I took a deep breath to stop my heart from fluttering at the sight of the girl in front of me. Long, shapely legs encased in glossy translucent tights emerged from a tiny, almost skin-tight black skirt. Her curvaceous chest was covered by a thin light grey t-shirt, and tiny flats with delicate bows covered her feet. Her make-up was immaculate, with her face free from any blemishes, her eyebrows shaped to perfection and her mouth enhanced by nude matte lipstick and lipliner. Her hair was long, golden brown and flowing, and the long, fuchsia nails made her fingers look even more slender than they already were.

As I stared at the girl, I actually had to remind myself that what I was staring at was my own reflection.

In the three weeks since I’d met Dina, it had been like I was re-energised, like I’d found a new reason for living. The first thing I’d bought was a tape measure to properly record my correct size, before using every online tool I could find to perfect my make-up look. After ordering new (properly fitting) clothes, including some underwear, a large haul of make-up and other ‘feminine items’ — and wincing at the dent it made in my savings — I spent nearly every free moment I had practising and perfecting applying my make-up, learning how to fasten and unfasten a bra behind my back, and even how to walk, stand and sit like a girl — and not just any girl, but Dina Black.

With very few exceptions, after the end of each day’s lessons, I’d return to my room and spend the next few minutes steadily erasing any trace of masculinity that I possessed. I always started by tucking my 'manhood' underneath a flesh-coloured thong that prevented any 'movement', no matter how 'excited' I got, before pulling on a pair of panties and a matching bra, which I filled with B-cup silicone breast forms. The girdle I wore around my waist was uncomfortable at first, but I quickly learned to tolerate it — especially as it pulled my waist in to give the illusion of real feminine curves, just like Dina’s. After pulling a mesh cap over my hair, I’d set about my make-up. At first, it took me over an hour to get the look just right, though with practice, I’d got that time well down — even if I had got into the habit of reapplying my lipstick and lip-liner multiple times per night! After fixing my wig to my head and brushing it out (though occasionally playing with other hairstyles, such as a high ponytail or a formal updo), I pulled on my outfit, and revelled as I felt myself smothered in pure femininity — and as that look of pure femininity was reflected in my mirror.

I’d do everything I could to stretch ‘girl time’ out for as long as possible- getting back to my room early, skipping extra-curricular activities or socialising, staying up later than I should — anything to cling on to the feeling for as long as possible. At first, I thought that maybe, if I dressed up once, it’d break my ‘obsession.’ If anything, though, the opposite happened. Every second I spent dressed up just made me crave the feeling more and more, made me want to take even further steps to wash away the boy that I once was and perfect the image of the girl that I truly felt I was on the inside.

However, every time I dressed, despite the euphoria, I also felt a twinge of sadness, because I knew that it wouldn’t last. At the end of each evening, I’d have to remove all of my ‘adornments’, hide them away and go back to being plain old ‘William’ again. I’d go to sleep in the same underwear ‘William’ wore during the day and get up and dress as ‘William’ for my classes the following morning — not even daring to wear my gaff or panties under 'William's clothes for fear of being found out somehow. And inevitably, when I’d arrive at class, my anxiety would only grow as I’d meet up with the personification of effortless femininity that was Dina Black.

Obviously, since our first encounter, I’d carefully cultivated a friendship with Dina. We’d work together on most assignments, and on those rare occasions when I wasn’t emulating her in my bedroom, we’d hang out outside of class as well. I’d learned a fair amount about her in that time — obviously, that her surname was Black, that she was from a middle-class family from central Edinburgh, that she had one brother four years younger than her, and that her favourite hobby — which should have been obvious in hindsight — was fashion. In return, she learned virtually nothing about me — though that was understandable, since Dina was the closest (if not only) friend I’d made at university, but I wasn’t the only friend she had — far from it, in fact.

It should come as no surprise that Dina was very popular with the guys at university, but she was also popular among the girls. Outside of classes, wherever she went, she seemed to have her ‘gang’ with her, and always had a smile on her face. In a way, they reminded me of ‘the Angels’ — and, of course, I desperately wished to be the Jamie-Lee to her Charlotte.

However, I didn’t have the courage to so much as leave my room dressed as a girl, let alone hang out with friends — or rather, people I barely knew. Even though many of the other students from my school came to the same university as me, as I went to an all-boys’ school, I obviously couldn’t tell them about ‘girl me’. And as I obviously couldn’t talk to my family about my feelings, it left me with no one I could confide in. Fortunately, though, I always had the one friend I could talk to when I needed to — at least, about things other than my overwhelming desire to be her.

“Hi William!” Dina said with a smile as she sat down next to me, and as always, I drank in the sight of her and her outfit — especially as it was one I’d not seen her wear before.

Rather than her usual skirt and t-shirt combo, on that day she’d opted for a grey and black pinafore-style dress that was a little less tight than her usual attire, but still only barely covered her backside, especially as she sat down. The top that she wore underneath the dress was form-fitting, though, and had a high turtleneck collar and billowy, almost transparent sleeves. As usual, translucent black tights covered her long legs, though instead of flat ballerina pumps, she’d opted for clingy knee-high boots with a flat sole. And, of course, her hair and make-up were immaculate, as were her long, clear polish coated fingernails and the dainty silver necklace fastened around her collar. Naturally, I made a mental note of every part of the outfit so that I could try to replicate it myself later.

“Hi Dina,” I said, mentally fumbling for words as she got out her notepad and textbooks. “Umm… nice dress.”

“Aww, thanks!” Dina said, smiling as she turned to show off the dress’s details to me. “Bought it as an early birthday present for myself, hehe!” Which I’m also going to do, I thought to myself, even though my birthday wouldn’t be for another six months.

“Is it — is it your birthday soon?” I asked innocently, even though I knew from her Facebook page that it was less than a week away.

“Aye, on Saturday,” Dina replied. “Yes, I’m having a party, and yes, you’re invited too, hehe!” I tried not to feel too disheartened by her use of the word ‘too’. “I’ll send you a Facebook message with the details after class. And don’t worry, just because it’s my eighteenth, it doesn’t mean you have to get me anything special, heh.”

“Heh,” I chuckled — thankfully, Dina didn't know that my family was wealthy enough that I could easily have afforded something 'special'. “I- I’ll get you something, though.”

“Thanks,” Dina said with a bashful smile as the lecture began, blissfully unaware that I wasn’t just going to buy her a present, but also one for myself — namely, her entire outfit.

Needless to say, later that afternoon — while wearing my usual outfit of a skirt, clingy top, my wig and my usual make-up — I sourced all of Dina’s outfit online in my size (including the boots, which I was especially excited about) and mentally started to count down the days until the precious items of clothing would arrive.

Before they did, though, I had the small matter of a birthday party to prepare for. Dina’s parents lived just a 15-minute taxi ride from my parents' home, so when Friday evening came, I followed my usual routine of washing all of my ‘contraband’ in the university launderette before locking it away in a suitcase stashed under my bed. As always, I felt my usual sense of anxiety as I left it behind for the weekend — partly out of fear that someone might find it, but more because I knew that for the following 72 hours straight, I was going to have to present as fully male. I’d grown so accustomed to the feeling of femininity, so addicted to it even, that the thought of going without it even for that short a time gnawed at my spirit. After all, there was no guarantee that I’d be able to return to the femininity that I'd become addicted to after the weekend was over.

On that particular weekend, though, I at least had the distraction of the party to look forward to. The e-invitation Dina sent me mentioned that there was a theme to the party, but it didn’t mention what the theme was and stated that guests weren’t obliged to follow the theme, so — after enduring teasing from James and Arabella, of course — I pulled on the comparatively plain shirt, trousers and shoes I'd picked out, grabbed the gift I bought for Dina and jumped into the waiting taxi. A short while later, the taxi pulled up outside the big hotel Dina's family had booked for the occasion and I walked inside, fidgeting nervously as I rang the reception bell. A few seconds later, the receptionist directed me to where the party was taking place, where I was greeted, much to my surprise, by a boy in his early teens wearing a very fancy-looking costume.

“Oh- hi,” a bored-looking boy in his early teens said as he ushered me inside the big ballroom, adjusting his uncomfortable-looking tuxedo.

“Uh- hi, thanks,” I said confusedly. “I thought we weren’t meant to come in a costume?”

“Oh- you’re not, but I am,” the moody teen snorted as I was shown into the ballroom, which was already bustling with Dina’s friends — some I knew from university, a few who were strangers to me. And, of course, the birthday girl herself was sat on the sofa with two of her closest friends — though a smile spread across her face as she got up to greet me, which gave me a good look at her outfit.

Obviously, Dina was wearing a party dress like the other girls, only hers was strapless, a dark bronze colour and had an extremely form-fitting bodice and a short, flared skirt, with a wide white belt wrapped around her cinched-in waist. Her legs were encased in what appeared to be nude-coloured fishnet tights, and she had sparkling black shoes on her feet with a slim three-inch heel — high enough to put her head above mine. Of course, her hair and make-up were immaculate as ever, as were the long, deep gold nails on the ends of her fingers. Her sparkly silver earrings and dainty necklace made her look every bit the princess she was on the night — and every bit the princess I would be when I replicated the outfit in exact detail two weeks later. That evening, though, all belonged to Dina.

“Hi William!” Dina said with a nervous, almost embarrassed giggle as she greeted me with a tentative one-armed hug — which was still enough to get my heart racing. “Honestly, you didn’t have to get me anything,” the birthday girl said as she took my carefully wrapped gift and opened it, revealing the small chocolate box within. “…Thanks, how did you know these were my favourites?”

“Umm- lucky guess, I suppose,” I replied, not wanting to let my friend know just how long I’d spent trawling her Facebook page for gift clues. “I- umm, you said we didn’t need to come in fancy dress?”

“Well — aye, guests don’t,” Dina replied. “It’s more, like, just a ‘thing’ for me and my family. It’ll be obvious in a bit, promise.”

“Okay, if you say so,” I said with a smile that the birthday girl mirrored. “And — and the kid who let me in?”

“My brother,” Dina replied with a cheeky grin, before grimacing again. “Ah- and I should probably introduce you to everyone, heh. This is Alicia and Sian, they’re friends from school who I haven’t seen in ages, heh. Girls, this is William, the guy on my course who I told you about.” She’s talking about me to her friends? I thought to myself. This must be a good sign….

“Nice to meet you,” Alicia said with a devilish grin as she remained seated, while much to my surprise, Sian rose from her seat to greet me with a gentle hug.

“Hi,” Sian said softly, smiling almost nervously as I gazed at her — or more accurately, at her outfit. Like Dina, she wore an expensive-looking dress, but unlike Dina’s, hers had thin straps, was form-fitting down to the bottom of the (almost obscenely short) skirt and was made from a glittery black fabric. She wore matching platform stiletto heels that were much higher than Dina’s (but still her head was only slightly above mine when we were both stood up), while her chocolate brown hair was fancily styled, and her make-up complemented her cute, freckled face perfectly. By any objective standard, Sian was a really attractive young woman — and yet all I could think about was how Dina would look in her outfit — and more to the point, how I’d look in her outfit (something I eventually found out a few weeks later, even if I could barely move in the six inch heels).

“H- hi,” I said, trying not to hyperventilate as Dina smirked and winked at me. “Do you — do you want to, I mean, get something to — to drink?”

“Sure!” Sian says, her smile widening as she leans in close to me en route to where the refreshments have been laid out.

“So, umm…” I say, trying not to come across as TOO nervous. “How long — how long have you known Dina?”

“Really?” Sian asked, her mood immediately darkening. “Five seconds in, and already you’re asking me about other girls?”

“Umm, I- umm…” I babbled, before sighing as the girl grinned devilishly.

“It’s okay, I was just having a bit of fun,” Sian reassured me. “I get it, it IS her party after all, heh. And to answer your question, we’ve been friends since we started secondary school.”

“Whereas I’m just a ‘Johnny Come Lately’?” I asked, smiling as Sian snorts into her drink with laughter.

“Or ‘Willy Come Lately’ in your case,” Sian said, before blushing and almost doubling over with giggles as she realised what she’d said. “Oh- oh god, I don’t mean…“

“I- I get it,” I interrupted, smiling as the girl giggled. “So, umm, wh…“ Before I could speak, though, we were interrupted by loud music — a relief as I genuinely had no idea how I was going to continue that sentence.

“Ah- this is the main event,” Sian explained, her voice rising to an excited squeak. “Dina’s always been a fan of Strictly Come Dancing, even since it started, so we’ve got together and arranged a sort-of theme party. This is why it said ‘fancy dress’, but, like, only for her.”

“Umm, okay,” I replied as we were ushered out of the way to create a space in the middle of the room, while I found myself musing that the Queen was probably never entertained in this way.

“Dina’s favourite this year is Hannah Dexter,” Sian said, not noticing as my eyes immediately widened. “Hehe, you probably don’t even know who Hannah Dexter is, heh!”

…Except I absolutely DID know who Hannah Dexter was. She was a model, she was tall, slim and elegant with long, flowing golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She was almost stereotypically beautiful, but more importantly, Hannah was a member of The Angels, making her one of the best friends of Miss Jamie-Lee Burke. Meaning that if Dina was a fan of Hannah, she was a fan of the Angels, which meant that she was a fan — or at least, implicitly approved — of Jamie-Lee, which meant that she was almost certainly an ally to trans people. I felt my heart start to flutter at the prospect, which Sian naturally interpreted as my being interested in her, though as always, I only had eyes for one girl.

Seconds later, though, my heart shattered.

“Eee, here they come!” Sian squeaked excitedly as Dina — still wearing her elaborate dress and heels — walked out into the middle of the room, holding hands with a boy who looked about the same age as us.

“Who’s that?” I asked, frowning as Sian giggled at me.

“That’s her boyfriend, of course!” Sian replied, and it was all I could do not to burst into tears right then and there.

Of course, Dina had a boyfriend. She hadn’t mentioned him when we’d talked in class, but why would she if he’s not on the same course as us? And why on Earth did I assume that a girl as good looking as Dina was single? And, of course, to rub it in, the boyfriend was everything I was not — tall, handsome, athletic… He could probably have his pick of any girl in the world, so it’s no surprise he picked Dina, and she picked him.

…Though, as I quickly reminded myself, tall, handsome and athletic were things I definitely did NOT want to be. I was 5' 8" rather than his 6’ 1” — though this was as tall as I ever wanted to get. I had a flat, smooth belly, which I much preferred to his chiselled six-pack. And I prefer my clean-shaven, 'gentle' facial features to his rugged, stubbly jawline. As much as I wanted to be with Dina, I simply wanted to BE her more. And while I knew — or at least, strongly believed — that those two things were mutually exclusive, having it driven home to me still felt like a knife between my ribs.

“How long have they been going out?” I asked Sian as Dina and her boyfriend began to salsa together.

“About eight months,” Sian replied. “He was at the same school as us too, was on the football and rugby teams.” Of course he was, I thought to myself as I desperately thought of ways to change the topic.

“So, umm…” I mumbled. “Do you — umm, like, are you a fan of these ‘Angels’ too?” That was smooth, I sarcastically thought to myself.

“Sure,” Sian replied with a shrug. “Even if there are no Scottish Angels, heh. Well, not yet, anyway!”

“Yeah,” I chuckled as Dina’s dance routine came to an end and I and the rest of the crowd applauded, while four people at the side of the room (including Dina’s brother) held up paddles with the number ‘18’ written on them. Unsurprisingly, Dina went first toward the judges (who I later learned were all her immediate family,) before skipping back over to where I was stood- or rather, where her close school friends were stood, who I just happened to be with.

“You were AWESOME!” Alicia gushes as she shared a hug with the birthday girl.

“Thanks!” Dina squeaked bashfully before sharing a hug with Sian and then myself — much to her boyfriend’s disapproval.

“Really good,” I said, making Dina blush as her boyfriend tightened his grip on her hand.

“Honestly, if you were on this year’s series, Hannah Dexter wouldn’t stand a chance,” Sian said as the birthday girl blushed an even deeper shade of red.

“I wouldn’t go THAT far,” Dina said with a giggle, before smiling and rolling her eyes as she saw me stood next to her friend. “Ah- sorry, really should introduce the two of you, heh! William, this is my boyfriend Craig, Craig, this is William, the guy on my course I told you about.”

“Ah, right, YOU’RE William,” Craig said as he shook my hand, looking almost relieved — clearly, before he met me, he thought of me as a 'threat' to his relationship, but that stopped when he learned who I was. And I know that I SHOULD have felt offended at the implied slight against my ‘masculinity,’ but deep down inside, all I could think about was how it meant I could 'pass' a lot better than I thought. That, and how the fact that Craig’s other hand was firmly clamped on Dina’s backside meant that ‘being Dina’ was now infinitely more achievable than ‘being with Dina….’

“Nice to meet you,” I said in as polite as I could manage, unconsciously tightening my grip on Sian’s hand as I did.

“Tch, BOYS,” Sian teased, making Craig roll his eyes and me frown with confusion as she, Dina and Alicia all giggled. My frown was also due to be associated with boys in general — though I wasn't about to admit that in front of everyone.

“Don’t worry, Will, that’s just one of their ‘things,’ ” Craig advised me with a sigh as Dina and her friends giggled louder. “Inevitably picked it up from one of the ‘Angels.’ ”

“Oh- shut up, you,” Sian said with a giggle. “You know, boys ARE allowed to watch The Angels?”

“And girls ARE allowed to go and watch Hearts play,” Craig retorted, this time earning eye rolls from the other girls. “Ah- sorry, Will, unless you support Hibs? Or, like, one of the Old Firm?”

“Ah- umm, no,” I replied hesitantly. “Never really followed football, my dad’s from Edinburgh too but never really followed Hearts or Hibs, the same goes for my granddad.” And the truth is, I’d much rather watch every episode of the Angels than a single minute of a football match, I thought to myself.

“See?” Dina teased her boyfriend. “Told you there were SOME boys.”

“Yes, yes, okay,” Craig said, making me smirk — though the smile soon vanished from my face when he punctuated his contrition with a kiss on the birthday girl’s lips. “I’m gonna go get us a drink, okay? It was nice meeting you, Will.”

“Yep, likewise,” I said, trying to control my feelings as the couple walked away, and rationalising to myself that Dina was always out of my league — especially as I wanted to be her just as much as I wanted to be WITH her, and no girl in her right mind would ever accept that. However, as I was soon reminded by the feel of another hand in mine, there was at least someone who was interested in being my girlfriend — or, at the very least, ‘William’s' girlfriend.

“They’re a really cute couple,” Sian said as she slowly led me away from Alicia and to a quieter part of the house.

“Mmm,” I replied, only half paying attention to what my new friend was saying.

“Dina’s always been like that, though,” Sian continued. “All the boys fancying her, heh.” And some of the girls too, I thought to myself. An awkward silence then followed as Sian looked at me expectantly — and despite my mixed-up emotions, a lifetime of behaving exactly the way I was expected to at all times meant I instantly knew exactly what was expected of me.

“You surely have guys chasing after you all the time as well, though?” I ask, Sian’s smile telling me I hadn't put my foot in it.

“Cute ones, sometimes!” Sian replies with a giggle, checking to see we’re alone and unlikely to be interrupted before wrapping her arms around my neck and firmly pressing her lips against mine.

Obviously, this was my first kiss — my first proper kiss, anyway. Attending a private all-boys school sort-of ‘limited my opportunities’, after all. I was excited… but at the same time, I was disappointed. Disappointed that it ended just as quickly as it started, disappointed that it didn’t make me feel the way I expected to feel, but most of all, disappointed that it wasn’t with Dina. And that it was Sian wearing the lipstick, and not me….

Nonetheless, I kissed Sian back, hoping (as it turned out, in vain) that it would elicit the feelings I was desperate to feel. And Sian — while maybe not on Dina’s level — was very pretty. All I could think about, though, was how pretty her dress was — and how pretty it’d look on me.

Sian and I spent the next 15 minutes by ourselves, kissing and occasionally 'exploring' but not going any further, with neither of us having brought any ‘protection’ to the party. Nonetheless, we exchanged phone numbers and social media details with the expectation that we would keep in touch over the rest of the weekend (which we did), and when we returned to the party, I couldn’t help but notice the uncharacteristically wide grin on Dina’s face — a grin that was still present when I sat down next to her for our first lecture the following Monday.

“Hi William,” Dina said in her usual shy, quiet voice — though I could easily detect a 'teasing' undertone.

“Hi Dina,” I replied with a smile. “Great party at the weekend!”

“It was,” Dina giggled. “Thanks for coming, I get it might have been, like, a nervous thing for you, not knowing any of my friends.”

“I enjoyed it,” I replied with a shrug. And I’ve already got the dress and shoes you wore on order, I mentally added.

“I’m glad,” Dina said, before nervously biting her lip. “And I know — I know Sian did, too….”

“Yep,” I replied stoically, before sharing a giggle with my friend. “…And yes, we are seeing each other again, probably this weekend. We can’t see each other during the week as we’re…“

“Both busy with university,” Dina completed my sentence for me. “Yeah, I get it’s probably difficult, going to different unis, heh. But I think you’ll really like Sian.”

“She’s pretty cool, yep,” I said as I willed myself to think about the girl who was apparently my new girlfriend — though all I found myself thinking about was the clingy long-sleeved black top, shiny black tights and skin-tight denim shorts that Dina was wearing.

“If you — if you want somewhere to go, like, with Sian,” Dina said in a voice that was quiet even for her, “yesterday me and Craig — like, as a romantic ‘after birthday’ thing — went to this really nice coffee shop in The New Town. We’d never been there before, and it was really nice.”

“Thanks,” I said as I tried to reconcile my thoughts and my situation in my head.

Any other seventeen-year-old boy would’ve been beyond excited, and I knew deep down that I should have been as well. I’d been set up with a really cute girl who clearly fancied me and was eager to be ‘physical’ as soon as possible, and even if Sian felt like a ‘consolation prize’ for Dina, there was no denying that she was a great girlfriend. And yet, I felt uneasy — anxious, even. Anxious that my family would disapprove of Sian and her lower middle-class upbringing. Anxious that Sian — or worse yet, Dina — would find out about my ‘hobby’. Most of all, though, I was anxious that if I really liked Sian, it’d somehow 'cure' me of my desire to be female — to be 'Dina'. Even worse, there was a part of me that actually wanted that to happen….

For the first week of my relationship with Sian, I devoted myself to being the best boyfriend I could. We texted constantly, we went on dates, I bought her gifts… and still, the urge to become ‘Dina’ only grew. In the second week, after our fourth date, we both lost our virginity. Yet still, the urge to become ‘Dina’ only grew. In the third week, despite my best efforts, and despite all the time we spent together — both ‘intimately’ and otherwise — the urge to become ‘Dina’, as well as the anguish associated with not being her, grew so great that most days, it was all I could think about.

In the fourth week, Sian and I mutually agreed to end our relationship, and that while it had been fun, we would be better off going our separate ways.

Needless to say, my ‘separate way’ was back to my dorm room, and less than an hour after saying goodbye to Sian, I was sat on my bed with a face full of make-up, a long brown wig on my head, a clingy black top covering my 'enhanced' torso and shiny black tights and a tight denim mini skirt covering my legs. And for the first time since meeting Sian, I felt energised — alive, even. From that moment on, I never felt more alive than when all trace of masculinity was gone, and all I could see was the girl that I truly was inside. And the more time went by, the more I found myself craving that feeling every waking second.

In the run up to Christmas, my wardrobe — not to mention my make-up drawer — grew bigger and bigger. I acquired numerous skirts and dresses in various different styles as well as casual tops, formal blouses and even a couple of clingy bodysuits. I had lipsticks in every colour (but, as always, found myself returning to my matte nude colour time and time again,) numerous colours of eyeshadow, foundation, bronzer, even several pairs of fake eyelashes and fake nails in all colours. I spent hours each evening experimenting with my look, trying out different tutorials I saw online, mixing and matching styles — but in the end, I always returned to the style I'd fallen in love with — Dina's style.

When I went home for Christmas, I actually had to rent a storage locker to keep all of my ‘contraband’ safe until I returned in January — though that also meant that at home, there was no release for my tension — and no escape from my family, either.

“So, another Constable at university, then?” My grandfather teased as I and the rest of the family sat in his elaborate drawing room. “How are you finding it, William?”

“Umm, it’s okay,” I replied, trying not to mumble even as I was put on the spot. “It’s a lot more work than I was expecting but I’m, umm, coping.”

“Are you having fun as well?” Granddad asked with a warm smile — which contrasted the look on my father’s face. Even though there was no possible way he knew about my ‘hobby’, I still felt anxious — not to mention frustrated by the fact that as long as I 'practised' my ‘hobby,’ I would have to live with the constant fear of being found out. The memory of what happened to my oldest brother was all the proof I needed that if I was found out, my life would be effectively over. However, despite the risk, despite what I stood to lose if found out, I also knew that there was no way I could ever go without being ‘Dina’ — and even though I was surrounded by my family, and even though the following day was literally Christmas Day, mentally I was counting down the days until I could strip away 'William' and just be 'Dina' once again.

“…Some fun, yep,” I mumbled in reply.

“As long as you’re also studying hard,” dad said in a tone that sounded almost like he was handing down a caution.

“Of course,” I replied, though my father still looked concerned.

“Have you got a girlfriend yet?” My brother asked, making me bite my lip as I started to blush.

“James,” dad said angrily.

“I’m only asking,” James said with a shrug. “The few times I do see William on campus, he’s usually hanging around with a girl.” Despite my best efforts to avoid you whenever we have classes on the same day, I thought to myself.

“…William?” Granddad asked, genuinely curious about the answer.

“…I HAD a girlfriend,” I replied, and much to my surprise, dad actually seemed relieved, though in hindsight, it was obvious why — the memory of what happened to my oldest brother was lingering in his mind just as it was in mine. “It’s not the girl who’s in my class, it was one of her old school friends, we saw each other for a month but just, umm, stopped seeing each other in the end.”

“And you didn’t think to bring her home to meet any of us?” Dad asked accusingly.

“Well, we — we didn’t get THAT far,” I protested, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief as dad seemed to accept my explanation.

“Have you joined any societies yet?” James asked.

“Umm- no,” I replied. “I mean — not yet. I’ve been too busy with…“ doing something I could never tell any of you, I thought silently. “…studying.”

“Well, make sure you at least save some time for fun,” granddad advised. “Your university days are meant to be some of the most memorable of your entire life.” And they already have been, I thought to myself. Even if you wouldn’t approve of my idea of ‘fun….'

The following day, I — along with the rest of my family (well, rest of my family except my oldest brother) — opened presents including shaving kits, deodorant sets, smart men’s clothes, aftershave and all things 'proud and manly.' I acted grateful to my family for all the presents I received, interacted with them and did the things expected of me all throughout the holiday. And a few days later, when I returned to my university dorm (having made a stop off at my storage locker along the way), I wasted no time in forgetting all about my expensive Christmas presents and the week I'd spent with my family. Less than an hour later, I was sat reading up on the following semester’s coursework while wearing a very clingy, very short dark grey sweater dress with a high turtleneck. On my legs were a pair of glossy dark brown tights and the pair of knee-high flat-soled boots I’d fallen in love with earlier in the year, while on my fingernails were false dark-coloured nails, I had a long, golden brown wig on my head and every inch of my face was covered in make-up. As I looked in the mirror, I smiled — every trace of masculinity, every trace of ‘William’ had been systematically erased, and all that was left was ‘Dina.’

It was at that moment — having dressed for the first time in weeks — that I began to realise that 'Dina' really was my 'true' identity. When I was dressed as 'Dina', I wasn't wearing a mask, I was removing one — one I'd had to don for days on end when I was with my family, and one that felt unbearable by the time I was finally able to remove it. One I was dreading having to wear again, even if for the few hours I spent in my classes.

Over the following few weeks, my dressing sessions increased in both frequency and ‘intensity’ as I experimented more with my look. I practised styling my wig into various different styles, including high ponytails, French braids, buns and countless other styles, eventually wearing the wig out completely and necessitating a new one — even though I had allowed my ‘real’ hair to grow longer and longer, while the rest of my body remained completely hairless. I wore skirts and dresses of every style and length, from swishy maxi skirts to micro skirts that barely covered my panties (or as was more often the case, thongs). I experimented more with shapewear, not just with tighter girdles but with longer, full-body girdles, padded bras and even a proper lace-up corset that took a LONG time to get used to. I even started wearing heels — starting out with low heels of no more than 2 inches, but within weeks I was proficient (if not exactly comfortable) with walking in 4-inch stiletto heels.

The heels were an example of how, as I experimented, my style started to ‘drift’ from that of Dina Black. Dina was open about her hatred of wearing heels, whereas I found their undeniable femininity to be a major point in their favour. Similarly, while Dina always let her hair hang loose, I preferred to have mine tied back, either in a plait or a ponytail. And while Dina only wore very subtle eye make-up, I preferred a more ‘defined’ look. We retained our mutual love of short skirts, glossy tights, tight tops and nude matte lipstick, though.

As 2016 progressed, I started to think more and more about actually transitioning, just as Jamie-Lee Burke had. Even though my ‘intensive practice’ meant that I knew how to ‘pass’ well — not just in looks, but in body language, facial expressions and even speech. I spent evenings filled with anxiety over how to approach my (private, of course) GP about getting referred to a counsellor, about how to tell my family (and how to deal with their inevitable rejection) — and most of all, how I’d tell Dina. Our mutual love of the Angels made me confident that she’d accept ‘William’ transitioning, though I was less confident that she’d accept me as another ‘Dina’, especially considering how similar our styles still were.

After the Easter holiday, as I was approaching my own eighteenth birthday, I began seriously thinking about what name I would call myself after I transitioned. However, during our first lesson back, everything was thrown into chaos thanks to Dina.

“Hi Dina,” I said to my friend as she sat down next to me, confusing me with her look of a skinny pair of trousers, a loose-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt and hardly any make-up. I still made plans to emulate the look, of course, but it was so out of the ordinary for my friend I didn't even know how to react.

“Hi William,” Dina said in a voice barely louder than a whisper, which was quiet even by her standards.

“Is- is everything okay?” I asked hesitantly, hoping that my question didn’t make whatever the situation was any worse.

“I- I’m fine, really,” Dina replied — though her tone of voice and body language (not to mention choice of clothes) clearly said otherwise. However, I chose not to pursue it — though whether that was due to empathy or fear of angering my friend, I couldn’t say.

Either way, the lecture started mere moments later, cutting off any opportunity to pry further. Regardless, though, my friend was still upset, and I saw it as my duty to help in any way I could. We headed together toward the university’s dining hall, where I ordered myself my usual sandwich and cake while Dina only had a small chocolate bar. While this was nothing out of the ordinary — Dina was never a big eater — she’d barely taken two bites by the time I finished my meal. I knew that whatever was up, it was big, and I needed to help — if not for Dina’s sake, then for mine.

“Hey,” I whispered. “Are — are you okay, really?” I bit my lip as tears started to form in the corners of my friend’s eyes, and I wasted no time in abandoning my meal and going round to comfort her.

“Can we — can we go somewhere private, please?” Dina whispered. “Can we go to your room, maybe?”

“Oka…“ I immediately replied, before remembering that if we went to my room, I’d have a REALLY hard time explaining why I had a wig and a ton of make-up on my bedside table, and why there were three pairs of tights drying on my radiator. “Actually, umm, my — my room’s kind of a mess right now, got — got, umm, ‘boy stuff’ everywhere, could we- could we go to yours instead?”

“ '…Boy stuff’ is the LAST thing I want to deal with right now,” Dina sobbed, nodding as she led me toward her room. I followed behind awkwardly, wondering whether it would be appropriate to put a comforting arm around her — or even if I should touch her at all. The decision became moot mere moments later, though, when we arrived at Dina’s room — and I had to suppress my excitement at actually being in the room of the girl I fancied so much.

Unsurprisingly, Dina’s room was much like my own in many ways — a single bed, a wardrobe, a dresser and a desk. However, it was the personal touches that stuck out to me. Personal touches such as the pink heart-shaped fairy lights over her bed, the photos of friends and family pinned to the cork board above her desk, and of course the large A2 sized poster of The Angels pinned to her wall. The make-up messily strewn across her dresser made my heart beat faster too — mostly because a large chunk of it was the same brand as the make-up on my own dresser. And, of course, the various garments on display — including a VERY short dark grey denim skirt and a white, high-necked bodysuit with thin black hoops and a very narrow thong bottom. Needless to say, copies of the skirt and the bodysuit were within my wardrobe within a week, and on my own body mere days after that.

Before that could happen, though, I had a friend to tend to — a friend who immediately collapsed on her bed sobbing as soon as we entered the room. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why — and the fact that there were large gaps in the decorations on her walls suggested that Dina had recently removed someone from her life — or, more likely, the other way around.

“It- it’s okay,” I said hesitantly, hoping that I wasn’t about to make things worse with my choice of words. “What do — umm, whatever you need, you just — umm, I’m — I mean, I’m here for you.”

“You could start by persuading the rest of your gender to not suck as much,” Dina moaned, confirming my suspicions — she was no longer in a relationship with Craig. A part of me felt excited — if Dina was single, it meant that she was also available — once she had recovered from her heartbreak, of course. And yet, what she’d said reminded me — in a roundabout way — of why she and I could never be a couple.

‘The rest of your gender,' she’d said. By which she of course meant ‘male.' And while I knew that she had no way of knowing otherwise, I still felt offended by the implication. The implication that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much effort I put into feminising every aspect of myself, there’d always be that part of me — the ‘core,’ even — that would always remain male. There would always be those who saw me as male, regardless of how I presented myself — and whether I liked it or not, Dina Black would always be one of those people.

As I tried to control my own feelings, a small voice inside my head told me to try to see it as a positive — after all, if Dina saw me as a boy, and she’s now single, it made it all the likelier that she could eventually see me as a boyfriend. All I had to do was let go of the feminine side of my life. However, that was the one thing I knew I could never do under any circumstances, not even a relationship with Dina. Though as I reminded myself, it was a moot point, as even though I was literally related to royalty, I knew deep down that she was way, WAY out of my league….

“Ugh, I- I’m sorry, William,” Dina said, taking several deep breaths to calm herself and wiping the tears from her eyes. “I know it’s hardly your fault that my… heh. That my now-ex felt like he’d had enough.”

“Well, he’s clearly an idiot,” I said, biting my tongue too late to keep the words from slipping out.

“Thanks,” Dina whispered bashfully, almost blushing at my compliment. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I- I should tidy up, got stuff all over the place….” I smiled sympathetically as my friend started rushing around, tidying up her make-up and, much to my dismay, putting away her clothes.

“Honestly, you don’t need to on my account,” I said, trying desperately not to stare as my friend crouched down, exposing the top of her lacy black thong.

“Nah, I- I hate having a messy room, heh,” Dina chuckled tiredly. “Craig was always untidy, never put his stuff away….” I bit my lip as the mention of her ex-s name caused tears to well in her eyes, and I didn’t resist as my friend sat down next to me and quietly wept into my shoulder.

“It’s okay,” I whispered as I wrapped an arm around Dina’s shoulder, even this simple gesture making my whole body tingle. Not least because her top, while tight and form-fitting, was really soft….

“Ugh, I- I’m sorry to have to put this on you, William,” Dina mumbled. “Especially as I know you’re still getting over Sian.” Who? I briefly thought to myself, before remembering about my own breakup mere weeks beforehand.

“It- it’s okay,” I said. “I’m- it- it’s okay, really. Whatever you need, just — just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Dina whispered. “There is — there is, umm, one thing, actually….”

“Name it,” I said with a shrug.

“I could — ugh, never — never mind…” Dina mumbled, her cheeks flushing again.

“No, honestly, whatever it is, I don't mind,” I insisted.

“Would you- would you, umm… sleep here tonight?” Dina asked, making my heart rate increase even as she blushed again. “Oh- umm, I mean- not like- umm, I mean, would you- would you, like, sleep in the same room as me tonight? I need some, umm, some company, but- umm….” I smiled as my distraught friend babbled.

“I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” I said, smiling as Dina sighed and leaned back onto my shoulder. “Am I — am I really the best person for the job, though?”

“Well, I — ugh, this’ll sound so silly…” Dina moaned, before sighing as I smiled at her to continue. “You’re kinda — you’re kinda like a big sister to me, if that makes sense? And I don’t mean any offence by that, I just…“

“None- no offence taken,” I chuckled. ‘Big sister’ was certainly an improvement over ‘your whole gender sucks,’ I thought to myself, even if it made a relationship with Dina equally unlikely.

My friendship with Dina, though, was never stronger than after that night. As I promised, I slept that night under a blanket on her floor as she tried to rest and take her mind off of Craig. The following morning, I made myself scarce as she got ready for our first lectures — though not before she told me how grateful she was for my friendship. All I could think about, though, was how it had been over 24 hours since I'd last experienced femininity — a feeling that was exacerbated when Dina showed up for the first lecture of the day wearing the same skirt and bodysuit that had been hanging in her room the previous day.

Nonetheless, after that night, things slowly got back to normal. I attended lectures and seminars with Dina in the daytime, and I spent almost every evening emulating her increasingly varied looks. As winter gave way to spring, Dina’s looks became ‘lighter,’ with her usual tight miniskirts giving way to looser skater-style skirts and dresses, and her turtleneck tops and jumpers were steadily replaced by lighter, floatier blouses. On warmer days, she didn’t even wear tights — something that no doubt got the pulses of all the men at the university racing.

…Something that was proved at the start of April when Dina began hanging around with Aaron, a guy from our class. It didn’t take long for rumours to circulate that the two of them were a couple, and it didn’t take long for those rumours to be confirmed when they were spotted snogging in a corridor of the dorms. Initially, of course, I felt jealous of Aaron (as did most of the guys at the university, in all likelihood,) though externally I continued to play the role of the ‘good friend/big sister,’ cheering the couple on as they quickly grew more and more serious. And, of course, it didn’t take me long to remember that Dina and I could never be a couple anyway — especially when I wore the same grey crop top, button-up denim skirt and cork wedges that Dina wore in the first photo she uploaded to Facebook of herself and Aaron.

A few weeks after they became a couple, it was my eighteenth birthday and, while the day itself was, of course, celebrated with a formal meal with my family at my grandfather’s estate, my parents did also let me have a ‘proper’ party the following Saturday. A function room was booked at one of Edinburgh’s most upmarket hotels, and ten of my closest friends from university (as well as James and Arabella, of course), came — which of course meant Dina, and this of course also meant Aaron.

It’s funny how I can remember Dina’s 18th birthday party in vivid detail, while I can barely remember my own. I know there was music, there was dancing, cake and ( alimited amount of) champagne served and James gave me an ‘amusing’ toast, but beyond that most of the night was a blur (and not because of the champagne). Most of it — except, of course, for what Dina wore. Even though I had to buy them for myself after my birthday with my own money, the short-sleeved floral playsuit and chunky-heeled ankle boots brought me more happiness than any of my actual presents — especially as even though I hung out with Dina for most of the party, it meant that I also had to hang out with Aaron for most of it as well. Of course, neither of them minded me being the centre of attention for the night, though I couldn’t help but notice that the two of them disappeared to their own hotel room shortly after the party ended.

With university winding down for the year after my birthday, it gave me more free time to ‘experiment’ with my look and my gender identity, and I took the opportunity to ‘experiment’ with my sexuality as well. I’d long since accepted that I was primarily attracted to girls, but I began to wonder whether or not in order to get the 'full female experience,' I needed to have a boyfriend as well — just like Dina did. Obviously, I wasn’t going to seduce the first boy I came across — I had yet to even leave my room dressed as a girl, let alone go somewhere with a lot of people. Instead, I turned to my Amazon account and ordered myself a few examples of what the website described as 'adult toys,' 'experimenting' with them over the course of the following few weeks. However, all I learned from my ‘experiments’ was that I much, MUCH preferred girls to boys, and while my ‘wardrobe’ was placed back into storage at the end of my first year of university, my ‘toys’ went straight to landfill.

Needless to say, the summer holidays were some of the longest days of my life. Not only was I cut off from my ‘wardrobe’, but I also had no contact with Dina beyond the occasional likes on each other’s Facebook posts — most of hers also inspiring yet more outfit ideas for when I returned to university, even if some of the outfits were just plain black bikinis and the occasional one-piece swimsuit (including a strapless leopard print swimsuit that stayed in my wardrobe for a very long time). Most of my time, of course, was spent with my family on my grandfather’s estate as they grilled me, James and Arabella about our education and our lives. As well as going out of their way to ignore the existence of our oldest sibling.

It came as a blessed relief when I returned to university the following September and reunited with Dina — and of course my wardrobe, which immediately started growing again as early as our first lecture. When Dina arrived dressed in a grey miniskirt, a tight black top with a built-in choker and, as it was autumn again, shiny black tights and flat black ankle booties, I felt my Amazon account immediately call to me. Before the end of the week, I had that exact same outfit covering my body, bringing with it a sense of near euphoria as I felt myself once again be completely smothered by femininity.

Over the following few weeks, I gradually settled back into my studies — both my university course and my ongoing ‘study’ of femininity. As well as emulating Dina’s style, I began to experiment with other styles: smart suits with fitted blazers and short, tight skirts; long, fancy evening gowns; outfits with tight-fitting feminine cut trousers and leggings; lingerie including teddies and basques; and even the odd costume, such as a flight attendant (taking inspiration from the spin-off show of The Angels that was set in an airline), a waitress with a satin blouse, skirt and apron, and even a replica of the same short tartan skirt and knee-high socks my sister wore to school, which I wished I’d been able to wear every day of my school life. The costumes quickly became a big part of my wardrobe in the first few weeks of the school year, as a short while after we returned came the day that my online friends described as ‘the one day that any guy can dress as a girl and no one will take any notice’ — October 31st, aka Halloween.

Neither Dina nor I had celebrated Halloween the previous year, having instead chosen to focus on getting the hang of our studies, but for our second year, we’d been invited to a party by one of our classmates, and we were both eager to attend. And as odd as it sounds, I was almost more excited to see Dina’s costume than I was to wear my own.

…However, four days before Halloween, Dina came into our first lecture of the day wearing a plain (but tight) pair of jeans, a black turtleneck and hiding her face behind her long brown hair and a pair of oversized sunglasses. I knew instinctively at that point that I’d be spending that evening sleeping on her floor.

…Which, of course, is exactly what happened. And with Dina not up for the Halloween party, I didn’t go either, and a part of me was grateful that I ended up not having to muster up the courage to leave my dorm en femme. However, while I was only too happy to play the role of ‘big sister’ once again for Dina, the feeling apparently wasn’t mutual, as two weeks later Dina celebrated her nineteenth birthday with a weekend trip to a health and beauty spa with her friends… but only her female friends. Her accompanying Facebook post and the caption ‘sisters doing it for themselves’ just drove home the fact that when it’s convenient, I’m her ‘honorary big sister’, but at the end of the day, she’d only ever see me as male.

This pattern continued for the remainder of our time at university. Dina would become infatuated with a boy, break up with him a few months later and lean on me for support in the interim, all the while I felt too nervous to seek to be her next boyfriend — not to mention wanting to be her 'big sister' in a much more literal sense. Naturally, this also meant that my relationship with Sian was the first and last that I would have while at university.

By the end of my four years at university, my wardrobe had grown so large that I rented a storage unit all year round simply to keep all the clothes and shoes I hadn’t worn in a while. Many were even given away to charity shops, some were sold on eBay (where I ended up getting a lot of my wardrobe from) but the vast majority remained in storage, ready for when I wanted to wear them again. Some, like the skirt, top and flats I wore on my first ‘successful’ night as a girl, never left my wardrobe except for when I returned home during the holidays.

In summer 2019, Dina and I both graduated (both with upper second class honours degrees), and even though we spent time together at the graduation party, she spent most of her time with her then-boyfriend, discussing her plans to move together to London to start work in the finance sector down there, while I, of course, remained in Edinburgh working for my family’s company. I will admit to shedding a tear when I bade farewell to Dina with a gentle hug — she had, after all, been a part of my life for four years, and would always be an inspiration for me, even if the only time I’d be able to see her face would be on Facebook.

That September, I started work for my family’s company as the financial analyst I was groomed to be from birth, and while the work was hard at first, it brought with it a major positive — the ability to afford my own place. With my family's help, I was able to afford a mortgage on a small flat a few miles from the city centre, and while I was excited to have my independence, what I was most excited about was the ability to have my whole wardrobe under my own roof indefinitely.

Aside from the odd occasion when my family dropped round, I quickly fell into a routine of waking up, going to work, returning home and immediately diving headfirst into the femininity I’d long since become addicted to at university. At weekends, I would even dress on a Friday night, sleep in soft girls' pyjamas or nighties on Friday, Saturday and Sunday night and only return to being ‘William’ as late as possible on Monday morning. The thought of spending an entire day fully made-up, with long, golden brown tresses flowing over my slender body, which was covered with garments like skirts, dresses and blouses kept me going and motivated every day I was sat in the office, wearing the same boring shirt, tie and trousers as the other men. The more time I spent as a woman, the more time I wanted to spend as a woman, and over the months I was living by myself, I started working up the courage to venture outside for the first time ever as a woman… only for that to become a moot point a mere six months after I started working for my family.

“From this evening,” the prime minister announced to the nation on that fateful Monday evening, “I must give the British people a very simple instruction — you must stay at home.” Millions around the country expected, but dreaded, the words that came out of the prime minister’s mouth. To me, however, it ironically opened a door I hadn’t expected in a million years.

I was still wary of Covid, of course, even if rates in Scotland never quite reached the heights they did in London. But less than a week after the lockdown order came through, everyone in the office was given a work laptop and sent to work from home for the foreseeable future. All of my colleagues were upset by the fact that they wouldn’t get to so much as see each other, except for video meetings once per week. I, however, was ecstatic.

In no time whatsoever, my routine of ‘spend all of Friday evening to Monday morning dressed’ became ‘spend all of Tuesday evening to the following Tuesday morning dressed’, with the only ‘concession’ being my regular team meeting over Zoom on Tuesday mornings. I even ‘got into the spirit’ of things on other weekdays, taking inspiration from some of Dina Black's Facebook posts and dressing in smart, formal skirt suits on work days, keeping my wig tied in a professional French braid — though after a few months without a haircut, even my wig started to be surplus to requirements. I spent almost every waking moment dressed and wearing jewellery, perfume and make up, and I went through so much lipstick in particular that even my Amazon subscription had a hard time keeping up. By the time May hit and we had still yet to return to the office, my mind began to turn back to what had occupied so much of my mind during university — making the arrangement permanent and making 'William' a thing of the past.

Of course, even with a private GP, getting an appointment simply to get the ball rolling in the middle of a global pandemic proved to be nearly impossible, and I knew better than to try to self-medicate with hormones. But I also knew that this was a path I could never turn my back on. Every step I took toward femininity felt more ‘right’ than the last. Every time I fastened a bra behind my back, or zipped myself into a leg-hugging skirt, or even applied my favourite lipstick, I felt more and more like the ‘real me’ — not the ‘mask’ I was forced to wear for the first 21 years of my life. However, everyone who knew me only knew the ‘mask’ — and that was going to be the biggest hurdle of all. If my family ostracised my brother for being gay, I stood no chance of being accepted as the woman that I truly was. Sooner or later, I would have to confront them — or rather, come out to them. Which was, of course, another thing that Covid had rendered impossible for the time being.

And yet, the longer the pandemic went on, the more feminine I became. By the middle of June, all of ‘William’s clothes had been consigned to a couple of suitcases underneath my bed, used only for the dreaded Tuesday Zoom calls. I wore nighties to bed, a smart skirt and blouse when working and a casual girls’ t-shirt and short denim skirt or a loose summer dress when not working. At all times while I was awake, I was fully made-up, wore thongs and padded bras, jewellery, nail polish and even perfume. With the help of my growing hair and 'shaping' undergarments, not a single trace of me was in any way masculine — and yet I still wanted more. Every time Dina posted a Facebook photo of herself, I immediately HAD to emulate her look down to the tiniest detail — and I always did.

And then, over summer, her Facebook posts gradually dried up. I of course checked to see that I hadn’t been unfriended, and I hadn’t — she’d just stopped posting. It wasn’t due to a break-up, as her Facebook showed that she was still in a relationship, so I assumed that she was struggling due to the stress of lockdown. I briefly considered messaging her to see if she was okay, but the last thing I wanted was to come across as stalkerish. Besides, if we’d ended up video chatting, it’d have raised a LOT of awkward questions.

However, while Dina’s output dried up, the Angels began posting more and more content to their social media pages, and the number of outfit inspirations I had started to skyrocket. I found myself trawling through not just the Facebook pages, but every social media channel of the Angels, especially Jamie-Lee Burke and Kelly Watson — two women who were born male but fully transitioned, even having gender reassignment surgery, and who exuded effortless femininity every second of the day. If they recommended a dress, a make-up brand or even a pair of tights, I bought it. If they uploaded hair or make-up tutorials, I followed them to the letter. I even invested in several pairs of pink tights and a strappy black leotard in order to follow along with Krystie Fullerton’s ballet videos (which were great exercises and began toning my body, especially my legs.)

Gradually, summer came to an end, and by the middle of September, virtually nothing masculine about me remained. Even with lockdown restrictions easing, everyone kept working from home, which suited me fine — literally when it came to the pencil skirts and fitted blazers I wore on every day (apart from Tuesdays, of course). However, lockdown easing also meant that doctors started to become available for non-Covid reasons.

I bit my lip (which was, of course, coated in my favourite nude matte lipstick) nervously as my laptop pinged to let me know of an incoming call. Even though I’d specifically requested it, this was a man I’d known for several years, but who had only ever known ‘William’. I took a deep breath and answered the call, trying not to flinch at the surprise in the middle-aged man’s eyes.

“Good afternoon, umm- ‘William,’ ” the doctor said in a cautious, almost sneering voice. Good start… I thought to myself.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Douglas,” I replied in the soft, feminine voice I’d been practising for the previous several months.

“I think I can probably guess,” Dr Douglas said, barely suppressing a snort of laughter, “but why don’t you tell me why you’ve requested today’s appointment.”

“I-“ I said, flinching as the words caught in my throat. There I was, about to finally say out loud the words, the proclamation I’ve wanted to say for so long, and yet even with my feminine self on full display, I still struggled to force my vocal chords to make the sounds I wanted. And the longer I pause, the more disapproving my GP’s look became, until I was able to just barely squeak out my words. “I- I want to transition. I want to become a woman, and I have done so for many, many years. I’ve been living more or less full-time as a woman since the start of lockdown, but I want to — I want to, umm, take hormones, and stuff…” I trailed off as I felt my doctor’s eyes boring into my skull, and I bit my lip again as I prayed that I’d conveyed my message successfully.

“I see,” Dr Douglas said stoically. “Does your family know about this?” Needless to say, this was not the question I was hoping to be asked.

“I- umm, I- no,” I stammered in response. “They — umm, they don’t know, no. “They CAN’T know, I thought to myself. “I was hoping, umm, that you — that you could refer me to a counsellor, or a specialist…”

“Well, I can certainly do that,” Dr Douglas said. “And our privacy policy prevents me from telling your family about what you’ve told me today.” But if it wasn’t for that policy, you’d probably rat me out in a heartbeat, I thought to myself. “I can’t prescribe any medication for — for ‘this’, certainly not hormones. But I will make the referral for you. You should hear from someone within about a month, I know they have a waiting list, but you should be seen quickly, at least for an initial, umm, ‘assessment.’ ”

“Thank you,” I whispered as I felt myself start to relax for the first time since the appointment was made.

Needless to say, the next four weeks were some of the longest of my life. As autumn started to draw in my wardrobe changed, with warmer and darker clothes replacing my lighter summer tops and skirts. When the time came for my first call with my counsellor, I ensured that I was as comfortable as possible, while also being as feminine as possible — though as far as I was concerned, those two things were one and the same. My hair was brushed out into a voluminous bob, my face was immaculately made-up as always, and my long fingernails had been sculpted and painted a dark burgundy colour. Two pairs of modest clip-on hoops hung from my earlobes, a dainty silver chain was wrapped around my left wrist and a small heart-shaped pendant hung from my neck, which — like my torso and arms — was covered in a tight, dark grey ribbed turtleneck. A pair of dark, shiny tights covered my legs, while a clingy black mini skirt hung from my hips. A pair of black knee-high boots with a chunky 3” heel completed my look, even though I wasn’t leaving the flat — I hadn’t even worn the boots outside since I’d bought them. But they were part of a look Alice Devry (the ‘Angel’) posted on Instagram last year, and they looked good on her, so I knew they’d look good on me too. A padded bra, a thong and a waist cincher completed my look, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I smiled at how perfectly feminine I look on the outside, and how feminine I felt in my mind. I hoped — prayed, even — that my meeting would help me feel fully feminine all throughout, both on the outside and the inside.

“Hello, is that… William?” The counsellor- a dignified-looking woman in her mid-forties- asked.

“Umm- yeah…” I replied, conscious of the fact that the way I was presenting myself, ‘William’ would be the last name you’d give me. “H- hi, it’s nice to, umm, meet you.”

“Likewise,” the counsellor replied with a warm smile — a much warmer greeting than my GP gave me. “Before we go any further, let me introduce myself. My name is Doctor Alice Clarke,” Of course you’d be called Alice, I thought to myself as I adjusted my boots. “I’ve worked with young men and women who have questioned their gender identity for over ten years. Your doctor has told me what you’ve told him, about your ambitions for the future and to start transitioning, but I’d like to hear your story in your own words, please.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath as I relaxed and recounted my story.

I told Dr Clarke all about my life, about my envy of my cousins, my sister, about my childhood dreams of being a girl — and all about Dina as well. I told my counsellor about my infatuation both with Dina and with her life, how I wished to be her, how I’d emulated her style and gradually developed my own. All throughout my story, Dr Clarke sat and listened, never judging — not even when I mentioned my fear at coming out to my family.

“Okay,” Dr Clarke said after I finished my story, while I took several deep breaths to try to control the emotions that had been raging within me. “You’ve given me a lot of information, and it’s fairly obvious even on a first look that your desire to transition isn’t a spur of the moment whim, but comes from somewhere a lot deeper, a lot more ‘real’. Whether or not it’s gender dysphoria, I can’t say for certain without speaking to you more, reviewing your circumstances in more depth. I’m sorry, but you will have to wait longer before I’m confident that hormones would be in your best interest.”

“O- okay,” I mumbled, trying again not to cry.

“Though I will say it’s not a definite ‘no,’ ” Dr Clarke said in an attempt to encourage me. “Though there are two things I need you to do before we proceed down that route.” My heart sank as I let out a long sigh — I immediately knew what one of those things would be.

“I have to come out to my family,” I mumbled into my chest. “Even though I AM an adult in every meaningful way?”

“You need to demonstrate that this is real,” Dr Clarke retorted. “That this is permanent and will not be reversed.”

“And chemically changing my entire body doesn’t demonstrate that?” I asked.

“Of course it does,” Dr Clarke replied. “But as doctors we have to be responsible. We have to ensure that we don’t inadvertently do more harm by prescribing the hormones, and the way we do that is…“

“Making me jump through hoops?” I snorted angrily.

“…Guiding you through the steps necessary to demonstrate your commitment,” Dr Clarke said, visibly annoyed by my indignation. “It’s not just that you’re ready to live life as a woman, but that you’re also ready to fully abandon your male life.”

“I am,” I said confidently.

“Have you chosen a name yet?” Dr Clarke asked, stopping me in my tracks. In all the years I’d embraced femininity, it was something I hadn’t even considered. I was so focused on being a woman, on emulating Dina or the Angels, that I’d not stopped to consider who I would be as — for want of a better way of putting it — a 'legal' woman. When I dressed as Dina, as far as I was concerned, I was ‘Dina’, not ‘William’ or even ‘feminine William’. Even after living more or less full time as a woman for months, I’d never thought about what my own identity would be. Was Dr Clarke right when she implied that my desire to transition wasn’t ‘real’ enough?

“Umm, I- umm, no…” I feebly mumbled.

“That’s okay,” Dr Clarke said reassuringly. “It’s a big decision after all, and not something you should rush into. Have a think about it, and we can talk it through when we speak again in two weeks’ time.”

“Okay,” I said, sitting back and listening as my counsellor explained to me what my ‘program’ would entail.

Needless to say, for the rest of the day, my thoughts were occupied by my identity. I spent the evening experimenting with outfits, make-up and even styling and restyling my hair, hoping that as I looked at myself in the mirror, something would ‘click’. However, every outfit I chose — short skirts, long dresses, even jeans or leggings — reminded me of one person — of Dina. I even experimented with different costumes (it not being lost on me that Halloween was mere days away), including some new acquisitions like a tightly-laced playboy bunny bodysuit or a voluminous princess dress — but still, all I saw was Dina. Frustrated, I changed into my now-regular sleepwear of a plain white nightie and a soft cotton thong, hoping that even this would help, but to no avail.

When I woke up the following morning, though, I saw the Facebook notification that would end up changing my life forever.

As usual, I’d woken up, showered, picked out my outfit for the day (a lacy black bodysuit and a business suit with a short pencil skirt and black tights, as it was a workday) and headed through to my kitchen to prepare breakfast. As usual, I flicked through my iPad, looking at various social media pages to see if there was anything new from Dina — which there wasn’t — or from any of the Angels, which on this particular day, there definitely was.

‘Do you want to be the next Angel?’ The notification — which had been re-posted by many of the Angels’ official pages, including Jamie, Kelly and Hannah — read. ‘Coming next year to Amazon Prime will be an all-new reality show for women aged 18-30 with the ultimate prize — to be the next member of Britain’s most elite model and influencer group. Women of all backgrounds and gender identities are welcome to apply, and no previous modelling or social media experience is necessary. Do YOU have what it takes to be the next Angel?’ There’s only one way to find out, I excitedly thought to myself as I tapped on the link, only to pause.

Sure, the advert SAID that no modelling or social media experience was necessary, but a rank amateur like myself was hardly likely to win the competition. Except I wasn’t a rank amateur. I’d spent most of the previous 5 years modelling clothes for an audience of one — myself. Through hard work and practice, I’d become — in my own opinion, at least — an expert in fashion, in make-up, in walking, talking and even body language of not just a woman, but a model as well. I could emulate any of the Angels’ fashion show and social media videos flawlessly — though as I started to fill in the form, I realised that that was the exact same problem I’d talked about with Dr Clarke the previous night. The Angels weren’t going to look for just another clone of them, they were going to look for something new, something different — hell, they even already had two transgender women in their ranks, a third would be almost surplus to requirements. And then, I was reminded of my family.

I was the third child of four, born with zero expectation of inheriting the title that belonged to my grandfather. I was a ‘spare’, but that gave me the freedom to craft my own identity away from the pressure, the expectations of my family. And yet, I hadn’t. My childhood had been spent in my brothers’ shadows. My life at university — even if she didn’t realise it — was spent in Dina’s shadow. But now, I could be whoever I wanted to be, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised that I wanted to be an Angel. To not just live in Jamie or Kelly’s shadows, but to carve out my own ‘niche’. And even if I didn’t know what exactly that ‘niche’ would be, I reasoned that as I was only 22, I had my entire life to find out. I opened up the application form and began filling it in, only to pause once again.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing the application form asked for was my name, and even in an undoubtedly trans-friendly environment like the Angels, entering the name ‘William Constable’ would raise a few too many eyebrows — especially as I’d already typed ‘William’ onto the form. However, in what turned out to be a serendipitous accident, I realised I’d typed ‘William’ into the ‘surname’ box, not the ‘forename’ box, and at that moment, something clicked in my brain.

“Dina Williams,” I whispered to myself, repeating the name as I headed back to the bathroom and looked at the woman staring at me from the mirror, the name feeling more and more ‘right’ every time I said it. “Dina Williams… Hello, Dina Williams. Britain’s next Angel!” Hopefully, anyway….