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"Hello," I said as I pulled the door open a little way.

My Mother paused in mid-knock and looked at me. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out as she continued to stare at me obviously shocked by my resemblance to my sister.

I opened the door a little more and feigned non-recognition of my angry looking parent and her middle aged corpulent evangelical companion.

"Hello there," said Pastor John, taking the initiative from my dumbstruck Mother.

"Can I help you?" I asked as cooly as possible without obviously giving offence.

"We're here to see Michael," said the smarmy pastor.

"Who are you then?" I asked, maintaining my frosty tone.

At last Mother found her voice, "I'm his mother and this is his pastor, who are you young lady and what are you doing in his flat?"

I hesitated for a moment, trying to think of a suitable explanation and then inspiration came, "Oh in that case you'd better come in, I'm ..Mollie, his girlfriend."

There was stunned silence as they followed me into the sitting area. I realised I needed to maintain the advantage of surprise so I waved my hand in the direction of the bags of clothes, "Sorry about the mess, I've just brought over my clothes from where I was staying before."

Mother and Pastor John sat down opposite me still obviously completely floored by this unexpected development. Their bisexual transsexual child apparently returned to the path of church sanctioned 'normality'

"You mean you're Michael's girlfriend?" squeaked Mother at last.

I smiled back at her as neutrally as possible to hide my feelings of nausea at being in their bigoted presence, "I did say that didn't I?"

"But I don't understand, he said he was sinning against nature, how can he have a girlfriend?" asked Mother.

"Sorry? What did you say? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about?”

They looked at each other in surprise and then Pastor John attempted an explanation, “Well..what Mrs Thomas meant was we are concerned about....well you could call it his lifestyle choices.”

I paused for a few seconds with my reply. It was a bit of a shock, after everything else, to be confronted with their ignorance and bigotry. I fought to suppress my anger and my desire to scream at them to get out of my flat. I took a slow deep breath and then responded in a measured tone, “I hope you’re not implying there is something wrong with my being his girlfriend.”

The pair exchanged glances before my Mother replied, “No, no, not at all, although since we know nothing about you. Since Michael has never mentioned you, well..I don’t really know what to think.”

“I guess you’ll have to talk to him about it then,” I said trying to avoid any further discussion, “would you like a coffee or something. I'm not sure when he’ll be back."

"Thank you Mollie," responded Pastor John as he very obviously stared at my breasts, " A coffee would be lovely."

Mother nodded her agreement and I gratefully escaped the unpleasant company to busy myself in the kitchen area. As I prepared the drinks, making sure I made my own cup with a double dose of coffee granules, I heard the other two whispering, unfortunately loud enough for me to make out everything they were saying.

"I can't get over how much she looks like Michael's sister," whispered my Mother.

"I can't see it myself, but at least it means your son is no longer on his sinful path of deviation," replied the leering churchman.

"But if they're living together there's still the issue of unwed familiarity,"

Their conversation ceased as I turned and walked over with the drinks.

There was an uncomfortable silence between us as we all sipped. After a few minutes I asked, "Shall I phone Michael, he didn't tell me you were coming?"

"It's OK, dear, it was supposed to be a surprise," responded Mother with a cold smile, "we'll wait."

There was a silence as the three of us took sips from our drinks.

"So tell us a little about yourself Mollie," said my Mother.

I hesitated before replying, "Umm, what would you like to know?"

She stared at me strangely, "Well the usual I expect, where are you from, when did you meet Michael and are you a chaste person."

I thought for a second or two, "It isn't really any of your business whether I am chaste or not but as it happens Michael and myself have no intention of having a physical relationship at the moment."

I paused for the words I had chosen carefully to be misinterpreted by the religious pair. There was a noticeable relaxation in their attitude as I apparently conformed to another one of their tests of acceptance. I then continued with a genuine sounding background based on one of my friends from the Way Out Club.

After about ten minutes of fabricating a hopefully consistent history I became tired of the increasingly probing questions and excused myself to hang up my newly acquired wardrobe.

As I carefully emptied the bags and put Liz’s designer clothes away I considered my options. I really wanted to try on some of my new outfits and see how they complemented my new completely female body. I also needed to have a long discussion with Liz about how I was going to somehow explain these drastic changes to my employers. More immediately I wanted to get rid of the obnoxious pair sitting on my sofa.

Suddenly I had an idea. I dialled Liz’s number.

"Hi Mollie, what’s up I’m a little busy now"

"Liz I’ve got a little problem, can you send me a text in ten minutes"

"What’s happened"

"Don’t worry I can sort it out and I’ll tell you later, I just need to receive a text in a few minutes"

"You sure you’re OK?"

"I’m fine, just send me the text, OK?"

"OK, talk later, kisses."

I disconnected, smoothed down my skirt, adjusted my bra and my tank, gave my hair a quick brush and then ventured back into the living room and the unpleasant company there.

Fifteen minutes later with the conversation lagging, as I feigned interest in my formerly estranged sister and her family, I had all but given up hope of rescue from my mental torment when at last the brief Marimba phrase sounded from my iPhone. I excused myself and checked the message.

'Sorry Moll, got held up, ring me xx'

I took my time looking at the phone, trying to give the impression that the message was longer and more detailed than the reality.

I looked up and tried to effect a little concern in my voice, "Sorry, that was Michael, I've got to go, he's got a problem at the lab."

"We'll come with you then?" said Pastor John, enquiringly.

"I'm so sorry, it's a restricted facility, you won't be able to go in." I responded firmly.

"In that case we'll be happy to wait here until you come back," countered my Mother.

"I really don't know how long we'll be, I'm so sorry, but we could be there till late or even all night. He told me this morning that there could be a problem with his latest experiment," I responded as forcefully as possible.

Pastor John looked at Mother who shook her head before replying, "Listen, Mollie we are very keen to see my son today, so if it's all the same to you we'd like to wait as long as it takes."

I felt a little bile in my throat as I realised my careful plan, to rid myself of the unwanted ‘pleasure’ of my Mother's company, was rapidly unravelling. I searched in my mind for a way round my dilemma. There was only one other option. I would have to kick them out now, as politely as possible.

I stood up to add a little emphasis to what I needed to say, "I am really sorry but I will have to insist on you leaving. The college authorities are very insistent on tenants supervising any visitors to their flats, in fact it's a condition of staying here. So if you don't mind, I have to change and go to see Michael as soon as possible."

I quickly walked over to the door and opened it and then continued, "I'll tell him you called and get him to phone you, he does have your number, doesn't he?"

Mother and Pastor John reluctantly got up from the sofa and made their way towards me.

"If you could find me a piece of paper," said Mother pausing by the door, "I'll write it down, in case he's forgotten, it's been such a long time, he never seems to make much effort about contact."

I fumed at my Mother’s distortion of the reality of our estrangement as I handed her an old envelope from the shelf by the front door along with a pen. She scribbled down the number I knew only too well before shoving it back in my hand. After one final exhortation for me to remind her son to contact her they left the flat and made their way down the stairs.

I watched them until they disappeared from sight and then closed the door. I stood with my hand resting on the door, for a few moments, breathing slowly to release the tension. Then I turned and made my way back into the living area and flopped on the sofa. The painful bouncing of my new breasts, as I fell back on the cushions, reminded me of the drastic nature of the changes to my body and the need to change some of my basic habits.

I lay there for for a few minutes thinking about the last time I’d seen my Mother, when she’d more or less told me never to darken their door ever again. I smiled thinking about the effectiveness of my deception. If she and her religious zealot companion knew about the source of my physical changes they wouldn’t just be accusing me of sinful lifestyle choices they’d be collecting the wooden faggots and piling them in the village square.

I shivered at the distasteful image and sat up having resolved a course of action.

Fifteen minutes later I reached the entrance to Warren Street underground station. I’d quickly grabbed a shoulder bag, put on one of Liz’s leather jackets and left my flat not wanting to stay there a moment longer in case my unpleasant guests returned.

It had been such a sense of freedom to start walking down the street as a woman without worrying about passing, or as more often in my previous body, not passing. I’d noticed some fellow pedestrians looking at me longer than necessary while passing, which I’d found disconcerting. But at least the glances were no longer thinly disguised disgust.

I stepped into the station, grateful for the relief from the keen Autumn wind, and took out my phone. Liz answered after three rings.

"So what was that about?" she asked.

I quickly explained about the visit.

"Are you OK now?"

"I’m fine but can we meet I’ve been thinking about everything that’s happened."

"Well, I’m a bit tied up, you know with the new collection and...."

I interrupted her, "Listen, Liz, what if I change back?"

There was a pause for a few seconds.

"Are you still there?" I asked.

"Oh my god, I never considered that, OK Moll, I’ll be there as soon as I can, where’ll you be in about an hour?"

"How about M and S, the café?"

"OK, see you there."

I replaced the phone in my bag, bought a ticket and walked down to the Victoria Line southbound platform. As usual it was busy even though it was still early in the afternoon, hours before the manic rush hour. A train came in five minutes and I managed to get one of the last seats for the short journey to Oxford Circus.

I looked around the carriage. It was the usual mixture of young and old, tourist and resident, male and female. I noticed an attractive young man, standing by the doors, looking at me. I caught his gaze and he averted his eyes. I felt somehow flattered by the interest, a strange, unsettling but pleasant feeling.

The slight smile that appeared on my lips was wiped away a second later as I noticed another much older man, who was sitting opposite me, almost drooling at the mouth as he stared at my breasts.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me, stood up and manoeuvred through the crowded space towards the door so that I could turn my back towards him. Even then I imagined his eyes boring into me, exposing my body for his distasteful pleasures.

Less than a minute later I was grateful when the train slowed as it reached Oxford Circus. The doors opened and I was swept out with the exiting throng. I resisted the temptation for a final view of my elderly ‘admirer’ and walked straight ahead along platform and then up the escalators.

Ten minutes later I was sitting down in the cafe with a steaming, luxury hot chocolate warming my cold hands.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse since I’d left the flat and the walk from the tube station had been in the face of a cold easterly wind. It looked like it was going to rain later and I now regretted not having brought a coat with me. I’d decided to treat myself before doing a bit of shopping while I waited for Liz.

As I took my first sips of the sweet, hot, reviving liquid I took out my phone. I’d heard the alert on Oxford Street but hadn’t wanted to stop to read it while I was walking.

I read the message from Fiona, thanking me for my earlier text when I’d reassured her of my safety. She also reminded me of our ‘date’ later on.

I considered whether to continue with the arrangement. On the one hand I really wanted to see her again. On the other hand I wondered whether she would really be as accepting about my changes as Liz had.

After a couple of minutes of indecision, I typed my reply.

‘See you later, Fiona, please don’t be surprised by how I look xx’

When I’d finished I put my phone in my bag, muttering, “In for a penny.”

“Sorry were you talking to me?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

I looked up to see a very attractive man sitting on the armchair opposite to mine. He looked like he was in his late twenties and was wearing an extremely smart expensive looking suit.

“I’m so sorry, just talking to myself, first sign of madness and all that,” I explained.

He smiled before responding, “I’ve heard people say that but they’re wrong in every way.”

“How?” I responded feeling intrigued by his definite opinion.

“It’s actually a sign of someone being self aware and seeking insight into their actions. A proof of humanity if you like,” the stranger explained, leaning forwards in his chair.

I sipped a little more of my chocolate while I considered how to reply.

“Well, thanks, it’s nice to be told something good about myself.”

“You’re welcome, I’m Phil by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.

I touched his hand briefly with my own, “Mollie.”

He smiled again before continuing in his confident masculine voice, “An unusual name and from your accent I bet you’re not from London.”

I was beginning to feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an approaching car. This unexpected attention was very disconcerting while at the same time strangely pleasurable. I felt parts of my body beginning to respond to the close presence of this handsome man.

“I’m from Wales,” I replied, a little timidly, “and you?”

“A native of the big city. North London, do you know Haringey?”

I nodded.

“I was brought up in a place called Crouch End. We used to go on holiday in Wales quite often, where are you from?”

I explained about coming from Cardiff and we talked about parts of Wales we’d both visited. Phil told me he was a senior civil servant at the Department of Culture. He was very surprised when I told him I was a PhD student in experimental and theoretical particle physics.

I was enjoying our conversation so much that I almost jumped out of my seat at the sound of a text message. I glanced at my phone and read Liz’s message.

‘Leaving now c u in 15 xx’

“I’m sorry Phil, I’ve got to go now,” I said regretfully, “that was my friend, I’m meeting her in a few minutes.”

I felt his hand gently touch my arm. It made me feel tingly inside.

“I’m sorry too, Mollie. I’d really like to see you again. Perhaps you’d let me take you out to dinner?”

I surprised myself with my answer, “Yes, I’d really like that.”

He took my number and promised to ring me later. I walked away with my head in the clouds after a final touch of hands in farewell.

Five minutes later still in a semi dreamlike state I put my collection of new bras on the counter of the checkout.

The assistant rang up my purchases and I handed over my debit card.

She looked at the card and checked before looking back at me.

“I’m sorry Miss, you don’t look much like a Michael”

I felt like the ground was opening up underneath me. I was snapped back into reality but was too stunned to do or say anything.

For what seemed an age, but was only a few seconds, I stood and stared back at her. She moved her head slightly and nodded.

The next thing I felt was a firm hand on my shoulder and an assertive voice saying, “Excuse me Miss would you mind accompanying me to the Manager’s office.”

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To Be Continued