I made a mental note to drop in later in the week as I made my slightly meandering way down the road towards Sally and Siobhan's.

-oOo-

I arrived at Sally and Siobhan's about ten minutes early, but they didn't seem to mind. I had stopped at my flat on the way to pick up the clothes they'd lent me, and at a local florists to buy some flowers by way of saying thank you and sorry.

“I also have a confession to make.” I pulled a pair of slightly worse for wear shoes out of the bag. ”All that walking last night pretty much wrecked them I'm afraid”.

“I wouldn't worry Jerry,” Siobhan said. “I didn't wear them that much anyway. Why don't you hang on to them for now. They're probably more use to you than they are to me.”

I wasn't sure if I believed her completely.

“You should hang on to the clothes as well,” Sally chipped in. “As I said yesterday, we only keep those things to warn us of the dangers of the dark chocolate side.”

“Yeah, we'd rather they got used, and if they're any good to you, we have a few other things you might be interested in.” There was the old genuine Siobhan. I decided not to comment further on the shoes.

Ruth arrived fifteen minutes later, by which time the bedroom looked like a bomb site. The bed was elbow deep in skirts, tops and dresses, all of which I had been squeezed into, and most of which had been put to one side for me to take away. There was also a fair selection of underwear and a few pairs of tights just to get me started.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, looking from the pile of clothes to my somewhat shell-shocked expression.

“Does this mean we don't have to go shopping?” I asked hopefully.

“Oh, no,” Sally piped up, “you don't get out of it that easily. This is a good start, but you need some new clothes as well, plus you don't have any shoes or accessories, or makeup for that matter. Nope, we still have a lot to do, and we're going to have to get started if we want to be done in time to go out tonight.”

I was bustled into the bathroom with instructions to wet my hair. Most of my curls had come out overnight, with the remainder succumbing to a concerted attack from my comb. Wetting my hair allowed Sally to put some style back into it.

The fashion parade hadn't been a waste of time either, as it had allowed Sally and Shiv to pick out the right outfit for our little excursion. Not wanting to damage another pair of shoes, they had settled on a light turquoise summer dress that matched the ones I'd been wearing pretty well. It was a little longer than the previous night's dress — for which I was grateful — but it was sleeveless, and my arms, whilst not overly developed, were still rather more manly than I felt comfortable putting on display. Fortunately it was a little chilly out, so I was able to hide them under thin, white cable knit cardigan.

Sally encouraged me to have a go at doing my own makeup, but after two bodged attempts, she took over and made it look easy. There was less to it for the normal daytime look, but the effect was just as marked. With my hair in wavy curls again and just a light make over, I was finding it just as hard to see the me I was used to seeing.

After the previous night's adventures, I hadn't been sure if I wanted to dress up again so soon — not and appear in public in any case — but sitting at the dressing table and seeing the girl in me look back through the mirror once more filled me with an exquisite sensation — one part fear, two parts excitement, three parts unmitigated delight. I looked amazing, and felt it.

Sally looked over my shoulder at my reflection in the mirror. “Perfect,” she said. “Now what are we going to call you? I mean you don't look like a Geraldine to me.”

God no. Dawn French in a dog collar³? Definitely not me, even if I did have the girth to match. There was one name. One of my mother's unsubtle and equally unsuccessful attempts to draw me out. 'I always wanted a daughter, you know?' she'd said to me once. 'If you'd been a girl, we'd have called you...'

“Jennifer.” It came out in a whisper. I tried on the name for the first time and it fit like an old pair of shoes. Comfortable and... right.

“Jennifer. Jenny. Jen. Yeah, that works, I can see you as a Jenny.” Sally was ever the bubbly enthusiastic one of our group, but the others were nodding their approval. She grabbed my hands and hauled me to my feet. “Come on. You're ready, and we have tons to do.”

Siobhan tucked my wallet, keys and phone into a white handbag and offered it to me. The panic must have show in my face because she smiled encouragingly at me.

“You know you've nothing to worry about, don't you?” she asked. “You look amazing, and whatever happens, we'll look after you.”

Despite my misgivings, I let them lead me out of their flat. Sally and Siobhan linked arms on either side of me and chatted away as we walked down the road to their car. Ruth followed with a bemused and slightly amused expression on her face.

The first stop was Siobhan's shoe man. He owned a little shop out in the sticks with a large sign over the door which read, 'Magnaped — Making big feet beautiful.' A bell rang as we stepped through the door and a small, unassuming man, dressed in overalls and smelling faintly of solvent appeared from the back.

“And how may I help you lovely ladies?” He spoke with a northern accent I couldn't quite place.

“Hi Mike,” Siobhan stepped forward. “My friend Jenny needs your help.”

“Of course, madam, would you sit here please?” He indicated a low chair with a measuring stool beside it.

I sat and let him take my foot in his. He tutted sadly as he looked at the state of the shoes I was wearing, and I wondered if he might have supplied them.

It felt odd, having my stockinged feet manipulated by this man's gently fingers, and if he suspected me of being other than I appeared, he made a heroic effort to conceal it. I blushed furiously as his deft measurements showed me to be a size ten.

“Please, there's no need to be embarrassed,” he soothed me gently. “You'd be surprised at how many women have large feet. Enough, as you can see, for me to make an honest living out of it. Now what are you looking for?”

I hadn't thought about it, and my blush deepened as I looked at Siobhan for help.

“I was thinking a pair of those black pumps you sold me last month, you know the three inch heels? And maybe a lower pump in white, a pair of wedges, if you have any more of these sling-backs in the same colour, but the right size of course, and those burgundy t-straps you showed me and a pair of those silver strappy sandals. And anything else you think might look good.”

Mike disappeared out the back and I looked up at Siobhan furiously. “What are you doing,” I hissed. “There's no way I can afford all of that, especially if they're hand made. They are , aren't they?”

“No they're not, at least not in this country. They come from somewhere in the far east, and they're quite reasonably priced. Chill out, Jen. Just because you're trying them on doesn't mean you have to buy them. Come on, live a little. Relax and enjoy yourself.”

“But what if he figures out I'm a...” I couldn't bring myself to finish.

“I hate to burst your bubble, but I suspect he knows already.” She sat down beside me and put an arm around my shoulder. “I would guess most of his regular clients are people like you. Don't worry, he's discrete.”

He was too. I wobbled on the three inch heels so much he offered his arm to steady me. I tried on pair of shoes after pair of shoes, until I was convinced I had tried everything in the shop, including a gorgeous pair of boots that would have cost more than a month's rent. After what was only one hour, but seemed more like a week, I had selected, with the girls' help of course, four pairs of shoes. It would have been five had Siobhan had her way with the wedges. They were comfortable enough, but I've never much liked them as a design so I put my foot down.

Sorry, no pun intended.

In fact, all the shoes I tried on in the shop were so much more comfortable than any women's shoe I'd worn before — largely because they actually fit me properly. I handed my credit card over to pay for them, wondering how I was going to feed myself over the next few weeks. Fortunately the card only showed my first initial, not that Mike would have batted an eyelid if it had been otherwise.

Once the damage had been done, I held up the pair of shoes I had worn into the shop.

“Can you do anything with these?” I asked. “Siobhan lent them to me the other day, and I'm feeling rather guilty about ruining them.” All the more so now that I had just paid for a similar pair in my own size and knew how much they cost.

He gave them a once over. “Leave them with me,” he said. “I might be able to rescue them.”

We retreated to the car and headed on to the next stop. I was so busy marvelling at how comfortable a pair of heels could be — compared with what I was used to — that I didn't realise where the girls were taking me. I looked up as we pulled into the car park of a large shopping centre and had yet another fit of paralysing terror.

“No.” I said emphatically. “No way. A small shop in the middle of nowhere maybe, but I am not ready to face a crowd.”

I might have been talking to the wind for all the effect it had - irresistible force met disappointingly easily moveable object. Before I could raise any further objections, we were through the main entrance and meandering from one shop to the next. Of course, once I managed to overcome my initial panic I really began to enjoy myself. Same as the previous night, none of the people we passed gave so much as a passing look in our direction. All my fears of showing up on someone's weirdo detector amounted to nothing, and I started to relax and join in. There were a couple of times I thought I recognised someone in the crowd — I mean just because we were away from our neighbourhood didn't mean we hadn't strayed into the territory of someone else I knew. Each time it turned out to be a false alarm though, and after half an hour I stopped jumping at shadows.

I won't bore you with the details, except to say the whole experience involved a lot of frills and lace. Again it seemed like I had to try on everything in sight, and again I spent so much money my credit card had friction burns.

Utterly incapable of saying no to my companions, I ended up with a couple of holes in my ears — plugged with a two delightfully sparkly cubic zirconium studs — and more new clothes than you could shake a stick at, including a heart meltingly gorgeous dress that might have bankrupted me completely had Sally not been friends with one of the shop assistants and persuaded her to wangle a staff discount. I wasn't the only one spending money, but I was definitely way out in the lead. It was a kind of madness, but I was an all too willing participant now that I had stumbled into this new and undiscovered country.

We shopped ourselves out and made our way to a café at the back of one of the bigger department stores. More comfortable shoes or no, my dogs were barking¹ as we sat down, and I let the others order for me. I mean, hell, they'd pretty much taken over making decisions for me today as it was. Not that I minded. Much.

Chicken salad and a cup of coffee. Not much of a last proper meal for a person condemned to abject poverty and a diet of bread and water for the next month. I thought about the cheese burger and fries I would have ordered under normal circumstances and realised I didn't want that either.

“Penny for them?” Ruth had been kind of quiet all afternoon — probably blown away by the monster she had unleashed — but now that we had reached a pause, she responded to my pensive expression.

I smiled, more bravado than anything. “I was wondering how wise it was to buy all this stuff given that on the diet I'll be able to afford, I'm likely to drop a couple of dress sizes by next month.”

“Yeah, I thought you were spending a bit freely. I should have said something — reined these two in a bit. I'm sorry.”

The other two looked more than a little guilty. “I guess we got carried away, Jen,” Sally said. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I should think so. I mean I've got a long way to go before I starve, don't you think?”

“Actually,” Siobhan said, “I think it's up to us to fix this. How do you feel about eating with us for the next few weeks? Until you pay off your card? I mean we're going to be cooking whatever happens, and one or two more mouths to feed isn't going to make much difference.”

“One condition though,” Sally chimed in. “It's Jenny we're inviting, not Jerry. You're so much more fun this way. I mean I'm really fond of Jerry and all, but he was kind of hard work at times.”

“What do you say?” Shiv asked. “How about you too, Ruth? The more the merrier.”

“Wow, I have no idea how to respond.” I didn't either. A month of Sally and Siobhan's cooking was as tempting as it was generous.

“Then say yes,” Sally said, more an order than a suggestion. “You too Ruthie, I mean four's a more manageable number.”

I looked across at Ruth, unsure just how much contact she'd want with me after yesterday's histrionics. She shrugged so I nodded.

“Okay, but you have to let me provide the coffee.”

Ruth's eyes lit up. “Yeah, I'll second that. Make it a second condition in fact.”

Sally and Siobhan exchanged glances and shrugs. “Deal then. Starting Monday, we'll expect the two of you round at the flat sometime after six. We usually eat around seven, so if you're going to be later let us know, yeah? And just so we're sure, it has to be you Jenny, not that Jeremy bloke, okay?”

I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I mean sure, wanting to dress as a girl, wanting to be a girl, wanting to be accepted as a girl had been something I'd yearned after so much for so long that it had driven me to the point of self destruction, but now that I had it, it was almost as though I didn't want it anymore.

No that's not quite right. I knew that if I stopped dressing, suppressed all my feminine desires again, I'd end up back in the same old depressive state. The thing is, now that I'd arrived where I'd always thought I wanted to be, I realised that I'd left a part of me behind, back where I'd started. I belonged somewhere in the middle.

Still, early days yet. I had to be back at work on Monday morning, back in that hideous polyester uniform doing menial work for menial rewards. I wasn't looking forward to it, but it would give me an excuse to climb back into Jerry mode for a few uninterrupted hours. Perhaps that would be enough. Perhaps the Princess Fiona solution would work for me — by night one way, by day another. Who knows, maybe true love's kiss would set me into my true form if ever I was lucky enough to find it.

I took another dainty bite of the chicken salad. It tasted surprisingly good and, eaten slowly as I was doing, it actually filled me up so well that I couldn't quite finish it. Now that was a first for me.

“Come on,” Ruth said, speaking up in earnest for pretty much the first time all afternoon. “If we're going to get to the club at a respectable hour, we're going to have to head home sometime soon.”

No-one argued, so we stacked our trays and headed back to the car.

-oOo-

I felt like the kid who had spent all December desperately wanting that perfect present, only to find, on Christmas day, that it wasn't all I'd hoped.

Sally had helped with my makeup again. I was festooned with borrowed jewellery and steeped in perfume, standing in front of the girls' bedroom mirror in my very expensive and thoroughly stunning party dress. I looked fantastic and I guess I still felt good, but the desire to look like this had receded. My earlier delight in being so transformed was diminished and had been replaced with mounting concerns of being discovered, and worry over what others would think of me when they did. Despite my success that afternoon, The previous night had come too close to going very badly wrong. What people thought of me mattered and, although this may have been closer to how I saw myself, it was still a giant stride away from the manner in which most people knew and accepted me.

I was less worried about Sally, Shiv and Ruth — they all seemed to accept me as just another one of the girls — but what about everyone else we were going to meet? All it would take was the wrong person in the wrong place and I could be up to my neck in shit. I hated to think what would happen if news of me wearing a dress made it back to my place of work. My landlord, too, would almost certainly take exception to what he would see as a pervert living in his property, and I couldn't afford any of the other flats in the neighbourhood. Was this all worth it?

It was out of my hands though. I was filled with conflicting emotions, and unable to find the courage or the will to speak out. The Juggernaut was moving, and all I could do was hope to avoid its wheels as it rolled inexorably forward.

Sally and Siobhan both fussed about me, complimenting me on my choice of styles, and that odd look was back in Ruth's eyes. When I offered her a shy and uncertain smile, she turned away, making as if she hadn't been looking.

I took a last, long look in the mirror and managed to convince myself that, even if I met someone I knew, they wouldn't be able to see Jerry through the war paint — not that anyone I knew was likely to be heading for our destination. I threw a metaphorical blanket over my stomach full of butterflies and joined the girls on their way out to the car. Parking was always difficult in this part of town, and we had a couple of hundred yards walk to get to our carriage, during which time we passed half a dozen people, none of whom gave us more than a passing glance. I began to relax as we all squeezed into the car.

It was Sally's vehicle, and she insisted on sharing the front seats with her dearly beloved. That meant that Ruth and I had to clamber into the back — a tricky enough manoeuvre in a dress and heels when you're not used to them, and almost impossible to do elegantly. It was a small car too, which meant that with my bulk, I ended up squashing Ruth into a corner. She seemed to be trying to avoid contact with me, which hurt my feelings a little, but I had to accept that I'd put a lot of strain on our friendship recently, and shuffled over to give her as much space as possible. She'd been a bit standoffish all afternoon, but now her attitude seemed magnified somehow.

The ride to the club was awkward, but fortunately short. Sally found a parking spot surprisingly easily and we all piled out. There wasn't much of a queue outside the club, but that was only because most people seemed already to have arrived. Inside it was packed and heaving with gyrating bodies.

Ruth managed to ease her way through the crowd and find a table in a quiet corner where we set up camp. No sooner had we sat down than she was off again, heading for the bar to fill our standing drinks order. No need to ask, we all knew each others drink of choice through long association.

In the time it took her to fight her way there and back again, tray in hand, Sally and Siobhan had disappeared out onto the dance floor, leaving me to watch the handbags, and I'd been approached by three different women offering to buy me a drink.

The others had advised me to be open and honest about myself, so I told them straight out that I was transgendered. The first two had looked at me as though I'd dropped a turd in their drinks, demonstrating clearly that every group has its bigots. The third sat down beside me, devouring me with her eyes in a decidedly predatory manner.

“Yeah, but don't you make the most gorgeous girl? That dress looks just fantastic on you.”

I backed away into the corner of the booth, and she slid into the space, smiling her hunter's smile.

“Oh come on, don't be shy. Let me buy you a drink.”

“I, I already have one coming thanks,” I stammered. Looking around wildly for an escape route, but I'd trapped myself quite successfully.

Fortunately Ruth turned up at that moment, putting the tray down loudly enough to be noticed.

“Hello Jane. How are things?” There was a dangerous undercurrent to her voice, unspoken feelings growling a warning.

“Oh hi Ruth. Is this one yours? She's kind of cute.”

“She's a friend, and not ready for the likes of you just yet.” Her tone was like a steel bar wrapped up in a fluffy blanket.

Jane's face set in a mask of forced friendliness. “Well, I look forward to when she is. I'll leave you two alone shall I?”

She slid out of the seat and slinked off into the crowd with feline grace and arrogance.

Ruth sat opposite me and cocked her head to one side. “You okay?” she asked. “Jane's alright really, but she does come on a bit strong and you have to have your wits about you. Not recommended for a first night out in this place.”

“No, I agree.” I took a deep breath followed by a long swig of my vodka orange. “Thanks, I really had no idea what to do.”

She shook her head. “You do know that you're about twice her size, don't you? You could have easily held her off.”

No I couldn't. Whatever I might have been on the outside, my insides were just so much jelly. If Jane had forced herself on me, I wouldn't have had the will to resist. It was the oddest feeling, and one I knew Ruth would struggle to understand.

“So, if not Jane, then who?” I asked, trying to change the subject. After last night, Ruth had left me with no doubt that she wasn't interested in me, so this was me trying to get past that, or at least show her that I was trying. I mean my preference was to be asked rather than do the asking, especially since I wasn't run of the mill clientá¨le here, but if she pointed out someone I liked, there were always ways I could arrange to be noticed.

She gave me an unreadable look for a long moment, then turned to the crowd. For a few moments we surveyed the room together, then I noticed something. Looked closer. It couldn't be, could it?

“Bugger me.” I stood up from our booth and headed to the far side of the dance floor where two women, one petite, the other very large, were dancing together.

The tall girl was swirling and twirling, long hair flying everywhere. She had on a summer dress with thin shoulder straps that showed off large muscular arms, covered in tattoos. I hadn't sure from the other side of the room, but then she caught me looking at her and stopped dead, the colour draining from her face.

“Oh fuck.”

It wasn't the most ladylike comment, nor was the voice particularly feminine. The small woman with her spun around, eyes wild with alarm.

“Hey Michelle,” I said. “Who's you're friend?” I knew it was Gary, but I figured on an unspoken convention. I mean I was using a different name so why not him? Her?

Gary was quicker on the uptake than his wife, and quicker to recover from the shock.

“Never bothered with a girl name,” he yelled at me over the music. “Not much point given what I've got to work with. How come we've not seen you down here before?”

“My first time.” Conversation was all but impossible with the music blaring and thumping in our ears. One of the reasons I never usually bothered with clubs. “Came with friends. We have a table over there if you fancy joining us.”

I pointed out the table where Ruth was sitting watching me. Gary nodded.

“Be over in a minute. Ready for a rest. Dancing in heels is a fucking bitch.”

I nodded back at him, despite having no personal experience, and made my way back to an impatiently fidgeting Ruth.

“Who's that?” she asked. There was something remarkable about the acoustics of the club that the music should be so deafening on the dance floor, yet little more than background here.

“That's the pub landlord who helped me out the other night, and his wife. I invited them over.”

“He seems a bit... unconventional.”

“You work with what you've got. I thought I was badly off. He doesn't look the type does he, but then what makes the type? If it's in you, you have to let it out somehow.”

“I suppose. Do you know what they drink?”

“Gary was on pints down at the pub. Not sure if being here will be different for him. I don't know about Michelle.”

That was as much as we had time for. Gary and Michelle made their way through to where we were sitting and I made introductions.

“Gary, Michelle, this is my friend Ruth. There are two more of us out dancing, but you'll meet them later.”

Hands were shaken, then Ruth offered to buy drinks. Mine was getting low too, so she asked if I wanted a top up. Skint as I was, I accepted gratefully, resolving to pay her back in the future. Ruth headed barward, and Gary and Michelle sat down, Gary with a great sigh of relief. Why someone who was six foot plus would want to wear three inch heels was beyond me, as was how such flimsy footwear could support his bulk.

“That's better,” he said, slipping his shoes off and wiggling his nylon clad toes. “So what do you think of the place?”

“Don't tell me this is yours as well.”

“No, no. Strictly a punter tonight. Just curious to hear your take is all.”

“It's alright, I suppose. I've never been too keen on nightclubs, but at least this one has quiet spots where a person can talk normally.”

There was a nervousness about him, like he was skirting around the subject he really wanted to talk about but didn't know how to start. I made an intuitive guess.

“I'm not going to say anything to anyone Gary, and neither are my friends. I know you probably wouldn't expect me to — I mean I owe you big for looking after me the other night — but just so that it's said and you know, I wouldn't say anything to cause you trouble.”

His shoulders drooped in unconscious relief, and even Shelly sighed out the breath she'd been holding.

Sally and Shiv joined us shortly after, prompting a new round of introductions and noises of gratitude from the girls for Gary's heroism (heroinism?) then Ruth turned up with the drinks and we settled in for a gabfest. I pinky-swore everyone to secrecy regarding Gary's alter-ego which, despite the ridiculous adolescent ritual, everyone took with appropriate seriousness.

All of a sudden I wasn't the ugliest ducking in the room, and I found myself oddly becoming just another one of the girls, being kind and supportive to Gary in his awkwardness. It struck me that part of me had still thought the way my friends treated me was a sort of condescension, but now that I had joined them in encouraging Gary, I realised they just felt the same eagerness to be kind to a friend, to draw out the person inside and help her feel accepted and loved.

It's an odd word, love. It doesn't just apply to that hot, steamy, under the blankets kind of feeling. Quite apart from love between lovers, there's love within families and love between friends, and this definitely fell into the latter category. I realised that, even having met him only a couple of times, I was developing a major affection for Gary that had nothing to do with sex or physical attraction. Now I knew he was like me underneath, I wanted him to find the acceptance that my friends had shown me, to believe in himself as a worthwhile and loveable, lovely person, whether he was wearing greasy jeans or a floral print dress.

The conversation stayed pretty light, and we mixed it up between taking turns on the dance floor and sitting around getting to know each other. After all my earlier worry, it turned out to be one of the best evenings I could remember, and largely because, for the first time in I can't remember how long, I found myself wanting to give something back. This wasn't just about me, it was about us. It was about being the solution to each others problems. Sally, Shiv and especially Ruth had carried me for such a long time, and now that I was beginning to believe in myself, I wanted to give something back.

'Pay it forward,' Gary had said earlier. This was kind of paying it back because I was trying to help him, but I realised I would have wanted to do the same for anyone in his position.

The evening passed, the drinks kept coming, I felt embarrassed that I didn't have the means to buy a round, but no-one passed any comment. I felt loved and accepted, and I relished it.

Sally and Shiv were out on the dance floor for the umpteenth time when my body decided it had processed a significant proportion of the evening's fluid intake and needed its sump cleared.

“I need the loo,” I announced to the world in general.

“Yeah, me too,” Gary said, taking my hand and hauling me out of my seat so fast, I barely had time to grab my handbag. “Come on, I'll show you where they are.”

-oOo-

I wasn't present for the conversation between Michelle and Ruth, but they've both shared bits of it with me at different times. This is sort of the gist of it as far as I can piece it together.

“He's a great guy,” Michelle said into Ruth's ear. “You're lucky.”

“Who, Jerry?” Ruth looked startled. “No, it's nothing like that. He's.. We're not, not together. He's not my type.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I didn't think I was into girls at first either, but Gary really is the best of both worlds. He's kind and sensitive and empathic, and when I need him to, he can still get things off the top shelf and open jars of pickle where the lid's been glued on. And in bed, I have to tell you, there's something amazingly sensual about making love to someone wearing a satin nightdress.”

“You don't think it's a bit odd?”

“Of course it's a bit bloody odd, but not in a bad way, not really.”

“And you don't mind? I mean coming out with him looking like...”

“The Incredible Hulk in a dress you mean? No not really.”

Ruth shook her head, struggling to get her mind around the idea. Michelle thought for a moment, then tried to explain.

“Did you have a friend at school who was big boned?” Ruth nodded. Michelle continued. “For me it was a girl called Jacqueline Kachanski. Five foot thirteen was how she used to describe herself, and quite chunky with it, but she didn't have a mean bone in her body. She was a bit shy and withdrawn, but who wouldn't be under the circumstances?

“At our school leavers' do she wore this absolutely gorgeous dress. It didn't look right on her, but that didn't matter, because her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, and she had a smile on her as wide as the moon. At least she did until James Caldwell and Louis Hammond started singing the lumberjack song at her. She lasted until that line — how does it go? Oh yeah — 'I wish I was a girly, just like my dear papa', then she ran off in floods of tears.

“I spent an hour in the loos with her, cuddling and consoling her. We had a couple of bitch queens in our year who thought the whole things was hysterically funny, but apart from them, every girl at the party ganged up on James and Louis until they apologised, and I mean really apologised.

“When it came down to it, the dress design was meant for a much smaller woman, to show off her slight and slender figure to best advantage. It did the exact opposite for Jackie, but despite that it made her feel good, so what right did any of us have to take that away from her? My dad always said that the worst thing anyone can do — the most evil thing — is to deliberately undermining another person's self-respect.”

“So you're saying...”

“I'm say that I know Gary doesn't look that good in a frock. He's a big lumbering hulk of a person with muscles and tattoos and everything, but look at his face when he comes back — his eyes and his smile. There's something comes alive when he dresses up like this, and I can't think of a single reason why it would be right to take that away from him, just because I feel a little uncomfortable about it.”

“You do feel uncomfortable about it then?”

“I did, but then I figured that was more me worrying about how people might react to us rather than than there being anything particularly wrong about it. Gary wasn't bothered, so why should I be? Once you realise why you feel awkward, your whole perspective changes; you don't get so hung up on what seems wrong and you start to see all the ways it's right.”

“Like the way it makes him feel?”

“Like the way it makes him feel. He gives up a lot during the week just to appear normal to unimaginative people. It's a great feeling to know that he has times like these to help him cope. I mean can you imagine how miserable his life would be if he didn't have this outlet.”

“I don't have to,” Ruth muttered.

Michelle was about to ask, but Gary and I returned just then. I was laughing fit to burst, and if I hadn't just been to the loo, I'd have been wearing a very damp pair of knickers.

“What?” Ruth asked, smiling — catching the laughter.

“It's the loos,” I said. “You have to go look for yourself. The signs. You have the two normal ones, then there's a third with a figure holding up a dress peeing into a urinal. It's just...” I couldn't finish, I was laughing so hard.

In time I calmed down and looked up into Ruth's face. She had this curious smile playing around the corners of her mouth, and there was a softness to her eyes.

“What?” I smiled at her.

“Nothing,” she said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “It's just... I don't know, I guess I've never really seen you — I mean really seen you, you know, like this. It's like I'm actually meeting the real you for the first time.” She took a nervous sip of her drink. “Would you, er, would you like to dance?”

-oOo-

Sunday morning I woke uncharacteristically early, my mind filled with fog and questions and confusion. In just twenty-four hours and change I had gone from being a depressed loser to an outed — to my friends at least — transexual with an extensive wardrobe; I had been out en femme, I think the term is, for two evenings and an afternoon shopping spree; I had made friends with a transgendered pub landlord and I had... had I?

I climbed out of bed seeking the neural jump start from my usual morning caffeine fix, and stumbled about the kitchen on autopilot until I had a mug of steaming ambrosia in my hands. The smell of the coffee revived me and drew recent memories to the surface. Memories of slow dancing with Ruth, of kissing her.

Fuck a duckeluck!

We'd left the club in the early hours of the morning, Sally doing the designated driver bit. From Sally and Shiv's place, Ruth had walked me home and we'd kissed on my doorstep. I'd invited her in for coffee but she'd declined, begging the need for some sleep in her own bed during the weekend. She'd kissed me one more time, long, slow and oh so sweet and I'd watched from the doorway as she headed for home.

Through the booze blurred memories I saw myself undressing and hanging my clothes up neatly, skippies² into the washing basket. I'd spent fifteen minutes cleaning off the makeup, rubbing skin care products into my hands and face and brushing my teeth, then I'd headed for bed. The nightdress had beckoned from its place behind my bedroom door, but I'd had my fill of being Jenny, and I climbed under the duvet wearing nothing but my skin, slipping into unconsciousness almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

Fragmented memories floated to the surface like the last bubbles in yesterday's champagne. Sally and Siobhan announcing that they wouldn't be around tomorrow — today that is. Ruth saying that she had some work she needed to get done before Monday. Gary and Michelle keeping quiet but somehow giving the impression that they wanted some alone time. I suspected they needed to process some of the changes last night had brought. I knew sure as hell that I did.

I opened my wardrobe and looked through all the clothes the girls and I had bought the previous day. The party dress I'd worn the previous night was most prominent, and next to it a couple of Bohemian dresses. I've always liked the Bohemian style. Loose fitting enough to hide my odd shape and bulk, fussy details and patterns that made the clothes attractive regardless of who wore them. Light, floaty, frothy materials reflecting the softness I felt inside but could never quite bring to the surface. If I'd had my way, I'd have bought nothing but Bohemian styles, but fortunately for me the girls held me back and pushed me into trying a wider variety of things. Variety is the spice of life and I had a full spice rack in front of me here.

I pulled out a Bohemian maxi-dress — one hundred percent cotton, delicately patterned in greens and golds. It was soft and light in my hands. I was going to enjoy wearing it, but not today.

I hung it back up and grabbed some jeans and a tee-shirt — like I say, I was all Jenny-ed out — and noted how barely fit they were for their designated purpose. I set off in search of my ironing board and spent ten minutes making them look presentable before heading for the shower.

First thing was a shave while the mirror was still clear, and so I could sluice off any excess shaving foam when I was done. Stubbly as I was, I looked deep and still found Jennifer staring back. I mean sure, there was the hair and the nails — I'd have to do something about them both before Monday morning — but there was something else as well; something about the eyes that I didn't recognise, that looked perhaps a little less like me — the old me at least.

I finished my ablutions, dressed and headed back into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee and breakfast. I didn't feel much like my usual self-destructive cholesterol and grease and, after some rummaging, managed to dig out a dusty old packet of muesli I don't even remember buying. Despite the soggy cardboard texture and taste, I actually enjoyed it more than I usually enjoyed breakfast. I'm not sure I can put my finger on exactly what had changed, but the familiar weight that accompanied my early morning routine was conspicuous by its absence.

The flat was still a mess. Ruth had made major inroads on Friday night while she had been waiting for me to turn up, but the damage had been done over several months and demanded more time than she'd had to give in one evening.

Enough was enough. Time to stop living like, well God knows what. All the washing up had already been washed up and put away, all the dirty clothes moved to the hamper and, from there, most to the laundrette and back again. Next was clearing up all the little things — the half finished books and magazines, the CDs not in their cases, the flotsam and jetsam of every day life. It all found its way into a bin or a cupboard over the next half hour. Then followed the dusting and polishing — I surprised myself when I found I actually had a duster and polish tucked away somewhere — then the hoovering. Moving tables and chairs uncovered unmentionable horrors, some sufficiently decayed to class as biohazards and necessitate the use of rubber gloves. I even found a bottle of bleach hiding at the back of the cupboard under the kitchen sink and gave the toilet and shower a good going over.

It was nearing lunchtime when I finally declared the place done. Grubby, back-aching and worn out, I stretched and surveyed my handiwork. This was probably the first time I'd cleaned the flat since I'd moved in. Definitely in fact, given that some of the older and less savoury discoveries had been remnants, I suspected, from the previous tenants' occupancy.

Still, it felt good. Remarkably good in fact. For a moment I wondered why I'd never done this before, then I remembered that up until a day and half ago I'd not believed there was any point.

I headed for the kitchen and set up the caffeine enhancement technology for a much deserved break. With the machinery chugging and hissing in the corner, I scoured my cupboards for lunch.

There wasn't much.

I had a few TV dinners in the freezer, but they didn't appeal. The only bread I had in the place was old enough to have started growing patches of mould — less than a week, but then bread doesn't last long these days — and I had nothing to put on it in any case. I was trying to decide between dry toast and muesli when the doorbell sounded its jarring dissonance, setting my face into an involuntary spasm.

“Oh!” Ruth exclaimed gently, looking me up and down.

Memories of last night drifted into focus and I melted inside. I opened the door wide enough for her to come in.

“Excellent timing,” I told her. “I've just put the gloppitta gloppitta machine on.” It was a reference to an old, old film — How to murder your wife, I think, with Jack Lemmon — but also a pet name I used for the coffee machine.

“Yeah, great.” Ruth kept looking at me, confused. “I'd have thought, after yesterday's shopping expedition, you'd have wanted to wear something... newer.”

Ah.

I could have gone into a long explanation about how I didn't feel so bent out of shape now, how she, Sally and Siobhan's acceptance of me had left me without any pressing need to dress up. I could have talked about how I was now in danger of being twisted the other way by being Jenny too much. There were a lot of things I could have gone into, but I was tired after all the cleaning, and besides I felt a sudden urge to look pretty for Ruth.

“I was cleaning,” I said, taking the easy way out. “I didn't want to get any of my new things dirty. I'll change.”

“No it's alright,” she called after me, but I was already gone.

It didn't take me long to strip off and change into that bohemian maxi dress. What added to the time was brushing my hair into some semblance of style and adding just a touch of lipstick and eye shadow. Not too much — certainly not so much that I was in danger of going beyond my meagre skills — and ten minutes later I was back, looking and feeling prettier.

In my absence, Ruth had finished making the coffee and was seated by the the coffee table where two steaming mugs of the aforementioned sat alongside a selection of breads and spreads.

She smiled at me, but her eyes slipped away from mine. I felt my heart slowly sinking.

“It was lunchtime, and I thought you might appreciate some company and some decent food,” she said. So far so good. “Besides,” she looked around the room — anywhere but at me, “we have some things to talk about.”

I perched on the edge of the sofa, legs together, hands clasped anxiously, and looked at her, my appetite gone.

“Last night,” she continued hesitantly, “we were both kind of drunk.”

My heart sank low enough it had to decide which fork to take. 'Here it comes,' I thought.

“Listen Jerry — Jenny, I mean — we're such good friends, and I don't want to risk that friendship. Last night, after talking to Michelle, I saw something in you — something in your eyes — I've never seen before. It's there again now, kind of. I don't know how I feel about it.

“Look, I'm making a Godawful mess of this. What I'm trying to say is that I'm totally confused right now, and I don't, under any circumstances, want to hurt you. I... I think...”

I reached out and put a hand on her arm. I had to slip off the chair and kneel beside her in order to reach, but the contact was necessary. “You want to go back to being just friends and see what happens.” I managed to make my voice neutral, friendly and cheerful even, but inside I felt twisted and torn. I'd never been you're-a-wonderful-woman-butted before, and it was all the worse for being done by Ruth, but like her, I didn't want to risk our friendship either. I kept my brave face and smiled.

The old gag about getting in at two with a ten, then waking up at ten with a two echoed in the back of my mind. I'd never much cared for the way some guys talk about girls, and being the two at ten brought the sting home with extra poison.

I hid behind my coffee cup and waited for the weirdness to dissipate.

“I like that dress,” Ruth told me. “If I were ever to wear one, I think I'd choose one like that. It looks good on you.”

Scraps for the dog under the table. A way of saying sorry for having kicked it, accidentally or otherwise. Just as pathetically as the poor, proverbial mutt in question, I snapped it up and savoured it for its unsatisfyingly brief moment of flavour. “Thank you.” There was less gratitude in the words than I wanted to put there, but possibly more than was deserved.

We sat — or kneeled in my case — in awkward silence, neither of us able to think of a way through this until it occurred to me that our choices were either through or around. It was too late to go around, so... deep breath...

“We reached this point on Friday night, didn't we?” She looked up. I wasn't quite ready to meet her eyes, so I distracted myself by transferring some food onto a plate. I wasn't hungry, but it gave me something to do. I spread a bit of pá¢té on a cracker and took a delicate nibble. Not trying to be especially ladylike, but rather going through the motions of eating whilst adding as little as possible to the turbulence in my stomach. “I asked if there was any way that you could be interested in me as a girl, and you said no.”

“Yeah, but then I led you on last night. I imagine I gave you something to hope for. It was unfair of me.”

“Yes it was.” She winced, but then she deserved it didn't she? “I suppose this situation is more than a little unusual though.” My turn to feed scraps to the dog. “I'm not sure how often it might have come up in the past — whether or not a lesbian could be attracted to a transgendered person; whether the part of another person that attracts you is physical, mental or both. I guess it's just something we're going to have to work out between us.”

“You're very gracious.”

“Hardly,” I laughed a little forcedly. “As long as there's still some faint hope that something might come out of this, it's not in my best interest to alienate you is it? No,” I forestalled her interruption, “I have no expectations. Like you, I value our friendship too much to want to risk it, and I don't want to put pressure on you to decide one way or another. Just know that the window is open either way and I don't intend to press you for an answer. Not too hard anyway. A girl can only hang on without knowing for so long, but for now, don't rush it. For now let's just assume friendship, and know that I would love to love you, but it has to be a two way street for it to work. If you make up your mind that you'd like to give it a go, ask me out. If you decide otherwise, let me know.”

Enough was enough. Time to change the subject. “So what did you think of Gary and Michelle?”

A wry smile twitched into existence on Ruth's face. “They were amazing. The way he looks in a dress though. Makes me realise how good a job Sally and Shiv did on you.” I twitched a reproving eyebrow at her. “Not that you aren't much prettier than Gary.”

I didn't let her squirm too long, but allowed a smile of my own to reach my lips. “Do you think Sally and Shiv could help Gary? I mean he has a major disadvantage in his height and size, and those tattoos, but even so.”

“We could ask them tomorrow.”

“I guess so. Any chance you could give me a hand carrying my machinery over to theirs tomorrow evening? I'm going to miss having it here for the morning, but it makes more sense to keep it at their place if I'm going to be making coffees for everyone for the rest of the month.”

“You could always make it here and carry it over in a thermos.”

“Yeah, but it's not the same. You don't quite get the full experience without the smell of freshly ground beans or the sound of it doing its thing. I'll take a thermos for my early morning kick up the arse, but the equipment needs to be where it's going to be most used.”

“Fine. I'll come round about, what, sixish?”

“Six will be fine. I should be back by half five tomorrow, and it'll take me that half hour to get ready.”

She finally relaxed enough to spread some taramasalata on a piece of toast and bite into it.

“Listen,” she said, “I need to get back to work. Thanks for being so understanding, and I'll give you an answer as soon as I can.”

I smiled and turned my cheek to her as she stooped to kiss me. I would rather have had a proper kiss, but it wouldn't have seemed right under the circumstances, plus I didn't want to get used to something I might not have in the future.

Ruth gave me a quick, apologetic smile and left.

-oOo-

1. My feet were aching
2. Panties
3. Not sure if the Vicar of Dibley has made it to America. For the unenlightened it's a comedy series where the title role of Geraldine Granger is played by comedienne Dawn French — a somewhat larger than life individual in many senses of the word.