This chapter addresses Bennies slowly developing relationship with Khatia as she brings Khatia out of her shell to address her bisexualism.

 

NEW SPACETRAN 15

Spacetran 15

List of our children and their friends.

Girls,
Wendy, William’s twin.
Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.

Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.
Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.
Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).
Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.

At lunchtime Bennie handed over the till to Paula and went to meet Jack at the museum. He had texted her to say her loaned pictures looked superb and they were causing a huge buzz. His agent had even compiled an addition to the catalogue just to describe the new finds. They met at Eddie’s ‘greasy spoon’ then went on to the museum. The exhibition was crowded and Jack’s agent had done a deal with the museum authorities to make the extra display a paying one. The entrance was 10 credits and the emergency exhibition space was buzzing with excitement...

At first the lady asked them to pay until Jack’s agent and the Museum’s chief art curator came rushing to clear up the misunderstanding. They all chuckled at the thought of Bennie being expected to pay to see her own paintings.
The curator enthused to Bennie.

“This is just so fantastic, and you’re saying these priceless artefacts have been lying around in your flat for years.”

“Uuhhm, - no! They weren’t lying around miss; they were hanging on my walls. I’ve always liked Jack’s work.”

At this Jack reached around Bennie and cuddled her to him. Bennie allowed herself to fall into his one-armed embrace as the curator continued.

“Can I take a photo of that cuddle? It just adds so much to the provenance for the exhibition.”

For a moment Bennie was uncertain then she decided little harm could be done and she nodded. Her disguise was pretty secure and she demanded control of any press releases. As the curator clicked away she continued excitedly.

“Miss Thomas the agent here says you’re prepared to loan the whole series to the museum.”

“Series?” Wondered Bennie loudly. “I never thought of them as a series. They were always just Jack’s paintings. I knew he’d moved on but not like this, - all this, this uuhhm, - fame! I’ve moved on as well. I honestly can’t remember if they were numbered one to twenty.”

She turned to look up at Jack from his embrace.

“Were they the first twenty Jack? I can’t remember; I know I wasn’t always there when you were painting.”

“I don’t think so; I think I sold a couple to some passersby on Canal Street on the odd Saturdays. You occasionally disappeared on weekends about once a month as I remember rightly.

Bennie felt Jack’s embrace tighten secretively as they shared their private secret namely Bennie’s true identity and the monthly absences to attend the board meetings.

“Well that’s not important,” the curator observed, “the important thing is that these pictures are dated, signed and described by the original buyer. That makes them a wonderful themed series with priceless provenance. I mean the fact that the very first picture actually has Bennie and a friend in it makes it just so exciting. It’s like a love story! The museum is just so grateful to you. Are you lending them in perpetuity?”

Bennie nodded and shrugged.

“I can’t see why not. They’re just pictures to me, albeit pictures with lovely memories, pictures that I love, - beautiful pictures. It was a love story.”

Again she savoured Jacks tightening embrace before they parted and the curator took out a recorder.

"I’d like the two of you to take us through the paintings as we go around this new bit.”

“Who’s we!” Bennie asked.

“Well me, you two and probably this crowd.”

Bennie and Jack turned to see the gathered crowd nodding and murmuring. For a moment Bennie stiffened,

‘Would somebody recognise her?’
‘Poor kid; if she only knew! She’d probably throw a Muslim fit if she found out!’

She looked directly at Khatia and smiled wanly.

“No, I’m not gay, I told you before, I’m bi; but that doesn’t mean I’m going to pounce on you and torment you with lesbian sex. I’m not that sort of a girl and it’s something I just couldn’t do. The offer of a room, bed and shower is there if you want it. Take it or leave it.

I’m going clubbing later tonight. I’ve no work tomorrow, and I’ll probably meet Eddie with his boyfriend in the Rembrandt. I suggest you have a night in and spend it on your hair it looks like a rat’s nest! You should have brushed it this morning after showering instead of rushing off.”

“Have you got a steady partner?” Khatia asked bluntly.

“No. I live alone and keep myself very much to myself. I get my kicks mainly from the crack in the village at weekends. I won’t be bringing any partners home if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“So I’ll be safe will I? In your apartment that is.”

"Look kid, don’t you remember? You slept there last night! The spare bedroom’s got its own bolt on the inside and you have your own en-suite. Take it or leave it."

Khatia let out a long thankful sigh.

“You’ve got a weird, back-handed way of being charitable. You should have been a Muslim though you’d make a bloody peculiar one.”

“Not bloody likely. I won’t truck with any of those nodding and bobbing bastards, Christian, Jew or Muslim; Sikh, Hindu or Buddhist. If there’s one thing I learned from my dad it was to steer clear of religious freaks! — bloody fanatics!”

“Your dad?”

“Yeah. Dad had the same issues. I’m very close to my dad.”

“Mmm. Lucky you.” Khatia replied thoughtfully. “D’you ever see him?”

“Yes, once a month, next Monday in fact.”

“Oh so you’re not some sort of odd-ball who made it to the top despite your family then?”

“No. What made you think that? And why d’you think I’ve ‘made it to the top’?”

“I dunno, I just thought, - this apartment; - and, I mean you’re so secretive and everything.”

“That’s my privilege. Though I owe my dad a lot. We’re two of a kind.”

“Chip off the old block then.”

“Summat like that. Ah good. Here’s a taxi. Are you getting in?”

Khatia needed no second bidding. The idea of a warm, dry clean bed with apparently no strings attached was just too much. She stepped into the pul and pressed herself into a corner where the hot air warmed her legs. By the time they arrived at Bennie’s apartment the aching chill in her bones was slowly receding. Once in the apartment, Bennie made some tea and Khatia eyed the contents of the fridge as Bennie took the milk out. Bennie followed Khatia’s gaze.

“What? Fancying the cake or something?”

“Mmm. It looks delisch’.”

“I think you’d best shower first. I’m going to but I’m not washing my hair. I usually do that Friday mornings. If you hurry, you might have time to come clubbing; that is if your Muslim mores will allow.”

Khatia relished the idea of clubbing. She had several times strolled through the village savouring the wild scenes and strange sights but she’d never plucked up the courage to enter a club. Old religious admonishments still chiselled away at her psyche. She disappeared into the second bedroom and indulged herself then she was pleased to find Bennie ready and waiting with her hair dryer.

“Come here, your hair won’t take long with this. Gosh you’ve got beautiful hair, so thick and straight.”

Khatia sat at the breakfast bar and ate the cakes while Bennie dried her hair and brushed it. Khatia felt as though she was being pampered.

“Mmmmm. That’s just sooo-oo nice!”

Her hair dried quickly to a rich, blue-black lustre that even Bennie envied. Khatia was reluctant to forego the brushing and blowing but if it meant she could accompany Bennie to the village she realised she would have to give up the sensuous head massage. She was doubly pleased when Bennie produced an exciting outfit and a pair of boots to address the rain.

“I got these in the charity shop this morning. I hope the boots fit.”

Khatia tried them on and they only just fitted. A teeny bit tight but nothing that a determined girl couldn’t tolerate, - and heels to die for. Khatia dared to allow herself that delicious thought.

‘Mmm fuck me heels and then some. This Bennie was one hell of a girl!’

Bennie grinned. As Khatia loosened the towel and stood naked before her except for the teetering heeled boots.

“Are you going like that?” Bennie chuckled.

“No cheeky! Your outfit’s a bit risqué though isn’t it?”

“I love tarty. Call me crazy but I can look after myself. Remember your pimp in the alley? Now hurry up and dress girl the night’s a-wastin’!”

Khatia wagged her head in disbelief for under Bennie’s indecently short mini-skirt she was wearing a micro-thong that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Then the patterned hold-ups emphasised the hemline for they stopped exactly level with the skirt. Bennie resembled a ‘dockside whore!

‘Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound’ she decided and she plunged into Bennie’s extensive wardrobe.

‘By Allah’s will, this girl indulges herself!’ Khatia concluded as she searched through the racks of clothing and finally chose a stretchy minifrock almost as daring as Bennie’s ‘fanny pelmet’. She chose some black, high-gloss tights to complement the scarlet dress and studied herself in the mirror. She had never felt so vampish as she thought back to the oppressive family childhood and the way her father and grandfather had controlled her and her younger sisters whilst allowing her brothers free rein! Khatia stared excitedly into the mirror and thought to herself.

‘You’ll do Fatima Aziz; bugger grandpa and his oppressive ways.’

With her beautiful looks it took but an instant to put on some ‘lippy’ and Fatima felt ready for the fray. When she emerged from the bedroom Bennie’s eyes widened and her jaw sagged as the dress strained over Khatia’s breasts.

“My God girl, you could straighten a gay-guy with those!”

“D’you think so, that’d be fun wouldn’t it?”

Being as it was after ten o’clock the village was beginning to come alive and Khatia began to realise the advantages to having an apartment on Sackville Street. The main drag, Canal Street was but a few metres away. A few short mincing steps in their ‘fuck-me’ shoes and Bennie was chatting to the bouncers at the door to Rembrandts. Despite the queue Bennie sailed in and promptly headed for Eddie who sat upstairs. Khatia followed and for the first time savoured curious eyes following her exposed butt as she ascended the stairs. It felt both exciting and daring to be wearing such a short frock. Eddie was chatting with his boyfriend whilst Bennie was surprised and pleased to meet Jack sketching a portrait of his agent Jasmine Thomas.

“I thought you were at a reception?” Bennie charged.

“It’s finished so Jasmine and I decided on a night in the village. Jasmine’s never been here before. D’you realise what time it is, it’s almost eleven.”

“We keep late hours,” Bennie grinned.

“We?”

“Yeah, this little stunner and I, Khatia.”

“Oh. I can see the attractions; have you become an item then?”

Khatia snapped angrily.

“Certainly not. I’m not a lesbian!”

The bar went silent and Khatia suddenly realised where she was. She suddenly felt vulnerable and found herself squeezing between Jack and Bennie. Bennie quickly moved to defuse the tension.

“No darling your bi and that’s something different. Everybody’s different here love. So watch your manners.”

Bennie said it loud enough for nearby ears to hear and the tension noticeable eased.

Jack forgot himself for a moment and asked Bennie.

“Doesn’t she know?”

Even as he said it, Jack could have kicked himself. Nobody there knew that Bennie was a partially transgendered transvestite just like her illustrious father.

Bennie was about to protest but Khatia, with her senses now at ‘hyper’ level, spoke first.

“Know what? What don’t I know?”

Jacks eyes rolled with apology as Bennie glared at him. It was an easy mistake to make and Bennie knew she would always run the risk of discovery, especially if she got close to someone. She took Khatia’s hand and led her to a quiet corner that another couple had just vacated. Jack and Jasmine had been waiting to claim the seat the moment it was vacated because the corner window made a good setting as a backdrop to the sketch of Jasmine. Seats were re-arranged and Khatia found herself sitting in a very private corner as Bennie took her hand.

“D’you want to know what you don’t know?”

“Will it upset me?”

“I don’t know. You did tell me you were Bi though.”

“I am,” Khatia confirmed, “and you said you were.”

“Well, yes, I am, but there’s something else. Something that might affect you.”

Khatia’s brows knitted uncertainly.

“What d’you mean?”

Bennie hesitated as her heart thumped furiously. This was the biggie and she had no idea how Khatia might react. Fortunately Eddie and his boyfriend were to hand if Khatia attacked her. It wouldn’t do for Bennie to be seen beating Khatia if she took offence. Bennie opened the conversation very cautiously and slowly.

“You know I told you I was bi?”

“Yes, what of it? So am I.”

“Well I’m a bit different as well.”

Khatia sat silent, studying Bennie as she obviously seemed to be mustering some courage. The tension prompted Katia to break the silence.

“That difference being?”

Bennie looked at the floor, then out through the windows and finally at Khatia.

“I don’t want you to be frightened by this.”

“Oh get on with it. So what’s this big secret?”

“I, - I, - I’m not a girl.”

Khatia sat silent, staring hard at Bennie as she tried to make sense.

“What d’you mean, ‘not a girl’?”

“Exactly that! I’m not a girl, - - - I’m technically a boy.”

Khatia fell silent again as she studied the ‘girl’ in front of her.

“You’re joking!”

“I’m not,” Bennie replied, sagging with relief that Khatia hadn’t blown a gasket.

“But you’re, - you’re, - you’re just; - no you’re a girl! I mean just look at you.”

“Looks can deceive Khatia. Truly, - I’m a boy, at least my plumb-, no my bits down there, my dangly bits, - they say I’m a boy.”

For a moment, Khatia’s gaze locked, mesmerized onto Bennie’s ultra-short skirt then she recovered her composure. Bennie crossed her legs uncomfortably tight and made a lamentable attempt at tugging her skirt hem before Khatia looked up and grinned.

“That wasn’t a boy move. That was pure girly. You’re a girl; - inside your head you’re a girl. I mean look at those boobies, and that arse! I saw all the boys following your arse up the stairs, before they spotted mine. And they were the gay ones; they are all gay in here aren’t they?”

“Not all,” Bennie replied, “some are tourists looking for a thrill. Some are ‘Tranny chasers’; look out for those, they tend to think a tranny has no right to say ‘NO’””

“Yes they must have been the ones giving you and I the once over.”

Bennie frowned. She wondered if her information had even registered with Khatia.

“Aren’t you upset? Aren’t you angry, - I mean, - I’ve deceived you haven’t I?”

“Well, yes, a little bit but I’m more surprised and amused than angry. I mean I’ve slept with you!”

“No you haven’t, you’ve slept at my apartment but you had your own bedroom and shower. We haven’t slept together.”

“And you didn’t try it on. I’m impressed. Boys are always trying it on.”

“What, even Muslim boys?”

“Especially Muslim boys! The moment the news got out that I was refusing to wear the burkah and the hijab they all thought I was some sort of slag. It got to be a real pain for if I slapped one of them they deemed me the abuser because I was ‘leading them on’. In truth, that’s the main reason I ran away, the hassle on the streets was as bad as the strife at home. I just got sick of it.”

“So living rough on the streets is better than a nice, safe, warm home.”

“Correction Bennie, the only word that’s right there is warm; - it was neither safe nor nice.”

“How come?” Wondered Bennie who’d never experience anything but love and tenderness at home. Bennie worshipped her parents but then Bennie’s parents were very special people.

“You don’t really want to know.” Khatia continued. “They tried to beat me into a burkah. For me living on the streets is infinitely better than home as I knew it. Out here I’m a free spirit; in danger, yes, probably but at least I’m free. Look at me now, out in a gay bar, drinking my chosen non-alcoholic tipple with a; - what are you anyway; what d’you call yourself?”

“I’m a partially transsexual, bisexual transvestite.”

“Partial? You mean sort of a bit of both?”

“Well more a bit of everything. I suppose you Muslims would say that when Allah had finished making my brothers and sisters he lumped all the left over bits and made me. I was the youngest.”

Khatia grinned at the last remark.

“They say mixing the genes is the best way. You should see the genetic problems in my family with everybody marrying their first cousins. Two of my second cousins are polydactyl. It’s getting bad in my town. You’re a good healthy mongrel; I bet you never get ill.”

“Hold on Khatia, I’m transgendered. Most people would say that’s not healthy.”

“It’s healthy in your body, just not out there; on the street, unless you pass.”

I looked down and felt a warm feeling. At least I passed. I looked up again and smiled as Khatia recognised what I had just done and confirmed it.

“Yes you pass, easily. D’you want another orange-juice?”

With this one simple question I sagged with relief. Khatia had accepted my condition and moved on without it seemingly affecting our friendship one iota. I nodded as Khatia stood up then grinned as she held out her hand.

“Who d’you think's paying for this, I ain’t got any money. You're the boy, you just said it."

I handed her a twenty and suggested she buy a round. She came back cock-a-hoop.

“What are you so happy about?” I asked.

“I just got about four offers between here and the bar. This place is crazy.”

“Were they good looking?” I pressed.

“Well the boy was. Two of the other’s were beautiful and the fourth was a butch as they come.”

I grinned as I helped her take the glasses off the tray.

“Were they all gay then?”

“I hope not,” she grinned. The guy was real eye candy.”

“Oh-oh. Now you’re making me jealous.”

“Don’t worry love, I can trust you, I know you’re safe.”

I felt a warm inner glow. Khatia had just referred to me as ‘love’.

As we sat and chatted, neither Khatia nor I noticed Jack looking up at us frequently. It was Eddie that spotted it as he stood up to go for a wee’ and got a glimpse of Jack’s portrait of Jasmine.

“Oh that’s clever Jack! That’s a better backdrop than the Mona Lisa!”

“Let’s have a look!” I begged as I stood up and craned my neck. Jack frowned and declared it unfinished but I could already see the pencil work. Jasmine was drawn turning slightly as though smiling at somebody across the table while Khatia and the rest of us were drawn into the background. Everybody was enjoying themselves.

“Are you going to paint that?” I asked him, for I had seen many of his pencil sketches.

“He’d better!” Jasmine declared. “It’s my portrait.”

As Jasmine spoke Khatia had stepped forward from her corner seat to get a look.

“Is that me looking sideways?” Khatia demanded as she studied the back drop.

“Yes. You said you didn’t want your portrait so I’ve done you like that. Nobody can recognise you.”

Khatia looked long and hard at the sketch before finally conceding that Eddie was right. Her partially profiled features could not be recognised but it was obvious that the girl in the back ground was very beautiful and laughing at something as she turned her head to respond to a remark. The curve of her neck showed beautifully. The reactions of all the boys in the back ground demonstrated this as lust or affection or amusement reflected in their eyes. Jasmine stood up to look at it and she gasped.

“That’s clever. Who are the boys looking at, me or Khatia?”

“Take your pick.” Jack replied. “I haven’t included Bennie yet. I was thinking of just including her head and face, three-quarter turned on the bench, in the corner behind and between you and Khatia. People will think perhaps it was Bennie who made the remark that caused Khatia to turn and laugh. You’re the only one quarter frontal, it’s your portrait and I’ve got you with your hand on Bennie’s shoulder just about to turn and speak to her. You’ll like it, I promise. It’s full of activity.”

“You’ve captured the view overlooking Canal Street rather well,” Jasmine offered.

“I had to do it like that. It gives me the right sort of street lighting to capture your natural colours. It doesn’t do Khatia’s hair much justice though.”

“Well it’s not her portrait but you’ve captured her happiness really well. You can tell she’s very vivacious and amused at something. I like it. It’s happy picture, I’ll cherish this.”

“Can we see it when it’s finished?” I asked.

“Of course!” Jasmine replied. “That’s what pictures are for silly!”

“Will it be hung publicly?” Khatia added as concern still lingered.

“No. This one’s for my apartment. Jack owes me this.”

Khatia visibly relaxed and I squeezed her hand to reassure her.

“D’you fancy dancing?” I asked her.

Khatia looked at me solemnly and declared that she’d never danced with a boy.

“What!” I gasped. “What! Never? Not even as a little girl in party games and things?”

“No. Grandpa was very strict.”

“Bloody hell. Girl you don’t know what you’ve been missing. Out on the floor now!”

It was that night that Bennie Met Khatia.

Khatia had never come so intimately close to a boy before and yet that boy so resembled a girl that nobody watching would have believed it was anything but a pair of ‘Lipstick lesbians’ deeply in love. Bennie taught her to jive; a task that took most of the night as Khatia learned different moves. Finally as the morning sun gradually filtered through the grey Manchester morning Khatia slumped into her chair.

“That’s it! I’m bushed. I’ve got to go to bed.”

“Oh so soon,” Bennie teased. “The dawn is but young.”

“Exactly!” Khatia squeaked. “That’s just it. It’s dawn and my feet are killing me. D’you realise we’re the last pair standing. I’ve only just realised, the place is virtually empty. Where are Jack and Jasmine, where’s Eddie?”

“Home in bed I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Well that’s where I need to be. I’m whacked!”

“Well you must have enjoyed yourself not to have noticed we’re the last couple here.”

Khatia struggled to her aching feet and nodded towards the door.

“Home you crazy bitch. Haven’t you had enough?”

“Of you my lady I could never have enough. Have you enjoyed tonight?”

Khatia sighed, smiled and suddenly found herself stealing a kiss. It started as a tentative meeting of lips then quickly ascended into a meeting of souls as lips and tongues struggled eagerly to become as one. Eventually Bennie felt a slight tap on her shoulder. She turned to meet a bleary-eyed doorman.

“It’s closing time girls. It’s nearly seven.”

“Yes, we’re on our way home now.” Bennie replied as she wrapped her arm around Khatia’s waist and they limped painfully the few metres to her flat on Sachman Street.

The instant they entered the apartment, Khatia flung herself on her bed and within seconds she was asleep. Bennie removed her boots, checked that her feet weren’t bleeding, then pulled the duvet over her. Khatia knew little else until she woke in the early afternoon. The flat was silent and she decided to look in on the strange person who had given her such a fantastic time. She found Bennie still fast asleep with her long blond hair fanned out on the pillow. She debated taking a peep under the duvet to see if Bennie really was a boy then she desisted. It would have been a breach of trust every bit as unfair as Bennie sneaking into her bed.

For Khatia the nicest thing was not feeling threatened or scared. Here she was, waking up in a boy’s apartment and not having been touched or offended. Instead she made a cup of tea and gently woke her newfound friend with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Mmm. What time is it?” Bennie murmured.

“Nearly one o’clock.”

Bennie sprang awake and dashed to the shower. She emerged and started dressing immediately. Khatia watched as Bennie chose a very reserved and sombre outfit. A smart silk, grey suite with a matching dove-grey blouse. Grey tights, grey shoes and a contrasting black and grey handbag. Bennie looked every inch the executive. Once she was dressed she asked Khatia.

“Oh, d’you fancy Sunday lunch across the block? The Taj does a fabulous Indian Lunch.”

Katia wagged her head.

“Bloody hell girl, don’t you stop? Is life just one long round of parties and work with you?”

“No. If you want a quiet afternoon, you can stay in and watch the telly. I haven’t got much food in; I wasn’t planning on being in tonight.”

“Oh where are you going?”

“To work. Part of my job is that I have an appointment every month. It’s very private. It’s to do with my transgenderism and other stuff. I sometimes see my dad but it’s strictly private and I won’t brook any questions about it.”

“Oh. So you won’t be here tonight.”

“No. That’s why I usually have lunch at The Taj then go to work. Duty calls I’m afraid.”

“Are you a spy or something?”

“What did I just say? No questions.”

“Sorry.”

“Look Khatia. One thing you’ll have to learn is that I have secrets. They’re not state secrets but they are very private and very personal. They’re important to me. If you are even considering having a relationship then you won’t ever delve into my secret life. I won’t tolerate it. It only impinges on my time here for a couple of days a month. That’s not much to ask is it?”

“Is it dangerous?”

“No.”

“Will it affect me; you know; the family and stuff.”

“No. It might even help you. Provided you respect my secrets yours will remain safe as well. This is as safe and secure an apartment as you could wish for.”

Khatia slowly realised, ‘Bennie was hiding from something as well!’ She asked Bennie bluntly for she had been sick of being fed lies all her life.

“Are you on the run or something?”

“No. I’ve never broken any laws. Surely the fact that I meet my daddy once a month is proof of that. The law is not looking for me.”

“But you are hiding; you’re hiding from somebody or something.”

“Yes. But my life is not in danger. Provided I remain anonymous and fairly low profile, I can live in peace.”

“So you won’t tell me.”

“No. Nobody knows me and if you don’t then I’m safe and so are you.”
Khatia decided she would go for lunch and smiled to herself as she contemplated the comment and curiosity it would cause when the waiters saw her, an Asian girl, out alone with a lesbian lover in the gay village. Then she corrected herself. Bennie was not her lover, Bennie had shown the utmost consideration and kindness, a friend in need yes, but a lover no, - well not yet anyway. This transgender boy-girl thing needed further explanation.