only he was a bit more in your face with it.

“I’m really sorry about what happened this afternoon, Steven. That was my fault and you have every right to be angry with me. I give you my word, I’m going to do everything I can to put it right, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, is that too cold to eat, or would you like me to put it in the microwave for thirty seconds.”

He picked up a chip and bit into it. “Microwave,” he decided.

I picked the plate up. “Are you going to come downstairs to eat it, or is it your majesty’s wish to have one’s dinner served in one’s bedroom.”

He gave me a wry smile. “You’re weird.”

“And that’s not an answer.”

“I’m coming.”

“Bring your bag. I need to check your homework diary.”

“I have some maths which I really don’t get.”

“Why don’t we look at it together after you’ve eaten. Then we can watch the rest of that film if you want.”

I rustled up a tuna salad for myself while Steven munched his way through his dinner, then we looked at the intricacies of converting between decimals and fractions together, which was made only slightly more challenging by Michael, who was feeling left out, wanting to sit on my lap. Despite himself, he paid attention and actually understood Steven’s homework before he did.

We ended a second day snuggled in a row on the sofa, watching an Italian pig in his red flying boat fighting against sky pirates.

Seriously, if you haven’t seen it, you have to give it a go.

Evening routine as before. Once the kids were in bed, do a couple of hours work then put things together for the morning. Lunch boxes, breakfast things, suitable clothes for work. I was going to have to get a little more shopping in as my selection of work attire was limited. I fired off a text to Charlotte asking if she might be up for a little retail therapy at lunch and we made plans.

Sleep, for once, was undisturbed, probably at least in part because Steven had chosen to sleep in his pyjamas.

Morning routine also much the same. Up early, shower, dress, experiment with a little makeup, rouse the boys and set them up for the day. Walk them to school and head for the bus.

“Erm, Sandra?”

I turned to find Ann’s mother standing apart and waiting for me.

“I’m really sorry about yesterday,” I said, wishing I had some way of finding out her name. “I was totally out of line.”

“No, no, it’s me who should apologise. I’ll admit your words stung rather a lot, but it was me who started it all.

“I spent most of yesterday evening thinking about what you said.” She laughed apologetically. “Mainly angrily wondering how you could possibly dare speak to me like that, but when I finally ran out of steam it occurred to me that you were right. I really shouldn’t have said what I did about you or about Steven.”

“Well, if you want to make it up to him you’ll let Ann go to the cheerleading practice this afternoon.”

She laughed again. “Do you really think I could stop her?”

I smiled.

“Would you like to meet for coffee sometime?” she continued. “We could find some neutral ground somewhere and see if we could negotiate a more lasting peace.”

“I’d really like that. Perhaps we could talk about it later? I need to get to work.”

“Of course. Maybe talk this afternoon.”

“I look forward to it.”

I nearly missed the bus, but it was worth it.

My line manager had a pile of material waiting for me. More challenging stuff which had me researching specialist vocabulary, which made it more fun. I heard a few grumbled comments from my neighbouring colleagues about how I was making them look bad, but an apologetic smile seemed to be all the offering I needed to settle the dissent.

Lunch involved a quick bite with Charlotte in one of her favourite haunts followed by a real bonding experience, sadly restricted to just half an hour, but which netted me a smart dress, a couple of skirts and three blouses which, along with a few accessories, gave me enough variety to keep me from repeating my appearance for the next couple of weeks at least.

Michael and I stayed to watch Steven and the girls practice. He stood to one side, copying their moves, and by the end managed to get himself adopted as unofficial mascot.

Listening in on the other mums' conversations proved helpful in furnishing me with a few names, including Ann’s mum’s – Barbara – who suggested we meet for lunch on the Friday.

The chip shop benefitted from our custom on the way home, which saved enough time on cooking and washing up that I managed to persuade the boys to play a board game rather than rot our brains on some more televisual rubbish.

We made a start on Peter Pan that evening. Michael was delighted to find a character named after him in the story and insisted on reading his parts while Steven, who had already spent part of the afternoon in a skirt, sheepishly put on his nightdress and read Wendy’s lines.

Thursday and Friday were much the same, with variations on evening activities. Friday also saw me spending a rather longer than intended lunch break with Barbara, who it turned out shared my passion for the English language and promised to lend me a few books.

“It’s a shame you’re not free during the day,” she said. “A friend of mine runs a book club on Thursday afternoons, which I’m sure you’d thoroughly enjoy.”

I told her I hoped to be working more from home soon and might have time in the future, and she made me promise to tell her when I was free to attend.

Her face lost a lot of that pinched look I’d noticed when we first met and relaxed into an attractive older version of her daughter.

I broached the idea of her and Ann joining us for lunch after the game on Saturday. She declined, saying she saw little enough of her husband as it was, but that was no reason to stop Ann from joining if she wished.

When I made it back to work after lunch, I found a memo from Mr Clark asking me to come and see him. I rushed over to his office, half-expecting a dressing down for taking too long a break, but it was nothing like that.

“I’ve been looking over your work,” he said after he’d invited me to sit and ordered coffees for us both. “I really wasn’t sure what to expect when we invited you on-board, but certainly nothing like this. Tell me, how much have you been doing at home?”

“Two to three hours usually.”

“Well, colour me impressed,” he said. “Your work is meticulous, precise and quicker than just about anyone else we have on staff. This probationary thing was supposed to last three months, but it hardly seems fair that we should be paying one of our best workers a probationer’s salary, does it?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Starting Monday, you’re a full-time member of staff. I recall you were keen to work from home?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I’d still like you in the office two days a week, say Tuesdays and Fridays?”

“That suits me fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Great. We have a big project coming up. Technical manuals for a new commuter aircraft. Do you feel up to the challenge?”

I assured him I was and headed back to my desk in something of a daze.

Chapter 16

Saturday’s lunch date very nearly turned into an unmitigated disaster after both Steven and Ann changed out of their cheerleading kits once we were home. In Steven’s case this meant pretty much his smartest jeans and tee-shirt while Ann had brought a pretty yellow sundress.

Unfortunately, once in male mode, Steven transformed into the sort of bumbling, tongue tied moron that absolutely no girl in existence wants anything to do with. This was both confusing and embarrassing for Ann and I could see her looking for excuses to pull the plug on the visit, just as I could see Steven’s growing anger and frustration.

We hadn’t finished eating and I could see he was rapidly approaching the point where he would say something they’d both regret when Ann excused herself to go to the bathroom.

“Go and put your dress on,” I said to him once she was out of earshot.

“What the fuck, Mum! Do you want to totally fucking wreck this afternoon?”

“I’ll let that slide since you’re evidently upset about how much of a wreck it already is. If you want to salvage anything at all from it, you’ll do as I suggest.”

Angry Steven was close enough to the surface to peek out. He glared at me for a moment, but decided that nothing else he’d tried had worked. He dashed upstairs and changed so rapidly that he was back in his seat and eating again when Ann reappeared.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Bush. Thank you for lunch and everything, but I really need to... Oh!”

She was staring at Steven who returned an embarrassed and shy smile.

“What...?”

“Mum’s idea,” he said. The change in his mood was little short of miraculous. Even he could sense it as he favoured me with a grateful smile. “It’s kind of totally weird, but I think she’s onto something. Please don’t go, unless, you know, this is too much.”

Ann sat back down, a bewildered smile on her face, and for the next few minutes it was her who tripped over her words. She got over it though and by the time we were through dessert, they were chatting contentedly like two human beings.

I shooed them through to the living room with the warning that if I heard the TV go on, Michael and I would join them. It was enough of a deterrent and when I checked on them half an hour later, they were snuggled up together, both with dreamy looks on their faces.

Much later, after I’d managed to pry them apart and suggested that Steven ought to change back before walking his girlfriend – no question on the status of their relationship now – home. After he’d drifted back home in a dreamy haze of hormones, after I’d chased him and Michael through their bedtime routine and settled them down for a chapter or two of Peter Pan – Steven very much in Wendy mode. After I’d tucked them both in and given them a kiss. Steven spoke up.

“What’s happening to me, Mum?”

“I couldn’t say for sure, love. I have some thoughts, but I’m no trained psychologist so I’m not sure if I should share them.”

“You have to give me something.”

“Well, I did talk to our doctor a few days ago and he’s arranging for a referral to a specialist. Can it wait till then?”

“I don’t know that it can.”

“Alright. Come on back downstairs so that we don’t disturb your brother.”

I made us both a drink while I ordered my thoughts. I’d half hoped he’d fall asleep on the sofa and give me a reprieve, but he was evidently too worried to sleep.

I perched down next to him and handed him a mug of hot chocolate.

“Do you remember a few days ago when I told you everyone is a bit of a mixture of male and female?”

“Sort of. I wanted to know if I was turning into a girl.”

“That’s right. The first thing I think I should say is that I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen to you. Not unless you choose to make it happen.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“This is where it all becomes a little bit guesswork, but let’s see what we can find out. Would you say your friends think that boys are better than girls?”

“The boys do, yeah. The girls think the opposite.”

“I suppose that is the way things are going these days. Would it surprise you if I told you they were both wrong? And maybe a little bit right?”

“Huh?”

“Boys tend to be better at some things while girls tend to be better at others. We’re different is all. And just because most boys are better at one particular thing doesn’t mean that somewhere there’s a girl who couldn’t wipe the floor with them.

“The reason we compete separately as men and women in sports is because men tend to have an unfair advantage when it comes to strength just as women do when it comes to agility and flexibility, but I’m not really interested in our physical differences. More in what’s up here,” I tapped his head, “and in here.” I placed a hand over his heart.

“I have to say, most women do have an advantage there, but only because they realise it’s possible to be a woman while embracing both their female and male characteristics. Men, because they think they’re better than women, tend to suppress those parts of themselves because they see them as weakness.”

“And you’re saying that when I put on a dress or something like this,” he smoothed out the lap of his nightie, “it gets me to act more like a girl.”

“What I think I’m saying, and I need to emphasise, I’m no expert here. What I think I’m saying is when you’re wearing girl clothes, there’s no way you can convince yourself you’re all boy, so it lets all of you shine through. When it’s just the boy in you, you’re only half there, so there’s no wonder you’re a mess.”

“So I need to convince myself that the girly side of me is just as good as the manly side.”

“That’s my best guess at the moment, but let’s wait to hear what the experts have to say before we commit to that as an idea, okay?”

“Okay, thanks Mum.”

“Well, like I say, they’re just my thoughts. I may be completely wrong. You should brush your teeth again before you go back to bed, and I’d be grateful if you’d drop your mug in the sink.”

“Sure. Goodnight.” He reached across and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Did you ever want to be, you know, a man?”

I smiled. “No sweetheart, I can safely say that I have never wanted to be a man.”

…

The weeks that followed fell into very much of a routine. It bothered me that I might become bored and frustrated with the repetition, but there was enough variety to the kids’ responses day by day to keep me interested, and I found myself feeling very committed to their welfare.

A combination of maintaining a diet with very little in the way of carbohydrates and particularly sugar, along with a commitment to keep moving – relatively gentle dance moves behind closed curtains while I did my work at home took care of that – saw the accumulation of fat melting away from my body and within less than a month I began to see the pretty face and body in my driving licence re-emerge. An added bonus was that the dancing taught me to move with my body's natural rhythms, allowing an unexpected fluid grace to emerge in my movements.

Work was about as I remembered it; interesting without being particularly challenging. The aircraft manual made a fascinating project and I learnt a lot about commercial aviation, even to the extent of spotting what I believed was a mathematical error in one of the tables. They dismissed my concerns when I phoned them about it, but a week later we received a revised version of their proof document with a table containing values suspiciously close to mine.

No-one likes an I-told-you-so though, so I let it slide.

The one fly in the ointment happened at the end of my first month, when pay slips were passed out and I discovered my hourly rate to be a good ten percent lower than I had been earning before switching lives.

My first contact for personnel matters was Max the Axe. I didn’t much care for the idea of speaking to him, but it seemed my choices were limited.

“How can I help you,” he said with his artificial smile.

“I was just checking to see if there was any mistake with my pay check,” I said.

He took it from me, gave it a brief once over and handed it back. “Looks in order to me.”

“You know I’m no longer a probationer?”

“Mr Clark did send me a memo about that, yes. You’re being paid at the appropriate rate for a female member of staff.”

“I thought it was illegal to do that.”

“Not if we can show that the value of the work done is less. We’ve found that the men who work for us tend to be more focussed than the women. The women tend to be more distracted, so require a greater level of checking.”

“Mr Clark mentioned to me that my work was meticulous, precise and quicker than just about anyone else here.”

“Yes, he does like to get a little flowery with his words. However, it’s me that has to decide how the work is allocated and who’s work needs the most inspection.”

“Perhaps you’d care to show me evidence of that?”

“In order to do so, I’d have to permit you to look at other staff members’ work records, which would breach privacy laws.”

“How convenient for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the only way you have of providing me with evidence that my work is of any less quality than the men who work here, or that it needs any greater degree of quality control, is covered by data protection laws, which prevent you from doing so.”

There was a touch of a sneer in his smile. “I’m pleased you have such a good understanding of the situation.”

“I wonder if Mr Clark has a similar understanding.”

“Mr Clark understands that if we were to pay the women who work here the same as the men, the wage bill to the company would rise by seven percent, resulting in a rise to our fees that would make us considerably less competitive, meaning we’d have less work and would, at the very least have to downsize.”

“And I suppose it couldn’t be paid for out of the company’s profit margin?”

“Either way would result in a reduction in profits, which would lead to unhappy share holders.”

“I don’t suppose you’d happen to be a share holder, Mr Andrews?”

“That’s none of your business, Mrs Bush, and neither is the rest of this.”

“I wonder how many of the women who work here aware of this situation.”

“You’re certainly not the first to talk to me about it. Those who didn’t leave to pursue other career paths have accepted they can’t do a great deal to change the status quo, and you’d be wise to do the same.

“No-one likes a troublemaker Mrs Bush, and you don’t have to work here if you don’t want to.”

One of the things I’d learnt from my body’s reduced strength was if something refused to budge when you pushed at it, there wasn’t a lot of point in continuing to push. It was frustrating, but you had to know when to back down.

I didn’t quite slam has door on the way out, but I did close it firmly enough to turn a few heads.

The next office day, I had a summons from Mr Clark’s office. He didn’t offer me a seat.

“What’s this I hear about you causing trouble, Mrs Bush?”

“I don’t know sir; this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Did you speak with Mr Andrews on Friday?”

“Yes sir. I had some queries about my salary.”

“Yes, he told me you threatened some sort of industrial action.”

“I’m not sure how he inferred that, sir.”

“I’m disappointed, Sandra. I took a chance on you and this is a poor way to repay me.”

“I believe the way I’ve repaid you is by doing the job you gave me to the absolute best of my ability. If anyone should be disappointed, it’s me.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I seem to recall you complementing me on the quality of my work when we spoke a few weeks ago.”

“Your efforts as a probationer were exemplary.”

“I think if you’ll examine what I’ve done since, you’ll find they’ve been no different.”

“So why all this fuss?”

“I want to know why my work is worth so much less than any of the men who are employed here.”

“I’m intrigued. How do you know how much your colleagues earn?”

“I’m acquainted,” loosely speaking, “with someone who worked here up until a month or two ago. He told me how much he earned.”

“Ah yes, I think I know to whom you are referring. You do remind me a lot of him. Sad the way he went. It would be sad to see you go the same way.”

“Is that a threat, Mr Clark?”

“Perhaps better to call it a warning, don’t you think? In my experience, those who rock the boat tend to be the first ones to fall overboard.”

Another immovable object, and me very definitely less than the proverbial irresistible force.

“Are we done sir? I have quite a lot of work to do.”

Needless to say, I made less of an effort after that. I continued to work diligently and at a fair rate, but I felt no incentive to do any more than the job expected of me. Call it value for money if you will.

With my focus directed elsewhere than on work, I found time to develop friendships, chatting with any of the girls who paused for a coffee the same time as me and arranging to share lunch breaks. Without Sandra’s reputation to contend with, I found it easy to make friends, especially once my continued efforts with weight loss began to show results, and many of them wanted to know how I’d done it.

“There’s no secret to it,” I’d say, blushing slightly at the compliments directed my way. “Eat less, move more.”

“I wish I had your self-control.”

“You know, you’re something of an inspiration around here?”

You know, comments like that.

I lunched with a different group of friends every Friday, chatting about all sorts of nonsense and loving the sense of belonging that came from spending time with like minded people whose only motivation was to be friendly. Tuesdays I reserved for lunches with Charlie.

The grape vine did its thing and rumours of my confrontations with both Max and Mr Clark did the rounds, so inevitably lunchtime conversations would often turn to dissatisfaction with the way pay was handled. None of the girls was particularly happy with the situation, but apparently I was the only one who’d had the courage – or recklessness, depending on who I was talking to – to make an issue of it. I learned that every one of my new friends received an occasional memo admonishing them for poor quality or rate of work. They were, for the most part, unjustified and anyone who cared to challenge them received a verbal apology, but the paper trail remained on record providing the evidence necessary to justify the company paying them less.

The unfairness of it incensed me, but since there was no record of the verbal apologies, neither was there any way to prove the injustice of it all. I limited my responses to sympathetic support, but I made mental notes.

Meanwhile, home life improved dramatically. Michael almost completely lost his whine and, probably as a direct consequence, gained a great little circle of friends. Steven’s friendship with Ann developed into a full on romance, which would probably eventually only last as long as most teenage relationships, but for the time being he was happy – ecstatically so. Jake’s team had their rematch towards the end of term and won by the narrowest of margins, spurred on to victory by Steven and the otherwise all girl cheerleaders squad rooting for the visiting team all the way. End of term brought glowing reports for both children, with fairly mediocre academic results but enthusiastic congratulations all round for their effort. Steven brought home the school's best improved award which I displayed with pride of place in the living room. A little bit hidden by the TV, but then it was a big screen.

Barbara’s book club ended up being my way back into the local community, since her endorsement counted for a fair number of brownie points, as did my improving figure apparently. I suppose I’d always been aware that women were self-conscious about their appearance, but it took actually becoming a woman to discover how much it mattered.

Half term proved to be somewhat trying as I had to juggle working with entertaining two easily bored pre-teens. Fortunately, the weather improved as we headed towards summer, and I found things to keep them occupied in the back garden.

Have laptop will travel. I was spared the usual visits into the office while I was looking after the boys, and my work machine had enough battery capacity that I could afford to take it along with me on regular visits to the park where, I’m pleased to say, Steven engaged in considerably less violent pastimes. I was even able to pay Charlotte back in some small degree by looking after Jake for several of the days.

Shortly after school resumed, the Inland Revenue investigation into George’s business affairs returned a verdict of inconclusive in relation to his reported annual income of less than twenty-five thousand pounds per year over the previous six years. They accepted that the money I’d found under the sink had to be winnings from gambling and returned it to him, at which point Charlotte insisted that it be included as part of the assets that needed settling in the divorce.

When we finally met in court to hash that out, the judge started by raising the matters of both the prenuptial agreement and my charges of rape against my husband.

“These are both issues with enough irregularities associated with them that ultimately it will take a lot of court time to return a verdict in either case. As regards the rape, there is physical evidence to suggest the intercourse was not consensual, but at the same time, eleven years of marriage and two children shows a very different pattern of behaviour. As to the agreement, it was not signed three weeks prior as required by the law, which does invalidate it, but the fact that it was signed at all suggests that an agreement was made at some stage.

“Might I propose that Mrs Bush withdraws the accusation of rape and that Mr Bush cedes any potential claim under the prenuptial? If both parties are agreeable to at least considering the merits of this course, we can recess until tomorrow.”

Charlotte convinced me it was a fair trade off and would potentially save thousands of pounds in court costs, and Mr Simmons evidently managed to persuade his client of the same. The next day we both signed papers to withdraw those elements of the dispute and we turned to wrangling over the split, which was done out of court and eventually ended up with me getting the house, along with the mortgage and other associated bills and George keeping his cash. It turned out that, with the low level of inflation, he hadn’t paid that much in mortgage fees, and the difference between the amount still owing on the mortgage and the value of the property came to just under the thirty thousand cash he’d squirreled away. Charlotte wanted to hold out for more, but the balance would only have been a couple of thousand at most and I just wanted out of it. We settled for him signing an agreement never to contact either me or the kids directly, he could contact me through Charlotte if he ever had anything to say.

With the ink drying on the contract, I handed him back the two rather cheap and nasty rings he’d given me on our wedding day. I’d offer to redeem them from Charlotte by paying back the money I owed her, but she’d had her own ideas.

“Don’t be stupid,” she’d said handing back my – for want of a better word – jewellery. “I only took them to make you feel better about taking the money, and you can’t afford to pay it back, at least not yet. I know you’re good for it.”

The rings slid off my newly slender fingers easily enough, and I was officially free.

A full salary would have made covering the mortgage and utilities easy. Between the lower income and my need to keep adding to my wardrobe – my diminishing size led to the dresses I had so recently bought hanging off me like so many sacks – I was hard pressed to make ends meet. I did manage some savings by taking in a lot of my clothes, and learned a great deal about what was possible with a sewing machine by consequence.

This was as well since Steven, with his girlfriend’s support and encouragement, wanted to continue his journey of self-discovery with respect to his feminine side, and I wouldn’t have been able to afford a clothing allowance for both of us.

The first doctor we went to see told Steven that he was not the least bit gender dysphoric and all but shouted at me for wasting his time. Despite being an unpleasant experience, it did tell us something worthwhile as Steven decided he agreed with the doctor, which meant that whatever route we took had to enable him to become a man in whatever form he decided worked for him. This led to another conversation with our GP and an eventual appointment to see a child psychologist.

It didn’t happen straight away. With the unfavourable report from the gender specialist, there was little hope of Steven being prescribed androgen blockers, which lessened the urgency of dealing with his problem, so it ended up being more than a month before we finally received a letter from Doctor Marsh’s clinic.

He could only fit Steven in on Thursday after lunch, which meant it’d be tight getting to book club for a while, but that was a small enough sacrifice under the circumstances.

All the smaller when we met him for the first time.

Doctor Paul Marsh. If ever I needed proof I was in the right body, he was it. Of course, there was the possibility that my brain was being bulldozed by my body’s hormonal response, but I didn’t really believe that. Being controlled by hormones was more of a teenage thing, which meant, if anything, George was more likely to be my body’s preference.

Paul was different in almost every way. Quite a lot shorter with a trim figure that must have come in at less than half my former husband’s weight, dark curly hair and an easy smile that turned my legs to jelly.

He stood and extended a hand. “Mrs Bush. A very real pleasure. And you must be Steven.”

I was glad of the distraction. It gave me a moment to get my breath back. Once he’d shaken Steven’s hand, he turned back to me.

“Erm, it’s Ms Shaw,” I said apologetically. “Sandy Shaw if you can believe it. I’m recently divorced, and one of the things I was happy to give back to my former husband was his name.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry...”

“Oh, don’t be.” I laughed nervously. “It’s quite a recent thing. The changes probably won’t have made it into my records yet.”

“Well, I’ll make sure they make it into mine. Steven, does that make you a Shaw or a Bush?”

“Er, Shaw, definitely.” I’d given the boys the choice and neither of them had wanted to keep their father’s name.

My eyes wandered around the doctor’s office, settling specifically on the photographs scattered around the place, which showed him to be well travelled with a wide range of interests. No pictures of women or children, which was a good sign, unless he was gay, which would be just my luck.

He caught me looking and must have picked up something of what was going through my head, because he suppressed a smile.

It occurred to me that a man in his profession had to have better than average people reading skills. “Was I being that obvious?” I asked, reddening more than a little.

“Not at all,” he laughed. “To be honest, I’m rather flattered. It’s rare that I’ve been shown so much interest, and I can safely say never by anyone so beautiful.”

I cannot recall ever having blushed so furiously. Whatever the next stage after jelly-legs, I reached it in that moment. Somehow I still managed keep upright, though that may have had more to do with the tight jeans I was wearing than anything else.

“I believe I'm sensing a but,” I said, which prompted him to twist around and looked at his rear end. “No, not that kind of but.” He had me laughing, but then I doubt it would have taken much.

“The but is that I make it a rule never to get involved with patients or members of their family.”

“Oh.”

“However, I don’t anticipate having to see Steven indefinitely, and I’m going to hope like hell that nobody else catches your eye in the meantime.”

“I don’t think there’s much danger of that.” My brain had entirely turned to mush and I didn’t trust myself to say much more. “I’ll, er, I’ll let you get on with it, shall I?” I made my exit before I embarrassed myself any further.

I’d brought my laptop with a view to doing some work during Steven’s session and settled onto one if the low seats in the reception area. A coffee was offered and gratefully accepted, doubly so when it proved to be real.

I spent most of the hour staring blankly at the screen, imagining myself with the doctor. He was just the right height for me to tuck comfortably under his arm and that’s just where my mind put me, feeling safe and secure and cared for, bathing in the warmth of his smile.

After the session, while we were waiting for the bus, Steven gave me a knowing smile. “You like him, don’t you?”

That deserved a facetious answer, but mindful of the delicacy of young egos, I settled for, “Do you really have to ask?”

“I like him too.” He wasn’t going to say any more, but it was as good as a stamp of approval.

“I take it you found the session useful then?”

“It was amazing. I felt like I could tell him anything.”

I glanced down at him. Not very down. Not anymore, certainly nowhere as far down as when I’d first entered his life. A part of me wondered exactly when the growth spurt had started. The rest of me stood amazed at how animated he was all of a sudden.

“I mean, I told him everything. About beating Jake up and about how the whole cheerleading thing started, then about how I felt and like everything.”

“You did that all in one session?”

“Well, we managed to skip quite a bit because it was already in my records, but I did tell him about what you said, you know about what it’ll be like when I start growing.”

“You’ve already started growing. I’d say you’re about two inches taller than you were a month ago.”

“I suppose. He showed me some pictures on his computer, you know, of celebrities, Like Brad Pitt, Harry Styles, Jaden Smith, all wearing skirts and dresses and he asked me what I thought about them.”

The bus arrived and we climbed aboard. Downstairs was a little crowded so we headed to the top deck which we had pretty much to ourselves. Steven liked sitting right at the front so that’s where we settled.

“So, what did you say? Unless, of course, you’d rather not tell me.”

“No, I need to talk to you about it. I mean it was kind of... I kind of liked it and I didn’t sort of thing. The dresses were pretty cool, especially the ones Harry Styles wore, you know all see-through sleeves and frilly bits. But at the same time, it looked kind of wrong. Especially Brad Pitt, ‘cos he’s kind of buff.” He blushed. “That’s kind of a girly word and I’m not attracted to him or anything. It’s just he’s got really muscly arms and a wide chest, you know, he looks kind of...”

“Manly?”

“I suppose, which means that when he wears something girly, it’s too different and he looks wrong. Styles is kind of skinny with longish hair, so he doesn’t look as wrong, except when he doesn’t shave, then it’s, I don’t know.”

“Too much of a contrast.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, unless I miss my guess, you’re going to end up as more of a Brad Pitt than a Harry Styles.”

“I think so too. Anyway, Paul pulled up some other pictures, you know from movies. Gladiator, Braveheart, other really old stuff.”

I couldn’t help smiling at that. “Roman soldiers in tunics. Scotsmen in kilts. That sort of thing?”

“Yeah, sort of dresses and skirts for men I suppose. They kind of looked right, you know? What was that word you used? Manly? Manly clothes for manly men?”

“So, you mean men sort of wearing dresses but still looking like men. The clothes looked right on them, but it didn’t do much for your inner girl?”

“Yeah, how did you...?”

“It kind of made sense from what you were saying.”

“He suggested I try something different, but I’m going to need your help.”

“Oh?”

“It doesn’t exist yet, at least not that I know of, and he doesn’t think so either. I’m kind of looking for something in between. It has to fit right so it looks like it was meant for me, but it also has to say I’m a bit of a girl too. Does that make sense?”

“A lot of sense, but I’m having trouble picturing what it would look like in my mind.”

“Do you think you could come up with something like that?”

“It’ll be a bit of a challenge, so I’m not going to make any promises, but I will try. Is this just for you to wear when you’re at home?”

“He said that kind of depended on me, and on how I end up looking in it, sort of. He said we’re living in an age of transition right now and it was down to people like me to decide what that would mean.”

“Did he?” I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I needed a second opinion on the guy after all. What he was proposing sounded dangerous, for Steven.

“Yeah. He said that people tend to resist change so if I were to go outside wearing something like that, I’d get some people laughing it me, some people insulting me, maybe even attacking me sometimes.

“That’s why it has to be my decision, ‘cos if I keep it indoors, I won’t be as satisfied. It’ll still be like I’m hiding that side of me a bit, just showing it to me, kind of.

“He said for people like me there are no easy choices and I had to figure out for myself whether I’m going to hide my real self, or go out there and show me to the world and deal with the consequences.”

“Those consequences can be pretty rough and it’s hard to go back once you’ve started.”

“Yeah, he said that too, but I figure if I’m going to end up being big and strong like Dad, then people will think twice before calling me out on it.”

Images of Buster Bloodvessel doing the can-can in a yellow dress flashed through my mind. An iconic vintage moment in Top of the Pops history. Bad Manners’ lead singer wasn’t the sort of person you’d make fun of without his permission, but bullying people into accepting you didn’t feel right either.

“He also said that, in his experience, the ones who succeed in making changes are most often the ones who are supported and encouraged at home, and he could see I had that level of support and encouragement.”

Well, Doctor Marsh, flattery will get you... well maybe somewhere at least.

“Did you tell him about what kind of man your dad is?”

“He did ask about Dad a bit. I told him a few things.”

“Like what?”

“That he used to scare the shit out of me. Paul asked if he ever hit me and I said no but he did hit you sometimes, that he got angry real quick. Why are you asking about Dad?”

“Just thinking about what you said to me a while back about not wanting to become like your dad.”

“I don’t want to be anything like him.”

“I know sweetie, and I love you for that, but if you think about the way you get when things don’t go your way. The last time was when I fell out with Ann’s mum, remember?”

“Yeah, I kind of lost it a bit, but I was in full guy mode then.”

“That’s true. When you ended up locked out of the house in a skirt you responded very differently.”

“It’s why I feel I really need to do this, Mum. Anything to help me keep hold of, you know, what you call my softer side.”

I smiled and decided maybe Doctor Marsh might not need that second opinion after all.

“He also said I should maybe try wearing, you know, like lacy underwear and stuff under my clothes.”

“I can see how that might help. Just wearing something pretty next to my skin helps raise my spirits when I’m not feeling that attractive.” Like time of the month time. I’d been through a couple of those since my transition. They were not a fun part of being a girl.

“I don’t see why you’d ever not feel attractive, Mum. Now you’re all thinner and stuff you're, you know, like really smoking hot. Like MILF material.”

“I really do not like that term, Steven.”

“Sorry Mum. It’s just something I heard some of the older kids at school saying. Usually right before they say something like, ‘I’d do her.’” His expression darkened as he looked back on the memories.

“And that upsets you.” No Sherlock Holmes award for that deduction.

“Maybe a bit. The worst thing is I could kind of see myself doing the same. You know, if I went back to being the old me.”

“Well, please don’t get into any fights over immature people calling me names.”

“It’s not really fair though, Mum. They used to call you names and laugh at you when you were, you know, bigger.’

“You can say fat. I was fat.”

“Yeah okay, but now you look good they’re calling you names all over again. Just different ones.”

“Well, Steven, I have a feeling that’s going to be one thing you’re going to have to learn to live with. The world isn’t fair, largely because of the number of selfish people in it, and your best response is to strive to be your best version of you. Give them an example to follow, if they choose.”

“I’ll try, Mum, but it’s hard. I really hate it when they speak about you like that.”

“And I’m guessing they’d laugh at you if you just asked them not to.”

“Oh yeah, and then some.”

“Well, if you have to respond, maybe just tell them, 'What makes you think you have a chance with someone like her? She’s way out of your league.’”

He laughed. I was getting used to seeing the more cheerful side of my eldest. It was a side I really liked, and I decided I would do everything I could to make sure it stayed on the surface.

“So, this outfit you want me to make for you, tell me what colours you like, and what sort of shape. Full or tight skirt, long sleeves or short, stuff like that.”