CHAPTER 4
Pete was a little nervous, in the end, as we collected a large part of his possessions to take to my mother’s place.

“Moving in with the mother-in-law-to-be…not exactly easy on the nervous system”

“Why’s that?”

“Just look at her. Everything just so, no shoes on the carpets, clothes, I am sure, racked in order of colour….and me, a squaddy more used to hanging stuff on the floor.”

He paused. ”Look, love, it’s like me. I am slowly getting accustomed to losing a leg, you lost your entire life”

“I wanted to talk to you about that. We need to get you fitted with something other than wheels. I mean, you can hardly chase me round the bedroom in the chair, can you?”

Pete laughed at that. “Well, you’re in the wrong shoes for that, according to Dave!”

And there it was, almost in the open. At some point, there would be something to be done between us. I had repeated the masturbation several times since that first night, but while the images in my mind were of Pete, the rest was without form. My body was responding as a male, and I was thinking as the woman I was now remembering I had always been. I literally did not know what to do next, because I could not offer him what I should.

It was a truly odd mental trick, but then I had a history of that. My penis was giving me relief from the sexual frustration engendered by wanting Pete to do something to a part of me that didn’t exist, and I was looking at it as a temporary ‘toy’ that I would be trading in. I didn’t hate it, I was just waiting for it to leave, something like a guest who has overstayed their welcome. How odd; frenzied male masturbation serving to confirm my femininity. My life was passing from one confused state to another. One thing that was absolutely certain, though, was that I actually wanted no involvement from Pete in any way for that particular activity.

Well….as he drove, I reached across and put my hand half way up his left thigh. Let him make some of the decisions for once.

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We stopped at the chemists’ on the way back, and as Pete waited in the van I filled my prescription from Mary’s scrip. That took me about a quarter of an hour, so I wandered around the shop picking up some new make-up and avoiding the sexual health displays. This was turning into an obsession. As soon as I had my little package I took the first of my new pills. Back on the road, and into my mother’s, and a rare display of open emotion from her when I produced the letter and my medication.

“We have to sit down together and work out some form of timetable, young lady. When to change your legal name, when to attend work as yourself, and, to be brutal, when you will let that errant spouse of yours know the truth.”

Just then, the phone rang, Mother answered it, and it turned out to be Howard.

“It is your Faculty head, dear, and he is asking directly for ‘Laura’”

She looked rather puzzled by that one. He seemed to be in a much livelier mood than when we had left him, chuckling as he spoke.

“I have had two little things come up, Laura, which you may find amusing. Firstly, my lady wife wanted to know who the rather attractive young lady was that our neighbour spotted leaving the house with me”

“Oh dear, Howard, I haven’t caused you any trouble, have I?”

“Not at all, Laura. I took the rather presumptuous liberty of telling my wife the basics of your story, she was rather supportive. When I mentioned the…attack, she just asked me a question, which was ‘Where is the animal now?’ ”

“I understand, Howard, you have my thanks. People will have to know sooner rather than later, and I think I can trust you to filter the story as necessary. What was the other matter?”

“Do you remember a student of yours, one Abigail Thorpe? A young lady of considerable frontal aspect?”

“Yes indeed, I have a story about her I could tell you”

“Well, she is alleging that you have deliberately marked her work down”

“Why would I do that?”

“Apparently because she has refused your sexual advances”

At that point he burst into a fit of very healthy laughter. “I meant to beard you about it today, but events sort of took over. I tell you, though, this is one misconduct hearing I am really looking forward to with relish”

“Oh, indeed, Howard, but can you do one thing for me? Get somebody other than Dave to mark her work and assure my verdict on it. I presume you wish me to attend the hearing as myself?”

He sniggered, really sniggered. “I would have it no other way, Laura!”

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Mother had made a daube for the evening meal, and we talked strategy as my mother wrote lists on a pad beside her plate. Who to tell, the priority, banking details, deed poll, social security and electoral roll, she had obviously been planning away in private for some time.

“After dinner, dear, we are going over to Gun Wharf. They have a late night opening this evening, and you need to buy a lot of clothes for work.”

“Mother, I have not yet decided when I will have my coming-out”

“Oh, Laura darling, that has already been arranged. As soon as the first misconduct hearing is arranged, that will be your date.”

She descended from her little ivory tower just then. “Remember what we have been telling you ad nauseam: you are not, and never have been, alone”

Gun Wharf Quay is a large shopping centre in Portsmouth, just the other side of the harbour by foot ferry from Gosport. It is dominated by the Spinnaker Tower, famous for its failing lifts and whose early resemblance to a sex toy as it was being built led to it being referred to as the Rampant Rabbit. Long, knob on top, twin-forked arms sticking up from the bottom…..

We wandered around from shop to shop, and it was amazing how natural I felt doing so. Clothes were tried on and a proper fit found, shoes were bought that felt as well as looked good, and I saw (and bought) one pair of strappy heels that didn’t just say ‘fuck me’, but rather ‘screw my brains out NOW on a bed of chocolate”

Pete joked that he was luckier than most men, because he had his own personal Husband Chair. He claimed he could see no real difference in the various court heels I tried on, but saved himself from further injury by remarking on how nice they made my legs look.

There was one other place I looked in, apart from the clothing and coffee shop, and that was a laser hair removal studio. I booked an initial course of treatment starting the following week. Goodbye, beard, don’t write.

Eventually, the feeding frenzy abated a little, and we made our way back to the ferry.

“I see why you insisted I come” said Pete, “so you could use my bloody chair as a pack mule”

I snorted. “Some of this stuff is yours!”

“You mean the two paperbacks and the one shirt?”

My mother interrupted. “You two might as well be married, the way you go on”

“Funny you should say that, Mum, but he sort of proposed today”

Sometimes, just sometimes, I manage to crack my mother’s shell.

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Once again I was in John mode for work, and the more I did it the more I realised how unnatural it was for me, compared to how I felt properly dressed. I was beginning to realise that there had been a reason I had found dressing in the marital home so relaxing–it wasn’t a case of ‘finding my feminine side’ but of the simple removal of conflict. There were a number of things involved, and none of them involved sexual gratification, something Mary had prodded at in our first meetings.

Firstly, I felt now as if I was taking off a costume rather than putting one on for a while. Laura was becoming my default state, exactly as my mother had always known she would. When things were more advanced, and my body more obviously female, I would be able to dress down a bit, but a second factor was that I really liked clothes, and shoes in particular. I know they are silly, and impractical, but nothing is more elegant than a nice pair of heels. According to my mother, I have excellent taste, neither brash nor clumsy. Pete seems to like it, anyway….I just like prettiness, and elegance. Heels start to look truly ugly above a certain height; skirts too short look horrible. If I had a cleavage, displaying it the way Abigail did would definitely not be my style.

Rather like my mother, in fact. Then again, having had a rummage in her knicker drawer, I had my preconceptions overturned emphatically. Ye gods, she could undress like a whore! I wouldn’t normally use that word in association with Mum, but let me just say that she liked her underwear. I rather liked her underwear, too, and that thought brought back the earlier ones.

Work the next day. Mum parked up, Pete took a shower on his new chair, and I went to get ready for bed. After a good night kiss to Mum in her room, I started back down the stairs, and definitely heard her call out a soft ’good luck, dear’ at the first creak.

Pete was in bed by this time, and I caught a faint snore. I pulled off my slippers and lifting the edge of the duvet slid in beside him. He grunted and cuddled up to me.

“Thought you’d never come. If you have cold feet warm them somewhere else. I can’t exactly kick you out, can I?”

A kiss on the mouth, a wriggle, and he was back to sleep. No drama, no passion, just the best thing to happen in my life since he came back.