Blackmailing Biscuit
Chapter 2 of 4

© 2013 D.L.

Having come out of the toilets we headed towards our lockers to drop off our books and pick up our gym kits for the next lesson. I find a letter shoved into my locker. The catch is slightly loose, enough for the paper to be slipped in between the door and the frame. Taking hold of it with my sleeve, I picked it up and after excusing myself from the other girls, headed to the west corridor, where I knew Mr Jones was on patrol. I walked past him and winked. Seeing me holding the paper cautiously, he nodded in my direction as I passed. I continued on to the school office, and took a seat out of sight of anybody who may be watching. A minute later Mr Jones turned up.

“I take it you have another blackmail letter?” he asked. “Are you going to tell me what this is about, this time?”

“I haven’t read it yet, but I assume so,” I replied. “I hoped I wouldn’t need to do this, but it looks like I need to get this in the open.”

After speaking to the secretary, he escorted me into a side office, where we take a seat round a conference table and open the letter. Mr Faraday joined us a few moments later.

“Janice said I was needed, what’s going on?” Mr Faraday asked as he entered and took a seat. A worried look came to his face when he saw it’s me sat in the room.

“Somebody is trying to use blackmail to affect the outcome of the student elections. Nathan here is the favourite candidate of my class, and has been receiving notes,” Mr Jones explained. “He came to me yesterday and told me that he had received a letter instructing him to pull out. He wouldn’t say what it said, but told me to be on the lookout for any weird rumours.”

“Is this connected to your medical status?” Mr Faraday enquired, being careful to word the question vaguely.

I unfold the paper and lay it on the table for the teachers to see. The printout from a colour inkjet printer contains a photo of me from last summer, when I was dressed in a pale yellow sundress. I have matching yellow ribbon in my hair tying my long brown hair up in a high ponytail. I grew my hair as long as I could get away with during term, then had extensions sewn in until I needed to return to school. I spent the summer staying with my grandmother, who lives a couple of hours away, experimenting with being a girl.

Underneath the photo is a message, “Drop out of the elections, or this goes public. You have until noon to publicly announce withdrawal. You failed to heed my previous warning, so I hope you enjoy the guess the student competition this afternoon.”

Both teachers examine the note as I state, “Yes, this is directly connected to being transgendered.”

For the benefit of my form tutor, who had yet to be informed I add, “I live part time as a girl. A fact I try to keep secret, but always realised may not be possible. I intend to transition to being a girl full time, although not yet. I wasn’t going to try to live full time until after I leave school. Trying to come here as a girl would cause no end of problems for both me and the school, and I don’t want to go through that if I don’t have to.”

“That explains a lot,” Mr Jones stated, “Several of the teachers have commented how outgoing you are behaving today. I presume this is why you have been seeing the school nurse a lot recently?” Mr Jones asks.

“My Prentiss,” I reply, referring to my P.E. teacher, “noticed I wasn’t developing like other boys and asked the nurse to examine me. I’m on hormone blockers, so I’m deliberately not going through puberty. Although I don’t feel comfortable using the boy’s changing rooms, I fear I may stand out more by being excluded. Although my doctors were willing to provide a medical certificate excluding me, I decided to continue as normal for as long as possible, although it’s getting to the point where I’m starting to get some funny looks. Nobody has said anything yet, but I’m the least well-endowed of the boys, and I have a small amount of chest growth.”

“Mr Prentiss is very observant,” Mr Jones stated, “we have had bullying of students in the past who suffered from gynecomastia, so I can understand why he would get the nurse involved if he thought there might be a medical issue.”

“I know exactly where and when that photo was taken and by whom, my Aunt Anne at my Cousin Sally’s birthday party last April. She took photos of all the attendees and put them on a private gallery on the internet so that they could download the pictures,” I explain. “Sally’s friends only know me as Emily, and none of them attend this school. I don’t know of any connections between them and anybody I know here. I am very careful to keep my two lives separate.”

“What about this reference to the guess the student competition?” Mr Jones asked. “Have you submitted a photo to be used as a question?”

“No, but I have a nasty suspicion that one may have been entered for me,” I replied, “I just hope it’s one that I can easily explain away as being deliberately misleading for the competition.”

Mr Faraday left the room and returned a minute later with the question and answer sheets that will be used later. There are twelve photos for each year, and students can try to guess the identities of the individuals for a small entrance fee. Several photos are from school sporting events, some are from the drama club productions with individuals in costume, and a few are simply people disguising themselves.

I’m relieved to see that the photo of me can be explained as being deliberately staged for the competition, even though it isn’t. It is from the same party and is cropped from a larger image. It shows my head and shoulders only, so it isn’t clear exactly what I’m wearing. The top of the dress simply looks like a yellow t-shirt. My face is almost entirely hidden behind a balloon that I’m blowing up. I’m known for having long hair, so I can say that I deliberately combed it girly to confuse people for the contest.

“I’ll withdraw the competition and claim there has been a printing issue,” Mr Faraday says, sighing.

“Don’t bother,” I reply. “That particular photo isn’t very damning and I can say it was staged for the contest. Note my hairstyle today almost matches the photo as a clue. The fact I’m dressed as a girl today does show I’m game for a laugh and not afraid to cross-dress.”

“You aren’t cross-dressing though are you?” Mr Jones reasoned. “You always seem timid and withdrawn in class. You are the opposite of that today. Not only are you more outgoing, you are practically oozing confidence.”

“You’re right,” I answer. “I always have to hide myself, and I become very self-conscious trying to act masculine. I don’t have to worry about that today. I can be as girly as I like, and if anybody questions it, then I’m playing the part.”

“I take it you’re not withdrawing from the elections,” Mr Faraday stated.

“Certainly not! Neither do I expect you to be able to do anything about my blackmailer. I’m in a catch 22 situation here. I can’t easily reveal I’m being blackmailed. If I don’t reveal the reasons why, then the rumours could be worse than the actuality. I could also be accused of faking it in order to get a sympathy vote and discredit my competitors. My only hope is that by you knowing there may be the chance the perpetrator can be spotted before they carry out the threat.”

“Okay, we will keep an eye out for any more photos of you in a dress. I will have Janice check all the material printed, and also see if we can find out how your photo ended up on the list,” Mr Faraday stated, adding for Mr Jones benefit more than mine, “As always, what you told us about your medical status is confidential and doesn’t leave this room without your permission.”

We ended the meeting just as the bell rung for the next lesson.

I am one of the last to arrive at the sports block at the end of break. I noticed that the girls were grouped in a bunch whispering to each other. I had a sneaking suspicion they are up to something. Maybe I’m paranoid.

Mrs Phelps, the girls’ games mistress, came out of the building and called for us to line up. We formed the usual two lines, one for each gender. I stand with the boys as per usual, despite my current presentation.

“Hey, Emily, you’re in the wrong line,” Katie shouted at me, “Get your butt over here!”

“Yeah, you can’t be showing all those boy’s your knickers, come join us instead,” Janet added.

A bunch of the girls beckoned me over, while some of the boys whistled and cat called, encouraging me to switch sides. I glanced at Mrs Phelps, who didn’t seem bothered about the fuss.

“I bet you have a girls P.E. kit as well,” Katie stated.

“She does, I’ve seen it,” Stacy replied. I let her see what I was going to wear yesterday.

To the cheers of the boys and giggling of some of the girls, I decided to humour everyone for the moment, casually crossing and stand with the girls, shrugging my shoulders as I did so.

“It doesn’t really bother me which changing room I use. I find it highly embarrassing to undress no matter who is watching. The only slight advantage of changing with the boys is that they have seen me naked before,” I declared, “If you’re happy to have me in the changing room, then I’m willing to join you.”

I haven’t taken the option to remove myself from P.E. as I don’t want to stand out from the crowd. I don’t feel comfortable changing in front of the boys, but have been putting up with it. Changing in front of the girls is only slightly less stressful. There won’t be the comparison going on between myself and other males to highlight that I’m now underdeveloped, as the girls probably don’t have a frame of reference for comparison. On the other hand, they might be more likely to notice that I’m beginning to bud, having all gone through the process themselves.

If I have to change in front of anybody, then I suspect I will find it easier amongst girls. I have partially stripped in front of Jenifer and Lucy, and although embarrassing, I didn’t find it as uncomfortable as I usually do at school. Although that is possibly because I trust them and know they won’t make fun of me.

I smiled at Katie and add, “However, while you may have no issue stripping naked in front of me in order to shower at the end of the lesson, I doubt all the other girls would do the same. Besides, I can’t see the school allowing it anyway.”

“Actually, as the numbers of boys and girls are both odd, joining the girls for today would even things up and make it easier for setting up balanced teams,” Mrs Phelps stated. “Would you like to play hockey instead of Rugby?”

“I’m not a fan of rugby, so I’m happy to join the girls, and yes, I do have a St. Trinians regulation sports kit with me,” I answer.

“In that case, Emily, please lead the way into the girls’ changing room,” Mrs Phelps instructed. “Don’t get changed just yet, just go in and sit down.”

I’m not sure who is more surprised, me or the other girls. The teacher gestured for me to move. Taking a deep breath, I decided I’ve nothing to lose, so walk into the building into a room I never expected to see inside.

I waited for the other girls to sit in their usual places before finding a spot to sit. Katie and Janet make a space between them, gesturing I can sit with them. I don’t necessarily trust them, but reason I’m as safe there as anywhere else in the room.

Stacey was sat on the bench opposite. We have actually seen each other naked, having shared baths as toddlers, but we haven’t done that for many years.

“Alright everybody,” the teacher addressed us. “Simple rule, I’m not asking anybody to undress in front of a member of the opposite sex if they do not want to, but neither will I prevent it from happening. Nathan, if you are comfortable changing in here, please go ahead. Otherwise, you can use my office if you prefer. As several of you insisted Nathan should be allowed in here, I assume you have no inhibitions about the situation. Everybody who isn’t comfortable can wait until Nathan has left the room.”

Mrs Phelps was calling everybody’s bluff. I can see a lot of glances being exchanged. I note that some of the girls immediately start to strip off, one or two even remove their bra’s to swap to sports ones, although they are keeping their backs to me. Most of the girls are waiting for me to disappear before they start to change.

I lean over and look at the toilet cubicles. There are two. One appears to be much larger than normal. The boys changing room has a similar sized cubicle, designed to be large enough to take a wheelchair.

“It may take me longer than usual to change. These suspenders and stockings are a bit fiddly and I’m not used to them. It’s not fair to keep everybody waiting. Therefore if nobody minds, I’ll use the disabled toilet over there,” I state. “If you all want to go ahead and change, I promise not to come out until Mrs Phelps gives the all clear.”

I stood and picked up my sports bag. The teacher nodded as I passed her and entered the enlarged cubicle, shutting the door behind me. A normal sized cubicle would be cramped, but here there is sufficient space to change.

I put on a blue sports skirt that barely covers my bottom. I remove the outer pair of lacy panties I’m wearing and replace them with a plain white pair, suitable for being on view. I will definitely be showing them off when running around. I carefully remove the stockings and suspenders, packing them neatly into my bag to be replaced by long white sports socks and my usual studded football boots.

I’m wearing homemade false breasts, and I can’t run around in them, as they are rather large and likely to come out. I therefore switch to a padded training bra under a plain white polo shirt.

As it is chilly out, I add a pink tracksuit top. The polo shirt is thinner than my rugby shirt I normally wear, and that is bad enough. At least today, I might actually be warm. As I’m used to bare legs in shorts, I don’t think the skirt will make much difference, but at least my body can be warmer than normal. The girls are allowed to wear sweat shirts for P.E. which I never thought fair.

“You can come out now, Emily,” Mrs Phelps called. I exited the stall and walked over to sit on the bench where a place was reserved for me. Once I am sat down, the teacher called the register. I'm almost caught out when she calls, ‘Emily Bridges’ which causes some giggling amongst my peers.

“Emily, you can leave your bags here. At the end of the lesson you can come in, pick up your bags, and then use my private shower,” the teacher declares. “The rest of you, same rules apply. If you want to strip off and head into the showers with Nathan watching, you can do. However, I suspect most of you will probably want to wait until he leaves the room. I will end the lesson a few minutes early, and I won’t be pushing anybody to undress until Nathan has gone.”

We head outside and across to the hockey pitch. The boys were already on the rugby pitch and I hear my feminine name shouted along with some wolf whistles as we all walk past.

While boys do get to play hockey, it isn’t very often. We are normally limited to playing rugby and football, both sports on which I’m not keen. Hockey is a bit better, and I actually start to enjoy myself, even if I’m slightly rusty. I think a lot of the enjoyment comes from being with the girls. I relax and let my mannerisms switch fully into girl mode.

It doesn’t seem that long until the final whistle blows signalling the end of the lesson. Normally P.E. lessons seem to drag on and on, but this time it feels a lot less time.

“Okay girls, time to hit the showers,” Mrs Phelps called. I heard some whispering behind me as we headed towards the facilities. I’m near the front of the line of girls crossing the grass towards the building. Katie distracted me by asking me about how I found shaving my legs. I admit I like the feeling, but hadn’t realised how much colder my legs feel without the hair to protect them.

We entered the changing rooms and the teacher crossed the room and started the showers. Two of the girls ahead of me are already pulling their tops off as soon as we walk through the door; others make their way to the benches and slowly start to remove their shoes.

“Hey, that is a nice jacket where did you get it from?” Janet asked as I reach my bag, “can I try it on, it looks warm?”

“Sure,” I answer slipping it off, “It’s from Next. I got it in a sale a few months ago.”

Janet donned the garment and turned to a mirror on the wall. She asked a few of the other girls for their opinion on the style. While she is messing around, I crouch down and untie my laces. I can’t walk through the building in spiked boots, so remove them. I automatically remove my socks as well. My leg is muddy from where I slipped over earlier in the lesson.

“Emily! Janet! Stop gossiping and get a move on! Now!” Mrs Phelps called from across the room. Being shouted at to get a move on is a regular occurrence for me in the school changing rooms. As I’m always reluctant to undress, I’m usually one of the last into the showers. I immediately go into autopilot without thinking about my surroundings.

Both of us replied, “Yes miss,” and hurriedly start to remove our clothes on her command. I pulled the top off over my head with my left hand as I swiftly unhooked my bra with a flick of my right, letting them both fall from my body into my bag.

I was vaguely aware of some naked bodies passing me on their way to the showers, but this didn’t register as being odd. Over the summer, whilst living as a girl at my grandmothers, I have been to the local swimming pool on a number of occasions. In each case I was with a group of girls my own age, and under the supervision of my grandmother, I used the ladies changing rooms. The group of girls I was with knew my secret. I would wear my swimming costume under my clothes, as did the others, and on arriving quickly strip and head to the pool as swiftly as possible.

When leaving the pool, we would head into the showers. I made sure to keep my lower half covered at all times and then use one of the modesty booths provided to dry and change. While I kept myself covered, some of the girls I was with decided not to bother covering themselves in my presence, and I'm therefore used to seeing naked girls.

I unzipped the skirt hooked my fingers into my panties, flicking them all over my hips. Before they even hit the floor, I had grabbed my towel and bottle of shower gel out of my bag. I am in the habit of not looking down at my body, so I automatically focus my attention to the contents of my bag. I bit the corner of the towel and the string from which the bottle can hang, freeing up my hands so that I could grab my shower cap.

I dashed across to the showers, putting my hair into the cap as I carried the items with my teeth. I dropped the towel on the floor near the entrance, where several other towels had already been deposited, and stepped under the running water.