‘Who did this to you Mark?’ asked the PE teacher, Mr Daniels who was looking very annoyed.

‘I fell over.’

‘Those bruises aren’t as a result of falling over. I’m not stupid, boy. Again, who did it?’

‘I did fall over; um, down the stairs.’

‘Don’t lie boy; have you been bullied again?’

I shook my head. Whatever I said, I would be in trouble. This best thing to do was to keep quiet. My mouth had a habit of running away with itself. When I lived with my mum and dad in India, I was happy and chatty and didn’t really have a care in the world, but now everything had gone bad for me.

I had been sitting in the corner of the changing room, having thought myself very clever for hanging back and letting the other boys shower and change first. I didn’t want anyone to see how much I hurt. PE had been hell for me. My chest hurt and my legs hurt as did almost every other part of my body. My Aunt had laid into me early that morning when she caught me in bed wearing one of her slips. I had managed to hide the fact that although I was physical a boy, I was really a girl and had been, in my head anyway, for as long as I had known the difference.

I had come to live with my aunt three months before and I hated every minute of it. After finding the slip amongst some things that she had put out as rubbish, I had retrieved it and wore it whenever I could at night; it was much like a nightdress and it was nice to wear, although it was big for me. I always had to get myself up early in the morning, normally before my aunt, to do my chores, so I thought that I was safe; but I suppose that I took one too many chances and the fact that I had not set my alarm the previous night was enough to seal my fate.

My aunt was a powerful woman, not like my other aunt in Wales who got sick and wasn’t able to look after me anymore. Auntie Doris was good at hitting me and she seemed to relish the task. I screamed my head off, but there wasn’t anyone able to come to my rescue and I just had to take my beating. We lived on a farm, miles from anywhere and it was just Auntie Doris and me in the big farmhouse so she was able to do what she liked without fear of being disturbed. In the end I just went into a ball as she kept on hitting me with her fists and then a heavy leather belt with a brass buckle that used to be Uncles before he died of a heart attack.

Eventually she finished with me, called me an abomination, told me to stop sniveling and never, ever wear her clothes again, as she wouldn’t be answerable if I did.

~ §~

Crying, I somehow managed to get dressed, feed the animals and get on my bike for the ride to the bus stop at the end of the lane. The bike ride was no fun, as the track was rutted and my darling auntie had managed to hit me several times on my bottom.

Anyway, I got to the bus stop in time just after I had chained up my bike; the bus came over the hill and stopped by me.

No one spoke to me on the bus; no one ever spoke to me if they could help it. I was an oddity and other kids seemed to steer clear of me. I was pleased about that as I was aching everywhere and I felt sick. As the bus weaved its way through the countryside on that grey drizzly day, I looked out of the window and wondered if I would ever be happy again.

~ §~

I was born in India. My mum and dad moved there shortly before I was born. Dad was a computer expert and mum a nurse. After I was born in Calcutta, we moved about quite a bit because Dad was a consultant and that meant that he was in demand all over the country; we never stayed in the same place more than six months. Once I was old enough to go to school, mum was able to get work at the local hospital at wherever we happened to be. Not settling very long in one place meant that I had no roots and I rarely had the opportunity to make friends. What friends I did make were normally girls. I never liked playing with boys and I hated rumble tumble. Girls were gentler and in India, most girls just wanted to learn to be good wives and mothers. Not very PC but that was the way it was. Oh, I did occasionally come across girls who were more tomboyish, but that was a rarity.

Because Mum and Dad worked a lot, I was often left with nannies and I suppose I wasn’t as close to my parents as other kids are, but I knew that they loved me and the times we spent together were special.

Mum and Dad knew that I always considered myself as a girl and occasionally ‘played’ dress-up using my mum’s wardrobe and the washing basket. I had been caught on a couple of occasions and told off, not nastily, but I was told the error of my ways and that I was a boy and not a girl and I should therefore only wear boys things and get out of my head, the silly notion that I was a girl.

This left me frustrated but I had no choice, I would have to do what I was told and not wear Mum’s things. This didn’t change the way I thought though and I always knew that I was a girl, no matter what my parents told me.

I don’t want to give the impression that I was very unhappy. In truth I was quite happy with my lot and at that time I was a bit of an optimist as I knew that I would persuade my mum and dad eventually that I was a girl – it was just a matter of time. I was chatty, rather bubbly kid who liked to play jokes and have a nice time.

My family almost had a nomadic life up until I was twelve, then my life changed completely when my parents died in a stupid car accident while I was at school.

Everything went downhill after that and my life turned into a nightmare.

After the funeral which was awful, I was sent to live with an aunt in wet Wales. But I didn’t stay there long as she wasn’t very well. Whilst I was with her, I didn’t try to dress or act as a girl. I believed that God was punishing me for wanting to be a girl and that was why my parents died. I felt so very guilty and it took a long time to get over that.

When it became obvious that my aunt could not look after me, I was sent to my other aunt who lived ten miles from Exeter, on a farm. I could tell right from the start that she didn’t really want me, but she was just doing it out of charity. Her husband, my uncle, had died the year before and she was left looking after the farm herself. She did have a few workers who she paid just a minimum wage, but she decided that I could be an unpaid labourer for the times when I wasn’t at school.

I had to get up before dawn and work until late when I got back from school; all sorts of heavy nasty work not suited to someone as small and lacking in muscles as I was.

After a bit, the urge to look and feel like a girl got the better of me and I occasionally sneaked into her bedroom and tried on some of her things. They were miles to big for me, but they were better than nothing. Then as I mentioned before, I managed to retrieve a full length slip from the rubbish. It looked old and obviously hadn’t been worn for years, so I took a chance and washed and dried it when my auntie wasn’t around and then hid it in my bedroom.

That night I wore the slip to bed and I did the same for several weeks. I was always expected to get myself up in the morning so there was little danger of getting caught. As one of my many jobs was to do the washing, I managed to wash ‘my’ slip regularly without Auntie seeing it

After a particularly hard day, I was very tired when I went to bed. Without thinking, I changed into the slip and slid into bed. The rest, as they say was history; when my alarm didn’t go off early the next morning, my aunt caught me wearing her slip.

~ §~

So there I was in the school infirmary waiting for things to happen. I refused to tell anyone what had happened to me. I should have told them that my aunt had caused all this but she was the only relation I had left that I could call family. I was being talked to as if all this was my fault. Maybe it was.

I began to blame myself for being hit, just like I did when my mum and dad died.

I was wrong to steal my aunt’s slip and I shouldn't have worn it and make her angry. I was starting to get upset and just couldn't stop myself from crying. But crying was alright. Girls were allowed to cry.

But I wasn't a girl. Everyone said that I was a boy, even my parents and they died. I was a bad person…

‘Mark, you must tell me what happened.’

I looked up and there was a woman sitting next to me. I hadn't even realised that she had come into the room.

‘It was my fault,’ I said through my tears.

‘You aren’t a bad boy Mark this isn't your fault. You must tell me what happened and then I can help you.’

She looked so kind and everything had been bottling up inside of me. This was the first time anyone had been nice to me in a long while.

I told her what happened.

~ §~

Things moved fast. I wasn’t allowed to go back to my aunt’s farm and she was prosecuted for her cruelty to me. She said in court that she didn’t want me back even if she was asked to take me. She said in open court that I was ungodly for wanting to look like a girl and boys should be boys and not sinfully wear clothes of the opposite sex. Not that the authorities would ever let me go back to her. They had other plans for me and I found myself in a children’s home in Exeter.

It was almost like out of the frying pan into the fire. Nothing was said about my being a girl inside, I tell a lie, I did see a doctor prior to being placed at the home, a medical one. He was there to assess me and see that I didn’t have lice or fleas or any other nasty that could infect or infest the other children at the home. I mentioned my gender problems but he didn’t seem very interested and just made note on his file and mumbled something about it not being his province.

The home wasn’t very well run and I never really fitted in. I was bullied by some of the older kids as I looked too girlie for a boy. The house parents weren’t very good at keeping order and there were continual problems with discipline. Some of the kids even stole from shops, drank, smoked and a few even did drugs.

I tried to stay away from that sort of thing, but it was difficult. I became depressed about the possibility of my body changing soon. We had access to computers in the home, and I often stayed up late and surfed the internet.

I read up all things about the transgendered and it was obvious that I wasn’t unique. It was a revelation to me as I had no idea that other people suffered as well. I steered clear of the porn sites and ones that looked unsafe, but I was, after a little investigation, able to learn a lot about my situation. One thing that I did pick up on was that it was harder to physically change into a girl once puberty started. Although I was a girl inside my head, I was a boy physically and all the prayers and dreams that I would miraculously change into a girl overnight were just pipe dreams. Any changes made to my body would have to be done by me, as divine intervention wasn’t happening; despite my constant prayers to a God that I wasn’t too sure existed.

My fear was that all too soon I would start sprouting muscles, have a hairy body and face and that my voice would inevitably break. I wasn’t going to let that happen and thought of all the things that I could do to my body to stop those disgusting things happening, up to and including self mutilation (although realistically, I was too squeamish to think too seriously about that). Then I read about birth control pills and the fact that these and anti-androgens would stop any possibility of male puberty.

There were places on the internet where you could get the pills that I wanted. It was risky, but I was desperate. As the authorities didn’t seem interested in my problems, I decided that I would have to sort them out for myself.

I had a small amount of savings and I just about used them up getting the pills that I wanted sent to at a post office box, as there was no way that I was going to have them delivered to the home!

It was with a sense of relief that I was, at last, able to start taking pills that would hopefully stop male puberty in its tracks. I had made sure that the pills I ordered were the ones recommended, if that was the word, by other girls on the forums as being strong enough for my needs. I know now that it wasn’t a very good idea to take pills ordered over the internet and without the supervision of a doctor, but I was desperate and I didn’t think about the possible consequences.

Somehow, I got friendly with one or two of what you might consider to be troublemakers at the home. Money had soon run out and I needed to get some more to pay for the pills, which were not that cheap. I was desperate and not in my right mind. The pills affected me strongly and my mood swings were extreme. One minute I was up in the air and the next, down in the dumps.

Then I found some money left on top of one of the boys’ locker and I took it. I also stole clothes from some of the girls, just under things like panties and tights, but I was desperate to wear girls clothes as it helped calm me down and be less stressed. It was only a short step more to start going with a couple of the boys when they went shop lifting. The first few times were hard but I soon got into it in a big way and the items I stole were passed to a fence and the money I got for these items helped pay for the drugs and also, regrettably, cider.

The drink was an emotional crutch that helped me to get through the days without thinking too much. I hated what I was doing, but it was as if I was on a train that was going faster and faster and I couldn’t get off. The house parents and social service people didn’t seem to care about any of us. I felt that we had been written off and no one was there to help or listen to us.

Surprisingly quickly I started to see changes in my body; my shape, especially around my hips and bum, in particular became more feminine. Then my nipples became sore and itchy and I could feel tender lumps forming below. I was satisfied that the risks that I had to take to get money to pay for the pills were worth the effort.

After a few months, the inevitable happened.

I was sitting on a bench in the park, looking at the ducks on the pond but not really taking anything in; my mind was numb. I had a can of cider in my hand and I had drunk most of it. I didn’t realise it, but the drugs that I was taking reacted very badly with alcohol.

‘What are you doing?’

I looked up and there was a policeman standing there. He was weaving about a bit, or it might have been me doing the weaving...

‘What?’

‘I said what are you doing here?’

‘Sitting watching the birdies.’ I giggled.

Then some bile rose in my throat and I was promptly sick all over his nice shiny shoes.

‘Shit!’

Things got a bit hazy then and the next thing I knew was that I was sitting in the back of a police car. I seemed to fall asleep and when I woke up we were at the station. The police sergeant asked me a few things like name, address, age and stuff like that. I think that they were confused when I told them that I was a girl and my name was Sarah, yet I had a school bus pass that had written on it my name as Mark Davidson.

It was glossed over as drunken rambling and I was put in an interview room and left with a cup of tea and a biscuit. I wasn’t alone though, as a policewoman was sat in a corner looking at me disapprovingly but saying nothing. I ignored her.

After a bit, a plain clothed policeman came in, nodded to the policewoman and sat down opposite me, putting a carrier bag on the table.

‘Well Mark, feeling any better.’

I nodded, although I had a thumping headache, I wasn’t going to show any weakness. By now, my drunkenness had worn off a bit and I was more aware if where I was and just how much trouble I was in. I recognised the carrier bag, it was mine and in it were the results of my latest crime spree, a few small electrical items including a mobile phone that I just happened to find poking out of someone’s pocket...

There followed a long painful interview where I told him all about my stealing. I was done with lying, it was no good, I had been caught. Being fourteen, I didn’t think that I would be sent to a prison, probably just youth offenders institution. I was expecting the worst. Just then my house parent turned up...Roger, the Drip.

‘Mark, what the hell have you been doing?’

I shrugged, not answering because it was obvious that he knew already.

There followed another twenty minutes of going over and over just what I had been doing. It got tiring and I just wanted to go to sleep, but that wasn’t happening any time soon as, surprisingly, instead of locking me up and throwing away the key, I was cautioned at length, told what a naughty boy I had been and then let go. Evidently, it was my first offence and as long as I was a good ‘boy’ I would not be prosecuted but if I did commit another crime, this one would be taken into account and be used against me.

Roger the Drip didn’t say anything to me on the way back to the home. He seemed to have a few things on his mind.

When we got back he just said that he would speak to me later about what I did and that I should stay out of trouble.

‘I have enough problems at the moment without you making them worse.’

I shrugged, we all had problems.

You may have gathered by now that I had built an impenetrable shell around my emotions and feelings. I was turning into a not very nice person. I had no friends and was still bullied for being small, effeminate and young looking for my age.

I wasn’t in a very nice place.

I went up to my room and stayed in there until the following morning. I didn’t want to eat anything, so I avoided seeing any of the other kids or house parents. I just wanted to be alone.

Being a weekend, there was no school, for which I was thankful as no one liked me there and I wasn’t what you would call a star pupil. I did just enough there to stay under the radar of the authorities. The other kids were different. I felt like I was some sort of social leper as once again my size, feminine look and attitude marked me out as being different from the others. I just tried keep my head down and not attract attention.

Anyway, it was Sunday. I was reading in my room, but not really taking any of the words in. I wondered where I would now get the money to pay for my pills. I had enough for about a month but that was it. Latterly, I had gone up to London to get my pills as they were cheaper there and I had lost the use of the PO Box that I was using. I found the contact online; it was some sort of dodgy pharmacy that didn’t ask any questions as to why a fourteen year old boy wanted birth control pills.

There was a lot of noise, banging and shouting outside, but I ignored it. This wasn’t a nunnery with a vow of silence, this was hell on earth and after a while you sort of zone the noise out.

There was a knock on my door.

‘Go away.’

There was another knock.

Sighing, I stood up. I had taken to jamming a chair up against the door to stop anyone coming in when I didn’t want them to; like when I’m wearing the few girlie things that I had or the one pink cotton nightie that I invariably wore to bed when I could. There were some undesirable residents in the home and wasn’t just talking about me and the last thing I wanted was to be disturbed.

Sighing, I opened the door and there was this imposing looking woman standing there in a fur coat and weird hat with feathers in it. She had a clipboard in her hand.

I groaned, another do-gooder, I thought.

She looked at me with a piercing gaze. Funny, she was old but she had lovely clear blue eyes that seemed to look into my very soul.

‘Yes?’

‘Mark?’

I nodded; I wasn’t about to tell her that I was in fact Sarah, in disguise.

‘My name is Lady Fairbairn, can I come in?’

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Please leave comments and kudo thingies...thanks! ~Sue