The day that Ms Sondra King started work at Briggs and Co., Engineers would last a long time in the memory of most employees.

It wasn't that she was not well qualified to be Plant Manager, she was, it wasn’t that she was female, her predecessor was also a woman. It was that she was not the typical Manager sort of person.

From her long flowing brown hair down to her long and shapely legs, the vibe that she sent out told me that she was all woman! I knew that to my cost.

I'm no one of much importance in the plant. I emptied the trash bins, sorted the waste metal for recycling, and even gave a hand in the plating shop and drove the forklift truck whenever needed. That meant our paths would rarely cross which was a pity as I liked what I saw.

Her presence was soon felt throughout the factory. Almost on her first day, she instituted a programme to rein in any sort of waste and discretionary spending. Luckily for me, I knew how much material was sent for recycling. After all, the scrap dealers paid by the kilo and I had the records going back to when I started the job.

For most of the workers on the shop floor, it was business as usual. Cranes needed to be built and repaired. Customers would cancel their orders and go elsewhere if their projects were going to be delayed by even as little as a week.

Ms King's first month on the job was one of turbulence in the company. Some people just quit. One respected accountant just walked out in the middle of a departmental meeting. He'd been reprimanded for missing a deadline for submitting a report to her. According to the gossip machine, he just said 'Fuck You Lady Hitler' and walked out.

I kept my head down and carried on doing whatever was needed of me for another month then something I did or didn’t do, caught her attention. I was summoned to her office.

“Sit down Mr Elliot,” she commanded.

Being close to her for the first time, allowed me to see her properly for the first time… only, it wasn’t the first time that we’d met.

“What the hell are you doing Mr Elliot? Or… should I say Professor Jack Elliot?”

“Err… I’m working. At the end of the month, I get around sixteen hundred quid after tax and national insurance. As for the Professor thing… You should know better than me why I’m no longer in Academica. From my memory, you made up some tale about me propositioning you in a club that I’ve never been too. As you very well know, I was put on suspension. I had a mega mental and nervous breakdown that put me in the mental ward for nine months. In. that time, I was sacked by the university thanks to your lies, then, my wife left me, taking our kids with her. Of that sixteen-hundred quid, I pay her eight hundred in child support.”

I stood up and walked to the door.
“You win, I quit. Go to fucking hell lady. I never propositioned you in that club and you know it. Just because I graded your midterm paper down because you plagiarised most of it and didn’t even hide it very well. I don’t know what your game is right now lady but for my own mental state, I’m out of here. You were careless with that plagiarism. You stole the work of my former flatmate. I edited the paper that you so lovingly copied and called your own. You decided to get your own back and here I am, living from hand to mouth. You win. Get some other lackey to work for you, I’m not doing it any longer.”

I deliberately slammed the door behind me and walked back to my workplace. I packed my stuff and walked out deliberately forgetting to clock out.

As I exited the building, the scrap metal dealer I’d been expecting arrived for a pickup. Out of the goodness of my heart, I directed him to the right bin before walking to the gate.

“Where are you off too so early?” asked George, the security guard.

“I’m done. The witch on the 4th floor and I have history so I quit for my own sanity.”

George sighed.
“You are not the first and probably won’t be the last to go. This place is finished. I have to hope that I can stay for another three months. Then I can retire.”

“I hope that it all works out for you George.”

I walked to the bus stop and checked the timetable. Any hopes of getting home anytime soon were dashed. I had an hour to wait for the next one. The black clouds on the horizon mirrored my mood… dark. Of all the companies in the country, she had to pick the one where I was hiding in plain sight.

By the time I got home to my one-room palace, I was soaking wet. The bus that I should have waited for, beat me home by some ten minutes. Seeing it drive by did nothing to lighten my mood.

With my clothes dripping into my tiny shower, I opened a tin of soup for dinner. I was going to miss the subsidised canteen for my lunch. My budget was going to have to stretch even thinner.

Then the prospect of finding my child support payment. Unless I found a job soon, I could already hear the wrath of my former wife going to court to demand more and more money from me. You can’t get blood from a stone but that wouldn’t stop her.

I'd just finished washing up my plate and spoon when I heard a knock at the door. I knew who it was. No one else within 100 mies would ever want to see me, especially at this time of night.

The person knocked again. This time, there was more urgency in the rapping or so it seemed. I had little choice but to answer it.

I was correct and it was her, Ms King.

“Go away Ms King. I have nothing to say to you that has not already been said many times. You ruined my life with your lies and now you want to finish it off. Go sit on a sharpened pole. It might make you think about the pain that you inflict on people.”

I tried to shut the door but she stuck a foot in the way.
“I don’t want to speak to you or those lawyers that you engaged to peddle the lies that got me thrown out of the university. Some research assistant you turned out to be.”

This time, I trod on her foot and her reflex action was to remove it. I slammed the door shut and locked it. I hoped that the noise of the locks slamming home would give her the message.

If I could have afforded some Scotch, I would have gladly drunk at least a couple of doubles. I didn’t and it had been well over a year since I’d had any booze so even a single malt would probably make me drunk.

Instead, I made myself some honey and camomile tea to calm my nerves. Even the two remaining sachets were almost a year past their ‘best by’ date.

With a mug of tea in my hand, I sat down at my desk and recorded the events of the day. I’d post them the next morning on my way to the bus. Then I stopped myself. I no longer had a job to go to so I didn’t have a bus to catch at 06:55. I’d have to force myself to take the report to the post office. I needed some stamps and without access to a computer or email, the mail was my only way of communicating with my one friend in the world, my brother Joe who was a lawyer.

He'd tried his best to defend me when I faced the disciplinary panel at the university but it was to no avail. I only found out later that she’d slept with three of the four professors on the panel but by then, it was too late.

Her lies about my supposed act of propositioning her in my room at the university seemed persuasive even to me. That fact that I didn't do it, didn't cut any ice. Then she compounded it by saying that she'd also met me at a hotel in Manchester where it just happened that an LGBT event was being held and that I'd tried to get her into bed again. I had been at the hotel, but not to attend the event but to see my doctor for a checkup. I'd not even seen her on that trip but it was all so well told that my excuses were judged to be pitiful.

The next morning, I left my home and headed for the post office. It wasn’t far away but at least it got me out of those four walls for a while.

I’d just posted the letter to my brother when I saw her Mercedes ‘S’ Class car pull up beside me.

I didn’t look at her but increased my pace and turned down a side alley. If I hoped to lose her then I was very much mistaken. It was at a time like this that I wished that I had a phone with a camera but they cost money which I didn’t have.

This time, I turned to face her.

“Will you stop following me? I didn’t proposition you as you well know and I told you yesterday that I was done with that stinking job. Just get H.R. to send me my P.45 and I can be out of your life for good!”

“Please,” she said.
“I want to apologise.”

“Sorry Ms King, you ruined my life, my marriage and my career with your lies. I don’t believe a word that comes out of your crooked mouth. Why don’t you go back to the factory and find someone else to ruin… That’s what you were employed to do wasn’t it? The last place you worked, you managed to ruin a perfectly profitable business inside three months. The site of that business is now occupied by million quid homes. Is that your game here? I honestly don’t care. Now will you just fuck off!”

I didn't wait for a reply and almost ran back the way that I'd come and the main road where she would find it hard to accost me. The presence of double yellow lines and ever-present traffic wardens would, I hope keep her at bay at least while I bought myself something to eat. I'd have to ration my money until I could sign on for unemployment benefits in six weeks.

I'd only gone a few yards before I stopped and mentally thrashed myself. Who was I kidding? My rent was due in two weeks. After that, I'd probably be out on the street, just as she wanted, my final humiliation.

There was no sign of her or her black vehicle of doom when I returned to my meagre home. What I did find, was a letter in a cheap brown paper envelope much like the one you get from the taxman when he wants money from you had been pushed under my door.

There was no writing or printing on either side of the envelope. I dismissed it as a circular where the scumbag who wanted you to spend money that I certainly didn’t have, but you would not know that until you had wasted time that you could never get back opening the stupid thing.

I momentarily cursed myself for being so negative but I did have a good reason. I used to teach advanced marketing techniques when worked at the university. That was an aeon ago though.

The unopened envelope sat on the tiny kitchen table while I made myself my one meal of the day, a single baked potato done in the microwave and a small tin of baked beans. I did allow myself the luxury of adding a few drops of hot pepper sauce to the beans. That and a cup of tea without milk or sugar would have to do until the evening when I’d eat the reduced-price jam doughnuts that I'd bought at the small supermarket near my home, the night before. I’d bought some reduced-price custard as well. Thirty seconds in the microwave to warm up the stale dough and doused with lots of custard was almost a staple of mine.

The ever-present envelope just would not go away. It had to be opened even though I had a feeling in my gut that it was nothing but bad news. With nothing better to do, I found a decently sharp knife and slit the cheap paper of the envelope open.

It contained a single sheet of paper folded in three. I opened it up and was initially relieved that it wasn't a summons. My now former wife had served me with the divorce papers in a similar manner.

“Dear Mr Elliot,
You don’t know me but I have taken an interest in your case since your untimely departure from the university. I know that you didn’t proposition our mutual acquaintance, Sondra King.
You were not the first to suffer her wrath and for your information, there have been others since she was finished with you. She is nothing more than a Trojan Horse. Her job is to close down the company you formerly worked for so that the land can be sold for development. It was just fate that you happened to be working there when she moved in.
I know that money is tight so as a small gesture of appreciation, I have deposited £250 into your bank account. That should keep you going while you consider my offer.

That money is yours whatever you decide to do.

My offer?

I was also in Manchester when you were accused by Ms King. I saw you at the convention and was impressed by how you acted. Ms King was there to gather dirt on you, which hindsight tells us, she obtained in huge amounts. She had a huge file of photos showing you as your alter-ego, Valerie. I say had. They have been destroyed. After you departed from the university, she had no further need for them.

I’m offering you the chance to become Valerie and at the same time, start a new life. I run an unofficial organisation dedicated to helping people like yourself. I have to admit that you fell through the gaps when you left home like you did. It was only the recent actions of Ms King that brought you to our attention again.

I know that all this sounds too good to be true but it isn’t. How about seeing my little community for yourself before making any commitments? For most of my girls, that is enough to persuade them to join us.

If you are interested then please use some of that money that is in your bank and buy a train ticket to Hereford next Friday. Make it a weekend return. A vehicle will be waiting for you at the station for the arrival of the 12:50 train from Birmingham New Street. Don't bother to pack anything that can't be put in your coat pocket. A pair of socks, a pair of knickers and your toothbrush will be more than enough. Everything else will be provided.

I look forward to meeting you on Friday.

Yours truly,
Josephine Maxwell
(no relation to Robert)
“

I read the letter at least three times. It was clear that this Josephine person knew a lot about me. The information about 'her' filled in a lot of holes in my knowledge. The site that my now former employer operated from dates back to WW2. It was now in the middle of a residential district and could not expand. Replacing it with yet more executive little boxes where you could not swing a cat in the master bedroom would make the developer an awful lot of money even including the cleanup costs.

I knew that the plating shop used all sorts of horrible chemicals and there was no way that they could not leech into the soil given the time it had been in operation. Those costs would be considerable as would the cost of removing asbestos from the now defunct paint shop.

Those little boxes would have to be priced high but it was clear to me that a few million in profit could be made.

The next morning, I went into the local town centre and checked my bank balance. Sure enough, there was a recent deposit of £250.00 in my account.

My next stop was the local library, where I was able to use one of the computers available for public use. I went onto the Land Registry site and looked up my old home. The information was telling. This Ms Maxwell was right. I'd signed over my share of our home to my wife when I was about at rock bottom. She'd wasted no time in selling it for almost three hundred thousand more than the valuation we'd had done for the divorce. So much for my former wife pleading poverty, when it came to wanting more child support from me.

Next, I searched the local council planning department records. I found the planning application for a block of twenty-five luxury apartments with a gym, swimming pool and sauna on-site, all on the 3.25 hectares that I used to own. The figures started to make sense when I checked a few of the bigger estate agents, and that's when things got crazy. One of those apartments was up for sale at a cool nine hundred and fifty thousand pounds for the 99-year lease. The £12,000 a year service charge nearly made me sick on the spot. Someone, and that included Ms Sondra King, had made a lot of money on the deal.

My last task was to search for Ms Josephine Maxwell. There wasn’t a lot of information. Most of it was about the death of her husband, Stanley. He’d been an oilman from Texas. As a Texan, he’d been a larger-than-life character until he partied with the wrong people in Las Vegas. His body had been found dumped by the side of I-15 about 60 miles east of ‘Sin City’. Mrs Maxwell had been in London at the time dealing with the death of her mother. Other than that, there was little out there in the public domain about her other than in the obit of Mr Maxwell, it said that they had a house close to the border with Wales in Herefordshire. I could only find one recent photo of Mrs Maxwell. The face looked vaguely familiar, but that was about it. The last bit of information was a report that his estate was worth around $430 Million after taxes.

All of that information made me sit back and think. I didn't get much chance as someone else wanted to use the computer, so I left the library and went for a walk in the local park.

I found a bench to sit on that was not being battered by the brisk northeasterly breeze and tried hard to make some sense of the hole that I was in and this barely believable way out of my predicament… as in no job, lack of funds for almost anything and no prospects other than sleeping rough in 4 to 5 weeks.

It was a relatively easy decision to make. I had to give the offer a try. All that was at stake was my life, which at present was not worth much at all.

[Hereford Station, 14:15 Friday]

I reached the point of no return and hesitated. A few more steps and I'd be out of the protection of the station and onto the forecourt. I stepped aside and let the other passengers exit before me. As the last one passed me by, it was time to make my mind up. Should I go or do I chicken out and go home? I shook my head at my mental chicken state and walked out into the afternoon light.

I grey uniformed chauffeur was standing by the side of a white BMW 7-Series. In their hand was a sign saying “Maxwell”. I guessed that was for me. I took a step towards the car and then hesitated. The chauffeur was a woman. After a brief shake of my head, I strode positively towards the car.

“I think that this car is for me?” I said hesitantly.
“Elliot?”

"Yes, it is," said the woman had the rear door open for me before I could almost blink an eye.

“Thank you.”

I sat inside the car, and once more and before I could react, she'd snapped my seatbelt in place. She smelt nice. That was about the only thing I could think of as the car drove away from the railway station.

I saw the driver glancing at me through the rear-view mirror. I guessed that she was trying to imagine me without the bushy beard that I’d grown over the past three years.

I stroked the beard and said,
“This is my ‘hiding in plain sight’ beard.”

She laughed.
“Ready to say goodbye to it?”

“I think so as long as there is something else to hide behind. I gotten used to hiding like that.”

“Most of us were like that at one time or another but we have got beyond that. You might be surprised. That’s why you are visiting this weekend.”

“I’m afraid that I’m still very much in the dark over all this.”

She laughed.
“I was too when I was sitting right there where you are. It will seem strange to begin with but soon it will make perfect sense I promise you.”

“I hope so.”

Right from the moment that the BMW pulled off the now minor road, I knew that I was in the presence of money. The gates each had a gold-coloured eagle in the ironwork. The gates opened automatically and closed behind us.

The drive curved around a lake towards an Art Deco-styled house. I remembered being dragged to see the work of McIntosh in Glasgow as a child, and to my surprise being taken in by the geometric shapes of his furniture. Since then, I developed an interest in the design and style of the period. I once had a few pieces of early Claris Cliff pottery. As the car came to a stop outside the house, I told myself to stop looking back and only forward if I was going to get out of the deep swamp that I'd sunk into.

My chauffeur opened the door for me. I smiled at her. She was good at her job.

Before I could thank her, she’d driven off. I turned towards the house. As I did so, the front door opened and Ms Maxwell emerged. For someone in her late thirties, she was a looker.

“Welcome to our little place of reinvention, Jack. Come on inside. I know that everyone is expecting to meet you later.”

Her last words didn't fill me with any sort of confidence. That's par for the course after you have been through your hell and back. Nevertheless, I followed her inside.

My thoughts about the 1920s or 1930s as being the period when the house was built were confirmed by the date of 1928, carved in stone at the top of a large archway that led from the hall to two sets of curving stairs. For somewhere that potentially had a lot of occupants, the place was eerily quiet.

“Everyone is out working around the estate or studying but will be back for dinner,” said my host.
“Lets go into my office and talk.”

Her office was as I'd expected, wood-panelled but furnished in a fairly modern style. She saw me looking around.
“My late husband bought this place but died before he could enjoy it. Even though he was an Oilman from Texas, he hated the summer heat. This was to be our summer home.”

Then, she pointed to a photo on the wall.
“That’s us when we first met in New York at a pride event.”

As I studied the image, all sorts of questions that I had about the whole thing, started to get answered.

“Yes,” she said,
“I was born male. I didn’t look that good compared to all the other beautiful trannies on show but he saw something in me. What you see now is almost all fake but it is how I imagined myself. He did live to see the finished product and we were married in NYC. The next two years, were the happiest of my life. Given the current political state of things in Texas, I’d probably be lynched as soon as I set foot in the state. Instead, I live here amongst people such as yourself and hopefully give them the chance to become the person they dream of much like me.”

“I… I never knew that places like this even existed?”

“That is by design. Even here there is a fringe element that wish that we’d simply cease to exist but we ain’t going anywhere.”

I didn’t respond so Josephine opened up a file on her desk. It had to be my file.

“I don’t need to tell you that you were shafted by Ms King not once but twice. I have to say that you must have fought hard to resist the opportunity to punch her in the face this last time. God knows that she deserved it.”

I shook my head.
“I would never do that unless she hit me first. That is not me but I did check out what you said in your letter. She must work for some very right people.”

Josephine smiled back at me.
“I’m glad that you did check things out but she’s actually the boss on the development company. Naturally, it is all hidden by offshore shell companies but she’s the owner. I guess that she has a sadistic trait in that she loves to put the knife into people?”

“She tried to say sorry to me after this last event. She came to my home. I’m still trying to work out why.”

She smiled.
“If you did as I did and put both incidents together then you could easily expose her little game. It was only checking you out in detail that it became evident to me what she was doing.”

“Are you going to expose her?”

“That depends on you Jack. There is a risk that she’d take the rest of the dirt that she has on you and make it public. That could come back to haunt you unless… unless you were no longer Jack that is.”

“Are you really offering me the chance to become someone else?”

“I am… Well, that’s what this weekend is all about. A sort of try before you buy. I warned the girls that you had a beard. All I heard back was ‘bring on the bearded woman’. Most of them have been through really bad times with family and life in general. A couple might even be killed by their family for dishonouring the family name. Here, they can recover and then grow into their new life in safety before going out into the world a new person with a new identity and a fresh chance in life.”

“It sounds like most of them are the age of my students, sorry former students.”

“That’s why you present a new challenge for us. Yes, you are old enough to be a father to some of my girls but you are wiser than most of them.”

Then she stood up.
“Let me take you up to your room. There is a selection of clothes to wear for the evenings. During the day, we dress down. Many wear overalls or something like this.”

Josephine was wearing what is best described as a schoolgirl's outfit. Black tights, a dark grey pinafore dress with a white blouse underneath. She looked as sexy as hell with her long thin legs. There was no way that she looked her age… just two years younger than me.

I was wrong about the tights. As I followed her up one of the two curved staircases, I was treated to a glimpse of white frilly knickers and suspenders. She was wearing stockings. The thought of that brought a smile to my face which I quickly removed. Even though my mind had told me for decades that I should have been a woman, part of me found the thought of stockings and suspenders very sexy. My former wife wore them all the time apart from in winter. That was part of the reason that I’d married her.

My room overlooked the rear of the property. I saw a schoolgirl complete with blonde pigtails driving a mower. It looked surreal but strangely not out of place.

“Dinner is at seven but… the girls would like to welcome you in the bar at six.”

Josephine opened the door to a wardrobe. It revealed a selection of clothes.
“The girls chose these in the hope that you would come. I described you to them and left them to it. Cindy, whom you met earlier at the station went out armed with a list and this is what she returned with.”

I didn’t know where to start. My dressing had been very limited and all I possessed fitted into a small suitcase that was hidden under my bed.

Josephine saw my hesitation.
“Diane will be here at about five thirty. She’s a whizz with makeup although your beard presents a problem.”

She saw my worried look.
“Don’t worry about removing it. I’m sure that when you do decide to join, us they’d love to have the chance to shave it off…” Josephine said smiling.

“Thanks but I…”

“I’ll see you in the bar later.”
Then she was gone leaving me to try to grasp what I was getting myself into.

The lure of the wardrobe proved too much to resist. Everything was my size and still had the store tags on. Someone had spent as much as I used to earn in a week on this. That was without the shoes. There were six different styles including some ‘Mary-Janes’ that would go with the two black pleated skirts that seemed so out of place amongst everything else.

Slowly what Josephine had said, started to sink in. Seeing one of the girls happily mowing the grass made sense. If, like me, they had been through the wringer, then even doing mundane things in a place of safety would help their mental health.

I selected an outfit that would not embarrass me and my lack of breasts too much. Then, a simple search revealed a bra, some breast forms and underwear in a chest of drawers. I'd only ever worn breast forms once before and that was at one of these transformation places in London. I looked like a man in drag then and would again, especially with my beard. It would have to go but not here, not this weekend.

A beautiful woman named Diane knocked at my door right on five-thirty. She was carrying a professional makeup case. She took one look at me and laughed.

“I was told about your beard but… that is a beard and a half if you don’t mind me saying so?”

I smiled back.
“It was… it is my hiding in plain sight thing. It makes me look at lot different.”

“Then… we’ll leave it well alone… for this weekend.”

She took my hand led me to the dressing table and sat me down.
“You have good skin especially around the eyes. A little work on the eyelids would make you appear ten years younger. I had mine done a few months ago.”

I tried hard but failed to see any evidence of surgery.
“You look good.”

“Thank you…. Do you have a female name?”

“Abby. I’d like to be called Abby. Is that going to be a problem.”

"Welcome, Abby and no it won't.”

I relaxed and let her do her thing with my face.

That thing wasn't much mainly due to my mountain man-style beard. She removed the hair that connected my eyebrows and applied some clear lip gloss.

“That will have to do until you come to live with us.”

“I haven’t decided yet!” I exclaimed.

She grinned at me.
“You will, you will. Josephine is very particular about whom she invites to come for even a taster weekend. I had so many doubts about it all but those disappeared almost from the moment that I was picked up at the station. This place is all about you and letting you find your own way. I’m now doing day release and studying beauty therapy. When I qualify in June, my time here will be up but Josephine is already working on finding a place for me to live and work well away from where I grew up.”

Her accent told me that she was from South Yorkshire.

As I looked at her brush my rather unkempt hair in the mirror, I found it hard to believe that she’d been born male. Everything about her said ‘I’m a woman’. I was pleased for her but deep down I knew that it was going to be hard for me to even become passable.

Diane laughed.
“Wh… What’s so funny?”

“You. You were away with the fairies weren’t you?”

I smiled back at her.
“I was thinking how hard it would be to make me passable.”

“Don’t despair. Not everyone can look like a supermodel. Take me for example?”

“You? If I could look like you then I’d be more than happy.”

“Then take a look at this.”
She opened up her makeup case, removed the lower tray and pulled out an envelope.

“I keep this as a reminder of the old me,” she said as she pulled a photo out of the envelope and handed it to me.

I looked at it and then at her.
“No way. There is no way that this was you.”

She beamed a smile back at me.
“That was me five and a half years ago. I’d just started on my transformation when COVID struck but, thanks to Mr Chamberlain, my surgeon, he saw the possibility of making me not only passable but actually someone that the old me would have been proud to date and be seen with. It wasn’t easy or without a lot of pain but I’m ready to leave here and face the world… as a woman. It does not hurt to dream, does it?”

I gave her the photo back.
“No, it doesn’t but I’m old enough to be your father. It is not so easy for someone my age.”

“I’m almost thirty.”

She didn’t look much over twenty years old.

“Time for me to get dressed I suppose.”

“Do you need help with things?”

“Please.”

We were only five minutes late when we descended the curved stairs together. I felt decidedly unsteady on my 2in high heels but I got there.

The bar fell silent as Diana opened the door. I felt every eye scanning me from top to bottom. I was as good as it was going to get without removing my beard.

“Ladies, please welcome Abby to our humble home,” said Diana.

There were eight of them including Josephine. To me, they all looked fabulous and totally out of reach.

“Welcome Abby,” said Josephine.
“What’s your poison?”

“Nothing alcoholic for me please. I haven’t had any booze for well over two years.”

“That’s ok. I’ll fix you something non-alcoholic,” said another of the women.

A gong sounded for dinner before I knew it. Everyone had made me feel so welcome. A couple even admired my beard. Then another one spoilt it by saying, ‘that’s going to take a lot of work to remove for good’. I knew that she was right but knowing that they’d all been where I was at that moment helped me accept their comments in the right way.

[Sunday afternoon]

“Well Abby, can we tempt you away from your tiny bedsit and no job?” said Josephine as she wrapped up my visit.

I chuckled.
“You certainly run an interesting operation here Josephine. Your results are impressive. The girls are living proof of that.”

“You don’t seem convinced?”

“It is not that I’m not convinced by what you can do for people like me but more like what the finished result would look like. I’ve seen what can go wrong with too much plastic surgery and thing like Botox and fillers.”

“I appreciate the honesty. This sort of transformation is not for everyone. Please take a few weeks to think things over and give me a call. I’m sure that you know that two of my girls are leaving in the next few weeks with Diane going in the summer. It is the perfect time for someone such as yourself to join us. With you being a former professor, I had hoped that you would help in the education of the girls. To be honest, some have had very little formal education.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence Josephine. I will let you know by this time next week. Is that a deal?”

She smiled back at me.
“That is a deal. I look forward to your call be it good or bad.”

My journey home was painful. I did feel that I belonged there but it was a big step to take. I had limited access to my two daughters to think about. Becoming Abby would end that in a flash. If I could resolve that in my mind then I'd accept the offer.

As it turned out, fate had already decreed that it was in danger. Waiting for me when I returned home, was a letter from my former wife’s legal representatives noting that I was now unemployed and reminding me that I still owed last month’s child support.

I penned a letter to them but thankfully I didn't send it. I rewrote it the next day and pointed out that the court would like to know about the several hundred thousand pounds of income from the sale of our former house and that I would no longer be paying child support until she declared the change in her finances to the court.

I wrote a third version a couple of days later but by then I’d made up my mind. I was going to make a fresh start and accept that I would lose what little access I had to my children.

A week later, I packed a few belongings and took the train to Hereford. This time, I wasn’t going to return at least in my present form and gender. Time to truly start again.

[the end]
[Authors Note]
I dithered long and hard about writing a story for this contest. Eventually an idea came into my head about a week ago that refused to go away. I relented and started writing without any real idea where it would lead. Six days later this is the result. It is not as polished as I'd like but time is of the essence when the entry is for a competition.
Yes, there is probably room for a sequel but at the moment, I am not going there. We can all wish that there was somewhere like the place that Josephine runs for us to effect our transformation.
Samantha