Gruesome Tuesday by Tanya Allan   Fifteen-year old Sophie wants to go to a Justin Timberlake concert, but her father, Rob, doesn’t want to let her go. Having lost his wife to cancer, he may be over-protective. They have an argument, in which she accuses him of not understanding what it is like to be young. He remembers his youth well, and telling her that she has it easy compared to him. A freaky electric shock transports her into her father’s fifteen-year old body in a boys’ boarding school in the 1970s, and he ends up as her in the present. Things then get very interesting indeed!

 
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Originally written in 2004, revised in 2009.
 
The Legal Stuff: Gruesome Tuesday  ©2004, 2009 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Chapter 1. Rob's Story
 
 
“Dad! That is just sooooooooo unfair,” Sophie whined at me.

“Whoever said life was fair?” I asked, grinning slightly at her attempts to manipulate me.

“But Caroline and Jenny are going.”

“Caroline and Jenny are both sixteen, so if their parents are happy with that, then that’s their decision. You’re fifteen, and I’m not letting you go. I’m sorry, but that’s final.”

“But Dad?”

“Sophie, enough,” I said sternly, but in truth I found it so hard to be tough. So many parents I knew fought with their children over trivial matters such as hair and clothes, so when the really important things came up, the fight was already lost.

“Dad, you don’t understand.”

“Sophie. Believe me, I do, but I’ve made my decision. Maybe next year.”

“I hate you. If Mum was alive, she’d understand,” she screamed, running upstairs in tears.

She was still wearing her school uniform of white blouse, grey skirt and tights. She is a tall girl, but then I’m over six feet and her mother had been nearly 5’8”. She always looks older than her fifteen years, already developing a trim figure. She is very pretty, with her long blonde hair indeed her crowning glory. It had a natural wave to it that many women spent a fortune trying to create artificially.

I sighed and looked at Steven, who was finishing his tea. He grinned at me, as ten-year old boys do when they see their bossy elder sisters being given a hard time.

“Have you football practice tonight?” I asked him.

“Yeah, Paul’s Dad is picking me up at six.”

“You have three minutes, so get a move on,” I said, so he rushed his food. Sure enough, Mike Newman, Paul’s father, pulled up in his Volvo just moments later.

Steve grabbed his kit and ran out of the door.

“See ya, Dad.”

“Bye,” I said to a closing door.

I cleared the plates up, loading them into the dishwasher. Sophie hadn’t eaten her food yet, so I went to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up for her to come and eat.

“I’m not hungry,” she screamed.

“Okay. In one minute the dog gets yours,” I said.

At this, Buster, the black Labrador, understood that he was about to win today’s dog lottery and sat salivating at my feet. It never ceased to amaze me how a dog who managed to look so sound asleep one minute, could be wide awake and drooling whenever the vaguest hint of food should be in the offing.

Fifty-nine seconds later, a belligerent and bolshie fifteen year old Goth came out of her room and munched her food as noisily and miserably as possible. She had changed into a black mini skirt and black tee shirt to match the dreadful heavy black makeup. I ignored her behaviour and her outrageous makeup, as that always made her even madder at me.

Sophie was actually a sweet and lovely girl, but when we talked about concerts and boy bands, we suffered from a communication problem. Karen, my wife and the kid’s mother, had died four years ago after finally losing an eighteen-month battle with cancer. It was at times like this I really missed her.

The last four years had been a nightmare for me, but I was gradually feeling that I was coming out of a very dark place. Steven had been six, and while it had affected him, it hadn’t been as tough on him as much as Sophie. She had been eleven when Karen died, so had been just turning into a young woman. It was a time when mums are essential for girls, and Karen wasn’t there for her. So she was lumbered with her Dad, so I had to get to grips with teenage girl problems.

It was a real education for me, and I was actually quite proud of myself. I had read lots of books on the subjects, and I found women’s magazines very helpful, particularly the problems pages.

Actually, Sophie had been wonderful. Together we had struggled through. Everyone wondered why I hadn’t tried to find another partner, but they didn’t really understand the situation.

I had to work, bring up two children and keep a home. It was all I could do to get through each day without having a breakdown. I had no time or inclination to even try to look for another partner.

I quit my job as a journalist on a local paper and had started working from home. I wrote articles for all kinds of publications, and even wrote short stories for all kinds of different magazines under a host of pen-names. My romantic stories in various women’s magazines under the name of Rebecca Robbins were very popular, and I was making a very nice living from them. I even had two romantic novels published by Mills & Boon under the same name, and was working on a couple more.

I even wrote a couple of rather pornographic books as Samantha Van Ryebuck, which I invented in order to prevent Rebecca from getting a tarnished image. My bank manager and accountant found it hilarious, as cheques came in for seven or eight different names, and they were all me. Sorting out my tax return was always a bloody headache.

Sophie was going through a slightly rebellious stage, and I annoyed her by occasionally putting my foot down. Most of the time I was very liberal in what I allowed her to do. Having no mother meant she had to grow up faster, so as a result I trusted her a lot more than most fifteen year olds. However, I didn’t trust the boys, as I had been one once, so knew what went through their minds, and trousers!

I had a policy of not fighting over the little things, that way she took me seriously when I did take issue with something important.

This particular difference of opinion was over a Justin Timberlake concert at the NEC in Birmingham in early December. There was a group of girls from the year above her at school, and they had all got tickets. With a group of boys, they had booked a minibus and were all set.

Due to a family commitment, one girl dropped out, so she offered her ticket to Sophie. I was not letting her go, not because I didn’t trust her, but because I didn’t trust the boys on the trip. They were all sixteen or seventeen and some had dubious reputations, particularly over the matter of drugs and alcohol. I offered to take her, drop her off and then collect her afterwards. She had declined, so we reached the current stalemate.

We lived just outside Chorleywood, a small town in Hertfordshire, just to the north of London. We were just in Buckinghamshire, so Sophie could go to the Dr Challoner’s Girls’ Grammar school at Amersham.

I had wanted to move after Karen’s death, but Sophie and Steve had friends around them, so it would have been unfair to move just because I could not cope with the memories, particularly as Sophie was doing so well in her school. I had gritted my teeth and stuck it out. Actually, I often found myself talking to Karen when I was alone in the house, as I felt she was close to me. I was quite grateful that we were still here, so would now be reluctant to move for a while.

I went into the sitting room and sat and watched the TV news. They were still looking for Saddam Hussain, while suicide bombers in Iraq had killed yet more allied soldiers.

I heard Sophie come in. She sat on the floor at my feet. She put her arms on my knees and looked at me through dark mascara.

“I’m sorry Daddy,” she said.

I reached out with my hand and stroked her blonde hair.

“So am I sweetie.”

“I do want to go.”

“I know. And I will take you. I just don’t feel that that crowd are responsible enough.”

“You have to let go sometime, Daddy,” she said.

I looked at her. She was as manipulative as her mother used to be, and she knew exactly how to wear me down.

“Sophie, I give you more responsibility and rope than most of your friends, and I really appreciate how much you do to help me. But I still have to look out for you for just a little while longer. On some matters you just have to accept and trust that I do know best.”

“I’m not a complete idiot, Daddy.”

“I know, I never suggested that you were. In fact you’re a very bright girl, and I’m so proud of you.”

“I do know how to behave.”

“I know you do.”

“And I trust my friends.”

“As do I. But I’m cautious about boys whom I don’t know. And a couple of the lads on this particular trip, I’ve heard bad things about.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Sophie. Please believe me when I tell you that it is not you I don’t trust. The world is a nasty place, and things can happen even when you are very careful. Maybe it’s me, sweetie. I lost your mother, and I couldn’t bear anything to happen to you.”

“I know, Dad, but I so want to go.”

“I’ll take you, and even pick you up afterwards.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s the best offer on the table.”

She looked at me and her big blue eyes broke my heart, as she was so like her mother, it cracked me up. Admittedly, Karen never used to put several inches of black mascara around hers.

She saw that she wasn’t going to wear me down on this one that quickly, so she told me she would think about it. The concert was several weeks away, and the ticket was on offer for a week, so she knew she had a week to work on me.

She went upstairs, but when she came down, she had removed most of the makeup. We both knew that her tactic no longer worked, so I was hopeful that she would cease trying.

She helped me clear up the pots and pans, and came and sat with me, as I wrote my book.

“Which is this one?”

“A Rebecca Robbins love story, called, ‘Rekindled Romance!’”

She giggled. “I don’t understand how you can sell this rubbish, you don’t see the world as a woman at all.”

“It’s not that hard. One just has to try to imagine how it feels, and go with the story. Your mother and I were married for fifteen years, and this year would be our twentieth anniversary. I just try to see things as she would have done.”

“Can’t you try to see things as I do?” she asked, with a sly smile.

“Maybe next book.”

“I bet you couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re too old.”

“I’m only forty.”

“Life is really tough as a teenager today.”

“Oh, and it wasn’t when I was your age?”

“Boys have it easy. They’re allowed to do anything they want.”

“Not true. My dad was very strict, and I certainly was never allowed to do some of the things I let you do. Besides I was sent away to boarding school, and that was pretty tough.”

“You’re just saying that, I think that would be so cool. I mean all those boys!”

“Sophie, you have an answer to everything. If you were just one of three hundred boys you wouldn’t find it so cool. As a girl, yes, but not just as one of the lads. It’s something you’re just going to have to trust me on, we can’t turn the clock back, and we can’t swap places. This isn’t Hollywood, so things like Freaky Friday are just good movie plots.”

“That’d be cool though, wouldn’t it?”

“What would?”

“Us swapping places. You’d have to be me, and I could be you when you were a teenager.”

“I don’t think you’d want to be me. And I certainly would hate to have to go through school again, even if it might be quite interesting as a girl. No, we’ve just got to make the best of who we are and what we’ve got in the here and now.”

“Imagine the kick you’d get being a girl, you’d be able to write your books from real life then,”

“Sophie, don’t be silly. I do all right.”

“Dad, your stories are so lame. I think the only people who read these are closet transvestites and gays.”

“Sophie! That’s ridiculous; lots of women read my books.”

“Yeah, then they’re all so old that they can’t remember what sex was.”

“Sophie!”

Sophie giggled and I laughed. The air cleared and we were friends again.

“It wouldn’t work,” I said.

“What wouldn’t?”

“Well, if you went back to be me, and I became you, who’d be me here and now?”

She frowned. “I dunno, it was just an idea.”

“Hmm, it might make a good book.”

“It’s been done, Daddy.”

“Mothers and daughters, or fathers and sons, but never fathers and daughters. It’s a bit gender/benderish for good taste.”

“I suppose, but it would make a cool film.”

“Maybe, but I should not like to try, thank you very much.”

“How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

“God, I can’t remember, fourteen or fifteen I think,” I said.

“What was her name?”

“Now you have me. It was a long time ago sweetie.”

“Oh come on, your first kiss, I bet you can remember. I would.”

“Oh yes and what is his name?”

“Ah, that’s in the future,” she said, surprising me.

“Emma. Emma Harrison. She was the daughter of some old friends of my parents, and we got together one summer, but it didn’t last that long.”

“That’s not long, what happened?”

“They lived a long way away, and to be honest, I was always terrified of her as she was a little forward. The last I heard she was on her third husband.”

“When did you first have sex?” she asked, and I laughed.

“Sophie, that isn’t a polite question.”

“If you went to boarding school, were there lots of gays there?”

“Not really, none, or none that I was aware of. I suppose there were a few who were slightly confused, but that’s only to be expected. There was certainly none that were openly obvious.”

“So, if there were no girls, what did you do?”

“We met girls in the holidays.”

“Yes, but what about in between?”

“Sophie, enough!”

She giggled and smiled at me.

“Everyone wanks, Daddy, so don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” I lied.

“Yes you are, I can tell.”

I smiled. “You are a minx.”

“So, were you a virgin when you met Mum?”

I smiled as memories came flooding back.

“No Sophie, I wasn’t, and neither was your mother.”

“Cool! When did you first do it?”

I looked at her, my little girl, who was no longer a little girl, and was turning into a very pretty young woman. She didn’t have a mother to talk to about periods and boys, so she had me.

“I was seventeen and on holiday in Spain. She was sixteen and came from Essex.”

“Oh, not an Essex girl! Did she have white stilettos?”

“I can’t remember, but she had a white bikini, and it all started when she threw cold water at me by the pool, so I stole her bikini top.”

“So she wanted you to, that’s why she threw the water at you.”

“Probably.”

“What was she like?”

“She was slim and pretty and had dark hair. Her name was Fay. Her father ran a furniture restoration business in somewhere like Woodford or Chingford. She was younger than me, but very worldly. We were in the same hotel for the same two weeks, and it happened on the second last night.”

“Was it good?”

“If I recall it was pretty dire, as I was so nervous and had drunk too much, so I can’t really remember. But we tried again the next night, and that was pretty good.”

“Did you love her?”

“I thought so at the time. But, well, we promised to keep in touch, but never really did. We wrote a couple of times a year, but never met up again. She married a local mechanic and had lots of babies before she was twenty.”

“Did you use a condom?”

“Yes, she actually had them with her, as if she planned to find someone all along. I was quite taken aback by that.”

“Was she the only one, apart from Mum?”

“No, there was another girl at university. We even talked about getting married, but it never worked out. We lived together for a while. I loved her, but we were too different.”

“I want my first time to be with the man I marry. It’s so special, that I don’t want to make a mistake and just have sex because I can.”

I looked at her. My precious little girl, for whom I would gladly give my life if needs be. So young, so pretty and yet so wise, I prayed she retained all three.

“That’s good to hear, but I won’t change my mind,” I said, and she laughed.

“Was I that obvious?” she asked with a pout.

“You are more like your mother than is good for you.”

“Do you still miss her?” she asked.

“As much as ever. And I know you do.”

She nodded. “Why did she have to die?”

I shook my head. We had both asked that question so often, but knew that we would never know the answer.

“I’m so sorry, I am trying my best, sweetheart.”

“You do great, Daddy. I have the best Dad in the world, but I’d still like to have Mummy back.”

“So would I, Sophie. So would I.”
 

*          *          *
 
Many fathers have close relationships with their children, but I was blessed. Sophie and I were more than close, but even so, we still fought, and somehow through the fights we grew closer. Steven and I weren’t quite so close, but still we had a good relationship. He was a good kid, and I was proud of him too.

He came in from soccer practice at about eight, dumping his dirty gear on the kitchen floor and went up for a bath. Sophie was doing her homework, so I put his muddy kit into the washing machine, and switched it on. Nothing happened.

I cursed.

This bloody machine had been acting up for a few weeks, and I was putting off repairing or replacing it. I peered into the drum, hitting it a couple of times, but still nothing happened.

I looked down the back and wiggled the wire; still nothing. Sophie came in.

“What’s wrong Dad?”

“This bloody machine. It’s buggered!”

“It’s probably the cable. I think it is a bit loose. Last time I wiggled it and it worked.”

“I tried that.”

“Try down where the wire goes into the back,” she said, peering down the back next to me. She pointed to the wire and the box into which it disappeared.

I prodded into the electrical input box, and there was an almighty flash. I was thrown back against the opposite wall. I passed out.
 
 
Chapter 2. Sophie’s Story
 
 
I heard Daddy swearing at the washing machine, again. Honestly, he was so inept when it came to that machine. Mum had always been the one to do the washing, but after she died, he had to learn, and it was his one weakness, as he clearly had a problem with it. I told him what needed doing to make it work, so had to show him which wire to wiggle.

We were both leaning over the back and I was touching him when he touched the wire. There was a flash and a jolt. I felt myself being thrown backwards, but must have passed out.

When I came to, I remember frowning, as everything was all wrong.

Somehow, I had been thrown outside, because instead of looking at the ceiling at home, I was looking straight up into the blue sky, as a small cloud drifted across my line of sight. Instead of the lino floor, I felt grass under my back, and it was damp. A face swam into focus. It was a boy, and he was wearing a blue and white striped rugby shirt, blue shorts, blue socks and rugby boots, as well as a worried expression.

I frowned, as I’d never seen him before in my life, and yet he seemed to know me

“Are you okay, Millsey?” he asked.

I mean, who the hell calls me Millsey? I knew I was Sophie Mills, but this was plain silly.

“Fine, but who are you?” I asked. My voice sounded very funny, and I tried to sit up.

The boy looked to someone to my left. “He’s come round again, sir. But I think he has amnesia, as he can’t remember who I am,” he shouted.

He? Who? What?

Now I was seriously concerned.

I looked to my feet and saw I was wearing rugby boots as well. In fact, I was wearing similar kit as the other boy. I then noticed that my breasts had gone. I experienced that cold sweaty feeling that one gets when panic starts to set in. As I started to shake, several other boys ran up to us, and there was an older man, also in a rugby shirt, but a red one. He had a whistle on a lanyard around his neck.

I put my shaking hand to my head, which hurt, only to discover that someone had cut off my lovely long blonde hair. It had taken me ages to get it how I liked it. I felt tears spring to my eyes.

“Alright, give the boy some room. How are you Rob? That was one hell of a tackle. I think he knocked you out for a few seconds,” the man said.

Boy?

Rob?

That was my Dad’s name.

I looked around, and saw the school buildings in the distance. The large dome and white pillars of Compton College were very distinctive.

Dad had brought me to see his old school last year, so I recognised it immediately. Only there weren’t the new buildings that I recalled seeing during my visit.

“Rob. Look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?”

I turned to face him; the tears blurred my vision slightly, but not to make me that blind. He held up three fingers.

“Three,” I said.

“Fine. What day is it?”

“Tuesday?” I guessed.

“Month?”

I looked at the trees, they were just beginning to change, and it had been September when we fiddled with the washing machine.

“September?”

“Splendid. What year?”

“2003?”

He looked at me, frowning.

“What’s my name?”

I shrugged, but something somewhere was struggling to tell me. After all, I should know, shouldn’t I? He knew me.

“What is his name?” he said, pointing to the first boy I had seen.

I looked at him, and the boy grinned back at me, as if willing me to remember him. I couldn’t.

I shook my head.

“I haven’t got a clue,” I said, beginning to feel the panic rising.

I thought about it, so it dawned on me what must have happened, I was in Dad’s fifteen year old body.

I looked at everyone staring at me.

I was a boy.

That meant………..

I looked at my shorts.

Shit.

Mercifully, I passed out again.
 

*          *          *
 
I came to in a bed in what could only be the sanatorium. There were eight other beds in this dormitory. None of the others was occupied. A middle-aged woman in an out-dated, white nurse’s uniform was fiddling about the bed, tucking me in. She saw me open my eyes.

“Oh, good you’re back with us. You gave us quite a scare, so the doctor is coming to see you.”

“Oh,” I said. My hands were under the covers, and I felt something between my legs.

I was suddenly completely awake.

My hand recoiled as if burned.

“I’m a boy,” I said, rather inanely and unnecessarily.

“Yes, and you have been concussed,” she said, with a patient smile.

There was a calendar on the wall, it said 1978.

It was twenty-five years ago.

I was in Dad’s body and I was at his school.

Where the hell was Dad?

Oh my God!

It didn’t near thinking about.

I remembered the flash and being knocked out. So, if I was here, then Dad was either in his forty year-old body, or in my fifteen year old body. If he was in mine, what happened to him? If he was himself, what had happened to mine?

Shit!

This was awesome.

It was horrible.

The doctor came in. Or at least I assumed he was a doctor. He was quite a friendly man and he checked me over, asking me lots of questions. I was as honest as I thought I could be. But if I claimed to be the fifteen-year-old daughter of the boy whose body I now inhabited, I think he would have sent for the men in white coats.

“Well, Robert, you’ve taken quite a knock. You were concussed, so I think we’ll keep you in here over night, just in case of compression. You have partial amnesia, which is not that uncommon. Don’t worry, over the next day or so, all your memories should return, but it can be distressing for a while.

“If you just rest, then things will happen quicker. I don’t want you playing rugger for a while.”

He left, and Matron asked me if I wanted a cup of tea.

“Yes please. No sugar,” I said automatically and she smiled.

“You see, you remembered that.”

Yeah, I thought, I never took sugar, but Dad had one sugar in tea and never drank coffee.

Mr Green, the games master, came in.

I remembered his name.

How did I know that?

No one had told me.

I must be getting access to Dad’s memory.

Thank God, this might not be so terrifying after all.

“How are you feeling, Rob?”

“Better now, thanks, sir.”

“Remember my name yet?”

“Yes sir, it’s Mr Green.”

He smiled. “That was some tackle.”

“Thanks.”

“The doctor tells me that you are off games for a week or so. Well, if you can tackle like that, then I want you in the colts for next Saturday’s match against Harrow.”

“Oh. Thanks,” I said, not knowing if that was a good idea.

“Good, then take it easy, and I hope you get back to normal soon.”

“So do I,” I said, meaning a very different normal.

He left me alone.

I explored between my legs, and couldn’t help feeling guilty. Dad would hate to know what I was thinking, and it was all so silly that I started to giggle.

The very thought that the first willy I ever touched was my dad’s but also mine, struck me as being hilarious.

“You sound happier,” said Matron, bringing in my tea.

“I’m okay.”

“Good. Well, I will have some food brought over for you later. But try to rest. Mr Green tells me that some of your memory is coming back. So that sounds encouraging.”

I nodded, but my mind was in a whirl.
 

*          *          *
 
I must have dropped off, because I woke up with two boys standing at the end of my bed looking worried.

“Hi Mike, Sean,” I said, and came instantly awake.

I had known their names. Mike was the boy I had first seen on the pitch, and Sean was a big lad, rather hunky and good looking.

‘Sophie. Behave.’ I told myself. ‘I must be Rob, I must be Rob.’

Mike grinned. “I thought you were kidding when you didn’t know my name.”

I shook my head.

“No, it comes back in bits. It’s really weird,” I said.

“We’ve brought your clothes over. And I came to say sorry for knocking you out,” said Sean.

I frowned.

“You did one hell of a tackle on me. I never even saw you coming. My knee must have hit your head, because it has swollen up like a balloon. Look,” he said, dropping his trousers and showing me his knee.

I couldn’t believe this. Here I was amongst all these really great looking boys, and the hunky one was dropping his trousers in front of me, and I couldn’t really appreciate it because I was a boy myself.

Life just wasn’t fair.

I heard Dad’s voice in my head, “Who ever said that life was fair?”

At that moment, Matron walked in and I giggled, as Sean went bright red as his trousers were at his ankles.

She looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

“Tell me, Mr Simmonds, is this a new revolutionary cure for concussion, which I must have missed in last month’s Lancet, or are you just being a fool as usual?”

He pulled his trousers up, stammering an apology.

“I’m sorry I missed that,” she said.

“I was showing Rob what his head did to my knee.”

“Well, one can be thankful that he didn’t collide with your testicles. Now clear off, the pair of you. Robert needs to rest.”

“See you, Rob. Good to see you’re okay,” Mike said as they left. I just had a picture of Sean’s smile.

‘Daddy. I’ve had enough, I give in, you did know best,’ I said silently, but there was no response.

I couldn’t stay like this forever.

What the hell could I do?

I really started to worry, and I almost started to cry.

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” said Matron, as she came in again.

I frowned, not understanding.

“Not being able to remember things. We had a similar case a few years back. It took him three weeks to remember his own name. But, in the end it all came back, except the day the accident happened. So you’re not as bad as that,” she told me.

“What happened?”

“He hit his head on the goal post. He was out cold for twenty minutes. He was taken to hospital, but you hardly were out at all. And you’re already getting your memory back, so don’t worry, I‘m sure you’ll be fine.”

I was given some supper, and managed to doze off and on all night. I kept waking up, checking, and feeling the strange appendages between my legs. It was so unreal.
 

*          *          *
 
I woke up dying for a pee, but much to my consternation, I found that my cock was hard. I stared at it in amazement, as it was like an alien attached to my body. I didn’t know what to do with it. I pushed it and flicked it and it just stayed all stiff and pointy.

I giggled, as it was so ridiculous. I went to the loo, managing to contort myself so it was pointing the right way. I managed to pee, and it immediately went down. I shook my head, this was so weird. Being a girl was so much easier.

No wonder the two boys in our house kept peeing on the floor, if they had stiffies every morning.

I was back in bed when Matron came in. She took my temperature and checked my eyes.

“Well, you seem fine. How do you feel?”

“All right, I think,” I said, uncertainly. I could hardly tell anyone the truth, could I?

“Well, have some breakfast, and you can get up about ten. Then I’ll let you join your class after morning break. If you feel unwell, just come back. There is no point being silly.”

I got dressed, and it was so strange wearing boy’s underpants. I started to giggle when I discovered the little hole in the front for the willy to use. It was also so strange having a flat chest again. My breasts had been with me for nearly five years now, so I had forgotten what it was like not having them.

I dressed, and had some trouble with the shirt buttons, they did up the other way. I looked in the mirror, and saw what Dad looked like when he was fifteen. He was okay, not very big, so he must have grown later, as he was over six foot ever since I could remember. He had a nice smile, and I remembered that. Only since Mum died, he hadn’t smiled that much.

I brushed his hair.

My hair!

What a crappy haircut, really geeky and boring. I suppose that is how things were in those days. It was quite long, over his collar and ears. It didn’t suit him, or me.

I wet the brush and slicked it straight back over the top, not having a parting. It looked better immediately.

It was Wednesday, if my transposition was accurate. Matron let me go on schedule. I had a moment just outside the sanatorium just trying to work out where the hell I was supposed to go. It was all very strange, so I tried to dredge up some of Dad’s memories. Something filtered through, so I followed my instincts. It was really weird, as the place was both familiar and completely strange at the same time. I found myself in a dormitory at about five past ten. It worked out that it must be his. I wondered how much time I had to get sorted. I instinctively knew that break lasted until half past, so I found Dad’s bed, or rather my bed and cupboard.
 

*          *          *
 
This was so weird, as I was having real difficulties here. I looked around just to see that this wasn’t some form of cosmic joke. I know I had said it would have been fun, but I was wrong. Okay?

I found the study he shared with two others, and I knew then that Sean and Mike were the ones with whom he shared.

Now the ones with whom I shared!

His memories were opening up to me, it was as if I needed a memory, it appeared and I didn’t have to concentrate to find it.

I looked at his timetable and even managed to find his books. I then set off in what I hoped was the right direction. Every now and again, I saw my reflection in a mirror, so the horror of my situation was reinforced. A pale and horrified boy stared back at me. The only thing that was slightly familiar was the eyes. They were my colour and the only common feature that I could latch onto.

We had French and then English before lunch. I reached the French master’s room just before he arrived. I walked in, to be met by several friendly faces.

“Robbie, over here,” Mike shouted.

I then remembered where I had seen Mike before. He was Uncle Mike, my Dad’s old friend and best man at their wedding. He was living in Australia in 2003, but I had met him a couple of Christmases ago when he and his family came to stay. He had a son called Simon who was a couple of years younger than I was.

I sat down.

“Did you do the reading?” he asked.

“What reading?” I asked.

“Old Carter will be really pissed off if you haven’t. You forgot last week as well.”

Dad hated French, as he never understood why the hell we needed to learn it. He was supportive of me though, and I actually loved it. I was hoping to do French A level eventually.

Before anyone could say anymore, the master walked in and silence was instant and absolute.

He was a tall languid man, with very stern eyes and a hook-nose. It didn’t surprise me when he spoke with a very nasal voice.

“Right. I suppose it is too much to ask that you have done all your reading since we last met?”

He looked straight at me.

“Mills. I understand that you had a nasty injury on the rugger pitch yesterday. Shall we see whether the knock on your head has improved your gift of the French language?” he said very sarcastically.

This got him a few laughs from the class.

“Why don’t you read me the passage in French, and then translate it?” he asked.

I picked up the book.

“What page sir?”

“God, boy! You are the limit. Page 34. As you should damn well know.”

I turned to the page, and started to read in French. It was a simple passage, and I read it quite rapidly. I then reached the end, translated it and sat down.

Mr Carter was staring at me and then I realised that so was everyone else.

“What?” I asked, perplexed.

“Mr Mills, forgive me for being a little unbelieving, but how did you manage to suddenly find such a perfect accent and fluent gift of the language that you have butchered in every period over the last couple of years?”

I shrugged. My God, Dad had been hopeless.

“Right, then perhaps you can prove to me that that wasn’t a fluke. So please tell me, in French, exactly what happened to you yesterday to cause such a miracle,” he asked, and leaned back against his table and folded his arms, as if he dared me to show everyone how crap I really was.!

Some of the class started to giggle, and he just looked them into silence.

“Absolument, Monsieur. Je jouais au rugby, et un opposant est couru pour gagner notre ligne. Je jouais arriá¨re et j’ai essayé le plaquer. Ensuite, son genou m’a frappé la táªte et je suis rendu inconscient pour quelques instants. J’ai perdu quelques mémoires, mais autrement, il me semble que tout va bien.” I said.

(Certainly Sir. I was playing rugby, and one of the opposition made a run for our line. I was positioned as full back and I tackled him. His knee hit my head, and I was rendered unconscious for a moment. I lost a bit of memory, but otherwise I seem to be fine.)

Mr Carter stared at me, stunned into silence.

There were a few nervous titters and Mike said, “Fucking hell, Rob. Are you okay?”

“Mr Gregory, if you dare use such language in my class again, I will have you removed by the ears. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.”

“But, I must agree with his sentiments. Mr Mills, can you explain how you have been transformed from an imbecile to a genius over night?”

“No sir.”

“Describe to me, in French please, everything that happened to you after the incident!”

“Eh bien, je suis revenu á  moi, et Mike a dit M Green que j’avais repris connaissance. J’ai vu l’école, et je rappelais qui je suis, et oá¹ j’étais, mais je ne pourrais pas associer des noms aux visages. Encore une fois j’e me suis évanoui, et quand je me suis réveillé je restais sur mon lit."

(Well, I came to, and Mike told Mr Green that I had regained consciousness. I saw the school, and remembered who I was and where I was, but couldn't put names to faces. I passed out again, and woke up in bed.)

“Fine. One must obviously offer a silent prayer of thanks, for without a doubt, a miracle has happened. Simmonds, the next passage please, and perhaps it is infectious,” he said.

It wasn’t and poor Sean struggled.

“Mills, can you help him?”

I stood up, read the passage fluently and then translated it. I sat down and Sean looked daggers at me.

“I am astounded, utterly astounded. What can I say?” Mr Carter said, and then went on to pick on another poor unfortunate.

He tortured most of the class, while leaving me alone. The bell rang, so the class ended in some relief.

“Mills,” Mr Carter called out.

“Sir?”

“I don’t know what has happened, but please, don’t lose your gift.”

“I’ll try not to sir.”

“Good boy.”

I left and found Sean and Mike waiting for me.

“What the hell happened to you? You’re normally completely spastic at French,” Sean asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe the bang on the head.”

“Bollocks,” said Mike.

“Okay, you explain it!” I said, and he couldn’t.

We walked into the English class, another of my (Sophie’s) favourite lessons. Dad should have been good at this as he did end up a journalist and a terrible novelist.

Mrs Rennie was a nice lady, but she had little control. We were to put on the junior play at Christmas, so she was trying to cast us in the various roles. Needless to say, there were no volunteers to play the female roles, and she did not have the necessary force of personality to make anyone do it.

The play was a modern farce, and it involved a vicar’s family and the local lord of the manor. The son of the lord fell for the vicar’s daughter, and there was a stupid burglar, a detective, an escaped loonie, a woman who was looking for her ferret, and the ever-present butler. It all got silly, but was supposed to be clever and funny.

There were five female roles and seven male roles. She changed the woman looking for her ferret to being a male looking for his Bengal tiger, which left four girls parts. The two mothers, the daughter and her friend.

I decided that I would just keep a low profile and volunteer to paint the sets or something. But it wasn’t to be.

“Mills, how would you like to be Sophie?” Mrs Rennie asked when I wasn’t concentrating.

“I wish,” I said, before it registered that someone else had said those words.

“Good, then you will be Sophie.”

“No, I never…” the rest of the sentence was drowned out by laughter and kissing noises.

“Who is Sophie?” I asked Sean, who played the son of the lord.

“You’re my girlfriend,” he said, grinning lewdly.

“Bugger!” I said, and he burst out laughing.

“Give us a kiss,” he said, pursing his lips.

“Piss off Sean, it isn’t funny,” I said. It wasn’t funny, as I was confused enough, without being a girl trapped in my dad’s fifteen year-old body, and having to pretend to be a girl!

Oh God! Just let me pass out and go back to being me. Please?

My only consolation was that whatever time I was having, Dad was probably having an even worse time.
 
 
Chapter 3. Rob’s Story
 
 
As soon as the flash happened, I knew that I’d been electrocuted, but my only concern was for Sophie.

The force of the shock flung me back against the far wall, with my hand landing in the dog’s water bowl. I was stunned for a moment, but then I sat up, I looked round for Sophie, but couldn’t see her. However, some strange man was lying on his side next to me.

I reached out a hand, but then I panicked, believing that I had severely injured my hand. Blood was on all the fingers, so I thought I must have severed the fingertips or something, but there was no pain, so I examined both my hands closely. The panic turned to horror, for my fingernails were all painted with nail varnish.

“Sophie!” I yelled, but it was Sophie’s voice.

I turned the man over and looked into my own unconscious face.

“Fuck,” I said, out loud, and once again Sophie’s voice sounded strange from the inside.

Somehow, it all started to go in slow motion. It occurred to me that if I was looking at Rob, then I must now be in Sophie’s body. Where was Sophie?

I looked at my unconscious male form, so my predicament seemed very secondary compared to getting medical help for me (Rob).

I checked my (Rob’s) breathing and heart. He had a pulse and was breathing, so I rolled him into the recovery position, grabbing the phone on the wall.

I dialled 999.

“Emergency, which service do you require?”

“Ambulance please.”

“One moment.”

I then heard as she connected me to the ambulance control and told them my telephone number.

“Ambulance, can I have your name please?”

“It’s Ro.., no Sophie Mills. It is my Dad, he’s been electrocuted.”

“Address please?”

I told her.

“Is the casualty breathing?”

“He is and he has a pulse. But he is unconscious, so I’ve placed him in the recovery position.”

“Good girl. When did this happen?”

“A few moments ago.”

“How old are you Sophie?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fine, then stay with him. It the electrical appliance safe, or is the source still dangerous?”

“It’s the washing machine. I’ll switch it off.”

“Don’t touch the metal casing, just unplug it.”

I did so.

“Okay, Sophie, the ambulance is on it way, so just stay and talk to me. How old is your Dad?”

“Forty.”

“Give me his full name, please.”

“Robert Andrew Stewart Mills.”

“Do you know his birthday?”

“21^st February 1963.”

“Good girl, now, just check he is still breathing for me.”

I did, and he was.

“He is.”

“Fine, now we know his heart is fine if he is still breathing, so that is the most important thing to keep an eye on. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I was touching him when it happened, so I was thrown back too.”

“Okay, are you burned?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Is your father?”

I checked and could not find anything.

“I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell.”

“That’s okay. Now is he a fit man, or does he have any conditions we need to know about?”

“He’s fine.”

“Okay, now where’s your mum?”

“She died four years ago.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, has your Dad a new partner?”

“No, there is just him, me and Simon, who’s still upstairs.”

“How old is Simon?”

“He’s ten, he’s my brother.”

“All right, thanks. Now the ambulance is not far away now. Can you hear it?”

I listened, and just caught the sirens in the distance.

“Stay with me, right up until they arrive, and then let me speak to one of the paramedics, okay Sophie?”

“Yeah.”

A few moments later, the two green-clothed paramedics came in. One checked me (Rob) out, while the other spoke to the controller on the phone.

“Is there anyone who can come over and look after you two?” this one asked me.

“I’m coming with you. I can’t leave him.”

“Okay, but what about your brother?”

Simon appeared, pale and frightened by the door, as the blue lights and noise had distracted him. He stared at my body on the floor.

“Sophie?”

I hugged him. “It’s okay; he’s going to be fine. He was electrocuted by the washing machine. He’ll be fine,” I said, hoping it was true.

One of the paramedics left us and returned with trolley, so I called my sister, no, my aunt. Shit, this was complicated. Aunt Sally. Sally was my, no - Rob’s sister and she only lived ten minutes away.

“Aunt Sally, it’s Sophie. Dad’s been hurt and they’re taking him away in an ambulance, can you come and sit with Simon until I get back?”

She was brilliant, agreeing to come over straight away, but I knew she would set off all the speed cameras on the way over.

They had Dad (me) strapped to the trolley, with a blanket over him. An oxygen mask was over his face, as they trundled him out to the waiting ambulance.

The fiddled about getting him just right, but then I was allowed to get in the back with them. Sally’s car arrived in a spray of gravel, she got out and rushed over.

“Sophie, are you all right, love?”

“Fine, but Dad isn’t.”

“What happened?”

I explained again, and she shook her head.

“He’s always been completely hopeless with electrical things. Where’s Simon?”

“Indoors.”

“Okay, have you got your mobile?”

I put my hands in the pocket of my skirt and found the mobile.

“Is it charged up? I know you girls.”

I checked and nodded.

“Good, give me a ring as soon as you know anything.”

I nodded and they shut the doors. The ambulance took off, with the sirens starting again.

I sat and looked at my unconscious form. If I was inside Sophie, where the hell was Sophie? For she wasn’t in me, or was she?

I then thought back to our earlier conversation, and a thought came to me.

‘No, please God, not that. The poor kid will be lost,’ I said to myself. I tried to imagine Sophie as a fifteen year-old boy in 1978. Then I realised that I was a fifteen year-old girl in 2003.

Fuck!

I looked down at my breasts.

I fainted.
 

*          *          *
 
I came round when one of the crew waved something smelly under my nose.

“Are you okay, love?”

I nodded.

“Sorry, it’s all a bit much.”

“That’s okay. Your Dad is fine, but he’s still unconscious. So hang in there.”

I nodded, attempting to order my swirling thoughts.

The ambulance arrived at the hospital at Watford, so they took Dad out of the back and wheeled him in. A nurse came over to me, taking me to a small room.

“Just wait here for a little while, the doctor wants to look at your Dad, so you don’t want to get in the way. Now you said that you had been shocked too?”

“I’m fine, Dad took the main jolt, I was just knocked backwards.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, but found the banging of my earrings against my neck was most disconcerting.

She just checked me out and then smiled.

“You seem okay, would you like a drink or anything?”

“No thanks.”

She left me alone and I was able to try to piece together what had happened. Somehow, I was now inside my daughter’s brain. It was a matter of extreme concern to me over where she had gone.

I thought back to when I was fifteen, and to anything which could indicate a change in my lifestyle, or behaviour.

I then remembered the time I was bashed on the head in rugby, and spent the night in sickbay. This was a time where I actually don’t remember much of what happened. I have memories, but sort of detached ones. I do know that my French master gave me my first good report ever, and as a result, I went on to get my French O level, which surprised everyone.

I closed my eyes and thought about that particular episode of my life. I could picture me going to lessons, and I could even remember conversations. They gave me my first part in a play, as a girl called Sophie.

That was it.

The reason I wanted our daughter to be called Sophie. I was given a female part in a play, and the girl’s name had been Sophie. When I told Karen this story, she thought it was sweet.

I did remember thinking that time was weird. It had started when I got a whack on the head, but I don’t recall an end, things just became normal after a while. I couldn’t remember whether it was a long or short while.

I stood up and walked up and down, catching my reflection in the window. Bloody hell, this was a nightmare. I was fifteen again. It was enough trouble the last time, but this time I was a girl!

Oh, Sophie, where the hell are you? I cried to myself.

The nurse and a doctor came in. They shut the door, not a good sign.

“Sit down Sophie,” said the doctor.

My first reaction was to look round for my daughter, but then I twigged and sat.

“I’m Miles Peters and I’m the consultant neurologist here at Watford General. I have examined your father, and I must confess to be perplexed as to why he is in a coma. He has no signs of heart failure, and the shock hasn’t burned him at all. All his vital signs are fine, but it seems his mind has just shut down.”

“How can that happen?” I asked.

“The human brain is a highly complex organ, and all thoughts and memories are held in place by tiny electro-magnetic charges. It is possible that the electric shock he received confused the brain, and he has sort of gone to sleep.”

“Is his brain still functioning?”

“Oh yes, and it’s still keeping everything going, it is just he is very deeply asleep, and he may come out of it in ten minutes, ten days or ten months. I have no way of knowing. His subconscious and automatic responses are normal, it’s just he isn’t waking up, despite using all the acceptable stimuli.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course, the nurse will take you to him now. We’ve given him an IV drip for fluid and nutrient. He’s breathing perfectly well by himself, and seems to be in no distress at all. I’m hopeful that he’ll just snap out of it and surprise us all.”

“Can he hear me?”

“I have no idea, as he shows no signs of being aware of his surroundings at all. But it can’t hurt.”

I followed the nurse to a private room. The body in the bed looked asleep, and the heart monitor bleeped away reassuringly.

I sat by the bed, holding my own hand. This was so strange.

“Daddy. Are you in there?” I said, and the nurse smiled sympathetically at me, leaving me alone. As soon as she had gone, I bent close to my old ear.

“Sophie. If you can hear me, I give up. You can go to the bloody concert with a bus load of rapists for all I care, now get your arse back here this minute!”

Another nurse came in, and I smiled pathetically at her.

“Do you want a cup of tea, or something?” she asked.

Actually, a double malt whisky would slide down really well just now.

“No thanks, I’m fine,” I said instead.

“If you want anything, just come and see us at the nurses’ station.”

“Thanks.”

I was alone again.

“Boy, is this a mess, or what?” I said to the thing in the bed. I no longer saw it as being me, I was here and able to talk, so the thing wasn’t me any more.

“Well, I can’t hang around here. I suppose this will all sort itself out, but I hope it doesn’t take too long.”

I remembered Sally, and looked at my watch. I had been here two hours already, so Sally would have told our parents and so Granny would appear and try to take over everyone’s life as usual. I was very fond of my parents, (Sophie’s grandparents), but they did like everyone to dance to their tune. I smiled, as Sophie could wrap both of them around her little finger, as they thought the world of her.

I tried to get it through my brain that I had to be Sophie until this thing sorted itself out. I was Sophie. I was Sophie. I was Sophie.

No I wasn’t.

I had to be.

Bugger.
 

*          *          *
 
I stood up and walked to the window. The miniskirt felt draughty, but I couldn’t pull it down at all. My legs were very exposed, and it was so different to just seeing them. As Sophie’s father, I had accepted that she wanted to be dressed a la mode, but as the person wearing the damn thing, I felt exposed to the world. I felt very awkward, particularly as the high-heeled shoes threatened to make me fall over with each step.

I was aware that I had Sophie’s memories, so I let them take over. I relaxed and let the body do what it was used to doing automatically. It worked, almost.

I walked out of the hospital, as there were signs everywhere for mobile phones to be switched off inside the buildings. I called home. Sally answered.

“Aunt Sally, it’s Sophie.”

“Hi girl, how is the silly old sod?”

“The silly old sod is in a coma, and they don’t know if or when he will ever come out of it. He is breathing fine, but he has a drip in his arm for fluid and nutrient. It’s as if he has gone out to lunch.”

“Oh God! What a mess. How are you, sweetie?”

“I’m fine. Tired and confused and pissed off, but other than that I’m fine.”

She laughed.

“You sound more like your Dad every day.”

“Thanks a bunch,” I said, and she laughed.

“Believe me, you could do a lot worse. He’s a smashing guy, your dad, a brilliant father and a super husband. He was okay as a brother too.”

“I suppose M.., Granny is on way?” I said, and she laughed again.

“Sorry, but I can’t stay forever. I’ve my own brats to deal with and Roger will start fretting if I’m away too long, poor old bugger.”

“Can you pick me up once they arrive?”

“Of course, I’ll bring your grandfather so he can see the boy. Oh Sophie, I am so proud of you, you did wonderfully.”

“Yeah,” I said, unconvinced.

“No, you did. Lots of girls would have panicked, but you kept your head. If your Dad pulls through, and I’m sure he will, it’ll be down to you.”

“I’d better go. When are the oldies due?”

Sally frowned and looked at me.

“That’s one of your Dad’s expressions too. Half an hour or so. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

I went back to the room and sat by the bed. I held hands with myself for a moment. I looked at the hands which had been mine until recently, and compared them with the ones I now had.

His were big but quite soft. I had always been a writer and not a labourer. In contrast, the hands I now had were small and delicate. They were pretty hands, but they belonged to my daughter and not to me. I didn’t deserve to even borrow this body, so from that moment, I was determined that while I was in charge of it nothing would happen to it.

I was still sitting, clasping the large hand tightly when Aunt Sally and Grandpa arrived.

“Hi Grandpa,” I said, and he gave me a huge hug.

“How’s my girl?” he asked.

“Okay, just,” I said, and he smiled. Sally squeezed my arm, as they both looked at the figure in the bed.

“He looks all right,” said Grandpa.

“He is all right, he has just buggered off for a bit,” I said, and Sally looked at me and frowned.

“Sorry Aunty,” I said, and she shook her head.

“My brother has a lot to answer for. You even talk like him now.”

I vowed to shut up.

The doctor came in and went through everything again. He smiled and was sympathetic, but the bottom line was he didn’t bloody know anything.

Sally gave me a kiss and a hug, and disappeared, so I went home with Grandpa.

I was quiet in the car, until he asked me about the accident. I told him and he nodded.

“Rob was never very good with electrical things. I’ll get someone in to look at the washing machine tomorrow.”

I almost told him to leave it, but I was hardly able to try that again to reverse what ever happened to us.

It was getting late, and I had school in the morning. Bloody hell, I would have to get out of that.

We arrived back to find Granny had already made the hot chocolate, and was sitting with Steven. I had to tell the story again, as she made ooohs and aaahs at the appropriate places.

“Well, your grandfather and I are here now, so don’t you fret. The important thing is to get on with life, so you two will be off to school again tomorrow, as usual.”

We both moaned at this, and I could tell that she had made her mind up. I went to my room and tried to work out what the hell I had to do at school in the morning.

As I stood in Sophie’s room, wearing Sophie’s body and clothes, I relaxed and tried to access her memories.

They flooded in, but I had a job to make sense of them. I found her bag and the timetable. I was very pleased to see she had even done her homework.

I sorted out my clothes and tried to remember what she wore. I had to sit down, close my eyes and try to become her. It worked, so I managed to have everything all laid out neatly. The school was an all-girls’ school, so I had a little smile, ironic, that all my young life, I had fantasised about getting into an all-girls’ school, but now I was able to, I was a girl too.

I cleaned my teeth and undressed. I stood examining Sophie’s body. Sophie was quite mature for her age, so I was surprised that boyfriends weren’t more in evidence. Sophie had a very neat body, firm breasts and a slender waist and slim hips, but still very feminine. She was quite fit from her hockey and swimming. She was a very pretty girl. I smiled. I was biased, being her proud father.

In fact, she was developing into a stunningly pretty girl, who had a smile to die for.

I slipped on a nightdress, and thought about the boyfriend situation.

There was no boy in particular. She seemed to feel those of her age were silly and immature, and the older ones were more interested in older girls. She was sort of in limbo, and I was sure it would sort itself out soon.

I caught the fleeting memory of a boy she liked, but just a face and a smile.

Granny and Grandpa came in to say goodnight, although I was less than comfortable with the idea of picking up Sophie’s life and running with it. I just hoped that I’d wake up in the hospital, and it would all be over.
 
 
Chapter 4. Sophie’s Story
 
 
“Mills, why have you never created a piece of work of this depth before?” Mr Harris asked.

We were in art class, and had to bring together poise and movement in a single picture.

I drew a ballerina in mid pirouette. I painted it in black and white, so that half of her was in the light, while the other half was in darkness or shadow. Her arms were stretched out above her head, and one leg was bent as the spin was ending.

I had drawn it in art at my school, and they had liked it then, so I suppose I was cheating. It came from a photograph that I had seen in a paper in 2002, so if they could do me for cheating in advance, I would be very unlucky.

“I don’t know sir. Perhaps I’m a late developer,” I said, and the others laughed. So did Mr Harris, as he shook his head.

The week had been okay, I suppose. I had coped with all the lessons, except Latin; my God, what an inane subject. Dad’s memory had saved me, so I was able to bluff my way through. Maths too. Not my favourite subject, but obviously one of Dad’s. So together, we brought up his grades. I hoped he would do the same for me.

I found that by relaxing and trying to think like him, his memories opened up for me. I had even got used to having a willy and stuff. It was hilarious, and I was now almost able to go to the loo without giggling every time.

Not having boobs was a real bonus. I hadn’t realised how much they get in the way, but not having them kept bringing my situation home to me. I thought about Dad struggling with my life, and that almost set me off again with the giggles.

My first time in the dining hall was an experience. I had seen the Harry Potter films, and I immediately was transported onto the set. I half expected an owl to fly the length of the hall with a letter for someone.

It really did look the part, with the six very long tables, where one sat according to houses. The younger boys near the door; and the older ones at the top table end. I was somewhere in the middle on the far left table, the Warburton table. Also, the food disappeared as if by magic. I would never have believed that the sons of gentlemen could stoop to the level of table behaviour as I witnessed. Mind you within a couple of days I was as bad, otherwise one would starve.

A team of the younger boys delivered the food in large troughs to the tables. Plates were distributed, and a free-for-all ensued. Speed and asbestos fingers were the two essential qualities required for survival, and it took me a little while to manage to acquire a square meal.

The food was actually quite good and plentiful, as long as one was quick enough. Mind you, there were those like Andy Kennedy who didn’t eat the food, except salad cream sandwiches. All the more for the rest of us.

I felt very uncomfortable with Sean. My problem was, that as Sophie Mills I could have fancied him something rotten, but knew that as Robert Mills, I mustn’t and couldn’t. I worked really hard at thinking like Dad, but then Sean would smile at me, and I’d go all gooey. Mike was fine, and we got on really well. He was funny and made me laugh. I could see why he and Dad were best friends. They were equally stupid.

Not playing games was good, as I was dreading the bloody rugger. I watched a couple of games and it looked totally demonic - Applied violence with the added interest of an occasional odd shaped ball.

On Friday after prep, Mr Hodges had me come to his study. He was my housemaster, in charge of Warburton House.

“Sit down, Rob, I just wanted to catch up with you, as you’ve had a rough week. How is the head?”

“Fine thanks, sir.”

“No headaches or dizziness?”

“Not so far, no sir.”

“Good, good. I’ve been hearing good things about you in French and Art. Bit of a dark horse, eh what?”

“Yes sir.”

“I called your parents on Tuesday evening, just to let them know that you were clonked on the old bonce. They asked whether you need to go home, and I said probably best to just keep on. Often when one has breaks in the routine, it takes a lot to catch up later.”

“Right,” I said. He was a bit of a loonie, this one.

“Fine. Well CCF on Monday. You will be up to that, won’t you?”

I stared blankly at him, and then the memory seeped in. CCF — Combined Cadet Force. The one day in the week when little boys dressed up as soldiers and learned to kill other countries’ little boys.

“Probably sir,” I said, as doubtfully as I could.

“Good. Then back on full games on Tuesday, I hear you might get into the Colts. That’s jolly good. Don’t get injured again, we will need you for the junior house match.”

“I don’t intend to, sir.”

“Good, well, off you go, and if you need a chat, my door is always open.”

I left, shaking my head - he was a fruit-loop.

I went back to the study, to find that Mike had gone somewhere and Sean was sitting in his old armchair.

“What did old Hedgehog want?”

“Just checking up to see I haven’t died.”

“Have you?” he asked, and smiled.

Shit, he was gorgeous!

“Not last time I looked,” I said, turning away. This was unfair. I was a girl, how could I be expected to do this?

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of genuine concern.

No I’m not, I think I love you and I want you to take me in your arms and kiss me.

Well, that’s what I thought.

“I’m fine, he reminded me about cadets on Monday. I’d forgotten,” I said. All third formers were in the pre-corps section, where the basics, such as map reading and first aid were taught. Fourth formers were in the B squads, and went through basic training, drill and weapons familiarisation. We were fifth formers, and we were due to move on to our specialist sections now.

“Have you chosen yet?”

“Chosen what?”

“Don’t you remember, you can choose which section to join?”

“I had forgotten, what are the choices?”

“Army have the Combat/Cadre platoon, REME section, Signals section, and Engineers. Navy are just the navy, and the air cadets are just the air cadets.”

“Is that it?”

“It’s the cadets, no sewing circle. Duh,” he said, laughing at me.

“What about Duke of Edinburgh’s award?”

“The what?”

“Never mind. I’m not sure. What are you going for?”

“Combat/Cadre platoon. Why don’t you join me, it’ll be fun. We go on long camps and stuff.”

I imagined being stuck in a two-man tent with him for a week. No, down girl, - behave!

“I think I’ll join the RAF section, at least then I’ll get an idea how a plane works,” Or get to meet some pilots. Sophie, behave!

“REME would be my second choice. You get to muck about with engines.”

“What’s Mike doing?”

“His old man is a bloody naval Captain, so guess?”

“RAF?”

“Right,” he said, and we both laughed.

I sat down and Sean fiddled about with the record player.

“Do you want some music?” he asked.

“Yeah, anything.”

“Give me a clue?”

“I dunno. Pet Shop Boys? U2, Light House family? Boyzone? Dido?”

He looked at me blankly, and I realised what I’d said.

“Anything Sean. Beatles?”

He dug out the classic Beatles double white album, the one Dad went on and on about, and put it on the turntable. This was archaic. It was fascinating to see history being made.

We sat reading the play we were supposed to be learning, and I was conscious of him observing me.

I looked up. He was looking at me very oddly.

“What?” I asked.

He frowned.

“What do you make of this play?”

“It’s a play,” I said, helpfully.

“Yeah, but you have to play a girl’s part. Is that what you want?”

“I haven’t any choice. I’m not really bothered. Why?”

“I got the impression you were embarrassed.”

“About what?”

“Playing a girl.”

“It isn’t exactly what I was dying to do. But it is only a play. It isn’t as if I have to do it for real or anything.”

He frowned. “I suppose not,” he said, but obviously he had something else on his mind.

“Sean, what’s really bothering you?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, and that’s the truth. But, it is silly, and I don’t want you to say anything to anybody, but when you were chosen to play Sophie, I was relieved.”

“Relieved? Why?”

“I don’t know, I think I’d rather do it with you rather than anyone else.”

“Do it, what, the play? Oh, do you fancy me then, Sean?” I teased, and he went very quiet.

Shit, this wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

“Look, Sean, we’re friends and that’s it. We can have a laugh and do the best we can, but don’t start getting all deep on me. I don’t need it and I can’t be doing with it. Okay?”

“Okay. But I just wanted you to know.”

I sighed. Bugger.

He fancied me, that was all I needed, and Dad said he never came across anyone gay at school. Only one of his best mates, that’s all.

As Sophie, I thought he was really nice. As Rob, he was just a mate, yet he fancied Rob and not Sophie. How bloody confusing.

Mike arrived and I felt happier, the atmosphere was building up, so I almost expected Sean to make a pass at me. The problem was I might have encouraged him.

The moment passed and was gone, at least for the time being.
 

*          *          *
 
The weekend came and went, and I prepared myself for CCF. I had always considered myself very anti-war. As a girl, I was all ready to conceive, bear and give birth to children. The whole concept of fighting and killing was alien to me. I accepted and agreed that one had to have soldiers to defend your country and your country’s interests. It was just that I had never considered being involved.

I was now expected to take part, so I was resigned to doing so, but fell short of boundless enthusiasm for the activity. I saw the indifference and general attitude of most of the others, and felt reassured that I was in the majority. A few loonies, like Sean, actually enjoyed it, looking forward to Mondays with great enthusiasm.

As I bulled my boots and polished my belt, I wondered how Dad was getting on in my place. I smiled as I thought of the potential problem areas, but was dreading to think of the repair work that I was going to have to undertake on my return.

Then I had another bleak thought, what if there was no return?

What if, I now had to follow Dad’s career and marry Mum, just so I could be born to go round in this circle forever, like a sort of Ground Hog Day? It didn’t bear thinking about, so I blanked it out as quickly as I could.

I found that I settled down into the routine very easily. The boys were less bitchy than the girls with whom I was friendly. They were very basic, these boys, and up front. If they were pissed off, they’d say so, and why. There wasn’t the scheming and back-biting that some girls practised. I found it refreshing, even if the conversation levels were very superficial, as boys hardly discussed their feelings. They had fixed opinions about things, but never disclosed what they were feeling or why.

I also came to terms with my new gender, and once I controlled the giggles every time I went for a pee, it ceased to bother me. I was the same as everyone else, so actually found there was no hassle at all. Getting up and ready took seconds instead of nearly an hour, and washing seemed just an exercise in getting the worst of the mud off.

Short hair was easy to wash, dry and brush, and again, it took seconds instead of the ages I was used to. Clothes were simply something to wear to keep warm and dry, and really no one gave a toss what they looked like. There was no one to impress in any case, as blokes just didn’t give a damn about anyone else.

I suppose the older sixth formers did, as they didn’t have to wear uniform. Not that it was a strict uniform in any case. Tweed jackets, of subdued colours, grey flannel trousers, third, fourth and fifth year wore light blue shirts, and sixth form wore any coloured shirts. House ties for the lower years, and most of the sixth formers wore their sports colours ties or prefect ties.

There was no dressing to impress or to make any statement, and I found that strange at first, and then appreciated it was one less hassle. Dad was going to have a real problem. I couldn’t help but grin.
 

*          *          *
 
Monday morning arrived with a grey squelch. The rain was that variety that drenched everything in seconds, and one almost felt damp watching it out of the window.

After breakfast I had to pay a visit to the sick bay to have my ‘off-games’ chit signed, and to be given my release so I could now enjoy the dubious pleasure of being trampled to death on the rugby pitch.

I went to chapel, sitting in bum-numbing boredom with 350 other unfortunates, as we followed an ancient tradition of following a middle-class, white, English Jesus Christ, who apparently existed only to help us beat off the fuzzy-wuzzy and the damn Hun, to perpetuate the Empire and class system, keeping everyone in their place. Pardon me if I don’t subscribe to their values.

The morning lessons dragged, and we had double maths. Urgh.

I tried to let Dad’s memories take over, and would have liked to have left him to it, but unfortunately, it needed a little effort to keep awake on my part. Lunch arrived, and then I had to dress in my army uniform, with boots, puttees, beret and belt. We wore the green ‘barrack’ trousers and green pullover with scratchy shirt and tie underneath.

We paraded, and I let Dad’s memories help me out a little. But it was so shambolic that I could have bluffed it without his help.

The cadet Sergeant-Major called everyone onto the parade, so we sort of got together in vague rows and lines in the school quadrangle. We were brought to attention, and the Major, who was plain Mr Harris for the rest of the week, came out and there was lots of saluting, stamping about and silliness.

I could imagine the Russians quaking in their boots, with laughter, that is.

We, in the old B squads, were then ordered to go to the group or section we wanted to join, so I went to the RAF section. There was a little realigning, as too many went for the REME section, and too few to the combat platoon. Some were ‘volunteered’ to move. Mike and I were fine, fortunately.

It was only then that I remembered Dad telling me that he acquired his love of flying from the RAF section at school. I smiled as I had chosen it for him.

We were marched round to the QM’s stores, where we went into the back room and exchanged the army green for the RAF blue uniforms. The shirts weren’t scratchy, and we didn’t use boots and puttees. I was far happier, as we then spent the rest of the afternoon in a lecture about the RAF section. It was an easy day.

We had two more lessons after tea, but they were no great hardship. The work was much the same as I was used to, but I was glad that it wasn’t at the sixth form level, because Dad and I were very different, and our choices of specialised subjects at A level would not be the same. But we were at O level standard, and it was similar to my GCSE syllabus.

We had double English, when we had a read through the play, in role. Sean put rather too much feeling into his rather lovey-dovey speeches to me, and I was as ambivalent as I could be.

Needless to say, the kissing noises and other catcalls made it so much easier.

- Not!

I resigned myself for a tiresome few months until it was over.

I then caught my thoughts.

Months?

I wanted to go back now, and here I was now thinking in terms of months.

I looked around the classroom. These boys saw nothing different in me, but I wasn’t the same as my Dad, or was I?

Was I really Rob, suffering from a head injury, and thought I was my own daughter?

No, I remembered all my friends at school, my bother, and all my aunts and uncles and grandparents. I was Sophie, and I had to hold on to that, otherwise I would never be able to go back.

God, this was hard.

“Mills. Are you part of this, or not?” asked Mrs Rennie.

“Sorry,” I said, finding my place in the play again.

“I am not that optimistic at this production winning a BAFTA,” Mrs Rennie said sarcastically.

I read my part, and as I was having a Sophie moment, it was actually very convincing.

Mrs Rennie looked up and smiled, as I finished the running dialogue I was having with Sean,

We struggled on to the bell, and went back to our rooms. The evening passed without incident and I settled down in the dormitory, but sleep was not easily coming. My brain was in a whirl, as I just wanted this to end. My last conscious thought was a silent prayer to be back in my body when I awoke.
 
 
Chapter 5. Rob’s Story
 
 
As my curtains were pulled back and consciousness returned, I was momentarily back in the past. Particularly as I was woken up by my mother, (sorry, for those of you who may be confused, just like me - by Sophie’s grandmother) but as I scratched my chest, feeling the breasts where none had been previously, I was brought back to the rather unpleasant present.

I spent a hectic hour trying to get ready. Sophie’s uniform was fine, as I knew enough about what she used to wear to get that sorted, but I was defeated by all the little tubs and bottles in the bathroom.

I had lived with them there since Karen and I first married, but had never more than an inkling as to what they were all for. I rushed breakfast, managing to catch the bus, just. I felt so self-conscious in a skirt that I was convinced that everyone was looking at me. I recognised Sophie’s friends and sat with them. Her memories gave me names and little snippets of details, but I was rather quieter than Sophie was usually.

“What’s up, Soph?” said a girl, Julia, I think she was called.

“My Dad’s in hospital in a coma,” I said, and then had to tell everyone the story. Having no mother was also a factor as to how people reacted, so it was interesting how different people treated me; or it would have been had I the time and inclination to take an interest in such things.

Sophie seemed to be a popular girl, as I appeared to be surrounded by friends, who just took me in hand. They even explained to the teachers about the accident, so I never had to explain why I was behaving strangely.

As they rushed me from pillar to post, I was very thankful to have access to Sophie’s memories, particularly in French and Art. I had never been brilliant at French, and my previous experiences with art were not entirely successful. All, that is except one. I once painted a spinning ballerina, surprising everyone as to how good it was, even myself.

Trips to the girls’ loos were different, and I learned an awful lot from there. A small black market was well established in one particular cubicle, selling makeup, contraceptives and cigarettes; and I smiled as I realised the initiative that this showed.

My biggest distraction was my body. This business of having large globular growths sticking out of one’s chest all the time was fun for a bit, but after a while, they became a real pain. They got in the way for everything. In cooking, sorry, home economics, they managed to catch everything, as they did in practical chemistry and physics. If I didn’t burn them with sulphuric acid soon, it would be a miracle.

We had hockey practice in the afternoon, and I was relieved to have something in which I could lose myself for a while. It was actually good fun, and I even forgot my predicament for a very short time. Being constantly called Sophie made it hard to forget for long, as did wearing a draughty skirt, and having boys watch us as we ran about.

This boy business was another potential minefield. I was hoping that this pickle in which we found ourselves would be over soon, as I didn’t want to ruin Sophie’s chances with a guy just because I was me inside. I hoped that my memory of my schooldays was clear enough and uncomplicated by romance. It was all a bit vague and I started to worry about that too.

Afterwards, in the changing room, I should have been in seventh heaven - being surrounded by semi-naked, nubile young girls, and yet I wasn’t, as I was one of them.

Jenny approached me.

“Are you coming to the Justin Timberlake in December?”

“I don’t think I can, not with Dad in hospital and everything.”

“Who’s to stop you? Come on, you’ll need a break. He may be like it for years, so you can’t just hang about and never do anything.”

“I’ll ask my Gran,” I said.

“Mind you tell her that your Dad already said yes,” she said with a grin.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, smiling at the devious nature of woman.

“Besides, Matthew is coming,” she said, with a wink.

I dredged through Sophie’s memory and found this piece of information struck a chord - the face and the smile that I glimpsed earlier. Matthew was the older brother of another girl, Kate, and he was gorgeous. Sophie had seen him once, and thought he looked quite nice, but he was eighteen.

“He’s probably going out with someone,” I said.

“That’s not what Kate said. Apparently, he asked her about you at the weekend.”

I experienced a very odd feeling. Mentally, that information was useful, but whatever hormones I had welcomed the news by giving me a fluttery tummy, and making my pulse race slightly. It was most peculiar.

“The other thing about him, he drives a car, so if you start dating, we can go out as a foursome.”

“Great,” I said. “But I’ve only seen him once, so he will probably hate me.”

“Sophie, don’t be silly, you know you always look wonderful and everyone falls for you. It’s that you never seem to like them.”

“They’re always too young and silly. That is why I like them older. And the older ones don’t fancy me because I’m fifteen.”

“You don’t look fifteen, and I think that’s what puts off some boys, as you look so much older. Just yesterday, one of the sixth formers from the boys’ school asked me whether you were a sixth-former.”

“Who was that?”

“Robin Lake.”

I tried but couldn’t picture him.

“He’s their captain of the first fifteen rugby team,” she supplied, as my expression must have spoken for me.

“Oh, him?”

“Yes, Miss Smarty-pants, him.”

I reddened, as the picture came through nice and clear. He was a big lad, eighteen going on twenty-five, but he wasn’t as nice as Matthew.

“Come on, hurry up, or we’ll miss the bus,” she said, and I managed to dress without missing out anything.

I caught the bus home, arriving home just after Steven. Aunt Sally was there, so she and I organised an early supper, and then the two of us went to the hospital. The grandparents had been there all day, and Dad (me) hadn’t moved a muscle.

We walked in and I recognised a couple of the nurses who smiled at me. I went straight to the room and looked at the still form on the bed. I sat down and held my own hands. It really was a surreal experience.

Sally had tears in her eyes as she watched us.

“You poor girl, you don’t deserve this. Not both your parents.”

“He isn’t dead yet. You mustn’t think that way,” I said.

She sat next to me, looking at her brother’s still face.

“I feel I ought to pray, or something. But don’t know how to,” she said.

I took her hand. “You don’t need to pray, Aunt Sally, God know what’s on your mind,” I told her, and she looked at me, quite surprised.

“You are the most amazing girl. He’s so lucky having such a wonderful daughter.”

I smiled. I knew that, both of me did.

We sat. I almost felt things were normal. The heart monitor bleeped, and I was content just to be there. Sally was quite fidgety, but as long I was here, I believed that there was a chance that we could reverse this damn thing.

Nothing happened.

The doctor came, saw me and was very sympathetic, but was unable to give us any more idea as to when (if ever) the coma would clear. I was doomed to being Sophie for a bit longer.

Aunt Sally took me home again and was quite chatty, but my responses to her questions made her frown. At one point, she pulled over into a lay-by, and turned the engine off.

“Sophie, I want to ask you a question, and I don’t want you to think your Aunt Sally has lost it. But something happened to your Dad when he was about your age, and he and I have shared a secret for years. I thought he was pulling my leg, but now, well, I’m not so sure.”

“What?” I said, hardly daring to breathe.

“Well, one half term, when we were both home from school. He was at boarding school, so I never saw much of him when we were growing up, except for the holidays. He and I were stuck indoors on a really wet day, and we were just talking together, rather like this. Anyway, his behaviour was very odd at times, it was almost as if he, now don’t be upset, but it was almost as if he was a girl. He would talk about clothes and cooking, and boys. It was very odd, as he was a good three years older than I was.

“I must have shown that I was confused, and he asked me if I could keep a secret. I said I could, so he told me something that I will never forget.

“His exact words were: “Sally, I’m not Rob. I don’t know how, or why, but I am not your brother. My name is Sophie, and I was born in 1988. I’m Rob’s daughter, he’s my Dad. There was an accident involving a washing machine, and we were both electrocuted. I don’t know what happened to him, but I ended up here, in his body.”

“There, now you must think I’m potty?” she said.

“Sal, you aren’t potty,” I said, shutting my eyes and leaning back in the seat.

“Rob?” she asked, tentatively.

I nodded.

“Oh my God, I don’t believe this!” she said.

“Believe it, girl, because it’s true. Thank God, she was a bright kid, and saw fit to share this with you. Without it, I would be truly alone,” I said.

“Are you really Rob?” she asked, frowning.

“Yes Sal, I’m your brother. Remember Rod Granger?”

“Okay, say no more,” she said rather too quickly, going red at the thought of him. Rod and Sally had embarked on a very steamy love affair some years ago. It ended rather abruptly when Sally found out that he was already married. We were all sworn to secrecy, and then Sally met good old Keith.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“What can we do? I’m stuck until whatever happened is reversed. Now think back, when did things change again?”

Sally frowned and looked out at the passing traffic.

“Half term was in the autumn, I remember Dad and Mum took me to watch you in a play, and you played the part of, of, my God, you were Sophie!”

“How did I do?”

“Brilliantly, you looked very convincing, so much so that the hero seemed to enjoy kissing you rather a lot.”

“Sean Simmonds, yeah, I had a few niggly doubts about him. But, he got married, had kids as well, and he is a bloody Lieutenant Colonel now. Go on.”

“Well, that was a week before the end of term, and then we both broke up, and you came home for the holidays.”

“Well?”

“I can’t remember. I think something happened on Christmas Eve, but you were always different and I thought you were just teasing me.”

“How do you mean?”

“You told me that we must never tell anyone about you being Sophie, and I must always treat you the same, just in case we should forget, and then we might get into trouble. I really just thought you were teasing me.”

“Even at the start?”

“No, I believed you then, but as time went on, occasionally you would talk about fashion or boy bands in the year 2003. In fact, I started to worry when Boyzone started up, as that was a name I remembered you talking about.”

“You mean Sophie, not me.” I said, smiling.

“Don’t start. I don’t know who you are, or were. This is so awful.”

“Sal, let’s get one thing straight, this is happening to me. How do you think I feel with these bloody things stuck to my chest?” I asked, pointing to Sophie’s respectable breasts.

She laughed, despite looking confused.

“So Sal, what happened on Christmas Eve?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t remember, but on Christmas Day, you hugged me so hard, then you hugged Mum and Dad and went round almost crying and laughing all day. It was very strange.”

“Thank God. Only three months to go,” I said. “I can manage that, now I have a target.”

“What can I do, Rob?”

“Don’t call me that. I need to be Sophie, so that she can pick up her life again. I need you to be there to help me be the girl I have to be. God, Sally, I am so pleased that girl was clever enough to confide in you.”

“Can we do anything for her?”

“No, there is no way we can communicate with her. She could leave us a letter, but not the other way around.”

“Oh my God!” she said.

“What?”

“She did. I’ve just remembered. Rob gave me a letter and told me to give it to, oh dear God. He told me to give it to his daughter at a time that I would understand.”

“Where is it Sal?”

“At home. I put it with my dolls house. Only I had two boys, didn’t I?”

She started up the car, and we drove over to her home. Uncle Keith gave me a hug, and told me I was being a brave girl. The boys, Mark and Lewis, were going to bed, they were eight and six.

Then Sally and I went up into the attic. It was dusty, but there was a light, and she found the box with her dolls and the dolls house.

She rooted around for a while, finally producing an envelope.

“Got it.”

It was addressed to Sophie Mills.

I took it and opened it.
 
 

30th October 1978      Hi Sophie (hee hee)      If you’re reading this, it means that Aunt Sally has come through for us.      You were right, you did have a hard time, but I reckon that you got the rough end of the deal. Have we had our monthly yet? If not, have fun. If so, hee hee.      Rugger is an utterly futile game, and should be banned by international agreement. Mind you, the boys butts are cute in those tight little shorts.      I don’t know how long this nightmare is going to last, I hope it is up soon, I am getting fed up with Latin and rugger. Mike is great and you must keep in touch with him. I like him, and he’s a good mate. I’ve chosen the RAF section in the CCF, if that isn’t what you would have done, shoot me later.      I told Sally at half term, while I was at home. And gave her this letter for you. I don’t know if it will help, but I feel alone here, and you must feel the same. This way, at least one of us can get some help.      Your parents are much nicer as grandparents. You were right, your Dad is/was stricter than you. I will never ever complain about you again, you’re a sweetie. Oh, did you go to the Justin Timberlake concert? If it hasn’t happened yet, then go, and the memories will be there for me when I get back, if I ever do, that is.      I really miss you and Steven, and it is funny having an aunty who is three years younger than me. I want to come home Dad, please do what you can. I Love You ME Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx      P.S. Sean Simmonds is confused and thinks he is gay, and fancies you/me rotten. I reckon I can sort him out.

 
 
I started to cry for her. She was all alone in an alien world, so I wanted to go there and help her out.

Sally gave me a cuddle, so we wept together for a few moments.
 

*          *          *
 
“Right, Sophie, I have to take you home,” she said, so I nodded.

The drive was only a few minutes, but we hardly spoke.

“Do you want to come and stay until Christmas?”

“No, I have to be there for Steve. Granny and Grandpa are fine, and at least we get some time with them. I think I’ll go to this concert that Sophie wanted to go to, I owe her at least the memories.”

Sally smiled.

“I’ll speak to Mum, and make sure she knows that Rob approved.”

“Thanks.”

We arrived and went in.

“Any change?” Grandpa asked me.

“No, he’s still away with the fairies.”

“Poor devil. God, this is awful for you, Sophie.”

“It’s awful for all of us,” I said, going up to bed.
 

*          *          *
 
The week progressed. I told Jenny that I’d go to the concert in early December, so she told me that the minibus would pick us up from her house. That weekend I went and spent some time with Jenny and Caroline. They were in the lower sixth, the year above me (Sophie), but I always got on better with them than most of my own year group.

I didn’t say a lot, but just picked up the youth culture that Sophie always told me I didn’t understand. She’d been right, as I still didn’t understand it, but then again, neither did half the youth.

On the Saturday, we went to the cinema at Watford. We had a pizza before and were walking across to the cinema when a group of boys saw us. Matthew Kaiser was one of them. His sister, Kate, was in the same class as me.

“Hi Jenny,” said one of the boys. I didn’t know him and she called him John.

“Hi John, what’s up?” she said.

“We were going to see the Pirates of the Caribbean,” he said.

“So were we,” said Jenny, and I watched as Matthew pushed through to be nearer me. He smiled at me and I smiled back. He was sort of hunky, if I thought like Sophie, that is.

“Hello Sophie, you don’t know me, but..”

“Yes I do, you’re Matthew and you’re Kate’s brother,” I said, and he went red.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you knew me.”

“You asked Kate about me, and she told me. You can’t keep anything quiet with girls,” I said, and he laughed.

He was older than most of the boys who had approached me so far, but I felt comfortable with him. I didn’t know what Sophie would have done, so I just smiled at him.

We all went into the cinema together. There were six boys and three girls. I found myself sitting next to Matthew and smiled to myself. I admired good planning in a bloke.

The movie was great, and I half expected an arm to snake across my shoulders at some point. But, by half way through, it didn’t and I was mildly disappointed. I was also relieved as this was a complication for which I was ill prepared.

Then came a really scary bit and I jumped and found myself grabbing his hand. There we stayed, he wasn’t deliberately holding it against my will, as it was just quite nice. I left it there and he sort of held it.

At the romantic climax, I wasn’t prepared for the kiss that he gave me. He leaned across and gently kissed my cheek. I looked at him in surprise, as he gave no warning at all. It wasn’t unpleasant, just not expected.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I found myself squeezing his hand.

“It’s okay,” I heard Sophie’s voice say, and then we were kissing properly.

My heart was racing, as every female hormone in my female body was on overdrive, and my body responded normally. I let my brain go blank and became Sophie.

The kiss was not an experienced one, but it was a heartfelt and genuine one, and I responded in kind. I let his tongue glide between my lips, and we touched tongues for a second. I felt my body react in ways I did not expect. My nipples hardened, and I had a tingling sensation between my legs. I wrapped a hand behind his head, and I then felt the arm snake over my shoulders.

The film ended, but we were oblivious. I only realised when Jenny’s laughter filtered through.

We disentangled, feeling embarrassed but somehow quite pleased. My brain was in a real twirl. I was Sophie. I told myself this over and over again, and somehow the whole episode seemed perfectly right. In fact, I had not had one stray thought about the various naked and semi naked females that I had seen over the last couple of weeks. It seems that I was a normal heterosexual female, after all.

As we left the cinema, Matthew took my hand, so we walked out hand-in-hand. We were due to catch a bus, but he offered to take me home in his car.

“I’m staying with Jenny, and so is Caroline,” I said.

“Then I’ll take all of you home,” he offered. We accepted.

He drove his Mum’s Vauxhall Corsa, which he drove very well. He dropped us off at Jenny’s house.

I stayed behind as the others went in, grinning and winking at me.

“I just wanted to say sorry,” he said.

“What for?”

“Kissing you, I should have asked.”

“Don’t be silly, who ever asks?”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“I liked it,” I said.

“Are you going to the concert in December?”

“Why, do you want me to?”

“Very much.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“Really? Kate said you weren’t going to.”

“Kate’s out of date, isn’t she?”

He reddened and nodded. “You are very pretty.”

“Thanks, you are pretty smart yourself,” I said, meaning it.

“May I kiss you again?”

“Who has to ask?”

“I do,” he said, kissing me.

Standing like this was more comfortable, and the kiss went on and on. Finally, he broke off, which was just as well, as I was almost ready to lie down and open my legs. Shit, this sex business what hard! Girls got knocked just as hard as boys, and I could see how accidents happened.

“Goodnight Sophie. Can I see you again?”

“If you want.”

“I want, very much.”

“Then I’d like that too.”

“Bye then,” he said, kissing me gently on the cheek. I watched him drive off, turned and walked inside.

Jenny and Caroline were full of it, and I got a real ribbing, but I didn’t care. Hell. Had I fallen for the boy?

I went to sleep remembering that kiss.
 

*          *          *
 
I woke up the next morning, feeling odd. I didn’t feel ill, but I didn’t feel well, and when I got up I realise why. I cursed Sophie for being female, cursed myself for being inept at electrical things, and cursed the curse that I was now experiencing.

I was a miserable cow all day and felt rotten. I felt heavy in the abdomen, and sort of bloated and my boobs ached. I made sure everyone was aware of my mood, but found little sympathy amongst school friends and teachers alike.

It lasted about four or five days, and as I sat by the bed in the hospital, I earnestly prayed for this all to be over.

---

 
To Be Continued...