This chapter describes how Beverly argues with Judge Elizabeth about the inhumanity in the family courts and later gives Herself, Margaret and Sian the sweet delight of putting Judge Elizabeth on the receiving end of a typical Court-room style inquisition.

 

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While the others celebrated Sian and Margaret’s exciting news, I went to the kitchen and made a show of checking the turkey in the oven. It had been cooking now for some hours. As I prodded the breasts and legs with a fork and checked the clock for the umpteenth time I sensed a presence behind me. I had been expecting it.

“It’ll be another hour or so before that’s cooked.” Observed Elizabeth.

“Yes.” I agreed sensing that it would be prudent to let Elizabeth broach the subject of Sian and Margaret’s news, - that is if she wanted to. Instead, I talked of cooking.
“Maybe I should have bought portions; those would have only taken half an hour.

“Oh no, there’s nothing nicer than a big fat traditional bird served up on a huge plate.”
“Except that it takes so much fussing and farfing around to get it just right.”

“Well yes but it’s worth it when it comes to Christmas dinner.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I’ll start on the veg now. It’s always an exercise in logistics getting it all to come together. It takes really nice timing.”

“Yes, just like Margaret and Sian’s timing.” Replied Elizabeth.

“I don’t follow you.”

“Well they dropped that bombshell just at the right time, didn’t they, or did you put them up to it?”

“What!” I gasped. “What d’you mean? ‘Put them up to it’.”

“After what I told you last night, about wanting children.”

“Oh that’s a monstrous accusation! I remember now, they both went into town together the other morning. They never do that normally because Sian has the horses to see to. They must have been for the test results and then they were deliberately saving up the news for today as a very special Christmas present for me. I had no idea they were pregnant! Yes. I admit quite frankly that they used me to make them both pregnant but that was nearly two months ago. Anyway, I allowed myself to be used, what shemale wouldn’t? Just look at Margaret and Sian, whatever their sexuality they are two stunningly beautiful women. It was a private, mutually agreed arrangement between all three of us. But, I had not realised until this very morning that we had been successful! You’ve utterly misinterpreted their intentions! They have no idea about your feelings. I have never mentioned it to them. Your feelings are your business, what you told me last night remained strictly confidential. I wouldn’t go broadcasting anybody’s private feelings to others. God Elizabeth, if anybody knows about privacy and other people’s secret feelings it’s got to be me. Give me some credit. I’ve walked the bloody ‘secret feelings’ walk for 54 years!

What you said last night, I kept in the strictest confidence! If there’s one thing I’ve learned from transvestism it’s that all personal stuff like that is a strictly private affair. I’ve never mentioned your feelings about children to anybody! They had no idea that their announcement might hurt you. Do you really think that we could be that nasty?”

Elizabeth stared at me through tearful eyes for several moments then shook her head.

“No. You’re right. That was cruel of me. But you understand why I’m hurting.”

“No.” I protested. “I don’t understand! You’re an adult woman who can make up her own mind. I can’t understand why you’re punishing yourself. If you want children the ordinary way then, there are plenty of suitable men out there; you know; the right profile; looks or intelligence or whatever. If you don’t like that route, go to a good donor bank if you must; use a bloody Nobel Prize Winner’s sperm if you must! Use a turkey baster if you must! That’s what Sian and Margaret did; well, with sissy’s sperm; the first time anyway.”

“And the second time? With you?” Charged Elizabeth.

“Well.” I hesitated. “The second time they chose a different route, but that was mutual. We all agreed to it although I had to admit they came on to me very suddenly and took me by surprise. I have not come between them and I never intend to. Anyway, whatever route we chose is strictly personal and no business of yours. If you want a child, choose your own route.”

“That’s my problem.” She sighed.

“What?”

“It’s my partner. She doesn’t want children; no that’s wrong, she’s afraid for us to have children.”

“Why’s that?”

“She thinks it will compromise my judicial position in the family courts.”

“And do you?” I countered.

“I don’t know. I can hardly act as a moral arbiter if I’m an unmarried mother myself can I?”

“Well that’s your affair. I personally think that once you’ve walked the walk of single motherhood, you’re entitled to talk the talk. What better argument have you got. In truth though, it’s nothing to do with me has it? It’s your row to hoe.”

“The trouble is Jane and I live apart and only see each other at weekends.

“Wait a minute!” I pretended to gasp. “Did you say ‘she’ just now?”

Elizabeth stared at me nervously as she waited for my response to develop. Then she whispered.

“Oh you were listening to me then. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yes; - my partner is a she!”

“You’re telling me you’re gay!” I whispered hoarsely, so as not to alert the others and to somehow enhance my pretence of prior ignorance.

“Yes.”

I paused making the pretence of shock and thoughtfulness.

“But being gay doesn’t stop you having children; it’s your partner then.”

“Yes.”

“Does she not like children or is she afraid to have them?”

“She’s afraid; for me mainly. If I had an illegitimate child, eyebrows might be raised in the family courts. Family values and all that.”

“Hey don’t knock family values. I know what I’ve got and if that’s a real, proper family then long live family values. Anyway, I thought it was all about law and risk with you people. It seemed that way when I was up before you. As I remember, humanity and compassion didn’t get a look in. The whole bloody thing nearly broke me!”

A judge has to be impartial,” declared Elizabeth.

“Oh yeah! Like some sort of legal robot,” I snapped as I dumped the carrots and parsnips into the pan.

“We have to obey the law,” replied Elizabeth, “judges have to uphold the law.”

“Oh bugger off, to hell with ‘The Law!’, - these are kids you’re dealing with. What about compassion, love caring, and, - yes, - justice! Christ what I’d have given for some justice in my life, it was all law, law, law!

“Law makes for justice,” countered Elizabeth.

“No, justice makes for law, I argued.”

“How so?” How do you see the difference between Law and justice?”

“Oh bloody hell, don’t try that old chestnut. There are thousands of differences.

The holocaust was legal, the Nazi government made it so, but I wouldn’t have called it just! Would you?”

“That’s a simplistic view.”

“It’s a historical fact; anyway, Christmas morning, - while stressed over getting all the food right is hardly the place to be discussing the finer points of philosophy and law is it.”

“It’s were you do most of your thinking, I’ve watched you. You always sneak away into here when you’ve got some thinking to do.”

“Yeah! That’s thinking not arguing or discussing stuff. I think in here when I’m alone with my cooking!”

“OK then just one last question.”

“Oh! Go on then, you bloody judges are all the same.”

“Humour me on this one. With all your personal experience of different countries and different laws, -“

“And different prisons and different courts;” I added sarcastically, “yes, go on,”

“And different prisons; yes. Where do you see the final difference between law and justice?”

I straightened up from the sink up and brushed some stray hairs off my face as I stood poised with potato peeler in one hand and potato in the other like some 'mother courage' philosopher.

“Justice is what you start out fighting for; law is what you end up paying for.”

“Mmm. That’s not bad Beverly. That’s not at all bad; - a bit cynical but not bad at all.”

“And so it’s always the weak and the vulnerable and the poor who are the losers, isn’t it! The weak because they don't have the clout or the influence, the vulnerable because they don't have the defences or the preparedness and the poor because they just can't afford the wicked fees that lawyers charge or the costs of the bloody courts."

"You've thought about this a lot, I can see," Replied Elizabeth "but you're letting your cynicism blind you to the realities."

“Right! OK., so I'm a cynical old tranny. Now can I get on with the veg and can you show a bit of compassion and leave me in peace."

Elizabeth fell silent for I had unknowingly hit a sore spot. She had always had difficulty reconciling her compassionate nature with her legal training. She answered softly and I read the hurt in her voice.

“I am compassionate Bev. It may not seem like it to you, but I am compassionate!”

“Well why can’t you show it in court?”

“I’m not allowed to, d’you think I like hurting kids or even adults.”

“Well you bloody hurt me that day, and then all the bloody waiting for your considered answer. God, the bloody waiting, it’s knowing I had to wait for another bloody week that finally broke me that afternoon! A week, I mean a whole bloody week. How long can it take to make a mind up? Yes! That’s what finally broke me!”

“I know that perfectly well, don’t you remember I saw your tears in the car park. I could see what it was doing to you but I couldn’t let it be seen to affect my judicial reasoning. Humanity and compassion do get a look in with me Beverly, it’s just as a judge I must not show any emotional concerns, I must show, clarity and reason as I’m expected to decide on some of the most awful cases! Don’t you think I know sometimes that the law is a complete ass and when I think it is, I try every-which-way to circumvent a legal success that is an emotional disaster for the child? I got hell from my colleagues about you, you know. There’s still some right old bigots up there in the lords you know! Don’t make light of this Bev,” sobbed Elizabeth, “my life’s a mess.”

“Oh come off it Liz’!” I scolded her unsympathetically. “You’re a bloody judge for God’s sake! You’re successful and you’ve got the whole bloody world bowing and scraping at your feet.”

“The judge thing was to please my parents. I wanted to be a paediatrician. They found out about my lesbianism and warned me not to become a doctor, particularly anything to do with children or women. Law was the next best option.”

“Oh not another one,” I sighed.

“What d’you mean.”

“Well Sian’s the same; tried to please her parents but they objected to her sexuality and bingo! The difference being is that her bigoted parents cut her off completely. No college and stuff for her. Count yourself lucky your parents helped you through college.”

“Well be that as it may, it doesn’t alter the fact that I’m a lesbian but I would like to have children.”

“Have you discussed it with your colleagues on the bench? They could give all the legal advice you might need; and free to boot! Anyway, they’re supposed to be compassionate and understanding aren’t they? You just said so.”

I knew this last remark was stupid and cruel even before it had left my lips. Elizabeth gave me fatuous look.

“Not bloody likely. They’d probably take it as an invitation to try and get inside my pants. Be the ‘father of my child or bloody something. To them it would be the golden opportunity for quick shag without having to worry about any consequences. Can't you hear their dirty minds ticking away. The chance to shag a younger woman without compromising their judicial status because that woman is a colleague. Christ they'd be slavering at the leash to bed me and get me 'up the duff'!”

“Yeah; that figures and I thought judges were supposed to be wise.”

“Think again. Some of them are just randy old lechers. They think more with their small head than they do with their big head.”

“Well I can’t see a way out then. You’ll have to get your partner on board and that’s the first thing. Then you’ll have to go through a civil marriage. That’s what Sian and Margaret did to protect their children from the likes of -,”

I paused. I’d nearly let my own feelings surface.

“Go on. Say it!” Challenged Elizabeth. “From the likes of me, the likes of us, the judges, the law!”

I remained silent and concentrated on preparing the vegetables. I’d said too much and already given my feelings too much exposure. Elizabeth sensed my silence and watched me deliberating over the vegetables.

“You still don’t like us do you?” She ventured.

“Define ‘us’,” I riposted, refusing to be drawn any further.

“Oh you know who I mean; us the judges, us the doctors, us the social services, me, Sandie, Mrs Bodkin.”

“Oh it’s not you I resent. It’s the system. It’s the way it can break right into an individual’s life and rip his or her belly open like a carnivore disembowelling its victim. I feel like that prey, that victim, every time ‘the system’ decides to disembowel me, dump me on some sort of emotional slab then split me like a kipper!.”

Elizabeth fell silent at my description.

“Is that what it really feels like?”

“I can only speak for myself. God knows what it feels like for; - oh what’s that word? — Oh yes, ‘ordinary’ mothers, natural mothers. God knows what it feels like for them.”

“How is it different for them?”

“They’ve got right on their side, they’re the natural mothers. It must feel downright wicked for them when a child is taken from them. They can still kick back with right on their side. I of course, am the guilty one, the weirdo, and the perfect target; the sitting duck.

Yes, you gave me the children but they’re not mine to keep despite their being legally adopted. I know with a sickening certainty that they can be taken from me on the slightest pretext, the merest whim. Any social worker with an axe to grind, any piqued doctor or judge can tear the girls away from me under the slightest pretext of some accusation of perversion! As I said, I feel like the victim, the disembowelled prey, rolling over to die with not even the merest whimper. Just a few feeble kicks and bingo, the girls are gone, the monster is dead. Ipso-facto I don’t feel happy with the system or those in it. Can you blame me?

“Even after all we did for you. I did for you! That sounds bloody ungrateful.” Charged Elizabeth.

“Ungrateful? Me!! Well that’s it then. That’s me isn’t it, warts and all? The bitter, hostile, unrequited old tranny; never mind everything that’s gone before The trouble is, the more I grow to like the girls, the more vulnerable I feel. Anyway, what do my feelings count for? Let’s drop it. Pass that strainer, these cauliflowers will soon be ready and I want the water for the gravy.”

The work in the kitchen was coming to a head and we were too busy to discuss anything further. The smell of cooking attracted the others and the opportunity to talk further disappeared as tasks and duties were shared out.

Christmas dinner proved to be my triumph. The preparations for the food had tested my patience and confidence but I managed to avoid any serious catastrophes. The rest of the day was spent in traditional pastimes like adults sleeping off the food and children outside in the snow with whatever new toys suited the outdoors. The snow was a huge plus but even as the daylight faded, the weather was getting milder again. I knew the snow would be gone by Boxing Day or the day after. No more for Britain the long stable seasons like the continental countries. Our maritime climate made for frequent sudden changes and huge temperature swings.

Supper was a casual ‘pick and mix’ affair as individuals chose their fancies. The girls and I played board games in the drawing room whilst the other adults ‘couch potatoe'd, their way through the evening. Eventually, eyelids started to droop and the children made for bed of their own volition. Elizabeth joined me in putting them to bed then she ambushed me on the landing as I went into my own bedroom to visit the lavatory.

“What now?” I demanded as I crossed my legs desperately.

“Can we talk some more?” She asked as she followed me into my bedroom.

“Not now. I’m bursting for a pee.”

“I’ll wait.”

I closed and locked the lavatory door behind me so that nobody could accuse me of anything improper. As I sat down I reflected that I was becoming paranoid again. The stress of having a judge, a psychiatrist and the caseworker all crowding in on top of me in my own home, my only refuge; was getting me down. Now to cap it all, I suspected that the very judge who had reserved the case to herself was pestering me to use my body. I was determined not to get embroiled in any complications with Judge Elizabeth. God alone knew what legal catastrophes might ensue.

I spent an unnecessarily long time on the lavatory as I tried to marshal my arguments and defences. Finally Elizabeth became impatient and knocked softly.

“Are you OK?”

“Yes. Wait a minute.”

There was no hiding place so I reluctantly emerged to face her.

“Do you think I should marry my partner then?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how much you feel for her or how committed you are to each other.”

“She cares. It’s just that she’s an engineer and there’s no work around these parts.”

“Can’t you move to be near her? I thought judges moved around. Isn’t there something called a circuit judge or something?”

“It’s not that easy. I’m still a junior judge. It takes time.”

“And your clock’s ticking I suppose. Well whatever you do. You’d best sort it with her. It’s no good having a child if you’re not both totally committed.”

“Yes I know all about that thank you! I’m a judge in the family division you know!” She snapped sarcastically.

“Could I ever forget it?” I snapped back.

Elizabeth was mildly surprised. I had never snapped at her before, indeed, I suspected nobody had ever snapped at her since becoming a judge. She must have realised that she had finally crossed some indiscernible line and she just studied me silently. I let her stare for a few moments then stepped past her to sit at my vanity and repair my makeup.

She took this to mean we had finished and she stepped onto the landing where I heard her talking on her mobile. Judging by the terms of endearment, I presumed it was her erstwhile lover.

Later she rejoined me in the kitchen where I was filling the dishwasher and generally clearing away the remains of supper. The kitchen had now somehow become our private refuge and she cornered me as I returned unfinished stuff to the fridge.

“She wants to meet you.”

“Who?”

“Jane. My partner. Who do you tthink!”

“Why?”

“To discuss our baby.”

“By that I hope you mean hers and yours.”

“Well, we’ll need a father.”

“So go to a sperm bank.”

“Why. Do you think I’m not good enough for your baby?”

“Do you think it would be wise for a presiding judge to be intimately and sexually involved with a plaintiff or defendant?” I countered.

“You’re neither, you’re an applicant.”

“Whatever. I’m not concerned with my circumstances. I’m worried that you’re letting your hormonal clock rule your legal brain.”

“Nobody need know.”

“They always know. Somehow, they always find out.”

“Nobody’s found out about Martina and Sissy.”

I couldn’t answer this observation. It was true, only a very discreet few knew that Sissy was a father to Chenille and Martina. The real reason that secret had survived was because those that knew, all had ‘long tails’, i.e., secrets that could be used against them.

As I considered this question I began to feel that we had been remiss in enlightening, Elizabeth, Sandie and Mrs Bodkin about Martina’s parentage. Once the courts found out, there was no knowing where things would lead. Then my mind made the next step.

‘If Elizabeth had my child, she would grow a ‘long tail and I might find myself on more secure ground’.

Then I silently scolded myself for being so cynical. That sort of ‘blackmail’ relationship was no basis to bring a child into this world.
It was essential for all concerned adults to have respect and affection for each other and the newly arrived child. If this was to be the case, then I would have to meet this Jane. If I were to father another child, I would want to see that it was entering a stable, loving, durable relationship. Reluctantly I agreed to meet Elizabeth’s partner.

“O.K. I’ll meet her. Where and when?”

“That took long enough to agree to. Why the uncertainty?” Demanded Elizabeth.

“Natural caution,” I lied.

Elizabeth eyed me suspiciously then nodded slowly.

“OK then. When can she come down?”

“When do you want? I’m retired, my time’s my own, the sooner the better for me. Get it over with, as it where.”

“Well Sandie and Mrs Bodkin cant find out. So it will have to be after they’ve gone.”

“That’s probably after Boxing Day if it doesn’t snow again.” I observed.

“OK. Can we make it the twenty eighth? Jane can come to meet you.”

“When would you go back?”

“I’m off until after the new year. We could make it a little holiday. Jane’s off over the same period and the girls are off school. It’ll be nice for Jane to see how sweet children can be. The project Jane’s working on is shut down over the holiday but she got held up by some problem over Christmas.”

I agreed reluctantly. My hoped for peaceful transvestite retirement was becoming too complicated. Retired for less than a couple of years and already I was an adoptive ‘mother, - father, I wasn’t sure which,’ to two delightful girls. I had become a biological father to two more and now, a lesbian judge no less, wanted me to father her child. You couldn’t write a novel with a storyline like that!

We finished in the kitchen and we returned to the drawing room. All the adults were sleeping in their chairs so I bid Elizabeth good night and made my way to bed. She eyed me expectantly but I wagged my head silently. In the hall at the bottom of the stairs I explained.

“I’m not getting involved in any way until you and your partner Jane have resolved all the issues. Now, goodnight, I’m off up to my own bed. I’m shattered; the preparations for two parties in three days over Christmas have knackered me, goodnight!

I suggest you either rejoin the sleeping beauties in the drawing room or you make your own way across the yard to your bedroom in Margaret and Sian’s new barn conversion.

Reluctantly, Elizabeth slipped on her Wellingtons and sloshed her way through the melting snow to ‘The West Barn’ as we had come to call Margaret and Sian’s new home. I slipped quietly up stairs and savoured the luxury of slipping into the exciting new sleep-suite that Santa Clause had brought.

I was woken by the inevitable rumble of the eight feet thundering along the landing to my room and the mass invasion of my bed. There we chatted and planned the rest of the Christmas Holidays until eventually Sandie and Mrs Bodkin appeared.

“The snow’s going, so we’ll be on our way soon.” Said Mrs Bodkin.

“Oh, I’ll make breakfast then while you pack. Come on children. Go and get dressed.”

I shooed them back to their bedroom and slipped on my peignoir. In the kitchen I pressed the newly installed ‘intercom’ across the yard and called the others over to breakfast. By the time everybody was assembled, I had breakfast ready. Sandie and Mrs Bodkin made their farewells and Mrs Bodkin drove Sandie to the station. The children went hacking with Sian so only Elizabeth, Margaret and I were left to chat. Naturally, the talk turned to Margaret and Sian’s babies.

Elizabeth asked Margaret and me dozens of questions.

“Crickey!” Protested Margaret, “You’re like the flippin’ Spanish Inquisition.”

“I have to have as many answers as possible for Jane.” Declared Elizabeth.

“I think it’s more a case of Jane seeing for herself.” Answered Margaret.

“Seeing what?”

“Seeing how good it can be. Seeing what we’ve got here.”

Elizabeth fell silent. In truth I had to agree with Margaret. Since she and Sian had arrived with their children we had become a happy little community. It was obvious that Elizabeth liked the lifestyle. We had realised this when she had enthusiastically entered into the spirit of Christmas and not made an issue of being with us in the cottage here during snowstorm.
We chatted at length until noon when the clip-clop of hooves told us that the others had returned from riding.

I got up to prepare cold cuts and re-heats from the remains of the Christmas Dinner and by the time the horses were bedded, a hot meal awaited the girls.

As they changed from their riding clothes the girls chattered excitedly about where they had been and whom they had met. It seemed that Sian was well known in riding circles and her name was an ‘open-sesame’ across most of the private farmland in the district. They had even been invited for coffee at a rather large stately home.

“My we are moving up in the world, aren’t we girls!” I joked

“It was really nice mummy,” declared Jenny, “this lady was a dame and she was out riding with her son and daughter. She knew Sian really well and she invited us back.

“Her son’s nearly twelve. He’s really dishy,” giggled Chenille coquettishly.

We adults exchanged knowing smiles. Jenny and Chenille were growing up but even so they were still young. Kids today, seemed so much more advanced.

“His younger sister’s nice too,” added Beatrice.

“Oh I’m pleased to hear that.” I replied.

Martina interrupted eagerly.

“Yes, she’s very nice,” and she smiled self-consciously as she added, “she’s got a fabulous doll collection but I like her more cos she was kind enough to let me play with it. I’d like to marry her when I grow up.”

Martina's 'sisters' giggled at this declaration but they did not ridicule her.

Elizabeth gave me a knowing smile. She had at last learned that however effeminate a transvestite might be, they could still be heterosexual and still attracted to the opposite sex.

“That would be interesting,” she observed quietly, as the children moved out of earshot into the dining room.

“What would?” I replied.

“Martina and the baroness’s daughter getting married.”

“How do you know she’s a baroness?”

“I’m a judge. I’ve dined with her at several functions. Her husband is the lord lieutenant of the next county. Judges tend to move up into such circles when we get appointed.”

I pulled a wry lopsided smile. They were circles I had little time for even though the local power invariably lay in such circles. I detested the whole, corrupt, incestuous system. I far preferred my more honest circles of money, finance, investment banking and the shipping business. No nepotism there, just hard-headed people making sure that the only issue was profitability. Nothing else mattered but profits.

“So you couldn’t see Martina and this baroness’s daughter walking down the aisle of some fashionable country church with matching bridal outfits and bouquets.”

“Not at some major country wedding with the whole county set attending.” Replied Elizabeth.

“If this baroness knows Sian so well, she must know about Sian’s lesbianism and the rift between Sian and her parents.”

“I’ve no doubt she does, but she probably doesn’t mind about lesbianism.”

“But transvestism or transexualism is a bit too much to swallow is it. I always thought that anything goes in the upper classes provided you don’t scare the horses.”

“I’m not sure Bev,” conceded Elizabeth ruefully, “society’s still got some way to go on that.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

We shared a sardonic smile and followed the others into lunch.

After lunch we decided on another shopping expedition to the Boxing Day sales and markets in Bournemouth. Then we took the children to see a traditional evening pantomime.

This traditional British theatre caused Martina’s eyes to widen with envious surprise when she realised that Cinderella and the prince were pretty girls while Cinderella’s mother and two ugly sisters were actually men dressed up as ‘pantomime dames’. All the way home she pumped the adults for facts about pantomime dames, principal boys, principal girls and different pantomimes. Finally she boldly declared that she was going to be in pantomimes when she grew up. We adults all smiled.

It was gone midnight when we finally arrived home and we carried the sleeping Beatrice and Martina straight up to bed. Jennifer and Chenille stayed up a little later but soon they joined their younger siblings as sleep overtook them. The same weariness overtook us and we exchanged ‘goodnights’ as Elizabeth, Sian and Margaret crossed the yard to the barn whilst I made my way alone to my room.

The following day, as agreed, Elizabeth’s partner Jane arrived just after lunch after the children had gone riding on the Dumplin without Sian. Elizabeth gave her partner the grand tour during which they obviously had a deep discussion. They returned from the stables just as Margaret was coming home from town and we sat down to start our deliberations. Firstly Jane asked many questions about my relationship with Sian and Margaret.

Had I come between them emotionally? Did I try to enforce my will? Did I interfere with the upbringing of the children? Was I a bully or a chauvinist? Etc, etc, etc.

Margaret and Sian answered many of these questions for me, thus reassuring Jane that I was certainly not some sort of overbearing chavinist bully.

My very appearance as a very passable, sweet little lady also answered some of Jane’s questions and eventually we three friends set her mind at ease. Then I pitched in and my questions were just as blunt.

Did Jane see her relationship with Elizabeth enduring? Would she stand by Elizabeth if she was outed and possibly lost her job? Was she prepared to stick by Elizabeth if things just got ‘sticky’ on the bench for an ‘unmarried lesbian mother’? Would I be allowed to see the child? Would my fatherhood be acknowledged? My questions went on and on.

I think Jane was quite nonplussed by my rigorous questioning, but it did make her examine her motives and relationship with Elizabeth. Indeed, at one stage, even Elizabeth got agitated.

“My God!” She protested. “And people say judges ask too much. Christ Beverly, you really are like the Inquisition!”

“Better now than after the child is born and you find you can’t stand each other! I riposted vigorously. What happens if you get postnatal depression? What happens if you fall out over the baby? What happens if one becomes jealous of the other’s feelings towards the baby? This is exactly how it felt for me when you put me through the hoops in your courtroom!”

This took the wind out of Elizabeth’s sails. She stared at me as she realised what she and Jane had just been exposed to. A typical family court investigation of one’s most intimate and personal life details and habits. She turned to Margaret and Sian in beseechment.

“Was it like this for you?”

Sian nodded then Margaret spoke.

“That is exactly how it feels. Nice isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” added Jane, “just the sort of thing to reassure a lesbian couple who feel vulnerable enough as it is. And as for Bev’s torments with her transvestism and stuff;, well, the less said about family courts the better.”

Elizabeth got the message but she bounced back.

“Well my relationship with Jane is strong enough to withstand such assaults.”

“You hope,” finished Margaret, “because you can never tell.”

“Oh that’s not fair!” objected Jane. “We’ve been together now for over seven years.”

“That’s not quite right,” I corrected, “you’ve been lovers for over seven years. You haven’t actually lived together as parents to a child. You’d best have a long chat with Margaret and Sian about that. There are a lot of sacrifices.”

“Why shouldn’t we ask you?” Asked Elizabeth.

“I have no experience of raising a newborn baby. My girls came to me as ‘ready made’ little darlings, as it where. Whilst they are lovely kids, I’ve absolutely no experience of nursing or mothering a fractious babe-in-arms.”

“Yes. I see,” replied Elizabeth thoughtfully.

“Then, when they grow up, you’ll have to answer those awkward questions about the father. Especially if you choose Beverly as the sire.” Added Margaret.

Sian chuckled as she turned to Margaret.

“We’re not breeding horses here darling but you’re right. Remember the awful time when Chenille learned that Sissy was her father. Sissy had to take her on a trip up to London whilst he dressed as a man and reassured her that he was still a man but he preferred to live as a girl. He got round it by saying that living as a girl was much nicer than living as a boy and Chenille gradually came round.”

Margaret continued the saga.

“Yes, Chenille, little madam that she is, made Sissy take her up to London to various museums dressed as her father, then as some sort of final test, she forced him to take her to see ‘The Rocky Horror Show’ whilst he was dressed as her aunt.”

“Since then though, they’ve been the best of friends.” Finished Sian

Elizabeth smiled then fell to chuckling.

“Is that really what he had to do?”

“You bet,” smiled Margaret.

Elizabeth turned to me.

“I hope you’ll be prepared to do that for our child, even if it’s a boy.”

“I’ll do my best but you can see now, some of the complications. I just hope that if it’s a boy, he won’t reject me for being what I am.”

“Yeah, that could be a problem,” added Jane, “bizarrely you’re very lucky that Martina’s a transvestite.”

“Maybe,” I finished,” but I think Martina’s got the better part of the deal even though I’m not her real dad, she thinks of me as a sort of substitute father figure..”

“You three are very supportive of each other.” Observed Elizabeth. “I like that.”

“We get on fine and there’s no competition for our emotions.” Replied Sian.

“Except from the girls,” I laughed.

“Except from the girls,” agreed Margaret as she turned to Elizabeth in a more understanding mode. “Elizabeth, Jane we all hope it works out like this for both of you.”

Just then the girls returned from riding. They could ride alone now because our changes to the fencing arrangements of some of the fields gave our fields direct access to the Dumplin Bridle Path without using the lane with it's attendant dangers from motor traffic any more To our surprise, the girls returned with Sian’s baroness friend and her childrenfor company. The arrival of the larger party in the yard interrupted our deliberations and we made the unexpected visitors welcome. They had returned to us because Peter’s horse had lost a shoe. Introductions and apologies were exchanged for causing inconvenience but our farm was well up to handling unexpected guests.

The baroness had already arranged for their party and horses to be collected by her husband and their ostler in their horse carriers. We made them welcome and they gratefully helped finish off the turkey. We made all the usual polite after Christmas jokes about turkey this and turkey that.

Elizabeth and Sian had lots in common with the baroness and they chatted easily. Meanwhile, her son Peter and daughter Melanie were dragged away by the girls to see the stables whilst thy bedded down their own ponies. Eventually, the Baron arrived driving one horsebox while their ostler followed with the other. Their horses were quickly loaded and we waved them off to promises of 'meeting again soon' Then we returned to our discussion.

That night Elizabeth and Jane approached me on the landing as I was going to bed. They were both in their nightdresses and I was surprised that they had decided to commence things so quickly.

“Are you quite sure about this? No recriminations in the morning.” I demanded.

They declared they were ‘in their fertile cycle’ and more than willing to go for it, provided I was amenable. Elizabeth was far more genteel about the circumstances and was almost apologetic about their approach. I was agreeable though, so I cautiously invited them into my boudoir.

Jane watched me undressing and stared at the bulge in my panties. I felt shy so I turned away. Elizabeth scolded her partner for being rude.

Jane apologised saying that,’ because of the planned activities’; she had perceived me as a boy. I soon corrected her misapprehensions by untying my peignoir and exposing my ripe firm breasts. Her eyes widened appreciatively and then they fell again to the noticeable bulge in my lacy panties.

“Gosh Beverly, apart from ‘that’ you really are a lady.”

“Why thank you ma-am.” I curtsied politely.

“Oh stop playing hard to get,” protested Elizabeth as she slid seductivly onto the bed.

Elizabeth patted the bed (my bed would you believe,) as though she was the bride giving her new husband permission to have sex. I looked at her askance and wagged my head in amusement.

“So who’s the nervous bride in this arrangement?” I asked. “Shouldn’t I be inviting you into my bed?”

Elizabeth had the good grace to blush then she frowned uncertainly.

“But your the man Bev. I mean you’re doing the impregnating.”

“Try and understand Elizabeth,” I sighed patiently. I’m only the man between my legs. I’m a woman between my ears and to my mind, - that makes me a woman. I’m just as nervous as you about this.”

Elizabeth eventually realised that this relationship was fraught with pitfalls as she slowly realised that I was to all intents a woman. She nodded apologetically and stood again, unsure of how to progress the agreement.

I forgave her, her faux pas, slid coyly onto my bed and then patted the mattress just as she had done. She and Jane smiled with joy and eagerly attended upon me.

“Oh so I’m the meat in the sandwich am I?” I giggled.

“Oh yes.” Chuckled Jane as she squeezed up to my soft curvy butt.

I felt her fingers explore my soft ripe curves and she sighed.

“Mmm. This is nice. I could fancy you myself.”

“Hand’s orf.” Demanded Elizabeth. She’s mine first.”

Like an obedient pet, I lay on my back as Elizabeth mounted me. I indulged Elizabeth twice and then to my surprise, I discovered Jane wanted to try it.

“I thought you detested boys?” I whispered nervously.

“I do, but you're hardly a boy darling, are you, - not with these.”

She gently cupped my breasts and caressed my nipples with her tongue. I gasped urgently and my cock stiffened yet again.

Fortunately my girly libido gave me plenty of stamina. I could orgasm several times just like a girl

To my surprise, Jane made me lie on top then she crushed me to her as her thighs parted to invite me in. As our breasts and nipples squished together I whispered.

“Are you sure you want me this way?”

“Of course. This is how I like it with Elizabeth.”

I fell silent for I did not think it right to exchange bedroom secrets about one’s partner. What Jane and Elizabeth did was not my business. However, Jane’s declaration did not seem to offend Elizabeth and I gently started to perform my duties. As I gently humped away, I felt Elizabeth’s hands gently caressing my butt.

“Mmm. These are lovely curves Beverly. You’re so lucky.”

I just sighed softly and luxuriated in my task.

“Mmm. Bev, you’re really something,” gasped Jane as her needs took her.

“Why’s that?” I croaked as my own urges took control.

“You’re so soft and curvy everywhere but where it matters. And there you’re as hard as iron. This is lovely, it’s as stiff as any dildo and yet it’s a real cock. You could make a fortune with the sisterhood; so girly yet so hard!”

I ignored her last words because my climax was approaching.

We did not share a mutual climax. I came before Jane but I managed to retain my erection long enough for her to indulge her own needs. She finally exploded under me like a storm tossed sea and squealed in her passions as Elizabeth tried to silence her.

“Quiet darling, you’ll wake the children!”

I realised Elizabeth’s fears and adopted a tactic of my own. I gently pressed my cheek against Jane’s lips and silenced her whimpering. Elizabeth caught my eye as I glanced sideways. Then she got the message and gently placed her lips on Jane’s as my lips came up against Elizabeth’s ear.

Eventually our passions subsided and we rearranged ourselves with me spooning against Elizabeth’s butt whilst she and Jane slept in each other’s arms. I was demonstrating physically that I would never come between them except to serve where needed. In the morning we indulged each other again before noises from the children’s bedroom presaged their arrival. Jane and Elizabeth froze with fear but I reassured them.

“They often find Margaret, Sian and me together in bed, so this is little different. Just a minute.”

I reached across to my bedside drawers and pulled out a clean pair of control panties. After deftly hauling them up my legs, any vestiges of manhood were swiftly suppressed and I finished dressing before I scrambled into the centre position. There, we three sat up like three wise monkeys to await the children’s appearance. The ensuing rumble of little feet down the hall announced their arrival and I called through the door for them to come in without knocking. They plunged in then hesitated as they saw two strangers where usually there would occasionally have been Sian and Margaret. I held out my hands to invite them and reassure them so they clambered onto the bed and squeezed into their favoured positions.

As the children cuddled up to us, the bedside phone rang. Margaret and Sian were checking. I answered the phone and invited them to join us. If Elizabeth and Jane were to see exactly how good it could be with children, they deserved to see how regularly we all clambered into bed in the morning. After Margaret and Sian had joined us, to the excited squeals of the girls, Jane declared that it was like sharing the famous ‘Grandma’s Feather bed’ in John Denver’s song.
Later in the kitchen after the children had gone riding with Sian and Margaret had slipped into her office in Poole, Elizabeth and Jane confided in me.
“We never thought it could be this good,” said Jane. I often used to climb into bed with my parents on Sunday mornings, but this, this is so much fun.”

“And nothing unsavoury about it, you’ll note.” I added.

“Yes. That’s the nice thing. Though I liked your touch with the panty control girdle.”

“Needs must, when the devil cracks his whip.” I finished. “So what are your plans now?”

The pair hesitated and exchanged nervous looks. I smiled knowingly.

“Go on. Now you want to tell me you want to stay until after the New Year.”
After more hesitation they nodded self-consciously.

“What is it?” I sighed.

“Well. We’ we’re not yet at out most fertile in our cycles. New Year’s Day is when we’re at our most fertile. Jane just checked her diary and because we’re so intimate, we are in menstrual synch.”

“So you want to make sure do you?” I pressed.

They nodded then the thought struck me.

“Wait a minute. You said ‘we’.”

Jane hung her head and nodded confessionally.

“Yes. After that fun with the girls this morning, I want one as well.”

I fell silent. It was not for me to be judgemental, but they would be my children, after all.

“Are you sure of this. What happens if you have boys and they don’t want to come into bed, as they grow older? You know what boys are like.”

“I still want a child.” Said Jane. “Even if he’s a boy, he’ll come in to bed with us for the first few years before he grows self-conscious.”

“Well, I think you’d better chat with Sian and Margaret when they get back. I’m happy to serve you if you’re really serious but my conditions still stand. I want access to my children even if they don’t know I’m their father.”

Both Elizabeth and Jane wrapped their arms around me and kissed me fervently. Then we prepared lunch for the children. That afternoon, my ship was scheduled into Poole so I had business with the harbour master and stevedores. Elizabeth and Jane agreed to accompany us into town and entertain the girls whilst I was busy. I had my weekly meeting with the port authority to discuss the container activities.

When I met them again, I had some interesting news for Jane. There were developments in the Port and plans for expansion. My ship and her continental trades were integral parts of the plan. The port manager and the harbourmaster had invited me in on the earliest discussions of the Port Authority’s confidential plans because my ships were so closely tied up with developments.

A new trade to Spain was being mooted and plans were afoot to build a small container terminal with a ‘portainer gantry crane’. ‘Would I be interested in investing any capital in the port infrastructure or supplying a suitable, bigger vessel for the proposed Iberian trade?’

I told them that I would have to speak with my bankers and my partners (whom I did not identify as Billy and Mac,) then I would get back to them.

There was then talk of the need to employ a terminal manager and the idea was to employ a civil or mechanical engineer in that capacity as container terminal manager. The said manager could then double up as a permanent port engineer instead of the authority employing an outside consultative specialist every time that a technical engineering input was required. When I heard of this opportunity, I immediately thought of Jane. She was currently working on a project in the midlands but our conversations had determined that the contract ended within a few months and she would have to move on to a new project. I knew Jane was keen to find permanent work near Elizabeth and this might prove a perfect match-up. When I mentioned it to her on the way back to the cottage, she surged forward and almost hugged the life out of me.

“Hey! Careful love, you nearly had me off the road.” I remonstrated as the Landrover veered sharply.

“Sorry! Can you really put in a word for me?” She squealed excitedly.

“I don’t know. It’s all very tentative at the moment. They are only just discussing funding.”

I wasn’t going to build Jane’s hopes up, but the truth was, that if I could organise some of the finance, (and I was pretty sure I could after the success of the Ireland and continental trades,) then I would have a powerful say in how the project was to progress.

As I drove the last few miles home I could sense the excitement building up between Elizabeth and Jane. If this deal came off they would be able to set up home together somewhere between Dorset and Devon. That night they showed their gratitude by indulging me whilst simultaneously improving their chances of getting pregnant. What could be better? If I could get Jane the job of Port Engineer it would mean I would be permanently living near to all my own children.