Chapter 1

They say that if you take life as a continuous learning experience, you will never be bored. You will also realise that you could never know everything. Some make learning an excuse for never trying to get a job, becoming life-long students. Others just learn as they go on the job. I fell somewhere in between.

I was born into the Bond family, the third child and first boy, one misty morning in May, in the middle of the decade that would be later known as the Swinging Sixties. Of course, by time I could appreciate it, the decade had raced towards its end. My earliest memories were of my nanny, a kindly, yet frightening woman who tended to me as if I was a non-person, who never said my given name, just ordering me as ‘Bond’, like an army officer. My schooling was nothing to write home about, and I didn’t. I spent the bulk of my school days in various boarding schools, my parents working overseas for extended periods.

It was because of this that I never really knew my parents. By the time I turned twenty, I had only spent a matter of months in their company. I had only met my much older sisters a few times and had almost no connection with them, or their own families. From that, you may deduce that I was lonely. That wasn’t always the case, however, as there were lots of boys in the boarding schools to be friends with.

A good boarding school prepares you for life that is almost always aimed at public service, often assisted by the other students, who usually came from high-flying families. We all had little foibles, mine being due to my name and the popular films about 007. I could chat up a girl with the classic opening line.

“My name is Bond --- Barry Bond.”

This either made them smile and be friendly, or else fall about laughing and then staggering off to their friends to relate meeting an idiot. Whatever the outcome, I could walk away without being embarrassed. I met girls on days away from the school, on trips and at school-organised social events, designed to put upper-crust eligible bachelors within the reach of well-bred young ladies.

This situation lasted until I achieved my degree. It didn’t matter what I studied, as it would make no difference to my employment, so I went with Arts. Unless I totally rebelled, I was slated to be a civil servant, on the heels of my parents. What I hadn’t known, however, that I would be joining the spook brigade at MI6. I had known that my parents spent a lot of time overseas, working in embassies, but had never had a deep enough conversation with either of them to find out what they actually did.

On my last few days at university, I was visited by a non-descript little man who thrust some paperwork at me so I could sign my life away. I really should have read the small print! I was instructed to be packed and ready to leave on the last day of term, as I would be picked up. I didn’t expect to be picked up by an officer, not wearing any brigade insignia, with a one-tonner. There were ten of us waiting for transport, with none of us knowing why the others were there. We, and our luggage, were bundled into the back of the one-tonner and the canvas closed. So began our journey into adulthood.

I suppose it was the fact that we had all been groomed for the life we were to lead that kept us all silent during a very long trip. The only time we stopped was at various military bases where we were allowed to visit the latrines and then the mess for some sustenance. Eventually, we arrived at a base, somewhere in Scotland, where we were issued fatigues and allocated to a bunkhouse. The following six months were the hardest of my life.

I had never been a very active lad, not fat, just idle. We were issued the full army kit, including a rifle, and they treated us as new recruits. We ran, we marched, we crawled, we swam. And, the next day, we did it all again. We were taught how to look after our weapon, as well as other weapons we had been given. I won’t say that we could give as good as we got, but, by the end of that six months, we could certainly give more than the normal civilian. All the time, we had been told not to talk to each other unless it was part of the exercise, and to live as if we were being listened to. It was, I suspect, all part of making us spies, when it pays to keep yourself to yourself.

At the end of the six months, the original ten were now six. Of the four that had left us, two were still in hospital, one had gone mad, and the other was buried in a cemetery, back down south, after his family had been told that he had been in a vehicle accident. I doubt that they had been told that the vehicle had been a tank. That one taught the rest of us that it was unsafe to assume that you were a living human to be avoided by another driver.

The following six months were interesting, to say the least, as I was sent to our embassy in Bulgaria, to be trained in everyday spying, by a veteran ‘undersecretary’. Learning how to act as if I was invisible, to do message drops, study the language and generally become a proper spy. From that point, there was no way back.

I expected that I would now be sent to an embassy to start my proper job. But, no! I was sent to join a destroyer that was currently in the Med, and due to pass through the Suez. I spent most of the next six months on the water, in the water and under the water. I went aboard as Seaman Bond, and disembarked, back in Britain, as Chief Petty Officer Bond. I wanted the rank of Commander, like 007, but was told that this was far too silly. I could now use various breathing apparatus, handle spear guns and knives under water, and believe it or not, could now hold my breath for nearly four minutes. All that was left was to learn to fly. Silly me, as if they would forget that.

I had nearly a year with the SAS, finding out that you can lie perfectly still in your own piss and shit, for days on end until something happened. I also found that you can, if pushed, walk for days with the equivalent of another person strapped to your back, and still had enough strength to engage the enemy. You may think that, after all this derring-do, that I was built like a man-mountain. No, you couldn’t be further from the truth. I now had muscles, true, but they were on a frame that was no more than five and a half feet high, and my abs only accentuated my slim waist. Most of my trainers called me ‘wiry’ and were amazed that I took nearly everything they threw at me and staggered back for more.

I expect that it was the Bond family history that I was trying to keep up with. Both parents were long time employees of the Government. My grandfather had been decorated in WW2, my great-great -grandfather was a cavalry officer in the Zulu war, staying alive long enough to face the Boers. The only black sheep was my great-grandfather whose crime was to get blown up very early in WW1, long before he could distinguish himself.

Whatever it was that they saw in me, it was dashed to pieces in my last few months with the SAS. I had, believe it or not, learned how to fly a light plane, as well as being able to jump out of one. It was during a night exercise using the HALO procedure, high altitude when you jump out, low altitude when you deploy your chute. It allows you to arrive somewhere unannounced. I arrived, unannounced, through the roof of a farmhouse and onto the bed of the farmer as he was pleasuring his milkmaid.

I spent three months in hospital, and the only thing I learned was how to walk again, with a bit of a rolling gait. I did find out that the accident was the fault of an upper-level crosswind, which had put me over an area that was a good hundred feet higher than the target zone, so my parachute opening wasn’t high enough to slow me down fully.

I was visited by yet another non-descript man with a briefcase. He had my original paperwork and I found out that I was in for life if they could find something for me to do. We agreed that I was no longer fit to be an action man, and my walk now made me stand out among other men. It was akin to following someone, always in a black car, along a road full of colourful vehicles.

I expected to be given a pension and a handshake, to find something for a well-trained spook apprentice to do. I knew that there were businesses that employed ex-spooks in security work. My problem was that I had not worked in the business for real, that would have started while I was lying on the hospital bed.

We discussed my training, and my willingness to take on anything. He was sad that I couldn’t take to the field, as he was sure that I would have been one of the best. I had the good manners to blush at that one. That was when he looked at me closely.

“Barry, up to this moment, I thought that what they had suggested was a silly waste of time and money. When you blushed, your face revealed the thing that our computer geeks had told me was possible. You just looked like a woman.”

“Come on, if we weren’t here, I may have tried to flatten you for that.”

“No, no. Just have a look at this clip they put together.”

He turned his laptop towards me a pressed a couple of buttons. On screen was film of me, taken recently, walking along in the rehab room. That was followed by the same film, only, this time, photoshopped with me now wearing a dress, which swayed as I moved. I had to say that I could have been aroused looking at it, except for the fact that the damage to my lower body had been more than just multiple fractures.

“Do you expect me to go to work in drag?”

“No, Barry, we expect you to go into the field as Barbara Bond, a fully-fledged woman with more skills than Mata Hari. We will fund your transition and there will be, of course, several months training. At the end of it, we will have our newest agent and you will have your career. We have the means to completely re-arrange your paperwork. It is something that falls into the category of on-going service, part of what you signed on for. Put your signature on this bit of paper and we, as usual, will take care of the rest.’

“No time to think about it?”

“No, Babs, sign now or leave here with a compensation package and very little chance of working, ever again. No-one wants to employ one of our people without a letter of commendation, do they? The way you look now, the only income you may get is in selling yourself on a street corner. What we are offering is much better, and you know it!”

Put like that, I did know it, and scribbled my name on the paper offered.

“Good girl,” he smiled. “You will leave here in a week, take nothing with you, just wear a tee-shirt and shorts with slippers. Someone will come for you in the day room. As far as the hospital will be concerned, Barry Bond had walked out of the hospital, against his doctors’ wishes, never to be seen again.”

Over the next few days, I couldn’t think of anything else. To save my career, I had to present as a woman. I had spent the last few years learning all the ways to stay alive, kill other people, and fulfill my given task despite all that was thrown against me. With the small amount of tradecraft, I had been taught, it was mainly to blend in and disappear into the background. I was sure that, as a woman, I would stand out. Most agents being men, I would be looked at and, I hope, admired.

That last bit made me smile. I could imagine me going up to a foreign agent and saying my line.

“Hello, honey, my name is Bond – Barbara Bond.”

I thought long and hard about what might transpire after that, and it scared me.

I wondered about the name. Could I be someone other than Babs, Barbie, or Barbara. I guess that once the note had been made, I would have to take the name I was given, seeing that everything relating to that name was going to be given as well. On the day I was to be picked up, I put all my extra things into the bin, just dressing in the shorts and Tee as ordered, with just my personal papers in my wallet. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and tried to imagine myself as a female. It was a difficult ask, but, I suppose, there will be plans made to make me appear like a human being.

I was in the dayroom when a stunning brunette walked in and came up to me.

“Good morning, Barbara, it’s time for you to enter the world of the alpha sex. You’re in for a treat and it’s my job to mentor you after the transition. I’m Adrianne, and I know, firsthand, what you’re about to go through.”

As I followed this gorgeous creature out of the hospital, I considered that if I turned out looking half as good as her, I would be happy. Outside, there was a black taxi, at the kerb, and we got in the back. The driver was another girl, this time a redhead, and no words were spoken until we were well away from the hospital. That’s when the redhead spoke.

“Hello, Barbara. It must be a shock for you to be chosen for this gig, rather than being chucked out. I can tell you that you’ll need all your skills later. Before that, though, just sit back and enjoy the ride. I’m Helen, and I’ll be your senior manager when you get into the field. Adrianne, here, will be your contact and conduit to the service. I’ve looked at your service record, so far, and I can tell that you’re a remarkable catch for our little band of femme fatales. We’re not a big section, and the guys don’t rate us much, but we do achieve all the tasks we’re given. That’s all in the future, because, for now, we’re taking you to another clinic. This one is owned by the Circus and looks after agents injured in the field.”

We were mainly silent as Helen drove us into the countryside. There was the odd moment when both commented on the smell of flowers as we passed by. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary. At the clinic, tucked away down a long driveway, Helen parked, and we all got out. They led me to the reception, where I was signed in as Barbara Anne Bond, along with my proper date of birth. A wristband was written and put around my left wrist. Helen smiled.

“Right, Barbara, we will leave you now. You’re in the hands of these guys and they will take very good care of you. Adrianne will pop in as things progress to see how you’re getting on and to bring you clothes, and the like, that you will need. Next time you see me will be in my office on South Bank when you report to me to start work. That, I believe, may be six months to a year away. It all depends on how you embrace your new persona. I’ll look forward to seeing you on that day. Best of luck.”

She embraced me, as did Adrianne, and they walked out of the door to get back into the taxi. The receptionist made a phone call and I waited to be escorted to my home for the near future. When I was led into the building, by another good-looking girl, and shown the room I would be in, it surprised me by being totally unlike any hospital room I’ve ever seen. There were flowers in vases, the bed was almost like a normal single and the décor was very feminine, all soft colours.

“There’s a wardrobe for your new clothing, and a bathroom with both a tub and shower, as well as a vanity. Everything us girls like. You may not appreciate it now, but I can assure you that you’ll be sad to leave this place when the time comes. Now, strip off and I’ll run a bath for you. My job, today, is to make sure you’re clean all over, and I do mean all over. No shyness, now, we’re all girls here.”

Following orders, I stripped off the little that I had on, standing there in my birthday suit while she ran the bath. I could smell something flowery in the air, emanating from the bathroom. I realised that the sense of smell was the one sense left to be trained.

When she ushered me to the bath, I lowered my tired body into the sweet-smelling suds and relaxed. This was the start of another training course, one that would be setting out my future. She made sure I was scrubbed, all over. My hair was shampooed three times, followed by three applications of conditioner. My toenails were clipped and even my ears were lightly cleaned with a bud. When I finally climbed out and dried on the softest towel I had ever used, I was shown a dress.

“This is a simple shift. It is a light cotton, and you can walk around, or you can sleep in it. We will be taking you, slowly, into your new world. There are cotton panties for you to wear under it, the rest of the underwear will appear as needed.”

I put the panties on, and they felt good against my skin. The dress was just put on over my head, like a long tee-shirt, and fell to just above my knees. Adding a pair of light slippers, I was ready to face the world.

“Now, Barbara, you will be wearing a shift like this for some time before we get you into different hem lengths. Your task, from now, will be to make sure you keep your knees together when sitting, and to move without flashing your panties at all and sundry. It shouldn’t take long. The doctors have made a schedule for you, with minor surgeries over the next few weeks before you have the breast enhancement and the final one being the full sex change. You won’t have much time to sit around, though. We will be putting you through your paces to get you walking in a ladylike manner, talking using female phrases, using your arms and legs to best advantage, and generally becoming a goddess. You will also be taking these tablets, two in the morning and two at night.”

After lunch, that first day, I was walking in the physio room, in front of mirrors, and being shown how to place my feet, one in front of the other, until I started to glide along, my weird gait becoming more like a seductive sway with each passing hour.

The following day, I was prepped for an operation to work on my voice and spent several days after that being ordered not to speak. When I was allowed to talk, it was with a pleasing, mid-Atlantic, style. I listened to myself on recordings, and I sounded like a woman I had seen on TV, succinct but sultry.

Every morning I had an hour in a room set up like a salon, having parts of me de-whiskered, until they had reached my pubic area. That took a stiff drink to get me to relax, while they used the laser in my groin. Every couple of days I was in surgery, with just small changes being made each time, all aimed for me to recover as I went along. There was work around my eyes, my mouth, reshaping my nose, tidying my teeth, and generally making me more feminine. I once asked about make-up training and was told that this would be later, once I was fully female, and took two weeks, along with how to look after my skin and hair.

Every now and then Adrianne would come in to see how I was going and make suggestions. I was amazed at how methodically things progressed. Nothing was left to chance, nothing was overlooked. Every day, I would look into the mirror and see a slightly different me, a slightly more beautiful me. The ugly duckling didn’t become a swan overnight, no, it was rebuilt, feather by feather. It was the beginning of the fourth week when I received my breasts. Adrianne told me that it had taken that long to assess all the other changes and decide on a size and shape that would be the best fit for my new body.

By this time, I had mastered the right way of walking and talking, was able to wake in the morning without my nightie bunched up around my torso and had moved on to wearing a miniskirt without looking slutty. Everyone was happy with my progress, and I was set for the biggest operation at the end of week six. Two weeks after that I was moving around, now a natural woman, and learning how to dilate and look after my new vagina. That part was a surprise, I hadn’t realised that it would retain all the sensitivity, even being more sensitive than before. That, added to a new sensitivity with my nipples, was making it difficult to shower without breathing hard.

There was the final two weeks of make-up and hairdressing training, and then Adrianne took be, and my new luggage, to a house in a nearby city, to learn how to react to the wider world, and men. We would take a few hours getting ready, then take ourselves off to pubs, dances, restaurants. Anywhere that I would be out there, looking good. It was all designed to make me feel good about myself, and my body. We were hit on, a lot, and I was introduced to the art of making a man feel good. We were wined, dined, kissed, and fondled and I rather liked it, having never been a person to be held tight. I loved being loved.

On the night I lost my new virginity, I suspected that it was a set-up with a couple of fellow agents, although nothing had been said. I was sure that Adrianne wouldn’t throw me to the wolves. To say that I liked it would be an understatement. I was in seventh heaven being pinned to a hotel bed by a strong mans’ dick. My orgasms were long and totally draining, yet I wanted more. What made me sure that it had been my final test was that Adrianne told me that we were to report to South Bank in two days, as Helen had work for me.

Marianne Gregory © 2023