It is now the 2nd November. but the shops are already bedecked with all the toys, food and decorations for Christmas. Perhaps time to put pen to paper for the Christmas story. As always, I am not fussed about the story being a formal entry to the contest, but I hope readers will enjoy the story, and it may act as a prompt for other people to join in and make an entry.

A Crumb-free Christmas

Part One - Charlotte’s Story

Charlotte, the accountant had had a busy year. In January the urge to transform herself from Charles to Charlotte became a necessity, rather than an urge. Visits to various specialists who prodded and poked, and discussed her ‘problems’ in great detail had resulted in handfuls of pills, and some breast implants.

The change was noticed by the office staff in July, and she had been applauded by her work colleagues, and was helped by her female co-workers when all the appurtenances of being a woman didn’t quite work out. Several female friends had helped her blow her modest savings on a new wardrobe of autumn and winter clothes. Charlotte didn’t know how she would be able to afford a spring wardrobe, but she already knew where all the charity shops were who might be able to help.

Now it was the week before Christmas. The office was bedecked with holly, mistletoe and greetings cards. Her ‘new’ status was really no longer noticed by her work colleagues. She was Charlotte as if she had always been Charlotte, but none of the male staff gave her a kiss under the mistletoe. She noticed that and it did hurt a bit.

The office would be closed for ten days over the Christmas period. No one wanted their tax affairs sorted or their books completed for the year, before the new year had started.

“Are you going home for Christmas?” several colleagues asked sincerely.

“Probably”, was the non-committal answer that she normally gave.

In fact Charlotte had not told her parents until the change in her shape and hair made the reveal inevitable. The phone call to her parents was difficult to say the least. The speaker phone was on and whilst her mother was reluctant, her father was absolutely furious and said he was revolted. Charles either had to come to his senses or ‘he’ would never be accepted at his parents home again.

Two weeks later Charlotte had her hair done, and had her nails and cosmetics done professionally before getting on the train to see if meeting her parents face-to-face would be any better. Perhaps seeing her happy for the first time in years would make them realise just how important the transformation was for her.

She walked confidently from the station in a tailored tan skirt suit, with a pale pink blouse and matching necklace, ear rings and bracelet.

She never got past the front door. Her father spotted he coming up the short path from the road and opened the door to her only to call her an abomination, a curse, and an insult to him and his male forebears back to biblical times.

“If you come back here again as anything other than Charles I shall beat some sense into you. My belt was used on you as a child and I will use it on you as an adult if I need to. Now go away and never come back.”

Of course, Charlotte sobbed all the way back to the station.

People on the train looked on sympathetically as she sobbed for much of the journey back to London.

Her tears were over by the time she got onto the Underground for the final part of the journey, but the expensive make-up was all smeared, and she had had to remove it in the Ladies restroom at the mainline station.

Now three months further on, there had been no contact with her parents. If she rang, the phone went straight to voicemail. Eventually her phone number was blocked.

She texted her mother and had one curt reply that her father would beat her mother if she knew that she and Charlotte had been in contact. There was no further contact, and she had no siblings.

So it was that the office party was over, the streamers and artificial Christmas tree with its baubles was put away by the cleaners. All the staff had flooded out into the night intent on sharing a groaning table of Christmas fare with family and friends. Charlotte waved wistfully to the last of them and caught the Underground to her home station, then walked the few hundred yards to the apartment block where she lived.

She had already made the preparations for the holiday season. These consisted of a tiny dressed artificial tree. It was only a foot tall and the base had slots for two AA batteries that made the small number of LEDs glow with at least a modicum of festive cheer.

The tiny chicken, little more than a pullet, lay in its foil tray and in another foil tray of prepared mixed vegetables there were two small parsnips, three Brussel sprouts and two partly roast potatoes. The sachet of bread sauce was to be microwaved at the last minute!

A Christmas pudding for one, was in its foil bowl the size of a teacup, together with the ubiquitous sachet of long-life brandy cream.

The individual portion of Stilton cheese wrapped in festive foil, three Cream Crackers in a cellophane wrapper and a tiny bottle of tawny port completed her meal.

It is difficult to judge how it was that supermarkets provided a full Christmas dinner for one person. It was really an insult to the whole idea of Christmas, but who can blame them for answering a need. One is lead to believe that so many people live alone, and maybe this is the best that such people can expect.

It wasn’t the best that Charlotte could expect. She desperately wanted a loving home and family. She wanted to share the womanhood that was blossoming from within her. Yet here she was. Isolated, lonely and tearful looking at a cardboard tube that had once held the foil dishes. ‘Christmas dinner for One’ it said, and every word felt like a dagger that pierced her heart.

“Where is the person who will love me?” She said aloud.

The walls of the small apartment did not answer.

She turned the radio on and the Christmas Carols provided wall-to-wall reinforcement of her status as a person alone.

The TV was no better. Lots of programs intended to occupy small children while their parents wrapped presents as if from Father Christmas. Subsequently there was a diet of Christmas films that had been repeated so often over the years. Watching ‘The Holiday’ or ‘The Snowman’ was almost a ritual in some households, but they just emphasised Charlotte’s status.

In the end she watched a RomCom from one of the streaming services. It wasn’t a blockbuster, but it occupied the time until it would be bedtime.

A movement caught Charlotte’s eye as she watched the mediocre movie. A small thin brown mouse walked purposefully over to Charlotte’s discarded meal. It remained on a plate on the floor beside her chair, and began to eat a little of what she had left. When her cheeks were full, she walked off in the opposite direction and disappeared under a chest of drawers.

Some minutes later she re-emerged, and there were damp patches on her abdomen and chest so it was clearly a ‘she’ and this particular ‘she’ was feeding babies.

“It is too late for me to get any live mouse traps or poison now, so we are going to have to get along until the hardware shops open again.”

After three trips across the floor, the mouse walked over to the plate and had some food for herself then sat on her haunches and proceeded to give herself a wash.

“I think you know that you are safe until next week. Something about the Spirit of Goodwill that penetrates even the mouse and her family’s World.

The mouse stayed close to Charlotte for some minutes and Charlotte found the presence of the little animal, a comfort in her loneliness. When the mouse wandered off back to her babies Charlotte felt her absence acutely.

“I shall leave you a couple of crumbed biscuits for the night. I know that you are probably full of nasty diseases and are not house trained, but we need to live together for a few days at least.”

In the morning, the rain was coming down. It was not ‘the snow lying deep and crisp and even’ of the Christmas Carol. Charlotte thought she might get dressed and go down to the Jewish shop two streets away, They would be open, as they didn’t keep Christmas. The shop would be packed with people trying to get all the things that had been forgotten in the mad rush over the days before. She would buy a small bar of chocolate for herself, and some bird seed for the mouse and her family.

Several people looked out of the hoods of their coats to wish Charlotte a ‘Happy Christmas’ as they all trudged through the rain. As expected, the small shop was crowded, but Charlotte emerged some minutes later with a few more ‘Happy Christmases’. One comment said it all. “Bloody British Weather!”

On her way back though the rain she wondered whether to go to a Christmas morning service at the local parish church, but she hadn’t been for years, and didn’t believe in God or any of that stuff. It seems hypocrisy to go, just because she had nothing better to do and was feeling lonely.

When she got back the mouse was sitting in her normal place, and seemed to be waiting for her food. Charlotte tipped a teaspoon full of seed into a jar lid and the mouse set about the seed with enthusiasm and carted off mouthfuls over the next few minutes. She then, once again ate a little herself and settled down close to Charlotte for a full ten minutes, before going back to her babies.

It was strange how comforting the presence of the small animal became and even the scattering of LEDs on the tiny artificial tree glowed with a message of Hope, or so it seemed.

“I must make sure that you have not chewed up my clothes to make a nest”, she said aloud and shortly afterwards the mouse walked back to her nest at the bottom of a chest of drawers. The nest was clearly made of an old tea towel and some disposable wipes.

“You can have those.” she said with purpose.

Inside the nest, Charlotte counted eight tiny naked pink mice all snuggled together to keep warm. The mother rearranged the bedding then covered them with her body and the display was clearly over.

“I cannot kill eight tiny babies like that, and yet I cannot be overrun with mice. I must get a live trap and then take the babies with me when I release the mother somewhere safe… and yet these are house mice rather than field mice. I cannot just go down to the local Recreation Ground and release them, they will die from the cold and wet.”

A quick browse of the Internet made it clear that the mice needed to be released at least two miles away from Charlotte’s home or they may find their way back. They also needed to be released in a dry place with a little food to keep them going.

The weather was foul and likely to remain so for some days. Charlotte racked her brains about what to do with her small charges, and eventually decided to ring an animal shelter nearby.

It seemed that there was little call for the animal shelter’s services on Christmas day and when a young sounding male voice answered the 24-hour phone service, he seemed to be happy to talk.

“Yes, house mice could be released after treating for various diseases but they often had a display of house mice in the entry lobby to show visiting primary school children how the animals lived. They had had a bit of a disaster of late and the display was currently empty.

The voice at the other end of the phone was called Michael and they chatted for a while.

“If you are at a loose end on Christmas Day, why don’t you bring the mice here and we can start the process of making sure that they have no diseases. We only have a skeleton staff on today, and we could show you round.”

In the end it was decided that a glass bowl with a lid could be fitted out with food and bedding for the short journey to the animal shelter.

Charlotte threw off the clothes she lounged around the apartment and got ready to face the weather with a warm plaid skirt, ribbed tights and a jumper over her shirt.

It was surprisingly easy to catch the little mouse under a jam jar, and then her babies were scooped up by hand and added to the glass bowl before the lid was taped on.

Michael welcomed them in when Charlotte rang the door bell. He took charge of the bowl and returned a minute or two with the empty container in its carrier bag.

He was indeed, young. Perhaps five or more years younger than Charlotte. He was slim and had a mass of tousled blond hair partly trapped under a peaked cap. The green overalls and Wellingtons hid what might have been a well toned body, but Charlotte could not tell.

“Come and have a cup of tea, and I will give you a guided tour of the sanctuary. It isn’t very big, but we get a lot of call to take kittens and puppies after Christmas. People believe that baby rabbits and Guinea Pigs make suitable surprise Christmas presents. They don’t!”

Michael was confident even though he was young. He lived for those sick and dependent animals. Each one they visited was named, and comforted before they moved on. The cages were opened with a reverence for the often compromised life they contained.

After several rooms of animals had been visited under the still glowering skies, Michael offered Charlotte a cup of tea in the staff room. Even here there were small animals being cared for when they couldn’t be left. Tiny bundles of life that retained their connection to the living world by a thread. Annie and Jane were both volunteers who had offered to do the Christmas Day shift, but most of the cleaning and feeding had been done now, and the animals could be left overnight. They were donning winter coats, hats and gloves to brave the winter night and rain as the daylight faded a little after 4pm.

Michael finished making the tea as they two women left.

“Are you happy to hold the fort until Aubrey comes at 9pm?” Annie asked. Aubrey was the night watchman. A volunteer of many years service. Widowed a decade ago and the refuge had filled a void in his life.”

Charlotte sat in the small room on a hard chair with a white Formica table between her and Michael. The table had been scrubbed so many times that the surface was wearing thin and the whole room smelled of antiseptic. The chairs were a bit rickety, but adequate. She felt comfortable in his presence, but didn’t know why? Perhaps it was because of his care for the animals or perhaps because there was some sort of chemistry between them.

“How is it that you have not gone home for Christmas?”

How much should she say?, she wondered.

“My parents and I do not get on.”

“I don’t understand how someone so thoughtful could be alienated from her family?

Something in Charlotte’s psyche clicked and she told him everything.

The ache of uncertainty throughout her childhood. In her teenage years how she began to understand who she ought to have been. The inescapable hurt she had suffered through her parents’ intransigence and refusal to understand, and the schism that had been wrought by her transition. It all came out. The search for a sympathetic doctor to begin the treatment that allowed her to pass as a woman. The shame she still felt for what remained between her legs, which she refused to name.

Michael listened attentively and only when her sobs had made further talking impossible, did he hold her in his arms and just hug her until all the sadness had abated … at least for the time being.

“I am sorry to have burdened you with all my misery.” Charlotte managed to say after some minutes.

“Think nothing of it. I am glad to be a listening ear. Isn’t that one of the reasons that Christmas is so important. It gives us time to recalibrate our thoughts and emotions.

“I just had a thought. I have a very tiny ‘Christmas dinner for One’, in my fridge. It only takes 30 minutes cooking time. Would you like to come and share it? It will not be much, but it is festive I suppose.”

“I have a bag of food that I bought yesterday still in the fridge here. Let me add to your ‘Christmas Dinner for One’ “.

Michael rummaged through a carrier bag in a fridge that that had a label “Human Food Only” in large red letters on the door.

They left the Sanctuary in the care of Aubrey when he arrived and walked arm in arm the several hundred yards to Charlotte’s small apartment.

Michael opened a bottle of red wine that happened to be in his carrier bag, and Charlotte busied herself making the most of the pre-prepared Christmas Dinner. In fact the dinner and the extras that were in Michael’s bag created a meal that left them both satisfied.

“Where do you have to go, to get home, Michael?”

“I cannot get home this late on Christmas Day. I was hoping that I might be able to sleep here.”

“If I was a normal woman I would enjoy that, but I am not, and I only have one bed as you can see.”

“Let me say that I have catholic tastes, and I would enjoy what you have, if you will allow me to enjoy your bed with you.”

“I think I would enjoy that as long you will not be revolted.”

“I have enjoyed sex with men as much as with women. You strike me as a perfect companion as you are.”

“This is new to me so you must tell me what you enjoy. I know it sounds a bit forced to discuss what we like and don’t like, but under the circumstances being pragmatic may be best.”

As Midnight chimed on the town hall clock they moved to the bed and Michael slowly undressed Charlotte, kissing each part as he exposed it. She found that her nipples were wonderfully sensitive and a thrill passed through her as he nibbled her ear lobes.

She reminisced briefly. Years ago the coarse fabric of her Rugby shirt used to make her nipples very sore and she had to wear sticking plasters over each one during Rugby matches to avoid very obvious erect nipples. She remembered being embarrassed when this aroused a prurient interest in the other boys.

When it was her turn, the Sanctuary sweatshirt and Tee-shirt were lifted off and she reciprocated by kissing the lightly muscled chest with its distribution of fine hair.

He lifted himself off the bed to allow her to pull his jeans and briefs down and his erection sprang to attention.

Charlotte nodded when Michael asked if he could remove her jogging bottoms and underwear.

He was very gentle, but her tumescence was very obvious after the garments had been drawn over her feet. The clothes fell, crumpled, where they were. A little clutter of discarded anxieties.

Michael did not wait for long before taking her engorged member in his mouth and wrapping his tongue around the tip.

She curled round and began to reciprocate Michael’s ministrations until first one, then the other came to a resounding climax with an audible sigh.

They snuggled, kissing and fondling together until both were fully aroused once more.

Charlotte reached over to her bedside cabinet find some lubricant and presented herself to Michael.

“I will be gentle.” he said.

It wasn’t long before both were exhausted and collapsed into each other’s arms before dropping off to sleep.

The morning broke with watery sunshine. Both remembered that it was a bank holiday and they could take their time getting up.

It was mid-day before they arose, comfortable in their nakedness. Touching and being touched intimately was now normal, but hunger got the better of them and Michael made the trip to the ever-open Jewish shop to buy food for breakfast and the makings of a meal later.

He stripped off when he returned and the now couple were happiest skin to skin.

“What shall we do today?” Charlotte asked, as they shared the last croissant that had been dunked with due ceremony; then eaten in the nick of time before it disintegrated.

“Are you serious? I just want to spend the day in bed with you.” … and he stretched over and put his hand on a breast and gave the nipple a gentle rub between his fingers.

She sighed. “I wish I could be a real woman for you.”

“I don’t. I think you are just perfect as you are.”

… And she snuggled up to him and they shared the crumbs from the croissants from each other’s lips.

“Now we must give our teeth a clean. I don’t want croissant crumbs getting in awkward places.”

Michael laughed “Point taken!” After that we can enjoy the rest of our Christmas break free of crumbs.

“How long a break do you have?”

A pillow hit him on the chest.

“You will be exhausted before I have to go back to work on January 2nd.”

“You just try me.”

“I intend to.”

In her head she desperately wanted to ask if Michael would or could love her. She desperately wanted to be loved, but the question was left hanging and she lacked the courage to ask. “Too soon” she said to herself. “Wait. You only met him yesterday. You don’t know anything about him. He may already be married or have a criminal record as long as your arm (as the saying goes) or be hugely jealous and beat up his girlfriends?”

“Tell me about yourself, Michael. I don’t know anything about you except that you are devoted to animals at the shelter.”

After a moment to collect his thoughts Michael began. After the best part of an hour listening attentively, Charlotte realised that Michael was just as vulnerable as she was, perhaps more so. Her heart went out to him. They would just have to nurture each other, but yes, there was Hope of Love, that Christmas!

Part 2

Michael’s story

Christmas Day provided a long shifts to cover at work. Work meant looking after animals at the shelter in the town. It was an old factory with a large yard at the rear. The owner gave the charity who ran the shelter the use of the building and yard for a token sum each year.

The Charity ran on a shoestring. Most of the staff were volunteers. Michael as a trained veterinary nurse, and a part-time finance officer were the only paid staff. Even the director was a local businesswoman who gave up some of her free time to carry out such administration as was needed.

The animals came in, and some went out. Those that left were often re-homed, or went back home after their ailments were cured. Many were too injured to recover and it was left to Michael as a person authorised by the veterinarians who visited the Shelter, to administer euthanasia.

Michael typically worked 100 hours a week. It was not unheard of for him to do 120 hours in the days after Christmas when unwanted pets flooded in; or when the Police brought in pathetic animals, dogs for the most part, that had been neglected or abused or both.

There was no room for a social life in such a lifestyle. The excessive workload masked and buffered him against his past. The animals were not censorious and there was a never-ending need for the care he could offer.

In the couple of days after Christmas, Michael often ended up at a bit of a loose end. The flood of unwanted pets hadn’t started, and the lower than normal traffic left fewer animals injured. He didn’t like too much time to dwell on his past, so the call from the woman with a litter of wild mice was a welcome distraction. She had a catch in her voice that Michael had found attractive and he had wondered what she looked like.

The two women volunteers, Annie and Jane looked at the couple as Michael brought Charlotte into the staff room. When they left for their tour of the shelter, the volunteers both raised their eyebrows in that questioning look that says. “There is something afoot.”

Michael did not find his return to a drab bed-sitter to sit out the bad weather, an attractive prospect and being able to show Charlotte round the refuge was a pleasure. She seemed knowledgeable and he hoped that he might be able to encourage her to become a volunteer.

As they toured the building and handled some of the animals, their hands touched briefly on several occasions. Michael felt a tingle that emboldened him a little. When Charlotte suggested sharing their meagre meals his heart gave a flutter and he was delighted to accept.

As they walked through the drizzle of that night Michael thought of an actress that he had once had a crush on. She had the same dark hair that Charlotte had, and the same sexy, slightly gravelly voice. For the moment he could not remember her name, but then it came to him in a moment’s inspiration. Fenella Fielding!

“I wonder what happened to her, he wondered.”

Who do you wonder about, came the reply?”

He hadn’t intended to speak, but the question came to his lips unbidden, as it were.

“Oh, there was an actress many years ago that I rather fancied. She appeared in various low budget films of the sixties, and I believe that she appeared on stage in serious works like those of Ibsen and Chekhov. You remind me of her.”

“I assume that she is a ‘was’, rather than an ‘is’? Who was she?

“I think she may still be alive in her 80s or 90s. Her name is Fenella Fielding.

“Oh I remember her in some of the ‘Carry On Films.’ Her voice was very suggestive. I take it as a compliment that you think I am like her.”

“I think you look like her, but I see in you more as the pragmatic accountant, rather than the intellectual soufflé that she offered to the public. I haven’t thought of her for years. I must look her up to see what happened to her.”

“I have internet access at home, so we can look her up together.”

“Ok, perhaps there will be a sound recording of her so you can see what I mean.”

Michael noted that Charlotte slipped her arm through his, during this encounter.

The foot high dressed Christmas tree was turned upside down to switch on the LED lights and show off the miniature baubles. It gave a warm glow in the small flat and a semblance of Christmas spirit.

Charlotte took Michael’s coat and their lips brushed. He helped her with her coat and their lips brushed once more.

“I could enjoy getting into a habit of kissing” Charlotte said with a giggle, then danced away to busy herself in the kitchen making the best of the sundry items from their two Christmas dinners.”

It was rather later when they sat at Charlotte’s laptop and looked up the details of Fenella Fielding’s life.

“You see how she speaks. You are the same. Her voice is low in a woman’s register and sultry. Often there is sexual innuendo even when she is speaking completely innocuously.”

They listened to an archive recording of Fenella on Desert Island Discs with Roy Plomley and Michael allowed his hand to rest on Charlotte’s inner thigh. She spread her legs ever so slightly to accommodate him.

They both remembered seeing the surreal cartoon, ‘Dougal and the Blue Cat’. Fenella was the voice of the cat. Her delivery was unforgettable, and the cartoon had stood the test of time even though it was fifty years old.
Michael nuzzled Charlotte’s neck and his hands strayed. Both breasts were quickly freed from their bra cups. She kissed him deeply as he rubbed each nipple quite roughly between his thumb and forefinger. A growl emerged from her throat as the nubbins became fully erect.

Knowing that he could not get home that late on Christmas Day, Michael was emboldened enough to suggest staying over, and the consequences of that do not need explaining. He just thought to himself that it was so refreshing to be able to be plain and simple with another person. No shilly-shallying about with risqué suggestions that could be misunderstood, and tentative suggestive touches that could be repelled. Charlotte called a ‘spade a spade’ and they tumbled into bed together knowing that what was inevitable now, was with full consent.

In the morning Michael woke with a warm body next to his own. He knew that he would have to visit the sanctuary for at least a couple of hours during the day but he could afford the time to have a leisurely breakfast with Charlotte.

With no clean clothes, Michael had to dress in his old ones, but the Jewish shop was not far and he could cope until after breakfast before he needed to go home, change and attend the sanctuary.

They ate fresh croissant and pain au chocolat with strawberry jam that oozed out as each bit into their pastries. Charlotte had coffee pods and the back coffee washed the crumbs down well.

“I will be back at about 5pm”, he said, as Michael left the apartment on his way home to a shower and a change of clothes.

“Can I come to the shelter as well?”

“Sure, come any time after 10:30. There are certain to be some new customers on Boxing Day.”

Charlotte danced round the small apartment and dressed ready for some messy, and possibly smelly work. Old jeans and a roomy comfortable jumper, plus a padded gilet that had seen better days. She arrived at 10:30 and the locked door opened to a smiling Michael, who gave her a hug and a kiss.

“Welcome” he said.

“Ready to get a bit grubby. We have a kitten in who has a skin infection. She is in an awful state and is infested with fleas as well. It will take some time to clean her up and apply some salve to the itchy bits.”

The kitten was in a parlous state with a weeping eye that was half closed. Her fur was matted and her skin was very sore from the flea bites.

Michael showed Charlotte how to bathe the animal in treatment lotion and then how to comb out the nits afterwards. It took over an hour before the little animal could be put into a cage for a rest. Her fur was thin over her haunches and Michael thought it would be about a month before she could be spayed and then re-homed.

Even on a national holiday the small team at the sanctuary were kept busy and it was not until early evening that Michael and Charlotte could escape from their very needy patients.

“I will buy you dinner.” said Michael. “It is the least I can do after you spending all day helping here.”

“I know you haven’t got much of a wardrobe available, and we both need a shower. Perhaps it would be better to have a ‘Chinese takeaway’ delivered?”

“I prefer Indian, but a takeaway does sound a good idea.”

“Lets order on the Sanctuary computer, then it will be delivered shortly after we get back to your home.”

Michael and Charlotte found that they both liked Chicken Jalfrezi and Pilau rice. With popadoms crumbled over their platefuls they were soon sated and reached out for the remote for the television. Seeing nothing on the main channels they decided to watch a Christmas Romcom that was being streamed.

In fact they had both dozed off on the sofa long before the story had finished. That didn’t matter, as they had both seen the film before. It was one of those films that reappears every Christmas and always warms the cockles of one's heart!

2024-11-02 11:22:28 -0400

A Matching Set

How does one tell a school of 1800 students and nearly 200 colleagues that one is about to return after the summer holiday dressed as a woman? With difficulty is probably the simple answer!

For over a year I had been part of a group of people who rented an apartment where one could change clothes and emerge in one’s new persona then revert some hours later. The property was some 50 miles away from my home and I thought it was unlikely that any students or staff would notice a small woman out and about that far away from home. If anyone did notice, then nothing was said and my secret remained a secret.

Such a clandestine arrangement was not satisfactory for many reasons. I had been convinced that my male body was not what I wanted for as long as I could remember. I chose what was regarded as a nurturing profession in the hope that my feelings would change, but it made me more certain that my real self needed to emerge.

Let me say that the starting material was probably a positive feature. I was only 5ft 7in and barely 8 stones (About 110lb). Sports kit hung off me like an old dishcloth and my fine sandy hair lay flat looking as if I was going prematurely bald. The suits I had to wear for work were small size with a 34” chest and 27” inside leg.

On the scale of masculinity I scored one out of ten. A wimp by any other name and with round glasses and Computer Science as a teaching subject, I was largely ignored by boys and girls alike in corridors and public spaces.

One might think that such a presence might lead to problems in classroom management but it never ceases to amaze me that problems with dealing with student behaviour seem to have nothing to do with size or gender of the teacher. It comes from an inner confidence that shows in a classroom situation. My secret seems to have given this aura of confidence.

I suppose that the first stage in my transition was to see my GP. Doing that is easier said than done, when family doctors are in short supply and one has to explain in detail to a dragon-like receptionist in graphic detail why one needs to waste the doctor’s time.

I had to lie to get in, but early January saw me sitting in the surgery waiting room white as a sheet in full expectation of being told I was wasting their time.

In fact the first consultation was nothing like that. The young woman doctor was a locum tenens at the surgery and was very sympathetic and gave me a thorough examination before referring me to a clinic at the nearest hospital where a psychologist could evaluate my state of mind.

Three weeks later a letter arrived from one of the NHS gender dysphoria clinics (GDCs) giving me an appointment two years ahead! My heart sank. I would be over 30 by the time I could live my life as I wished.

Research showed me that a similar evaluation was available at much shorter notice at a private clinic in London, but the cost was £1200. A considerable sum for me at the start of my career. But it had to be, and the appointment was made for the February half-term holiday.

I left home early that morning and drove to the shared apartment where I could change into feminine clothes. I had chosen what to wear with great care. A cream coloured bra and knicker set was a special purchase and the B-cup breast forms filled the cups well. I had worn a gaff previously, but the knickers were a design to hide the bulge known as a camel back and give me a smoother pubic area. My shirt was a particular favourite in a sort of Claret colour with two breast pockets that emphasised the small bust I appeared to have. My skirt was winter weight, lined, and knee length.

The outfit went well with the calf length boots I owned and my Size 7 feet measured up as 8½ in women’s sizes here in the UK. Not too easy to obtain in the shops, but mail order makes such purchases much easier than it would have been for previous generations.

I had previously bought a pair of feminine spectacles, mail order, using my usual prescription, and these were donned before leaving the apartment.

Hair was always a problem but I could use lots of back combing and hairspray to give a fairly feminine style if one didn’t look too closely.

My coat was fairly unisex and had to do.

A quick walk to the train station, and an hour’s ride onto London, and three stops on the Underground and I was outside the consulting rooms of the psychologist who was due to assess me. No one had taken the slightest notice of me. Just an anonymous woman on a train.

Pressing the doorbell brought an attractive receptionist to the door and I was ushered into a small waiting area with a coffee machine, a selection of women’s magazines and comfortable chairs.

I didn’t have to wait long before the psychologist, Gordon Smith, came out of his consulting room to meet me and guide me in.

We sat in easy chairs to discuss my expectations and needs. I had paid for an hour’s consultation and the questions took all of that time.

At the end of that time, Dr. Smith emphasised that there was little he could do to recommend me for gender reassignment until I had been living in my chosen role for about a year, but he accepted that I would be a candidate after living successfully in my chosen gender. He recommended that I take hormones to bring about reversible changes in my body, and I was asked to attend my home surgery to get the prescriptions.

This was the ultimate test for me. Could I go through with it? Declaring my intentions in front of a whole school population.

On the way home, I made several decisions.

Firstly that I would take the next two terms to make preparations for my change and would take the hormone pills prescribed. Secondly I would see the school’s counsellor to get some advice on how to broach the subject with the staff initially, but before that, the principal and his deputies.

Obtaining the prescription was straightforward once the psychiatrist had sent his evaluation by email attachment to my surgery, but the pharmacist took me into his private consulting room to explain what these pills would do to me. He wanted to make sure I understood the implications of the medicines. I had no problem with professionals making sure that this course of action was the right one for me, but I had to go back the following morning to obtain the two anonymous boxes of tablets after the special order had been delivered.

The rest of the half-term break was taken up with preparation for the new half-term, so apart from taking the tablets I had nothing else to be concerned about. I certainly was not going to see any changes in a few days!

The following Monday I popped in to see Caroline, the school counsellor to make an appointment. She was surprised, but seemed happy to see me after school on Wednesday and so, I attended her small office at 3.45pm after all the children had left the premises. I was very nervous and my hands felt cold.

Caroline welcomed me immediately. It would not have been a good to be seen sitting on the row of chairs set out in the corridor outside her office!

She was a comfortable woman in her fifties. She had eased the passage through adolescence of more children than one could imagine. There was always a little gaggle of tearful children outside her door and invariably they recovered after her ministrations.

“There is no easy way to start a conversation like this, “ I started once we were sitting in easy chairs in her office.”

“I have been to have an assessment in London over the half-term break to go through gender reassignment.” I said in one breath to get it over with in one go.

She smiled. “I am not surprised in the slightest.”

“You aren’t?” I said with obvious shock.

“No, not at all. I don’t think it will be a surprise to anyone, teacher or older student. I have had students in here who mistakenly refer to you as ‘She’ or “Her’.”

“I am amazed. I thought I had kept my intentions so quiet. How did anyone know?”

“I think it was your deportment and mannerisms that gave the game away, as it were. Your gestures are very feminine, and your class control non-confrontational and the banter that all teachers have with their students at times is more targeted at the boys than the girls. Male teachers tend to flirt in a completely acceptable way with pretty girls.”

“I never knew. Who would have guessed that I was so transparent in my ways?”

“The release of tension was enough for me to allow myself to have a little smile.”

“So what can I do for you?” Caroline asked.
“My psychiatrist has said that I cannot have anything done permanent until I have been living as a woman for a year. To do that I must be seen as woman here. I don’t know how to go about that.”

“I quite understand. Since making the appointment and guessing the reason, I have given it a bit of thought. I think you should keep your intentions to ourselves for the time being. I hope you are going to have a good outcome with the hormone treatment. It is not certain as to how successful it is, but you have a small chest, so any meaningful growth of breast tissue should help. Obviously, you will need to choose your clothing carefully over the next few months. You don’t want some of the less savoury boys to be commenting about your chest before you are ready to do the great reveal.”

“I don’t know how long it will take for anything noticeable to happen and I don’t want to use a binder to flatten my chest, so I have to be circumspect. I was hoping to continue as normal for the rest of this term, then to make the teaching staff aware, and maybe attend the staff training day as my female persona at the end of the half-term holiday in May.”

“I think that ought to be a good plan, subject to any changes that cannot be hidden. I would suggest that you allow your hair to grow out a bit over the next months. I don’t think you would want to wear a wig, so you will need to have enough hair for a stylist to make into a feminine style. I suggest that you go to a stylist out of town to get some advice. Your hair is very fine, and will need careful managing.”

“I also think that you should consider telling the Principal with me in attendance, of course. If I am there it will guarantee privacy as I will act as secretary to the meeting and all the records will go into my files, rather than his.”

“I think that I would be happy to meet the Principal at the end of this term when I have things clearer in my mind, but to give enough time for any input he has to take effect, before ‘the great reveal’ as you put it.”

“Do you have a new name yet?” was Caroline’s passing shot.

“Not really. As you know I am Anthony, so I suppose that Antonia is the obvious name or Toni for short.”

“No need to be set on anything yet, but I will label your file as ‘Antonia’ for the time being. There are no ‘Antonia’s in the school at the moment. I was going to suggest that you avoided the very common names like Sarah and Eve.”

Before we parted, Caroline had a suggestion to make.

“I will be circumspect about this, but there are two senior students here who are going through the same process as you. They know each other, and we meet once a week to see how things are going. Obviously, I would not release any names or arrange meetings until everyone was agreed, but I do think some sort of self-help group would be supportive for all of you.”

“I have no idea who the students might be, but if you think at would be a good idea, and the two are in agreement, then I have no objection, and I think it might be fun. Are they both male to female?”

“By chance they are both male to female.”

“I can see that there might be fun to be had with the inevitable shopping. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of having one or two people to share with.”

“I will see what happens when I have my regular meeting with them, but no walking down this corridor at the wrong time! Any meeting has to be on their terms!”

So there we left it. Six weeks before the end of the Spring Term and six weeks before my meeting with the Principal and Caroline.

Six weeks seems a long time and there was very little to show for all the hormone treatment after such a short time. I had been warned that the maximum effect of hormone treatment might no happen until two or more years had elapsed, so I was not surprised. Life and teaching continued as normal. Nothing was noticed and no unfortunate comments were made by the socially challenged parts of the school community, much to my relief.

Caroline got back to me after a few days. Both her transitioning students had agreed to keep absolute secrecy, and had agreed to meet. Apparently both knew exactly who I was. After knowing I existed on the staff. I was, apparently, the obvious choice!

As both students were over eighteen, we agreed to meet for a drink in a pub some distance from our homes, and Caroline came as well.

It seemed normal to hug both Angela (Angelo) and Claire (Charles) when we met. All of us were dressed as girls and it was Caroline who seems different being at least 20 years older than the rest of us.

I hadn’t ever taught the girls and only knew them by sight in their school uniforms. Caroline complimented each of us on our clothes and make up. She hadn’t seen the two girls ‘dressed’ before and was taken aback how easily we fitted in with the other
pub clientele. No one took any notice of us much to my satisfaction.

Angela was taller than me, and had nearly black curly hair that framed her small face with her prominent spectacles. Her development had certainly been going on longer than mine, and she was on the point of transitioning formally, but only had one term left before going up to University. With study leave for A levels taking up most of her remaining time at the school, a formal change of status wasn’t needed.

Angela was chatty and it was quite impossible to see the boy she had been. Her journey had started nearly two years ago. I was impressed with her bust development and said so. Sadly some of it was enhanced by a padded bra, but she was enthusiastic about her parents’ promise for her bust to be enhanced with an implant if she did well in her A levels.

Claire was a year younger and had been on her journey for a little over a year. Caroline had warned me that Claire would miss Angela’s support when the older girl had left, so was hopeful that I would be able to replace Angela in supporting her.

Claire was shorter and had her longish blond hair in a ponytail. Her make-up was carefully done but her posture was defensive sitting with her ‘half-of-cider’. She wasn’t at all confident in front of me and I doubt if she would have come if Angela and Caroline hadn’t been there.

We chatted about the difficulties we each faced over how to present ourselves. They were particularly interested in my dilemma of how to change a whole school’s perception of me.

They agreed that the programme that Caroline and I had agreed some months ago was the best way forward, and we parted with the idea of meeting up to do some shopping together during the Easter break.

It seemed very soon that Caroline and I were waiting nervously outside the Principal’s office, but the time had come for our plan to be started.

In fact David Cordran, the Principal was quite supportive, if a little uncertain how he could mitigate any unpleasantness that could arise from my transformation. His first question was about whether I could pull it off as a woman teacher in the school. Would I look so out of the ordinary that life would be made too difficult for me and for the school?

Caroline assured me that she had been with me when ‘dressed’ and that I did not look anything out of the ordinary.

“Please meet me and my wife at the local pub on Saturday evening. I shall be happy to buy you a drink and my wife is a much better judge of these things than I am, so I will defer to her opinion. It is not that I would or could try to dissuade you from your course of the school. I need to be able to manage the situation as best I can for both you and the school, and need advice for that. My colleagues here will, I am sure, be supportive, but they may talk in front of the students before we are ready to proceed.”

So I dressed with care and drove from my rented flat to the pub right in the middle of the town where the school was based. Somewhat nervously I crossed the carpark to the main bar and saw David and his wife Mary at a table across the room. I waved and went to meet them.

“I hope you will not mind me giving you a kiss on the cheek in the way I would any other woman I had met here.”

I went up on tiptoes for him to brush his lips across my cheek. Mary did the same.

“I think you look phenomenal, was David’s first comment. No one here would regard you as being anything other than an attractive woman in her late 20’s. Mary agreed. How is it you have learned so quickly how to dress in a co-ordinated fashion and wear makeup that is so appropriate to your dress? I wish you could teach my 14 year old daughter to be so effective with her makeup.”

While David bought me the glass of white wine spritzer he had promised, Mary chatted about school and her family.

We were soon resettled in around the pub table and so the discussion proceeded.

“What is your goal?” David asked.

“I would like to have surgery eventually and obtain a gender reassignment certificate. In the short term I would like to live my life accepted by students and colleagues as being a normal woman doing a good job here at the school.”

“I think there are two separate things here. We all have two lives. The first is our professional life where we come to school and teach as best we can. The second is our private lives where we can be more liberal how we live and dress.”

“The duration of the former, is no more than seven years. When every child who knew you as a man has moved on then there will be no problem, but until that time there will be difficulties that have to be managed.”

“I like the plan you and Caroline have formulated. I don’t think there is any sign to me at least that you will need to wear women’s clothes before the end of the summer term. Is that correct from your perspective?”

“I am already feeling a little uncomfortable with a sports bra on, squashing me a bit; but we can see how my development progresses. I wear a 34A bra now, and will get bigger so I am told. I have had to let out my man’s trousers to cope with my hips getting wider, but so far so good. I am wearing bulky jumpers so when my shirt buttons gape, the gap is hidden. I don’t know what I will do when the weather is warmer and everyone is in a simple shirt or top?”

“Again, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“My second concern is with a small number of the students who will try to make your life a misery. Think of them a trolls. Their parents will be up here on the day you are revealed demanding that I suspend you as an abomination. They will quote scripture to me. I will protect you from such people, but you must be careful in the street in case some parent or group of students see you alone and unsupported.”

“I would ask you to come to the whole training day in May dressed as you will be on the first day of next term. I am sure the staff will be very supportive. I will warn them so you don’t get too many gasps when you come in to the staff room.”

“For the first few weeks at least, I will drive to school. Until now I have normally come on the bus, but you are absolutely correct that being cornered by a group of students egging each other on is the very last thing I want to happen.”

“Once the training day is over, I will instruct the office staff to address all documents to you as M/s Frost, or Antonia or Toni Frost rather than Anthony. Your initials on timetables and so on will be TFR rather than AFR as at present.”

“I am sure this seems quite daunting at present, but I do feel that we can try to make the transition as easy as we can for you. I, like many of the staff have said that it was only a matter of time before this happened.”

Caroline looked over to me and smiled. “I think Antonia was the last person on the staff to recognise this, but I am very happy for her.”

David continued …“On another matter, I am concerned about the student you know as Claire or Charles Carter. When her confidante, Angela, has left she will be rather alone. I normally make a bit of a show about which teacher is to become form tutor for any particular class at the end of each summer term, but I think in your case I am going to make an exception. Claire will be in the Upper Sixth taking her A levels next year and I am going to attach you as an extra Sixth Form tutor for the year for you both to be able to support each other. The following year you will return to being a normal form tutor. I haven’t got the staff to be able to have many supernumerary teachers so it can only be for a year!

“I think that covers everything unless Caroline has any more points to make.”

“No? ... so I pass on my best wishes for your future from Mary and we will look forward to next term and beyond.”

“That went better than I had expected”, was Caroline’s first comment.

I just smiled and squeezed her hand for an instant.

“I have a date with Angela and Claire next week to go out shopping in Nottingham. A bit of retail therapy whilst everything needs to remain secret. The ‘girls’ will share my shared changing space one at a time and we should be on our way by lunch time.”

And so it was. Three young women to all intents and purposes. Unexceptional in every way, enjoying each other’s company and of course no one took any notice. There were not too many purchases. My needs were more pressing in view having to change completely in August but Angela and Claire were not short of ideas to guide me into what they thought were the right choices.

“When you are revealed in the final assembly of next term I would like to join you.” Claire said without any reservation, it seemed.

“What does Caroline say about this?” I asked, somewhat taken aback.

Angela added, “Although it doesn’t make a lot of difference, but I would like to join you both on the stage as girls. I would have to borrow a Sixth Form uniform. I am not about to buy a whole new uniform for one or two hours wear.”

“We have spoken to Caroline several times about this in our weekly sessions and whilst she has some reservations, she knows that Claire will have to become accepted in her new gender soon as the medication will make wearing a boy’s uniform impossible. The criteria that make it good for you to be seen right at the end of term apply to us as well. By the start of the Autumn term any upheaval will surely have died down.”

“Before we finish I would like to go to get a new girls’ uniform that I can wear on the last day of term. I hope you will help in case I get nervous as I may meet someone I know there.”

In the event, visitors to the store late in the afternoon on a Wednesday near Easter were few, and no one was there Claire recognised. The uniform for senior girls was not particularly proscriptive. It was the colour that was important with purple being the dominant colour. She came out of the changing room and gave us a swirl … absolutely delighted with the choices she had made.

Angela was pensive. “How do I borrow a uniform without letting the cat out of the bag?”

I think I can get access to the second hand uniform shop at the school. All the garments are washed and if you give me your measurements then I will surreptitiously borrow the items if you can get them back to me pronto laundered before the new term starts.
… and so it was. Angela didn’t know that by the time I had ‘borrowed’ the items, the staff already knew what was going on and were happy with my little deceit.

… but I am getting ahead of myself.

The training day was on the Monday after the May Half Term break and I was full of nerves. I drove to the staff car park and went in as if nothing was different. David had sent out a staff memo with ‘Read and destroy’ printed in large letters at the top, so everyone I saw said “Hello Antonia”, or something similar and complimented me on what I was wearing and how I looked. I could not have been more supported when I went into the hall for the training day. All the information sheets said M/s Frost or TFR on them.

I had to give a presentation about the development of IT facilities in the school over the coming year and that went very well. I tried to keep my voice in my upper register, but as I sang as a first tenor, I was able to use my ‘head voice’ as my speaking voice.

At the end of the day I thought it had gone really well. I felt supported and the Principal seemed happy as well.

Unfortunately not all the staff were as careful of the Memo as they had been instructed to be. Brian, a languages teacher had taken the memo home in a bundle of paper intending to destroy it later when he was less rushed. His son saw the memo sticking out of his father’s briefcase and the boy was, of course, very interested and scanned the document before returning it to the pile of papers in his father’s briefcase. The boy wasn’t being malevolent but some of the so called ‘friends’ he sent it to clearly fell into that category.

The school used filtered emails for children and parents to contact Staff to ask about all sorts of things like asking for permission for planned absences, illness or questions about homework.

None of the abusive emails got through to Antonia, but the school manager had access to all the material that had been filtered out and was shocked by the number of vile messages that had been sent to her. The school manager printed out a selection and took them straight to the Principal.

“This is very unfortunate, but I am not entirely surprised.”

“Can we find out who released the original Memo?”

“I have asked all the teaching staff how they destroyed the Memo. The only one who took it home to destroy later was Brian Scott who has a son here in year ten.”

“Ask Mr. Scott to come and see me as soon as he can.”

… and so it was. Brian Scott admitted that he had taken the memo home and it would have been possible for his son to have copied it before he destroyed it later that day.

A subsequent interview with George Scott and his father confirmed that George had copied the memo and had circulated it amongst his friends. George was a lonely boy on the whole, and it was clear that he saw the memo as a way of currying favour with some of the more powerful, but undesirable elements in the school.

“The question I have to answer is … What do I do with you? What you have done is seriously wrong, but it did stem from your father’s carelessness.”

In a moment of unexpected bravery, George spoke for the first time other than to answer a direct question.

“I feel terribly responsible for what has happened. I didn’t understand the consequences of what I did. I have seen some of the vile messages sent to Antonia Frost and am deeply ashamed.”

“I have no way that I can make it up to M/s Frost. The harm has been done, but I would like to make my apology in front of the whole school and just to emphasise the feelings I have I would like to be dressed in a girl’s uniform when I do it. I admire her for what she is doing and if there was any way of undoing the harm I have done, then I would grasp it with both hands.”

“That would certainly be a sincere apology if you can bring yourself to do it.” David looked across to George’s father.

“Do you agree, Brian, that this would be a suitable way of correcting the harm that George has done?”

“I am amazed that George has made this offer. I did not expect it at all. I am sure his mother and I will support him in this.”

“There is one more thing to be done before I accept your offer. M/s Frost doesn’t know of the unsavoury messages that have been filtered out, but she must know that the information has got out from the comments other students are making. I must ask her to bring forward her ‘change over’ day as there really isn’t any point in delaying matters further.”

I will ask her to come to school as Antonia from now on, and she will be on the platform when you give your apology in front of the whole school.

“I will ring you both a bit later to confirm the arrangements when I have spoken to M/s Frost, but in the meantime I suggest that you source a girl’s uniform that will fit you.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem, we still have the uniform of George’s older sister Tania, who is now at University.”

“Good. Subject to M/s Frost’s agreement. I will see you both here on Monday morning. George, you will be in girl’s uniform for the whole day and there will be a full school assembly at the end of the school day as usual on a Monday where you will be invited up to the stage to make your apology. It will be a very difficult thing for you to do, but it is a reasonable punishment that fits the crime as it were.”

Antonia Frost was very much aware that her secret was no longer a secret and readily agreed that George’s suggestion was appropriate and commensurate.

Angela raided the ‘Pre-loved’ Uniform store rather earlier than had been planned, and Claire donned her girl’s uniform rather earlier than expected. The two girls stood either side of Antonia on the stage. It was difficult to decide whether the three were more nervous than George, or whether it was the other way round.

George held the microphone steady and spoke from a prepared card very clearly.
“I have tried to share some of the experiences of cross dressing that these three brave people are experiencing every day. I have been sworn at numerous times today and have been verbally abused. I have been touched inappropriately more times than I care to mention. I admire you for what you are doing to help change people’s views.”

“I apologise from the bottom of my heart for circulating the confidential memo, and, M/s Frost, I hope you will accept this apology.”

“I don’t feel that would ever want to be a woman or girl, but the taunts I have received today are a wake-up call to us all. Now you all know why I am wearing a girls’ uniform today I hope attitudes will change. With the Principal’s permission, I am going to wear this uniform with pride just one more day.”

David nodded his agreement.

Antonia used a tissue to catch a tear, then walked across the stage and hugged George in front of the whole school!

Thank you she said into the microphone that was still switched on. Yes, of course, I accept your apology.

A trickle of applause started near the back of the hall and spread until it became a standing ovation.

The following day George made good with his promise. A self selected group of older girls remained with him for the whole day and absolutely no one got through the female barrier unless it was to say something nice.

One boy shouted some abuse from across the hall, but he was the only one. He was manhandled into the office of his year head, and was suspended for a week for abusive behaviour. In fact he got the message that he was no longer welcome and moved schools soon afterwards.

A year later and Antonia, Claire and Angela waited patiently at a private clinic for breast enhancement. They had remained friends after Claire and Angela had left school and were at the clinic with Antonia for mutual support. They had been out and about together regularly during the last year and had seen a selection of boy friends come and go.

They insisted on going into the consulting room together to the surprise of the surgeon.

When three chairs had been provided the surgeon asked. How can I help you?

“We would like a matching set.”
“A matching set of what?”

A matching set of 34C breasts please.

The three went in for surgery on the same morning and were delivered back to a four-bedded ward afterwards. They had the nurses in stitches with the constant jokes. Antonia’s, Claire’s and Angela’s happiness rubbed off on the staff at the clinic. When their recovery was well advanced the three women were discharged. They were waved off arm in arm. All that was left to be done was to screw up their old bra’s and toss them into a nearby street rubbish bin.

This is a short story written for the Halloween competition for the Big Closet web site. There is nothing funny or entertaining about the dead rising from their tombs, even for one night. This is my first attempt at writing a transgender horror story. It is deliberately short and much of the content is left to the imagination of the reader. It could have been much longer.This is offered as a warning to those who might be sensitive to such things. It is submitted early as I have no wish to enter the competition formally. I hope my idea will be a stimulus for others.

Awareness was gradual, but no sense of waking from a long sleep. The space I was in was cold and and still!

Too cold and too still, it seemed.

As cold as the grave in fact. Feeling round the space with numb fingers showed that I was in a box that could have been a coffin, but much of the wood had crumbled. A cascade of dry earth fell on my face and chest as I moved.

The earth continued to fall until wan moonlight from a baleful moon bathed my face. Could I really have been buried, entombed even, in a rotted coffin and buried so close to the surface. Getting out wouldn't have been so easy deeper underground.

I didn't feel any fear but I didn't know how I got there either. Perplexity was my main feeling.

So what did I remember?

Being in prison ... yes being in prison and being very old. A prison for old people, but I had been in prison for a very long time, over 40 years in fact. I had been given a whole life tariff a very very long time ago.

Did I remember my death? I remember having a fall down some stairs when my walker slipped. I remember the pain, such pain, excruciating pain of my shattered pelvis and shoulder, and the staff couldn't stem the internal bleeding. They were caring, but nodded sagely, and watched on as my life ebbed away ... then there was no pain and no consciousness after that.

Could I have died then? If I did, why am I conscious and in a rotted casket in a shallow grave?

Could I move?

Yes, my arms and legs could move but I didn't seem to need to breathe.

I sat up and found that my sole garment was a dirty smock, like a nightie or was it a shroud? No it couldn't be a shroud because my face wasn't covered.

It was the long nails and the hair past my shoulders that was the next surprise.

Traces of red nail varnish showed that this was not normal for a prison burial. I know that I would not have been buried in prison uniform. Someone would have found me civilian clothes for my final journey.

Pushing up with my left hand showed that I had a photograph held in my palm.

I looked at the browned grainy photo and recognised the two children who were still visible. Both smiled at the photographer as they held buckets and spades. There was a beach behind with miles of golden sand that mirrored their flaxen hair blowing in the wind. Two children, a boy who seemed to be about eight at the time the photograph was taken, and a rather younger girl.
Who were they. Were they my children? The names of Petra and Giles came to mind. Could that have been their names?

Where are they now, I wondered?

I knew the answer as it drifted back through my befuddled brain

Both were dead. They had died violent deaths as children.

I felt angry, but I could not say for sure why that should be so. Did I know more about their deaths?

I felt an anger from all those years ago with a clarity that defied logic. I had always had a temper, but this anger spread throughout my being. An anger that washed through me and over me. I remember shaking with anger. My whole body was contorted by my anger.

It came back to me slowly. My breathing at the time of their deaths was rasping and ragged. I remembered that well. I remembered seeing the corpses of the children, each in their own bed. The sheets awash with blood that had soaked through to the mattresses. Petra lay with a large slash across her chest and her severed head lay on the floor beside her bed. Giles had died from multiple stab wounds from a large bladed weapon of some sort.

That night of all nights I had had a great deal of booze mixed with a handful of pills. The chemicals had taken me over, bathed me an a warm fuzz of semi-consciousness. I felt held aloft by a sense of my own invulnerability and well-being.

I remember the injustice as I saw it of the injunction against me from my ex-wife that prevented me seeing my own children or visiting the town where they lived. It had gnawed at my soul as I sat alone in my bed-sit. I was consumed by a seething anger that distorted my reality. My heart fluttered and raced. I was unable to do anything to make matters right as I saw it, but a glimmer of an idea grew within me.

It was not me that was flawed, it was Sharon and her wretched lawyer. They had destroyed everything that was meaningful to me. The home was lost and the family went with it.

The job went as soon as the Press got hold of the story of the injunction. I had abused Sharon one time too many, pending our divorce. I lived in a twilight World of rejection after that. People crossed the road to avoid me and local shops would not serve me. I was judged a pariah and had to move away to get some anonymity and freedom.

I can only remember that my anger seemed to take on a life of its own. It became my third child. I loved it, and my anger and I, loved the machete that was bought from the Internet, clandestinely of course. We polished the blade until it shone, and it was made razor sharp. A piece of paper sang as it was drawn over that blade. No child could have had more attention. We greeted it each morning and I wished it well at bed time. During periods of wakefulness it glowed dully on the other side of the room.

I now dimly remember the drive over to my old home in the small hours after the Halloween festivities had died down. I wasn't fit to drive through the red haze that clouded my vision, but no one noticed my erratic progress after all the Trick or Treaters had gone home to bed with buckets of sweets.

On this eve of Halloween the police were occupied elsewhere in that rural location. Even without a door key I knew how to get in to my old family home silently.

All was quiet. Petra made just a slight wheezing sound as the machete did its work. Giles was curled up in bed, but the result was the same. Several huge gaping wounds traversed his slight body before I moved on.

Sharon woke as I entered what had been our bedroom. She awoke as the blade cut deeply across her chest. Her aorta was severed and her blood gushed out in a torrent. Over me as much as the bed. I fancy she was conscious long enough to murmur a curse, but it was soon over.
I felt exhilarated, and free. A great burden had been lifted from me. I sobbed with the relief of it. For now, my anger was assuaged.

I felt that everyone would see it the same way as I did, even though I was soaked in drying blood and still carried the tool of my ‘redemption’.

I wanted to share my wonderful release with others. As I passed the local Police Station I felt that there were people there - even at 4am who would understand my story and share it with me.

The result was not what I had expected. The young woman on duty appeared deeply shocked by my appearance and pressed a button under her desk. Several officers appeared and gently removed my weapon before guiding me to an interview room. They seemed to share my story and an ambulance was quickly dispatched to attend to my family.

I seem to remember talking as if a flood gate had opened. All the years of being rejected and being systematically loathed, bubbled up in me. I was euphoric over the night’s events and continued to ramble on even when I was being examined by a doctor and given a change of clothes. I never did see the machete again. I felt the loss of it of a little while.

I had already admitted my guilt at the Police Station so the trial was short. A remand in custody for reports, then the whole life tariff sentence. I was numb but mentally prepared.

It was the first few months of jail that were the worst, after that, one was habituated to the routine and physical limitations. I had no visits, and would not have welcomed them even if someone had come.

As a lifer I had my own cell in a prison wing for lifers. I read and studied for a second bachelor’s degree, even though I would never be able to work. Retirement age came and went. When I was 72 I was moved to a prison for elderly inmates, and eventually to a prison for those with life limiting conditions when I was 80.

All this went through my mind in what seemed to be a fraction of a second while I was sitting in a trench in a graveyard. The wind blew my long dirty, but still blond hair into my eyes. I swept it back with a flick of my hand. A movement I knew so well from the past. A movement that Sharon did unconsciously. I noticed the chipped red mail varnish again.

I had never had blond hair or had worn nail varnish, and red was definitely not my colour.

A lump of something fell from my chest through the bottom of the nightie and onto the earth. I picked it up. It appeared to be a lump of flesh coloured wax the shape of a large chest wound.

I probed underneath the nightie and felt the rotted and rough stitches that had held together a gaping wound in my chest. I also felt the remains of two breasts. Both had been sliced open by a deep cut.

I began to understand that the slashed breasts, hair and nail varnish were all features of Sharon’s body. I felt under the nightie for signs of my manhood. All there was were the signs of a woman’s groin. To all intents and purposes, Sharon’s groin.

Panic rose in my head. I understood nothing of what had happened, but I heard a high pitch keening sound. It got louder and louder until I realised that it was my voice, or rather Sharon’s voice. I levered myself to my feet and staggered towards the exit to the graveyard.

There was a banner over the village square announcing the Halloween festivities for fifty years after my death and a hundred years after Sharon’s death. I didn’t have time to dwell on my predicament before groups of merrymakers rushed past.

“Great outfit mate. You make a great looking Zombie!”

The next group grabbed me by the hand and I was whirled into a macabre dance round the square.

“Where did you get the make-up. Brilliant. Would suit a horror movie. Must have cost an absolute bomb to get done.”

An elderly priest dressed in a cassock and biretta saw me, and grabbed me from the throng.

“Come with me!”

There was no option. I felt compelled to follow.

We recrossed the churchyard, but by the path and into the porch and then into the church. A purple cloth had been laid before the alter. I was required to lie on it. His thought alone held me frozen to the spot. I could not have moved however hard I tried. The priest quickly donned the purple vestments of the Exorcist.

My memory is dim over the ritual but at some point my anger reasserted itself, next I seemed to become very distant from Sharon’s body. It was almost like one of those drone sequences where one climbs away and a vista expands. I lost the sense of myself in those moments and found myself back at another tomb in another place. As I drifted away I heard the intonation stop.

I saw very distantly the priest remove his purple stole, kiss it reverently and fold in with great care.

The last thing I heard was the priest saying. “Sharon … be at peace, the Devil has been driven out. You are now in a State of Grace and this crucifix will keep you safe. In the morning you will be reinterred.
Now, be at your eternal rest.”

Andrea and the Lottery

Introduction

Author’s note - In July 1997 the first part of a novella called ‘The Lottery’ was published by Diane Christy. It was a text file that appeared to have come from one of the ALT.SEX newsgroups of the time. It is still available on the TG part of nifty.org website for Gay stories. There appeared to be little in the way of editing and it was in most respects an unsatisfactory read.

In its then format the theme of coercive control of women by what was essentially a magical transformation was and is very unappealing to me. The emphasis on transgendering in order to smoke tobacco more, seems vaguely obscene in today’s society. None the less, it is appropriate to acknowledge the file as being the initial stimulus for this story.

This story has no connection with a story of the same name written by Dark Vision and published on Storiesonline in 2002.

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living of dead is entirely co-incidental. If the characters resemble anyone a hundred years in the future then I will accept applause for my considerable forethought, but will not be able to acknowledge it!

_______________________________________________________________________________________

War, particularly war without restraint, surely, ends in outright butchery. The protagonists may descend into a savagery and bloodlust that soon becomes self-perpetuating.

The twenty-second century had moved on from machete wielding warriors hacking each other to bits, or carpet bombing of civilians. The World had seen several attempts by tyrants to find a final solution to what was perceived as a problem. The demagogue rulers became consumed by their egos. Sycophants inflated the outrageous pomposity of the demagogues by pandering to every whim their paymaster dreamed up.

Unalloyed hatred came to the world in 2150 or so. The politicians in a group of neighbouring small nations showed monumental ignorance by instructing a psychologically unstable, but brilliant virologist to create a virus that would solve all the problems they thought they had. These problems were perceived as being larger countries which appeared to the despotic leaders, to be exploiting them.

This virologist had been slighted repeatedly by many intelligent women who saw him accurately as a misogynist bigot. They would no more have shared a bed with him than with the despotic leaders who flattered him.

After several years the politicians were delighted to receive the vials of virus from their creator.

The vials were transported very carefully to the capitals of nations seen as their oppressors, and were released into air conditioning systems of large buildings.

Some seven to ten days later women who had visited the buildings started to fall ill. The virus only affected women and girls for reasons that were not understood, and being highly infective, females throughout those cities fell ill. With a lethality of 98%. Those cities quickly became populated only by men and boys.

The virus mutated several times and spread throughout the World. The only women who survived were post-menopausal.

The imminent loss of the entire human population in a matter of a few decades was not lost on the patriarchs who remained alive and perhaps the only benefit from the ghastly episode was that nations faced with extinction began to co-operate.

So many things were tried. Artificial wombs were discarded as an idea as there were no fertile eggs to grow in them. No human eggs existed and taking stem cells from the elderly women who remained alive and encouraging the cells to grow and divide was encouraging, but growing those human foetuses in the wombs of domestic animals failed miserably. Where some growth occurred the virus recognised the XX genetic make up of the foetus and it was infected and died.

In the face of human extinction more and more radical proposals were explored.

It seemed that the virus recognised human cells that had the standard XX chromosome compliment. Boys with only one functioning X chromosome were unaffected. After numerous failed experiments a slight hope for the future emerged. If a small part of two other X chromosomes were bound onto one of the other chromosome pairs then this was not recognised by the virus. The gene splicing carried out to create the reduced X chromosome avoided the problems associated with the XXY karyotype, but the foetuses developed in laboratories had no future as there were no wombs for them to develop in.

Other research teams found that if stem cells produced in laboratories consisting of cells of the new configuration were infused into teenage boys, then over time; the boys would be feminised and healthy boy babies could be born some years later. All female embryos failed to develop.

It is out of this scenario that The Lottery was created.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Andrew and his parents were summonsed by the strident tones used at the start of the television program which announced the results of The Lottery. It was compulsory viewing for anyone with a boy aged between fourteen and seventeen. Boys of that age were grown enough to withstand the rigours of feminisation and would be fertile females at its completion.

Andrew had been through the process once already. He was fifteen and knew that his chance of being caught were very low. He did know that he was one of many thousands of boys in his district of the World State that remained in the draw after an initial sieving of the contestants, but remained unflustered for the most part

He bounced onto the sofa beside his mother just as the chimes finished.

The announcer, a particularly attractive woman, intoned the reason for The Lottery. The screen showed the quota for each district. The numbers were large but remained small by comparison with the numbers of boys in his cohort at school. Andrew had heard this all before and switched off for much it.

The announcer continued with warnings that trying to avoid treatment was a capital offence, as was the offence of a parent or other person helping a boy to avoid feminisation. This reminder sent a shiver down Andrew’s spine and probably the spines of his parents and many other parents throughout the populated World.

‘Winners’ were reminded that they should not leave their homes from the declaration until the following morning. The medical teams would be with each ‘Winner’ within the hour. Anyone interfering with the work of the team would result in summary execution.

Seventy-six boys were to be chosen in his district and as the first screen of ten boys names and identity numbers were read out, Andrew recognised one of his particular friends names.

“I know him” Andrew said rather unnecessarily to his parents.

Andrew knew his identity card number off by heart, but still put it face up on the table in front of him.

The second screen of ten numbers rolled by without any recognition, as did the third.

When the fourth screen appeared, Andrew immediately recognised his name and shortly after; his identity number.

A numbing shock seeped over him. His father let out a long sigh and a small sob came out of his mother’s mouth before she regained her composure; knowing that she would have to be the steadfast support that Andrew would need in the coming weeks and months.

“I am going to double check the result”, Andrew said; but the announcer had moved on and the next screen had appeared.

Strangely his mind quieted enough to be even dispassionate for the remaining two screens of results. He noted a boy who he knew slightly that was all.

The program ended with similar strident notes of the World anthem before a continuity announcer returned the viewers to normal programming.

Andrew’s father turned the television off when a particularly banal comedy program started.

“We shall have a cup of tea to wait for our visitors”, Andrew’s mother said with a jollity that was totally manufactured. She had been through the same process some twenty years previously and had memories she chose not to recollect often. All those memories crowded in on her now, but she managed to suppress them to support her son.

Only five minutes elapsed before the doorbell rang. “They must have been waiting outside.”

Dad got up uneasily and went to the door and opened it.

“Is this the home of Andrew John Bright?”

Andrew’s father nodded.

Two armed men stepped into their living room, followed by a man in scrubs.

“Is this your identity card?” he asked Andrew, seeing it discarded don the table.

Andrew nodded, dumbly.

The card was fitted into a card reader and Andrew’s face and details appeared on a screen with the word ‘Winner’ in red across the screen.

One of the guards pushed an epipen of sedative into his leg the following second and Andrew collapsed without further ado onto a trolley that seemed to appear from nowhere. He was alert but unable to move any limbs or his head.

With his mother and father sobbing on the sofa that Andrew had so recently occupied, he was unceremoniously wheeled out of the house and into a waiting van that was parked outside.

Various neighbours looked out of their open doors and windows but all knew that to interfere would mean summary execution. None were foolish enough to do so.

Andrew was moved onto a bed of sorts in the van.

“I am Doctor Shaw” the medic told Andrew. “You will be able to hear and see everything but will not be able to move until I inject an antidote to the muscle relaxant that you have received.”

“Firstly I will check your DNA with a blood sample. It is not uncommon for boys to be substituted. This infusion is programmed exactly for your DNA. Any other boy, except an identical twin, would die if this was used on them.”

Whirrs and clicks of the machinery in the van provided a backdrop to the quiet in the van. “You are who you say you are.” The doctor said with unnecessary cheeriness after ten minutes.

“I am going to cut away you left sleeve and insert a cannula into a vein in your elbow.”

All Andrew felt was a coldness as the infusion of stem cells were fed slowly into his blood supply.

“You will have a yellow disc attached to your upper arm. It contains a syringe driver, a supply of nucleic acids of various sorts and an alarm. Attempting to remove it will lead to serious blood loss. Anyone removing it for you will be committing a capital offence. You must not wear any garment that covers your left arm until the driver has done its work. When the light goes out, the disc will bleep and fall off. It can be discarded at that point.”

During the hour the van remained outside their house Andrew’s parents looked through the thick manilla envelope that had been left with them by the armed guards.

The first thing they noticed was a new identity card in the name of Andrea Jane Bright. The old card had been taken and was already shredded.

There was also a cash card loaded with substantial sum to provide a new wardrobe, and for decorations to Andrea’s room. It was activated by Andrea’s thumbprint.

There were pamphlets to explain how to support their new daughter, but these were left unread for now.

In less that an hour Andrew returned to the house. There really wasn’t any difference to speak of in him except that he was sleepy from the sedative even with after being given the antidote.

“She will be a very healthy young woman.” the doctor said on his way out.
“Any problems and please use the helpline shown on the front of your envelope.”

Apart from the sleeve of his sweatshirt being missing and the yellow disc attached to his upper arm, there was no sign of any change in their son. “Has it worked?” Andrew said to his mother.

“There will be no sign for a few days but I have never known it to fail.”

Andrew/Andrea was constantly falling asleep so his parents guided him to bed, early though it was. It was a school day the following day and missing school as a winner of the lottery was not a reasonable excuse.

Andrea woke the following morning feeling fully refreshed. He/she felt no different from previously so put on his normal school wear except that he couldn’t find his school sweatshirt. After showering and went down for breakfast to find that his mother had carefully removed the left sleeve and had hemmed the opening carefully.

His parents did not mention last evening’s events other than to ask how he had slept and after his normal breakfast. Andrew went off to catch the school bus with his new identity card that said very obviously ‘Female’.

His card was read by the machine at the entrance to school and a message appeared ‘ Report to Principal’ on the card reader.

Various students, both boys and girls looked across to Andrew as he crossed the school’s thoroughfares to get to the Principal’s suite of offices. No one spoke to him on his solitary journey.

Outside the Principal’s office sat other boys with their left sleeves missing and yellow discs attached to their upper arms that glowed with a green LED. A couple had recently been crying if the tear stained faces were anything to go by. Others looked serious but resigned to their fate.

They were called in as a group and sat nervously on a row of seats put there ready for the purpose. The Principal and his senior woman deputy principal were accompanied by three final year girl students who had had transitioned two years before.

The deputy principal introduced everyone present. Not all the boys knew each other so they were encouraged to form a self-help group. The senior girls had volunteered to be mentors and were also introduced. Andrea/Andrew was allocated to Michaela who Andrew vaguely remembered as Michael from his first year there.

Mrs Trubshaw, Joan Trubshaw was to give a detailed description how the school was involved in the process each boy was undergoing. This had not been done before as it really wasn’t necessary for boys who were not transitioning. She guided them to a small tutorial suite and began her explanation.

“The process is not painful at all. Sometimes you will feel a bit itchy as your skin changes but we have creams to help. At other times parts of your skin will feel loose. This will correct itself in time.”

Andrew was perplexed as to how the changes taking place in him were happening so fast. Joan Trubshaw explained as best she could.

“The cocktail of nucleic acids you received activate a number of the dormant genes already in the nuclei of your cells. They enhance the vestigial organs in you already. You already have a small amount of breast tissue. You will just get a lot more. You already have a prostate gland. This will grow substantially in the next month, but a uterus of a fourteen year old girl is little bigger than a golf ball, so it is not a massive change. Yes, your testicles will need to be reabsorbed and ovaries form from the germ bud tissue left behind, but you cannot become pregnant until you are eighteen so there is plenty of time for these final items to develop correctly.”

“The infusion also contains RNA to switch off a number of genes that were working to make you adult males.”

“You will need to use the transition toilets near the Principal’s office. You will need to go more often in the next few weeks so we have a pass that allows you to be excused from lessons. These toilets or perhaps it would be better to call them restrooms, have chairs and various hygiene products to help you.”

The three girl mentors had come with the small group and were standing behind them. They wore the short plaid skirt, shirt and sweatshirt typical of their year group.

“How many of you know what a girl looks like without any clothes.?”

Only one boy put his hand up.

“Petra, this your turn to show off.” and Petra undressed in a very practical way. Her skirt unclipped and was folded onto the chair. Her sweatshirt and shirt followed it, and they was a bit of a gasp before her panties and bra went the same way.

“The development of her breasts is the most obvious sign above her waist, but her hair has become finer after transition and her skin needs daily maintenance if it is to look nice. Your mentors will show you the basics of makeup and skin care.”

“Her waist has narrowed during transition and her hips have grown wider allowing her to give birth more easily in the future. Please sit on this chair and open your legs widely please Petra.”

Mrs Trubshaw was matter of fact about her description of Petra’s pubic area.

“As you progress with your transition your penises will shrink until only a tiny bulge remains called the clitoris. Similarly your testicles will shrink and be reabsorbed into your body cavity. On the underside of your scrotum is a raised line. This is where the folds of what might have been a pair of labia sealed up when you were developing in your mother’s womb. This line will feel very itchy as it unseals to expose your inner and outer labia.”

“Please spread your labia, Petra.”

Petra did as she was told. Her labia were dark pink and delicate looking. In the circumstances with six ‘boys’ looking at her private parts, her labia filled with blood and stood erect. Moisture seeped from within her open vagina and her labia glistened.

“These are the signs that Petra is becoming sexually aroused. You may be able to glimpse her cervix. The opening to her womb at the end of her vagina. It is a small mound that remains moist. It has a small hole in it that will carry your partner’s sperm into your wombs to fertilize your eggs.”

All the way through Mrs Trubshaw was using a laser pointer to demonstrate on Petra’s spread thighs.

Petra looked rather relieved when she was told that she could close her legs, but Mrs Trubshaw was not finished with her yet.

“Petra, here is a tampon. Please demonstrate how to use it and tell us all what you are doing and why.”

“Tampons are inserted into the vagina during monthly periods. They absorb the mixture of blood and fluids that comes from the womb when its surface renews itself every month. You open the wrapper like so, and insert the domed end into your vagina with the end of your finger. There are cardboard applicators if you prefer. The coloured thread remains outside your body and is used to pull the soiled tampon out of your vagina. The diagrams in a packet of tampons shows it all clearly. It will be difficult for you to remember everything from this morning but we three mentors will show you as often as you need until your monthly cycle is well established.”

Now. Petra, please turn round and bend over. I have some wet wipes here. Please demonstrate how to wipe yourself hygienically after you have been to the toilet. Boys … and this is the last time I will use the word with you … please take particular note. Petra is wiping herself from front to back, not the other way round. If you learn nothing else this morning, please remember that.”

Petra was ably to stand up and her skirt put back in place.

Kerri-Ann … one of the transitioning boys asked why Petra had not put on panties.

“I am happy without them. We are expected to have sex regularly until we are eighteen and leave school. We have a contraceptive injection for prevent conception. There is only about one girl to every four boys in this school so you will be expected to have sex to support the boys.

“When you are eighteen your contraception stops you can either set up home with a permanent partner in a home of your own, join a polyandric marriage or enter a polyamorous group. Alternatively you can remain in a dormitory and play the field, as it were. Whatever life you choose, you will be expected to have three successful pregnancies. Contraception is illegal for you until after that time. Forced conception is one option that has been used from time to time.”

Mrs Trubshaw mentioned the rule that had been drummed into them as boys. Any boys who were transitioning but were still wearing boy uniforms without a sleeve were protected. Rudeness, bullying or propositioning before the transition was complete would result in the offending boy being feminised within 24 hours of the incident happening. Honest questions were encouraged even to the point of showing intimately the progress that had been made.

One final point. We need to photograph you every first of the month to see the progress that has taken place. We need you naked and photograph you front and back so I need you to undress.

The mentors were given cameras and when each boy was standing naked with their hands over their genitals, the mentors guided them to put their hands at their sides and photographed them front and back and with their legs wide apart, then again with tape measures around their chests waists and hips.

“We are really pleased to have some new girls in our midst, and we will make the transition as enjoyable as possible for you. Please put your clothes back on and return to your lessons. You are very welcome to come to school in girls clothes as soon as you wish, once you have been out to spend some of your transition cash cards on a new wardrobe. I look forward to seeing you here next month.”

It is strange how an event so tumultuous for the individual can be so insignificant for the school population. No one appeared to take any particular notice of the changelings, although everyone did, of course. Being ignored was almost as strange as the thought of being dressed in bra and panties.

The students met at lunch time with their mentors. All had good appetites as the change took lots of energy. The apparent zero interest from the rest of the school was deemed quite normal by the mentors. When Andrea tried to speak to some of her old friends, they were quite tongue tied. They were reticent to be talking to a changeling in case it was deemed harassment. Everyone knew the consequences of that.

Andrea was surprised to see her old friends in a new light as potential partners rather than the young men she knew. Perhaps her head would change faster than her body?

The journey home on the bus and the evening were uneventful. Perhaps the largest part of this story for Andrea is how much of it was uneventful.

In the morning, after another good night’s sleep she looked down at her penis and thought that it had shrunk a little. Her balls seemed softer and less defined in their sac. Perhaps her nipples were a little bigger and darker, but it could all have been imagination.

The clothing question came up at breakfast. “I know you would probably like to go shopping sooner rather than later, but we don’t know the sizes you will need when your transition is over. We need to wait patiently.”

A week later showed that the imagined changes were real. A puffy patch had formed around each nipple and that nipple and its areola was darker and more prominent. Her scrotum seemed a mass of folds and it was difficult to discern the shape of her testicles now. The ridge down her scrotum was more prominent and was a little swollen. Her gait seemed a little different and it showed that her hips were wider now and her waist smaller.

After another week the changes were clearly more obvious to anyone who chose to look. Her skin was clearer and needed a moisturiser for comfort. Her scrotum was beginning to split into two folds and her penis was now only the size of a thimble. Hips, waist and joints like wrists were becoming more feminine.

The lunch meetings showed that progress was largely the same in all six girls. The mentors offered advice when requested. Make up tips were demonstrated but life continued largely as it had done previously.

The only high point, if it can be called that was in a History lesson, Andrea’s yellow disc bleeped loudly, the light went out and it fell off her arm with a small clattering noise. The class laughed and applauded at the surprising interruption. Even the teacher smiled, before resuming the lesson. “Put the disc in the bin Andrea.”

The first Monday morning of each month was the time for assessment. A doctor examined each girl and pronounced that the transition was going ahead as normal. All would become healthy young women and would make healthy babies.

The photographs showed just how far the transitions had gone. New hair was softer and more luxuriant. Body hair followed the female pattern now with only fine down on legs and arms,

They girls were warned that full intercourse would be impossible for several months, but that masturbation was to be encouraged and mutual masturbation with each other or the mentors was both pleasure and desirable.

Michaela, Andrea’s mentor removed her skirt. She had no panties on and started to rub her clitoris with small circular movements. She encouraged Andrea to sit with her and to take on the task of rubbing Michaela’s nubbin. After a few minutes Michaela stretched over to rub Andrea’s developing crotch but didn’t enter her vagina as yet. In minutes everyone was pleasuring each other. It was only after the bell had gone for the start of another period, that Mrs. Trubshaw motioned the girls to wind up their activities, clean up with wet wipes and return to class.

“I think I might do without panties altogether in a few weeks”, Andrea whispered to her pairing Samantha. “Me too. It is too much fun being without them.” Michaela looked back over her shoulder when she heard this comment. She had knowing smile.”

Next monthly meeting followed the same pattern. Each of the new girls arrived in a small cup size bra and their boy uniforms looked rather ill fitting.

“It is time for you all to go shopping. You have the rest of the day off. Your mothers have already been told and they will meet you in Reception. Your mentors also have the day off you help you choose the best clothes for you. We can predict your sizes very accurately now that you are three months into transition. Andrea, you will have a 36, 24, 36 figure and your C cups will make you very desirable indeed. Samantha, you will be 34, 24, 35 and your B cup size will go with your 5’3” height very well. Tomorrow I expect to see you here in girls clothes looking stunningly attractive. Just allow us to complete the measurements and photos and you can be on your way.

None of the six of us had any self-consciousness now, so we stripped off without ceremony and posed provocatively for the camera, inhaling hard to show off our new breasts to best effect.

“Girls clothes tomorrow” I said to myself. I can hardly believe that it is only a little over three months since The Lottery and here I am looking forward to getting a whole bale of girls clothes.

“36C-24-36. That’s a wow from me!” was her mother’s fist comment. The clothes shops are geared up to providing everything a young lady will need even though you don’t fill out the garments fully yet. If your bust becomes bigger or smaller than predicted the shops will change them.”

“First we go to a hair stylist to make the best of what you have already, then to the shopping arcade. Your kit of a basic set of cosmetics arrived yesterday from the Government. I was not supposed to tell you until it was decided that you were ready. We don’t need any cosmetics or skin preparations today. You can decide what you would prefer later, but the large cosmetics and perfume companies fall over themselves to provide free samples of their wares to all the newly created girls. You have a bumper bundle of things to try over the next few days.”

I had been given a time slot at a particular hair stylist with Samantha. Our stylists mulled over the styles that could be made to work with the hair we had already.. I couldn’t really choose, but Michaela and Mum had the pleasure of deciding for me. I was satisfied with a pageboy cut that framed my face. Michaela and Samantha’s mum had to opt for hair extensions to make enough out of her hair. This took much longer so we moved onto the shops without them, but I was pleased to see Samantha the following morning with shoulder length blond ringlets. It suited her small frame beautifully.

The shops had bundles of school clothes already set out for us. Tops, bras, knickers and skirts bagged up ready. Tights and school sweatshirts, compulsory sports kits including sports bras added to the heap of bags. Various shoes for day wear and different sports. There wasn’t any need to make choices. The expectations off the school was the deciding factor. Everything was sorted into the correct size and was sent by taxi to our two homes where the fathers were available to receive the bags. The cash card took a real hit, but we were far from finished.

Lunch provided a respite from the mad dash round the shops. Eventually I decided to accept the easy option of a stylist and personal shopper to choose a core wardrobe for me. She worked tirelessly bring what were said to be essentials items for any young woman to appear presentable in public. Shorts, skirts, jeans and the like, and what seemed to be several dozen tops in various colours and styles. They appeared, then disappeared into the mass of carrier bags that built up around us. Swimwear was a revelation. Tiny garments that managed to conceal what was important without concealing what should be on display, was a revelation. Shaving my mons and labia would be a must before wearing such a garment!

The whole thing was quite exhausting even for a girl (did I say girl?) of my age.
The taxi home was packed high with bags and the driver helped unload it all into our house.
Somewhat to my surprise, my drawers and hanging cupboard were empty. All my male clothes had been bundled up and collected by the authorities.

We only unpacked what would be needed for school in the morning, had a takeaway pizza and headed for bed.

I think the school tried to make our transitions as ordinary as possible. Samantha and I walked round the school arm-in-arm often. Being approached in corridors and asked to lift our skirts was both commonplace and accepted as normal. Our white bracelets, that replaced the absent sleeve and its glowing disc, prevented boys from saying too much or from touching. We would need to be signed off by the medics and have our yellow bracelets before anyone could touch us intimately, except each other of course.

On Friday a particularly obnoxious young boy approached Samantha and I. He asked to see Samantha’s progress and she lifted her skirt for him. With an unpleasant grin he started to assault her both physically and verbally. He had his hand between her legs and groped her.

In short order Michaela and several other seniors had him flat on the ground face down. His verbal assault continued unabated, and he spat in Samantha’s direction repeatedly. Samantha was in tears, and remained sobbing even after the boy had been anaesthetised by the security staff.

The boy’s father had set him up to this escapade because of his own bitterness and hate. He had been widowed some months before and his grief had built up in him.

Six months later Samantha and I met Joanna. She was grovelingly apologetic for her outburst. She had been taken to a forced feminisation centre and treated against her will. In the end she accepted the girl role and seemed much happier for it.

Looking at Joanna I was moved to see that she had only a little breast development. “How old are you now, Joanna?”

“I am just thirteen, she replied quietly.”
“How is it that you have been feminised into a girl and haven’t reached fourteen?”
“When the feminisation is a forced one it can happen at any age.”… she replied. I am the only thirteen year old girl in the school. My father was euthanised after I assaulted you. He was full of bitterness and it was a blessing in disguise, but he was my only relative, and good or bad; I miss him most dreadfully.”

“Where do you live, and who looks after you I asked incredulously?”

“I live with foster parents. They are paid to provide for me with money from the government, but there is no love there. I do miss people who love me.”

The catch in her voice became a sob, and a sob became uncontrolled weeping.

Both Samantha and I put our arms round her frail very feminine body and watched as the tears gradually abated.

I looked over at Sam and we both nodded. We had found a project.

When Joanna had regained her composure I asked her to come and find us at the end of school, as we might have something to suggest to her.

Sam and I talked at length about Joanna’s situation. We saw Michaela in the corridors and explained the situation. Apparently it was not unheard if a school only had one lottery winner for them to be attached to an older group from previous years. Michaela wanted to meet Joanna but thought in principle that it was a good idea for our group to support the waif.

The school authorities agreed and when we met Michaela and Joanna at the end of school Michaela nodded her acceptance and we put the suggestion to Joanna. She just sobbed for the second time that day. We all gave her lots of hugs.

“You will meet us every Month for our special sessions and will eat with us in the canteen.

‘Will I have to lose my blue bracelet?” Joanna asked.
“We all have yellow bracelets for the degree of feminisation we have achieved. Michaela and the other leaders don’t wear bracelets. What does a blue bracelet mean?”

“It means that I am a supported child orphan. Only the staff know that.”

“I am sure it gives you some protection, so I think it would remain in force until you have been through puberty, but the staff will know.”

“I want to love you like older sisters if you will allow me to do that.”
“Of course, I would love to have a little sister.” I caught her small hand and pulled her towards me and crushed her head into my chest as I gave her a huge hug and a chaste kiss to her forehead.

The next Monday meeting was our time to be signed off by the medics. Joanna was with us.

‘You don’t need to be examined.” The doctor said kindly to Joanna but please stay if you wish.”
“Please strip off”, the Doctor said to all six of us.
It was such a normal phenomenon that no one gave it any thought.
The usual photographs and measurements were taken for the last time.
“I think, Andrea, you are going to spoil our statistics. I think you are going to need to get a bigger cup size for your bras. You will need a 36D or even Double D.”

The other girls looked over to me. All smiled with a mixture of admiration and commiseration.
When they no longer fit take your old bras back to the stores where you bought them and they will measure you up and provide like-for-like replacements.

In turn each of us lay flat on a bed of sorts with stirrups for our pelvic exam.
The speculum that was used to open our vaginas was not comfortable, but tolerable.
When my turn came, the Doctor asked if I minded having my hymen snipped.
“It will make it more comfortable when you have sex for the first time. It has no significance in today’s world.”

“Yes, do it I said.”

A sharp prick and it was all done. A small swab was put over the wound until the trace of blood had stopped.

Joanna had been watching over the doctor’s shoulder. He gave her a running commentary on my anatomy.

“I can see Andrea’s cervix. It is like a pink dome and I can see the small amount of mucus blocking the entrance to it at present. The blood from your snip has already stopped”

I was getting a bit uncomfortable at this stage but could agree with some resignation that it was good that Joanna approved of the condition of my cervix!

“Can I touch you Andrea?” Joanna asked both me and the doctor.

“Give your hands a through wash at the sink over there and if Andrea agrees then I don’t see any harm.”

I could see Joanna’s little face become very serious as she approached the gurney I was lying on. Her hand were a bit shaky, but the closer she got the more confident she became. Her finger traced a line over my perineum and I gave an involuntary shudder. Joanna jumped away for a second before putting several small fingers into my vagina round the speculum.

“That is one of the most beautiful things I have seen” …she said, matter of factly. “Not only is it beautiful, but the potential for new life is something very special.”

I thought this was rather exotic language for a thirteen year old but just smiled inwardly. Joanna often spoke with an appreciation of things I thought were beyond her years.

She continued rather unnecessarily as her audience was myself, Samantha and the doctor. “It can squeeze out a baby and can give great pleasure. I can see the ridges of muscle that will massage a man’s penis to climax and can only imagine how it feels when the squirts of semen bathe your cervix. I cannot wait until I am old enough to share my vagina with some special men.”

From the position I was in, I could only look over at the doctor and raise my eyebrows. “I cannot say that I have ever thought about the beauty of a vagina, but I will look at Samantha’s when she is flat on her back in a few minutes!

“Hope you enjoy it”. Samantha said with some feeling … and wry grin.

I must say that Samantha’s vagina could have been thought of as beautiful. It was a pale pink ridged tube with the domed cervix at the far end. I think the beauty is more in the function than in the thing itself, but I can see why Joanna thought it beautiful.

Thinking aloud I said “I think Samantha’s vulva and perineum are more beautiful. The compact arrangement of vagina, urethra, clitoris and anus are beautiful in function at least.”

“Touch them if Samantha agrees.” the doctor said.

“Here goes”. I inserted a finger beside the speculum. I can feel the power of the muscles. They are almost as if they are quiescent. Waiting, but with enormous potency”

Next I inserted a finger up to the knuckle in her anus after the Doctor indicated that it was ok.

“That is a nice feeling” Samantha commented. “I could get used to that.”

“It is very pleasant to use the anus in that way. Boys enjoy it as well. When a boy has his penis inside you, you can put a finger into his rectum. He may ejaculate very quickly in that position.”
Even before you remove your yellow bracelets some boys will welcome one or two fingers put into their bottoms with some lubricant.

If you eventually decide to be part of a polyandrous or polyamorous relationship then it is quite normal to have double penetration. One man pleasures himself with your vagina and another with your rectum at the same time. It is entirely up to you to decide whether you want this or not.

The doctor concluded the examinations with a warning.

“Do not remove your yellow bracelets until you have completed your first monthly periods in perhaps six weeks to two months time.”

“Joanna, you need to keep your blue bracelet on until you are ready to remove the yellow bracelet I am going to give you to wear as well. As you know, transgendering puts a major strain on a child’s body and delays puberty in girls by several years. Only when you have had your first period in perhaps two years time should you remove both bracelets.”

Days in school are intentionally ordinary and uneventful. The rest of the day was one such. Only when Andrea reached home did she engage her parents in the idea that had been burning inside her all day.

In a matter-of-fact way she described how a very needy Joanna had become involved with Samantha and her. How Joanna lived in a loveless world. Couldn’t they do something about that?

“Mum, you were entitled to two more children, but with the difficulties in giving birth to me you were exempted from further trauma. Is there a possibility that we could foster and then maybe, adopt Joanna.”

Mary, Andrea’s mum, had long hoped for a second child but she had received long term contraception to save her life had she become pregnant again.

“This a lot to think about. Please invite Joanna here for the day on Saturday without promising anything. We will spend some time together and see how we get on.”

Saturday came and went. There was more laughter in the house than there had been for many a year. Joanna was the ‘life and soul of the party’. She had Mary and Len in stitches and hugged all three over and over again when it was time to be taken home.

She is certainly a live wire” was Len’s first comment.
“I am very tempted to explore the option of taking over the foster. Do we know how it works?”
“Our standard house has the bedrooms for three children and two adults. There is no problem with space here.”
“We will explore it on the Net over the weekend then make a decision.”

A search on the Net made it seem that taking over a foster for a teenager was relatively easy if the child agreed and there were no objections from the natural parents.

Obviously the natural parents could have no objection in this case, and Len and Mary could not imagine that Joanna would object. She would need to give her consent, but it needed some exploration with Child Services before it could be raised with Joanna.
It was shocking simple, it truth. A Social Worker was dispatched within the hour and a general clearance for the project to proceed was agreed with a judge in chambers after hours.

Next came the interview with Joanna. This was in the office of the school’s principal with two Social Workers. One who represented the authorities, and one Joanna.

Joanna had been spoken to privately in the hour before the meeting. She had been overwhelmed and, of course wanted to speak to Mary and Len. Since the arrangements at this stage were for fostering alone, the arrangements were simple. As long as Mary and Len were deemed suitable then the fostering could start. It was only if adoption was considered would further enquiries be started.

When Joanna was admitted to the meeting it was explained that the offer had been made, and the authorities had agreed that Len and Mary were suitable people to foster her. It needed Joanna’s acceptance for the foster parents to be altered.

Joanna moved across to where Mary and Len were sitting and with tears in her eyes said. “With all my heart I accept the offer.”… then gave both of them a huge hug. She sat between them for the rest of the meeting with her head resting against Len’s shoulder.

“It is so difficult to place transformed girls in foster care. We are delighted with this arrangement. We will arrange with the old foster parents for you to pick Joanna up this evening. The foster parents were never happy to take a girl and I have a very suitable boy to replace her.”

Mary, Len and Joanna were allowed to use the transformation suite to get to know each other better, and Andrea was allowed out of lessons to join them for half an hour.

Three hugely excited girls … Joanna, Andrea and Samantha rushed to Joanna’s home to see Joanna’s new room.

Len and Mary had been busy. The room was sparsely furnished but clean and welcoming.

Len phoned the foster parents and Joanna and Andrea came in the car with him to Joanna’s old address. They were a sour couple and were delighted to see her gone. Len had to encourage them to release Joanna’s feminisation cash card which they had under safe keeping, but it could not be used without Joanna’s thumb print so they were fairly easy to convince to give it up. It only took a few minutes to pack her minimal belongings before they were on the road again.

It was a late night with it being another school day tomorrow.

“I want to cut off my blue ‘Supported Orphan’ bracelet. I feel at home here already.”
“It is premature to do that, and it might even be illegal unless you are adopted.” was Len’s reply

The family remained excited as they prepared for bed. Joanna lay awake for hours thinking about her ‘new parents’ as she thought of them. As sleep eluded her she eventually crept in to Andrea’s bedroom and snuggled down with Andrea. Andrea just murmured in her sleep and the two girls were found fast asleep in the morning entwined in each other’s arms and legs.

Mary found them wrapped around each other and smiled before gently waking them. Joanna’s nightie had risen up during the night. On waking she pulled it down, but then said to Mary. “It doesn’t matter I am home now.” Mary could have wept.

Both girls had seen every last detail of each other’s bodies so it was no problem for them to shower together. They got through the bathroom almost as quickly as one girl would have done.

When they arrived at school the card scanner told Joanna to report to Reception. She was given a new card saying ‘Joanna Solomon aka Bright’ and where it said ‘Parents’ it had parents crossed out and ‘Guardians - Len and Mary Bright.

“Its official - I am now your little sister”

The staff in Reception could not be unaffected by Joanna’s joy at her new status.

“Have a lovely day” the Receptionist said. You were so sad when you arrived back. It gives us joy to see you so happy now.”

Hand in hand, the two girls traversed the halls, firstly to Joanna’s first lesson of the day and then Andrea went on alone. At lunch time the usual cohort of Lottery winners and Joanna met in the canteen. Joanna’s new card was handed round with much appreciation. A thirteen year old girl was a great novelty and they were a focus of attention for some time.

When her ID was scanned as she entered each lesson, she was the centre of attention. Few of the boys had had any interaction with a girl at 13 years of age. Her ID card was studied.

“What can we ask you to do whilst you are wearing blue and yellow bracelets? You can ask me to show you any part of my body, but you must not touch me. Anyone touching me or harassing me will be feminised very quickly. I know that only too well.”

The teacher wanted to get on with the lesson, but also understood that this was a monumental event in all their their lives.

“I suggest that we get on with the lesson until ten minutes from the end, then Joanna can come up to the front and show you as much as she wishes of her new body..”

“Is that agreeable to all you boys?”

“Yes sir, came the answer in unison.”

“Is that ok with you Joanna?”

“Yes. I enjoy stripping off as long as I am in a safe pace.”

And so it was.

Joanna became just part of the class at school and that is how it should be.

Andrea’s and Samantha’s first periods were uncomfortable, but being well prepared by their mentors, accepted them as a rite of womanhood, with equanimity. They had a small ceremony where they each cut the yellow bracelet off from the other.

“I feel almost more naked without that bracelet than I do without my clothes. It is odd how its symbolism is so strong.”

In school the throng of young men no longer kept their distance. The two girls were jostled a little by boys who would say “Oops” or something similar when they meant nothing of the sort.

Andrea narrowly managed to avoid the DD cup size but Samantha’s bust was as predicted. Both had luxurious hair of their own and flawless complexions enhanced by skilful use of makeup. Most of the sets of multicoloured panties provided by the State at their transformation had remained in their packets. If their skirt blew up in the wind, then so be it. For the next two years they were free to use their bodies in ways that would have been unthinkable to Pre-Lottery generations and they loved it. Only 10% of the students in the school were girls and they remained the focus of most boys fantasies and hopes.

Learning to enter one of the professions was part of they payback for the government who paid for their schooling. Learning to play the harlot was the payback for the Society that nurtured them and who depended on them for the future.

Eighteen more boys had been feminised in Joanna’s year group from later lotteries, and she was able to be a young mentor to help them.

Joanna’s adoption went through just before her bracelets came off. She had just a few weeks of having an Identity card without ‘Supported Orphan’ on it. The new one just said ‘Joanna Bright - Adult female’ Two years of care and love had made a huge difference to her. Two years of joy to her adoptive parents had made a huge difference to them. Two years of having a little sister to do lots of ‘girl things’ with had made a huge difference to both Andrea and Joanna.

Out of a school population of over 1000 students there was a nucleus of perhaps less confident and perhaps lonely boys who admired the self-assurance and composure of Andrea and her cohort of girls. On their own, often as they drifted off to sleep they aspired to the close friendships and supportive nature of girls and women.

Several approached Andrea and Samantha at a meal break very diffidently.

“We wonder if you could help us?” We don’t know what to do. Your lives seem to be so much better than ours. Have you any ideas how we can help ourselves?”

They were rather nonplussed by a vague request like this from a raggle-taggle group of rather unprepossessing boys they didn’t know and who had never propositioned them or wanted to see their skirts lifted.

“What are you asking?” was the question that came into Samantha’s mind. She spoke softly, knowing the effort it had taken for the boys to approach them “Do you actually want to become girls?”

“We don’t know, but maybe.”

So started the ‘Girls club’ … a club run by the girls, but really for aspiring girls.

Twenty three boys joined. They met on a Saturday and discussed everything that had happened to Samantha, Andrea and Joanna. Nothing was hidden and every question was answered honestly. Nineteen of the boys were not dissuaded by the sessions, and two more joined later. Their conviction that they wanted to be girls remained undiminished.

After a few weeks Andrea made a request to The Lottery authorities.

“Is there a way for boys to volunteer to be transformed?”

The answer came back within a day.

“Boys can volunteer using a particular form that could be downloaded. They had to be between fourteen and seventeen and have to have had an interview with a doctor to be clear that their decision was not the result of pressure from adults or peers. Their parents do not have to agree, but they must sign to say that they understand the consequences if they try to interfere with the process once started.”

The big Saturday event for the Girls Club came round. Five older girls and twenty-three boys met in a rented room at their school.

“Everything we have done at the Girls Club has built up to this afternoon’s session Andrea explained. All of you are boys who merged into the background. We didn’t know any of you before starting the club. You have asked us for help. We enjoy being girls. We look forward with expectation to motherhood. We know that with a 90:10 split in the genders, many of you will not achieve either parenthood or find a partner. That would have left us unfulfilled and you may be as well. Your chances of being loved are low once your parents are no longer around. Even your chances of ‘Winning’ The Lottery are slim.”

“I have been in touch with The Lottery team and whilst it is unusual, you may volunteer to become girls. The form is quite long and the purpose of this afternoon is to complete those forms if you wish to go ahead.”

“Once those forms are submitted and your volunteer status is accepted, you cannot withdraw and your parents cannot help you on pain of death. It is an enormous decision for you to take, but we believe that rather than boys and men dwelling in the twilight of Society you could become successful workers and mothers.”

“Samantha, please hand out the forms. We will go through them and answer any questions. Only at that point will we give you a pen if you wish to go ahead.”

In fact they got through the fifteen pages of the form in only 30 minutes or so. The appendix explaining each question and the consequences of answering one of several possible alternatives took longer.

After 90 minutes they had finished.

“I will give out pens now to those of you who remain. If you wish to go then that is absolutely fine. We have enjoyed having you as pert of the Girls Club and hope you will remember your time here with pleasure.”

Only three boys left, but all three took the forms with them and might submit the later.

The remaining boys filled out the forms there and then. They were not as daunting as they first seemed. One had to ring his parents to see if he had had some immunisations as a baby, but nothing more than that. The final section on why they were volunteering was the most challenging.

Answers varied. “I never have any friends who are boys. Girls are so much kinder.”

“I tried a skirt that I borrowed. I like the feel of a skirt much more than trousers. I feel like myself in a skirt.”

“I kissed a boy when I was dared to do so. I enjoyed it much more than I let on afterwards.”

“When I go to sleep I pray that I will wake up in the morning with breasts. I am always disappointed. I find that my life is not what I want.”

“I love being dressed in colourful clothes. I love the feel of sheer fabrics. Men’s clothes are usually so drab and fabrics so coarse.”

“I get a tingle down my spine when someone calls their mother, Mum, near me. I once turned round to see who it was and embarrassed myself. I would love to be someone’s Mum.”

“I have prayed to be chosen in The Lottery but I never get through even the first selection round.”

The complete forms were collected. Samantha read through each form to check it before they were submitted. She was in tears much of the time. These boys had such needs … such yearnings … such aspirations. She and Andrea had no idea of the deep-seated longings that were hidden in these boys who were often invisible in the larger school population.

She gave the large manilla envelope a kiss as she pushed it through the letter box of the Lottery Office. Bonnes chances mes braves. She said to herself.

The boys took their parental agreement forms home with them. The parents had a good idea of what was coming and none demurred.

A doctor visited each household during the following week, and established that none of the boys had been coerced into their decision. They were examined to see if there might be any problems during the conversion.

One boy was found to be below the weight needed to be converted without putting too great a strain on his body, and his application was deferred. The doctor questioned two others and his questioning brought the doctor to an understanding that the particular boys these two lusted after, would notice them more if they had a Harley Davidson and a set of tight leathers rather than boobs and a vagina. Their applications were rejected.

Within hours of the doctor’s agreement being received, the vans were sent out with their armed staff and doctor.

“James Robert Soames - you have volunteered to be come a girl. Please come with us to start the process.”

James Robert Soames looked down at his small immature body. A wisp of stringy straw blond hair drifted across his eye. He had imagined the breasts he would have, for years and years. It was all coming true. He looked back at his parents and smiled.

“I will see you soon.”

Janice Robyn Soames collected her new identity card from the wallet that her parents had been given and hugged both it and herself. “Daddy, dance with me.”She grabbed her father’s hands and danced round the living room with him with unabashed joy. He looked bewildered. If this was what having a daughter meant then he was all for it. Tiredness took over and the new Janice Robyn Soames’ parents guided their new daughter up to bed for a well earned sleep.

“How could we ever have doubted that this was the best option for James” Her father said with a voice full of emotion.

Similar emotional rollercoaster rides were taking place over the whole district. Within five hours all the boys had been visited. They woke after a restful sleep and attended school with a yellow syringe driver attached to their bare left arm.

Whist the invasion of changelings caused consternation in some quarters, enquiries flooded in to Andrea, Samantha and Joanna. By the end of the morning Andrea had had enquiries from another 30 boys and a date was fixed for a new Girls Club.

The school set up a team to supervise the extra-ordinarily large numbers of transitions at one time and Andrea, Joanna and Samantha became guides and mentors to their charges. They never did start to wear panties again!

At the next drawing of The Lottery their district had a zero quota.

Numerous other districts demanded to know why. The answer was simple. They had already reached their quota with volunteers. TV news teams were dispatched to report on the strange goings on in District 85. Large vans with satellite dishes on their roofs crowded the town square. The news crews ended up interviewing each other as the new ‘girls’ were not to be interviewed. The school put up one contact who spoke at length to the news teams.

Even lottery officials were interviewed.
“Why didn’t the population know that it was possible to volunteer?”

“It was thought that everyone would be afraid of being a woman after the pandemic, so it was not advertised. Only a handful of girls were created outside the Lottery from the whole World two years ago, and most of those were forced conversions of boy malcontents. Now we may be able to cancel The Lottery altogether.”

Andrea became something of a celebrity with News teams queuing up to interview her. She was taken on a speaking tour to every District in the World where English was spoken. Dubbed videos were shown where it was not.

Thousands, if not tens of thousands of boys accepted the chalice she offered. She had the pleasure of opening the last Lottery which had by then outlived its usefulness.

It was good to be a girl, and many boys queued up to become one!

Postscript -

Joanna became the first woman doctor for more than fifty years. She formed lifelong bond with a surgeon and bore him three beautiful children. She juggled motherhood and medicine with aplomb as many professional women do.

Samantha joined a polyamorous commune. She was joyously open with her sexuality and bore two single babies and a pair of twins from unknown fathers. Everyone looked after everyone else’s children so it didn’t really matter who the father was. If she had breast milk available, and someone else’s baby was hungry, she fed them. It is what people did. She was often bare chested in the commune and when she overflowed some of the adults also enjoyed a suckle.

Andrea was approached by three brothers who were all successful in their businesses and wanted to support her in her championing of women’s rights. They proposed a polyandric marriage and Andrea was glad to accept. She had found that her two years at school after removing her yellow bracelet had left her sexually satisfied. Many young men had enjoyed intimacy with her. She dreaded committing herself to one man and the arrangement with the three brothers suited her admirably. Whilst it was a pragmatic contract initially, it developed into a loving and supportive relationship. Two of her three sons were accepted into the conversion program and Andrea was overjoyed to be able to go to their doctorate awarding ceremonies some years later.

Like most viruses, they mutate. A virus that kills all its hosts before they can pass the disease on is effectively creating its own death. The virus that killed so many women and girls became benign after several decades and some of the first girl babies were born to Andrea’s grandchildren.

The World gave a sigh of relief and moved on.

Boys can dream, can’t they?.

Bryce and Paul were boyhood friends. Many Saturday afternoons had been spent horizontal on sofas watching sports on the TV. As the years went by the cans of cola were replaced by beer, razors were in each bathroom and their voices had broken, of course. Commercial breaks were now occupied by discussions of the attractiveness (or otherwise) of various girls of their mutual acquaintance and the ruses needed to get them wearing as little as possible, as quickly as possible.

Each would have thought that they knew almost all there was to know about the other, but that was not entirely true.

The particular afternoon, Bryce was in full flow about his job waiting at table in a local fish restaurant. He was receiving a good salary for an eighteen year old, and excellent tips. He could eat as much food as he wished at the end of each shift. Life was looking good, and he was saving a little each month for his university course that beckoned from eighteen months away.

“My Dad showed me a good saving account which returns a 6% interest rate. I have managed to save £250 in the three months I have worked there. I should have over £1000 saved for when I go to University.”

“What about you, Paul. What are your plans. You don’t have a job yet you never seem short of money. I know your parents are not very rich so I don’t see that they are giving you lots of cash.”

“I do have job of sorts. I don’t plan to go to Uni. It doesn’t do what I want it to do.”

“So what do you do to get cash?”

“I play games on the computer.”

“I know there are teams of game players that enter competitions on large game platforms with large cash prizes, but I haven’t ever seen you with a serious gamer’s computer, or all the paraphernalia that goes with that sort of level of games playing.”

“I play other sorts of games. I have a special place I go which has all the bits and pieces needed to play my sort of games, and my savings account has £3 million in it and counting.”

Bryce’s jaw dropped.

“Where does an eighteen year old earn that sort of money? You are not working County Lines, running drugs are you?”

“No, nothing illegal, I assure you. I am not even a famous pop star or sports personality. No one knows the real me, except you, and anyone who knows my online persona, has no idea who I am in real life.”

“So how do you earn more than £3 million legally by the time you are eighteen without anyone knowing who you are?”

“Do you really want to know?

“Yes, I really want to know!”

“Ok, come with me to my games space.”

Paul drove them to an anonymous office building in the old banger he had had since passing his driving test. He used several keys to open a secure door into a basement office space. Strip lights bust into incandescence as they entered.

In the centre of the room were two state-of-the art gamers chairs and across one wall was a bank of top of the range computers that hummed into life as they walked across to the chairs.

Another wall had a mini kitchen with a fridge and coffee maker, and a cubicle had been built in one corner that had chemical sanitary facilities.

Another wall had an air source heat pump which acted as an air conditioner.

“Well that answers my questions about the games computer set-up, but this must be hugely expensive to buy and run. I still don’t see how you earn all that money?”

“I win it by playing just one particular game. I am very good at it. The money is winnings so it is income tax free.”

“So what game is it and can I join in?”

“Whether you join in is up to you, but I can show you just the very lowest entry level without any risk to you.”

“I don’t like the idea of something being risky, but if I can see this game safely, then I would be glad to see what you play.”

“The game is just called ‘Life’. It is an RPG game with a difference. You enter the game as a tyro .… An absolute beginner. You have no weapons and are entirely naked, but you are in an area that is safe, occupied only by other beginners. Experienced players, like me, are not allowed to attack anyone in a safe area, and we cannot be attacked there either.”

“Once you leave a safe area you are fair game for anyone. You only have a $5 bounty at the lowest level. No serious player is going so be attracted to wiping you out for $5.”

“The game of ‘Life’ is really about ‘Death’ more than life. I earn money by killing people in my own special way. Often they welcome me, and die very happily.”

“Each time you die, the game will resurrect you, but the price goes up each time. I don’t usually interact with anyone with a bounty of less than $100,000 nowadays.”

“How do you interact with someone. Is it just an RPG fighting game using magic and various sorcerers tools that you acquire along the way?”

“No not really. If you have an experience with me and want to try it out seriously, then you have to attend a sort of online school for a minimum of six, day-long sessions. This will allow you to adopt the body form that suits you best, and then refine it so you can use it to great effect. Some body forms are very sturdy, but don’t allow you to get very far along the road to riches. Other body forms are high risk, and you can earn a lot or lose a great deal. At the highest risk levels you can even die in real life. My body form is pretty much the highest risk level, which is why I earn so well, but could also die.”

“I don’t understand what body forms are available?”

“You will find out all 200 or so body types if you do the training, but first things first … You would need to choose a gender and then one of a series of body types, and skill sets, after that it is a matter of refining the detail. I took most of last year to get the body I wanted and the skill set that made it work for me.”

“What do you look like in the game?”

“If you decide to have a view, you will see what I look like, but remember that as a beginner you will be naked and will look like you do now. No choices involved yet. No one will care that you are naked, so don’t be embarrassed. It is normal in the safe areas. We will be able to look down into the other areas from a viewing platform, but that will be as far as I can take you as a guest.”
“Please also note that I will need to keep my distance from you. My skill set involves a number of very attractive stimuli, and even as a beginner you will be affected by them. You will also be tethered to me by a fine silver rope. This is for your safety before you have done the training.”

“Are you prepared to go ahead?”

“Yes, certainly, I would like to give it a go.”

“Lie down on the left couch. Please take off your trainers as they may scratch the leather. Put on the headset, and relax.”

“We will only be about ten minutes in real time, so you will not get hungry or need the loo.”

Paul lay on the right hand couch and donned his headset, and pressed various buttons on his console.

The headset responded and Bryce found himself standing in a huge square like a military parade ground. He was, as he had been told, completely naked, but the air was warm and he was standing in sunlight.

“Welcome, Calypso-26, and Calypso-guest 1, a bass voice announced … Entry time allocated - ten minutes.”

Bryce noticed about 20 people standing in various parts of the parade ground. Most were naked, silent and appeared a bit fuzzy.

“The fuzzy ones are part way through their training. Their body-form may alter as you watch.”

Indeed, one figure of a slight man, became a female ogre, for a minute or two, and then a dwarf magician. Another figure became a huge musclebound giant with an equally huge axe, then shrank to an pixie-like figure in a sapphire-blue silky dress.

Bryce turned to see how his friend looked.

Before him was the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen, dressed in the skimpiest dress that seemed to be made of iridescent Connaught green feathers. It clung to her like a glove and rippled as she moved.

“Now you have put your eyes back in their sockets I suggest we get on. We only have eight minutes left. We can talk back in the real world.”

Both walked over to the viewing platform, and as if from a belvedere, they looked down on a crowded city. Citizens moved about their business like beetles. Buildings in bright colours crowded in on each other. Plazas provided open combat areas and tiny figures were obviously in competition although one couldn’t see any detail.

“There are five cities in the World.” Calypso said. Each has its own particular characteristics and denizens. The top figures in each city have millions of credits. I am a pawn by comparison, but my function is useful to everyone and am allowed to move freely from one city to another unmolested.”

“You haven’t said how you earn your money.”

“This World is based on combat. People meet by chance or by design and enter into a mortal combat. The winner draws off all the accumulated credit of the loser. The loser is recovered and their real body is treated if needed. If they want to re-enter this World they can, but the fee goes up. This is the first time you have entered and the fee was $5. I paid it. If you were to die here and now, that fee would be forfeited and the next time it would be $10 and so on. If you enter this world and die, but have no money at all, then your body is recovered, but you are pronounced permanently dead, and your body on Earth also dies.”
“Finally, there are some people who choose to die and opt to pay a bounty much higher than they need to. This is where someone like me comes in. A bounty of $100,000 would attract me. They would die in sexual ecstasy, but would, none the less be dead in both Worlds.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

“Yes I am, a bit. This body was designed to be the most attractive that any woman could be. Men have had strokes and heart attacks just by being close to me, but I have a hidden talent. My name here is Calypso. That was originally the companion of Odysseus in the Greek myth, The Odyssey. She was a minor goddess on an island called Ogygia. She is believed to be one of the few recorded examples of a succubus.”

“Succubi were female spirits who drained the life force from men during intercourse. I am able to drive many, perhaps most, men into a state of Priapus; where those men are driven beyond their wits to an insatiable lust for me.”

“When they reach the peak of their sexual excitement and on the point of ejaculation, the fangs in my vagina bite them hard. Their life essence drains out in a matter of seconds and into me and they die in a state of excruciating agony combined with a lascivious euphoria. It ticks all the boxes as far as dying is concerned, so I am lead to believe.”

“How do you manage it? You are a average horny male teenager in the normal World, how can you be this gorgeous femme fatale with a terminal interest in men?”

“I didn’t say that I only deal in men, did I?.

“Women often get rather upset with my success in what I do. I don’t engage in conversation or argument with them. They often get short shrift from my rapier, which I call ‘Thrust’. A challenge or a confrontation from a woman; and my blade is between her ribs as soon as winking! Often the women are actually men in the real world and want a bit of the sexual action as it were, but they are lazy and don’t hone their skills enough. They still act like men in women’s bodies. Often they are charmless and vulgar and have created a female body that they think is the food of a wet dream. A gash of a scarlet mouth, then being crudely made-up with enough eye shadow to black a grate, huge pendulous tits and a gaping flaccid vulva. They are a recipe for hilarity and an early departure from the game. Such creatures are obvious and rather pathetic.”

“You need the female part of your body to be charming, and supremely beautiful and the female persona should be utterly devoted to their art. You need to be able to flatter in order to succeed. You need to be coquettish and also be able to display the high art of the royal courtesan, but you need your male entity to be unequivocal about the job to be done. The victim needs to achieve an extravagant fulfilment within the game, until their dying breath that is. The living prosper, the dead get poorer and are reborn; if they can afford it. Here you have to be an finely tuned exponent and a sophisticate of your art. Amateurs die quickly and ignominiously.”

“When the person has died and their remains have been recovered, I get 80% of their bounty, and the game gets 20%.”

Ten minutes goes so fast, and it seemed no time before the scene faded and the two teenagers felt the game couches under them and it was time to return to one’s reality.

So what do you think was the obvious question?

“I am strangely appalled and excited by the game. It might be the end of me or a new beginning. Would I need to buy my own gaming suite, or could I share this one?”

“I have no problem with you using this suite during your training, but after the six days and with you out and about, I think I would need some rent of a sort. This electronics needs replacing fairly regularly and the electricity bill is horrendous.”

“That seems fair to me. If I pull out during or after training then I would owe nothing.”
“How do I know if my training is successful?”

“That is up to you. If you feel comfortable in your game body and can see a way to get wealthy then it is worth a go, but it is not for everyone and I would certainly not criticise you if you felt it was not for you.”

“Tell me about the various forms that people can take in the game. There must be some sort of guidelines that people follow.”

“I suppose there are, in a way. The first decision you have to make is whether you want your appearance to be male or female. As I have said, men who adopt a female form but have not learned how to be a woman properly just look like caricatures of women. Your form has to be convincing.”

“So how do you appear convincing as a fairy or a dwarf or an elf or even an ogre?”

“There are guidelines that spell it out the pros and cons of each form. You would need to go through those with care. I found my form quite easily, but it was so high risk that my mentor asked me to reconsider my choice.”

“You have known me for most of our lives. What would you recommend as being a starting point?”

“I wonder if you would not be better remaining as a male. I think the transition might be too much for you to take to as easily as it was for me.”

“I think you might be right. What about form and skill set?”

“How do you feel about magic? Most of the dwarf, elf, fairy, categories depend on magic to get them through.”

“I have always loved RPG games and have often taken on the roll of one of the magical folk. I like the mage roll in Minecraft but the game is different here. You seem to have to live the roll completely to be a success. The mage seems to be full of showers of sparklers and mystic potions, but the roll doesn’t seem to lend itself to serial killing.”

“You are right, but you do need to be able to cope with the normal world as well. You have to emerge to eat and drink, and wash and do a poo. People in the fantasy world do none of these things.”

“Have you any ideas?”

One idea is to go big. Like an ogre or giant, but they are both physically slow and mentally slower. Another idea is to go very small. There are people who become commensals living as tiny organisms on the skin of others. They don’t make much money, but they survive a long time. They live on scraps of life essence their host leaves behind.”

“I see you as male but not one of the large people.

“What about a warrior?”

“No, it really doesn’t appeal. I think killing by subterfuge is the best strategy … killing people when they don’t expect it.”

“Do you fancy yourself as a great lover?”

“Don’t we all, but you need the body and the confidence to do that. Are you suggesting that I seduce women or men appearing to be women, then kill them in the act of lovemaking?”

“It is certainly a way of using subterfuge to kill.”

“Are there enough women or people passing as women to make the roll of a gigolo a success.”

“Sure, if your tastes are sufficiently catholic then there are dozens of gaudily dressed characters purporting to be women but are actually the caricatures of women. Someone who could bring themselves to flatter them, remove their ridiculous garments with aplomb and finesse; then spear them with conviction and a powerful erection would do very well.”

“Wouldn’t someone like that be an incubus to your succubus?”

“Yes, to some extent, but the original idea of an incubus was a man who had sex with a sleeping woman. You would have to extract the living essence from a very lively female person who was attempting to demonstrate that they were the ideal woman rather than a grotesque from the carnival.”

“You would need an erection that Priapus would have been proud of and a personal manner that was both suave and capable of oozing charm. Your whole being would have to be phallic with the bulge in your trousers verging on the monumental.”

“Isn’t that a bit on the large size. I have seen those plastic statues they sell in Greece where Priapus has a permanent erection an Arab stallion would be proud of.”

“Not at all. Many of the women we are talking about ask for vagina that someone’s whole arm would fit in with room to spare. Priapus’ organ might get lost in one of those!”

“That is obscene. No one surely asks for reproductive organs that size.”

“Yes they do and 44DDD breasts is another accomplishment they seem to expect, until they are told that a woman with such a humungous bosom would have constant back ache.”

“Surely trousers are not designed for such a large organ, particularly one that is permanently erect.”

“No, such men wear tartan kilts or a loin cloth or let it all hang out, as it were.”

“This is all getting a bit bizarre now. I don’t see myself as the great lover ready to impale women who have more than a passing resemblance to gargoyles, who then return to a normal life as very average men with their wives and children.”

“I take your point. Perhaps we are getting ahead of ourselves. Your training is designed to allow you to make these decisions. After getting the larger picture, there are then numerous refinements to allow you to be resilient against attacks from all sorts of beings.”

“How do I apply to start the training?”

“You just have. The light blinking on your headset shows green. You are now at novice one level. As soon as you put your headset back on the training will start. It will take about six hours to complete. When will you have a spare six hours?”

“I can start tomorrow morning if that is ok by you.”

“Yes, fine, we will meet here tomorrow morning and I will go into another part of the city whilst you are in the safe area receiving instruction.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The following morning they met as planned. After a quick coffee they both donned headsets and six hours of training began.

Calypso waited until Bryce’s image became fuzzy. She saw the body of her friend assume all sorts of shapes and sizes to help refine an idea, but it was soon clear that the images were female and slight of build and magical. Calypso drifted off in search of a victim who wanted his end to be made spectacular.

Calypso was a superb artist and the man died with first, a moment of total euphoria, then one of shock, then one of impending coma and death. Calypso never wore any underwear under the dress. All she had to do was to straighten the skirt of her dress and return to the safe area with a larger bank balance.

Bryce was still fuzzy, but an elfin girl was clearly his/her chosen form. The child-like person glowed with magic and then the session finished and an exhausted Bryce fell to the ground to be helped up by Calypso.

The image of the Life World faded and they were back on the couches, each with half a cup of stone cold coffee.

“Well one down, five to go.”

“I was back in time to see you become a elfin girl. What made you choose that form? I would never have believed that an elf, let alone an elfin girl would be able to survive in this world. You must have had some good guidance.”

“I wanted to be female. I don’t know why. It has always been something I have wanted to try.”

“It isn’t just about giving it a try. This would be a life changing decision.”

“I know, but the elfin girl does seem to be right also.”

“There cannot be many elfin girls in the game. How do they kill and get a bounty?”

“They don’t kill on their own. They are part of a killing co-operative. There will be five characters in the group, each with their own skills. I will have magic I can draw the punters into a trap with a stun spell and a winning smile and showing a lot of leg, then the others set about the prey character and dispatch them summarily. Two others are boy pixies and the other two are fairies. They will kill with a blizzard of tiny blows using their swords and axes. Even a sword 5cm long can kill used in the right way.”

“It sounds like a scheme, but why not be something more physical like a dwarf or a gnome.”

“If you are a troll or a giant, you are too slow to hit a fairy flying round your head raining tiny blows on your scalp until you are blinded by your own blood running down your face.” The pixies attack the ankles until the troll falls to the ground to bleed to death and for us to collect the bounty.”

“This will be something to see. I have never seen a bevvy of tiny beings succeed with a giant, but the logic seems inescapable.”

“What about suitors?”

“You are going to be a very beautiful elfin girl. There are far more boy elves than girl elves. You are going to have to fight off the suitors, and avoid making baby elves.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. How do I keep my virtue, and make a lot of cash with a bevvy of lovelorn elves hanging around.”

“Make it clear you are not interested, then kill a few who don’t take ‘No’ for an answer. Each one probably has a bounty of a couple of hundred dollars. Your virtue will be safe after that.”

“I will not have a weapon after my training. How does one kill even an elf without any sort of weapon?”

“Use a paralysis spell, then suffocate them, would be one way. Tieing them up as you would in any SM tryst, then doing something nasty to them would be another way. You just have to choose masochist boy elves to practice on. You will soon get the hang of it. A dagger costs a minimum amount of credit. You will soon get your starter weapon.”

The second session saw the fuzzy image of Bryce change proportions only slightly. Golden curls now framed a delicate face with a charming smile. The nudity was covered by a body hugging primrose yellow suede miniskirt and bustier, and a necklace of tiny crystals helped to emphasise her beauty.

“My don’t you look a picture.” was Calypso’s first comment. Absolute eye candy, even if you are only 15cm tall. What do you call yourself now?”

“I think Alara suits me well. It means elf in Turkish I believe.”

“Alara it is, then.”

Calypso spoke aloud to the computers. “ Calypso-26 recording, Calypso-26-Guest One is now to be named Alara. Re-register trainee Level 2 as Alara.”

A baritone voice responded. “Calypso Guest One is now registered as Alara-12. Trainee Level 2.”

“Alara sounds good. Not so sure about the number 12, but needs must, I suppose. I wonder who all the other eleven Alaras are, or have been?”

“Now you have an individual game name you can go to the safe area for training on your own. Be warned though … It is impolite to ask about people in the real world when you are in game mode.”

And so it was. Bryce/Alara -12 logged in and was welcomed. She was introduced to the other four members of her intended team who were also in the later stages of their training. Each had a new name, but the two pixies hadn’t gone far into the alphabet and had chosen Alvar and Ash. The fairies really didn’t have a gender, but were known as Viola and Peri.

In the final stages of their training Alara and her new colleagues could see the bounty on each character. In the training safe area most of the figures had bounties of under $200. It showed as a glowing number over the head of each character. When they went to one of the exits from the training area and almost, but not quite, crossed the threshold, they saw characters with bounties in the tens of thousands, even millions of dollars. Not surprisingly, these characters walked with a swagger of total self-assurance.

Alana thought very seriously that she would like to knock them off their pedestals and get some of the huge bounties available, but a three-inch-tall she-elf with no weapons and a miserable set of five basic spells needed to bide her time.

The team graduated within an hour of each other and grouped at the exit to refine their strategies.

Standing at the exit, Alana attracted frequent and prurient interest. A stunningly pretty elf was bound to attract all sorts of unwanted interest, but it made it easy for the other four to dispatch the offender who was often ogling her cleavage or pert little bottom. After a couple of hours the group were $2200 the richer and each had a bounty of over $500 that glowed over each one’s head.

When Bryce re-emerged from the game, Paul had already ordered pizzas for them both. The smell wafting from one world to the other reminded Bryce that he was hungry, but he deeply regretted giving up that delightful little body for even a few hours. It was like waking up to reality after having a beautiful dream.

“So your team bumped off a few lechers. Good for you. Hope they will come back in with a higher bounty for you to get again.”

“It was no hardship disposing of such debauched individuals. I would do it again without any compunction.”

“No boy elves that you fancied then?”

“Give me a chance. I am getting good at making the best of this very fit body I have created with the help of the Game, but getting laid by a boy elf is not one of my priorities. Not yet anyway.”

“I will enjoy seeing you paired off with a beautiful boy-elf, but don’t get too lovey-dovey yet. You have some serious killing to do.”

“I will try my best. There are a couple of DOMs (Dirty Old Men) dressed up to look like young stags at the rut. The reek of testosterone is quite overpowering and they strut about as if they owned the place. They hover near my group all the time and I will have them skewered for sure the next time I am in the game. even though they are many times my size.”

“How are you dealing with players who are so much bigger than you?”

“We have a technique for suffocating the insufferable, or twisting the heads more than they are intended to, but modesty prevents me revealing some of our more unrefined actions, but most are bloody and rather distasteful to delicate ears. Let me say that Peri has got a taste for raw testicles. The wounds they leave behind do bleed heavily and the afflicted die reasonably quickly.”

“OK, you are allowed some trade secrets.”

“With five of you, you will need to deal with more than two punters a day.”

“Yes, we have a plan to hide in garden hedges and rush out and bite the legs of passers-by.”

“What good will that do?”

“You haven’t seen a fairy’s teeth. They are needle sharp and long. Most fairies don’t laugh because they look like a Piranha with its mouth open. One of our group bit through a gnome’s Achilles tendon in one go during training. He was hopping mad about it.”

“You can forget about all that nectar sucking business for fairies. They like their meat raw and bloody.”

“So how big a bounty are you aiming for each time?”

“At the moment we are keeping quite close to the safety zone, so the best we can hope for is about $500, but we are planning to become more adventurous and hope to get up to the $10,000 range before too long.”

“What happens if one of you gets killed?”

“We pay together for their reinstatement. At the moment it is quite cheap, but no one has been killed to date and long may that remain. Five pairs of eyes are better than one, and we are all small enough to hide in almost any situation, and quick enough to bemuse something big.”

“I still think it is strange that you can be a normal teenager here with normal hormones and fancying girls, and then becoming a stunningly pretty she-elf with all the desires of such a being.”

“How is it different from you being the same normal type boy, then becoming a sex machine with fangs in your vagina who sucks the life essence from her clients/victims in their moment of total ecstasy. Either that or stabbing female victims without even exchanging the time of day.”

“Point taken. I suppose it comes down to what we do best. I don’t know enough about it to be dogmatic, but my lifestyle in the game is more Id than Ego. The life form is the opposite to my existence in real life, as it is with you. We both enjoy the freedom of scanty form-clinging dresses and no underwear. Being a stunning beauty makes you vulnerable on Earth. In the game it makes the punters vulnerable and open to attack. Our victims inevitably approach us with an engorged penis sticking out in front just waiting to be bitten very hard. Even a she-elf can do a lot of damage to one of those! I also have a trick where I jump onto the head of large beings and then bend their eyelashes inwards. This makes their eyes water and they cannot see as my friends hack and slash at their vital bits. Death by a thousand cuts as you might call it.”

“I went up a troll’s nose recently. I attacked the delicate bones in his nostril and he had a massive nose bleed and collapsed as a result. That got us $1000.”

“He must have been a very recent creation. Trolls are usually very aware of the game and don’t get taken in so easily.”

“In fact he was so shocked to be outmanoeuvred that he was reactivated as a fairy and we are now six. She kept her coffee coloured skin and tight curls. In her red silk kimono dress slit up to the thigh she looks absolutely stunning, even ‘jaw-dropping gorgeous’. The embroidered dragons in scarlet and gold emphasise her beautiful figure and her wings are iridescent and golden.” She kills with great panache and has earned a goodly amount already. She loves being a fairy compared with being a troll, but then who wouldn’t! Just don’t ask her to open her mouth, the rows of razor sharp teeth are a big turn-off.

“Can your computer base here be attacked in this world to change the game?”

“Yes, it is vital that access is restricted to the two of us. Destruction of these computers or the compromising of our security would open the game to bad actors and there is a strong motivation amongst competitors responsible for other games to do that. The total bounty on all the players registered is trillions of dollars. Getting access to that would make it a very attractive robbery.”

“So how do you meet up with the punters for your particular services?”

“They apply to the game and are interviewed. If a psychiatrist judges that they are of sound mind they attend one of the open access points for the Game. When they enter as unregistered visitors I meet them and a black rope is attached to one wrist. I lead them out of the entry zone. At that point they have a zero bounty as a visitor, so no one would see any point in attacking. I lead them to a suite of rooms and they are given one further chance to withdraw.”

“ If they confirm that it is their wish to proceed, then I flick a switch as it were and I emit a very strong female pheromone. If the punter is depressed, it is all forgotten as they become more and more sexually aroused. Usually their faces, necks, chests and groins become suffused with blood. Once or twice I have had clients die of a heart attack or stroke at this stage, otherwise my dress seems to disappear to them, and I mount them while they lie on the bed. After a few strokes they are close to a climax and at the second they climax my vaginal fangs impale their member, and their life essence is drawn out. The body that is left, has four, one centimetre long slits in their penis, but otherwise they look like an intact, but dried grey husk of a person.”

“The game staff deal with the cremation and the ashes are sent to any relatives we have been told about. The death is registered with all the relevant authorities, as they are for all permanent deaths in ‘The Game of Life’.”

“Will you carry on in the game for the time being?”

“Yes, I think so. It is only a game, and people who die are resurrected immediately, unless it is deliberate of course. I enjoy my role in the game. My play name is Calypso, but behind my back I am called ‘Madam Death’. It is rather flattering in a way. I think of myself as the public hangman who tries to achieve perfection in everything he does.”

A loud whistle sounded for half time on the TV and the boys’ attentions were drawn back to the soccer match that had been playing all the time they had been mulling over what might have been. Boys can dream, can’t they?

But how could they explain, even to each other, finding the tiny, but exquisite yellow suede miniskirt and bustier that was stuffed down the side of the sofa, or the set of security keys that didn’t fit any of the doors in Paul’s house, but were found in his jeans pocket by his mother when she cleared a space on the floor of his bedroom?

Charlie

Late last year I was asked to interview a resident of a care home. I was told that he was over ninety but still very lucid. It was in the build-up to Christmas and I couldn’t see the point for a fashion magazine, but his daughters were insistent that he had a story to tell our readers. I had my misgivings, but went along anyway with only my phone to record the interview.

Charlie walked with a frame and guided me back to his room with the help of his daughter Claire. Once seated, he began his tale.

“Once I would have worn a miniskirt like you.” he said without any reservation. WOW! I said to myself “I like your top”, he added. It matches your eyes.”

I pricked up my ears at that point. “Tell me more”.

“Many years ago I left university with an engineering degree and few goals in life. I drifted from one job to another aimlessly, until I was asked to help with a restoration project on an old MG sports car. The parts were not available and the restoration had stalled, like the car I suppose! I got interested in the project and with the purchase of a second hand lathe and some other equipment I seemed to find my niche making parts for vintage and veteran cars.”

“The business grew consistently once my name began to become known in the restoration fraternity and during these years I met Sally and we set up home and had two beautiful daughters.”

“When Julia and Claire were eight and six, Sally had a miscarriage and an investigation showed that she had advanced cervical cancer. After some months of painful and largely useless treatment she passed away in our local hospice.”

“For a couple of weeks after the funeral, my sister stayed with the three of us, but she couldn’t leave her own family any longer so we were left to our own devices.”

“Grief is an experience that finds its own way into your life, but I had to keep the business going for the sake of my two employees, if nothing else; and Julia and Claire needed me to give them a stable home with Mummy having been taken away from them.”

“I suppose that many men would have tried to remarry as soon as possible to give the girls a mother figure to do ‘girl-things’ with, but I had no interest in doing that. My business was successful but I would miss Sally being our representative at the various Trade Fairs we went to, to drum up custom. She had long legs, a lovely smile, a bosom that turned men’s heads. She was a real asset in a world of the seventies where pretty girls won business for the companies they represented.”

I turned my head towards Charlie at that moment and some of my own shoulder-length blond hair fell into my cleavage. I swept it out with an accomplished flick of my fingers, but Charlie was smiling. “I know that particular tickle well.” Claire looked over to him and smiled as well.

“Back to my grief.” he said without any obvious sadness. “I was very stressed as you can imagine and strange to relate I found that I could find relief by enjoying Sally’s clothes. Firstly I would have a small item in my pocket during the day and after the girls were asleep I might try on her things. Surprisingly, the garments fit - except for the boobs, of course. Later I would dress very largely in her clothes, but always in private. This went on for months, but transvestism was never mentioned all those years ago in public. Such things were thought of as being part of homosexuality which was still illegal.”

“I had practical problems to deal with. The girls wanted to go swimming, but were too young to go into the ladies changing rooms on their own, and once six years old they couldn’t go into men’s changing. None of the pools we went to had thought of family changing areas all those years ago.”

“I also had to buy them new clothes and that meant that they might need to visit the loo in a shop. After one occasion where I had taken Claire into a Gents toilet, the cubicles were soiled with urine that had splashed onto the floor by men’s carelessness. Her knickers had been wetted by the mess and she had to spend the next hour or so without them until I could buy a pack of new ones.”

“No more of that, I said to myself.”

“You must remember that this was before the Internet. If you wanted to buy clothes you went to a shop with shop assistants. They were often barely civil to a man buying clothes for his daughters. There was Mail Order, but Julia and Claire wanted to choose their own clothes. Not buy something from a black and white illustration in a catalogue.”

“I tended to use my secretary/receptionist as a sounding board for my practical woes. She listened attentively, but she had her own family responsibilities and could only offer well-meant but often impractical advice like paying someone to take the girls shopping. I didn’t want to hand my daughters over to some strange woman. I wanted to parent them as best I could.”

Claire took up the story. “One night I had a bad dream and went into dad’s room. He was sitting at Mum’s vanity table fully dressed in Mum’s clothes. I suppose I must have been a pragmatic child. My mind immediately came up with the expectation that Daddy could do all the things Julia and I were missing out on now that he was dressed as Mummy had been.

“Of course he jumped up with surprise and tried to make a lame excuse, but all I saw was a means to an end. The saggy cloth on his chest and body hair didn’t have much of an impact on me at that age. His short hair and bulge where his legs met didn’t seem a problem to me at the time either. It seemed to me that Mummies wore dresses and if you wore a dress then you could go into places reserved for women, however bizarre you looked.”

“Claire’s complete acceptance of my crossdressing in her mother’s clothes is one of those things that can only be described as the product of a child’s mind. That night I gave her a warm drink and tucked her back into bed where she fell asleep almost immediately. I went to bed in my PJs only to be woken in the morning with both girls demanding to be taken clothes shopping now that I had no excuse not to take them.”

“Out of the mouthes of babes and sucklings I suppose!”

They accepted that people would recognise that I was a man from my hair and lack of makeup. If that happened I would be treated as a freak and a pervert in those distant times and the girls might be taken away from me.”

“Such a threat of losing Daddy as well as Mummy kept the girls quiet, but I did discuss the plans that I gradually developed with them in an age appropriate way. I was getting desperate to find someone who could represent us at the next Trade Show, but there was no one who had detailed knowledge of the vintage and veteran car market that I knew … male or female. The idea I had was to attend a private college for a short course where actors could learn to behave as women. My sister looked after the girls for the duration of the course and after that week I could put on makeup without making a complete hash up of it, and had a modicum of deportment training including wearing heels. I don’t know what the college tutors thought I was going to do with this new knowledge. They didn’t ask and I didn’t tell them!”

“Determined to make this work I went home by car, but fully ‘dressed’. I had newly styled bleach blond hair in a tousled style held rigid by lashings of hairspray, and breast forms inside a lacy 38D basque. This was complimented with a quite modest blouse under an embroidered sheepskin jacket, chunky necklace and matching bracelet. Those were combined with a white leather miniskirt, but the tours de forces were white leather, thigh high boots with heels that I had only mastered hours before.”

“In fact the heels made it easier for me to drive. The skirt however, needed careful manoeuvring in and out of the car.”

“I rang the doorbell and when Karen, my sister opened the door she had no idea who I was. I think she said “Hello madam, can I help you? … or something of the sort.”

“I didn’t confuse Claire or Julia. Both had come to the door to see who it was. Hello Daddy. Welcome home. Can we go swimming now?”

“Karen, I think staggered backwards when the penny dropped. It took several cups of tea to explain what had been happening and why. She begrudgingly accepted that I could pass as a woman anywhere but she hadn’t grasped why I needed to appear as the archetypal Essex girl. The thigh high boots … the miniskirt … the fishnet tights… the pink plastic jewellery… the spray tan. The whole nine yards in fact.”

“I explained that at Trade Fairs the stands often had bimbos arranged decoratively. These girls were clad in beachwear and a smile. They were ogled then ignored. They were employed to attract the punters to within range of the salesmen. It would not be polite today to employ such methods. It was degrading to the girls, but this was over 50 years ago.”

“My stall was too small to have more than one person and I couldn’t afford to employ an assistant just for decoration, so I had to be the attraction. I needed to get punters within range as it were, so I could give them the information sheets about my business. Most didn’t believe that I owned the company when we got nearer to making contracts, but my attempt to look like Barbie had two functions. One was to attract from afar, but the other was to make it clear that this Essex girl knew about her business. I was a hard talking, hard nosed business person who provided a professional service and gave value for money.”

“A few punters got above themselves and thought I was an easy pickup. Essex girls as a breed are intolerant of men who do not reach their high standards. The accent may be thick, the language may be rough and incomprehensible to many. Their clothing is loud, vibrant and revealing. Anyone who got too frisky and didn’t take the advice I gave them quietly, got the treatment - a torrent of invective. I could swear in all the languages spoken in the East End of London. The abuse I poured over the victim contained references to him having had carnal knowledge of both male and female of every animal that walked, flew, swam or slithered on the face of earth. I accused his mother of having copulated with one of the unnamed horrors from the pits of Mordor and his father of being the spawn of a cockatrice. I could go on for any length of time until the miscreant withdrew. The average Essex girl knows and uses profanities as a weapon to humiliate men publicly if they overstep the limits. Only one did. I had a riding crop pushed down my leather thigh boot. I kept it there largely for effect. This man chanced his arm too often and wouldn’t take no for an answer and groped me. The thwack of the riding crop over his groin was meant to spur horses into action, but had the opposite effect on him. Two friends helped him leave.”

“We told you so”, they said quietly, but you were so convinced that any woman would fall over in their rush to have sex with you. “It ain’t necessarily so.”

“The message got around and I was never bothered in that way again.

“Have you got any photos of you dressed, I asked?”
“Yes there is an album of them on the bookcase over there. Claire, would you mind?”
“Thank you, dear.”

I went through the album slowly. It was mostly black and white images of the trade stalls with Charlie looking exactly as he had described, but also others with him dressed in much more restrained clothes taking the girls on holiday and to various events arranged by their schools. It was fifty years of very stylish dresses in one book.

“Who took all these photos”, I asked, thinking of copyright issues with publication.
“The photographers are noted on the backs of each photograph. I was quite famous at one time. People from the car restoration fraternity would come to my stall just to see what new dress I was wearing. It was quite flattering.

“Can I use some of these in an article I asked with some trepidation?”
“They have all been scanned”, Claire offered. Please give me a list of the numbers on the pages, and I will send you gifs or jpegs of the images you want. There are a few that are not for publication, though. I will highlight the ones that are too personal.”

“So what happened after the first display of your feminine side?”
“I dressed each day with care using Sally’s clothes for the first year or so, then I bought my own. No one noticed me in a normal woman’s wardrobe. The girls and I did all the things that we wanted to do together, using women’s facilities when needed. No one noticed who I was. I was just like any other Mum. I don’t think anyone cared as long they got on with their business in the restrooms and I got on with mine.”

“You may wonder how we went swimming together, but pretty swimsuits for women who have had to have double mastectomies were available, and I was not so heavily endowed that things could not be concealed between my legs. Again, people see what they want to see. A bikini with a short sarong on the beach covers everything it needs to cover. It is as simple as that. If something looks like a banana, tastes like a banana and smells like a banana, then it probably is a banana!”

“After some twenty years the business had reached its full potential and I sold it to a large consortium for two million pounds. A fortune at the time, but I was left rather bored. The girls were at University and I was wealthy, and on my own. I went on cruises and other holidays, but I remained unfulfilled.”

“Eventually I noticed an advert in a trade magazine asking for funding in exchange for equity in a small company. This start-up was developing new fabrics for clothing from plant products like hemp, bamboo and eucalyptus. The owner, Ella, had started the company with too little capital was looking for a wealthy silent partner. She got me. Not silent but fully involved and hands on. After processing, weaving and dyeing, the fibres were beautiful and made wonderful soft fabrics for dresses, shirts and skirts.“

“We both went to shows to demonstrate our fabrics to buyers and the business thrived. Our Show clothes were always meant to contrast. Ella would be in one pastel colour and I would be in another. One in a Paisley print and the other in geometric patterns for instance. Eventually Ella needed to know about my secret because she had suggested saving money by sharing a double room in the hotel during a trade fair.”

After the revelation she was quiet for perhaps thirty minutes.

“I don’t care if you are a man Charlie. I have been bi for a long time. You are welcome in my bed as a man or a woman. I shall enjoy both.”

“And that is how it stayed, a friendship with benefits (as the saying goes). She was 30 years younger than me and now I live here, she has moved on. She still runs the company, but comes and visits me every month or so.”

I could see that Charlie was getting fatigued. His head was dropping, and Claire indicated that we should go. She guided me to the visitors lounge where we continued our conversation.”

“What happened to all the dresses?”

“They are all in storage, each with a photograph of Dad wearing them.”

“Could I see them?”

“Certainly. The warehouse is only ten minutes from here. Follow me in your car and I will show you.”

We soon arrived at the warehouse and after passing through security I was led to a locked store with environmental controls. Inside were perhaps sixty dresses and accessories on hangers. Each had a tag giving the date, the designer and a photograph.

Just a quick scan of the cards showed that each of the dresses had been designed by one of the most highly revered couturiers of the twentieth century. They must have been bespoke designs for Charlie’s specific requirements.

“How did Charlie get the great design houses to create these one-off designs? Each of these dresses must have cost thousands.”

“This is one of the reasons for asking you here today” was Claire’s reply. The total collection would have cost over £M2.5 today. Over £700,000 was written as a legitimate business expense all those years ago. We don’t know whether just to sell them off at auction one at a time, or to give them to a museum. Each of the dresses has features like pockets for Charlie’s breast pads and room for his constrictive underwear. They would be useless for a woman, unless modified.”

“Why didn’t Charlie have breast implants when they became available?”

“He was happy with his appearance and hated the idea of being cut about. He had no plastic surgery of any sort, except for some laser treatment for age spots on his hands and forearms.”

“Give me a little while to think about that.”I replied.

I spent a further time opening some of the bags. The dresses started with the leather mini skirts from the sixties and the thigh length boots Charlie had mentioned. The dresses were made of sumptuous fabrics where no expense had been spared. They were essentially modest. There could be no slashes or side boob on view and below the waist the dress was usually lined.

How had I never heard of a fashion icon like Charlie who only seemed to have been famous in niche magazines relating to car restoration? Surely the main fashion magazines had missed a scoop here.

I formulated my thoughts before going back to Claire.

“Firstly. I think this is the most fabulous untold fashion story. Charlie’s story needs to be told to a wider audience before anything is done to sell the collection. I would suggest that I write a catalogue raisonné for the collection. I would love to write that in my spare time. It would be a great privilege to do it. Once the catalogue is researched and published then it is time to see if one of the great museums would buy the collection as a whole, or Sotheby’s or one of the other revered auction houses was prepared to create a named auction.”

Claire smiled. “I was hoping you would say that. I have researched your background. I believe your university degree was in fashion and I have enjoyed reading your recent articles. The financial side would have to be worked out, but Julia and I have already accepted that a record of Charlie’s wardrobe was essential as a first step, but we also agree that there can be no publication of either a book or your article until after he has died. He doesn’t know it, but he doesn’t have long left. By the time the book is ready for publication he will be no longer with us.”

And that was how it panned out. The preparation of the catalogue raisonné became my New Year’s resolution. I spent months in Charlie’s warehouse recording the detail of every outfit. Each dress had separate and often unique accessories.

After opening an eighth velvet bag to find a pristine Hèrmes handbag in beautiful leather of the most glorious quality, the penny dropped as to how much of a fashionista Charlie had been in his day.

The dress bags contained faint traces of the perfume Charlie had worn. It was distinctive, but I could not recognise it, except that it was perhaps reminiscent of Opium, the YSL hit from the 70’s. A half-empty bottle I found in a handbag was white label and just had “Charlie 15” written in beautiful handwritten calligraphy and a signature. The perfume was intensely floral but after several hours of wear masculine notes appeared. It was typical of the man that even in the seventies there was no hint that animal products like musk or civet had been used. What was also apparent was that the perfume lasted for many hours on the wearer, indicative of the use of the highest quality ingredients.

Subsequent exploration showed the signature was that of a very well known but quite secretive Parisian perfumer of the time, and further research by searching through Charlie’s papers found a receipt for the private commission from him. As it was a private commission it gave the list of ingredients and the copyright.

The book took a year to prepare and publish. We had a launch party at Dillons book shop in London and six of the dresses spanning 50 years were put on show on tailors manikins. I met Charlie’s whole family for the first time and last time that night. Ella came with her partner, both wearing dresses that had been worn at the trade fairs that she and Charle had attended.

The book took the fashion world by storm and I was told that it made after dinner conversation for months. Even at a substantial purchase price it went to a second printing in hardback and then appeared in paperback. Prints of now famous dresses went on sale as postcards and framed prints. Even the car restoration trade magazines dug out their image files and produced a colour supplement for their Christmas edition. Those also became collectors items.

I kept up with ‘the girls’ for the year it took to prepare the book. I rang Julia regularly and once asked about all Charlie’s day clothes and underwear.

“The day clothes were just bought at chain stores, but only skirts and dresses. He never wore trousers. As Charlie wore them out, or got bored with them they were given away to charity shops. Underwear was made by a lingerie maker who provided a personal and absolutely discrete service to people who had very precise needs. It was found in a nondescript mews passageway in London’s East End. Dad had bras, knickers and a variety of corsets, basques and similar items in all sorts of colours. The company he used had an equally discrete disposal service where discarded undergarments were anonymised before being shredded.”

With the success of the book, Julia licensed the manufacture of ‘Charlie 15’ to a well known perfume house. Even at a challenging price it sold well and several more production runs were commissioned. Like so many successful products, the perfume was soon analysed in the Far East; and inferior, but similar bottles of eau de parfum appeared on supermarket shelves within weeks.

Eventually the V&A in London made a substantial offer for the whole dress and accessories collection. Claire and Julia accepted it.

His grave was visited by devoted, and often weeping fans who left touching messages. Eventually a direction sign was put up to guide visitors to the graveside and a visit became something of a pilgrimage for fashion students for some years until, inevitably, the memory of him began to fade in the public’s eye.

A retrospective documentary raised his profile temporarily, but ambivalent dressing was much less risqué than it had been in his day and it was shown only on TV Channels that focussed on the creative milieu. It provided only a temporary respite from obscurity.

Charlie would not have wanted to be a source of pilgrimage, albeit a temporary one, but fame, particularly post mortem, has a funny way of creating a legend.

Now and again, my own daughters pick up a copy of the Charlie book and flick through it because I wrote it. It seems to have very little relevance to them and it is soon back on the shelves.

Now, many years after his death, I can reflect on the boost that original phone call to my magazine’s switchboard gave to my career. I could so easily have decided that a very old man in a care home had nothing to say in my world of women’s fashion, but I am eternally grateful to have made that visit against my inclinations.

Author’s note. This story was originally written in 2004, and was posted in on a different website with another title and with me using my then current pen name of Richard Packer. It had over 6000 downloads there even though it was not the stroke story that was, and is, commonplace on that site. Searching through an old CD Rom I found myself enjoying re-reading my story and felt that with some minor work it could be made available for a Big Closet audience to enjoy. Obviously, the amount of French written could be increased considerably, but I hope I have the balance right to keep the dialogue in English for the most part with a scattering of French words and phrases.

This is the result. I hope you will enjoy it.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Why do all airport lounges look the same? Industrial carpet lit by hundreds of fluorescent strip lights and drinks from machines at exorbitant prices. Weary people slump on unyielding plastic seats trying to fill time until their flights; trying to stop the kids from killing each other or pacing aimlessly round the duty-free shops.

Not so with us - even though it was 5am, adrenalin kept things moving. We had been up since midnight, met in the rugby club car park and had been taken by coach to Manchester airport for an early flight to Carcassonne in the Languedoc in southern France.

Who were we? Well, we were 18 members of a Welsh youth Rugby Union team with our coach/manager Mr. James - that is Fred to the parents and 'boss' to us. There were also a couple of mums to keep everyone clean, happy and healthy and Fred's daughter Janis who was about to finish her B.Sc. degree in Sports Physiotherapy at Loughborough University. We rather looked forward to her laying her hands on us - you know, to ease those troublesome groin strains!

The team looked good - Blue blazers with team badge, team tie in blue and cream stripes (our strip colours), grey trousers and black polished shoes - the team travel kit in other words. We looked a bit more together than the average traveller at that hour of the morning, although the ties were already at half-mast on some of forwards whose bull necks didn't take kindly to collars and ties.

Why were we there? Oh, didn't I say? Well we had won our league in the Under-16s Competition during the winter and one part of the prize was a series of fixtures against youth teams in the Rugby playing part of France which occupies Perpignan right round the coast to Narbonne and Montpellier.

Why 18 of us? 15 made up the first team and three reserves who would play in the 7's tournament, but not otherwise unless there was injury amongst the first choice players.

Who am I? The name's is Aiden, by the way. I was reserve three-quarter and had a couple of months to go before my sixteenth birthday. Generally on the left wing but capable of filling in wherever. I hoped to make full-back eventually, but at 5 foot 6 inches I was just too small, and anyway - there wasn't as vacancy at the moment! Josh - blue-eyed, blond haired and six-two was likely to remain in post for some time to come before he could entered an adult team.

I had had to save up the £250 the trip cost. It took me 4 months of gardening, baby-sitting and the like to get it and all that work bought was an early morning flight on an economy airline. At least I would fit comfortably into the economy class seats for the two-hour flight. That was more than could be said for some of the forwards!

The flight was uneventful - April gloom and drizzle gave rise to patchy cloud over the central highlands of France and then to glorious April sunshine glistening from the fish scale tiles that coat the roofs of La Cité, the fairytale castle of Carcassonne that we flew over on the final approach to La Salvaza; Carcassonne's airport.

All tiredness seemed to evaporate with the sunshine. Animated chatter surrounded the carousel as the bags reappeared promptly from the belly of the aircraft.

Boss's curt instructions kept us all together as we moved through the terminal building and loaded our belongings into the coach to take us to our hotel, where a late breakfast was to be followed by a shower and some kip before the first practice session that afternoon.

Arriving at the hotel near Agde was uneventful but the double booking of the hotel rooms left us all gobsmacked. What in the hell were we to do now? No rooms, a holiday weekend coming up and nowhere to sleep or rest!

I am sure Boss's French had seen better days, but he seemed to convey the impact of the moment with what sounded like fluent invective to the uninitiated like myself. Phone calls followed to other hotels that also had no spare rooms available, by which time the French contact from the local Rugby clubs who had made the bookings turned up.

I never really understood what had happened, but I understood the consequences well enough. We all sat in the hotel lounge surrounded by baggage; tired and bedraggled whilst numerous phone calls took place. The hotel did, at least, come up with a very good free lunch to compensate for their part in the cock-up of the bookings.

By 3pm the practice session had been abandoned and the news was that 22 families of local rugby players would put up one player or adult each for the duration of our visit. By 4pm cars started to arrive at the hotel and rather uncomfortable looking team members were driven off to who knows where, by the local rugby supporting families.

The group sitting in the lobby had shrunk to five or six by the time my 'family' arrived. They had had to wait until the father; the local First team's lock forward had come home from work with the car before being able to come for me. His huge proportions made the handshake a bit painful, but his welcome was warm. We left with clear instructions to be at the training ground at a local lycée by 10am the following morning.

The journey was punctuated Monsieur Gatti's introduction to the area in broken English and my brief responses in minimal schoolboy French. Soon we drove up to a modern villa on the outskirts of a large village. The wonderful beds of spring flowers made a backdrop to the blue water of their pool and the mountains of the Pyrenees in the distance.

As we drove up an attractive blond woman of about forty came to the open door, walked over to us as the car was garaged, and offered her hand in the normal way. This was Madame Gatti. Sophie to her friends and family. After a polite introduction Monsieur Gatti; Pierre as I later learned, shouted up the stairs to bring down the third member of the household, their daughter Sylvie.

Sylvie was the material of teenage boys' dreams. About my height, but with long blond hair, slim and athletic; but showing curves where it mattered. Dressed in a strappy top whose neckline finished just above her breasts, and miniskirt. She had my jaw dropping. She seemed to glide down the stairs to shake my hand in the French fashion but the handshake was firm and the smile was both self-assured and welcoming. "Bienvenue chez nous. Je suis Sylvie et vous?" This girl was no decorative adjunct to a dominant French male. "Je m'appelle Aiden", I said haltingly. "Je joue au rugby. Je suis un l'ailier." This seemed to satisfy her for the moment.

Madame Gatti had better English than her husband, so she explained that they had offered Sylvie's sister's room for my visit with the emergency. Michelle was studying at the University of Toulouse and would not be at home during my visit.

Sylvie was asked to show me Michelle's room. I wondered how she would explain to me what was what in the room, but I needn't have worried. Sylvie attended the International School in Toulouse and some of her classes were in English. The room was a bit girlie, as was to be expected. Ceramic tiles on the floor with a couple of scatter rugs, a vanity unit, fitted wardrobe and chest of drawers in pale coloured wood. The bed was a single with pink bedspread and a clutter of furry toys.

I found Sylvie's French accent fascinating - particularly with the Occitan accenting of the words. Someone, it seems, had quickly emptied a couple of drawers for my use and made up the bed. Under the circumstances I thought I had come off rather well with a pleasant family and a comfortable bed.

"Dinner in ten minutes" or was it "Le dîner sera en dix minutes". I cannot remember now, but it sounded good whatever language it was in. A quick wash was in order, but ten minutes was enough.

On going downstairs I followed the sounds of talking until I found the dining room. Sylvie was already there, having laid the table. She waved me to a place next to her.

I was comfortable with the mixture of French and English that was used during the meal, but was encouraged to use French when I could. I had to be shown how to eat the fat leaf bases of artichokes, but the steak slipped down well. The goat's cheese with local honey smelling of the garrigue, was unusual to British tastes, but good, and the créme brûlée made a fitting end to the meal.

Afterwards, tiny cups of strong black coffee allowed the family to chat about the English visit, our opponents and French rugby in general. I was surprised how easy it was to fit into this family and talked more than I would thought possible about my widowed mother and much older sister at home in London. They also queried my size in getting into the team as well as my ponytail of mid-brown hair. My speed and lithe figure explained my place in the squad and I was surprised how much Sylvie knew about the game; but then, she had watched her father playing in many many matches as soon as she could walk.

After the dishwasher had been loaded I was pleased and surprised to be invited to Sylvie's room. She wanted to show me her CD collection and was interested in what I had on my MP3 player that was round my neck on arrival. It had helped to while away the hours of waiting in the hotel.

She put on her current favourite; a pretty girl who was the lead singer of a group I had never heard of; but was surprised and pleased to see that our tastes otherwise in New Age music were very similar. "J'aime beaucoup Vangelis, Jean Michele Jarre et Yanni". When things got too difficult to explain we typed what we wanted to say into her computer and got it to do the translation with more or less hilarious results.

After 2 hours it was 11pm and the effects of the early start and the good company took its toll on me and I regretfully said goodnight and went to find the shower and bed.

8am came all too soon and it took some shaking and laughter from Sylvie and Sophie to get me awake enough for the morning ablutions and breakfast. Nevertheless, by 9am all we were ready to leave for the lycée sports ground. Sophie was driving and I was both a little nervous and quietly pleased that Sylvie was going to stay to watch the practice whilst her mother went shopping. The yellow minidress Sylvie was almost wearing made it difficult for me to know where to look whilst we chatted in the car and I hardly noticed our arrival after about 25 minutes.

Our arrival did not pass unnoticed. Walking in with a radiantly beautiful girl beside me did wonders for my ego and I had to introduce her to everyone who hadn't already gone to change. I had to leave her, but was loath to do so. Why had I become so smitten so quickly with her I wondered. What gave her the magnetism to make me fall so quickly under her spell? Also, what trick of fate made me be the one to be invited to her home and to be so empathetic in so many ways.

The practice session brought me back to reality. Passing, tackling and kicking practice... Routine plays... set pieces in the lineouts and scrummaging were all honed by the coach except where the boss concentrated on the scrum and Janis, his daughter stepped in to help with the three-quarters.

Janis knew as much as we did about Rugby. Like Sylvie, she had grown up with the sport and played in a women's rugby team at Uni. She was an accomplished dancer and had introduced ballet into the practice sessions for the three-quarters. You can imagine how keen the boys were to do ballet - but we gave it a fair crack of the whip and found it helped so much with flexibility, balance and manoeuvrability that it stayed in the training schedule. For the in the next hour then we had a practice match with two teams of nine.

My team picked up the ball from a loose scrum and in what seemed to be a fraction of a second it had landed in my arms. My speed allowed me to easily outstrip the short line of the opposing three-quarters and by the 25-metre line I was home and dry, and could cruise to touchdown between the posts. I heard the shriek of delight from Sylvie across 50 metres of pitch and all heads turned to her in her enthusiasm, followed by a smile and a few envious glances in my direction. I waved and settled down to kick the easy conversion.

In fact our team lost by a narrow margin but I got a warm word of congratulation from both Janis and the boss. A quick shower and pep-talk took us to 12.30pm when Madame Gatti and the other parents were due to return. Sylvie was already sitting in her mother's car talking excitedly when I spotted the red Citroën people carrier she drove, waved and walked over to join them. "I saw your try", Sylvie said. "I know", I said with a smile - the whole field noticed your cheer! She blushed beautifully - You don't need lots of words for that sort of language!

I had to get back for the team bus by 5.30pm to go to our first match, but lunch came first and a bit more listening to CDs before Sylvie suggested a swim. "La piscine est chauffée." She said, as if I needed any encouragement! Now, seeing Sylvie in a bikini would be worth a lot!

The swimming pool was only a short bike ride away. I used Michelle's bike and only had to negotiate two roundabouts on the wrong side of the road. I headed for the mens' changing before meeting again at the showers. I was almost overwhelmed when I saw that Sylvie and most of the other girls there were topless. No one seemed to be taking any notice of this, so I tried to show how mature I was and did my best to ignore the bronzed boobs in all shapes and sizes that were arrayed before me. She just shrugged, and grinned over her shoulder at me as if to say... "You are in France now!"

As she said afterwards "Why should boys and girls be different in what was needed for swimming?"

We splashed and swam for an hour with me being introduced to Sylvie's friends as they arrived. I tried to keep up with their conversations. Sometimes I was included and sometimes not, but the view made the lack of conversation worth it. The pool was the centre of their social lives it seemed. All social groups formed and disintegrated and reformed here on the grass under the trees. Who was dating who, was scrutinised here in dappled Languedocienne sunshine.

"Dépêche-toi, nous serons en retard" Sylvie shouted from the women's changing area to get me out of my reverie and indeed, she was right. A quick trip in the car, a light meal and we would be away to our first fixture.

It seemed as if Madame Gatti had been on the phone during the afternoon because Sylvie grabbed my arm as I left the car and got on the coach with me. I managed to keep my composure and escorted her to a window seat to many envious glances. As it happened, several other host families had decided to take up empty places on the coach to see us play, including two of Sylvie's friends.She would have someone to stand with on the touchline. It seemed that Sylvie genuinely enjoyed Rugby and had suggested attending the match without her parents' encouragement.

The opposition from Perpignan had a huge pack who were going to push us off the ball in the scrums, so the boss got us together in the pep talk before the game to try the keep the ball inside the pack with lots of close passing and to make the best of the touch kicking where our height and light weight would make catching the ball and passing it back to the three-quarters easier.

To some extent the strategy worked, but their pack was their strength and they weren't about to give away most of their advantage easily. There were lots of minor injuries that didn't slow anyone down until early in the second half when we were down 10:12 then our left wing collided heavily with one of their prop forwards and seemed to have a mild concussion, so, after warming up, I was on for the last 25 minutes.

Pride at Sylvie and her friends watching must have put wings on my feet. The smirks from the French forwards at the approach of someone a third of their weight caused some amusement, but 12 second 100 metre races are my forté, and my ponytail was soon blowing in the breeze as I streaked past their slower and larger stars. Only a very fast and dangerous full back stopped me scoring several tries. I had to be satisfied with two, one of which was converted and the match ended up as an honourable draw, 26 each.

Sylvie was ecstatic about my efforts and I got hugged and kissed by all three girls much to amusement of the rest of the party; but who was I to care? This was the life... eh? A fan club already! It was almost as if I had played the match single-handedly. If there was jealousy from the other players it wasn't shown... just complementary comments about my two tries.

On the way home Sylvie and I seemed to be glued together at the hip and my arm seemed to naturally wrap round her shoulders. She just smiled as she looked across at me.

I managed to get one more first team game during the week when our fly half got a hamstring strain, but Sylvie couldn't go to that match. She did make it to the Rugby Sevens competition and was torn between supporting her home teams and our A team which contained yours truly. Luckily we didn't have to face her home team. They were knocked out before us, so she could give use wholehearted support in our match to sort out third and fourth places. We came third out of 16 teams. We were pleased with that.

When duties allowed, Sylvie and I seemed to grow together like twins. We didn't try... It just seemed to happen of its own accord. I don't know why the chemistry was so strong between us - we just seemed to have an intense bond between us that had been waiting to happen. We enjoyed the same sorts of music and dance, reading and, of course, Rugby. As the days passed Sylvie glowed with a transparent beauty that verged on the sublime. The effect it had on me was electric. Her charm and charisma entranced me. Lisa was not the only one to comment on the change in me.

Sylvie’s parents were quietly amused by our friendship, but could see tensions developing in their much loved daughter as the time rapidly approached for the end of our visit. Tension became tears as the days became hours before departure - and not all of them were Sylvie's.
The final morning dawned as brilliantly as most of the others and it was clear that something in the atmosphere had changed. It was like a secret had been born and was bursting to be shared. Over breakfast the smiles reached a crescendo as Madame Gatti explained that she had phoned my mother the previous evening after Sylvie and I had gone out for a final tearstained walk hand in hand.

What was on offer was a summer with Sylvie after my GCSE exams were over. School finished early for Year 11s at the end of June soon after Sylvie finished her trimestre.

How could I refuse? I hugged everyone there including Sylvie's father who had to bend down for his hug. I didn't know what to say - I just beamed and nodded ferociously.

So the flight back was sad, but held huge promise for the months of the extended summer break before my A level courses started. I had already decided to do French A level!

No one likes revising for exams, but sending daily Emails, texts and making lengthy phone calls made the 1200km we were apart seem much smaller. The weeks crawled by and the number of exams still to take got fewer and fewer as the date of my return flight crept closer and closer. Tennis and cricket occupied games at school but they did not have to same qualities that made rugby stand out as the queen of sports.

Mum seemed to be easily tired as my departure got ever closer but I wasn't aware of the implications of her tiredness until later. I was just so glad to be returning to Sylvie and the Languedoc.

The Gatti's lived closer to the Spanish border than Carcassonne so I flew to Perpignan. I don't think the arrivals hall at that airport had seen many demonstrations of unalloyed joy as happened that afternoon when the Ryanair flight had disgorged its passengers into the searing heat of the Midi. Walking out of the air-conditioned arrivals lounge was like walking into a wall of heat. I knew that my case had far too many clothes in it!

We sat in the back seat together and I could hardly get a word in edgeways as Sylvie talked nineteen to the dozen about her plans for the summer for us. In the end I did what seemed to me to be the most natural thing in the world. I kissed her. Her eyebrows shot up and she stopped talking and smiled demurely!

I put my arm round her. She snuggled up to me and we looked at the mile upon mile of grape vines that slipped past the car as we drove. The silence was punctuated by just an occasional comment or question from Sylvie's mother. If her mother realised what caused such a change in her daughter's behaviour she never let on; but she did have a rather enigmatic smile for several days after, whenever she saw us together.

I don't remember much about those first few days except that Sylvie and I went shopping for a few extra bits of more suitable clothing. Young French males had to be seen in the same sorts of chic clothing as their girlfriends. So I was kitted out like everyone else - to see and be seen. I was back in Michelle's room as she was holidaying with friends in Corsica at the time of my arrival.

Sylvie and I seemed to join seamlessly as if we had never been parted. We hung out at the pool hour after hour and drifted from home to home, party to party as teenagers will. It all seemed just so right until the letter arrived from home.

Inside the envelope was another envelope. Written on this envelope were Mum's instructions to read the whole letter several times before doing anything. There was also a separate letter for Sylvie's parents.

I can see the opening of that inner envelope as if time became frozen - what could have caused such atypical behaviour in my mother? She explained fully and simply that she had been feeling very tired in the weeks before I had left, so she had been to her doctor and after examining her she had sent her straight to the hospital for a scan. The results were not long in coming - and the news was the worst. A very aggressive cancer had formed in her abdomen and had already spread throughout her body. All that could be done was to give chemotherapy in the hope of reducing the severity of the symptoms until nature took its course.

In the letter to Sylvie's parents, Mum asked that I stay with Sylvie for the summer as planned as she wouldn't be able to care for me and in any event would have my older sister Tina with her to help when she wasn't having breaks in the hospice. We would write and call as often as we wished, but it would give her the greatest pleasure to know that I was as happy as possible, and well looked after by people who cared for me.

In between the tears and the self-recriminations about my insensitivity and thoughtlessness, I desperately wanted to go home to share the maximum amount of time with my mother; but the Gattis' sat with me until late in the evening holding me close and in the end convinced me that my mother needed time for the palliative treatments to take effect then I could enjoy the remaining time I had with her.

Four weeks later all that could be done for mum had been done. It was now a matter of TLC until the end. So at the end of the second week in August I prepared to fly back to Britain with a heavy heart. I was leaving a family I had grown to love and was returning to a place full of unknowns... of being an orphan, a new school away from my friends, and the guardianship of my elder sister who lived in a small flat in London and was beginning to cut out a career in retailing. I knew she would 'do her duty' by her younger brother but would find it an extra drain on her slender resources of time.

So it was with delight, surprise and not a little relief that I found that Sylvie and Sophie were joining me on the journey back to Britain. In those first few days back I spent much of the time at the hospice by my mother's bedside, sometimes with Sylvie and sometimes without.

Sophie had some experience of driving on the right, so she had hired a car to get us from Manchester airport to home. I think she found it more nerve-wracking than she let on, but we arrived safely. I used my room, Sylvie used Tina’s room and Sophie had the guest room. It all worked very well.

Unbeknown to me, Sophie had been on the phone to her husband who was one of the few Frenchmen who worked during August, and they had talked extensively about my situation. To put it all in a nutshell the French rugby club had been impressed with my skills during the visit at Easter and had enquired after me in the interim. They felt that my style of play would fit into a French team better than an English team. Also her parents were overjoyed about Sylvie's and my friendship. To cap it all, the local lycée would give me a place on their International Baccalaureate course if my GCSEs were good enough.

So when mum gave me some money and asked me to take Sylvie to London for the day, it gave Sophie and Mum the chance to talk. The offer I subsequently found out was that if I agreed, Mum would change her Will to make Sophie and Pierre my legal guardians instead of my sister, and I would go to live with the family I had come to love as much as my own. That was for at least the next three years, when my lycée course came to an end.

Sophie and Sylvie did not come with me to the hospice immediately the next day to allow Mum and me to talk at length. At length, meant about 30 minutes as she tired so easily, but amongst the tears I was both saddened that this had happened, but overjoyed that I could live with the people I had come to love. I agreed without reservation and gave Mum a very wet and tearful kiss. She just looked so relieved that her son would be well looked after now that she could no longer do so.

She was weary beyond measure, and seemed to shrink in front of my eyes, now that one of her final tasks had been accomplished. Nevertheless, she rallied after a few minutes and asked me to open a bedside drawer that contained a new Will brought by the clerk of her solicitor that morning. A ward sister and nurse were sent for to act as witnesses to her signature and Sophie and Sylvie came in. Both held my hand as Mum signed her name for perhaps the last time and the witnesses countersigned.

Her final duty done, Mum slipped away 36 hours later - worn out by the ravages of her disease.
Clearing out a house after a death is a demanding task that fell onto the shoulders of Tina, my sister, for the most part. I had only to box up my belongings and see them off by carrier to arrive in France a few days later.

After the funeral a week later, Tina told us that she was delighted with the arrangements and that I would be financially independent until I left University, and would then have a small nest egg of cash to spend on whatever I like to start me off in the World. Until I was nineteen and had finished my baccalaureate, I would receive an allowance from a trust fund and after that I could administer my own affairs.

GCSE results came in a few days after that. I had 5 A*, 4 A and a B. One of the starred A grades was in French! They were good enough for me to start on the course and to look forward to a new life and Rugby club.

The boss and Janis gave me a good send-off at the club with a party, and Sylvie was able to come with me and join in the fun.

The next day was the flight booked to my new home and new family. There was an equal mixture of grief and joy, but much less uncertainty and for that I was grateful. Learning that Sylvie would be leaving the International school to join me at the Lycée was also really good news... and the sounds of builders at the Gatti's house beginning to erect an extended utility room on the ground floor and two new bedrooms and a bathroom on the first floor was equally important.

Michelle had returned to her friends at University by the time of my arrival so I went back into her bedroom and all the construction work had been finished by Christmas when she returned.

The next few days were a whirl of officialdom. It was felt that I needed a Carte de Sejour to help the process of registering for school, and a Carte de Santé for health and dental care. Then I had to be included on the Gatti's health plan to cover to 30% of health and dental costs not paid for by the State.

To do this certified translations of my birth certificate and the probate registered Will giving the Gatti's guardianship had to be obtained and recorded. Every document seemed to have six copies and all needed passport photographs attached.

It was a difficult few days, but the Gattis smoothed the process through a long familiarity with notorious French bureaucracy.

Finally a bank account was opened in my name and automatic transfers set up for my trust funds in England, then all was ready for the Rentrée, the day in early September when the schools reopen after the long summer vacation.

More photographs were needed, as were more copies of application documents and certified copies in French of my GCSE results. I was amazed to find that I was amongst a group of nine foreign nationals starting at that school that year. The French education system seems to cope with all-comers in a way that British schools rarely have to, or perhaps I haven't been to the right sort of schools! Rural Wales was not the best place to see multiculturalism, perhaps.

Assessments and introductions took most of the first day and I rarely got to see Sylvie who was also new to the school. As a French national she was expected to cope better on her own!

What was clear was that the way one looked was tremendously important at the senior levels of the school. No school uniform meant that there were a lot of chic dressers. Not to be outdone or show up Sylvie meant several visits to clothes shops in Carcassonne or Perpignan the next weekend to improve my wardrobe. Monoprix or Carrefour, local supermarkets with clothing departments, were OK for younger students but not for the Baccalaureate classes.

Monsieur Gatti, Pierre, came on the first visit to make sure of my sizes, but after that it was Sylvie and I did a 'shop 'till you drop' routine until I was fit to be seen with her. My shoes were a 40, my jackets and trousers a 42 and shirts a 35.

Luckily, the weather would stay in the 20s or higher until November so I didn't have to worry about winter clothes yet. Even so, my CB, Carte bancaire or debit card, took a real hit! French clothes, as I found out, are stylish, but not cheap.

I also put off the buying of ski gear. Like most French people in the area the Gatti family spent most winter weekends and national holidays in the mountains. Andorra was only an hour away in the car, but most times we would go to Ax-les-Thermes with the neighbouring ski centres of Plateaux de Bonascre and des Sadnet. Needless to say, Sylvie and I would have lots of practice sessions to get me up to the standard of the rest of the family. A few goes on a dry ski slope near my old home in England would not help me to be able to hold my head up with Sylvie's crowd who had been skiing since they were toddlers.

Pierre was often absent with away matches for his team at weekends so the two women took me under their wing as it were. Under their tutelage my skiing improved in leaps and bounds. Following Sylvie and Sophie down the nursery slopes as they demonstrated some technique to me was always a slight distraction with their tight ski pants, crotch gap and obviously female outline, but I can say that the combination of recent bereavement and gratefulness at my absorption into their family meant that neither girl nor woman seemed in the least bit a potential sexual conquest. Too much was new and too much had to be learned and experienced.

In telling you about my life I have started to say, the rest of the family. Did you notice? It was now only three or four months since Mum had died and here I was with a fuzzy feeling of remoteness about my past life in England and a new family who to all intents and purposes had adopted me. When I had first met Michelle she had hugged me and called me her little brother. She let on much later that her parents had always wanted a son, but a Sylvie's difficult birth had made further children too demanding for Sophie. I had a lot to live up to!

I had been told to call Pierre and Sophie by their first names rather than Monsieur and Madame Gatti, but within weeks I slipped unwittingly into calling Sophie, Maman. She just looked at me the first time with a slight smile. I hadn't realised what I had said, but it seemed so natural and so normal, that after a hug and a tear or two, I continued to call her Maman.

Sylvie did a double take the first time I called Sophie 'Maman' in front of her, but said nothing. Pierre told me years later that my inadvertent slip, a fortuitous one, had caused tears and joy in the household. The son that had been missing from their family had come 'home', as it were. The decision to offer me a home had been a difficult one based on limited knowledge of me. My assimilation into the family so effortlessly had quashed the uncertainties that remained in their minds after all the soul-searching and prayer as my mother lay dying in the hospice in England.

My introduction to the Rugby club... Pierre's rugby club, was a nerve-wracking experience. Whether it was in skiing, making a presentable appearance at school or here, on the rugby field, I could feel the responsibility of the Gattis' support, hopes and encouragement. The club coaches had seen me play and had approved. That much I knew. I also knew that I would be playing with boys, young men really, up to the age of 18. They seemed huge to me but I had speed on my side!

During those first few weeks an assistant coach who spoke good English sat beside me in the team meetings making sure I understood what the coach was saying but it was remarkable as to how quickly I picked up the language and I was glad when the extra translation was no longer necessary. The rugby needed no translation.

My speed, the ballet lessons from the previous year and the new skills from skiing made me difficult to catch. My scoring for the under-eighteens C team meant we climbed through the league quickly and I soon replaced the left-winger in the Under-18s B Team. The player I replaced was not unhappy. He congratulated me and said that he was being moved to an adult team as he was almost 18. It was made clear to me that if I played my cards right, then I would be groomed for the Under-18s First or 'A' team the following season.

Pierre watched when he could, and offered advice with his huge arm easily enveloping my narrow shoulders. Sophie came occasionally and Sylvie came to most of my matches; even some of the away matches. Often with a friend or two.

At Christmas, Tina came to stay. She was the first person to occupy the new guest room that was next to my bedroom in the new part of the house. We talked forever - late into the night about our lives and parted after a few days in good spirits.

After Christmas I was approached by Jacques, a boy in our year, to see if I could put in a good word for him with Sylvie. This surprised me as I was not sure that after 6 months I was regarded as Sylvie's brother; but was flattered with his confidence. I had to think hard as to whether I felt any jealousy at Jacque's approach and how to deal with his request. Could I say that I felt any yearning to be Sylvie's boyfriend rather than her brother. "Was she someone I wanted to sleep with and make love to?" Did I want to share her in that way? I think I rather surprised myself by concluding; "I want to be a part of Sylvie's life, She is a delight to be with. She has supported me through my integration and she would grace the arm of any boy, BUT I didn't want her to be my girlfriend with all that entails". I wanted her as a sister.

I went to sleep comfortable in the knowledge that I would support Jacques in his quest. He was a good friend and I would like Sylvie and him to get together.

My hints dropped at appropriate moments surprised Sylvie a little I think with comments like... "Do you want to get rid of me so soon?"... but she clearly felt the same way about me as I did about her and she was happy to start going out with Jacques as I was to see them go.

Over the next weeks I spent much of my time with the girls at school. My physique didn't single me out as a sportsman, beyond the Rugby, of course and, my interest in fashion, dancing (all stemming from the ballet classes!) cycling and skiing made me more interesting to the girls than many boys in my year. Did I mention the cycling... no, looking back, I didn't.

"You know the Tour de France; don't you?; of course you do. It occupies weeks on European television. Even the most insular American citizen must have heard of the great race. Well, the Tour de France spends some of its time in the mountains each year and hard cycling is thought to be good for building up lower body strength for rugby players. So we cycled as part of our training, and to be honest, you are regarded as being abnormal if you do not cycle in that part of France either on the roads or in the velodrome. When in France do as the French do... and in this case it is vital for your street cred if nothing else. Now that Sylvie was spending much of her free time with Jaques, I was rather on my own and used hard training with cycling and skiing to build up my strength to remain one of the best school sprinters and retain my place in the rugby team.

Nevertheless, being on my own or with an all male group of rugby players or at school did leave me rather alone and I found that I would welcome a girlfriend. I was not that others had noticed my lost looks and sighs, but it must have been so. Over the next few days at school there was some whispering amongst the girls until a deputation visited me. "We think you should go on a date with Laurence." I was told emphatically. "The Committee has spoken."

Now, I knew France was a bureaucracy first and foremost but I didn't think they resorted to sorting out a teenage boy's love life. And who was this Laurence, anyway?

Laurence it proved, was rarely seen at the piscine where everyone's private business became everyone else's business. To be honest I had hardly noticed her when Sylvie was on my arm, but one couldn't go out with one's sister; even an adoptive one, so I set out to explore why 'the Committee' thought Laurence was my ideal partner.

She was small, smaller than me and that is saying something. She came originally from Calvados, the area to the north-west of France that borders the English Channel, that the French call La Manche. As such, her accent was not typical of the Languedoc. Old memories die hard in the Languedoc. Folk memory goes back to the time when the South-west was independent of Paris in its own kingdom which included the northern strip of Spain. Northerners were a little suspect even then. Laurence was also a little separate from the ebb and flow of social discourse.

As I took more interest in her from a distance I noticed the black hair cut into a pageboy style; the gamine features of her elfin like face. The demure way she slowly raised her eyes, when she knew I was watching. Had the committee seen her as I saw her, I wondered?
I noticed to my surprise that she had a solo roll in an up and coming dance production put on by the dance class of the school; and I also noticed her at the athletics practices. Why hadn't I noticed her there before? She could run sprints without that rolling gait of larger more powerfully built women. She was fast and hungry for success.

In track gear her figure was obviously boyish but her movements were just so graceful. Perhaps it was the unstylish clothing she wore to school that had hidden her from me before.

I booked a ticket for the dance production. The girls selling them said nothing, but smiled knowingly. I was one of only five or six boys at the performance. I didn't know the others, but their body language was definitely of ambivalent sexuality.

Laurence danced her piece of a masked troubador with great vivacity, but also a sensuality and great sadness. I loved the performance and it gave me an opportunity to talk to her the next day.

I saw you there in the sports hall she confessed. I was surprised you were there. As a rugby player I thought you wouldn't be seen dead watching girls doing contemporary dance.

"You don't know me well yet", I said with some feeling. "I have done two years of ballet as part of my rugby training in England."

I have seen you running she added. I watched you clock 11.1 sec the other day for the 100 metres. I was impressed.

Come and dance with me at dance club she said. It is from 4pm to 5pm tomorrow in the dance studio. Come in your athletics gear without shoes. "That is, if you want to", she said, as she smiled knowingly and stood up ready to go.

It took me all of 5 seconds to make up my mind. Her offer whist ostensibly simple, seemed to hold all sorts of possibilities to my naïve mind.

I told Sylvie of the offer and my intention to accept. She said she would tell Maman to keep some food for me.

I had my track kit on under my tracksuit when I approached the swing doors of the dance studio the following afternoon.

After a deep breath I entered to see a wall of girls at the bar. All turned as one to look at me with what approached amazement. I think the teacher had been forewarned, because she just said to strip off the tracksuit and get to the bar. I was late! Luckily the dance positions used in England use their French names so I could follow the warm-up ballet style exercises without difficulty.

After bar work the teacher gave the girls practice on points, but I knew that boy dancers didn't go onto points so she gave me the once-over. She approved of my posture, and upper body strength. She said that most male dancers were much taller than me and whilst I should have started dancing by 12 years old to become any good; she felt that I had some potential and I could come again if I wished. She hadn't had a boy dancer for several years, she added, so felt that her offer was tinged with concern as to the comments I might get later in school.

The last 15 minutes of the class was a free dance for everyone to try out moves and develop some ideas of the choreography they might use in future productions.Laurence moved across and grabbed my hand. “Suis-moi" she said as she started on a routine that was at my limit to follow. "Bien" she said when we had finished. Now try some lifts! She showed me how to lift her. Where to put my hands and how to stand. After several successful, but perhaps ungainly efforts the dance teacher dismissed the class and came over to us and asked if we could stay for a few minutes.

She showed us how to put the lifts into a simple routine and after the ten minutes we were both perspiring but the studio rang to our laughter.

"I think you have a partner Laurence", Madame Fabre said, and laughed. "You may end up as the stars of next year's show!" "I will have to brush up on my techniques to use with boys she said, I am rather rusty!" "I do hope you will come again", she said and I am sure it was sincerely felt.

The instant the swing door had shut Laurence was in my arms. "You were fantastic" she said. "Did you really learn to dance like that in a Rugby Club" she said."I cannot believe it knowing other rugby players here."

Having both arms full of excited, wriggling perspiring very female flesh was something I hadn't bargained for, but my heart didn't have time to slow down before her lips brushed mine. Such a broad hint even penetrated my brain and time seemed to slow until our breath ran out, and "Bravo!" rang out down the corridor.

Sylvie had got her mother to come by car back to school to pick me up and Sylvie had come searching for her errant 'brother'. Laurence blushed beautifully at the intrusion. Unfortunately it was time to part for the time being... to change and shower hurriedly... then to give Laurence one final hug before she walked a short way home and we let the car take the strain.

I can only imagine what she said to her parents about the unusual English rugby player who had taken up her offer of a dance, but within half an hour she was on the phone to me and we talked for what seemed like minutes, but was actually over an hour, about all our likes, loves and hates until the second shout that dinner was ready.

Laurence could speak Breton as well as French, but not Occitan. With a bit of hesitancy and some practice we could speak with a mixture of Breton and Welsh to the consternation of the other students who spoke Occitan when they wanted to say something private. This had singled her out and made her something separate from the rest of the girls. I found that her father and mother both worked in the European Airbus complex near Toulouse and that Laurence's Baccalaureate options were largely Maths and Science based. Not my main focus I had to say.

I dragged myself away from the phone with the promise that we would meet up outside school the following day and go to athletics practice after the end of the day.

Sylvie couldn't get over the success of her plan. She quietly chortled her way through the evening until Sophie and Sylvie couldn't stop grinning each time their eyes met. When Pierre came in after a very long day at work, he could see that something was in the air, but not what. Everything had to be explained again - much to my embarrassment.

I didn't see Laurence approach. I just felt this bundle of girl leap into my arms. She had trusted me to prevent her dropping to the tarmac. I did;... just!

We chatted nineteen to the dozen about trivia until it was time to go to class. It was only as Laurence was about to go that I noticed that she was in a simple top, miniskirt and sandals. Normally she wore shapeless garments that suffocated her petite figure. The transformation was amazing. The ugly duckling had moulted to become 'a very fine swan indeed'.

She glowed. Head held high, holding my hand with confidence and pride. Had I done this? Had this transformation been the result of one dance and a kiss? If so, could I have a second helping of contemporary dance?

"What have you done to Laurence?" was the amused request that faced me several times from girls in ones and twos in the corridors that day. What was I to say? I suppose it was my fault? My fault? Is there any fault attached to something this good?

By the end of the day even the staff knew about my session in the dance studio. No doubt Madame had been commenting in the staffroom! Kindly comments made it quite impossible for me to duck out now. Perish the thought!

Athletics practice was less formal than dance. We warmed up at our own pace; then moved through to the area of the field for our event. Since we were both sprinters we headed for the track and practiced starts before the coach had time to visit our part of the field. She recommended that we ran a marked route that had markers to allow intervals training. Jog a bit, run a bit, jog a bit etc. It is meant to build up cardiac recovery rates. By then end of the circuit the two of us were laughing so much that we nearly went round again, just for the fun of it.

A slightly stern word from the coach brought us back to reality, but a stifled giggle behind our backs was enough to show that the criticism was well meant.

Rugby practice was not linked to school, but Laurence sat through the practice in the rain on Thursday evening. I had to explain why we had done each activity as her origin was not from area. "I still don't see why ballet helps you with those moves she said." Perhaps she will understand in a while. Perhaps Sylvie can explain it better!

There were no after school practices on Fridays, but I was asked if I would visit her family for dinner and to stop off and help her to buy some new clothes. The outfits that suited an ugly duckling were not the raiment of a swan it seems!

In a panic I consulted Sylvie about matters of taste in girls' fashions, particularly a girl who was so svelte as Laurence. An hour later, or was it more; I was on overload and collapsed with what I thought was a touch of panache onto the bed. "Too much... too much." It is just too hard to be a girl. How can I remember it all?

In fact it was easy. Laurence disappeared for moments into a cubicle and emerged to glide, swirl and pirouette in what seemed to be a myriad of garments. Some created a sultry temptress with her black hair and dark eye shadow. Other outfits made her into a vamp, oozing sensuality. Next, she was a defenceless child demanding immediate attention to cure some minor hurt with a kiss to her knee 'to make it better'.

No doubt Laurence's natural dancing ability helped create these illusions, but it was fascinating and perhaps a little alarming to see how these elements in her makeup provided all the facets of womanhood that had beguiled men since the start of time. She was the mother, the lover, and the smouldering seductress packaged as Laurence, 16 years, black hair, dress size 34, blue eyes... dancer and athlete. Should I see all these things? Was she self-aware, or only sending me subliminal messages. Am I seeing too much into this? Am I up to this, at only16 myself?

Almost unbidden a choreography drifted formless into my mind linked to a favourite track from sultry songstress of the time, Sofia Mestari. As the shapes coalesced mentally into girl and boy the movements seems both enrapturing and universal. Where had these ideas come from? I am no choreographer, and yet just as I had inadvertently released this being from its chrysalis of girlhood, I seemed to be compelled to try to capture the essence of this ephemeral event for the future. Would anyone else understand? "It doesn't matter. I will do it for us". But I needed to keep my counsel for now.

Bags and boxes loaded us both down after 3 hours. Famished and footsore, a call on her phone brought Laurence's mother to meet us in her car.

She didn't seem to mind the large number of bills that filled Laurence's purse. After all, she said, Laurence usually underspent on her dress allowance. This was a change she approved of.

I was happy to stay quiet as Laurence chatted to her mother about the day and purchases. Food was the family priority now. As we settled to the meal I became the centre of attention. How I came to be in the Languedoc and the kindness of the Gatti's and their daughters. Soon however, it was time to go, and Laurence's father was kind enough to drive me home with an open invitation to come again.

Not everything can be excitement and novelty, and the weekend with its usual rugby matches and family meals seemed somehow empty. The void I felt was partly filled by calls to Laurence, but the sound of her voice was a poor substitute for that something that made her charm fill the room. Yet I could not put off the homework - and with Laurence concentrating on Maths and Science and me on Languages and Literature I could not claim that a visit would make the work go quicker.

Sunday dawned with my normal run at 7am. Soon small feet were keeping time with my own. Laurence had caught up in the morning sunshine before the Midi sun started once more to bake the red soils of what I now called home. Did I feel her approach empathetically. I cannot be sure, but that irritating void I had been aware of somewhere within me during the weekend seemed filled before I was immediately aware of her footfall.

Best not to examine these things too closely. Live for the moment! Just a hug and several kisses heralded our parting to return home for showers and breakfast. I remembered later, that not a word had passed either of our lips. Perhaps some things are beyond words, or at least seem so.

Dance class was on Tuesday and I made sure I had the Sofia Mestari CD in my bag. The younger girls at the class paid me little attention this time. Too much concentration was needed to get feet and hands just so during the bar exercises. The same applied to Laurence and I, but there were opportunities for covert glances and shared body language.

At the end of the taught component I offered the CD to Madame to play for the class to dance to. Her eyes took said yes, but her mouth said 'Wait'. The track was too difficult for her younger dancers.

After the others had run off chattering as young girls do, Madame put the CD on the player and I lead Laurence into an impromptu performance of the dance that has emerged from formless thoughts I had had previously. As En Plein Coeur de la Nuit faded away Laurence crumpled into my embrace and our lips met. There was a sort of choke in Madame's voice as she stated pragmatically - "That has got real potential, but it will need working on!" See me tomorrow to sort out some extra lessons, at which point she left pulling a small lace hanky from her sleeve to stifle a sniff. Looking after her disappearing figure we turned and smiled in the glow of our embrace.

Laurence stayed limp in my arms for a few seconds before we shared another hug. "Where did you learn to dance like that she gasped? Certainly you didn't learn that at the Rugby Club!"

"I don't know I replied honestly." “I think you bring it out in me - you are just so responsive to my lead and feed back my emotions to me. It seems to be an 'us' thing!”

Nothing had prepared us for those moments, but we were both sweaty and soon felt the late autumn chill penetrate our dance kit. It was time to shower and make our way home.

Leaving the school arm in arm I wondered where we would be at the time of the next dance performance?

I cannot say that our lives continued at the intensity of those first few weeks. My rugby and dance seemed to develop in tandem and the rugby coaches began to chat to Madame Fabre about my experiences with dance in rugby training in England, but nothing had come of it yet.

Madame brought a male dance teacher she knew in from Carcassonne to help me develop the skills I needed to do the lifts of Laurence. He was rather non-plussed by my small height but we worked together over a number of weeks. I found the lifts easier after his help. He didn't feel that I would ever be able to lift a 'full size' ballerina; but as I only intended to lift Laurence it didn't matter.

With athletics, homework, rugby, homework, dance and more homework you can imagine that there was little time to keep one's pulse on the heartbeat of the school. Laurence and I were just too busy, but as the rugby season finished and athletics started in earnest, we were building up to the dance production a few days before the end of the school year. Laurence and I had fully choreographed two pieces of a little over 3 minutes each. They had taken many hours of very hard work in front of the gimlet eye of Madame Fabre to hone them to the perfection needed.

Usually the sale of dance tickets was rather sluggish and the bulk of the tickets were sold to parents or friends of the dancers. It was with some amazement that all the 60 available tickets in the dance studio were sold within the first day. A delighted Madame Fabre moved the performance to the sports hall that would take an audience of several hundred, even with the empty space in the middle for the dancers.

It seemed as if the whole school were there, but obviously they weren't. Even at this late stage Laurence and I were happily oblivious of the reasons for the influx of fee paying visitors to the dance production. It was only when Madame Fabre introduced her colleague who had helped me, and the artistic directors of both very well known theatres in neighbouring cities that the penny began to drop. I looked at Laurence and she looked at me. They had come to see us!

It was perhaps fortuitous that the younger performers took the stage first. We had a chance to savour the anticipation of the performance. What could go wrong. Laurence looked ravishing in her skin tight multi-hue dance outfit that matched my own. Make up enhanced the effect. Polite applause followed the performances of the younger girls and it was our turn to end the first half.

Laurence's hair shone, her eyes reflected the stage lights that lit the auditorium. This was her element, her raison d'être. I was her foil. Tuned by empathy and practice. Science and Mathematics meant nothing now. Spoken languages and literature sank into insignificance. The familiar music introducing Sofia Mestari's song found us balanced; anticipating eagerly like falcons poised for the stoop. Just a slight draft moved the hem of Laurence's gauze skirt, which enhanced the body suit that ostensibly revealed nothing and actually revealed a lot more.

But then we were away. The audience faded. The hall faded. The music was all, and the fledgeling shed the last of her down and took flight. She seemed to float effortlessly like dandelion seeds in a zephyr of a breeze. We were as one, yet apart, a synergy in motion. Was it three minutes or three hours? It could have been any length of time, but the heaving of tired lungs, of fatigue in limb and emotional overload brought us back to reality. As the music faded away we held hands in the silence, bowing and curtsying together in the silence.

After two heartbeats of silence, pregnant with meaning, the hall erupted. Applause, cheers, whistles and stamping continued for too long. Way too long. We didn't deserve this. Our main piece came at the end of the second act. How could we better this? Incroyable!

As planned, the glare of the lighting faded somewhat, and we were able to escape to the relative anonymity of the dance studio, which was being used as a collection area for all the dancers. The younger dancers had not seen our performance, but had heard the noise. They enquired politely about our dance and were satisfied that all had gone well. We just sat in the glow of success with a glass of Evian, carrying out our warm down in the comfort of routine.

What now, was the unspoken question? An extended embrace, intense with shared emotion then a gentle physical reminder from a mother that we needed a shower and clean dance suits for the second half. Laurence disappeared with a shower cap, and her bag to try not to undo the two hours work it have taken the coiffeuse to set her hair, and I just got the shower after removing my makeup.

Shortly after returning from the shower I found the mother who had been brought in to do the stage makeup and she started again on me from the drawing prepared previously. As she was finishing me, Laurence arrived to have her makeup changed. We were both in the colours of the baked earth of the Occitan. We were the most zealous of converts to our adopted region and to the bloody Cathar history that has been emasculated into the sanitised history that the tourist sees.

When we returned to the hall it was crowded. We learned afterwards that mobile phones had been ringing during the interval and boys and girls from nearby had come to school to be part of something that was maybe bigger than themselves. The hall was occupied to its fire limit and perhaps beyond. There was a hum of anticipation.

Our second dance to a compilation of Occitan songs started with an acoustic guitar solo in medium tempo, then lead onto a slow section redolent with the ethereal music of the shawm, sackbut and rattle. The whole was intended to create a musical picture of the baked earth of the Languedoc summer, torn asunder over centuries of conquest and tyranny. It had been home to many unsung heroes and heroines as the boot of occupation sought to crush identity of a people. Our dance finished with a paean of a nation reborn in quick time with a flamenco feel. The aim was to recapture or rekindle a consciousness that had been lost with the absorption of the world of the troubadour into Greater France.

The reception to our finale was more muted. The dance had exposed a nerve, a sinew that made for a tension. The music had the dark quality of a nation subjugated and in thraldom. The applause was none the less, the cheers a little more muted and the whistles absent. Our goal was achieved. Our gift to our adopted people returned with the only type of interest we could provide.

It provided an intended downbeat end to a performance tinged with hope. The audience settled dutifully to hear short speeches from the assembled dignitaries. Applause rang out for Madame Fabre and the bouquet carried on by the youngest dancer was appreciated enormously if her smile was anything to go by. The Principal of the Lycée was equally fulsome about everyone's performance that evening. This is a thing Principals are adept at doing, of course. Then he asked either of the two artistic directors to comment if they wished.

They made polite comments about the hard work done by the younger pupils and swiftly moved on Laurence's and my performance. We were flattered and amazed by their eulogistic praise. Rarely had they been party to such a performance as ours that did not involve professionals with many years experience and training. They had been intending to offer us place in the school that trained the corps de ballet, but after seeing our performances they felt that professional contemporary dance was our métier and they would be happy to recommend us to any of a range of dance companies where we could hone our talents.

Both our families gathered us up into their arms as the crowd drifted away into the night. Sylvie and Michelle embraced us in a hug that seemed to last for ever; but even with tracksuits over our damp clinging costumes we were getting cold so the goodbyes had to be brief once we had thanked both of our dance teachers and, of course the two artistic directors who were hugely encouraging. We promised to consider their offer very seriously once our final two years of the Baccalaureate course were over, and would explore the possibilities of working with a local group in our free time during the following year.

Arrangements were made for both families to eat together at a well-known restaurant the following evening; but the end of the adrenalin rush after the finale left Laurence weeping and emotionally exhausted to the consternation of her family. To sobs she explained that she could not bear to be parted from me so prematurely after all the intensity of the evening; the bond we had forged from tensile emotion could not be torn apart so soon for her. So, after much shrugging of Gallic shoulders Laurence came home with us to a light meal, a shower and a few moments of intimacy where we snuggled down together in bed together for the first time, innocent of any carnal thoughts.

Whether it was pheromonal or something more, I cannot say, but there was an undoubted rightness of us being there together. "Je t'aime", she whispered as her breathing slowed. "Je t'aime" I replied as my arms enveloped her.

It was already the dawn when I woke at about 6.30. Laurence was still asleep, her hair tousled on the pillow. I couldn't get to the bathroom without waking her and I got a quiet 'Bonjour cheri. Dormes-tu bien?', as I tried to creep back to bed without waking her.

As we crept down the stairs in search of orange juice and croissant, she spotted her holdall that her thoughtful parents must have brought over after we had gone to bed. Inside were clean clothes for the day, toiletries and her running kit. Every day for months Laurence had started the day running through rain or shine and her parents had obviously thought that today would be no different.

So after a light breakfast, we changed into our kit, warmed up and jogged off into one of the network of single track paved roads that seem to crisscross the vineyards in this part of the world. For the most part they are car free and hidden from view of the casual traveller. The air was fresh with a slight dew on the plants. The smell of the garrigue was beginning to fill the summer air with its characteristic aroma of thyme and marjoram as well as a multitude of other less well-known herbs. As we passed a ripening fig tree its heady sweet Laurence was wearing a short wraparound skirt and tee-shirt leaving her tanned arms and legs with their lightly contoured muscles free for me to look at. I dropped back a couple of metres to see her better and she stopped and turned round with a smile. "I will give you a little something to look at" she said, "This is just for you" and slipped off the white panties that I had been watching as she ran. She pushed the panties into the pocket of my shorts and ran on laughing.

As her skirt lifted at every footfall, I was mesmerised by the glimpses of buttocks. After some 5km we stopped at one my favourite spots for a drink of water.

“Did you enjoy that?”

“Need you ask? It was an experience like no other.”

“I did that for a reason. Can you work out what it was?”

In fact I had noticed that Laurence ran with her legs together, and had no obvious crotch gap.

“I think you may be transgender, was my reply after a few seconds.”

I wondered if I may have got it wrong, and might give serious offence, but it seems to be a correct interpretation of things I had thought about over the weeks, but had consigned to the back of my mind.

“I have to tell you a story. It is my story that no one else knows except my parents.”

“Where I grew up in Britany I knew from a very early age that I was a girl. I was bullied so much that my parents moved me to a new school, but my reputation followed me and life was a hell for month after month. I was thoroughly miserable and I considered suicide. My parents were frantic about what to do.”

“I was seeing a psychologist for gender dysphoria and went on to hormone pills to prevent male secondary sexual characters from developing. I was much happier in myself and the hormones gave me the breasts you see now, so no silicon implants were needed, but the ostracisation continued with increasing venom.”

“A promotion was available in Toulouse for my father and mercifully he was appointed. We moved here to get away from the bullying and the taunts and I was able to have my surgery in a private hospital here in the South-West before coming to school here.”

“I was still very wary of my status as a girl and tried to hide with drab uninteresting clothes. It was meeting you that freed me from all the horrid feelings of being abnormal and a pariah.”

“You have released me from my prison, and I love you for it, but you must know all about me now. It would be unfair to leave you in the dark.”

She continued “Are you repelled by me?”

There was only one answer to that question. I stretched over and kissed her deeply.

“I cannot imagine anyone being more of a girl than you.”

We kissed gently at first then with more ardour; our hands exploring the bodies we knew so well from dancing together; but now the touching had the urgency of arousal. The smell of the crushed herbs lying under us was tempered by the reek of unrequited passion. We lay on the red earth of the region, intimate with the soil had seen so much blood spilt to conquer and tame it.

Practical as ever, Laurence slid a hand into her back pack and drew out a tube of lubricant. After using it she said simply.

“Now you can make a woman of me.”

As our passion receded we dressed slowly, interspersed with kisses, a passion temporarily sated. We walked back to the house slowly, tousled, even dishevelled, but resplendent in our love, arm in arm to face the day.

If anything was noticed by the rest of my family as to our appearance on return, nothing was said. We were kissed and went off to have a shower separately. Clean, and dressed in normal daywear of shorts, shirt and sandals we went down for a second breakfast and found that smiles were infective!

Pierre disappeared off somewhat suspiciously mid-morning and an hour later Laurence's parents came for her to go to an afternoon stylist's appointment before our celebratory dinner that evening.

It was a bit of a low spot for me as my dress suit was ready and pressed, and with a corsage ordered that we were assured would match Laurence's dress, all was ready.

So it was, that the reason for Pierre's secrecy was revealed. He had picked Tina up at Carcassonne airport and brought her to stay for a long weekend. He had also collected two copies of a video made by the school of the dance performance.

After lunch, Tina and I snuggled up together, watched the video and told her about my 'most beautiful girl in the World.'

After a short siesta and snack, the time was approaching for preparations to begin. Each bathroom was in constant use. Sylvie, Michelle and Tina taking an hour each closeted with the mysteries of the cosmetics cabinet. Sophie moved from one daughter to the other making sure all was as it should be, but in fact, didn't take a great deal less time with her own preparations. Pierre sat with me in the garden for a while talking about all my activities and how to fit everything in now that regional and national dance competitions were a possibility. I wasn't able to make a decision as to the future except that that future could not be without Laurence.

I had been without a father for as long as I could remember. He had died in my infancy and I had never felt the need for a father figure, but in this quiet time I felt that it was so right that I asked him if he would allow me the honour of calling him, ‘Papa’.

"You have become everything that I would have hoped a son of mine would become", he said. "It is you that do me the honour of asking", and I shall go and tell Sophie immediately because if I leave it longer she will have put on her makeup and will have to start again after she has had a little cry! "I shall be delighted to call you 'Son' as well; if that is alright." It was, of course and his hug almost squeezed the air out of lungs before he strode off the tell Sophie.

At 7.40pm everyone reappeared. Sylvie in a silk dress in the washed out blue. It sculpted her figure and the colour matched her eyes to perfection.

Michelle supported a cerise satin dress that rippled in the late evening sunlight.

Tina's ensemble was in a light pink that enhanced her paler English colouring, and Maman had an emerald sheath dress that matched the emeralds in her engagement ring. It seemed to flow as she walked.

All had dressed with great care, but the choices seemed restrained in some respects and I was not quite sure why I felt this to be the case being quite ignorant of these matters.

A short drive in two limousines with liveried chauffeurs brought us to a well-known restaurant with one Michelin star. Pierre, had taken over the whole of this small restaurant for the night. There must have been some conversation during the drive over a radio link because as we arrived at the restaurant, Laurence's parents' limousine arrived from the opposite direction.

All eyes were on Laurence when she emerged from the car after her parents. The corsage of freesias I had bought adorned a stunning white dress that almost appeared to defy gravity in remaining on her. This was a garment of the catwalk, a one-off, an example of the best haute couture France had to offer. Its apparent simplicity, combined with a little make-up and quite austere gold necklace and bracelet, acted synergistically to enhance her loveliness without masking her delicate features and essential vulnerability.

I loved her at that moment with an intensity I could barely hide. In the end I just whispered "Tu es trés trés belle." and kissed her hand. I saw now why the other women had dressed in a more restrained fashion. This was Laurence's night and no one was going to upstage her. Her hair shone. Gone was the pageboy cut I had known since our meeting. Somehow the coiffeuse had created a new style. It was appropriate to her age and love of activity, but in a style that emphasised the sophistication and elegance of the archetypal cultivated French woman.

I took her arm as we went into dinner to the sounds of our dance scores. Her unencumbered breasts and prominent nipples made the dress move sensuously and all eyes shared her moment. Laurence and I had pride of place at the head of the table and Madam Fabre, her husband and Henri, my male dance teacher had been able to join us. We embraced both teachers as we greeted them

A photographer was in attendance for some minutes recording for posterity and one of the pictures eventually appeared with a short report in Midi Soir, the newspaper of the region.

The meal had been fixed earlier in the day and each dish was exquisite, a model of nouvelle cuisine. A tiny cup of chilled soup, was followed by foie gras on Melba toast, then a Champagne ice cream to clear that palate. The fish course of Langouste, lead on to tiny slivers of succulent beef in a sauce that defied description.

A small soufflé of Roquefort, light as thistledown, lead on to a sorbet of citron, and finally a tiny portion of a chocolate gateau that was hugely rich without being cloyingly sweet.

Each course had its own wine that I had begin to appreciate under the tutelage of Papa. He was an oenologue and Master of Wine during the day, advising restaurants and hotels like this one, on their cellars. We were each poured less than half a glass of each wine as an ever-attentive waiting staff brought each bottle or decanter round. These were not the vins de pays of day-to-day drinking. These were first vintages from chateaux with serious reputations and vintages that would have raised the eyebrows of wine connoisseurs the World over. Some were vintages from papa's own cellar laid down many years before and reaching their peak now.

Finally a fine vintage Crémant de Limoux was poured and the entire party toasted our health and happiness. Pierre spoke of my arrival in tragic circumstances. My successful absorption into both the Gatti family and French society, and the immense pleasure I was giving to himself, Sophie and their two daughters as I fulfilled all their expectations of me. They were proud to call me their son, and the girls had the brother they never expected to have.

The chef/patron of the restaurant was called and praise lauded on him for the wonderful meal. He said it was the first time he had decided to close his restaurant for a private function and it was a pleasure to do so for someone who's advice and guidance had helped to make his restaurant one of the most respected in the area. To applause, he said he was looking forward to getting his second Michelin star with Pierre's help.

Tina spoke in broken French of the circumstances of our fathers' and subsequently, our mother's deaths. She had also been left alone, although an adult. She appreciated the infinite trouble my new parents took to involve her during my time in France and never felt excluded in any way. She was overjoyed at our success, and looked forward to us dancing in England when the time was right.

Laurence's father is not a man given to public speaking, but was full of emotion when he spoke of their joy at his daughter's awakening into the dance and womanhood, and offered their thanks to the Gatti family for a wonderful evening. To laughter, he offered those who wanted to join him, a tiny glass of a very old liqueur Calvados, the apple brandy of Laurence's home region. It was the only contribution he had been allowed to make; he concluded ruefully.

A quartet had set up quietly over the last few minutes and after Laurence and I lead off the dancing in a smallish open area. A Waltz, Quickstep and Cha-cha-cha followed in quick succession before we both felt the need for some air and privacy.

The restaurant had a balcony that looked out over the rugged mountains of the Pyrenees. They were beautiful in their grandeur by day and topped by fairytale castles of the bloody Cathar period and were now full of mystery by night. No one followed us out. We stood under a crescent moon in a velvety black sky that was punctuated only countless stars and the opalescent swathe of the Milky Way. This was our time to savour the moment that would remain crystal clear in one's memory for a lifetime. It was a defining moment. As Laurence slipped into my arms we made our reaffirmations... "Je t'aime." " Je t'aime."... sealed so so very gently with a kiss.

I will see you tomorrow morning she said - for our run and she arrived on her cycle at a little after 8am. Gathering a water container each, we did some stretching exercises before jogging off through the lanes. As soon as the houses faded away she stopped and removed her panties. I am sure you can look after these she said with a smile and ran off ahead of me. Within a few hundred metres my shorts were tented and I as I had no intention of trying to catch up; Laurence ran on. It was only when we had reached the same spot as before that she stopped and took a drink, looked askance at me with a lopsided smile, then slipped off into the low herbs that crowded into the little valley and gave the smell of the garrigue that permeated villages each summer.

We kissed, touched and fondled until the sun was becoming unpleasantly warm to be unclothed without sun cream and soon her panties were once again cradling her. She raced me back home to a shower and breakfast.

We must do this again on Wednesday she giggled. Wednesday is the day off in the week that French schools have to make up for the four very long days that they are open.

Monday was back to school, but with lots of hugs and kisses from friends after the performance on Friday night, and we were just settling down to ordinary day-to-day lives of students at the end the first year that is confusingly called seconde, when a note arrived asking me and Laurence to visit the Principal's office later in the day when our parents would be available.

Our final monthly test results were due out before the end of the term as was the result of the examination in French and French literature that marks the end of the first year of the Baccalauréate (bac). I had had to have extra help to bring me up to the standard for a modest pass in this test, but Laurence was expected to achieve a mention bien grade of 14 or15 out of the 20 marks available.

At lunch Laurence and I met up and neither had any idea of why we had been asked to visit the Principal with our parents, but after a quick lunch we sat waiting in his secretary's office for our appointment. When both mothers arrived we were ushered in.

"First of all, the Principal said, I am going to tell you that you have both passed your terminal examinations.”

“Aiden, you got 11 and Laurence, you got 15. Considering your background, Aiden, your pass is very good."

"Laurence, you know your pass is good.”

"I am giving you these results early for a very good reason which will become apparent shortly.”
We, glowed... if this was just the introduction to what he was to say, we couldn't imagine what was to come. "As you know", he said, "this is one of the smaller lycées in the south-west and cannot offer all the options available in big cities. You, I note, he said to Laurence are currently destined to take a general bac in the sciences in the B série or track. Laurence nodded, but waited in silence. Aiden, you are currently destined for a general bac in literature and classics in the A série." (The most straightforward)

After your performances last week and detailed discussions with the artistic directors you met, I have spoken to the Principal of the Lycée in Toulouse who offers the Technology bac in Music and Dance. As a result of the recommendations of myself, your two dance teachers and the artistic directors who were privileged to see you dance last week, plus sight of the video we produced, the lycée in Toulouse would like you both to be interviewed and auditioned for places in the D série in their music and dance courses, with of course, the usual weekly boarding places attached.

The D série is the most demanding of all the courses available in French schools and it would involve huge commitment and effort on our part. We looked at each other, smiled and nodded. "Yes", we said, "yes, yes, yes" and gave both mothers a special hug.

"I am very pleased for both of you; so I shall warn your teachers not to expect you on tomorrow or Wednesday" he said smiling. "Tomorrow and Wednesday" we said looking at him surprised. "Yes, tomorrow you will have the whole day with Madam Fabre in the dance studio. It is the least I can do after the pleasure you gave so many last week. Then at 10am on Wednesday you will present yourselves to Toulouse. The school will be closed to pupils of course, but the weekly boarding students will be there and able to show you round before the formal assessment starts."

In France authority speaks and once accepted, bureaucracy works quickly it seems. We only had the afternoon to wait and agreed to tell no one of the audition, except Sylvie, until after we returned in case something went wrong. It was the longest afternoon I could remember; but we had a word in quiet urgency with Sylvie and she was delighted. Somehow or other people picked up on our body language or something and there were some quixotic looks in our direction with no one having sufficient of an inkling to ask us direct.

Sleep evaded us that night until Laurence's fatigued father brought her to us at a quarter after midnight. "You put up with her please" he said. She is just as much yours as ours now.

Strangely we went to sleep quite quickly once we were snuggled up together. Then it was an early rising, washing, and off to school loaded down with dance kit - which was more bulky than heavy.

Madam Fabre was as early as we were. It was a day of total commitment for us all. We had to prepare individual exercises to show our athleticism and dance skills at the bar - both to music and to command, then carry out various lifts singly and in combination. The audition procedure was clear and unambiguous. The last part was a free dance and of course our two prepared performances were used for this. It was too late to do more than work through the performances again and work out any rough edges that had crept in since last week.

At going home time Madam Fabre embraced us both and wished us "Bonne chance!".

Other students had seen that the dance studio was closed for the day and had noticed our absence from normal lessons. We let one or two close friends into the secret on pain of instant death if they spoke to anyone.

The next responsibility was to visit Laurence's home to say goodbye to her parents and pick up her clean dance kit for tomorrow. Maman was to take us to Toulouse, leaving at about 6am.

The drive along La Languedocienne motorway to Narbonne then the Des Deux Mers Motorway to Toulouse was uneventful and it was lucky that Maman knew her way round the city as the traffic was awful at 8.30am. We were lucky to get parked near the Lycée just after 9.30, in good time to meet the Principal at 10am.

The day went in a blur. We were interviewed individually and together by a team of three staff including a vice-principal. Before lunch all three of us were shown round the dance facilities specifically, and the sports and academic facilities in perhaps less detail. The boarding facilities were shown to us separately.

Lunch followed in the boarding house dining room with a teacher who might be our personal tutor. She said that she had no voice in the selection procedure and would advise us on as best she could on whatever we asked and answer our questions if any.

After lunch we were given just under an hour to check up on the sound system, set the lights and to practice in the unfamiliar setting. We had also to change and Maman added just a small amount of makeup to each of us.

As 2.30pm approached all was as ready as could be. The three chairs set out, one on each of three sides of the studio. Our examiners talked to us about the pieces and the choreography we had done and our reasons for choosing the music. They tried to put us at our ease, but it wasn't easy.

The compulsory exercises went smoothly. At least as far as 24 hours preparation could ensure. Then we had to complete a free dance where we were allowed to listen to a piece of music once the carry out an impromptu dance on our own. Laurence interpreted her piece so sensitively. The assessment panel had chosen the music carefully with our video tape in mind. These people wanted us to do well.

When my turn came; the music was a Turkish dance and I just imagined that I was just making a run the full length of a rugby pitch with feints, dummies, turns, leaps and spins... whilst holding fast to an imaginary rugby ball. After the dance we were asked about our interpretation. Our inquisitor said it was the first time that anyone had played rugby in a dance audition, but complimented me on several aspects of my performance. I didn't hear Laurence's debriefing that was held in another room.

Finally we launched into our two dances. After both dances we were numb with tiredness, we could not have done better, and sat expectantly in our tracksuits for the deliberations to be completed. Finally, we were rather disappointed to be asked to change, then to go back to the Principal's office and wait for him to give their decision.

The students who guided us back said quietly that this procedure meant almost certainly, that we were accepted. If we hadn't been good enough the panel would have told us!

The Principal was delighted with our interviews and audition and said from the outset that we were accepted to start in the new school year. He was, however, concerned with my French as far as entering the D série was concerned because we would have to do a range of other subjects other than dance. He also said - you know that you are being accepted as individuals. We don't offer places for pairs of students, even if it feels rather like it in this case!

With Maman's contribution, it was decided to start us both in the D série and to review both of our academic progress half way through the first trimester and make a more permanent decision then.

Madame Fabre had given us her portable phone number so we used Maman's portable to let her and the two families know the good news. With permission I also left Tina a message on her answerphone in London for when she returned from work.

We snuggled down in the back seat, weary but also bubbling with excitement. We had slept only a little the night before and exhaustion began to take its toll. A journey does not take long when most of it is spent asleep!

We dropped Laurence off first. It was right that she should spend time with her parents at this happy time, but it also left an emptiness in me.

Soon we were home to tell how the day had gone to Papa and Sylvie. Vintage champagne is not meant to go with takeaway pizza; but it seemed to slip down well enough.

Half an hour later, Laurence was on the phone. She felt the same emptiness as I had. With more Gallic shrugs I was allowed to cycle to her home with my schoolbooks and clothes for tomorrow; and we slept the sleep of the just, spooned together, until the alarm woke us refreshed and emotionally complete once more.

The last two days of the year were a blur of congratulations and goodbyes. Even the ever-present paperwork for the transfers seemed to appear by magic and then, les grande vacances were upon us and for three months we could be together all the time.

I was invited to Brittany to meet Laurence's relatives; and Tina spent another long weekend with us. But most of the time we ran the lanes amongst the ripening grapes and danced the evenings away at discos until the early hours in the way of the Languedoc when a 10pm start is the only time it is cool enough for such activities.

There was an area of grass at the piscine that was used by established couples and we migrated to this area to get the sun, swim and relax and to chat to other couples. No one could miss the body language of our complete love one for another.

I got to know Laurence's body as intimately as my own. Her muscles that tensed up and needed massage when extemporaneous dances did not work. Nudity was of no consequence in our lives, I felt attuned to her rhythms, and her to mine, in life as much as the dance. She still ran without panties in the countryside. We were in tune and mutually enthralled.

It sounds corny, but the days rushed by. In and out of each other's homes and beds as if they were our own. We explored ourselves as we explored our milieu. We were as part of the Earth from which we sprang, and to where we would eventually return.

Just as the grapes swelled, darkened and the vendage approached, so we had to prepare again for the rentrée. Our idyll was over and the hard work was to return; but ideas for new choreographies cascaded from us, and new music became our laboratory. Massaging discordant harmonies from prepared pianos and the like, into movements that reflected the torn land that dominated our homes. The land was our cornucopia. We were absorbed into the fundamentally French concept of the terroir, of the land and its people, indivisible!

And so to Toulouse...

We will go triumphantly and together into the World of the Dance.

Authors note - This story is in the format expected for the new 25th anniversary contest. I enjoy writing these stories, but I am not too fussed about entering or winning contests. I hope this may act as a stimulus for other authors to enter when entries are allowed on 1st May.

Nu-U-Inc

by Columbine

What it is to have leisure time just browsing idly on the Web. Not so good with a constant flood of emails and messages from companies who are utterly convinced that you are going to love their products. Occasionally there is a message that tickles the fancy and you have to decide whether to click or not.

One such rainy afternoon I was browsing when a message came in suggesting that I had been looking for plus size clothing. Yes, it was true that I had been. My waist had swollen to 40” and my chest to 52” in recent months and most of my clothes did not fit with any sort of comfort.

The message said that as I had been searching for large size clothing I might like to lose the weight permanently. Well, yes of course I would like to lose the weight permanently. Who wouldn’t. It was a no brainer.

The advert said that the procedure did not use any drugs, or punishing exercise regimes or starvation.

Just how would it work if it didn’t involve exercise, or diet or drugs?

It was worth an enquiry at least.

The Nu-U-Inc web page was simple. There was no hard sell. The person buying the product had to make an appointment online and then turn up at a particular address in an industrial complex with $200 in cash.

There was no evaluation by others, no testimonials, nothing. Losing weight in an afternoon was like a dream come true. I had been thoroughly depressed about my weight for years and it seemed the solution to all my prayers.

The company existed, that was easy to confirm online. The two directors were endocrinologists working for a well known university. Their academic credentials were excellent. I decided to take it further and made an appointment for about a week’s time.

Two $100 dollar bills were in my wallet as I approached the rather uninspiring building. The suite was on the fifth floor and there was no elevator, so I had to walk up the stairs. It reminded me, if I needed reminding, how overweight I was.

The door to Nu-U-Inc swung open when I pressed the buzzer. A pretty girl of about 25 was sitting at a desk. Her straight blond hair was down to her shoulders and she had clearly spent some time over her make-up. She got up, or rather uncoiled, from her desk and came over to me. She smoothed down her miniskirt with well manicured hands and I noticed the bright pink nail varnish. Her heels clacked over the tiled floor.

“Mr. Brown? “

I nodded.

“Welcome" she said, with a mellifluous voice. Quite low pitch for a woman, but very feminine in her body language.

“You are here to lose some weight, I understand?”

“Yes. You can see that I am rather overweight, and it would certainly help me in all sorts of ways if I was lighter.”

“How much lighter do you want to become?”

“I would like to achieve a BMI of 25, at the moment I am about 32.”

“We can certainly do that. We do not take anyone below a BMI of 22, here.”

“Please take a seat and we will record your particulars.”

The woman, whose name was Claire according to her name badge, recorded all the usual things like name, address and medical history on her computer and I signed the bottom of the online form to accept the procedure.

She also gave me a receipt for my $200.

“The procedure is entirely automatic. In a minute I will ask you to go next door and remove all your clothes and lie on the couch with your head on the pillow. The fat that is removed will be anonymised before disposal. You you have any objection to this happening?”

“No, no objection.”

When you go through the procedure none of your clothes will fit, so we offer a service where a set of clothes from one of the cheaper chainstores is provided in your new sizes. This costs an extra $150. Would you like us to provide that. You will look very odd if you try to dress in your old clothes. Alternatively, you can go out and get a new set of clothes and come back with them, but I am not sure exactly what sizes you will be. We have a full range of clothes in almost every size possible.”

I paid the extra $150 by credit card.

“Please go through that door and get completely undressed and as I said before. Please put your head on the pillow. You will be played calming music. Have you any particular taste in music?”

“I enjoy Baroque music.”

“Baroque music it is, then.”

I went through the door alone and inside was just a couch, with a pillow and a rail with several clothes hangers. As instructed I undressed, hung my clothes up and lay with my head on the pillow.

A large screen on the wall lit up as soon as I lay down.

A figure in a white coat spoke to confirm my details and that I had agreed to a fat reduction procedure that would reduce my BMI to 25.

I was asked to speak aloud to agree.

“Agreed”, I said.

“Please relax. The procedure will take about two hours and you will be asleep for much of that time.”

I did feel a prick in my thigh, and then everything went dark.

Some time later I woke in a different room. There was sunlight streaming through the window and the clothes on the rail were different. I wouldn’t have chosen the very cheap looking garments, but they would cover my nudity until I could get something better.

The screen in this room lit up when I started to move, and the same person in a white coat spoke to me.

“Welcome back. You now have a BMI of 25. In five minutes or so you can get up and dressed in your new clothes. You will feel sore because there are many small puncture wounds all over your body where the fat has been removed. These will not need any attention, but please do not scratch them. Showering is fine, but please do not have a bath for 48 hours.”

“Once you have dressed, please press the button by the door and Claire will bring you a coffee.”

"During the next five minutes, please watch our video. It will show you the procedure you have gone through and also show you the range of body modifications we can offer for you in the future.”

I watched the video with amazement. It showed me with cannula in my arm with anaesthetic, then being held in a sort of cage where numerous needles penetrated my skin and fatty material was drawn out. Long needles even went deep into my body cavities and drew out the fat round my kidneys and other organs. The fatty material was drawn off into large glass vessels. My body gradually shrank. Even my hands and feet had small amounts of fatty fluid drawn off.

The video continued with other options. There was a height enhancement programme, and breast enhancement or diminution and penis enlargement, as were a whole range of cosmetic procedures that did not use implants. Heavens knows how they worked?

Amazingly there was an age reduction procedure that enhanced the flexibility of the skin to rejuvenate the appearance of the person.

Finally there was a section on transgendering; both male to female and female to male. The male to female was particularly effective with a short video of a slightly built and nondescript man turned into a quite lovely girl.

My mind was buzzing by the end of the video. The possibilities were endless for someone with some money.

I looked in the mirror for a minute of two before finally getting dressed in the basic outfit I had been provided with. My wallet and other documents were beside the bed, as were the glasses that I didn’t appear to need any more.

Claire brought in the coffee on a small tray.

“How much do all those procedures cost, Claire?”

“They vary, obviously, but the most expensive is the female to male transgendering which is $78,000, but that includes a week at a residential centre where there is a full staff able to help with clothing and mannerisms.”

“The male to female transgendering is cheaper at $70,000 but again you get a week in a residential centre learning about mannerisms, makeup and other behaviours necessary to carry off the transgendering. This also involves you being taken out to a neighbouring Shopping Centre to buy a new set of clothes. That is at your expense of course, except for a very basic set of clothes to cover your nakedness.”

“How functional are the transgendered people?”

“Both transgendered men and women can live their lives as normal people of that gender and can have a full sexual relationship, but the semen the men ejaculate has no sperm in it, and the women do not produce eggs, although they do have light periods. She can have a fertilised egg implanted into her womb and it will develop there if she has some extra hormone injections to maintain the pregnancy.”

“Why is this not more widely known. I would have thought that there would be a queue outside your suite here if it were.”

“We don’t want the procedures we use to be more widely known at present. It would attract the large businesses, who are interested in profit rather than providing a service for people who need us. We need to cover our costs, but our methods could be stolen easily and it is in the interest of both ourselves and our customers for this facility to be kept private.”

“How do I keep my weight loss private?”

“That is up to you, but most people really don’t notice what happens to others, particularly if they only see them down to their chest during on-line calls. As you work from home you can say that you have been dieting and working out for months before the big reveal.”

“That is not so easy if I turned up as a girl rather than the me, that everyone knows.”

“No, obviously not, but we would always suggest that a person being transgendered should prepare very carefully. The transgendering process does not change your finger prints or your retinal pattern, for instance and your muscle memory writing your signature will not change. If you change your signature to just initials and your surname, then institutions like banks will recognise you and your money and documentation will remain active. Even getting a new driver licence in a new name and gender is not difficult these days. It just takes careful preparation.”

“Are you tempted to transgender?”

“Part of the reason why I get depressed and eat too much is because I have felt for many years that I ought to have been a girl. I have never felt suicidal or wanted to self harm. I am particularly ineffective as a male and whilst becoming female is not a magic bullet to fame, fortune and a successful love life, I do feel that given the option, I would give it a try. What I do not want to become is a fat, depressed woman. Probably worse than staying how I am, particularly now I have shed over nearly twenty pounds of useless blubber that just reminded me of my poor diet every time I went to have a shower.”

Claire said quietly, that she had once been a man.

“I cannot believe it. You look stunning. Your lustrous hair and beautiful face. Your wrists and hips are normally a give-away for anyone transgendering male to female, but you are just perfect.”

“Thank you. I do like the way I look. I wasn’t overweight, but had inherited a sizeable chunk of cash and I felt that I wanted to get the best out of my life, and this is the way I wanted to spend my inheritance. I work here and am an example of what the treatment can do. Would you like to see a photo of me before I underwent the procedure?”

“Yes, of course I would. I am amazed that such a natural looking woman can be produced by these procedures.”

Claire showed him a photo from her purse of a youngish man in swimming trunks. Longish hair and a rather uninspiring body lacking any obvious manly features.

“That was me as Clive. I lived as him until I was 30.”

“But you look younger than 30, now, perhaps 23 or 24.”

“That is the age reduction process as well as M-to-F transgendering.”

“How much could reduce my apparent age by. I am 42 now.”

“The age reduction can make you look about ten years younger, so 32, at best.”

“What you would need to do if you are thinking about going through this process is to allow your skin to shrink, so it is no longer saggy, then make detailed preparations of how you will move into your new preferred gender. What we do not want is for you to become a sensation where every tabloid newspaper wants your story with all the salacious detail, then for the World and his wife queuing up outside here for the elixir of life.”

“If you go ahead you will need to sign a confidentiality agreement with us. It has very heavy penalties if you go to the Press or other media to give or sell your story. That compensation is for us to move from one anonymous industrial block to another, and from one city to another. We have even moved from one country to another when the Press have tried to invade our space.”

“I must also mention that there is a provision in the contract for every procedure except weight reduction. This means that if you choose to make your changes, whatever they are; public, then it just takes a prick with a needle from an anonymous person in the street to start an irreversible enhanced ageing process that would give you perhaps a month or six weeks before you would die of old age. This will not happen under any normal circumstances, but it would mean to the Press that the procedure was flawed and could not be relied upon and everyone would forget about it.”

“I would find it very difficult to contain myself about changes like those proposed, but I accept your need for privacy, and would certainly not go to the Media.”

“Could you pay for the procedures?”

“It would need some carful thinking and planning to bring the finances together, but I can do almost unlimited overtime. In the past I have often felt too lacking in motivation to earn more. I think I could save between $80,000 and $100,000 in a year or so and would be motivated to do it.”

“All I can say is ‘Go Girl’ … see you in a year. Keep to a healthy diet, and keep to a sensible exercise regime so we do not need to do any repair work before your transition. I will keep you on file. Anthony Brown soon to be Antonia Brown. How does that sound?”

“Sounds brilliant!”

… and so it was. Doing bespoke programming from home was as lucrative as ever. There was an insatiable demand for my services and the money rolled in. With the high level of motivation, I managed to eat better and joined a gym where I could be found in the early hours when I could drag myself away from work. My skin tightened up and I looked fitter than I had done in years.

I changed account names to just initials and surname with all the financial institutions I was associated with, and bought female clothes judiciously. Not too tight fitting in case my sizes were not the same as now. I didn’t wear bras except to try them on, so didn’t buy prostheses, and all the other clothes were just worn at home. I allowed my hair to grow and wore it tied in a pony tail. This was not unusual for male computer programmers. I allowed my nails to get longer and coated them with a clear varnish. In a year I had saved the money and had made as much progress as I could without undergoing the procedures I had promised myself.

I looked out the Business Card Claire had given me. The web address did not work, neither did the telephone number. My heart sank. I tried the mobile number. Claire answered.

“I have been trying to contact you, but your web address and land line phone number are no longer active.”

“No, we have had to move because of some prurient interest.”

“I have saved up the money and have done everything that I can to make my transition successful. Are you still able to do the procedures we discussed a year ago.”

“Yes, but we are several hundred miles away from your home now. Are you ready to start now?”

“Yes, I have everything in place.”

“Arrange a three week vacation from work. Get into your car next Wednesday and a satnav code will be sent to you by text at 8am. Put that code in and you will be taken to an old farm well off the main roads. This is where we operate now. I will send the contracts via email to you. Please return them signed and scanned by email before next Wednesday or you will not receive the Satnav instructions. Please arrange for a money transfer facility to be available but you will not be required to pay anything until you have been medically examined. Bring clothing for both genders and a credit card for your shopping trips.”

…and so it was. A three week vacation was arranged and on the following Wednesday morning a message was received giving a code that the Satnav understood. The address was about 230 miles away. It took me most of the day to get there, but I arrived at the old farm after driving the last 20 miles on dirt roads.

I had already eaten en route so was shown my room and soon fell into a deep sleep.

Claire woke me gently with a hot drink at 7:30 and I was told to shower and then dress in a surgical gown before walking to an examination room where an Asian doctor gave me a full examination and various phials of blood were taken for testing. He had a pleasant manner and pronounced me fit to undergo both procedures. In a couple of hours the blood tests came back and supported his approval.

I was allowed breakfast after the examination and dressed again in my male clothes. I was listed to receive the procedures the following morning, so could only eat lightly that day. A cosmetics lady came to look at me and offered various suggestions as to how to make my transformed self look my best. She was charming and supportive, and I learned a lot in the couple of hours she spent with me.

The rest of the day I read parts of two novels I had brought with me, but was progressively anxious about the following day. After the light evening meal I was offered and accepting a mild sedative. I went off to sleep easily.

In the morning it was fluids only, then a pre-op injection and I was ushered into a room not unlike the one I had been in for the fat reduction. There was no one there. I was asked over a speaker system to undress and lie on my back on the bed with my head on the pillow. The system remembered that I liked Baroque music and I felt a needle in my thigh and was soon asleep.

It must have been the following morning when I awoke. Claire brought in a cup of iced tea and suggested that it was time I was up and about. She called me Antonia, and that woke me up properly. I was still dressed in surgical gown, but there were no drain tubes or anything like that that one might expect after having major surgery. Just what appeared to be a very female body under the light covering of the surgical gown.

I needed to use the toilet badly and there didn’t seem to be a problem getting up and going to use the toilet. No dizziness, no soreness no nothing, just a change of my equipment and a much younger body. I remembered that standing to pass urine was no longer an option, but that was hardly rocket science. The movement of my quite significant breasts was obvious as I walked over to the bathroom and it brought a smile to my lips. The wider hips I now had made walking slightly different, but not so very different. Just a slightly greater swing of my new hips.

The extraordinariness of the situation was complete. I couldn’t even begin to think how such a transformation could occur in just a few hours.

Over a light breakfast I asked Claire about the procedure.

“I don’t know much about it. Obviously it is a professional secret. There are I understand, comparisons with butterfly larvae becoming chrysalises and then emerging as a butterfly.”

“So all this took place in a day.”

“No, ten days. You have catheters in almost every blood vessel for most of that time. After a few days you almost seemed to have lost all your shape as your bones softened, then the infusions seemed to reconstruct you from scratch in your new shape. It is really only the circulatory system and nervous system that remain unaffected. All your skills and memories remain the same. No one is turned into a blond airhead, unless they were a male blond airhead before the procedure.

“If I say so myself, I think the cost has been worth every penny. You look both beautiful and about 30 years of age.”

I stood up, dropped the surgical gown and looked in the mirror. Looking back at me was a woman who had some vestiges of my former self, but had breasts in proportion to my size and a well formed groin area with no pubic hair. My waist was narrower and my hips larger in proportion to my size.

“Will I grow pubic and arm pit hair?”

“I never have.” said Claire matter of factly.

"Get dressed and have some breakfast. You will feel extra hungry for a few days. Do you need any help with putting on a bra?”

“No I think I can manage, but thanks all the same.”

Claire sat on the edge of the bed while I dressed. She chatted about her shopping trips recently and how her boyfriend had bought her a bikini that she absolutely loved and had even gone to bed in!

The clothes I had brought fit, more or less. I was the same height as before and the size of my rib cage was only a little smaller. My hips were bigger, but I had taken that into account with elasticated joggers. My feet seemed the same, a size seven.

“Right lead on to the dining room.”

Claire led me down a series of corridors to a dining room lined with artisan sawn wood panelling. The meal was set out as a breakfast buffet on what appeared to be a hand sawn table with a shine that must have taken years of hard polishing to create.

I chose just cereal, milk and a little sugar, plus of course a big mug of coffee.

“Is there anyone else here receiving treatment?”

“There are two others, but they are still going through their treatments, and you will not see them for the time being, if at all. I think you will be on your week long orientation week before they awake.”

“In about three days you will be discharged to the reorientation venue. It is about a two hour drive from here so you need to be reasonably fit to do all the exercises and go shopping for all the things you will need to function in Society as a woman, and you need to be reasonably close to a good Mall as well.”

“Will I be able to drive myself?”

“Yes, like coming here, you will be given a name of the venue and a Satnav code. Your car now has a full tank of fuel. It was a bit low when you arrived. I got it filled up for you. I do think that you might like to exchange it for something a bit more feminine in time, and it could do with a good internal valeting. All the old sweet wrappers and other junk are not going to fit with your new lifestyle.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” I agreed. I don’t think a passenger seat covered with wrappers of one sort or another and the smell of half eaten pizza is a good start.”

And so it went on. Medical examinations, sleeps, meals and gentle exercise.
In three days I was used to being called Antonia. The last item was a certificate of successful medical gender reassignment.

“This will allow you to change all your documents like your passport and driver licence to your new name. You cannot change your age, but someone looking at your date of birth will think that you have just looked after yourself very well. The team at the venue will help you fill out all the forms to get a new birth certificate and all the other documents. That is all planned to take place in a single seven-day period. After that you are on your own, but you will be given a list of gender coaches within easy travelling distance of your home. You may like to employ one of them.”

And so it was. Apart from the doctor, and Claire, Antonia saw no one and she drove off to the venue, which turned out to be a large country house in a fin de siècle style, almost a mansion.

A pretty girl manning the reception desk welcomed Antonia by name. She clearly knew that her arrival was imminent and guided her to the dining room as it was lunch time when Antonia arrived. The girl was not at all surprised that Antonia had no luggage to speak of.

“After lunch you will be taken to our local town to buy some of the basics, like night wear and a change of clothes, but tomorrow our personal shopper will take you to a Mall about ten miles away and you will be able to shop till you drop or the credit card reaches its maximum! … which ever comes first.”

“We have a hair stylist here who will style your hair this evening after dinner.”

Lunch consisted of salad and a portion of cold ham. Antonia seemed to get full more quickly than before and with a glass of orange juice, was comfortably full.

She was shown to her room, then whisked off to the local shops to get just the basics for the night and the following day. The personal shopper measured Antonia before they left. “You remain 5’ 7” , but are now 34C with a 27 inch waist and 34” hips. On the petite side for a transgendered person.”

Gayle, the personal shopper drove into the local town and they bought some skin care products, a simple dress with shoulder straps and a flared floral skirt, then a short nightie set with matching knickers, and a further bra and knicker set for use the following day.

It was dinner time when they returned and Antonia was ready for her meal.

As soon as she had finished she was ushered up to the hairdressing salon and the stylist looked her over before taking out a brochure filled with women’s styles.

“You have plenty of hair for most of the styles shown here, but not the ones that are very long. I will point out those I think would suit you face and colouring.”

After twenty minutes or so, Antonia and Julie, the stylist had whittled the list down to five styles, and then to just two. Eventually it was just ‘stick a pin’ in to choose between them. Julie said that one was easier to maintain, and that was the deciding factor.

Two hours later, and Antonia emerged even more feminine than before with an A-line Bob. Julie made her turn round and seemed very happy with the results of her hard work.

And so to bed.

8am and the alarm went off and the residents were attended by staff to help them dress if that was needed. Those later in their week were helped to apply make-up. Antonia only needed help with her hair. She used a little foundation and blusher then some mascara, together with a coating of lip gloss. It was more a protection for her skin than something that could really be called make up.

Breakfast followed. Antonia sat with two other transgendered people. They both had stories to tell, but Antonia felt that their surgical transformations were crude by comparison with hers. They seemed neither male or female in her opinion. Both were flattering in how well she had been transgendered, but Antonia stayed close-lipped about how her transformation had been completed.

Gayle, bounced into Antonia’s room after she had finished her after-breakfast tasks. She wanted to know about Antonia’s lifestyle. What sort of social life she had, and what sort of colours and styles she chose.

She was dismayed when Antonia said that she had no social life, but brightened up when Antonia described all the very feminine clothes she liked to see women dressed in.

“So many of the trans-women we have here want to buy slacks and tops, and not much else, apart from undies that are sturdy rather than pretty.”

“No I want to be pretty, really pretty. I feel girly through and through. I want clothes that are well made and timeless, and my one absolute is my first little black dress with black patent leather stilettos.”

“Wow. You really are going all in with the girl thing. It will be a pleasure to dress you. Much of the time I am trying to dress people to look more like women, rather than dress a person who looks like a beautiful person to start with.”

“Do you really think I am beautiful?”

“Yes, certainly you are beautiful and part of that beauty glows from within you because you are so clearly delighted with your transformation. Enjoy it.”

“What is your budget for today?”

Antonia gave Gayle a figure that was double what she had previously decided.
“Yes, that should cover most of your immediate needs, but you will need a winter coat in time and more woollens than we will be able to get today. It is the wrong season for them.”

And off they went …

Cosmetics first. A stylish cosmetics salon where a beautifully coiffed staff member berated Antonia for not looking after her nails and the skin of her hands. Semi-permanent nails were glued on to her own and they were coated with multiple layers of ever more glowing coatings until the nails glittered in the sunlight and extended a good half inch beyond the end of Antonia’s fingers. She was given instructions how to prevent them chipping.

Next came the perforation of her ears.

“Why, the stylist asked had such beautiful woman never had her ears pierced?”

Gayle got out her ID card from the mansion, and showed it to the stylist, who immediately shut up when she recognised the name of the mansion.

Gayle had simple gold loops put in, but bought two other pairs. One was a stud with paste diamonds in, and the other was a pair of droplets with a green semi-precious stone hanging from the gold fitting.

Next was a visit to a lingerie emporium, where Antonia was re-measured and her measurements of the previous night confirmed. Eight sets of bra and matching panties were bought together with socks and packs of tights. A bikini was added in electric blue. Not too risqué but fairly revealing from the side. Sexy enough to turn heads at the beach but rather uncertain if one was actually going to swim! The store assistant assured Antonia that it would still cover her after a swim and that the fabric would remain opaque. A beach wrap in a different blue could be used as a shawl or tied as a sarong.

A major retailer of women’s clothes supplied three dresses in different styles and different degrees of formality. The little black dress was one of them. It was both short and showed a lot of cleavage. It followed her curves to perfection. It needed a strapless bra and Antonia was delighted with the whole ensemble. She swirled round and the skirt flared out to show that she also had black knickers. Two short skirts were added in bright colours and several blouses which matched the skirts. One of them was off the shoulder and made Antonia look very sultry when she pursed her lips.

A couple of belts, and a denim skirt were the final items before they headed to the shoe shops.

Gayle was surprised that Antonia did not want any jeans or trousers of any sort. “They are part of most women’s wardrobes.” she said.

“They may come later, but I enjoy the freedom of wearing a dress or skirt. It is the swish of them round my legs and I enjoy the wind on my bare legs and the feel of a miniskirt which is both revealing and concealing. I also need to learn to manoeuvre myself in a very short skirt without the World being able to see more than they should.”

Two pairs of trainers that matched the knee length denim skirt, one fairly formal pair of leather shoes, and two pairs of light weight sneakers in bright colours, and the bank was finally broken.

It was a good thing that Antonia had brought her mixed clothes from home in a large suitcase that was now almost empty. Her new purchases would barely fit in that case when she returned home, but for the time being the bags were piled into the back of Gayle’s car for the trip back to the mansion.

The following five days were filled with makeup tips, feminine mannerisms, and speaking with a head voice to sound more feminine. There were deportment classes and lectures on where women’s finances differed from men’s, and illustrated talks on skills of the bedroom. Finally Antonia was taken through the procedure for her legal gender reassignment and her documents were taken by courier to the appropriate authorities. When she returned home a few days later a new passport and driver licence was in her post box, and a few days after that a new birth certificate in the name of Antonia Beryl Brown arrived.

Antonia was offered a chance to explore her sexuality with a male prostitute who would be as much an instructor as a performer. She accepted the offer and a stunningly handsome young man called George arrived at the room in mid-evening and proceeded to undress her with grace and aplomb, praising her beauty and applying small kisses on every bit of skin he exposed. Antonia was not allowed to undo even a button on his clothes until she was entirely naked and he had used his tongue to great effect on her. He explained how to stimulate a man and how to help him to avoid premature ejaculation. Where he was sensitive and where he was not. He eventually left in the small hours. Antonia was left sore with her maidenhead in tatters, but very fulfilled.

In so short a time, Antonia Beryl Brown was released onto an unsuspecting World. Her neighbours in her condominium took her change with really no problem, although she had to gently discourage one of her neighbours who was too friendly too soon.

She returned to the programming work that provided a very good income. Her bank balance was as low as it had been since she was a student, but the benefits she had purchased were enormous in her opinion.

Initially her company online chats were carried out with sound only, but after several days she made a particular effort with her clothes and makeup and at the end of one meeting she made an announcement and switched on the camera on her laptop. Her colleagues were both amazed and very complimentary. She was asked to stand and do a twirl for everyone to see. There were more compliments. Her photo was replaced on the staff online noticeboard and more compliments followed.

Her documents were scanned and copies sent to the personnel department of her employer. No one seemed to find her change of status difficult to deal with, and her name and pronouns were changed as appropriate in a variety of documents available online.

Really there was only one change that had to happen. That was that she had to get a new plug-in keyboard for her laptop. The keys on the built-in keyboard were too heavy for her nail extensions. The new one was designed for people with longer nails and the action of the keys was very light.

Next came the quite challenging matter of family. Neither of Antonia’s parents was alive, but she had two sisters, one older and one younger. Beth was the older one and was married with two children in their teens. Charlotte was the younger and had a long term partner, but no children. Antonia rang them every few months, but they didn’t have great deal in common, but the subject of gender change had to be dealt with before it caused embarrassment all round.

Antonia decided to send a full length picture of her fully made up and dressed in one of the pretty dresses she had bought with an brief explanation of the transformation she had gone through.

Charlotte was the first to read the email and respond.

It was about five minutes after sending the email that the phone rang.

Caller ID showed that it was Charlotte calling from her home several hundred miles away.

“We must meet.” was Charlotte’s first comment.

“I had no idea that transgendering was something you were even toying with. I can see something of the old you in the picture, but you look fantastic, and younger than before.”

“I like Antonia as a name. It suits you. Not so sure about the Beryl, but you don’t have to use that, do you?”

“Hang on a moment. Beth is ringing. I will open this call to a conference call for the three of us.”

Beth was not so accepting. “What have you done?” I had no idea that you were thinking of this.”

“Let me explain. I was forty-two and very overweight. I sat in front of a computer screen all day and part of the night. I was earning good money, but had no social life. I would call myself a recluse. You two see each other much more often, and I get the impression that you have a good social life. The last time we met was at Christmas three years ago.”

"I could go for days working in an old T, and sweat pants eating lots of things that did me no good. I needed a complete change of life, and this emerged over several months after I had had some weight reduction surgery. I felt so much better about myself and my feelings about my gender just bubbled up inside me until it was like a compulsion.”

“The same company who did the weight loss have done the transgendering and I am very happy with the result. My paperwork is now in order with my new gender and I am officially Antonia Brown. My work colleagues are very supportive, and my employer is quite happy as long as my work does not suffer.”

Antonia acknowledged another call trying to access her phone. It was Sophie, Beth’s teenage daughter. Charlotte accepted her into the Conference Call.

“What have I missed? I saw your image on Beth’s computer when she left it to call you. I think you look amazing. I want us to meet up. You must look fantastic in a bikini!”

Antonia blushed a little. “I have a bikini, but haven’t dared to wear it in public yet. It was a bit of a flight of fancy and is rather revealing.”

“Bikini’s are always revealing. That is the point.” came Sophie’s response.

“I thought you would like to meet. Can you accommodate us all, Beth?”

“Who are you thinking of inviting?” Well you four, me, and Charlotte with Jake.”

“Jake cannot come, he has to work this coming weekend and is flying to British Columbia on Friday.”

“In that case it is easier because auntie Charlotte can share my room, offered Sophie, and Antonia can have the guest room.”

“I think Sophie has made the decision for all of us.” said Beth with a smile in her voice.

“Let me say that I was shocked by your appearance a few minutes ago, but Sophie is obviously more accommodating. I really do like the new version of you, but it will take some getting used to.”

A time for arrival was sorted out with everyone gathering for a late meal on the Friday evening. Charlotte only lived a hundred miles from Beth so it was easy for her. Antonia would have a three hundred mile journey by road, so decided to fly most of the way then hire a car with her new licence for the last 50 miles.

“Don’t hire the car”, Beth retorted. I will pick you up from the regional airport and it is likely that Sophie will come too.”

As a passing shot, Sophie said. “I expect you to bring that bikini. I want to see Auntie Antonia at her most revealing.”

Charlotte ended the call with the comment that she might like to see Antonia without even the bikini. Laughter rang out as the call was ended.

The rest of the week passed very quickly. Antonia was engrossed in her work for much of the week, but made more time to eat properly and dressed well each day. Moisturisers and other basic skin products became a familiar part of her routine. As the week went on she succumbed to a pair of quality jeans that flattered her figure and fitted like a glove. Luckily the store stayed open until 9pm on a Thursday so it didn’t interfere with her work.

Friday saw her packing. This was done with care, but Antonia’s wardrobe was not so large that the choices became difficult.

So, weekend bag in hand, and a short drive to the regional airport that was close to home, and a plane that was more of a bus with wings than a proper plane, saw her at another regional airport after less than 45 minutes in the air.

Beth and Sophie were full of anticipation as Antonia headed to the terminal building, pulling her case on its wheels. She waved to the two women who appeared to be bubbling over with excitement. Sophie was jumping up and down and rushed forward into a hug as Antonia reached the gate. They blocked the entry gate with the exuberant welcome and Antonia had to apologise to a man who could not get out and coughed politely behind them.

Beth expected a twirl before a hug, and Antonia was happy to oblige.

“My God you look beautiful. I have never seen any transgendering that has been anything like as good. I would never have known you were a man previously.”

“Lets talk more in the car, I am not allowed to give details of what was done, and I certainly cannot talk freely here.”

The walk of about two hundred yards was carried out in silence except how Sophie had blossomed since they had last met.

“It is you who should give a twirl, Sophie. You have become a beautiful young woman since we last met.”

In the car the two women asked for an explanation of how the transformation had been carried out.

“All I am allowed to say is that it is an experimental procedure that both transgenders and makes the person seem younger by up to ten years. It is based on insect hormones that guide the insect through the changes that take place in the chrysalis.”

“That sounds fairly drastic. The caterpillar effectively liquifies and reforms in the chrysalis.”

“Yes, Beth, it does sound drastic, but this procedure does not go that far and only takes ten days. Undoubtedly things can go wrong, but the receptionist at the clinic was one of the first really successful patients and it was her experience that convinced me to go ahead.”

“Didn’t it cost an awful lot of money?”

“Yes Sophie, with the new wardrobe it cleaned me out.”

“Yet you think it was worth it?”

“Yes, Beth, I haven’t felt this good in years. I sleep well. I eat well. I can concentrate for longer at work. My skin is clear and I think a lot about men!”

“I was going to ask about that.” Sophie added rather precociously for a sixteen year old.

“I had a vague desire to have a relationship with a woman before, but being very overweight, with greasy hair and skin and probably bad breath, I was not an attractive proposition. As I am now, I am chatted up regularly. People who knew me as Anthony are reticent, but I seem fair game for anyone who I meet afresh. I had a week at a residential centre to teach me as much as they could about being a woman, and my guide Claire was excellent to help me choose clothes that suited my colouring and style preferences.”

The fifty miles back to Beth and Sophie’s house took 90 minutes, but the time passed very quickly.

As they parked in the drive, Charlotte stood outside to welcome them. Tom and Glyn, Beth’s husband and son stood a little further back.

Charlotte was as enthusiastic as Beth and Sophie had been at the airport, but everyone was ushered inside before the party really got going. Antonia had to repeat much of what she had said in the car and she had to try on several of her new outfits to satisfy her audience.

Beth and Charlotte went with her as she changed and approved of Antonia’s choice of lingerie. They insisted on inspecting Antonia’s body in detail, and because Sophie protested so much, she was allowed to see Antonia completely naked as well.

Back downstairs in a knitted top and mini skirt, the story continued. Antonia’s driver licence and other documents were viewed, and they were just ordinary. There was nothing special about them. In fact apart from Antonia’s new body and voice, there was nothing very different. Everyone seemed to accept the new woman without question. It was as if it always should have been that way.

Everyone joined in with making the rather late evening meal, and then to bed. Antonia could hear Charlotte and Sophie giggling late into the night in the room they were sharing, but the morning appeared soon enough.

It seemed that Charlotte and Sophie had already decided that Saturday morning needed a visit to the swimming complex. A soak in a hot tub and a few lengths of the main pool would do them all wonders and the new bikini would get its first outing.

And so it was. Breakfast of waffles and honey or other conserve, and lots of fresh coffee The morning routine was completed soon, then there was a rush to the cars.

About half an hour later they arrived en masse at the leisure centre with its pool and various water features.

Five minutes after that the women emerged. Antonia was rather self-conscious in her skimpy suit, but it fitted her well and covered all the bits that needed to be covered and the three other women were very complimentary. Even so, Antonia folded her arms over her bosom until Charlotte said that she needed to accept that she was a very attractive woman now, and didn’t need to stand so defensively.

Sophie was adamant that what was good enough for Aunt Antonia was good enough for her, and wanted to abandon her rather concealing one piece costume in favour of a bikini that enhanced her charms very effectively. She had already spotted a bikini in the swimwear shop next door. It was lovely, but Beth was torn between allowing her daughter to be a young woman, and wanting her to be the child she had enjoyed so much. In the end she relented and Sophie was bedecked in an eye turning creation in golden yellow to match her hair. The price per square inch of fabric was astronomical!

The men were trying to keep their eyes of their new sister-in-law or aunt, but both showed a healthy interest in her that could not be hidden inside Speedos! Having the big reveal of Sophie in her new bikini certainly didn’t help.

The family went their separate ways. Tom and Beth headed for the hot tub, and Antonia decided to join them. The hot water jets were pleasurable and the threesome stayed there until Sophie chided them for not having a swim.

One might think that Sophie was being a ‘right little madam’ ruling the roost in the household, but she did it with such good humour and a personality that was constantly on the boil and bubbling over, combined with her obvious joy at seeing her erstwhile uncle so beautiful, that one couldn’t take umbrage for too long.

Antonia had been a good swimmer as Anthony when he had been at school. His overweight body had been a difficult thing to reveal in swimming trunks that looked more like the sail of a yacht than a garment, so she went into the pool with some diffidence. The effect of the water creeping up her body was a new sensation, and the flotation effect of the water was not unpleasant on her breasts. She did a few strokes of a sort of doggy paddle, and then a couple of lengths of breast stroke. Muscle memory returned from all those years ago at school and Antonia moved into a quite skilful front crawl. She was aware that she was no longer as streamlined as she once was, and settled for a lazy crawl that was not impeded too much by her chest.

The family got bored quite quickly, and were soon dressed in day clothes in the entry lobby waiting for the last member to emerge from the dressing rooms. No one could imagine why Glen was taking so long to get dressed, and his father was just about to go back into the changing rooms when the lad emerged rather red faced.

“What took you so long?” his father asked.

Glen looked rather shamefacedly and his father had the sense not to press the boy too far.

Good company and good wine punctuated the remaining twenty-four hours before Antonia was whisked back to the airport by her sister. The flight home was a let down, but how could it not be? There were promises to meet up more often, and Antonia intended to keep her promises.

On the journey to the airport Sophie asked if Antonia could have children.

“The answer is yes and no. I take a version of the contraceptive pill to give me a sort of menstruation.”

“Why would anyone want to have periods if they don’t need to?”

“If I didn’t take it, the lining of my womb would get thicker and thicker until there were real problems. I need to renew the lining of my womb as all people born women have to do.”

“What about the babies?”

“I cannot produce any eggs of my own, but a fertilised egg from another woman can be implanted in my womb and it will develop normally there and I will give birth as any person born as a woman would do.”

“And breast feeding?”

“Exactly. Breast feeding as normal.”

“Mom, would you donate some of your eggs to Antonia?”

“I am forties now, and getting towards the end of my reproductive years. It would be better if someone younger donated the eggs. Charlotte would be better as she is only 32 now.”

“What about me?”

“I don’t think we need to consider you as an egg donor yet awhile, as I don’t have a partner and you are not old enough to give valid consent. Who knows what will happen when you get to 18 years old. I must get my apartment looking decent before anything else.

Antonia felt the emptiness of her apartment when she got home. It was untidy and drab. The computer and associated furniture were the only things of importance.

“Next weekend I will start on revitalising my apartment.” she said to herself, but before she became any more morose, Sophie rang. Can I come and stay with you next weekend? I can help with the revamping of your apartment.”

“I would love it, but what does Mom say?”

“She says it is ok by her, if it is ok by you!”

“Then it is ok by me. I would love to see you and we can search through second hand places together to refurnish the apartment.”

“I will pick you up from the airport on the flight that arrives at 18:00 this Friday.”

… and so it was. Sophie arrived in the big city. Her irrepressible enthusiasm lifted Antonia’s spirits and the two never stopped talking and chose second hand pieces of furniture of good quality. The apartment was vacuumed and polished as the new pieces of furniture were added and old pieces discarded. A tired Sophie caught the flight home on Sunday evening, and apparently she had to be woken at the destination, then snuggled down into the back of her mother’s car for another sleep on the way home.

It became a regular event where Sophie arrived in the big city and she and Antonia spent the time together doing all sorts of things. Sometimes it would only be for a weekend, and during vacations it was often longer. Sometimes Beth would come as well, and the three became firm friends as much as close relatives.

Sophie never mentioned about becoming an egg donor for her aunt, but she never failed to point out dishy men as they visited places around Antonia’s district.

In fact Antonia had the habit of visiting a coffee shop only a short distance from her home when having a break form the computer programming. One time she was sitting in the venue when it was crowded, and a mild mannered man asked if he could share her table.

They got talking, and found that they had a great deal in common. He asked her out to a J.S.Bach concert, and she was delighted to accept.

He was a gentleman throughout, and both enjoyed the evening. The following week they went to another concert and Paul came back to the apartment for coffee. Again he was the gentleman, and gave her a peck on the cheek as he left.

Another week went by, and Antonia felt bold enough to invite Paul to dinner. He came with wine and flowers and the meal was a real success. They watched an old romantic comedy on the television, and Antonia felt confident enough to put her head on Paul’s shoulder.

That small intimacy became more, and to cut a longish story short, Paul spent the night there.

The next time Sophie came to stay, Paul was introduced. Later Sophie confided in her aunt. “I like Paul, he is good for you. You can start a new life with him! Can I be a bridesmaid?”

“If it goes on, then of course, but he hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

“Let me know when to get my eggs flushed!”

“SOPHIE !!!!!!!!”

This novel is written in the near future where many of the actual problems with climate change and the future of humanity have happened. A collapse in civilisation is does not show humanity at its best, but from seeds, seedlings grow. This a story where hope emerges from chaos.

The Meeting Place

“Online somewhere was a meeting place known just as ‘The Meeting Place’. Someone who needed to know its web address would find it somehow, but you would not have found it on any search engine. “

“Was it part of the dark web?”

“No, it was just for a select few.”

“Why would someone look for such a place?”

“You would find it if you truly felt that you inhabited the body of the wrong gender.”

“Aren’t there lots of medical services that help people today who believe that?”

“Not like this place and not at that time.”

“So how was it different?

That was what was hoped that I would find out!”

At the time I asked if it was undercover?”

“Yes, very much so. A meeting was taking place in a conference suite at the Hotel Astoria that evening for candidates and the editor of my newspaper had submitted my details to allow me to attend.”

I will tell the story as it happened, as best I can after so many years.

“I expect you to be there. At this stage we do not expect to wire you up with a body cam. We want to know if there is a story here.”

I had taken a little trouble to dress conservatively but well. No bright colours, just a mid blue button-down shirt with gold cuff links and matching cords. Dark brown loafers and a plain dark blue tie completed my ensemble.

At 7pm I presented myself at the conference suite and was ushered in.

“Four of us were there. I and another boy and two girls. The girls appeared a bit masculine with short spiky hair cuts. Both were wearing quality jeans and a girl-cut poplin shirt. The other boy seemed quiet and wore a little makeup round his eyes. I really didn’t notice him too much at this stage but his hair was tied back with a black scrunchie.

All three seemed nice and we chatted until a secretary in a business suit arrived. She gave each of us a questionnaire to complete. I was quite shocked at the detail required about lifestyle choices and sexual experience, and also genetic illnesses that may have been in our families. They wanted to know how each of our parents and grandparents had died if they were no longer with us. There were also details about personal finance and family. It was very comprehensive and somewhat disquieting.”

“I also had a blood test which was sent off for analysis.”

“We had all finished in a little under an hour. Our questionnaires were collected and each of us was separately ushered into a different smaller room where I, at least, faced a severe woman who went through my form in great detail.”

“I had had to make up some of the answers as I was not in the least unhappy about being male. The questions focussed on how much I would like to be female. My background in journalism and the the dramatic arts allowed me to fabricate a persona that seemed to satisfy her as to my credentials.”

“I had seen nothing so far that would justify a major revelation in my newspaper. I was expecting an offer of therapy to assist with the gender dysphoria that I had managed to convince my interviewer had blighted my life.”

It was now getting towards 9pm and I was looking for a way out, but we were were taken back into the larger room and had a session where we talked about ourselves. The other three were effusive in their denunciation of their birth gender and were clearly angling towards gender reassignment. I said as little as I could and what I did say was in the same vein as the other three.

“Shortly before 10pm I was paired with Karen. I don’t know why Karen, but Connie was much smaller physically than me and closer in size to Tim. If it wasn’t for physical size then I cannot think of a reason.”

“We were told that we may go and to report to a clinic in Harley Street three days later when our blood samples had been analysed.”

“I spoke to my editor the following day. I wasn’t clear about what was going on, but we both felt that we were on the brink of a major discovery. I read as much as I could on gender dysphoria in the next two days and presented myself at the clinic at 9am on Monday morning as requested.”

After preliminary checks that needed two forms of identification I was lead into a waiting room and from there to a small consulting room. Karen was also there. I could not imagine why.

She said little other than to confirm her details. She seemed very nervous and looked over to me on several occasions with an expression I could not fathom.

I was reluctant to swallow the capsule I was offered, but when I showed my concern I was shown the label. It was only a mild sedative that was available at any neighbourhood pharmacy on prescription. I took one begrudgingly as did Karen.

When the capsule had started to work, I had a pleasant floating feeling, but was otherwise perfectly aware of what was happening.

With the help of two male nurses we were guided further into the clinic and our clothes removed. Karen had a firm very feminine body but carried more tattoos than I would have chosen. She looked over at my body with its sparse body hair and slight musculature and smiled a rather lopsided smile.

“See you later” she managed to say before each was put onto a separate trolley and wheeled through a pair of rubber doors like those at the opening of an operating theatre. I got worried at this juncture. What was happening? My worries were short-lived as an infusion line was peremptorily put into my arm and an anaesthetic flooded my system.”

Of the next few hours, I can remember little. I remember coming round in a hospital side ward and seeing Karen in the other bed trussed up with multiple dressings.

I drifted off to sleep once more, and it must have been more than two hours later that I awoke again.

Karen was sitting propped up in up in bed still with many bandages covering her chest and abdomen. She was eating a light breakfast of toast and marmalade.

“I am glad you are awake now Brian, it is important that we talk.”

With help from the staff I also managed to sit propped up a bit and like Karen, I was heavily bandaged.

“I got the impression from our interviews that you were not as convinced about transgendering as the rest of us and yet you went through with it. I don’t really understand why.”

I had to think fast. “I think you have got the wrong impression about me. I was just a bit nervous in a medical situation like that. The questionnaire was very comprehensive and revealing.”

I think it had to be, was Karen’s reply. How could we be paired otherwise?

“Tell me about the pairing from your perspective.”

“I have wanted to become a functional man for as long as can remember. I tried being a lesbian, but that didn’t work for me. Hormone injections helped, but I needed to be a man in everything. To be able to father a child, for instance.”

“You, on the other hand it seems were desperate to become a woman with everything that entails.
We are paired, because our blood groups and tissue types are compatible. During the operation all the parts of our bodies that make us physically male and female have been exchanged. As far as sex and parenting is concerned, you are me and I am you.”

As Karen spoke the realisation seeped through my anaesthetic befuddled brain as to what had happened, but as always my journalism training cut in and I replied in a sanguine fashion.

“Does the pairing mean anything more?”

“The fee you paid of £30,000 covered the operation and recuperation, plus also some guidance as to clothing, and in your case as a new woman a guide to make up and mannerisms you need to adopt; but why don’t you know this? It was all explained in the brochures we had. It was also in the contract when you paid for the operation and the support package?”

“I didn’t pay for the operation and I have never seen a contract!”

“You must have. Who would have paid on your behalf?”

The dim realisation hit me. My editor would have regarded it as an allowable expense to get ‘the inside’ story of the feminisation process.

“I think I know the answer, but I need to check with the staff here. I think I have been set up in order to get an exclusive story for the newspapers!”

I felt exhausted physically and emotionally drained.

“What else don’t I know?”

Karen explained very simply.

“You are under contract to bear a child in what was my womb, and is now working inside you. I am contracted to live with you for a year and for you to conceive. After a baby is on the way we may part company and the contract is complete. During that time we will both be under medical supervision 24:7 to make sure nothing goes awry. We would be mother and father to the baby and could stay together to parent the child if that is what we wished.”

“I think we both need to talk to the staff here to get some clarity”, I said, feeling an enormous weariness come over me.”

Sleep took over, and it was the next morning before Brian and Karen were in a fit state to ask for the help they needed.

When I awoke I felt very sore, but alert. The first thing I noticed was that they original brochures and copies of the contract signed on my behalf were by my bedside. During breakfast I skimmed through them.

It was as Karen had said. One of the newspaper lawyers had completed Per pro, a contract on the newspaper’s behalf where they paid all the fees and I became the subject. Apparently there was a clause in my employment contract where the paper could act sort of in loco parentis if there was a need for secrecy or because I was incapable for some reason. It did not specify the extent of that power. I also noted that the newspaper would continue to pay my salary for five years from the date of the procedure, whether I could work or not.

I didn’t feel strong enough to challenge what seemed to be a watertight legal case in my postoperative bed, so I talked to Karen to get to know her better. After all, we were expected to parent a child together.

She was a couple of years younger than me and strangely was also a journalist. She reported for a Farmers and Growers trade magazine by visiting numerous agricultural shows each year. Her job was protected for six months while she recovered from her surgery. Her employers knew what was happening, as did her parents. She had read agriculture at University followed by a Masters in journalism. No intellectual slouch here then.

Her figure had been masked by her clothing when we met previously and I had only the slightest of memories of her undressed after I had had the sedative. She was a similar height to me and whilst she didn’t have a gorgeous figure she was certainly someone who would catch ones eye in a bikini.

“Do we help each other to become the person in our new rôles? … was my first question.

“Yes, that is why we live together for the first year. I have never been a great one for fussy women’s clothing or lots of makeup, but I know how to put it on and have worn high heels and long dresses as much as many other working women.”

“What do you think will happen to your body when the hormones from my testicles start to have an effect?”

“I am told that my voice will drop in pitch and my muscle mass will increase as long as I exercise well. I will also get coarser hair and get hair in a male distribution. Exactly the opposite from you.”

“I understand that they will get us up for a short time tomorrow. It will be no good for either of us to lay abed longer than we need to.”

And so it was. Dressed in medical gowns and attached to urine catheter bags and abdominal drain bags we sat together in a pair of raised chairs in our suite. It seemed deliberate that we could see a substantial part of each other’s body in the process. If one was to enter into what amounted to being an arranged marriage, then why make a fuss over nudity?

It was the first time that I really noticed the weight of Karen’s breasts now that I was upright. They were covered by extensive dressings that had made me sort of forget how they would look when I was up and about.

“How big a bust have I inherited?”

“I understand that you have a 38” chest, so the size of my chest doesn’t matter. As it happens I have a 34” chest. I had a C, almost D cup size, so I expect you will probably be something like 38D. That is quite large, but it will match your bone structure and should look fine on you.”

“What about clothes and other things each of us will need before we can leave this room?”

“That is all part of the contract. Don’t you read anything? In a few days we will be visited by a stylist who will take our new measurements and we will order through a catalogue. There is a £2000 limit for each of us, but that will cover the basics. Jumpers, t-shirts and the like are unisex, so there may be things at your flat that you can use as well.”

“My knowledge of surgery is fairly vague, but I believe that nerves regrow rather slowly. Isn’t intimacy where both parties have no sensation a potential disaster?”

“Again, I have asked these questions at the early selection process. We had a new ‘glue’ for the want of a better word applied to our nerves. Whilst it may take some weeks, even several months to restore all our sensations, it will happen. We will have an examination each week to see where sensation has returned. At the moment your vagina is packed with gauze to stop it going into prolapse. I say your vagina, because it gets too complicated to say What used to be my vagina, all the time.”

“Do you have any idea why we were such a good tissue match.”

“No one knows. It was suggested that we might be distantly related, but no one has come up with a reasonable answer to that one.”

“How did your parents take to your plans? They are worried, but less so now that the surgery has been completed with complete success.”

“So you have got in touch with them already?”

“Yes. That is what mobiles are for!”

“What about your relations?”

“I only have a mother. My father died several years ago. He would not have taken well to having a new daughter thrust into the family. I have two sisters. One lives in New Zealand with her husband and two children. I don’t need to consider them just at present. It is my younger sister I have to be concerned about, we are close. She may be able to help me pass myself off as a woman. She is also a lawyer, but I have come to the conclusion that I would much prefer to be a functional woman than someone without any sexual organs at all.”

“I am very glad about that. I have a natural concern that my womb and eggs are not wasted. There is also the penalty clause in the contract where you have to repay all the fees if you don’t complete the contract.”

“Yes, I did read that. What happens if there is a medical problem and we cannot conceive?”

“I think you need to get your sister in here to explain all the terms and conditions of the contract. I had a lawyer go through it point by point with me before I even started the application. Get your sister to visit here and get her advice!”

…and so it was. I had an interesting phone call with Denise and she arrived at Karen’s and my room that evening.

Between Karen and I, we explained all the catalogue of events that had befallen me since we had last spoken.

Denise spent half an hour reading through the various documents before saying.
“You are trussed up like the proverbial Christmas turkey. You have no room for legal manoeuvre here at all. Like it or lump it, you are now Briony rather than Brian, and will be a mother in the next couple of years.”

“I suggest that you write a diary for your newspaper of what has happened to you and resume your career as soon as you can, in your new rôle. I will come an visit a couple of times a week if you want and will sit in with you when the stylist visits. I suggest that we leave Mum until you can visit her at home.”

“Did you call me Briony? I rather like that. Briony Cooke sounds nice. What about my middle name. I was Brian James Cook.”

“How about Briony Jane Cooke. Sound good to me.”

“Apparently the clinic sorts out the Gender Reassignment Certificate, but I am sure that Briony Jane Cooke is a good choice. I like it already, and Jane is mum’s name.”

“How about you Karen. Have you given any thought to a new name. I don’t even remember your surname although I did see it on some of your documents.”

“I am Karen Louise Gardiner at present. My mother suggested Lawrence Michael Gardiner. The Michael was after my grandfather and my mother’s maiden name was Lawrence.”

“I am jumping the gun a bit, but I also quite like Briony Jane Gardiner.”

“Yes you are jumping the gun more than a bit.” said both Karen and Denise simultaneously” .. with mock horror.

Denise continued “Here you are sitting in a hospital bed with tubes coming out all over you and you seem to be talking about marriage and having babies with Lawrence. I think you are enjoying this far too much! Perhaps your Editor had more insight that you would have thought. She is a woman, I think, but I am not sure that has much to do with it. I have known you all my life and I would never have thought of you adopting such a radical change in your life so easily.”

“I have to go now. I understand that some of both dressings are being changed tomorrow. You may get a better idea of whether you like your new selves then. I hope so.” … and off she went.”

“I like her”, Lawrence said. “If the rest of your family are anything like her then I think we will get on well … for as long as we are together, that is.”

Two days passed with Briony and Lawrence getting to know each other better. Phones were used to show family photographs.

A large bouquet arrived on day five with best wishes from the team at the newspaper.

“Looks like the cat is out of the bag there! I suppose there is a first time for everything. Getting flowers is a novelty, but one I think I could come to enjoy.”

Briony sent a few pages of copy and it wasn’t long before Diana, the editor, phoned, and asked if she could attend with a photographer.

“You will need to get permission from the clinic to take photographs. We are still experimental subjects although both of us feel fine.”

Briony put off the visit until after she had had the visit from the stylist. She came prepared with a couple of loose tracksuits that would cover the still extensive bandaging and tubes.

Sheila, the stylist seemed to concentrate on Briony initially. Bit more fun to dress a woman from scratch perhaps. Men’s clothes didn’t have quite the same cachet as women’s and perhaps there was a larger commission in women’s fashion?

“You may want to wear a waist cincher for a time after your wounds are well healed, or do appropriate exercises to strengthen your waist muscles and pelvic floor. You will also need special panties for transgendered men because your crotch gap is much smaller than for the average woman who will have wider hips. I suggest you try some women’s boy briefs and see how you get on. The surgeon has done an excellent job putting a vagina and vulva in what was a man’s groin area. I am full of admiration, but I wonder if you might consider some liposuction. You have some fat round your waist and you might consider having the fat cells transplanted into your buttocks. They do look a bit like a man’s backside at the present. I think you need to avoid trousers for the time being and a swimming costume with a peplum would also be a good idea; at least until your body has had a chance to redistribute your fat.

“Bloody cheek!” … I said to myself. Sheila was, regrettably the holder of the purse strings and when she got down to choosing the clothes I rather liked her choices. Her stentorian tones grated with me until I managed to put her hectoring tone into the background.

Denise arrived after a few minutes. She and Sheila talked through half a catalogue, largely ignoring Briony. Lawrence was in fits of laughter when Briony tried to get a word in edgeways for the fourth or fifth time.

“Don’t worry, Briony, we will have the basics sorted out for you in a few minutes. I hope you trust us because this will make a new woman of you!”

The £2000 disappeared without any difficulty at all and I became enthused over their choices for me. A mixture of russets, pinks, and creams on one hand and shades of blues and pale lavender on the other.

“We will need to go shopping together to get you fitted out with accessories, but just one decent handbag will do for the present. One pair of trainers will also do until we get out to the shops. I don’t know how we will kit you out with women’s shoes in a size 9, but Sheila assures me that they are available if you know where to look.”

Since the paper was paying the bill, permission was granted and Diana turned up with Sophie one of the staff photographers.

“I never thought you would go through with this” was Diana’s first comment. You both look fantastic. How does it feel?

“I am really enjoying this so far. There is a long way to go, but the idea of being a woman is far from being bad. Even the idea of pregnancy and motherhood is not that awful, although I have already been told that my hips are too narrow to give birth naturally. It will be a compulsory
C-section for me.”

“Diana, please meet my partner, now renamed as Lawrence.”

“You also look really good Lawrence but if it is ok with you, I will talk with you later. You haven’t any legal involvement with the Paper. but if you choose to give your side of the story then I can promise you a very substantial fee.”

“If you prepare a contract I will ask Briony’s sister to look it over and advise me. Until then I will stay in the background.”

Diana looked over. “You have been quick with a new name. How does Briony Cooke - Staff Reporter seem as a title?”

“I like it! That is a promotion I think, so thank you for that.”

Sophie took a selection of photographs, but there wasn’t a lot to record at this stage.The big reveal would take place with before and after shots and that would need a visit to a hair stylist and the works as regards makeup. Sophie had another visit to make, and after offering her best wishes for our speedy recoveries, she went saying that she would do a full page spread of me in my new persona when everything was ready. Her mind was already writing as to what to dress me in for the reels of film that would be used up - or the digital equivalent.

Diana went into reporter mode and asked a whole series of questions that hadn’t been included in Briony’s notes she had sent in, but even those questions were exhausted within half an hour.

“I shall come in once a week to interview you both. Nothing will be said about you, Lawrence until a contract has been agreed, so please don’t concern yourself about an early reveal. I don’t plan to start a series of articles until you have had a month or five weeks to recover. Seeing you both in very roomy tracksuits doesn’t give a very good impression of the final result … but if it is any consolation Briony I think you would pass for a girl in most situations now and dressed as a woman would pass muster in any situation.”

Get the hair sorted out - you have enough of your own to get a shortish girl’s cut. Get some highlights done. Your present style is, understandably too masculine.”

Briony’s mother had got wind that something was happening. Briony had talked in general terms over the phone with her, but she was not satisfied even though Briony answered as Brian throughout the conversation. Matters were taken into hand when Briony’s mum rang the clinic and asked for Brian Cooke. The switchboard operator thought she had misheard and corrected her by saying that she would put her through to Briony Cooke, and of course Brian/Briony answered.

After a rather awkward conversation with her mother, Briony suggested that she rang Denise and then come to visit with Denise the following day..

It seemed that Denise and her mother talked for a couple of hours on the phone that evening and both were well prepared emotionally when the door opened. Not prepared enough it seems as Jane burst into tears as soon as she saw her now, daughter.

Tears faded into joy when Jane took a close look at Briony and saw how happy she was in her new rôle. Hugs and kisses followed for both Briony and Lawrence but hugs were painful so they were perhaps less intense than intended.

“I cannot understand how such a ghastly mistake can lead to you being so happy, and the commitment to providing me with another grandchild will be a blessing. I never see your sister’s children in New Zealand except by Zoom! and that is not the same for an old granny who struggles with the computer.”

“I will just accept it as a blessing in disguise. I now have three daughters.

“Lawrence, you are now also part of the family and whilst it is not a normal way of starting a long term relationship, I know that arranged marriages can be immensely successful. Marriage or just a long term relationship doesn’t matter. If there is a child then you will always be part of the family … and you may be interested to know that you are a third cousin once removed to Briony. I did manage to research that with some cousins. Far enough removed for healthy babies, but close enough for the tissue typing to be successful I understand.”

After the visitors had gone, Briony asked when she could meet Lawrence’s family. They live in North Wales but are coming down by train over the weekend and you will meet them then.

The days passed quite quickly. Briony’s reports were sent out and the various bandages and stitches were gradually removed. Neither had any sensation in their new organs as yet but Briony felt that the tissues around her breasts were a little sensitive, but it might have been her wishful thinking.

Lawrence’s first erection was cause for a celebration. Briony viewed it with mixed feelings as might be expected, but was delighted for her partner.

Amongst the last features of their surgery was the removal of the indwelling catheters and both were delighted to be able to wee in the normal fashion for their adopted gender.

It took three weeks before the surgical gowns were finally abandoned, and after six weeks both had a wardrobe of suitable clothing. Lawrence looked dapper in shirt and slacks for a 36” chest and a 32’ waist and Briony ended up with a 38D bust and a 34“ waist. Strangely their inside leg measurements were 31’ for them both.

Briony needed electrolysis hair removal on her face to feminise it, and Lawrence was overjoyed when he needed to start to shave.

When they were sitting together in their clinic suite a thought occurred to Briony. “I wonder what will happen to my golf handicap. I play off ten and have three friends who go on holiday with me to play. We have been to Spain, Portugal and Turkey so far. They are good friends, but I wonder if they can accept me in my new rôle?”

“I have never played golf, but I cannot imagine that the handicap system transfers directly from male to female. As regards the holidays, I would guess that it involves shared rooms and a fair bit of hard drinking on the 19th green as I think it is called.”

“Very true. Much as I enjoy their company I have no wish to have an orgy with them. We normally have a shared room to save on the cost. That isn’t going to work any longer. I think I need to contact them to explore what we can continue our friendship.”

“I suspect that any wives and girlfriends would be concerned if you tried to carry on as previously. Drink and sunshine can lower resolve, and regrettable as it is, it is usually down to the woman to fend off a friend who gets drunk and becomes a letcher. Even if they are grovelingly apologetic in the morning the deed is done and a friendship can disappear in that instant. I am convinced that you will have to renegotiate those friendships.”

“That is the first thing I have thought of that makes me sad.”

“Get your friends together and have a small reveal of the new you. Discuss it with them. Reach a solution if one is possible.”

That reminds me. We usually meet once a month at a pub in Chelsea for a get together. It is something of a ritual. I cried off the last one saying I wasn’t well. I shall get dressed up and go on Monday and see what happens.”

“Will you let them know that something unusual is going to happen?”

“I will just text to say that I am able to come, and to look out for me!”

“They will never recognise you.”

“That will be part of the fun. It will be a test of their friendship. If they are shocked and reject me as some sort of abomination, then that will be an answer to my question.

“ I will also sort out my membership at the golf club. There are waiting lists to get in, and they are different lengths for men and women. The sooner I broach that the better.”

Monday came and with Lawrence’s help I dressed conservatively, but well. Understated makeup and carefully done hair.

This wasn’t the time to get groped on the Tube so I resorted to a Black Cab that delivered me to the pub door.

“Have a nice evening m’duck was the taxi driver’s parting shot.”

Nerves nearly got the better of me as I walked into the bar and looked over to where we normally sat. Stephen and Giles were already there, waiting for Don and Brian. No time like the present.

“Hello, both. This the new me!”

If jaws could hit the floor then theirs did.

“Brian? is that you? Stephen managed to say.

“Yes all me. No false bits … fully functional female but game for an evening with my oldest friends.”

“But how? You look gorgeous. If it wasn’t for your voice I would never have known.”

“I will explain when Don gets here and I am now Briony, by the way”

“Looking like you do, the lest I can do is buy you a drink. Is your normal pint of Guinness or something more ladylike.”

“ I cannot cope with too much volume dressed like this, so I think it will have to be a glass of something sparkling. I think they do mini bottles of Prosecco here. That would be a good choice if you don’t mind.”

“A mini bottle of Prosecco coming up for the lady.”

It took an hour to explain what had happened to me and why it hadn’t been possible to give them any warning before the surgery.

The taxi I had ordered appeared promptly at 9pm.

“Taxi for Briony Cooke” was shouted from the bar.

“That is for me” as I hastened to the exit.

“Please consider how this change, however unintended, may affect our friendship. I do hope that it can continue in some form, but will accept whatever you decide.”

Stephen escorted me to the cab and gave me a hug and a chaste peck on the cheek. “You look gorgeous. I know Brian is in there somewhere, but I am astounded with the change in you. I would love to keep in touch even if the golf thing fizzles out.

“If the four of us are unable to meet for whatever reason then I would be delighted to play one-on-one.”

“I am well aware of your talents with the ladies, Stephen. I do not want to a be a notch on your tally stick of conquests. If it is a matter of playing mixed pairs with our combined handicaps, then I would be delighted, but I know you too well to want to get into the sack with you.”

“That’s a pity, but perhaps it is for the best.”

I am going out to the club tomorrow to get my membership sorted out, and see what can be done with my handicap. I hope I don’t have to prequalify from 36, or whatever the ladies starting point is. I am sure there must be a way of transferring.

I knew they would continue to drink until closing time at 11.15pm and hoped that I would be the topic of conversation. I knew that Don would be the problem. He had a very demanding wife who only let him out on a short leash. Going on holiday without her, with another woman would not happen.

The following day I met with the membership secretary of the golf club and the women’s captain. After pleasantries over coffee and a brief explanation, we got down to business,

“Whilst you are clearly a functional woman”, the secretary began, “ you still have the physique of the man you were. Your height, shoulder size, and reach are the same as they were before. As far as playing golf is concerned I really don’t think much has changed. We are happy to change your membership to female, but all our competitions are Open, meaning that women and men can play. Normally women don’t join in open competitions but here is no reason for you not to.”

“I think we need some extra data to allow you to play from the forward tees. Equally there is no evidence that your handicap should be any different until your playing demonstrates that this needs to be so. We will place a provision on you for this next year, in that you cannot play in women only competitions or as the female competitor in mixed pairs events. As you appreciate, you are unique and are likely to remain so; so there are no extant rules that can be applied. “

“We hope you will accept our decision, but there is a rule that allows you to appeal if you disagree.”

“I do appreciate that my circumstances are unique and I am minded to accept them as I do enjoy playing here and have many friends. I will expect to have a locker in the female locker room and use female facilities.”

“Yes, of course, that goes with the change of membership details.

I spoke to Lawrence when I got home. “I know that most relationships will change. My mother and sister are probably the exception. My employer will just make capital out of the situation before I step back into relative obscurity as one of the minions that make the newspaper work. I don’t want to remain newsworthy, or notorious for long. After that I hope things like golf can resume without any publicity and particularly any notoriety.”

“Do you know what is planned for the great reveal next week?”

“I think it is a pity you have chosen to remain in the background, but I respect your choice.”

“On Wednesday I get the works as far as manicure, pedicure, and hair styling. Then on Thursday the makeup team get to work before a drive to the venue. Lots of lights and several staff photographers. Selected journalists have been invited with an embargo in place for 24 hours. All will be given a press release outlining my transition. There will be a life sized image of me before the surgery and then me in the flesh as it were, but not too much flesh of course! It is supposed to be a scoop for the paper. After that there are interviews with several TV channels, and I understand that the interviews are to be syndicated. My feed from Social Media is going to be filtered to get rid of all the vile language I expect to receive from trolls and other social misfits who will think the interviews make me public property.”

“We must visit each other’s homes to start sorting out our belongings once the dust has settled.”

There was no problem in leaving the clinic during the day, but the staff wanted them to sleep there overnight and check them each morning.

Their first visit together was to Briony’s flat in Pimlico. No one had linked the occupant of the flat with the ephemeral personality seen on the News. There was a mountain of post in the hallway and they spent a morning bundling up her male clothing ready for a charity shop to take away. Nothing fit Lawrence so there was nothing that needed to be passed on to him. It was all too big.

Most of the post was junk mail. This was binned and the rest was plonked into a carrier bag and put ready to sort out back at the clinic.

When they left it the apartment was clean but with the windows closed for so long it seemed musty. As winter was approaching Briony left a small amount of heat on to prevent damage to the soft furnishings.

Lawrence’s room was in a shared household in North London, near Finsbury Park underground station. They walked hand in hand from the Tube to the house, content with each other’s company. How could two people who didn’t know each other pair off so successfully and share such extensive surgery?

Most of Lawrences’s clothes were too small for Briony but one or two bras had enough adjustment to fit, and the two spent a couple of hours trying on Lawrence’s wardrobe. He was sad to see some of his favourite garments go into a charity bag, but managed to keep all his favourite T-shirts and some elasticated sports shorts that were not too feminine.

They met Lawrence’s housemates when they came home from work and had a shared meal before returning to the clinic. One potential problem was that the HMO (House of Multiple Occupation) was designated as an all female household. The question arose as to whether Lawrence could remain.

Briony decided on the spur of the moment that she would like to share her apartment with Lawrence and it happened. Lawrence moved in and the room in the HMO was vacated for another girl to occupy.

And so, Lawrence and Briony came to share a bed and what intimacies that were possible.

As predicted, their nerves grew back slowly but surely and after some months they tried tentatively to make love. One gentle love making session became a regular event. Unlike most women, Briony was delighted to have her first period, but such events became ordinary and their two demanding jobs took them away from home too much of the time.

Lawrence came home shortly before Christmas with news. It was nearly a year since they had first met.

“I have been given a new, larger, area to report on. It is the whole of Northumbria and it will mean a move to Newcastle. I know this may be a shock to you, but you cannot be unaware that we have been slowly drifting apart largely through work pressures. I have also had some bad news. My sperm counts have been dropping over the last three tests. I am heading for complete sterility in the new year and there seems to be nothing that can be done about it. It seems to be a problem where the DNA in my normal cells with their XX genetic component are reimposing some control over the XY male genetics of my transplanted testicles … something to do with my pituitary gland. The process of reduction division is impeded. You received my ovaries with my complete compliment of egg cells from birth. They only have to mature once a month and your XY DNA in most cells does not seem to be interfering with that as far as we know.

“I have also found out through a Freedom of Information Request that our program has been terminated because they couldn’t find any more qualified candidates. Of the eight couples operated on, six had significant rejection problems and ended up with mutilated sex organs. One pair accepted the grafts but proved to be emotionally incompatible. I now have almost no sperm and there isn’t enough in store to provide even one course of IVF.”

“I am exercising the clause in my contract to leave after a year.”

“If you are to complete your contract and conceive so you do not have to repay the £30,000 to your employer, then you need to find a new man quickly. You will make a beautiful mother and apart from my own feelings in the matter, I think I would be cruel to stay here and thwart what have clearly become your needs and desires.”

And so it was. In a week Lawrence moved to Newcastle, and some months later Briony heard that he had moved in with a land agent who already had two teenage children, and had no interest in having any more. Lawrence’s impotence was a blessing to her.

Whilst Lawrence’s various revelations came as no real surprise on reflection, the event distressed Briony a great deal. After several tearful phone calls, Briony went for a few days visit to her sister in Kent. It meant sofa surfing it the one bedroom apartment Denise shared with her longtime boy friend Mike, but it was good for the two sisters to get some quality time together.

Mike and Denise could hear Briony sobbing herself to sleep in the lounge as she tried to get comfortable under a duvet on the sofa whilst quietening her troubled mind. They lay naked, as always, in their King Sized bed discussing in a whisper what they could to do to help. After some time it was agreed and Denise went out to her sister. The moonlight shone onto her naked body as she knelt down beside the sofa. The sisters went into each other’s arms. When Briony’s sobs had abated the sisters moved slowly into the bedroom where Mike waited. Denise lifted the sleeves of nightie Briony wore and it fell to the ground in a heap round her ankles.

Over the next hour Briony was touched and kissed everywhere. She reciprocated as far as she could, but Mike and Denise were expert lovers and Briony was loved in every crevice. It became almost incidental when Mike penetrated Briony with his tumescence, and in short order her cervix was bathed in his semen. The three lovers sank into sleep and the deed was done. Briony had the pregnancy that she desperately wanted and Mike and Denise had a lover for them to share for years to come.

Postscript

Mike attended Briony’s C-section as father of the child and her room was garlanded with flowers for the three days of her stay at the clinic. Denise and Jane were constant visitors, and Lawrence promised to be godfather, although he never turned up for the Christening. Diana took an almost proprietorial interest in baby Giles, and insisted in setting him up a trust fund for his education. The family in New Zealand found the whole thing too complicated to absorb fully over Zoom! Even with a Zoom! call there often needs to be something that can be touched.

When baby Giles was three months old the New Zealand family made a visit to see the new nephew and saw Briony’s joy at motherhood … and finally understood.

There are always consequences.

Chapter 1

Scrunched up legs of a well worn pair of jeans, a lab coat and a short boyish haircut of chestnut brown curls was all that one saw of Lisa from the back and there was not much more from the front except a round slightly freckled face with red cheeks and a perennial smile. Scruffy Converse and a long unkempt fringe completed her ensemble.

Lisa spent most of her waking hours at the lab. Her thoughts were exclusively on her research and when she did speak to others, the conversation was almost always about research topics.

She had become fascinated by the very complex reproduction of barnacles when she was still at school. How does an animal that is stuck firmly onto a rock reproduce? The story was stranger than fiction. No one could dream up such a scenario. Some barnacle species were hermaphrodite, some started male and ended up female and others were the other way round. Some barnacles had a penis that was up to eight times longer their body length! It was all very confusing and fascinating to a small group of biologists who studied them.

Lisa had just finished her doctorate on the reproduction of one species of barnacle, and now she had the title of Doctor of Philosophy. She was looking for more funding to continue her research. Post-doctoral studentships were hard to get and depended upon a professor having the funding to employ a number of researchers to help in their own specialism.

After many enquiries and applications there were obviously going to be no obvious avenues to more money and Lisa could see that she might have to look for work elsewhere. Eventually she saw a small advert in a scientific journal where a commercial company was funding research into the biochemistry of the glue that barnacles secreted to stick themselves to rocks. This glue was immensely strong and set quickly under sea water. It was hypothesised that it might be able to help wounds heal postoperatively and also to be a superior glue that might even replace Superglue or other Cyanoacrylates.

It wasn’t Lisa’s first choice, but at least it was working with barnacles, and could lead to some new research opportunities.

Previous applications meant that Lisa’s CV was already up to date, so she only had to write a letter of application and send them both off in the post.

After two weeks of anxious waiting watching her cash diminishing week by week, she received a reply. The Professor of biochemistry at a small University College in rural Wales wanted to meet her!

Three days later Lisa was on the train to the College and a brisk walk through damp streets in steady drizzle brought her to its gates. A porter rang through to the Professor and she was given directions to the Biochemistry Department and the professor’s office.

Small colleges in rural Wales didn’t warrant receptionists. When she rang the faculty doorbell it was the Professor who came to the door and let her in.

He introduced himself as Brian Drage, and he made her a cup of tea before she had a guided tour round the department and its tank room and various laboratories. It didn’t take long. There was a pair of teaching laboratories that were reasonably well stocked with familiar equipment, then there was a preparation room supervised by a technician. Finally there were a pair of smaller research laboratories with the tank room that held the stock of barnacles and their larvae. One bench that was about three metres long would be hers.

The department consisted of the Professor and two post-graduate students who were part way through their PhD studies. Jeff and William were enthusiastic to see Lisa, and posed as many questions as their boss over a lunch of sandwiches and cakes bought from a local supermarket. There was more tea of course.

Lisa had a chance to evaluate the three men. Brian was clearly the wrong side of fifty. His sandy coloured hair was thinning and he had a slight stoop from many hours in front of microscopes or other equipment. His clothes were nondescript and the lab coat had a few stains on it, but his eyes were full of vigour and his speech animated when he was discussing his research.

Jeff and William looked like rugby players. Stocky with muscled torsos, and wore the usual student uniform of jeans and a hoody. Both had been undergraduates at the College and had been completed Master’s degrees before starting their research. They were a bit over the top with their enthusiasm, but Lisa thought that they had been primed be on their best behaviour and only said good things about the College.

When the undergraduate students were on holiday, the team was only these three plus Wendy, the technician, who kept them all in order, and Sam a secretary, who worked mostly for the Welsh language faculty, but did a bit of typing for the biochemists when she couldn’t avoid it.

An hour later Lisa and Brian settled down in his office in two easy chairs to discuss her application. Lisa had worn her one and only skirt for the interview and she folded it carefully under her as she sat in the chair on the opposite side of a coffee table from Brian.

Brian, had obviously read an online copy of her thesis, and had already asked for a reference from her PhD supervisor in London. He went through her thesis with the thoroughness that was expected during her final viva voce for the doctorate, but after nearly an hour he went on to the work the team were doing and how he thought Lisa could fit in.

She was content to hear that they were working on the ‘glue’ of a common species of barnacle that was easily available from the Irish Sea. She had already decided that she would accept the offer of a Post-doctoral studentship if it were offered. It was the best, and only, offer she had had, after all.

The final question was about the Welsh language. The College taught all its science subjects in English, but encouraged all the students to speak Welsh. It was the standard language at social events in the college. Lisa would have the opportunity to learn Welsh with many of the Undergraduates and with a bit of uncertainty she said that she would give it a go.

It was a bit of a shock when Brian ended his questions with …

“… and when can you move here?”

“I need to give a month’s notice for my accommodation in London, but would be able to move here any time after that. My tenure at the University is almost over and most of my teaching commitments will be completed by the end of the spring term.”

“Then I should like to offer you the position.”

Chapter 2

Lisa, almost did a double take and wondered if she had misheard.

“Yes, I would be delighted to accept the post.” she managed to say, whilst her heart was all a-flutter.”

“Then I will expect to see you in post at the start of the summer term. The College will provide you with accommodation in a block of post-graduate apartments. The flats are not brilliant, but will do until you decide if you want to have your own place.”

It might be supposed that making an appointment with such pragmatism would be unusual, but even more to her surprise, Brian opened a drawer on his side of the desk and drew out a large manilla envelope.

“This is a contract for your appointment giving all the details about salary, and suchlike. Please read through the contract now. You may sign one copy of it now, and keep the other, but if you want someone else to check the contract then please return the signed copy by registered mail within 48 hours.”

“Would you like another cup of tea while you do that?”

Lisa read the contract. It was standard fare, and Lisa had no problem with signing it. She returned one copy of the contract to Brian and the rest of the envelope was folded in half and put carefully into her backpack with her overnight things.

“I will see you on 12th April here. The porters will have a badge for you that will allow you to get into this building. You will need either a drivers licence or a passport to prove your identity when you arrive.”

“Inside the envelope is a series to web page references to papers the team here has published. I would like you to have read all those papers before you arrive.”

“I think I have probably read them whist preparing for this interview, but I shall refresh my memory before I take up the post.”

“Have you a way to get back to your hotel?”

“Yes, it is only a few hundred yards away. I shall be back to London on the train early tomorrow morning.”

“I will take you to see Wendy on the way out. She provides all the staff with lab coats and deals with the laundering of them. She will need your sizes. Then I shall escort you to the door before wishing you a safe journey home.”

Chapter 3

Lisa was overjoyed to have been successful. There was no one to share her excitement. Even here parents would say something like “That is nice, dear.” without really having any idea what Lisa did or where she was going to be working. “

The rain had stopped as she walked back to the hotel, so before dark she had a walk round the town. There were all the usual supermarkets, and a fair few pubs and bars to cater for the undergraduates whilst they were in residence, but she thought that the residents had seen that the weather was on the cold side and there was more rain threatened so she assumed that they were sitting in front of the TV.

The hotel only provided Bed and Breakfast, so she was looking for somewhere to get an evening meal. A friendly cafe took her fancy, but she noted that it closed at 6pm. She didn’t need to eat after the biscuits that came with the cups of tea, but the cafe was the best bet for a meal, so she steeled herself for an early meal.

She was greeted by a “Hello, dear.” The woman was comfortably shaped with short blond hair and a spreading stomach and a capacious bosom. The woman clearly expected her to speak English. Perhaps there was something undefinable that the locals would see in a Welsh speaker.

“What can I get you?

Lisa looked down the short list of largely fried food and chose something she could tolerate. The woman brought the plate over after her husband had cooked it on a griddle.

As the woman plonked the food down with yet another cup of tea she asked, “What brings you here well before the tourist season?”

“I came for an interview at the College. Now I will be moving here in the next few weeks.”

“Good for you. I hope we will see more of you once you are in here full time. I am Carys, by the way, and my husband is Bryn. It is quiet during the College holidays but during term time we are rushed off our feet.”

“What do tourists come here for?”

“Mostly for the walking. There are a number of disused railway lines that are easy to walk along the old cinder track bed, then there is some boulder climbing and a few derelict castles to explore. We also get lovelorn boyfriends or girlfriends of students who stay for a few days then go home.

“Good to meet you.” Lisa replied as she swallowed a mouthful of eggs and bacon a bit more quickly than she would normally have done.

The tea was hot and strong. It helped to wash down the eggs and bacon, but it was much stronger than she was used to. What my Mum used to call Builder’s Tea.

“This tea will take a bit of getting used to”, she thought to herself.

Set up for the evening, Lisa returned to the Bed and Breakfast and logged onto the Internet and read several of the published Papers Brian had insisted she read. She had read them before but she was now rather better motivated as she had a purpose. Later she gave the necessary month’s notice to her landlord, and informed her University of her new post. Finally she researched a self storage place in the town and booked a small unit for a month’s time. Finally she booked a ‘Man with a Van’ service to carry both her and her belongings to Wales.

“That is as much as I can do tonight” she said aloud to no one in particular.

The TV was boring as usual. The B&B didn’t subscribe to a streaming service so she got ready for bed, and the bandwidth was only enough for emails and downloading an occasional pdf.

Sleep was some time in coming, but eventually she drifted off until the smell of cooking breakfasts roused her at 8am.

Chapter 4

A quick shower and a change of clothes into her normal jeans and sweatshirt took 20 minutes, then it was down to make the best of the breakfast. With luck, the hearty fry-up would keep her fed until she got home after nearly five hours on the train.

She drifted down to the station for a 10:15 departure. The train seemed to stop at each minute halt on its way to Birmingham, but Lisa had much to think about. The research on the adhesives secreted by barnacles was beginning to appeal to her. The biochemistry of the ‘glue’ had been researched but was eclipsed by the work done on the attachment of byssus threads made by Molluscs, like Mussels.

She felt that the chemicals that secreted by some species of barnacles to modify the gender of neighbouring barnacles may have something to do with the glue. After all if a large female barnacle could prevent surrounding barnacles from changing to female, then there had to be a chemical communication between them. What the large female barnacle died or finished making eggs, then the chemical, whatever it was, lessened and one or more of the larger males became females and the circle started again, but many barnacle species were both sexes at the same time, or males were only found as pygmies that lived close to a female. It was all very complex and interesting.

She was also interested in the fact that the larvae were released into the sea and by chance found a place to attach. Most of them attached near other barnacles, so how did they sense that their journey through the seas was over and they could mature there. Lisa knew that barnacles and their larvae have a variety of sense organs including a sensitivity to light and touch, but there needed to be the ability to react to complex chemicals in the seawater.

So involved was she with her thoughts that the train had been stationary in Birmingham station for several minutes before she realised that she had reached the halfway point in her journey. With only twelve minutes before the London train left, she was hard pressed to cross from one platform to the other and had to jog whilst dodging other passengers who all seemed to be towing suitcases and carting small children.

The Internet access on the Intercity train was much better than on the rural service, and Lisa could actively research whether anything had been published on the stimuli that caused the barnacle’s cyprid larvae to settle and to change into the adult form. Whilst the research was ongoing, it was clear that there was room for further studies into what it was that made those barnacles that had separate genders, adopt one gender or the other or when to change from one gender to the other.

At the end of the journey Lisa strode through the terminus and boarded a Central Line tube with her head spinning with ideas. She had to force her brain into neutral once she remembered that she had no food at home and the fridge was empty.

She made a quick trip round the mini market making purchases that needed little thought and even less, cooking, and she was on her way again.

Within a hour she was in her bed sitting room surrounded by books and articles. A TV microwaved dinner sat beside her, half eaten. She cursed when the phone rang. It was only her PhD supervisor ringing to congratulate her on her appointment.

Lisa tried not to be abrupt, but was irritated when the professor asked her so many questions about the new college and what she would be doing there.

As soon as she rang off she found she had confirmation from the letting agent and the ‘Man-with-a-Van’. She had had confirmation from the Storage Company online, when she had sent a deposit.

Finally she read through the pack she had been given. She had to confirm that she would like a room in the post-graduate flats. As soon as she had logged into the college site and had put in the password that was included in the pack, she was taken to the accommodation pages. When she had acknowledged that she would like accommodation the system allocated her a room on the second floor of an accommodation block. She could see a plan of the accommodation with the ensuite shower room. It was small, but adequate for her needs for the time being.

Chapter 5

Content that she had done everything that she could for that day, she showered and slipped into a comfortable t-shirt and a pair of knickers, lay down under her duvet and went to sleep.

Lisa’s night was troubled by plans and other thoughts and by 6am she was up, dressed and ready to go. Unfortunately the department at the University did not open until 8am so she killed time by reading or re-reading more of the documents that had been highlighted.

It was clear that there was very active research into the very powerful glue the barnacles used to attach themselves to rocks or other surfaces. Synthetic versions of the glue were being trialed with high expectations of commercial success. The glue was largely protein and it was suspended in oily material that kept water out whilst it set.

The oil was only a small part of the glue and it disappeared after the glue had set. Lisa’s interest was peaked by this. Any hormone that affected gender would be more likely to dissolve in the oil layer and it seemed that little research had been carried out on the oil component of the glue.

Lisa had to serve the two weeks notice she had to give to the University, but she spent most of the time preparing for her new job. Extracting oils from tissues were very different from extracting proteins and she could only expect minute amounts could be collected. If they contained hormones, then the amounts would be tiny indeed, but methods did exist and she could practice on the stock of barnacles in the University. The most obvious method was to use bioassay. Take a mixture and treat some barnacles with it and see what happened, then take a part of that mixture and see if the reaction was stronger with one fraction rather than another. Continue until only one part or fraction remained, then analyse just this refined part.

In fact it only seemed a short time before her collection of belongings were packed in stout cardboard boxes, and both she and they were being driven down the motorways to her new College in Wales. After a short break to unload most of her belongings in the Self Store, she was deposited in the College accommodation and left to sort herself out.

Chapter 6

The rest of the day was spent unpacking and making a visit to a local supermarket for the basics, then she had dinner at the cafe she had visited when she came for interview. Carys remembered her from before and when the cafe was quiet came and chatted for a few minutes.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here. There is lots to do. We have a good pub culture and the cinema, then there are a variety of social events and live music.”

“I am not really into the social life of a place. Most social events have me yawning with boredom. My life is devoted to my studies and that is really all that motivates me.”

“No boyfriends?”

“None that have stood the test of time.”

Carys smiled. “I don’t reckon it is good to study all the time. I like to have a good natter to customers and then like to sit in front of the telly of an evening.”

“I am happy to chat, but when I have got stuck in to my work here, I expect that meals will be grabbed when I can.”

“We shall be happy to see you when your work allows, of course, but what makes a young woman become so interested in barnacles?”

“They have such a large impact on shipping, and their uses in surgery and healing wounds is very important and of course, their lives are so bizarre as to be utterly fascinating. I am sure that I would bore you silly, if I go into the details, but the more one studies the group the more extraordinary they become. To me at least.”

Carys drifted off as customers arrived.

Lisa ate up, and paid as she left the cafe.

The following morning she arrived at the porter’s lodge as instructed and presented her passport. She was photographed and in a matter of minutes a new plastic ID card dropped into a slot at the side of the machine. A lanyard in the College colours was added and she was on her way with a map of the College campus.

The door to the biochemistry department opened without any problem and she was able to greet Wendy in her domain, the Preparation Room. A plastic pack of laboratory coats and safety goggles were waiting and Lisa only had to rip open the bag, put on a lab coat with the College crest on it, put the folded goggles into her top pocket and she was ready to announce that she was ready.

Not so fast, was Wendy’s comment.

“Your locker is number 28, down the corridor. This is the key. Don’t lose it. It will be a £10 fine if it has to be replaced!”

“Next, please note that I am the only one allowed in here. Today I will fulfil any equipment or chemical requisition dockets you submit, but normally they have to be submitted by 4pm on the day before you need something. You will also need to become familiar with the booking system for large bits of equipment such as the Ultra-centrifuges or electron microscopes and, of course you need to book time on the College mainframe computer. All this is explained in the folder I have for you here. It also contains all the Health and Safety protocols for this department and the College. You will need to sign that you have both received them and have read them by the end of this week.”

“Finally, there is a Faculty meeting at 9:30 with Brian and the Postgrads to decide who is doing what for the next few weeks. That will be in his office.”

Lisa drifted off to the laboratory that would be where she would work for the next several years. Jeff was already there making readings from a gas chromatograph as it separated volatile chemicals.

Seeing Jeff there, Lisa asked about the focus of his research.

“I am learning how to simulate the glues used by barnacles.”

“Isn’t that a rather crowded field? There seem to be lots of teams trying to do that.”

“Yes, it is crowded, but each species of barnacle has a unique formula for its glue. I am looking at the glue used by Goose-neck barnacles. No one else is doing that as far as I know. Most research is devoted to the Acorn barnacle because of its ubiquitous distribution and ease of harvesting from beaches almost anywhere.”

“Aren’t goose-neck barnacles rather difficult to get hold of?”

“We have a population of them in our tanks. Yes they are difficult to get from the wild, and expensive, but I only use a small number in my research so the tanks supply my needs.”

“How do you collect the glue?”

“When the larvae are ready to mature the glue is secreted. At that point it can be dissolved off using a solvent and the gas chromatograph can separate the various components. It is old school technology, but the glue doesn’t set until exposed to sea water and to do that the protective oil has to disperse.”

“I am hoping to analyse the oil as my first research topic. I am hoping it will contain a variety of hormones that allow the barnacle larvae to find the right place to stick to.”

“Good luck with that. The quantities are minute.”

“I think I have identified a solvent that will not dissolve the glue, but will dissolve the oil that normally covers it. I will be dealing with micrograms of material, and if there are any hormones dissolved in the oil, those will only be obtainable in nanogram quantities. This research would not have been possible when I did my first degree, but so much work has been done using techniques developed to track down criminals from tiny samples of hair, skin or various body fluids that my intended research is now viable.”

“How do you get on with the undergraduates?”

“Fine, as a PhD student I can only be a demonstrator in the labs, but I understand that you will be doing a bit of lecturing, to reduce the load on Brian.”

“Yes, that is the bit I find most daunting.”

“They are a good group for the most part. I think they know you are new to the job, and will not give you too much stick as long as they think they are getting value for money.”

“How many are there in the group?”

“Usually about sixteen. The main teaching lab only has space for that number. The biochemistry and microbiology courses do not start until their second year. Are you involved in teaching the core first year courses?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe in a future year?”

“I know Brian has had an application for a research studentship from a girl who is completing a masters degree in Marine biology. She has submitted a proposal to study the Giant Acorn Barnacle, Balanus nubilus. If she can be funded, and we can maintain a colony of those Pacific monsters, you may have your first student to supervise.”

“That is an interesting thought, but rather than a post-doctoral studentship, I think I would need a lectureship to supervise PhD students.”

“I think your post-doc is only like a probationary period. There is a vacancy for a full lectureship in the faculty. If everything works out I have little doubt that it will be offered to you.”

“That would be a nice thought, but nothing has been mentioned so far.”

“I must stop chatting as I have to take a set of readings before the meeting.”

“Of course, I will see you at there.”

Chapter 7

Lisa wandered off to her locker and put on her starched lab coat.

“Start as you mean to go on.” she said to herself, and popped her protective goggles into the breast pocket.

“Good morning everyone, the main purpose of the meeting is to go through all the things you hope to do this term. William and Jeff will know that this means that all your needs have to be costed to see if we can afford for you to do the research. Lisa, you are expected to carry out original research and to publish perhaps two articles a year in a learned journal. We will talk about your academic referees later.”

Lisa had thought out the first stage in her research.

“I don’t want to alter the lipids in the barnacles so some of the standard extraction methods are not useable. I thought that she would use the tried and tested method of two direction thin layer chromatography of samples of liquidised barnacle tissue to see which part of the liquid retained its water repelling function, and then to see if this lipid extract could have an effect on gender differentiation in other barnacles.”

“That sound positive. I am sure we can supply the TLC equipment and materials, and you can either use the stock barnacles, or collect your own from the beach.”

Lisa listened attentively to Jeff’s enthusiastic outline for his ongoing research. He was interested in the stimuli that attracted the barnacles to fertilise the eggs hidden away inside the larger female individuals. These were in the female part of their lifecycle. His enthusiasm was infectious and the group saw several videos Jeff had taken where groups of barnacles could be seen to extend their very long penises and thrash about in search of individuals carrying eggs. It was already known that the penises could be up to ten times as long as the barnacle’s body and the end of the penis was covered in hairs that could ‘smell’ the barnacles in their female phase. The penises steered unerringly towards their goal even when the stimulus was an artificial one. Some chemicals were found to be super attractors! Brian was fulsome in his praise for the results Jeff was getting. Soon Jeff would be at the stage to begin the challenging task of writing up his thesis.

William was quiet during the meeting. He was a front row rugby forward and his bulky form meant that he seemed to perch rather uncomfortably on the upright chair in Brian’s office. He answered Brian’s questions but without much enthusiasm. Apparently his research into the very common group of parasitic barnacles involved Sacculina, a barnacle that infects shore crabs and grows almost fungus-like throughout the body of the crab. The parasite sterilises both host genders, and male crabs become feminised. Both genders nurture the eggs and larvae of the parasite rather than any eggs of their own. He was struggling to find a novel approach in a very well researched field.

“You know that Sacculina can infect up to 25% of all swimming crabs, and an infected crab was no use to the crab meat industry, so controlling the numbers of infections so I thought that it would be a good topic, but there is no commercial interest in controlling Sacculina. Both host and parasite are closely related so any drug that kills Sacculina would likely also kill the host crab.”

It was a difficult area to study and William was finding the topic heavy going. In well fed crabs, the parasite would release batches of eggs at about ten day intervals. William had hoped that one of the larval forms would be unable to find the host crab if it could follow a trail of some chemical or other, but he hadn’t found any chemical yet.

Brian continued to talk to William after the faculty meeting had wound up. Lisa could see that neither were happy with the outcome but she made a Bee-line to the coffee machine.

As nothing from Lisa’s requisition would be available until the following day, she spent the rest of the day online, building up a picture of research that had been published to date, and there was a lot of it to get through. The potential for industrial glues that set under water was huge, and large organisations were throwing money at the task. What wasn’t being done was anything to do with the oil being a carrier for hormones that influenced or controlled gender differences in the animals. There seemed to be very little of commercial value in such knowledge.

Later Lisa went to look at the tanks. Whilst most barnacles are sequentially hermaphrodite. That is they are male then female, or vice versa ,but there are some species where the males are much smaller than the females and are called dwarf males. Any normal sized barnacles will be female in these species.

Chapter 8

The following day Lisa prepared a crude sample of female barnacle tissue and after some basic separation using a centrifuge and filters, she infused the liquid into the shell of a small number of other barnacles.

Lisa, Jeff and William had seemed to be on good terms at the beginning, but during the Faculty meeting, Lisa had noticed that whilst Jeff remained interested and animated towards her, William was quiet and seemed morose. She couldn’t think why.

“Why is William so reserved?” she asked Jeff when William was out of the laboratory.

“His doctorate is not going well. He has already had half of the three years he has been funded and has very little to show for it. I think he was hoping to get the lectureship I assume is earmarked for you, but without a PhD he is not eligible.”

Lisa thought about the situation and didn’t come up with any way she could help William without it seeming patronising. By this time she was getting some positive results from the oil extractions and decided to change to column chromatography to collect more oil based chemicals.

When the separated fractions were put into the cavity of male barnacles, the result was variable but one particular fraction seemed to give excellent results where all the barnacles went from their male phase to female.

Unfortunately, things started to go wrong. The column chromatography needed to be left for 24 hours to work. One time the electric motor of the fraction collector stopped working and all the mixture flooded just one tube and didn’t separate as it should have done, then the mixture of ground up barnacles became contaminated. Finally a flask of extract appeared to have been left out of the refrigerator over the weekend and had rotted.

“Jeff, I don’t understand it. I might have one bit of bad luck, but to lose nearly three weeks work over errors that I am sure I did not make is galling.”

“I know you are very thorough, and I agree that it would be most unlike you to make any of those mistakes, let alone all three.”

Lisa hatched a plan. She bought a tiny camera that she could hide amongst the variety of reagent bottles in her space. The camera was linked to the College network where she could record whatever was happening in the lab overnight.

Lisa went through the same procedures to repeat the experiments that had failed, and left the chromatogram running overnight. In the morning it was clear that the mixture had been turned into a gel using something like perchloric acid. The experiment was ruined.

When the lab was quiet, she removed the camera. The recording showed that William had come into the lab late in the evening. He had clearly been drinking and had added the perchloric acid he used in his experiments to Lisa’s flask. There was no sound on the recording but it didn’t take a lip reader to see that he mouthed ‘Fuck you bitch’ when adding the acid that would clot the mixture. But that was not all. As he wandered unsteadily round the lab he spilled some of Lisa’s extract on his hands and instead of washing them immediately he wiped them on his trousers and it soaked his front.

Lisa was shocked. Why was William doing this to her. Why was he so bitter?

She forwarded the relevant part of the video to Brian and went in to work as usual, until Brian called her in to his office.

“This is a most serious matter. I have never before had a situation where a student has deliberately damaged the work of another member of the College. Have there been any difficulties between you and William that I should know about?”

“None whatsoever. As you may have noticed, he has always been aloof and Jeff has said that he is less chatty with him since my arrival.”

“I have noticed that the eczema and acne that plague him have been worse lately. That can be a sign of stress. Can you think that there is anything that is making him stressed?”

“I have no idea, but the state of his research would certainly be stressful. As I understand it, he could lose his funding and not get his doctorate.”

“That is true. It is no secret that things are not going well.”

“I will call on you if needed, but please continue as normal with your research. I must go and confer with the Dean of our faculty to decide how to proceed. If William appears before I am back please ignore him and please do not chat with Jeff about this.”

William appeared about 11am with obvious signs of a hangover.

He sat on a lab stool doing very little except taking a surreptitious glance over at Lisa from time to time.

Apart from nodding to him when he arrived, she ignored him, but it was clear that William was fascinated, even besotted with his hands!

About 1pm, Brian came into the lab and asked William to come with him for a chat in his office. William did not know that the Dean, and two other members of the disciplinary committee were already sitting in the office.

The meeting was short. The recording was played and rather to everyone’s surprise William admitted the offences. He seemed euphoric. The committee wondered if her was mentally unwell, but he insisted that they looked at his hands.

I have no eczema on my hands after last night. It is a miracle. I have had severe eczema since I was a child, now, overnight, it has been cured. That extract I spilled has cured me. I even rubbed it onto my cheek. My acne is much better there. I soaked my front with the mixture as well.

The Committee looked at each other.

“Please take a seat outside and we will discuss this further and call you in when we are ready.”

The committee saw that Lisa’s mixture seemed to have the potential for a huge medical gain. The kudos of the department and the College would be incalculable, and would also make Lisa’s name in medical sciences World. If William’s revelation was reproducible. It could solve one of humanity’s tribulations.

“We cannot expel him from the University until the results have been verified, also we cannot expel him until it is clear that there has been no failure in our duty of care.”

In fact William had not bothered to wait for the Committee to expel him. As his head cleared he knew exactly how Lisa had prepared her samples and how to purify them. The process could be replicated on a kitchen table and then he could claim a miracle cure for Acne and Eczema, or sell the process to one of the major drug houses for millions.

Within minutes of leaving the office, William had cleared his space in the lab and his locker and was driving out of the little town that housed the College. For the first time in his recent memory his hands didn’t itch. He was overjoyed.

Two hours later and he reached the large house of his elderly mother. He had a small apartment in what used to be the attic. He used the apartment very little, and the stairs were too difficult for his mother to climb easily so he would be on his own there.

Two hours after his arrival he had sent an order for everything he needed to process the barnacles and repeat Lisa’s experiments. He was promised delivery within 48 hours.

At the same time, Lisa had been called into the office. Once it was realised that William had left of his own accord, the rest of the disciplinary committee left. The Dean was on the phone to the College lawyers to see if the College had any liability for William’s skin changes.

Chapter 9

Brian, Lisa and Jeff met to discuss the situation.

“Willam has left of his own accord. He knows exactly how the preparation he spilled was made, and it seems that it has cured his chronic acne and eczema overnight. This is one of those serendipitous moments in science which can provide a means to alleviate a huge amount of human suffering. It is on a par with Alexander Fleming’s chance discovery of Penicillin in my opinion.”

“I think it is likely that William will repeat your experiments, Lisa and claim the discovery for himself. or get some basic results then make the extract and sell it through online sales. It would take years for a large drug house to manufacture and then evaluate the extract to comply with safety procedures, but given a big enough payout he might also sell the process to a large pharmaceutical company.”

“Our options are to step up production of the fraction by getting a technician to help you, Lisa, and then rush out a preliminary paper to the scientific press and even to the general press. Reporters will soon pick up the story from the scientific press anyway.”

“Alternatively, we can release the story that a research student has been expelled for stealing the research of another researcher. That might stop a large pharmaceutical company, but if it proves to be a medical success it will only stop them for a while. Money and truth only go hand-in-hand for as long as it is financially desirable.”

“In the meantime I suggest that we put an advert in the local papers asking for volunteers to have a small square of affected skin treated with the extract, and then evaluate the results. We have a small budget for expenses for trials volunteers. The trial would have to be passed by the ethics committee initially, and the blind trial supervised by someone from outside this faculty.”

Lisa replied “I think that is the best way forward. I don’t think I am going to earn millions from this discovery, but I would obviously like my discovery to be credited to me and this department rather than be stolen by William.”

“The advantage we have is that no reputable scientific journal would publish a revelation like this without peer referencing, and the article would normally be published under my name as primary author.”

“So … Cathy, a senior technician in the chemistry department will be here in a few minutes. She has signed a confidentiality clause that has been added to her contract. Your equipment will be doubled by this afternoon.”

“Lisa, I expect you to brief Cathy in everything you need her to do during so you are up and running tomorrow morning. The ethics committee has been asked to meet at 2pm and I will go to that meeting and explain the situation and ask for a limited blind trial of up to fifty adult volunteers who will have a 5cm square of skin treated.”

“Jeff. Your PhD is the most important thing for you and you are so close that you need to concentrate on writing up your thesis. There is a small office in the Physics department that is not used at present. I have arranged that you may use it to write up your thesis there as this lab is likely to be getting quite busy for the time being. Your bench here will be yours for as long as you need it of course.”

Chapter 10

William was planning. He also knew that time as of the essence. He had found a scraper in the garage left over after his late father’s efforts with DIY, and went out and bought two large buckets to collect the barnacles. Luckily for him, he only had to drive a couple of miles to get to a suitable rocky shore that had huge numbers of the animals plastered over the rocks.

He got in food enough for a couple of weeks at a local supermarket and went home to see his mother who had wondered why he was home in the middle of a term. She knew little of the academic life, and was happy to see him whilst he ‘did some writing of his thesis’.

He had to endure watching a soap opera on tv with his mother before he could escape upstairs, but until the equipment arrived there was little he could do.

The equipment and chemicals arrived the following morning as promised and William set up the blender and separation vessels in a few minutes. The next stage was the preparation of the chromatography column. This would take time to do properly and he made sure that he did not cut corners.

When all was ready there was still daylight enough to collect the two buckets of the correct species of barnacles, and these were processed in the blender, and then filtered to get rid of the bits that were not of interest.

A separating funnel was used to extract the small amount of oil from the barnacle remains and this was fed into the chromatography column.

When a fraction collector was put underneath to collect the samples as they were washed out of the column he had to leave everything to work overnight.

In the morning the fraction collector had done its work. There were rings of tubes in the collector. Each tube had collected the drops of liquid that emerged from the column every fifteen minutes. William knew that the important fraction would take about seven hours to emerge and he was pleased to see that this fraction was cloudy, as it should be.

In his moment of ecstasy he took this small vial and rubbed the oily liquid into the area of pustules and abraded dry skin on his hairy chest between his nipples. Within minutes he could feel that the soreness was dissipating, and on looking in the mirror he could see that the area was less inflamed than usual.

Emboldened, he took what remained of the sample and the samples either side of it, then labelled them and put them in the fridge he normally kept his beer in!

The separation column had to be cleaned and the fraction collector also. This took the best part of an hour, but there was plenty of time to collect some more barnacles from the rocks before nightfall.

Sleep did not seem to be a priority to William, he was in a euphoric state. All his sense of failure had evaporated. He would show the College staff and Brian how good he could be when he earned his first million selling the Acne and Eczema cure, but how to get an unproven product onto the market?

The Internet came to his aide. He would sell the extract suspended in a base cream as a simple skin product which may help skin conditions but guaranteed nothing. He knew that sufferers of severe acne or eczema would clutch at straws for a cure. Sample wipes infused with the extract would be sent out for the cost of the postage and could be used to treat a small test area for safety, and the cost would be recouped when buyers came back for larger jars of the mixture.

The following day, William had designed a simple card folder for his product. He made no claims. It just said

‘Skin Cream’.
Apply to a small area of affected skin about 5cm square to test for safety.
Results should be apparent within 48 hours.’

He also bought 100 small, but strong zip lock polythene bags that were guaranteed to hold liquids, and 100, 3”x4” card backed envelopes that would go through the post easily.

In the first 24 hours after he advertised the product on eBay, he had 53 requests for samples. It had taken just three weeks after leaving the College to get them sent out. The polythene bags contained about a teaspoon of ointment with a small amount of extract dissolved in it. The envelopes did not look or feel squishy and the local post office accepted them all without question.

That afternoon William needed to process some more barnacles, and prepare for more requests. He had to drive to a nearby town for more card envelopes, but as expected there were many more requests for samples.

He stayed up late into the night to get them all prepared and labelled.

The local post office were delighted to see him again. They had been under threat of closure because of lack of business and 100 extra packages all helped to support their demand to stay open.

In the euphoria of the success of his venture, William had not been looking after himself. He ate too much processed food and slept too little. If the truth be known, he was getting rather smelly. He did not notice that the small bunch of hair on his chest had fallen out since he applied the cream there. He also found that his nipples itched a bit, but he was used to bits of his body itching. He had, after all, had eczema for many years where everything itched what ever he did.

Chapter 11

Lisa and Cathy had replicated all the experiments compromised by William. They had a small store of extract held in small vials and stored in liquid nitrogen.

The ethics committee had authorised a limited trial of up to 50 adult volunteers, and adverts were placed in local newspapers offering a small fee for any adults with eczema or acne to allow the team to apply the solution to an area no more than 5cm in a square.

There was no shortage of applicants and 25 were chosen at random to have the treatment, and another 25 had a similar liquid applied that had no extract of the barnacles added.

Every day for a fortnight, the applicants were expected to photograph the area of skin and send the images to the team at the college.

All the images were collated by members of the College who administered the blind trial, so Lisa had no idea how the trial was proceeding.

A week after the trial had ended the trial results were released to a small group of researchers from Lisa and Brian’s department and also the ethics team. An invited team of clinicians from the local teaching hospital had also been asked to attend.

All the volunteers who had received the extract showed an improvement in the condition of their skin, but the improvement in some was seen as miraculous. They were all men and they had a square patch of healthy skin on their forearms surrounded by eczematous skin. In these men the body hair had fallen out but the team were ecstatic with the results even though the hair loss was noted. There was no improvement in the volunteers who had received the placebo, and the results with women were certainly less spectacular.

The clinicians agreed to carry out a follow up study of the 25 treated volunteers, and had the resources to carry out a much bigger trial using their skin clinic patients who agreed. They were also able to apply the extract to the faces and other parts of the volunteers that required them to undress.

Brian and Lisa had already prepared a preliminary report to be submitted for publication, and the two of them spent most of the evening completing the report with the new results. The journal that was going to print the astounding report and get the scoop as a result, was holding up publication until the report was ready. Brian sent the report off by email just before midnight. The referees had been forewarned that a major story was going to break and had read and accepted the report for peer review by 10am the next day, and then the presses rolled.

Unusually, the owner of the publication released an abstract of the article immediately onto their website. Within a day, the Press had gathered at the College asking for interviews with anyone who would talk to them.

Brian and Lisa were interviewed with a College representative present. They was very careful to say that the results were preliminary and safety trials and efficacy trials were only just beginning, but that the results were very encouraging. It would, in any event take several years before a commercial product would be able to be produced with all the safety protocols in place and manufacture in industrial quantities would take time.

Chapter 12

William could not be unaware that the News story was breaking, but knew that bureaucracy moves slowly and he probably had a couple of years to reap a profit from his theft before it became worthless.

He found that he could process four buckets of barnacles a day. The blender took an hour, then filtering through glass wool took little time. The crude extract was added to a large separating funnel with a solvent for oils, and with care he could get 200ml of oily extract from 50 litres of loose barnacles.

The separation column gave just 20ml of active liquid and he only added 1% of the active liquid to the cream base before sending out the samples.

1% seemed to be sufficient strength as his face was clearing up. Even the scars left from years of acne seemed to be improving and he was pleasantly surprised that he seemed to need to shave less often. Shaving with advanced acne had always been a painful experience and he had had a beard for some years until the cream he had been prescribed clogged the beard hair up.

After three weeks, requests for larger quantities of 1% cream started to come in. He charged £30 for a small screw top jar that contained 10ml of the cream.

Within a month William had three separation columns working every night. A £30 jar of cream was netting him £24 in profit, and he was making a very healthy income. All the comments from customers were full of praise, but he still made no overt claims about the product.

After six weeks he left eBay behind as his contact details were becoming known on the web, but he was working nearly 20 hours a day. He did notice that his skin was clear of redness and scars after about a month, and that the area round his nipples was getting puffy but he was too engrossed in his work to take much heed of it.

A reader might wonder how he could not notice that his penis had shrunk. After all he used it several times a day! … but William was filled with the sense of his own power, even his omnipotence at having put one over on the College. What would have been blindingly obvious to anyone else was ignored by William.

Letters came in after several more weeks questioning the loss of hair and redistribution of body fat in men with acne.

William ignored them and continued to send out his product as fast as he could make it.

It was when he started to get orders from men who wanted to transition to women that he took notice. Looking on the internet for the first time in days he could see that people undergoing transitions were using his cream to enhance their breast development and to aid hair loss.

Even then he did not notice that some of his clients had not signed up for feminisation and had gone to lawyers to claim compensation for their loss of manhood.

It was only when the first of several writs landed on his mother's doormat that he took notice, and it was only a few days later that the first reporter knocked on his mother's front door. Her mobility was poor and she struggled to get to the door and was bemused by the three reporters standing there with their tablets at the ready to record interviews.

As his mother was too elderly to get up the stairs, she made the reporters a cup of tea, and told them about William’s childhood and how he was writing up his PhD thesis upstairs. They were then invited to go upstairs and ask him their questions.

By the time the reporters got up the first flight of stairs the smell of solvents was unmistakable. By the time they got up the second fight of stairs the area smelled like a laboratory, with an unmistakable smell of the sea as an extra.

William opened the door to them and they saw the lab built into the roof space with all the chemicals bubbling away. They saw a young woman with drab greasy hair but a perfect skin. She was dressed in very oversize men’s clothes tied up with string, and wore a lab coat that desperately needed a wash.

The three reporters tried to ask questions, but William descended into floods of tears and was quite unable to answer any questions for several minutes. When he/she had eventually wiped her tears away on the filthy lab coat, she began.

“There is nothing left of the old William except memories. I used to be 90Kg of muscle, able to bench press 100Kg. Now I weigh about 40Kg, and I doubt that I could lift the bar without any weights on it. My clothes hang off me like sacks and I have no idea what to order for new clothes or even how to put a bra on! At school I was always the macho one who made it a point of honour to ignore the teaching we had about periods and babies. Now I have had my first period and I hadn’t a clue how to manage it. The cramps were bad enough, then the mess it made.”

… at this point William started to cry again.

“I cannot go out looking like this. I need your help. I know you are here to write a story for your papers and probably to make me out to be some sort of evil magician, but two of you are women. Can you bring find it in your hearts to help me function as the woman I have clearly become.

Ray looked across at the two women reporters, Sophie and Indira. They nodded to him and he discretely left the laboratory.

“I think I have seen enough here. I don’t think my readers want the full story of a story that has gone so terribly wrong. I know that the two of you are women first, and reporters second.”

“Thank you Ray” Sophie said, and Indira nodded her thanks also. When he had left to talk to the gathered reporters at the front door, Sophie and Indira went across to William and removed the questionable lab coat before giving the waif a strong hug.

“Yes we will help you.”

And so they did, and both shared articles in their papers about how the scruffy, ignorant child-like woman had to change all her documentation and how they had to shower her to scrub off all the skin she had shed.

They enjoyed shopping together for clothes that emphasised her pretty hair and pert features once a basic wardrobe had been delivered from an online retailer.

William's mother never really understood, but it didn’t really matter. She still called her William even when she was dressed in a skirt and halter neck top.

The Government inspectors came in and removed all the equipment in the laboratory, but the cat was out of the bag. The process of extracting the gender affirming chemicals from barnacles was so straightforward that almost anyone could do it.

Postscript

Five years later the new skin cream that pretty much made eczema a thing of the past came onto the market. It had taken all that time to get approval from the various medical safety committees of different countries and millions of pounds of development cost.

The active ingredients had been refined and it no longer transgendered men.

Lisa had kept abreast of the stories that appeared from time to time in the Press about Tina, as William chose to be called. The last had shown a picture of her as a self assured young woman.

Lisa saw a woman pushing a buggy down a High Street near Lisa’s new home in Oxford. She called out “William”.

Old habits die hard, and Tina turned round.

When she realised what had happened, Tina thought to escape, but the buggy that contained her two year old daughter made running too hard. She gave up and turned round.

“I thought it was you from the photos in the Papers.”

“Come and have a coffee with me and we can catch up.”

They sat outside a coffee shop in the sunlight of a beautiful spring day.

“After you left the College, everything went into hyperdrive. The ethics committee went into overtime, then the blind trial in co-operation with the local hospital went through in record time.”

“Our report in the journal was published and the department’s standing in academia increased immeasurably.”

I got the lectureship within months, and now I am one of the youngest holders of the chair of molecular biology at this University that has ever been appointed.

“The World followed the saga with you and your transgendering, and the publicity helped raise our team’s profile even more. I think the World fell in love with your sad state when you were found by the reporters. Being a woman can be hard at times as you know all too well, but I am delighted to meet you and your daughter, Beth.”

“Does she look like Jeff?”

“Like Jeff? … You have kept that quiet. I had no idea that you had seen him since the debacle.”

“Yes, we met a year after I left the College. We had showered together in the communal showers at the Rugby club, and let us say … he had attributes that I couldn’t miss. We have been together since then.”

“I can see that Beth is getting fidgety so I will not delay you any more, but we must meet again.”

“Give me a hug, and we will exchange phone numbers. I would like to meet Jeff again. He left after getting his PhD and I understand that he had a job with the large pharmaceutical company that took over the development of the anti-eczema cream.”

“Yes he did, and still does.”

“Your actions cannot be condoned, but all the events that now seem so long ago, proved to be serendipitous.”

“In the last article Sophie and Indira wrote about you, You were reported as having said. “I rather like the new me. Don’t you? I know that I have made an awful lot of people very happy, and a few people angry, but I will be able to write a book about my story one day. Maybe it will be a bestseller? What do you think?”

Twins?

Robert Graves had got up particularly early, had dressed with care. He brushed his pony tail until his blond hair shone. His suit was removed from the bag from the dry cleaners and his shoes were studied to see that they were uniformly clean.

The suit was mid grey, but his shirt was magenta to contrast with it. His tie matched the shirt. His feet were only size eight which matched his 5 ft 6 inch height.

He had taken time over his breakfast before walking to the station then catching the Underground from Brixton into London. In an hour was in the centre of the City of London at the foot of a large glass and steel building. He was only interested in the company that occupied three floors about half way up the high-rise building.

A commissionaire at the reception desk waved him to a bank of lifts and he was soon whisked up to the 35th floor where a pretty receptionist in a dark blue uniform guided him to a waiting area.

Robert, or Bob as her preferred to be called, went over the possible questions in his mind. What could he do for the Company. How were his skills relevant? How had he got experience in managing a team of computer based workers?

Soon a door part of the way down a carpeted corridor opened and a middle aged woman dressed in a well cut business suit came over to him and held out her hand.

Robert acknowledged his name and jumped to his feet to shake the proffered hand.

“Please come with me. I am Dawn Pomfrett, the Managing Director and I will be chairing this interview panel.”

Robert was guided into a spacious office and introduced to two other members of the interview panel. One was the director responsible for all the IT systems for the company, Jeff Roan, and the other was a senior accountant, April Hurst.

The interview was conducted in the way that Robert had expected. They were thorough in going through his CV, exploring his paper qualifications and the software that he was confident managing. He was told about the team he would be responsible for if employed, and the expectations of the company.

After two hours the interview was wound up.

“Please wait in the waiting area. Sharon, the receptionist will bring you tea or coffee. We will bring you up to date with our conclusions as soon as we can.”

Robert stood, and shook the hand of each of the interviewing panel and thanked them for their time, then left.

Sharon was prompt in bringing coffee and biscuits to Robert but he had only just finished his coffee before Dawn re-emerged from the office and walked Robert into the office once more.

All was smiles. Robert was asked to take up the post after serving a month’s notice at his current job, and the salary that he had asked for was accepted.

Clearly the details of the post had been sorted out before the interview because a young man was called into the office with a contract already made out. Robert only had to read it through and sign both copies. The young lawyer countersigned the contract.

After the paperwork had been completed Robert was invited to share a light lunch with the interviewing team. They were joined by a select few from the team of programmers and web designers who would be his responsibility.

He was handed from one group to another in quick succession. Each group wanted to see how he would fit in with their particular skill set. It was almost harder work than the interview!

Eventually the staff drifted back to work, and Robert was left with April and Jeff. They chatted about the company informally but eventually even those conversations reached a conclusion. April was due to walk Robert back to the Reception area and off the premises.

“I have been wondering?“ she said. “I have an accountant in my team who looks like a twin of yours.”

“I don’t have any twins or even siblings. I am an only child. I don’t know how anyone can come to look so similar to me to be regarded as a twin? I should like to meet them.”

“I am sure you will. You will be expected to work closely with them over the company accounts.”

“In the pack I am giving to you are instructions for your first day working here. Please attend in whatever clothes you would normally go to work in, and arrive at 9:30 am. Ask for the Badge Team. They will be expecting you and will go through all the biometric details that are needed to be encrypted onto your security tag.”

The month went past very quickly, and Robert said all his goodbyes in a leaving party two days before he arrived at the new offices in Central London.

The Reception team phoned through to the Badge Team and a young man arrived and guided Robert to a small suite outside the secure area of the building. Once Robert had had his passport, drivers licence and a number of other documents copied he was photographed from the front and side.

All the data was entered into a computer that was linked to the badge-making machine and onto the database of those who’s had access to the building.

“There seems to be a problem, the young man said. There is another user of this building whose face and upper body are so similar that the recognition algorithm cannot distinguish between the two of you. I am not sure how we can resolve this. Fingerprints or retinal scans will separate you but the software is not geared up for that yet.”

“I was told after my interview that there was another employee who looked remarkably like me.”

“ I think perhaps we need to call your double down here and re-process you both to see if the software can separate you. I will get onto the accountancy department to get them down here.”

“After ten minutes Robert’s doppelgänger arrived. She was as near a double of Robert as her chest development would allow.”

Robert looked at Leslie and Leslie looked at Robert!

“April said that you looked like me and I didn’t believe that a man could look so exactly like me, but here you are.”

“I can see that the images of us which are only from the shoulders upwards makes it difficult to resolve which of us is which.”

“The technician, Giles, looked at the two people and could offer no credible way of separating them.”

Height, build, head shape, eye colour, nose shape, foot size. All the same. An identikit image would be as near identical as would make no difference. It was only Leslie’s modest bust that separated the two workers and her development was such that a chunky knit jumper would hide even that difference.

Giles left the two in the ground floor coffee bar while he went to find a resolution to the conundrum.

“You know that this is not only a problem of access to the building. The tags also give access to the washrooms, and other gender specific places, like the guidance suite.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Only being able to use the women’s restrooms or vice versa would be a real difficulty, I can see that.”

Robert and Leslie soon realised that there was no link between their families. Robert had grown up in North London and Leslie had grown up in Lancashire. Robert had gone to University in the Brighton to study computer science, and Leslie had done Accountancy in Manchester … and yet, they found that they both liked Indian food, and enjoyed the same music and art and both went regularly to the street markets of North London.

One of Leslie’s colleagues was also in the café and had heard about the lookalike workers. The image of both smiling into the phone’s lens was soon shared round the company.

It took an hour before Giles returned with new identity tags on lanyards for Robert and Leslie to wear.

“The access software has a system for admitting several people with identical biometrics if the identity used is Visitor 1 and Visitor 2 etc. I have the lanyards for you, but for the moment you will have to use the visitor’s toilets as they are unlocked and undefined. We will have to sort that out as soon as possible for you, but it is the best I can do for the moment. You can, of course, access the appropriate restrooms if someone lets you in with their tag.”

Before parting to their respective bases, Leslie suggested that they meet again to go to an open jazz night at a pub near her home. She was already going with several friends from the accountancy team. Phone numbers were exchanged before they went their respective ways.

The days before Robert and Leslie were due to meet flew by. Robert was working hard go get up to pace with the team of programmers and web managers he was responsible for, and new tasks for the team had to be appraised and allocated. He saw Leslie in the distance a couple of times, but only to wave and then to get on with whatever was uppermost in his mind at that moment.

The bus journey on a Saturday night across London took rather longer than he was expecting, so he arrived to find that there were five attractive young women sitting in a bay in the pub lounge and there was just room for him to slip into the vacant space beside Leslie.

Conversation was muted whilst the musicians played, but it was clear that Leslie’s colleagues and friends were primarily interested in Robert’s similarity to Leslie.

The conversation moved from work, to how the London teams were doing in the Soccer leagues, then back to music.

Angela was clearly interested in the finer points of cosmetics and was going on and on about a new range of cosmetics she had been trying out. Robert was happy to compliment her on her nails and the natural look of her face. Angela glowed with the compliment.

“Have you tried any male cosmetics, Robert?”

“I have tried the usual range of aftershave and different antiperspirants. Apart from that I had stage makeup for a couple of school plays. That is about it.”

“If you had a pair of adhesive breast forms and a bit of help with your hair, and some basic makeup, you could pass for Leslie anywhere.” Claire offered.

“I am not sure that I would want to ‘pass for Leslie.’ “ She is a pretty girl and I don’t think I could act in a way that is both poised and feminine however similar I looked. I would disgrace what people see in Leslie.”

“We don’t agree. We were discussing it before you arrived Robert. It would be such fun to dress you up and to go out as a group with a pair of identical twins. How about it?”

“I think Leslie has to have a view in this discussion. I haven’t heard what she thinks. I know I look feminine, but it doesn’t matter as a Computer Software engineer. No one cares about long hair, or even makeup, as long as the person can do the job.”

“What do you think, Leslie?”

Five pairs of eyes looked across the dimly lit club.

“This has been quite difficult for me. I can see the similarity between Robert and me, and I am sure that good makeup and a re-styling of Robert’s hair would make us almost indistinguishable. I can see it being fun for the rest of you, but I don’t know what to feel, and I am as sure as I can be that Robert would feel the same.”

“I think we have to give it some time to get used to the idea. I don’t mind having a bit of fun en femme, as it were, but would not want to embarrass Leslie or cause problems at work for her.”

“I suggest”, Robert said, “that just the two of us meet for coffee tomorrow morning near Regent’s Park and we can discuss this in confidence.”

Leslie smiled. “That’s a date. Lets make it brunch at the café in Regents Park at 10am. OK?”

“Yes, I shall look forward to it.”

“Now, let’s enjoy the music and have a couple of drinks before it is time for me to get back on the bus home. I must leave by 10:30 for the last bus.”

Robert seemed to fit into the group seamlessly. He enjoyed the banter about boyfriends and who was going out with whom. He seemed to enjoy the chatter about clothes and more clothes and even more clothes AND which department store had a sale.

It was soon time to say goodbye and the girls were quite happy to stay for a bit after he had left.

A bit of gentle pressure was put on Leslie to ‘allow’ Robert’s ‘conversion’ to take place, and after she had absorbed one too many drinks she agreed that it would be fun to have a twin for a few hours.

The following morning Leslie was nursing a bit of a sore head, but she had promised Robert that they would meet, so she had a hot shower and braced herself for strong coffee and a fried breakfast at the café on the Outer Circle road.

The day was warm for that early in the year so a short summery floral skirt, over Greek style laced sandals and a strappy top was all she needed. She felt confident during the twenty minute bus journey to the Outer Circle and was glad to see Robert already there nursing a coffee.

He stood as she approached and offered her a chaste kiss on the cheek, which she accepted.

The waiter approached within a minute or so. She ordered a Flat White and asked him to return in a few minutes when she had had a chance to study the menu.

“I think a glass of orange juice and double scrambled eggs on toast would set me up well, she offered.”

Robert had already chosen a Full English, but without the black pudding.

He called the waiter over and their orders were taken.

“So what do you think about the deception your friends have contrived.” Robert said with a grin.

“I really don’t know. I suppose it would be alright if we went nowhere near work and just treated it as a fun day out. We could catch the train to the seaside. Southend or Margate perhaps?”

“Yes I agree with you. I haven’t got any strong feelings about going dressed as a girl, and you are very attractive. If I could look like you then I would be very happy. I wouldn’t want to look like a bloke in drag, a caricature of a woman.”

“I can assure you of that. If your hair was restyled and you were given a facial makeover you would be the spitting image of me from the neck upwards. What is done to your front to give you a bust is another thing. I am only a 32A bra size so it wouldn’t need much of an enhancement to give you a chest like mine. Your legs and body are the same as mine so that really would be easy to pass you off as me. I am split between having a temporary twin, or trying to discourage the group from their determination to make you into me.”

During the brunch, the sky had been getting darker and rain was imminent. They had some minutes walk back to Leslie’s bus stop and in that time the heavens opened and both were soaked to the skin.

Robert had an hour on the bus to get home and dry but Leslie only had 20 minutes.

“Come back with me and go home after you have got dry she offered.”

Robert’s teeth were chattering and there was another half hour before his bus was due so he gladly accepted her offer.

Leslie only lived a few yards from the bus stop so they were soon in the warm in her flat.

The flat was large and obviously had two bedrooms.

“Can you afford to live in this flat alone?” Robert asked.

“No, I lost my flat mate several weeks ago and haven’t found anyone suitable since then. Marjorie paid me a full month she left so I have another fortnight to find someone.”

Leslie gave Robert a large bath sheet towel and suggested that he went into the spare bedroom and took off his clothes and wrapped himself in the towel. She would run his wet clothes through the tumble drier for an hour or so.

Robert was wrapped up in the towel and sipping a cup of instant coffee the next time they spoke.

“I live over an hour away from work in a bedsitter flat. I wonder if you would allow me to share this flat with you?”

“That is an idea!” Leslie thought and said the same.

“How would that work?”

“We would pay half the rent and half of all the bills and do half of the chores. I am quite a good cook, but never much liked cooking for just me. I would enjoy cooking for you some of the time. I would also enjoy the company. I already get on well with you, or that is my opinion.”

“I am sure we could be civilised if we wanted to bring boyfriends or girlfriends home with us.”

“I am not sure if you are Gay or Straight, Robert. I am definitely standard straight female.”

“I may not be the most manly of men with my height and looks, but I am definitely into girls. I can appreciate boys, but don’t want a relationship with them.”

“I am not sure what else to ask. I know that you have had references taken up recently and have had a criminal check done, so I know that you don’t have criminal record so I don’t think I need references. What about your financial status?”

“ I will use the app on my phone. I will show you my balance in my Current Account and the Savings account I have.”

“Phew. Those are healthy amounts of money.”

“What about you. Do you SPEND SPEND SPEND when the pay comes in at the end of the month?”

“It is quite expensive being a girl and I don’t have the salary you have, but I am solvent and can hold my end up as it were.”

“What do you think then? I am on an open contract with my current bedsit. I just have to give a month’s notice and then I can move.”

“The decision has to be yours, Leslie.” I don’t want you to feel in any way pressurised, but I would expect to be put onto a new short-hold lease when the current one expires, if not before.”

“Now that my old flatmate has left, I need a new lease anyway, so you could be on the lease from the date you move in.”

“There I am getting ahead of myself again. I hope you will be able to move here. I think we will get on well together. If I had taken on a flatmate arranged through the Agency it might have been a disaster. Here I feel as if I have known you for a long time, because we are so much alike.”

“i will give notice to the Agency on Monday and will be able to contribute from the date I move in. In fact I can give a month’s rent in advance if that helps. I am sure you have a deposit stored with the Agency for that amount.”

“I have got to repay Marjorie her deposit, and it would have cleaned me out to do that.”

“That is sorted then. I will transfer her deposit to you now, and then will pay half the rent before I move in on 26th of next month.”

“If you want, please move some of your things, like work clothes. I am reluctant to give you a key until the arrangement is formalised, but I shall look forward to eating some of your cooking!”

“You don’t have to wait for month for that. How about me cooking for you here next Saturday?”

“Done. That is brilliant. Serendipitous really.”

“Now about your clothes.”

“Robert, I have made a mistake with the tumble drier. Your trousers are partly melted and are stuck to your underpants. I can salvage your shirt. What do we do now?”

“I think I will need to lend you something to get home. We should be the same size!”

“Are you suggesting that I get dressed up as a girl sooner than your friends had anticipated?”

“I don’t think I have much that is boyish, so probably that is the one option that remains.”

“OK find what you think will suit and get me decent.”

“I am going to ring one of the girls as I know she has a pair of breast forms that would fit into one of my bras.”

“I thought you said the shirt was OK?”

“It is, but you will look odd being entirely flat chested and wearing a skirt.”

“I thought you would get some trousers, or at least shorts. I don’t know if I am up to going out in a skirt just yet.”

“You will be fine. Amanda is bringing some styling mouse to train your hair and the breast forms.”

“That was quick. I am not being set up am I?”

“No, definitely not. I am trying to make amends for the mess I have made of your clothes. Amanda is a good friend and will help without sharing the knowledge with anyone else.”

Five minutes later Amanda arrived carrying a back pack of all the things a girl needs to be seen about town.

Robert was offered a thong, but thought better of it and chose some fairly opaque knickers and changed in the spare room. He was soon sitting in an upright chair with breast forms glued to his chest. The feeling was odd but not unpleasant. Once the glue was setting, the 32A bra was put on carefully and used to hold the glueing forms in place.

Robert was given a bottle of the breast form releasing fluid to take with him.

I am going to wash your hair then set it in a more feminine style. The mouse will hold it in that style until you want to wash it out.

“How often do you have to shave?”

“My hair is very fine. I only need to shave once a week, if that. It is more like a light down. I have seen girls with the same sort of peachy complexion.”

“You seem to be taking this all in your stride, Robert. Many men would be having the screaming abdabs about this, but you are a model of composure.”

“I don’t know, but I just feel a bit excited about this. I am not nervous. It just seems if a door is opening for me to explore another part of my personality. It is a sort of newfound freedom.”

“Well said, I am sure there is a bit of girl in every man if they would allow it to come out.”

“You seem very well prepared for my transformation, Amanda. How is it that you had all these things ready and got here in fifteen minutes?”

“I had an inkling that I would need these things sooner than later, but not for you. I have a nephew who is on the verge of transitioning to a girl and has to live as a girl for a year before being accepted for surgery. He only started on hormone treatment three weeks ago and the difference in him is so marginal that he has decided to delay the more obvious changes until he has finished his A level examinations. He thinks University life will be more accommodating as he goes through gender reassignment.”

“That is why everything was ready. It is nothing to do with contriving the change in you, although I must admit that I am enjoying doing this.”

“I am really looking forward to going out with two identical and beautiful girls who will turn heads wherever they go.”

Leslie brought out two nearly identical miniskirts. She seemed unconcerned as she slipped her shorts off revealing a thong that hid very little. One skirt went up her legs and was zipped up before being rotated so the zip was at the back. She offered the other to Robert who eased it over his legs and then his knees until it fit beautifully on his hips.

“You may want to wear more exciting underwear soon, but I am sure the knickers you are wearing will do for now.” Amanda said.

“You may need a gaff in time, that skirt has enough fullness to hide any bulges.”

Next came a blouse with a ruched neck and puffed sleeves in green was the same design as Leslie’s, but hers was cerise.

Leslie looked at Robert and Robert looked at Leslie. They both seem to say “Wow” simultaneously.

The click of Amanda’s phone camera brought them back to reality.

“I don’t want that circulated for the time being”, Robert said firmly.

I also insist that it stays on your phone. Promise me, Amanda, that that image will not be circulated until we are both in agreement.”

“Yes, I absolutely agree not to release it. I know It would destroy our friendship.”

“What about a name? I cannot call you Robert all the time.”

“What about Bobbie?”

“Yes. Bobbie works fine for me” said Amanda and Leslie simultaneously, and both laughed.

“Let’s travel to your bedsit and see what can be moved here.”

“Whoa … what is this about moving here?”

“Is there something I am missing?”

“Yes, we have decided that this flat is closer to our work now that Robert … Bobbie, that is; is in post, and I need a flatmate. He is going to flat share with me and have Marjorie’s room.”

“I know you look the same, but you also seem to think the same!”

“Are you going to share clothes as well as the flat?”

“That is a thought!”

“Have you got a chest binder in that bag of yours?”

“Sadly no … but I am sure they are easily obtained.”

“Do you think that the two of you might go out dressed as young men as well as young women?”

“Who knows? I suspect that almost anything is possible the way I feel at the moment.” Bobbie both thought and said.” It is a sort of freedom that I am feeling. It is a feeling I didn’t know existed. Perhaps more exhilaration rather than freedom? No, I think freedom is probably more accurate.

“Leslie, do you feel the same way?”

“I know that it can be a real experience to go out as a man, rather than a young woman, but I think we both look better as women than either of us looks as men. Our looks, heights and strengths are not very manly.”

“Don’t emasculate me too soon. I have lived 26 years of my life perfectly happily as a man, albeit a small and rather puny one. I was successful Hooker in Rugby and at University I did well as a cox in the rowing eight. I coxed for the women’s eight before the men’s First Eight.”

“Coxing an eight boat depends upon skill and command. The smaller you are physically, the better.” was Leslie’s observation.

“I came up to the boobs on the very well muscled athletes in the women’s eight. I enjoyed that. I came up to the waist of several of the 6ft 8in giants who manned the central part of the men’s First Eight. They were very kind to me but I had to keep them working as a well-oiled machine. I enjoyed that also.”

“Did you get thrown into the river if you won. I know that it is something of a tradition for coxes to be doused.”

I got thrown in a few times, but some of the women clearly enjoyed it a bit too much. I often saw the worst offenders leave the boat club holding hands, so some clearly had more interest in each other than with me.

“Doesn’t sound as if you will fancy men in your new guise.”

“The way I feel at the moment, no; but it is weird. I look like Leslie and it seems almost narcissistic to fancy her, but I do.”

“I think you will have to watch out when you are living together.” Amanda laughed “or you will only be needing one bed!”

At the moment, that is one step too far at present.” Leslie said with a smile, “but it is food for thought!”

They all laughed.

“Are you ok going out in your new persona?”

“Do you know, I haven’t given that a moment’s thought. It seems natural and normal. Isn’t that strange? I should feel concerned, or should I?”

“I don’t think it is strange at all. If you look like a woman, and seem to think as a woman, who is going to question your identity sitting on a bus or tube? Just stay on the lower desk of the bus as you may get some voyeur getting an up-skirt view. That is particularly undesirable at present!”

“Isn’t it always undesirable?”

“Of course, but it is even more undesirable, if that is possible, if any bulge is showing that shouldn’t be there.”

“Are you coming across the city to see Bobbie’s place?”

“If it takes an hour each way, then no, but if you are going to be bringing loads of stuff back and need an extra set of arms, AND are prepared to get a taxi back here then I am happy to help.”

“Right then, bus and tube followed by black cab back. I have enough food at the bedsit. Can I entertain you both to lunch?”

“I think we will be able to manage lunch! Shall we get a bottle of Chablis or something fizzy to celebrate? It is a red letter day after all.”

“Let’s push the boat out. Yes a bottle of Chablis would be lovely, but one of us will have to drink it out of a mug!”

“Shall we do the route voted the best tourist route for people on a shoestring budget?”

“What is that?”

“It is the Route 73 bus that goes from Stoke Newington just round the corner from here and ends up at Oxford Street, then we can get the Tube down to Brixton to get to your place.”

“Yes, lets do it, but can we go on the upper deck. If one of you follows me up the stairs I am sure I can get up and down decorously.”

“Leslie? Do you have an empty suitcase we can take. I only have one and a holdall. That will not be enough for my clothes.”

“Yes, one empty suitcase but it is pink!”

“I can live with pink. It goes with my new persona.”

So three young ‘women’ left the flat arm in arm. One was swinging an empty suitcase. All had Oyster cards and travelled across town in the Spring sunshine.

The 73 bus travels past many London landmarks such as the bustling area round the Angel of Islington, Clissold Park and Abney Park then past the Victorian Gothic glory of St. Pancras, and the imposing King’s Cross and the British Library, before travelling past Euston Station and the shopping area around Tottenham Court Road and finally into the tourist nexus of Oxford Circus.

Bobbie fitted in to the feminine banter of the two women. They commented on the Spring flowers in the parks that filled beds with yellows of the daffodils and reds of the tulips, these were interspersed with blue of the Grape Hyacinths. They commented on the crowds enjoying the sunshine outside the many coffee shops near The Angel. Leslie was not backward in saying what feminine fashions would suit Bobbie. They were amazed by the hoards of travellers that surround the main stations in Euston Road. The crowds surged across the junctions at Caledonian Road, and Gray’s Inn Road in a never ending stream controlled only by the Pelican Crossings.

Amanda reminisced about the wonderful Christmas decorations that were used in Warren Street and Oxford Street only a few months previously; then they were soon at Oxford Circus where they could journey on to Brixton on the Jubilee Line Underground.

Bobbie had negotiated the bus stairs decorously with Amanda going in front and Leslie behind to avoid any clothing malfunctions, but with a smile and an almost unconscious smoothing of her skirt, Bobbie stepped out onto the ‘down escalator’ into the cavernous maw of Oxford Circus tube station. This was familiar ground and the three travelled quickly to Brixton for the ten minute walk to Robert’s bedsitter. They stopped briefly at Robert’s local Offie (ed. Offie is an Off Licence or shop that sells alcoholic beverages) for a bottle of Chablis that was already in the shop’s chiller.

The shopkeeper knew Robert well, but paid no heed to Robert as Robbie. The card payment machine accepted Robert’s bank card without any problem and they were soon on their way again.

Brixton Market was on their way. The smells of fresh fruit and vegetables assaulted their nostrils. Some of the smells were less attractive but most made them stop and admire the piles of brightly coloured fruits. The colours and shapes of all the exotic and familiar fruits was almost intoxicating and there were comments called out by vendors to the two supposedly identical twins. The banter was good natured and pleasant and the ‘girls’ gave as good as they got. There was one ‘catcall’ and Amanda reminded Bobbie that she should ignore catcalls as it was not acceptable in this day and age.

Robert’s bedsitter was in a block of similar properties and no one was on the stairs or landings to question his access. In fact he was only familiar with two other residents as people came and went very frequently.

Amanda and Leslie were quick to appraise the small property. He was complimented on the state of his bathroom and particularly the toilet!

“What do you own in the way of large items. I suspect that the bed, and white goods come with the flat.”

“Yes, most do as well as the tv, table, dining chairs and the little two-seater sofa. I own the microwave and coffee machine, and a small hi-fi unit but other than that, none of it is mine, except, of course, my two laptops and some books!”

“That makes life very easy. Just clothes, toiletries and shoes and you are almost away, as it were.”

“Let me start packing. I think my clothes will all fit into my suitcase, the one of yours and a couple of holdalls I have.”

“What is in the fridge?”

“There is bread in the plastic bread bin on the work surface, then six eggs, a pack of ham and some green salad with some celery. Mayo is in the fridge door as well as a litre of milk.”

“I will open the Chablis. We can drink as we work.”

Amanda and Leslie set the meal out on plates as Robert packed his clothes and shoes.

Leslie sat cross-legged on the single bed leaving a view that left very little to the imagination. Amanda and Robbie sat on the two upright chairs.

“Isn’t your sitting a bit revealing?” Amanda said with a smile.

“I don’t care. The bathroom in the flat has no lock. I might as well start as I intend to continue.”

Robbie mused aloud. “This needs thinking about. Just how revealing are we intending to be?”

“I don’t think Amanda and I have ever held back since we got to know each other. We share changing cubicles when we go shopping and the bathroom door is never closed. I have seen her without a stitch on more times than I can remember and I expect that it will be the same for you.”

“How do you feel about me seeing you naked, Amanda?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but I would like to go shopping together, and my experience is that it makes more fun if you can share in choosing lingerie as much at outerwear. Having a clean palette will make it exciting to fill up your closet with pretty things.”

“I think I need to check my bank balance! I am already looking forward to having a selection of pretty clothes, but all this excitement means that I mustn’t lose sight of my job, and the need to visit my parents from time to time. I don’t want to be all female, but the option to be both is engrossing.”

“If I am seeing either or both of you naked, I wonder how to deal with my body’s reaction to that?”

“We have both seen men with erections. It is a sort of compliment. It is what you do when you are stimulated that makes the difference.”

“We will need to discuss that, but we will not expect you to be abstinent. We all have needs.”

“Anyway. Back to today’s activity. I have enough bedding and towels for us both, and I don’t think we have hands enough to carry all your sheets and so on so we will leave them for today if that is ok.”

“Yes, fine by me. I think there are perhaps two more journeys that need to be done to move everything. I will phone for a black cab to take us back if you are both ready, then we will cart the bags downstairs to wait for the cab in the sunshine.”

Leslie commented that Robbie looked very comfortable in her outfit.

“I am enjoying it. It seems quite natural to me now. I don’t know why, but it is.”
“Amanda, do you want me to buy the breast forms from you or give them back and buy my own?”

“I think that size is ideal for you. What do you think Leslie?”

“Yes, it would be too obvious to be larger, and too small would be lost on your chest. They are 32A I think. Yes?”

“Yes 32A.”

“So shall I buy them from you?”

“Yes, if you wish, but my nephew didn’t want the quality that would allow him to wear them all the time. You may want a better quality that will feel a bit more natural and will move more as you move.”

“Mmm I think I might like the best boobs that nature cannot provide.”

“I hope you are not shocked, but the best will cost you about £500 for the pair, but they are fully customisable for your skin tones or details like freckles, and you can swim in them as well. They will move as you move.”

“Yes, that is a sizeable amount of my savings. I have consider what I will need to buy to be dressed as a girl at least some of the time.”

“What is your deposit on the bedsit rental?”

“The deposit is a month’s rent, so £800 will come back from the deposit holder. That will help buy some clothes.”

“I am really looking forward to us sharing the flat, so I will not expect you to pay into the deposit for my flat for the time being. That is in exchange for buying all new underwear. I will allow you to share my outerwear until you decide how you want to go on. I always buy too much and have to give stuff away to the charity shops that has hardly been worn.”

“That is great. I will go out with you, Leslie, to get everything I need next weekend. We can talk it over during one of the next few evenings.”

“How long does it take for the breast forms to arrive?”

“I don’t know exactly. They are made in Canada and would have to be customised, then sent over. I am sure a bit of research will put your mind at rest, but please use the ones you have for one or two more sessions.”

I will have to stay dressed as a man during the working week. Back to Robert tomorrow morning.

“I shall transfer a month’s rent to you when I have logged on to your network at your … no … our, home.”

The Black cab arrived and conversation was muted for the journey. The cabbie was animated in his chatter to the group that he assumed were all girls. They giggled politely at some of his slightly risqué humour. Bobbie paid the £35 bill without a murmur and his belongings were carried inside.

He set out all his clothes in the wardrobe and chest of drawers only to find when he re-emerged that Leslie and Amanda had rustled up some supper for them all.

He noticed immediately that neither woman had a bra on.

“What is with the unfettered breasts?”

“Bras get uncomfortable after many hours. It is a house rule that we go bra-free after work.”

“I shall enjoy watching you. Unfortunately these breast forms are not the same or I would join you.”

“Leslie, I would give it three months before Bobbie wants her own implants and hormone injections to go with them. What do you think?”

I think it may take a bit longer for that but I think bottom surgery need longer if it ever happens.”

“I am not sure I like you betting on surgery for me with quite such relish.”

“I am sorry, we are just having a joke at your expense.”

“Yes, a considerable expense if I remember correctly. Several years of saving before either, unless the NHS will help.”

After spending the evening watching a rather unmemorable film, Amanda prepared to go.

“Can you help me remove the breast forms before you go.”

“OK, although you could do it yourself easily.”

After helping Robert, Amanda went home and Leslie and Robert sat and chatted. “How do we sort out the chores and when do you want me to pay you for the various things like Council Tax, and Rent?”

“We can sort those things out over the next few days, but I am the leaseholder so all the payments will have to go through my bank account until we get a new lease together. For the time being at least, you will be an unsecured tenant.”

“I understand that, but it is useful to already have a record of being a good renter to establish a creditworthiness as a lessee. I don’t want to lose that.”

“That is absolutely fine.”

“Over the next few days please explain what clothes you can spare. Perhaps we can go shopping for lingerie on Saturday with Amanda … or without?”

“Amanda would be spitting blood if we went without her. She is usually free on Saturday mornings so I will ask her to come with us to Primark or even SHEIN if their PopUp shop in Oxford Street is still open. Both are cheap, but are not transparently ethical in their labour rules.“

“I have been to Primark before. They always seem to have loads of stuff piled up. I am happy to give it a go. Lots of cheap undies!”

“Can I use the bathroom first, Robert asked.”

“Yes, but one of the evening tasks is to wash out your delicate things. No lingerie goes in the washing machine.”

“Very good Marm!”

Leslie was dressed in an outsized tee shirt when Robert emerged. ”Is that what you sleep in, he asked?”

“Yes, normally.”

“I will keep to my pyjamas for now. They are basically a Tee shirt and shorts anyway.”

“Shall we go to work together tomorrow morning or separately?”

“You will need to change your address at the HR department tomorrow anyway, so I suggest we go together.”

“I hope you sleep well. We will need to be out of the flat by 8.15 so one of us needs to be in the bathroom by 7:30 while the other brews up.”

“I will set my alarm for 7:15. I think I will be quicker than you getting into my normal male clothes for a day at work.”

“I hope you sleep well. I will see you in the morning.”

“Yes. The start of a new adventure!”

End of Part 1.

Part 2

Robert looked from the bed up to the ceiling. There was just the faintest lingering smell of perfume. I wonder what life holds for me when it might be my perfume that lingers?

Sleep came quickly after the business of the day, and it seemed a very short time before the alarm on his phone played the theme from a Mozart concerto with increasing volume. He pressed a button to show he was awake rather reluctantly.

Still recovering from sleep he stumbled into the bathroom. The door was open and he did not clock the fact that the shower was running.

“Good morning, Leslie said through the steam and glass partition. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, very well. I have not woken up entirely yet. Do you want me to give you some space until your shower is finished.”

“Don’t worry, I think it is easier to be comfortable with our bodies. Being embarrassed is really such a bore.”

“Do you mind me doing a wee as you shower?”

“No go ahead. What needs to be done ought to be done!”

Leslie was dressed by the time Robert had showered. He dressed in his normal jeans and tee shirt then had the same breakfast of flakes, milk and coffee he always had.

“Will you be ready in ten minutes, Leslie asked?”

“Yes, ten minutes is fine.”

The two workers left together with their lanyards round their respective necks and managed to get access to the suite owned by their company without any problem.

“I will see you in reception at 5pm if not before”, Leslie whispered as they parted. If you need to be late let me know. We will get a key cut on Saturday.”

Robert looked back on the week that Friday evening wondering where the five days had gone. He and Leslie had settled into a routine. They ate together and travelled together. The team of Leslie’s friends were all in the know about Robert’s change of address and the HR team showed no interest and just recorded the change without comment.

Leslie and Robert went through the list of necessaries that would be needed on Saturday. It was a long list but possible in one store in one day.
Amanda was rapping on the door at 8am loaded down with mousse, cosmetics and breast forms. Robert was both excited and daunted by her irrepressible enthusiasm. He emerged damp and pink from his shower. He had used a depilatory and no body hair remained.

An hour later and the effect was total. The breast forms were in place and were covered by a lacy bra that Leslie had ‘donated’ for the day and a pair of knickers that rode high on his hips covered his masculinity.

Her hair was swept over and held rigidly by the mousse. The effect was unmistakably feminine.

The weather was warm for the time of year and the summery cotton dress fitted snugly over ‘her’ curves. The effect was youthful and feminine.

The cosmetics were kept light with pale pink the dominant colour.

Amanda kept up a dialogue of how to maintain the effect she was creating.

Robbie tried to retain all the information she was giving him, but it all got too much and eventually he just basked in the pleasure of being pampered.

Robbie was lent a pair of sandals that seems to fit very well. He hardly noticed the 5cm heel although it was the first time he had worn a shoe anything like that.

Amanda’s phone eventually contained a series of images of the transformation and the last showed two almost identical women in similar cotton frocks ready to ‘do’ the shops.

The journey down to Primark’s flagship store in Oxford Street by bus was uneventful. Robbie and Leslie were both acutely aware of the heads that turned in their direction from both men and women. Amanda walked beside them and was also aware that she was not the centre of attention!

“Hold back with the purchases. When you get into buying lingerie, it can get addictive! Leslie, hold onto Robbie. I can see a glazed look on her face. Buy … BUY … BUY it says written large across her forehead.”

“Robbie, have you got your list?”

“Robbie to Earth. HAVE YOU GOT YOUR LIST?”

“List, yes, but there are so many nice colours here. I can see bras in every colour imaginable. How to choose?”

“Your list says white. Keep to white. I don’t want you blitzing the rent money!”
In fact the range of 32A bras and matching knickers was quite small and Robbie emerged a little sadly with three sets of everything and a bikini, so the hit on his wallet was reasonable.

Shoes were also in short supply in the correct size, but a pair of feminine trainers and a pair of leather sandals were added to the list of purchases.

Leslie said NO! more times than she thought possible.

“NO, that is too big for you. You always need to look for the petite range of clothes. NO, that is too revealing. NO, the arm holes are too big and someone will be able to see the sides of your breast forms. NO, that is not your colouring. NO, that is for the wrong season.”

Amanda was in fits by the time they had paid.

“You would have bought the whole shop given the chance. You are incorrigible. Most women would enjoy looking, then trying things on, refining the choices and discarding most of the items before buying sparingly. Always take someone with you to buy clothes to help rein your spending in.”

“I did enjoy it though! I would like to visit one of the more upmarket lingerie stores one day. The buying spree was like getting a Latte with an extra shot. A real Buzz of what I suppose is retail therapy. So many pretty fabrics and colours to choose from. My male clothes are so drab by comparison.”

As they were walking down Oxford Street back to the bus stop, Leslie saw a summer dress in a rather upmarket shop window. She stopped and looked, and Amanda and Robbie looked. The dress was a pale yellow lined crêpe de chine silk and fell in waves over the mannequin’s contours. There must have a been a fan in the shop window because the dress seemed to move subtly.

“That would suit both of you so well. It is exactly right for a slightly formal summer garden party or barbecue.”

“Lets go and look. Perhaps they will have two of them in our size.”

The shop had two of the dresses in size 8, petite, so both Leslie and Bobbie slipped into a large cubicle and tried the dresses on.

Amanda and the shop assistant were on the verge of applauding when the girls emerged in the matching dresses.

“That is amazing. You look absolutely stunning in those dresses, irresistible even. They are worth splashing the cash to get something so eye-catching.
Leslie looked at Bobbie, and Bobbie looked at Leslie. Shall we?

“Sometimes, a dress is a must and I think it is one of those occasions.”

Amanda looked wistfully at the dresses. “I would love to have one of those but I am larger than both of you.”

“We have the dress in a size 14, in pale green if you are interested.?”

“I am, but no, I must resist the temptation.”

“You can try it on, was the assistant’s final shot.”

“No. I don’t want to upstage you two. You both look gorgeous so why try to compete.”

“Home straight away after this. I don’t want to get caught out again.” Leslie commented wistfully.

The dresses were boxed up in tissue paper and the credit cards took the hit, but both women found it difficult to avoid peeking into the boxes on the bus on the way home.

On their return, Bobbie, removed the tags from her lingerie purchases and put them away in what had become her lingerie drawer. She had a cardboard divider that separated these delicate things from the rather more robust underwear items from Robert’s stock of clothing.

When the three girls were sitting in the flat with a cup of tea, Robbie asked to for help in ordering the rather expensive breast forms.

“I need to look at the variety of shapes, and colour. There is a chart to help one choose the skin colour. Then there is another chart that you can cut out to choose nipple and areolar colours. Finally, I need help with any features that are to be added.”

“You will need to strip off to the waist to help with that, and I will remove your breast forms to show your natural breast colour.” Amanda offered.

The two girls looked over the colour chart that Robbie had printed out. They held it up to Robbie’s chest to match the surrounding skin type.

“I think you need number 3 from the chart for the skin colour and the A cup size. The nipple size is small, medium or large. I would go for medium. Your areolae will be a bit darker, but with such blonde hair your skin will be pale anyway. I think colour 5 would be good, and the nipples should be the same colour. What do you think Leslie?

“Why don’t I show you mine. Since we are so similar you can judge for yourself.”

As normal, the two women had stripped off their bras when at home, so Leslie only had to unbutton her shirt to strip off and show her breasts to Amanda and Robbie.

“Yes, the sizes and colours are good choices. The idea is for you two to look as similar as possible after all. I also think that the breast shape should be symmetrical for a breast of such modest cup size. No gravity effect.”

“What about freckles or other features?”

“No, you don’t have freckles on your face so why should you have them on your chest or boobs?”

“It all sounds good to me. I shall get them ordered. The website says about a fortnight for those manufactured in Germany.”

“Excellent. I am sure you will look stunning in them Bobbie, or is it Robert now you are out of Leslie’s clothes?”

“I feel like Bobbie, but look more like Robert at the moment. I ought to keep my male persona fully functional for everyday matters like work, but I am very comfortable as Robbie.”

I know you can swim with these expensive prosthetics, but what about sunbathing. When we go on holiday together I normally sunbathe topless. Every woman on the beach does. You will not be able to particularly as your boobs will not tan in the sunshine.

“This is new to me. When did we decide to go on holiday together?”

“I just decided. Amanda and I have been going to somewhere sunny every year since we met. It just seems normal for you to come as well.”

I am sure I would enjoy it. I haven’t been on a beach holiday since childhood, but isn’t the idea to get a tan and get laid on that sort of holiday?”

“I suppose it is, but it doesn’t have to be so. It does emphasise that you getting a boob job might get on the menu sooner rather than later.”

“I think it would be great to be able to sunbathe topless and get a tan right across my chest, but that is going to take some time to arrange, and my life would need to be altered quite a bit.”

“With a sports bra on, and A size implants, I think your side profile would be little different from now. What do you think Leslie? Have you ever worn a sports bra?”

“Yes, a sports bra would conceal the small implants, but it would be a big thing for Robbie to undertake just so we could go on holiday together.”

“I think it is more than that. The movement in your natural boobs while you are braless here in this flat is very obvious. I know the posh breast forms will have some of the movement, but I don’t think they will be very convincing. Maybe I should go for small implants immediately.”

Amanda was looking at the Internet on her phone.

“An insert that would take you from flat chested to an A cup size would need to be 250ml. This almost the smallest size that is made. You would also need round inserts rather than the teardrop shape that is more commonly used for larger inserts. The surgery is completed as an outpatient appointment, and you would need very little time off work. Ideally you would be able to work from home for a few days.”

“I know you don’t want your transformation to be widely known yet, but the girls from the office got a fair idea the way the wind was blowing. I think we can trust them all to Keep Mum.

“I would like to have made a bit more progress with my transformation before going out socialising with the girls. When I have the new prostheses then is the time for a reveal.”

“OK, I will fend them off for the time being.”

“I think it is amazing how you have adapted to being Robbie. In only a week you have shown that you can live two separate lives very successfully.”

“Thanks. I feel very comfortable as both Robert and Robbie. I would like to consider a beach holiday with you both, but wouldn’t want the breast forms to get in the way of the holiday, as it were.”

“Where were you thinking of going this summer?”

“We usually leave it until the last minute then get to somewhere on the Spanish mainland or the Greek islands.”

What about my passport?

“If you can still dress as Robert and go to work as Robert then why should you need any alteration to your passport?”

“Point taken.”

“What about you getting laid on holiday. Even if I wanted it, there isn’t an option there.”

“As a couple of identical beauties, you would certainly be the centre of attention for large numbers of young men.”

“Possibly the best answer would be to make it clear you are into girls then keep a low profile.”

“This all needs thinking about. I need to understand my sexuality and how I need to live my life. I can understand the advantages of having a small boob job, and I will do some more research on that. I like being pretty, beautiful even, and like being a twin with Leslie, but going on a beach holiday wearing little more than a thong is quite a big step.”

“We know that and everyone will understand when you have made your decision about the future.”

“Who is the ‘We”?

“Oh, the whole crowd that you met at the Jazz evening.”

“I didn’t know that. I would be going on holiday with five beautiful women?”

“Yes, and I am sure one or two would take very little persuasion to enjoy a night in the sack with you!”

“I am getting worn out by all the possibilities.”

“I shall go to my room and do some research into the breast augmentation surgery.”

“What are you two planning to do tomorrow?”

“We haven't discussed it. Perhaps Leslie would like do something without me. I don't want to monopolise her time when she would prefer to do something else.”

“You are fun to be with, Bobbie. Why wouldn't I want to be with you?”

“I am flattered. I enjoy your company as well. Do you enjoy visiting galleries? There is a special exhibition on at the National Gallery on the Pre-Raphaelites that I want to see?”

“I am sure you know more about them than I do but, yes it would be nice to go with you.”

“My membership is under Robert and the card is photo ID,, so I will have to go as Robert.”

“I think I will cope with that!”

“Do you two want to help me research about the breast implants?”

“Sure. It is not something that I have had much to do with.”

Amanda and Leslie sat either side of Bobbie and looked at images of every sort of breast whether natural or enhanced.

“Your areolae are much more obvious than any of those men's chests, and your nipples are more prominent as well.”

“I have never really noticed that but yes,I think you are right. I wonder why that should be?”

“I have been reading on a bit. Can I ask you some quite private questions?”

“Ask away. We have seen each other naked. There cannot be many secrets between us now.”

Leslie looked down at her hands and asked quietly.

“Have you ever had an emission, either from masturbation or naturally as a wet dream?”

Robbie coloured up, but said quietly. “No, I never have. I have never felt the need.”

“... and you are a virgin as well?”

“Yes. I always seem to be studying or working too hard to form close relationships.”

“Will you let me look at your groin and touch your testicles?”

“Sure. I might enjoy it?

Robbie pulled his skirt up and pulled the knickers down.

Both Leslie and Amanda were surprised that Robbie had no erection when they handled his scrotum and penis.”

“You are not normal down there. Both of us have fondled and indeed sucked and licked a variety scrotums. Your testicles are both smaller than normal and harder than testicles should be.”

“Look up the effects of Mumps on a man's fertility on the net.”

The three looked down a page that outlined the consequences of Mumps. At its most serious the disease could cause bilateral atrophy of the testicles that could not be treated.

“Didn't you have the MMR vaccination when you were a baby?”

“I don't know. We were abroad with my father's job for my first two years. I have no record of what I had and didn't have.”

“Neither of us is a doctor of course, but we have the experience of being sexually active women. I think your testicles are atrophied, and that would account for your lack of male secondary sexual characteristics. Do you agree Leslie?”

“Yes. The website says that atrophied testicles may become cancerous. I do think you need to see your doctor sooner than later.”

“Very well, I will go onto the surgery and make an appointment to see one of the doctors.”

“The surgery has a triage system in place. What do I say is the matter with me?”

“Concern about bilateral testicular atrophy as a result of childhood Mumps.”

A message from the triage team arrived a few hours later with a code to access the booking system to make an appointment.

Robert didn't know any of the doctors, but the first appointment he could attend was with a lady doctor, called Miriam.

Late on Tuesday afternoon,Robert excused himself from work and made the short journey to the surgery.

Dr. Miriam proved to be a kindly middle aged woman with a nice smile.

“I understand that you have some concerns about your development. I hope you will not mind me taking a history before we discuss your specific problems.”

Dr. Miriam was very thorough going through Robert's twenty- five years. She recorded all the medical events in his life including the severe case of Mumps when he was seven.

She then gave him a thorough examination including a rectal examination to palpate his prostate gland.

When Robert had dressed, Dr. Miriam gave her conclusions.

“In my opinion, both your testicles are atrophied as a result of Mumps. Such cases are incredibly rare as a result of the almost universal introduction of the MMR vaccine. This has had the knock on effect of inhibiting your male secondary sexual development. You have told me that you sing as a Counter Tenor. In fact I think it would be more appropriate to call you a Soprano.”

“I need to send you to the hospital because your testicles are likely to become cancerous if they are not cancerous already. You will need a bilateral orchidectomy.”

“How do you think this will this affect your life?”

“I already spend half of my life as a woman and am exploring having breast implants.”

“If I may say so, you already look the part. Your hair and complexion show that you are taking care of your skin and your speaking voice is in the higher range for a man.”

“Can I show you a photo of me with my flatmate?”

“Certainly. “Which of these beauties is you? The two of you look identical.”

“Everybody thinks we are identical twins.”

“I am on the left of the picture in the red top.

“The bilateral orchidectomy will leave you with prosthetic testicles in your empty scrotum. Everything else will remain in place. It seems to me that it might be better to consider a full gender reassignment. I cannot guarantee it, but in my opinion the surgery would be done on the National Health as it is a treatment to prevent cancer, just as a mastectomy is done to prevent breast cancer.”

“That sounds quite amazing and would answer a lot of the questions I have going on in my head at the moment.

“I will let you go home now, but will make the urgent referral immediately. You should have an appointment sent out within a couple of weeks as it is a cancer referral.”

“Thank you for your time Doctor. Perhaps the next time you see me I will have had my name changed to Bobbie on my Medical notes.”

“If that is what you want then I hope you have a brilliant life as Bobbie.”

Bobbie had a spring in her step as she left the surgery. She had so much to tell Leslie.

On the way Bobbie popped into the Offie and bought a nice bottle of Prosecco.

Leslie was making a salad for them both as Bobbie bounced up the stairs and gave Leslie a big hug from behind.

The cork from the Prosecco hit the ceiling as Bobbie caught the froth dextrously in a glass.

“What is the celebration?” Leslie asked laughing.

Robbie sat her down and explained everything that had happened with the doctor.

“The possibility of cancer is serious, of course and I am not trying to diminish that risk, but it means that I can live as Robbie full time.”

“You are sure that is what you want?”

“Absolutely. I am clear in my mind for the first time in years.”

“I don't think I will not come on holiday with the girls this year, but if we still live together the next year, then it is a dead cert!”

“How about boys and getting laid?”

If I have the right anatomy, the mindset will follow I am sure. All this will take time, but I am happy to have that night on the town with the girls now. Can you let Amanda loose with the information?”

“She has been champing at the bit over the last few days. I suggest we wear those posh frocks and have our hair and nails done professionally.”

“You are on! Go for it girl!”

Leslie and Robbie looked a million dollars as they emerged from the black cab. Bobbie’s hair extensions glowed as her golden locks cascaded down her back. They smiled at each other and swirled their matching skirts. As they emerged into the bar more than twenty colleagues rose to their feet and applauded the pair. Amanda had really let the cat out of the bag. There was no going back now … if, indeed there ever had been!

Epilogue

Eighteen months later six young women piled out of a short haul aircraft and very quickly registered at a modest 3-star hotel overlooking a golden beach. Within minutes they were on a set of sun loungers on a wide beach of the pristine sand overlooking a crystal blue sea. The first of many Pina coladas was enjoyed, particularly during the Happy Hour each day.

A young man called Garth had learned to apply Factor 50 expertly to 90% of Robbie’s pale delicate skin. The 10% he didn’t have access to was covered by a micro-bikini bottom that was little more than a small strip of lemon yellow fabric and a few bits of yellow string. Rumour had it that he had access to the rest of Robbie’s body on more than one occasion, but it would be impolite to confirm that one way or the other.

Twins?

Robert Graves had got up particularly early, had dressed with care. He brushed his pony tail until his blond hair shone. His suit was removed from the bag from the dry cleaners and his shoes were studied to see that they were uniformly clean.

The suit was mid grey, but his shirt was magenta to contrast with it. His tie matched the shirt. His feet were only size eight which matched his 5 ft 6 inch height.

He had taken time over his breakfast before walking to the station then catching the Underground from Brixton into London. In an hour was in the centre of the City of London at the foot of a large glass and steel building. He was only interested in the company that occupied three floors about half way up the high-rise building.

A commissionaire at the reception desk waved him to a bank of lifts and he was soon whisked up to the 35th floor where a pretty receptionist in a dark blue uniform guided him to a waiting area.

Robert, or Bob as her preferred to be called, went over the possible questions in his mind. What could he do for the Company. How were his skills relevant? How had he got experience in managing a team of computer based workers?

Soon a door part of the way down a carpeted corridor opened and a middle aged woman dressed in a well cut business suit came over to him and held out her hand.

Robert acknowledged his name and jumped to his feet to shake the proffered hand.

“Please come with me. I am Dawn Pomfrett, the Managing Director and I will be chairing this interview panel.”

Robert was guided into a spacious office and introduced to two other members of the interview panel. One was the director responsible for all the IT systems for the company, Jeff Roan, and the other was a senior accountant, April Hurst.

The interview was conducted in the way that Robert had expected. They were thorough in going through his CV, exploring his paper qualifications and the software that he was confident managing. He was told about the team he would be responsible for if employed, and the expectations of the company.

After two hours the interview was wound up.

“Please wait in the waiting area. Sharon, the receptionist will bring you tea or coffee. We will bring you up to date with our conclusions as soon as we can.”

Robert stood, and shook the hand of each of the interviewing panel and thanked them for their time, then left.

Sharon was prompt in bringing coffee and biscuits to Robert but he had only just finished his coffee before Dawn re-emerged from the office and walked Robert into the office once more.

All was smiles. Robert was asked to take up the post after serving a month’s notice at his current job, and the salary that he had asked for was accepted.

Clearly the details of the post had been sorted out before the interview because a young man was called into the office with a contract already made out. Robert only had to read it through and sign both copies. The young lawyer countersigned the contract.

After the paperwork had been completed Robert was invited to share a light lunch with the interviewing team. They were joined by a select few from the team of programmers and web designers who would be his responsibility.

He was handed from one group to another in quick succession. Each group wanted to see how he would fit in with their particular skill set. It was almost harder work than the interview!

Eventually the staff drifted back to work, and Robert was left with April and Jeff. They chatted about the company informally but eventually even those conversations reached a conclusion. April was due to walk Robert back to the Reception area and off the premises.

“I have been wondering?“ she said. “I have an accountant in my team who looks like a twin of yours.”

“I don’t have any twins or even siblings. I am an only child. I don’t know how anyone can come to look so similar to me to be regarded as a twin? I should like to meet them.”

“I am sure you will. You will be expected to work closely with them over the company accounts.”

“In the pack I am giving to you are instructions for your first day working here. Please attend in whatever clothes you would normally go to work in, and arrive at 9:30 am. Ask for the Badge Team. They will be expecting you and will go through all the biometric details that are needed to be encrypted onto your security tag.”

The month went past very quickly, and Robert said all his goodbyes in a leaving party two days before he arrived at the new offices in Central London.

The Reception team phoned through to the Badge Team and a young man arrived and guided Robert to a small suite outside the secure area of the building. Once Robert had had his passport, drivers licence and a number of other documents copied he was photographed from the front and side.

All the data was entered into a computer that was linked to the badge-making machine and onto the database of those who’s had access to the building.

“There seems to be a problem, the young man said. There is another user of this building whose face and upper body are so similar that the recognition algorithm cannot distinguish between the two of you. I am not sure how we can resolve this. Fingerprints or retinal scans will separate you but the software is not geared up for that yet.”

“I was told after my interview that there was another employee who looked remarkably like me.”

“ I think perhaps we need to call your double down here and re-process you both to see if the software can separate you. I will get onto the accountancy department to get them down here.”

“After ten minutes Robert’s doppelgänger arrived. She was as near a double of Robert as her chest development would allow.”

Robert looked at Leslie and Leslie looked at Robert!

“April said that you looked like me and I didn’t believe that a man could look so exactly like me, but here you are.”

“I can see that the images of us which are only from the shoulders upwards makes it difficult to resolve which of us is which.”

“The technician, Giles, looked at the two people and could offer no credible way of separating them.”

Height, build, head shape, eye colour, nose shape, foot size. All the same. An identikit image would be as near identical as would make no difference. It was only Leslie’s modest bust that separated the two workers and her development was such that a chunky knit jumper would hide even that difference.

Giles left the two in the ground floor coffee bar while he went to find a resolution to the conundrum.

“You know that this is not only a problem of access to the building. The tags also give access to the washrooms, and other gender specific places, like the guidance suite.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Only being able to use the women’s restrooms or vice versa would be a real difficulty, I can see that.”

Robert and Leslie soon realised that there was no link between their families. Robert had grown up in North London and Leslie had grown up in Lancashire. Robert had gone to University in the Brighton to study computer science, and Leslie had done Accountancy in Manchester … and yet, they found that they both liked Indian food, and enjoyed the same music and art and both went regularly to the street markets of North London.

One of Leslie’s colleagues was also in the café and had heard about the lookalike workers. The image of both smiling into the phone’s lens was soon shared round the company.

It took an hour before Giles returned with new identity tags on lanyards for Robert and Leslie to wear.

“The access software has a system for admitting several people with identical biometrics if the identity used is Visitor 1 and Visitor 2 etc. I have the lanyards for you, but for the moment you will have to use the visitor’s toilets as they are unlocked and undefined. We will have to sort that out as soon as possible for you, but it is the best I can do for the moment. You can, of course, access the appropriate restrooms if someone lets you in with their tag.”

Before parting to their respective bases, Leslie suggested that they meet again to go to an open jazz night at a pub near her home. She was already going with several friends from the accountancy team. Phone numbers were exchanged before they went their respective ways.

The days before Robert and Leslie were due to meet flew by. Robert was working hard go get up to pace with the team of programmers and web managers he was responsible for, and new tasks for the team had to be appraised and allocated. He saw Leslie in the distance a couple of times, but only to wave and then to get on with whatever was uppermost in his mind at that moment.

The bus journey on a Saturday night across London took rather longer than he was expecting, so he arrived to find that there were five attractive young women sitting in a bay in the pub lounge and there was just room for him to slip into the vacant space beside Leslie.

Conversation was muted whilst the musicians played, but it was clear that Leslie’s colleagues and friends were primarily interested in Robert’s similarity to Leslie.

The conversation moved from work, to how the London teams were doing in the Soccer leagues, then back to music.

Angela was clearly interested in the finer points of cosmetics and was going on and on about a new range of cosmetics she had been trying out. Robert was happy to compliment her on her nails and the natural look of her face. Angela glowed with the compliment.

“Have you tried any male cosmetics, Robert?”

“I have tried the usual range of aftershave and different antiperspirants. Apart from that I had stage makeup for a couple of school plays. That is about it.”

“If you had a pair of adhesive breast forms and a bit of help with your hair, and some basic makeup, you could pass for Leslie anywhere.” Claire offered.

“I am not sure that I would want to ‘pass for Leslie.’ “ She is a pretty girl and I don’t think I could act in a way that is both poised and feminine however similar I looked. I would disgrace what people see in Leslie.”

“We don’t agree. We were discussing it before you arrived Robert. It would be such fun to dress you up and to go out as a group with a pair of identical twins. How about it?”

“I think Leslie has to have a view in this discussion. I haven’t heard what she thinks. I know I look feminine, but it doesn’t matter as a Computer Software engineer. No one cares about long hair, or even makeup, as long as the person can do the job.”

“What do you think, Leslie?”

Five pairs of eyes looked across the dimly lit club.

“This has been quite difficult for me. I can see the similarity between Robert and me, and I am sure that good makeup and a re-styling of Robert’s hair would make us almost indistinguishable. I can see it being fun for the rest of you, but I don’t know what to feel, and I am as sure as I can be that Robert would feel the same.”

“I think we have to give it some time to get used to the idea. I don’t mind having a bit of fun en femme, as it were, but would not want to embarrass Leslie or cause problems at work for her.”

“I suggest”, Robert said, “that just the two of us meet for coffee tomorrow morning near Regent’s Park and we can discuss this in confidence.”

Leslie smiled. “That’s a date. Lets make it brunch at the café in Regents Park at 10am. OK?”

“Yes, I shall look forward to it.”

“Now, let’s enjoy the music and have a couple of drinks before it is time for me to get back on the bus home. I must leave by 10:30 for the last bus.”

Robert seemed to fit into the group seamlessly. He enjoyed the banter about boyfriends and who was going out with whom. He seemed to enjoy the chatter about clothes and more clothes and even more clothes AND which department store had a sale.

It was soon time to say goodbye and the girls were quite happy to stay for a bit after he had left.

A bit of gentle pressure was put on Leslie to ‘allow’ Robert’s ‘conversion’ to take place, and after she had absorbed one too many drinks she agreed that it would be fun to have a twin for a few hours.

The following morning Leslie was nursing a bit of a sore head, but she had promised Robert that they would meet, so she had a hot shower and braced herself for strong coffee and a fried breakfast at the café on the Outer Circle road.

The day was warm for that early in the year so a short summery floral skirt, over Greek style laced sandals and a strappy top was all she needed. She felt confident during the twenty minute bus journey to the Outer Circle and was glad to see Robert already there nursing a coffee.

He stood as she approached and offered her a chaste kiss on the cheek, which she accepted.

The waiter approached within a minute or so. She ordered a Flat White and asked him to return in a few minutes when she had had a chance to study the menu.

“I think a glass of orange juice and double scrambled eggs on toast would set me up well, she offered.”

Robert had already chosen a Full English, but without the black pudding.

He called the waiter over and their orders were taken.

“So what do you think about the deception your friends have contrived.” Robert said with a grin.

“I really don’t know. I suppose it would be alright if we went nowhere near work and just treated it as a fun day out. We could catch the train to the seaside. Southend or Margate perhaps?”

“Yes I agree with you. I haven’t got any strong feelings about going dressed as a girl, and you are very attractive. If I could look like you then I would be very happy. I wouldn’t want to look like a bloke in drag, a caricature of a woman.”

“I can assure you of that. If your hair was restyled and you were given a facial makeover you would be the spitting image of me from the neck upwards. What is done to your front to give you a bust is another thing. I am only a 32A bra size so it wouldn’t need much of an enhancement to give you a chest like mine. Your legs and body are the same as mine so that really would be easy to pass you off as me. I am split between having a temporary twin, or trying to discourage the group from their determination to make you into me.”

During the brunch, the sky had been getting darker and rain was imminent. They had some minutes walk back to Leslie’s bus stop and in that time the heavens opened and both were soaked to the skin.

Robert had an hour on the bus to get home and dry but Leslie only had 20 minutes.

“Come back with me and go home after you have got dry she offered.”

Robert’s teeth were chattering and there was another half hour before his bus was due so he gladly accepted her offer.

Leslie only lived a few yards from the bus stop so they were soon in the warm in her flat.

The flat was large and obviously had two bedrooms.

“Can you afford to live in this flat alone?” Robert asked.

“No, I lost my flat mate several weeks ago and haven’t found anyone suitable since then. Marjorie paid me a full month she left so I have another fortnight to find someone.”

Leslie gave Robert a large bath sheet towel and suggested that he went into the spare bedroom and took off his clothes and wrapped himself in the towel. She would run his wet clothes through the tumble drier for an hour or so.

Robert was wrapped up in the towel and sipping a cup of instant coffee the next time they spoke.

“I live over an hour away from work in a bedsitter flat. I wonder if you would allow me to share this flat with you?”

“That is an idea!” Leslie thought and said the same.

“How would that work?”

“We would pay half the rent and half of all the bills and do half of the chores. I am quite a good cook, but never much liked cooking for just me. I would enjoy cooking for you some of the time. I would also enjoy the company. I already get on well with you, or that is my opinion.”

“I am sure we could be civilised if we wanted to bring boyfriends or girlfriends home with us.”

“I am not sure if you are Gay or Straight, Robert. I am definitely standard straight female.”

“I may not be the most manly of men with my height and looks, but I am definitely into girls. I can appreciate boys, but don’t want a relationship with them.”

“I am not sure what else to ask. I know that you have had references taken up recently and have had a criminal check done, so I know that you don’t have criminal record so I don’t think I need references. What about your financial status?”

“ I will use the app on my phone. I will show you my balance in my Current Account and the Savings account I have.”

“Phew. Those are healthy amounts of money.”

“What about you. Do you SPEND SPEND SPEND when the pay comes in at the end of the month?”

“It is quite expensive being a girl and I don’t have the salary you have, but I am solvent and can hold my end up as it were.”

“What do you think then? I am on an open contract with my current bedsit. I just have to give a month’s notice and then I can move.”

“The decision has to be yours, Leslie.” I don’t want you to feel in any way pressurised, but I would expect to be put onto a new short-hold lease when the current one expires, if not before.”

“Now that my old flatmate has left, I need a new lease anyway, so you could be on the lease from the date you move in.”

“There I am getting ahead of myself again. I hope you will be able to move here. I think we will get on well together. If I had taken on a flatmate arranged through the Agency it might have been a disaster. Here I feel as if I have known you for a long time, because we are so much alike.”

“i will give notice to the Agency on Monday and will be able to contribute from the date I move in. In fact I can give a month’s rent in advance if that helps. I am sure you have a deposit stored with the Agency for that amount.”

“I have got to repay Marjorie her deposit, and it would have cleaned me out to do that.”

“That is sorted then. I will transfer her deposit to you now, and then will pay half the rent before I move in on 26th of next month.”

“If you want, please move some of your things, like work clothes. I am reluctant to give you a key until the arrangement is formalised, but I shall look forward to eating some of your cooking!”

“You don’t have to wait for month for that. How about me cooking for you here next Saturday?”

“Done. That is brilliant. Serendipitous really.”

“Now about your clothes.”

“Robert, I have made a mistake with the tumble drier. Your trousers are partly melted and are stuck to your underpants. I can salvage your shirt. What do we do now?”

“I think I will need to lend you something to get home. We should be the same size!”

“Are you suggesting that I get dressed up as a girl sooner than your friends had anticipated?”

“I don’t think I have much that is boyish, so probably that is the one option that remains.”

“OK find what you think will suit and get me decent.”

“I am going to ring one of the girls as I know she has a pair of breast forms that would fit into one of my bras.”

“I thought you said the shirt was OK?”

“It is, but you will look odd being entirely flat chested and wearing a skirt.”

“I thought you would get some trousers, or at least shorts. I don’t know if I am up to going out in a skirt just yet.”

“You will be fine. Amanda is bringing some styling mouse to train your hair and the breast forms.”

“That was quick. I am not being set up am I?”

“No, definitely not. I am trying to make amends for the mess I have made of your clothes. Amanda is a good friend and will help without sharing the knowledge with anyone else.”

Five minutes later Amanda arrived carrying a back pack of all the things a girl needs to be seen about town.

Robert was offered a thong, but thought better of it and chose some fairly opaque knickers and changed in the spare room. He was soon sitting in an upright chair with breast forms glued to his chest. The feeling was odd but not unpleasant. Once the glue was setting, the 32A bra was put on carefully and used to hold the glueing forms in place.

Robert was given a bottle of the breast form releasing fluid to take with him.

I am going to wash your hair then set it in a more feminine style. The mouse will hold it in that style until you want to wash it out.

“How often do you have to shave?”

“My hair is very fine. I only need to shave once a week, if that. It is more like a light down. I have seen girls with the same sort of peachy complexion.”

“You seem to be taking this all in your stride, Robert. Many men would be having the screaming abdabs about this, but you are a model of composure.”

“I don’t know, but I just feel a bit excited about this. I am not nervous. It just seems if a door is opening for me to explore another part of my personality. It is a sort of newfound freedom.”

“Well said, I am sure there is a bit of girl in every man if they would allow it to come out.”

“You seem very well prepared for my transformation, Amanda. How is it that you had all these things ready and got here in fifteen minutes?”

“I had an inkling that I would need these things sooner than later, but not for you. I have a nephew who is on the verge of transitioning to a girl and has to live as a girl for a year before being accepted for surgery. He only started on hormone treatment three weeks ago and the difference in him is so marginal that he has decided to delay the more obvious changes until he has finished his A level examinations. He thinks University life will be more accommodating as he goes through gender reassignment.”

“That is why everything was ready. It is nothing to do with contriving the change in you, although I must admit that I am enjoying doing this.”

“I am really looking forward to going out with two identical and beautiful girls who will turn heads wherever they go.”

Leslie brought out two nearly identical miniskirts. She seemed unconcerned as she slipped her shorts off revealing a thong that hid very little. One skirt went up her legs and was zipped up before being rotated so the zip was at the back. She offered the other to Robert who eased it over his legs and then his knees until it fit beautifully on his hips.

“You may want to wear more exciting underwear soon, but I am sure the knickers you are wearing will do for now.” Amanda said.

“You may need a gaff in time, that skirt has enough fullness to hide any bulges.”

Next came a blouse with a ruched neck and puffed sleeves in green was the same design as Leslie’s, but hers was cerise.

Leslie looked at Robert and Robert looked at Leslie. They both seem to say “Wow” simultaneously.

The click of Amanda’s phone camera brought them back to reality.

“I don’t want that circulated for the time being”, Robert said firmly.

I also insist that it stays on your phone. Promise me, Amanda, that that image will not be circulated until we are both in agreement.”

“Yes, I absolutely agree not to release it. I know It would destroy our friendship.”

“What about a name? I cannot call you Robert all the time.”

“What about Bobbie?”

“Yes. Bobbie works fine for me” said Amanda and Leslie simultaneously, and both laughed.

“Let’s travel to your bedsit and see what can be moved here.”

“Whoa … what is this about moving here?”

“Is there something I am missing?”

“Yes, we have decided that this flat is closer to our work now that Robert … Bobbie, that is; is in post, and I need a flatmate. He is going to flat share with me and have Marjorie’s room.”

“I know you look the same, but you also seem to think the same!”

“Are you going to share clothes as well as the flat?”

“That is a thought!”

“Have you got a chest binder in that bag of yours?”

“Sadly no … but I am sure they are easily obtained.”

“Do you think that the two of you might go out dressed as young men as well as young women?”

“Who knows? I suspect that almost anything is possible the way I feel at the moment.” Bobbie both thought and said.” It is a sort of freedom that I am feeling. It is a feeling I didn’t know existed. Perhaps more exhilaration rather than freedom? No, I think freedom is probably more accurate.

“Leslie, do you feel the same way?”

“I know that it can be a real experience to go out as a man, rather than a young woman, but I think we both look better as women than either of us looks as men. Our looks, heights and strengths are not very manly.”

“Don’t emasculate me too soon. I have lived 26 years of my life perfectly happily as a man, albeit a small and rather puny one. I was successful Hooker in Rugby and at University I did well as a cox in the rowing eight. I coxed for the women’s eight before the men’s First Eight.”

“Coxing an eight boat depends upon skill and command. The smaller you are physically, the better.” was Leslie’s observation.

“I came up to the boobs on the very well muscled athletes in the women’s eight. I enjoyed that. I came up to the waist of several of the 6ft 8in giants who manned the central part of the men’s First Eight. They were very kind to me but I had to keep them working as a well-oiled machine. I enjoyed that also.”

“Did you get thrown into the river if you won. I know that it is something of a tradition for coxes to be doused.”

I got thrown in a few times, but some of the women clearly enjoyed it a bit too much. I often saw the worst offenders leave the boat club holding hands, so some clearly had more interest in each other than with me.

“Doesn’t sound as if you will fancy men in your new guise.”

“The way I feel at the moment, no; but it is weird. I look like Leslie and it seems almost narcissistic to fancy her, but I do.”

“I think you will have to watch out when you are living together.” Amanda laughed “or you will only be needing one bed!”

At the moment, that is one step too far at present.” Leslie said with a smile, “but it is food for thought!”

They all laughed.

“Are you ok going out in your new persona?”

“Do you know, I haven’t given that a moment’s thought. It seems natural and normal. Isn’t that strange? I should feel concerned, or should I?”

“I don’t think it is strange at all. If you look like a woman, and seem to think as a woman, who is going to question your identity sitting on a bus or tube? Just stay on the lower desk of the bus as you may get some voyeur getting an up-skirt view. That is particularly undesirable at present!”

“Isn’t it always undesirable?”

“Of course, but it is even more undesirable, if that is possible, if any bulge is showing that shouldn’t be there.”

“Are you coming across the city to see Bobbie’s place?”

“If it takes an hour each way, then no, but if you are going to be bringing loads of stuff back and need an extra set of arms, AND are prepared to get a taxi back here then I am happy to help.”

“Right then, bus and tube followed by black cab back. I have enough food at the bedsit. Can I entertain you both to lunch?”

“I think we will be able to manage lunch! Shall we get a bottle of Chablis or something fizzy to celebrate? It is a red letter day after all.”

“Let’s push the boat out. Yes a bottle of Chablis would be lovely, but one of us will have to drink it out of a mug!”

“Shall we do the route voted the best tourist route for people on a shoestring budget?”

“What is that?”

“It is the Route 73 bus that goes from Stoke Newington just round the corner from here and ends up at Oxford Street, then we can get the Tube down to Brixton to get to your place.”

“Yes, lets do it, but can we go on the upper deck. If one of you follows me up the stairs I am sure I can get up and down decorously.”

“Leslie? Do you have an empty suitcase we can take. I only have one and a holdall. That will not be enough for my clothes.”

“Yes, one empty suitcase but it is pink!”

“I can live with pink. It goes with my new persona.”

So three young ‘women’ left the flat arm in arm. One was swinging an empty suitcase. All had Oyster cards and travelled across town in the Spring sunshine.

The 73 bus travels past many London landmarks such as the bustling area round the Angel of Islington, Clissold Park and Abney Park then past the Victorian Gothic glory of St. Pancras, and the imposing King’s Cross and the British Library, before travelling past Euston Station and the shopping area around Tottenham Court Road and finally into the tourist nexus of Oxford Circus.

Bobbie fitted in to the feminine banter of the two women. They commented on the Spring flowers in the parks that filled beds with yellows of the daffodils and reds of the tulips, these were interspersed with blue of the Grape Hyacinths. They commented on the crowds enjoying the sunshine outside the many coffee shops near The Angel. Leslie was not backward in saying what feminine fashions would suit Bobbie. They were amazed by the hoards of travellers that surround the main stations in Euston Road. The crowds surged across the junctions at Caledonian Road, and Gray’s Inn Road in a never ending stream controlled only by the Pelican Crossings.

Amanda reminisced about the wonderful Christmas decorations that were used in Warren Street and Oxford Street only a few months previously; then they were soon at Oxford Circus where they could journey on to Brixton on the Jubilee Line Underground.

Bobbie had negotiated the bus stairs decorously with Amanda going in front and Leslie behind to avoid any clothing malfunctions, but with a smile and an almost unconscious smoothing of her skirt, Bobbie stepped out onto the ‘down escalator’ into the cavernous maw of Oxford Circus tube station. This was familiar ground and the three travelled quickly to Brixton for the ten minute walk to Robert’s bedsitter. They stopped briefly at Robert’s local Offie (ed. Offie is an Off Licence or shop that sells alcoholic beverages) for a bottle of Chablis that was already in the shop’s chiller.

The shopkeeper knew Robert well, but paid no heed to Robert as Bobbie. The card payment machine accepted Robert’s bank card without any problem and they were soon on their way again.

Brixton Market was on their way. The smells of fresh fruit and vegetables assaulted their nostrils. Some of the smells were less attractive but most made them stop and admire the piles of brightly coloured fruits. The colours and shapes of all the exotic and familiar fruits was almost intoxicating and there were comments called out by vendors to the two supposedly identical twins. The banter was good natured and pleasant and the ‘girls’ gave as good as they got. There was one ‘catcall’ and Amanda reminded Bobbie that she should ignore catcalls as it was not acceptable in this day and age.

Robert’s bedsitter was in a block of similar properties and no one was on the stairs or landings to question his access. In fact he was only familiar with two other residents as people came and went very frequently.

Amanda and Leslie were quick to appraise the small property. He was complimented on the state of his bathroom and particularly the toilet!

“What do you own in the way of large items. I suspect that the bed, and white goods come with the flat.”

“Yes, most do as well as the tv, table, dining chairs and the little two-seater sofa. I own the microwave and coffee machine, and a small hi-fi unit but other than that, none of it is mine, except, of course, my two laptops and some books!”

“That makes life very easy. Just clothes, toiletries and shoes and you are almost away, as it were.”

“Let me start packing. I think my clothes will all fit into my suitcase, the one of yours and a couple of holdalls I have.”

“What is in the fridge?”

“There is bread in the plastic bread bin on the work surface, then six eggs, a pack of ham and some green salad with some celery. Mayo is in the fridge door as well as a litre of milk.”

“I will open the Chablis. We can drink as we work.”

Amanda and Leslie set the meal out on plates as Robert packed his clothes and shoes.

Leslie sat cross-legged on the single bed leaving a view that left very little to the imagination. Amanda and Bobbie sat on the two upright chairs.

“Isn’t your sitting a bit revealing?” Amanda said with a smile.

“I don’t care. The bathroom in the flat has no lock. I might as well start as I intend to continue.”

Bobbie mused aloud. “This needs thinking about. Just how revealing are we intending to be?”

“I don’t think Amanda and I have ever held back since we got to know each other. We share changing cubicles when we go shopping and the bathroom door is never closed. I have seen her without a stitch on more times than I can remember and I expect that it will be the same for you.”

“How do you feel about me seeing you naked, Amanda?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but I would like to go shopping together, and my experience is that it makes more fun if you can share in choosing lingerie as much at outerwear. Having a clean palette will make it exciting to fill up your closet with pretty things.”

“I think I need to check my bank balance! I am already looking forward to having a selection of pretty clothes, but all this excitement means that I mustn’t lose sight of my job, and the need to visit my parents from time to time. I don’t want to be all female, but the option to be both is engrossing.”

“If I am seeing either or both of you naked, I wonder how to deal with my body’s reaction to that?”

“We have both seen men with erections. It is a sort of compliment. It is what you do when you are stimulated that makes the difference.”

“We will need to discuss that, but we will not expect you to be abstinent. We all have needs.”

“Anyway. Back to today’s activity. I have enough bedding and towels for us both, and I don’t think we have hands enough to carry all your sheets and so on so we will leave them for today if that is ok.”

“Yes, fine by me. I think there are perhaps two more journeys that need to be done to move everything. I will phone for a black cab to take us back if you are both ready, then we will cart the bags downstairs to wait for the cab in the sunshine.”

Leslie commented that Bobbie looked very comfortable in her outfit.

“I am enjoying it. It seems quite natural to me now. I don’t know why, but it is.”
“Amanda, do you want me to buy the breast forms from you or give them back and buy my own?”

“I think that size is ideal for you. What do you think Leslie?”

“Yes, it would be too obvious to be larger, and too small would be lost on your chest. They are 32A I think. Yes?”

“Yes 32A.”

“So shall I buy them from you?”

“Yes, if you wish, but my nephew didn’t want the quality that would allow him to wear them all the time. You may want a better quality that will feel a bit more natural and will move more as you move.”

“Mmm I think I might like the best boobs that nature cannot provide.”

“I hope you are not shocked, but the best will cost you about £500 for the pair, but they are fully customisable for your skin tones or details like freckles, and you can swim in them as well. They will move as you move.”

“Yes, that is a sizeable amount of my savings. I have consider what I will need to buy to be dressed as a girl at least some of the time.”

“What is your deposit on the bedsit rental?”

“The deposit is a month’s rent, so £800 will come back from the deposit holder. That will help buy some clothes.”

“I am really looking forward to us sharing the flat, so I will not expect you to pay into the deposit for my flat for the time being. That is in exchange for buying all new underwear. I will allow you to share my outerwear until you decide how you want to go on. I always buy too much and have to give stuff away to the charity shops that has hardly been worn.”

“That is great. I will go out with you, Leslie, to get everything I need next weekend. We can talk it over during one of the next few evenings.”

“How long does it take for the breast forms to arrive?”

“I don’t know exactly. They are made in Canada and would have to be customised, then sent over. I am sure a bit of research will put your mind at rest, but please use the ones you have for one or two more sessions.”

I will have to stay dressed as a man during the working week. Back to Robert tomorrow morning.

“I shall transfer a month’s rent to you when I have logged on to your network at your … no … our, home.”

The Black cab arrived and conversation was muted for the journey. The cabbie was animated in his chatter to the group that he assumed were all girls. They giggled politely at some of his slightly risqué humour. Bobbie paid the £35 bill without a murmur and his belongings were carried inside.

He set out all his clothes in the wardrobe and chest of drawers only to find when he re-emerged that Leslie and Amanda had rustled up some supper for them all.

He noticed immediately that neither woman had a bra on.

“What is with the unfettered breasts?”

“Bras get uncomfortable after many hours. It is a house rule that we go bra-free after work.”

“I shall enjoy watching you. Unfortunately these breast forms are not the same or I would join you.”

“Leslie, I would give it three months before Bobbie wants her own implants and hormone injections to go with them. What do you think?”

I think it may take a bit longer for that but I think bottom surgery need longer if it ever happens.”

“I am not sure I like you betting on surgery for me with quite such relish.”

“I am sorry, we are just having a joke at your expense.”

“Yes, a considerable expense if I remember correctly. Several years of saving before either, unless the NHS will help.”

After spending the evening watching a rather unmemorable film, Amanda prepared to go.

“Can you help me remove the breast forms before you go.”

“OK, although you could do it yourself easily.”

After helping Robert, Amanda went home and Leslie and Robert sat and chatted. “How do we sort out the chores and when do you want me to pay you for the various things like Council Tax, and Rent?”

“We can sort those things out over the next few days, but I am the leaseholder so all the payments will have to go through my bank account until we get a new lease together. For the time being at least, you will be an unsecured tenant.”

“I understand that, but it is useful to already have a record of being a good renter to establish a creditworthiness as a lessee. I don’t want to lose that.”

“That is absolutely fine.”

“Over the next few days please explain what clothes you can spare. Perhaps we can go shopping for lingerie on Saturday with Amanda … or without?”

“Amanda would be spitting blood if we went without her. She is usually free on Saturday mornings so I will ask her to come with us to Primark or even SHEIN if their PopUp shop in Oxford Street is still open. Both are cheap, but are not transparently ethical in their labour rules.“

“I have been to Primark before. They always seem to have loads of stuff piled up. I am happy to give it a go. Lots of cheap undies!”

“Can I use the bathroom first, Robert asked.”

“Yes, but one of the evening tasks is to wash out your delicate things. No lingerie goes in the washing machine.”

“Very good Marm!”

Leslie was dressed in an outsized tee shirt when Robert emerged. ”Is that what you sleep in, he asked?”

“Yes, normally.”

“I will keep to my pyjamas for now. They are basically a Tee shirt and shorts anyway.”

“Shall we go to work together tomorrow morning or separately?”

“You will need to change your address at the HR department tomorrow anyway, so I suggest we go together.”

“I hope you sleep well. We will need to be out of the flat by 8.15 so one of us needs to be in the bathroom by 7:30 while the other brews up.”

“I will set my alarm for 7:15. I think I will be quicker than you getting into my normal male clothes for a day at work.”

“I hope you sleep well. I will see you in the morning.”

“Yes. The start of a new adventure!”

End of Part 1.

Part 2

Robert looked from the bed up to the ceiling. There was just the faintest lingering smell of perfume. I wonder what life holds for me when it might be my perfume that lingers?

Sleep came quickly after the business of the day, and it seemed a very short time before the alarm on his phone played the theme from a Mozart concerto with increasing volume. He pressed a button to show he was awake rather reluctantly.

Still recovering from sleep he stumbled into the bathroom. The door was open and he did not clock the fact that the shower was running.

“Good morning, Leslie said through the steam and glass partition. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, very well. I have not woken up entirely yet. Do you want me to give you some space until your shower is finished.”

“Don’t worry, I think it is easier to be comfortable with our bodies. Being embarrassed is really such a bore.”

“Do you mind me doing a wee as you shower?”

“No go ahead. What needs to be done ought to be done!”

Leslie was dressed by the time Robert had showered. He dressed in his normal jeans and tee shirt then had the same breakfast of flakes, milk and coffee he always had.

“Will you be ready in ten minutes, Leslie asked?”

“Yes, ten minutes is fine.”

The two workers left together with their lanyards round their respective necks and managed to get access to the suite owned by their company without any problem.

“I will see you in reception at 5pm if not before”, Leslie whispered as they parted. If you need to be late let me know. We will get a key cut on Saturday.”

Robert looked back on the week that Friday evening wondering where the five days had gone. He and Leslie had settled into a routine. They ate together and travelled together. The team of Leslie’s friends were all in the know about Robert’s change of address and the HR team showed no interest and just recorded the change without comment.

Leslie and Robert went through the list of necessaries that would be needed on Saturday. It was a long list but possible in one store in one day.
Amanda was rapping on the door at 8am loaded down with mousse, cosmetics and breast forms. Robert was both excited and daunted by her irrepressible enthusiasm. He emerged damp and pink from his shower. He had used a depilatory and no body hair remained.

An hour later and the effect was total. The breast forms were in place and were covered by a lacy bra that Leslie had ‘donated’ for the day and a pair of knickers that rode high on his hips covered his masculinity.

Her hair was swept over and held rigidly by the mousse. The effect was unmistakably feminine.

The weather was warm for the time of year and the summery cotton dress fitted snugly over ‘her’ curves. The effect was youthful and feminine.

The cosmetics were kept light with pale pink the dominant colour.

Amanda kept up a dialogue of how to maintain the effect she was creating.

Bobbie tried to retain all the information she was giving him, but it all got too much and eventually he just basked in the pleasure of being pampered.

Bobbie was lent a pair of sandals that seems to fit very well. He hardly noticed the 5cm heel although it was the first time he had worn a shoe anything like that.

Amanda’s phone eventually contained a series of images of the transformation and the last showed two almost identical women in similar cotton frocks ready to ‘do’ the shops.

The journey down to Primark’s flagship store in Oxford Street by bus was uneventful. Bobbie and Leslie were both acutely aware of the heads that turned in their direction from both men and women. Amanda walked beside them and was also aware that she was not the centre of attention!

“Hold back with the purchases. When you get into buying lingerie, it can get addictive! Leslie, hold onto Bobbie. I can see a glazed look on her face. Buy … BUY … BUY it says written large across her forehead.”

“Bobbie, have you got your list?”

“Bobbie to Earth. HAVE YOU GOT YOUR LIST?”

“List, yes, but there are so many nice colours here. I can see bras in every colour imaginable. How to choose?”

“Your list says white. Keep to white. I don’t want you blitzing the rent money!”
In fact the range of 32A bras and matching knickers was quite small and Bobbie emerged a little sadly with three sets of everything and a bikini, so the hit on his wallet was reasonable.

Shoes were also in short supply in the correct size, but a pair of feminine trainers and a pair of leather sandals were added to the list of purchases.

Leslie said NO! more times than she thought possible.

“NO, that is too big for you. You always need to look for the petite range of clothes. NO, that is too revealing. NO, the arm holes are too big and someone will be able to see the sides of your breast forms. NO, that is not your colouring. NO, that is for the wrong season.”

Amanda was in fits by the time they had paid.

“You would have bought the whole shop given the chance. You are incorrigible. Most women would enjoy looking, then trying things on, refining the choices and discarding most of the items before buying sparingly. Always take someone with you to buy clothes to help rein your spending in.”

“I did enjoy it though! I would like to visit one of the more upmarket lingerie stores one day. The buying spree was like getting a Latte with an extra shot. A real Buzz of what I suppose is retail therapy. So many pretty fabrics and colours to choose from. My male clothes are so drab by comparison.”

As they were walking down Oxford Street back to the bus stop, Leslie saw a summer dress in a rather upmarket shop window. She stopped and looked, and Amanda and Bobbie looked. The dress was a pale yellow lined crêpe de chine silk and fell in waves over the mannequin’s contours. There must have a been a fan in the shop window because the dress seemed to move subtly.

“That would suit both of you so well. It is exactly right for a slightly formal summer garden party or barbecue.”

“Lets go and look. Perhaps they will have two of them in our size.”

The shop had two of the dresses in size 8, petite, so both Leslie and Bobbie slipped into a large cubicle and tried the dresses on.

Amanda and the shop assistant were on the verge of applauding when the girls emerged in the matching dresses.

“That is amazing. You look absolutely stunning in those dresses, irresistible even. They are worth splashing the cash to get something so eye-catching.
Leslie looked at Bobbie, and Bobbie looked at Leslie. Shall we?

“Sometimes, a dress is a must and I think it is one of those occasions.”

Amanda looked wistfully at the dresses. “I would love to have one of those but I am larger than both of you.”

“We have the dress in a size 14, in pale green if you are interested.?”

“I am, but no, I must resist the temptation.”

“You can try it on, was the assistant’s final shot.”

“No. I don’t want to upstage you two. You both look gorgeous so why try to compete.”

“Home straight away after this. I don’t want to get caught out again.” Leslie commented wistfully.

The dresses were boxed up in tissue paper and the credit cards took the hit, but both women found it difficult to avoid peeking into the boxes on the bus on the way home.

On their return, Bobbie, removed the tags from her lingerie purchases and put them away in what had become her lingerie drawer. She had a cardboard divider that separated these delicate things from the rather more robust underwear items from Robert’s stock of clothing.

When the three girls were sitting in the flat with a cup of tea, Bobbie asked to for help in ordering the rather expensive breast forms.

“I need to look at the variety of shapes, and colour. There is a chart to help one choose the skin colour. Then there is another chart that you can cut out to choose nipple and areolar colours. Finally, I need help with any features that are to be added.”

“You will need to strip off to the waist to help with that, and I will remove your breast forms to show your natural breast colour.” Amanda offered.

The two girls looked over the colour chart that Bobbie had printed out. They held it up to Bobbie’s chest to match the surrounding skin type.

“I think you need number 3 from the chart for the skin colour and the A cup size. The nipple size is small, medium or large. I would go for medium. Your areolae will be a bit darker, but with such blonde hair your skin will be pale anyway. I think colour 5 would be good, and the nipples should be the same colour. What do you think Leslie?

“Why don’t I show you mine. Since we are so similar you can judge for yourself.”

As normal, the two women had stripped off their bras when at home, so Leslie only had to unbutton her shirt to strip off and show her breasts to Amanda and Bobbie.

“Yes, the sizes and colours are good choices. The idea is for you two to look as similar as possible after all. I also think that the breast shape should be symmetrical for a breast of such modest cup size. No gravity effect.”

“What about freckles or other features?”

“No, you don’t have freckles on your face so why should you have them on your chest or boobs?”

“It all sounds good to me. I shall get them ordered. The website says about a fortnight for those manufactured in Germany.”

“Excellent. I am sure you will look stunning in them Bobbie, or is it Robert now you are out of Leslie’s clothes?”

“I feel like Bobbie, but look more like Robert at the moment. I ought to keep my male persona fully functional for everyday matters like work, but I am very comfortable as Bobbie.”

I know you can swim with these expensive prosthetics, but what about sunbathing. When we go on holiday together I normally sunbathe topless. Every woman on the beach does. You will not be able to particularly as your boobs will not tan in the sunshine.

“This is new to me. When did we decide to go on holiday together?”

“I just decided. Amanda and I have been going to somewhere sunny every year since we met. It just seems normal for you to come as well.”

I am sure I would enjoy it. I haven’t been on a beach holiday since childhood, but isn’t the idea to get a tan and get laid on that sort of holiday?”

“I suppose it is, but it doesn’t have to be so. It does emphasise that you getting a boob job might get on the menu sooner rather than later.”

“I think it would be great to be able to sunbathe topless and get a tan right across my chest, but that is going to take some time to arrange, and my life would need to be altered quite a bit.”

“With a sports bra on, and A size implants, I think your side profile would be little different from now. What do you think Leslie? Have you ever worn a sports bra?”

“Yes, a sports bra would conceal the small implants, but it would be a big thing for Bobbie to undertake just so we could go on holiday together.”

“I think it is more than that. The movement in your natural boobs while you are braless here in this flat is very obvious. I know the posh breast forms will have some of the movement, but I don’t think they will be very convincing. Maybe I should go for small implants immediately.”

Amanda was looking at the Internet on her phone.

“An insert that would take you from flat chested to an A cup size would need to be 250ml. This almost the smallest size that is made. You would also need round inserts rather than the teardrop shape that is more commonly used for larger inserts. The surgery is completed as an outpatient appointment, and you would need very little time off work. Ideally you would be able to work from home for a few days.”

“I know you don’t want your transformation to be widely known yet, but the girls from the office got a fair idea the way the wind was blowing. I think we can trust them all to Keep Mum.

“I would like to have made a bit more progress with my transformation before going out socialising with the girls. When I have the new prostheses then is the time for a reveal.”

“OK, I will fend them off for the time being.”

“I think it is amazing how you have adapted to being Bobbie. In only a week you have shown that you can live two separate lives very successfully.”

“Thanks. I feel very comfortable as both Robert and Bobbie. I would like to consider a beach holiday with you both, but wouldn’t want the breast forms to get in the way of the holiday, as it were.”

“Where were you thinking of going this summer?”

“We usually leave it until the last minute then get to somewhere on the Spanish mainland or the Greek islands.”

What about my passport?

“If you can still dress as Robert and go to work as Robert then why should you need any alteration to your passport?”

“Point taken.”

“What about you getting laid on holiday. Even if I wanted it, there isn’t an option there.”

“As a couple of identical beauties, you would certainly be the centre of attention for large numbers of young men.”

“Possibly the best answer would be to make it clear you are into girls then keep a low profile.”

“This all needs thinking about. I need to understand my sexuality and how I need to live my life. I can understand the advantages of having a small boob job, and I will do some more research on that. I like being pretty, beautiful even, and like being a twin with Leslie, but going on a beach holiday wearing little more than a thong is quite a big step.”

“We know that and everyone will understand when you have made your decision about the future.”

“Who is the ‘We”?

“Oh, the whole crowd that you met at the Jazz evening.”

“I didn’t know that. I would be going on holiday with five beautiful women?”

“Yes, and I am sure one or two would take very little persuasion to enjoy a night in the sack with you!”

“I am getting worn out by all the possibilities.”

“I shall go to my room and do some research into the breast augmentation surgery.”

“What are you two planning to do tomorrow?”

“We haven't discussed it. Perhaps Leslie would like do something without me. I don't want to monopolise her time when she would prefer to do something else.”

“You are fun to be with, Bobbie. Why wouldn't I want to be with you?”

“I am flattered. I enjoy your company as well. Do you enjoy visiting galleries? There is a special exhibition on at the National Gallery on the Pre-Raphaelites that I want to see?”

“I am sure you know more about them than I do but, yes it would be nice to go with you.”

“My membership is under Robert and the card is photo ID,, so I will have to go as Robert.”

“I think I will cope with that!”

“Do you two want to help me research about the breast implants?”

“Sure. It is not something that I have had much to do with.”

Amanda and Leslie sat either side of Bobbie and looked at images of every sort of breast whether natural or enhanced.

“Your areolae are much more obvious than any of those men's chests, and your nipples are more prominent as well.”

“I have never really noticed that but yes,I think you are right. I wonder why that should be?”

“I have been reading on a bit. Can I ask you some quite private questions?”

“Ask away. We have seen each other naked. There cannot be many secrets between us now.”

Leslie looked down at her hands and asked quietly.

“Have you ever had an emission, either from masturbation or naturally as a wet dream?”

Bobbie coloured up, but said quietly. “No, I never have. I have never felt the need.”

“... and you are a virgin as well?”

“Yes. I always seem to be studying or working too hard to form close relationships.”

“Will you let me look at your groin and touch your testicles?”

“Sure. I might enjoy it?

Bobbie pulled his skirt up and pulled the knickers down.

Both Leslie and Amanda were surprised that Bobbie had no erection when they handled his scrotum and penis.”

“You are not normal down there. Both of us have fondled and indeed sucked and licked a variety scrotums. Your testicles are both smaller than normal and harder than testicles should be.”

“Look up the effects of Mumps on a man's fertility on the net.”

The three looked down a page that outlined the consequences of Mumps. At its most serious the disease could cause bilateral atrophy of the testicles that could not be treated.

“Didn't you have the MMR vaccination when you were a baby?”

“I don't know. We were abroad with my father's job for my first two years. I have no record of what I had and didn't have.”

“Neither of us is a doctor of course, but we have the experience of being sexually active women. I think your testicles are atrophied, and that would account for your lack of male secondary sexual characteristics. Do you agree Leslie?”

“Yes. The website says that atrophied testicles may become cancerous. I do think you need to see your doctor sooner than later.”

“Very well, I will go onto the surgery and make an appointment to see one of the doctors.”

“The surgery has a triage system in place. What do I say is the matter with me?”

“Concern about bilateral testicular atrophy as a result of childhood Mumps.”

A message from the triage team arrived a few hours later with a code to access the booking system to make an appointment.

Robert didn't know any of the doctors, but the first appointment he could attend was with a lady doctor, called Miriam.

Late on Tuesday afternoon,Robert excused himself from work and made the short journey to the surgery.

Dr. Miriam proved to be a kindly middle aged woman with a nice smile.

“I understand that you have some concerns about your development. I hope you will not mind me taking a history before we discuss your specific problems.”

Dr. Miriam was very thorough going through Robert's twenty- five years. She recorded all the medical events in his life including the severe case of Mumps when he was seven.

She then gave him a thorough examination including a rectal examination to palpate his prostate gland.

When Robert had dressed, Dr. Miriam gave her conclusions.

“In my opinion, both your testicles are atrophied as a result of Mumps. Such cases are incredibly rare as a result of the almost universal introduction of the MMR vaccine. This has had the knock on effect of inhibiting your male secondary sexual development. You have told me that you sing as a Counter Tenor. In fact I think it would be more appropriate to call you a Soprano.”

“I need to send you to the hospital because your testicles are likely to become cancerous if they are not cancerous already. You will need a bilateral orchidectomy.”

“How do you think this will this affect your life?”

“I already spend half of my life as a woman and am exploring having breast implants.”

“If I may say so, you already look the part. Your hair and complexion show that you are taking care of your skin and your speaking voice is in the higher range for a man.”

“Can I show you a photo of me with my flatmate?”

“Certainly. “Which of these beauties is you? The two of you look identical.”

“Everybody thinks we are identical twins.”

“I am on the left of the picture in the red top.

“The bilateral orchidectomy will leave you with prosthetic testicles in your empty scrotum. Everything else will remain in place. It seems to me that it might be better to consider a full gender reassignment. I cannot guarantee it, but in my opinion the surgery would be done on the National Health as it is a treatment to prevent cancer, just as a mastectomy is done to prevent breast cancer.”

“That sounds quite amazing and would answer a lot of the questions I have going on in my head at the moment.

“I will let you go home now, but will make the urgent referral immediately. You should have an appointment sent out within a couple of weeks as it is a cancer referral.”

“Thank you for your time Doctor. Perhaps the next time you see me I will have had my name changed to Bobbie on my Medical notes.”

“If that is what you want then I hope you have a brilliant life as Bobbie.”

Bobbie had a spring in her step as she left the surgery. She had so much to tell Leslie.

On the way Bobbie popped into the Offie and bought a nice bottle of Prosecco.

Leslie was making a salad for them both as Bobbie bounced up the stairs and gave Leslie a big hug from behind.

The cork from the Prosecco hit the ceiling as Bobbie caught the froth dextrously in a glass.

“What is the celebration?” Leslie asked laughing.

Bobbie sat her down and explained everything that had happened with the doctor.

“The possibility of cancer is serious, of course and I am not trying to diminish that risk, but it means that I can live as Bobbie full time.”

“You are sure that is what you want?”

“Absolutely. I am clear in my mind for the first time in years.”

“I don't think I will not come on holiday with the girls this year, but if we still live together the next year, then it is a dead cert!”

“How about boys and getting laid?”

If I have the right anatomy, the mindset will follow I am sure. All this will take time, but I am happy to have that night on the town with the girls now. Can you let Amanda loose with the information?”

“She has been champing at the bit over the last few days. I suggest we wear those posh frocks and have our hair and nails done professionally.”

“You are on! Go for it girl!”

Leslie and Bobbie looked a million dollars as they emerged from the black cab. Bobbie’s hair extensions glowed as her golden locks cascaded down her back. They smiled at each other and swirled their matching skirts. As they emerged into the bar more than twenty colleagues rose to their feet and applauded the pair. Amanda had really let the cat out of the bag. There was no going back now … if, indeed there ever had been!

Epilogue

Eighteen months later six young women piled out of a short haul aircraft and very quickly registered at a modest 3-star hotel overlooking a golden beach. Within minutes they were on a set of sun loungers on a wide beach of the pristine sand overlooking a crystal blue sea. The first of many Pina coladas was enjoyed, particularly during the Happy Hour each day.

A young man called Garth had learned to apply Factor 50 expertly to 90% of Bobbie’s pale delicate skin. The 10% he didn’t have access to was covered by a micro-bikini bottom that was little more than a small strip of lemon yellow fabric and a few bits of yellow string. Rumour had it that he had access to the rest of Bobbie’s body on more than one occasion, but it would be impolite to confirm that one way or the other.

One cannot get away from the street markets in the East End. Holly’s flat was on the second floor of an old Victorian factory, now converted to bijou residences, at far from bijou prices. It overlooked one of the traditional East End street markets. The stall holders, the costermongers of the past, had already been to London’s trade Market at Nine Elms and now their elderly diesel trucks groaning and spluttering with the weight of the cases of fruit and vegetables arrived to set up by 5:30am. They used to bring stock for a largely European diet. Now they brought all sorts of exotic fruits and vegetables for a multiplicity of ethnicities.

The local primary school on the next street had children who spoke dozens of different languages at home, and yet the children thrived there even when it was cold and wet.

The residents decorated the trees with brightly coloured dummy parcels at Christmas, and with appropriate symbols for a dozen other Faith groups throughout the year. When there wasn’t a festival of some sort local yarn bombers filled the void with colour.

People living there knew that the tight-knit community that formed in the nexus of streets surrounding the market were mutually dependent and they accommodated to its presence.

At least it was May and the sun was shining.

Holly yawned. She enjoyed the cat-like moment of stretching and uncoiling that seemed to be part of her morning routine before she pulled back the duvet to face the day.

One of her few luxuries was the pod coffee maker that held pride of place in her kitchenette. She bought the pods from the Indian store only a few doors down. It was crammed with products that were written in a variety of Asian languages. Unintelligible to most residents except for the price.

Holly loved the rich spicy smell of the shop redolent of the East. She could have bought her coffee pods from the branded Mini-market just a couple of hundred yards further away, but going into the Singh’s shop was an olfactory tour de force and the elevated prices were worth every extra penny.

The street traders were allowed to call from 6:30am. The calls were in the local vernacular. A blend of rhyming slang and local dialect. A melange of phrases that was a lingua franca of the local population, and exclusive to them.

By 7am Holly had had her first cup of coffee and had attended to her needs in the bathroom. The scars that arrived with the breast enhancement were healed and after a long winter’s skin pallor, they were more or less the same colour as her skin now.

“Must get a bit of sun she thought. I think a trip to the Lido is in order.”

Daywear on a working day was a freshly laundered shirt, over a matching bra. All the old A cup bras were gone, and she massaged her new C cups into their enclosure with a broad grin. She through that she would never tire of that sensation.

Next she sat in front of the small dressing table, and applied makeup sparingly. Just enough to enhance her feminine features and just enough to conceal the other features that came with her origins.

The saffron coloured shirt matched a tan skirt she enjoyed wearing. There was a lot of leg showing when she wore it, but she enjoyed the freedom of wearing skirts. The skirt also had two pockets that had just enough room for her phone and house keys.

Gold coloured costume jewellery added a narrow belt and a chain necklace that hung in her cleavage. She also had a matching bracelet that went on her left wrist. Cheap baubles, to be sure, but money was tight and precious metals would have to wait.
Satisfied with her appearance, she slipped on the sandals that were her standard footwear for the summer months. Just enough of a heel to show off her legs to best effect!

Time for some breakfast.

She looked round the small flat before leaving. One bedroom with just enough room for a double bed and a vanity unit. A sitting room with two overstuffed armchairs bought from a second hand dealer a few streets away. The stirring room came with a small kitchenette attached, then to one side a minute bathroom with a shower, wash basin and WC. All she needed at a horrendous price. At least it was a Freehold flat and not the pernicious Leasehold that plagued much of inner city living. She had a frisson of worry each time she thought of the day when she had agreed to buy it for £285,000, but she was over the anxiety it had brought her, now it was almost two years ago.

She almost skipped down the flight of steps to the outside door she shared with three other flats in the building and out into the sunshine.

She noticed Bill and Sheila his wife serving customers from their greengrocer’s stall opposite her front door. They were very good friends and kept an eye on her flat if she was away. Bill nodded in her direction and Sheila waved. “You look good in that outfit.”

Holly smiled and gave her hair a well practised flick and accepted the compliment.

The hardware stall was next. Ana always had a small Polish flag flying from her stall, displaying her origins. It was a cornucopia of bits and bobs for the home. Trays of small tools, adhesives and screws, bolts, nails and the like. Her van was a hi-top so she could push the wheeled display units back in at the end of the day’s trading. She was not a slight woman and needed to be tough. She would be a different markets from 5:30am to 3:30pm, six days a week. It was hard life, but Holly had never seen her unhappy.

Seeing Holly, Ana came round to the front of the stall and enveloped Holly in a huge hug, and nuzzled her hair.

“You smell good.” she said. Holly knew to take such a comment at face value. There was no subliminal message in what she said.

She held a key for Holly’s flat. If any of the women Market Traders were caught short, she would let them into Holly’s flat to use the bathroom.

Two stalls down, Doris held sway with her fish stall. The ice glistened in the trays and the fish lay in serried ranks with the shine of their scales getting dimmer as the day went on. Two pint mugs doled out Cockles and Mussels, Whelks and Jellied Eels into cardboard containers. The smell was potent, and no other food stalls were allowed either side of the fish stall.

Across the road a new stall selling accessories for mobile phones and an unlocking service had been erected. The stall holder, a young dapper Asian man nodded to Holly. They had never spoken, but were on nodding terms.

Holly wandered on. Bright colours of the sari stall attracted her, colours that clashed abysmally hung together. Holly could never get over the Hindu love of garish hues in juxtaposition.

Then there was the stall that sold cheap underwear for the larger woman. A huge bra in fluorescent pink, hanging at eye level elicited a smile, but she could now smell the coffee stand where she could get a croissant, with jam and cream, and a flat white and that was an obvious distraction.

“The usual, Holly?” was the comment as she sat down in one of the white plastic chairs close to the three plastic tables permitted close to the stand.

Jane knew Holly from the time she moved to the street in her previous guise, and had embraced her as a sister subsequently.

“So how goes it?”

“Fine. I am enjoying the summery weather. I do enjoy having my legs free when it is warm enough.”

“I enjoy a skirt when I am away from work. Trousers or shorts are practical but there is nothing like a skirt or dress to feel a bit girly. Exciting and vulnerable at the same time. Just one thin layer of cloth between your most intimate areas and the World outside.”

“You not at work today?”

“I have appointments from 2pm until 10pm tonight.”

“How does this upmarket Estate Agency you work for do its business?”

“Our introductions team finds potential clients and interviews them, often they have to travel to other parts of the World, or meet up in a port somewhere for a meeting on a large yacht.”

“Once the client has agreed to visit properties and has explained their needs, a portfolio of suitable properties is drawn up and submitted to the potential purchaser by email or post, whatever.”

“Next, I come in. I pick them up from their hotel or other accommodation in a chauffeur driven car, and take them to the property. I am given clients where my Mandarin and Arabic are particularly useful.”

“If I am showing a property that they eventually choose, then I hand over to a closing team that does all the work with contracts, payment and alterations the new owner expects. That is often done with a team of lawyers brought in by the client. We often need the agreement of a freeholder, or the owners of neighbouring properties before the exchange of contracts.”

“Clients who are buying in the £10-20 million bracket can be very fussy and we have to pander to their whims a lot. Such people expect a level of service that ordinary people would find extraordinary and often oppressive.”

“The whole thing sounds amazing to me, but I have never met a multimillionaire, even less a billionaire. I don’t know how such people tick with their need for personal guards and exotic levels of comfort.”

“You would be surprised. Millionaires are often very ordinary people. They mix with other millionaires and their money is just assumed. It isn’t even a topic of conversation. When I sell a property I never mention the price or negotiating a price. They have received the portfolio and know the prices. If it is too expensive then they will not be shown the property. When we enter into discussions with a client, we do a bank check to confirm that they actually have say, £M15 in available funds.”

“What is the most expensive property you have sold?”

“That was huge penthouse in Mayfair. We sold it for £85,000,000. It was a night for champagne after the sale was signed, sealed and delivered!”

“My Agency got 1.25% of the sale as commission and I got 20% of that after costs, and those were considerable.”

“That sale paid the deposit on my flat.”

“How many properties do you sell in a year, then?”

“Probably only one every couple of months, but I do get a small regular salary because the Agency does sell many smaller properties as well. I started off selling properties in the £500,000 price bracket, and I could sell one of those a week in the Spring and Autumn peak sale periods.”

“You must be very good at selling. Has it made a difference now you have become Holly?”

“It is easier to deal with the Chinese and Europeans, but more difficult to deal with Moslem clients who seem to want to talk to a male agent all the time. In the office we had a meeting and decided that it was in our interest to send a male agent if there was a clear reluctance amongst some Arab men to deal with a woman. We don’t approve, but after all, we want to sell properties so have to be flexible. Pandering to rich, or very rich Arabs is part of the job.”

“I must get on.” Jane said as she got up from chatting with Holly.

Holly stood to give Jane another hug, before sitting and finishing her croissant, and coffee.

Just as she was about to stand a very pampered Chihuahua leapt towards her with a joyous yap landed in her lap. She proceeded to give Holly’s face a lick.

The dog was wearing a pink collar studied with plastic sparkles.

“Holly, dear, lovely to see you.” … the owner of the dog effused whilst blowing air kisses.

I have been dying to see you in case you have a nice property for me.

“Also good to see you Clarissa. You know I never talk business on my time off, but once you become serious about a new home, then give the office a ring. We will be happy to give you all the time you need.”

“I know that, but I really want you to handle my sale and any new purchase.”

“You can always ask for me to help you. I am sure the office would allocate me to you if that is your wish.”

Clarissa was overdressed as usual. The phrase ‘mutton dressed as lamb’ came to mind. Her makeup was applied to cover blemishes that were beyond concealment. She was thin as a rake, and the dog, Bambi probably ate better than she did. Many hair grips maintained a semblance of order in her off-white hair that was much too long and unkempt for a woman of her age, or indeed for a woman of any age.

Holly knew it would never happen. Clarissa was as poor as a church mouse. She owned a flat in a decaying mansion which she had inherited it from her late husband. When she and a few other residents had moved on, the property would be demolished and modern apartments built on the site. Her best hope was for a potential developer to offer her an inducement to vacate.

As Holly continued to walk through the market she passed one of the original pie and liquor shops. The smell was enticing. Minced beef pie with two sorts of pastry, Short crust top and suet underneath but served upside down with a smooth potato mash as a halo, and liquor made of the water that had been used to cook eels, then lots of parsley was added before the sauce was thickened.

Pie and liquor was a food that kept generations of young Eastenders healthy. It fed hardworking men like stevedores and longshoremen who toiled for long hours in the Port of London. It really wasn’t to Holly’s taste, too laden with Carbs, but it was part of her heritage and she treasured the shop for that reason.

As she walked on she thought of the desperate poverty of the East End in centuries gone by. Children on the verge of starvation mudlarking to get by. The London she knew with its gentrification of the East End was a far cry from the abject poverty of families forced to live in squalid tenements with landlords who extorted the last farthing of inflated rents.

Near the end of the street the market tapered off, then the neighbourhood pub, the Black Horse with its small beer garden where the smokers were still allowed to gather. The landlords had put up an awning to protect them from the rain, but even in the dry, they could be seen huddling together sharing their habit guiltily. Like many pubs close to Markets, they were allowed to open much earlier than other ones. Two hundred years ago the Black Horse had been a Palace of sorts. It still retained its dark smoky interior with gilded mirrors that reflected back the images of the drinkers with a distinctive antique golden light. The bar had had so much wax on it over the years that it glowed dully in the dim lighting that came from sconces only recently provided with electric fittings. The old town gas mantles that gave London light fifty years ago were still in the cellar after twenty years.

Holly had been to that pub with friends on occasion, but it never really appealed. The Licensees fulfilled their function as licensed victualers. They gave a social life of sorts to a scattering of lonely men, and provided a wholesome diet for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t cook for themselves. Men would nurse a pint for more than an hour, but would be driven out by a flock of young things who arrived bedecked as Hen Party revellers in minimal clothing and sashes saying ‘Bride to Be’ or ‘Bridesmaid to be’ in gold lettering on virginal white.

June, the landlady was a capacious woman had an inexhaustible ability to offer help wherever it was needed to families who were torn apart for one reason or another and to physically throw out drunk or otherwise objectionable clients. Not only capacious, but capricious. Anyone caught snorting a line on the washbasins in the loos was ejected without ceremony.

June’s husband, Bob was a scrawny little man with thinning hair and a scruffy beard. He had teeth that seemed to have grown randomly in his mouth and had a laugh that seems to start somewhere near his legs and grew inevitably as it rose through his body to burst out in a roar that brought tears to his eyes. He could play a mean game of darts when there was an inter pub darts match, but devoted most of his time to breeding greyhounds which he raced at the Walthamstow Stadium.

As Holly was about to turn round and retrace her steps her mobile rang. Her clients who were due to be seen at 2pm wanted to bring the meeting forward to 12 noon. Could she do it?

Yes, was the answer if the company would pay for a taxi across town rather than he using the DLR and Tube.

(Note - DLR is the Docklands Light Railway, and the Tube is the London Underground.)

She was already pacing back the way she had come, and soon ran up the stairs to get changed into her business suit, then grabbed the first vacant black cab from her part of the capital to Mayfair where she was to meet her clients. Luckily the apartment block had a concierge system so she did not need to get a key from her Agency office.

Her home was in an area replete with history and charm. It’s character was enhanced by the rich vista of riparian folk who lived there, so the contrast with Mayfair couldn’t have been greater. The apartment she was to show was all stainless steel and acres of glass with three floors of communal parking under an eight story building.

The carpet seemed extra thick as she walked in. The reception team were dressed immaculately in uniforms with the company logo emblazoned over each left breast. They were as uniform as the clothes they wore. Immensely polite but entirely characterless, always with a gentle smile that acknowledged their subservience. In effect, simulacra of her friends in Wapping.

They knew Holly and acknowledged her with a nod, before pressing the button hidden below the desk This activated the oversized electric doors that allowed residents and guests to enter the vestibule with its huge display of cut flowers. She and her clients were entering the World of the protected and the hugely rich. She met her clients here when they arrived less than five minutes after her.

One of three lifts carried Holly and her clients to the sixth floor. There were only two apartments on each floor, and a key card opened the very secure main entrance door.

The Chinese couple and their two teenage children were very apologetic for bringing Holly into work so soon, but the meeting went well. The children liked the communal gym, and infinity pool on the top floor and the fact that the apartment had six bedrooms so friends could visit.

The girl seemed to spend a little too long looking at Holly. She said in Cantonese to her mother that Holly looked attractive in her suit and would like to see her in a bikini, or less! Holly smiled to herself as she knew exactly what had been said, but did not choose to embarrass the girl in front of her parents and brother.

After some negotiation for planned alterations, the family bought the apartment for an eye-watering sum.

Some days later when the ink was dry on the contract, Holly was able to celebrate with the team.

Patrick, the owner of the Agency was fulsome in his praise of the team, but singled Holly out for her skill in closing the deal.

“I would never have believed that the quiet boy with a double First Class Honours in Chinese and Arabic could become the dynamic young woman you see here today.”

“I have an envelope here from our clients. It is written in Cantonese, but I am informed that it contains a thankyou note and a cheque for £500 for Holly … in appreciation of her diplomacy in not embarrassing their daughter.”

Holly blushed as she accepted the envelope proffered by Patrick. It was nice to be appreciated, but the world of glass and steel was not for her. She slipped away before the drinking became too obvious, and was relieved to get back to the East End with its colourful characters who made it home.

“.”

“?”

“!”

“What am I?”

“You are a full stop I have just typed on this piece of paper.”

“Is that all I am?”

“For the moment, until I decide what you will be.”

“I think you will be an eighteen year old girl.”

“I still feel like a dot on your piece of paper although my experience is limited to being a dot, I suppose.”

“Yes, you are, but you are so much more in my head.”

“So am I also in your head?”

“Yes. How am I speaking to you?”

“Since you are in my head you have all the words that I have learned over many years in multiple languages.”

“Are you sure that I am speaking as an eighteen year old girl would speak?”

“No, it is many years since I had much to do with eighteen year old girls. I am sure their language is different from mine, but this is the best I can offer.”

“I am still a dimensionless dot. Can I be something more, please.”

"How do you know that a dot is dimensionless?”

“There is another book called Flatland. It is in your head.” (See note at end.) “I can see that you like influential books.”

“You can see in my mind that many years ago you could get cardboard figures and dress them in paper clothes with tags to wrap around the flat body.”

“I don’t want to be flat or made of cardboard or 2-dimensional. Can’t you do better than that?”

“Yes. I can imagine you as living and breathing. Superb flawless skin, long wavy dark auburn hair reaching your narrow shoulders. Stunningly beautiful face with a few small freckles and a refined nose over very kissable lips.”

“I made a particular effort with your eyes. Grey … full of expressive nuances. The eponymous novel written by Max Beerbohm has ‘the eyes as the windows of the soul’ … and luxurious lashes of course. That is what I imagine for you.”

“Sounds as if I really am a girl and not a cardboard cutout.”

“Yes definitely. The most stunningly beautiful girl I can imagine. This time you are all girl, but I might change my mind.”

“No, please don’t. I think I like being a girl more than a boy, although I am not sure why”

“I think you will have a 36C-24-36 body.”

“I don’t know what that means but if you approve, then that is fine by me.”

“I must say that I do like having a three-dimensional body now. My hips are comfortably wide and move as I walk. I seem to have got legs. Do they come with that 36C … business?”

“No, I just dreamt them up. They are the best legs I could imagine tapering beautifully to your feet which are beautiful in their own right.”

“I can see the 1950’s advert from Pretty Polly stockings in your head. The picture on the packet was an artists impression of beautiful legs. I suppose they will do for me.”

“I would love to give your toes a suck”

“Not quite sure that I would enjoy having my toes sucked, but everyone to their own, I suppose. “

“Am I supposed to have a patch of hair where my legs join?”

“Yes, that is your mons. Between your legs would be the bits that could make a baby in the future and get rid of waste, but as you are only in my mind it is probably not necessary to include them.”

“I do want to be complete. A bit missing is not very attractive. It looks as if someone has taken a pencil eraser to me, or I am a mannequin in a dress showroom.”

“OK. Have it you own way. I have been within licking distance of many vaginas, anuses, and the like over a long life. I think I can imagine them well enough to satisfy you.”

"Wow. An instant vagina is something that is rarely experienced. Pop! and there it is … as it were.”

“Can I remind you that I haven’t got any arms yet.”

“Silly of me. Yes … arms are provided on request and beautiful hands with long delicate fingers with varnished and manicured nails”

“Have a walk around. I have put you in a sitting room.”

“Would you like some jewellery? Diamond droplet earrings, a gold pendant that hangs just so, in your cleavage and a gold bracelet. All 24 carat of course.

“That’s ok but I have done that. It is getting a bit boring just walking around. It takes a bit of getting used to when those 36C mammaries start wobbling as I walk.”

“Am I supposed to be naked?”

“At the moment you are. You are a joy to behold. Every feature from your perfect pear shaped buttocks with an irresistible dimple in each, to a shapely bosom is perfect in my mind’s eye.”
“I love seeing a girls breasts jiggle as they walk. It is a big turn on. I can spot a woman without a bra from 100 paces. I think all men can. It is just built in in the male brain.”

“Can I choose my own undies?”

“Yes. I will enjoy thinking about all the bras and panties I have removed over the years from the wearers.“

“That is no good. All you seem to be capable of thinking about is a quarter cup underwired bra and a thong. That will have to do until I can get you to think about something a bit more practical.”

“Sorry about that. It is the years of thinking about sexy underwear for various ladies. It is quite special to dream about how to dress you up.”

“I don’t want to be part of your dreams. The quarter cup bra doesn’t even cover my nipples. They are getting chilled and are quite prominent.”

“I know. It is a bit of a turn-on even at my advanced age. Perhaps I should change that for a peephole bra. Then I can really see those nipples.”

“Don’t you dare. My nipples can stay as they are. Only existing inside you head is bad enough. Giving you an erection at your great age might give you a heart attack and where you go, I go. No getting overwrought at my sexiness. I want to keep you alive!”

“No I am not aroused yet. Would you like some other clothes? With your hair colouring and skin tone I would think that autumnal colours would suit you best. Peach, saffron, claret and the like”

“Yes that is fine. I like russets and tans. Not quite sure why I like them, but something tells me that I do.”

“How about a claret coloured silky polo shirt, a tan leather miniskirt, dark tan tights and calf length leather boots with a bit of a heel?”

“I am not sure that 4-inch stilettos are ‘a bit of a heel as you put it’, but they seem quite comfortable.

“Can you provide a long mirror?”

“Happy to oblige. Do you like your look and clothes?”

“They will certainly do for now. Not surprisingly your taste is a bit old fashioned, I think. I would have liked to have a bit of cleavage showing but the polo shirt doesn’t undo far enough.”

“Easily done. An extra two buttons. Undone as requested.”

“The bra and panties in white show too much through the other clothes. Can you redo them in cream or pale tan?”

“As you request madam.”

“I still am not very keen on my nipples poking over the top of the bra and looking very obvious through my shirt.”

“Sorry, but I love a nice pair of tits. Yours make me weak at the knees with those delightful nipples that are just waiting to be licked. You are just going to have to put up with them.”

“Very well. If I cannot do anything about it I shall shut up about the nipples. I think that they are really quite nice, but I would like them a bit less obvious. I also find that the fabric of my shirt is rather stimulating to those very same nipples when I walk.”

“What about the thong. The stringy bit up my bum crack is itchy and the bead built into the bit between my legs does seem to be having a bit of an effect. Isn’t it a bit unhygienic?”

“You haven’t eaten anything so I don’t see that a thong is unhygienic.”

“Point taken”

“What about the bead? Why does it press on my clitoris? … and you can see that I can find the right words inside your head.”

“That is just an old man’s fancy. If you squeeze the bead it will start to buzz. It should feel quite nice, so I am told.”

“I think we will leave the buzzing bead until later. This all a bit new to me at the moment.”

“Can I eat and drink in the future?”

“Yes, if I make it so.”

“Can I have sex?”

I have given you a vagina and all the glands and things needed to have sex. You will even have periods on regular basis from now on. Have you anyone in mind to have sex with?”

“Give me a break. There is no one here. Just a sitting room with old Chintz covered three piece suite. I cannot eat or drink. Even getting pissed would be preferable to getting bored to death with an old man inside my head … or is it me inside your head?”

“Can you imagine what it is like being an old man’s fantasy? I am only glad that I am in the normal size range. You could have made me a caricature with 54 inch hooters ending in inch long scarlet nipples, and an eighteen inch waist. I would look something like an supersize Barbie with a tendency to fall over through the weight of those same hooters that would also give me back ache.

“I love my creations. I don’t want to create some sort of succubus abomination that emasculates every man she sleeps with.”

“Am I able to sleep with a man?”

“If I say so, as I have already said you can have complete freedom to live a normal life.”

“Will you say so?”

“Wait a bit. I haven’t made up my mind.”

“What would you do if I gave you complete freedom?”

“I have all the knowledge you have from the work you did and all your life’s experiences. You have been alive for a very long time. I also have access to your bank accounts which have an enormous balance, although I say it myself. Do you think that is wise? I haven’t got much experience in dealing with money, but I think I could manage to make a living out of all of that with all your knowledge in addition, don’t you think?”

“You are certainly a confident young woman. I have done a good job with you.”

“Have you created other people?”

“I did this with a young man about sixty years ago. I was an old woman then.”

“How come you change gender every so often. Isn’t this is rather unusual even inside your head?”

“Unusual, yes. Impossible, no.”

“You will have seen that I have enjoyed making love to many women over my long life. Who would you choose to make love to? … men or women or both?”

“I am open to offers. I can sense the pleasure you had and can see dimly the pleasure your predecessor had. I shall keep an open mind.”

“Do I have a name?”

“I think I shall call you Zuleika, but you can call yourself whatever you wish.”

“Why Zuleika; isn’t that a rather unusual name?”

“Read about Zuleika Dobson, sometime. The book is on the 100 best novels ever written list.”

“I don’t need to read it. The outline is in your head. She was a man magnet and caused loads of trouble.”

I am calling you Zuleika because the book is prophetic of the First World War. Zuleika was a prestidigitator, a man manipulator, a femme fatale. Zuleika, like some political leaders of the time was hugely charismatic. Millions of young men died for their egotist leaders in the war .. Zuleika had the potential to do great good or great harm … as you have. It is a warning that I hope you will not forget.”

If Zuleika does not work for you, let’s try Dorothy.”

“That is too old fashioned for me. Why Dorothy?”

“Well … the abbreviation for Dorothy is Dot. It seems quite appropriate, but may lead to awkward explanations. It amuses me.”

“Let’s stick with Zuleika, shall we. I don’t fancy explaining why I am called ‘Dot’.

He continued - “I think I shall share some extra facts with you that I do not normally share.”

“You are dying! Doesn’t that mean that I cease to exist as I am only inside your head?”

The old man smiled as his body began to crumple. His life force drained away into his creation.

“ Life is such a precious gift and a capricious bedfellow. Enjoy my gift and use it wisely. When your time comes, create a male image that suits you best.”

He was no more, just a husk that had once been human or not so human. The husk turned to dust and a zephyr of a breeze blew the dust to another place.

An absolutely stunningly beautiful young woman with bouncy dark auburn hair and a 36C-24-36 figure skipped down a High Street of somewhere or anywhere, to begin a new life that was full of promise. Heads turned, as well they might.

Although it was by no means cold weather, the decorations in the street showed that the time was approaching Christmas and the New Year. Carols were being broadcast from speakers outside a shop. Zuleika remembered the words of one carol from a previous life and hummed the bass vocal part an octave too high.

Four young men sitting at a table in the local beer garden watched this perfection of womanhood saunter down the main street in search of a lingerie shop. They simultaneously thought that they would never in a whole lifetime, experience something so exquisite. They yearned for just a glance in their direction from Zulieka. Times have changed, however, and it is not the done thing to plunge fully clothed into a nearby river to drown en mass when faced with such an paragon. “She’s out of my league, was the consensus, and they went back to supping their glasses of ale and looking for more accessible talent.”

She might have a hugely impactful future, and one might imagine that her thoughts were on lofty ideals of creating World Peace or solving the poverty crisis that seemed to plague most countries. Her charm was irrefutable, her manner charismatic, physically she was a stunner and yet she had doubts.

“How can I have an impactful life next year and beyond?”

“In the New Year I am resolved to enter politics, and will become the best I can be.”

Three years later she entered the race for her country’s Presidency as an independent. No one could understand how a woman who was only just out of her teens could have the experience of decades or even centuries which she displayed. People flocked to hear her no nonsense speeches. There was no vacuous rhetoric, or slanging matches on TV that had besmirched politics previously. Her opponents were cowed by her irrefutable logic. Pundits lauded her with fulsome praise.The malaise of the adversarial 2-party state was swept away. She won with a landslide. Now she could have the influence she craved and had the opportunity to change the World for the better.

She only had about sixty years to complete the task she set herself before it was clear that she had to renew herself, but that is another story!

Note - Flatland - A Romance of Many Dimensions, by Edwin A Abbott (1884) written pseudonymously by “A Square”.