A story from the less glamorous end of the film industry

 

In Lincolnshire, there's a famously tall mediaeval tower, the Boston Stump, which is visible from miles away and is actually part of the parish church of St. Botolph.

I lived in London and had to drive to Boston one morning to be an extra in a film which was being shot there. It would tell the true story of John Cotton, the charismatic vicar of Boston throughout the 1620s, whose non-conformist preaching led to some of his followers, and eventually Cotton himself, emulating The Pilgrim Fathers by sailing off to a new Puritan life in America.

Film extras tend to be chosen to fit particular roles and my niche is playing rough kids, street urchins and ‘Artful Dodger’ types. I’ve been in films and on TV fairly often over the last few years, playing young teenagers despite me now being twenty-five, so obviously I’m a bit short and skinny — and I'm getting rather old to play thirteen, to be honest.

That day I would be playing another street urchin in a key scene which would be filmed right in front of the Stump, with lots of us extras milling about, all dressed as common people. The ‘followers’ would then have to make their way through this throng to reach their boat.

After we’d all been made up and dressed ready for ‘action’, there was a problem when the actress playing the minor speaking part of an angry – and rather tarty woman, had some sort of seizure while in the makeup chair and an ambulance took her off to hospital. That could mean losing half a day of filming, and since her role was crucial to the plot, the director was faced with losing both time and money, no matter how the problem was resolved.

He then decided that the quickest option would be to find someone else who could fit the actress's costume and actually mouth her few words, which she could then overdub when she was recovered.

We extras were called together on the offchance that one of us might fit the costume — shades of Cinderella! And since there wasn’t a woman amongst us of a suitable size but there was a man, I got the job.

I pointed out that I was actually male but that fell on deaf ears as I was rushed off to have whatever done that was deemed necessary. The costume and makeup people just got on with it as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Twenty minutes later I was back on set with long hair, rouged cheeks and displaying a large amount of silicone bosom. In the circumstances, the director decided he could live without the street urchin.

In the scene, as the followers made their way to the boat, I was to be heckling them and reading my lines from large boards which would be raised above and behind whichever follower I was supposed to be heckling at the time, and I would actually have to shout for real in order to give the correct face and chest movements.

With my experience as an extra, plus what I’d learned from watching lots of professional actors on set, I was able to say “No problem.” when the director asked if I could handle it.

We did a couple of trial runs then went for a take. I thought it went well but the director made us do it three more times before he was happy.

So that was the end of my role in the film, or so I thought, until the director sent for me.

“That was excellent, young man. You were very convincing. However, I’ve had an idea that might enable us to reinstate the street urchin. Have you ever been involved with CGI, green screen and all that?”

“No I haven’t but I'd like to give it a try some day.”

“Good man. But would you be available to be in a film studio in north London tomorrow?"

I said "Yes, I live there."

"Well, I think we could film you doing what you would have expected to be doing as a street urchin, but in front of a green screen. Then we could drop the new footage into an existing take with the green screen background removed, so you could be playing two parts in the same film. And absolutely nobody would be any the wiser!”

“And," he continued, "I’ve just had another green screen idea for a little scene as the boat sets sail. So, since you'd already be at the studio, you could also play the angry woman again.”

“So would I get double pay?”

“Well, let's just say that for your flexibility we'd add a bonus to make sure that you'd effectively receive that.”

I wasn’t going to turn down work or a bonus so I agreed to do it.

So early the next day I was dressed as the street urchin and standing in front of a huge green screen in a London film studio. I had to run across the screen, looking a bit shifty, with the back of my head mostly towards the camera, so I would appear to be behind everyone else in the finished scene. My original role would have meant my weaving in and out of the crowd but this way was easier.

Half a dozen takes later the director was happy so I was whizzed off to get ‘tarted up’ as the angry woman again. The original actress had now been passed fit but couldn't even be considered for today because the character needed to be identifiably the same woman as in the previous day's footage.

This time it would be a shot across the harbour channel with me being filmed so I could be superimposed on a previously-filmed clip of the view from the moving boat. I didn’t have to do much but stand there, shaking my fist.

“Money for old rope.” I thought.

But I hadn’t realised that the famous actor Paul Woodridge would be in the scene as well, leaning against a mast in the foreground and looking pensive, as his character watched mine, obviously having had history with this particular woman.

We had a rehearsal then a lamp blew, requiring a short break, and I got chatting with Paul and the director about our roles, and I felt much more important than an ordinary extra – an equal, almost.

As soon as the lamp had been replaced, we tried again and managed two takes but the director wasn’t happy. In fact he decided to change the camera position, meaning that our previous lighting setup would have to be redone, so we took our lunch break while that happened. Paul and I had lunch together while the cinematographer and lighting people were no doubt cursing the director.

So, having been involved in artistic conversations with Paul earlier, he and I continued in similar vein but at one point I was wondering if he was actually hitting on me. He was certainly looking at my silicone chest more often than my face. It occurred to me that Paul may have been unaware that I wasn’t actually a woman as he may never have seen me in my urchin costume. But, to be fair, I’m not sure I would have wanted to look at my face with its blacked-out teeth!

Anyway, we both enjoyed our little artistic discussion but then he, despite being a renowned actor, began asking me about my life as a lowly extra. I explained that for my main job I worked from home as a website designer, which more than paid the bills and allowed me the flexibility to follow my dramatic leanings as and when required, but that I’d really like to do some ‘proper’ acting.

When we finished lunch we returned to the green screen and swiftly nailed the scene in only two takes so were then allowed to leave. We said goodbye on the set because Paul had to dash off due to being in a West End stage show that evening, but he said he’d get me a ticket if I sent my details to his agent. Then, before leaving, he said, “It’s been delightful working with you, darling!" ...and he kissed me! Actors, eh!

So I duly sent an email to his agent with my details but didn’t expect Paul to receive it, let alone for him to reply. However he did, and asked which day I’d like to see his show and he also wondered if I perhaps might join him for supper afterwards at a little restaurant near the theatre.

Now ordinarily I might have smelled a rat, but this was a famous actor with a string of awards who might be worth cultivating as a contact because, these days, without parental money or good contacts, you’ll struggle to go very far in the business. And at my age, playing boys won't result in a long career.

But thinking back to that lunchtime and Paul’s reaction to me, I started to wonder about him. I’d searched on the internet and learned that he was married with kids but there were also hints that he swung both ways, so that was no help. And his current show was a revival of a musical comedy in which he was playing a gay drag queen pretending to be a macho man. So that didn’t help either.

But then I thought that going to meet him as my male self might be ok, yet might confuse or annoy him if I’d got the wrong end of the stick, whereas going as a woman might have much the same results but could also give a talking point and show my acting skills. So that’s what I decided on. Now all I had to do was to convince my sister – she and I shared a flat – to go along with it.

Lauren was a bit sceptical of the whole thing and thought it could be a ‘Me Too’ scenario either way, but I was able to convince her that things have now moved on since the scandal erupted, and anyway, underneath it all, I would be a man who is physically stronger than he looks. And my karate might also come in useful, if it came to that!

So she went along with it, trained me in all things girlie and sorted out some suitable clothes for me to wear. We then proposed to have a trial run, by which time our hairdresser cousin had been involved, so I ended up with pierced ears and highlights in my now, not-quite-so-shaggy, urchin hair.

The trial run consisted of the three of us having a girlie pub night out, including a meal. I was made to do all the ordering, make several visits to the ladies’, sort out the bill and interact with the bar and waiting staff – and do some flirting with a bunch of lads who were showing interest in us. So after we’d left the pub without any obvious disasters, there was an inquest, resulting in a lot of compliments and only a short list of things to be improved.

A few days later I had to do it again, but this time in a gay bar, with only my gay brother for company. And I was hit on several times by some of his lesbian acquaintances who seemed slightly disappointed by my tactful disinterest, but I managed to carry it off. My brother was very complimentary about my ‘performance’, and didn’t think I’d have a problem on the night.

So I now felt able to take up Paul’s offer, and on the following Saturday evening if possible. He emailed back, telling me to pick up my ticket at the stage door and to return there after the curtain call, when I would be directed to his dressing room.

Lauren had me in a smart, mid-thigh floral dress that showed off my legs, as did the high heels. Our cousin ensured my hair, makeup and everything else was perfect before I went via the Tube to the theatre.

It all went swimmingly. I collected my ticket, was shown to my seat by a very eager young man and thoroughly enjoyed the first half.

At the interval I picked up my pre-ordered gin and tonic from a tall table at which a man — who looked about my age — was already standing and holding a small beer.

“So, what did you think of the first half?” he said.

“It was excellent, so I’m very glad I was able to get a ticket, especially for a Saturday night.”

“Yes, it has been good, hasn't it! When I booked online I got the very last ticket so I’m quite lucky to be here, as well as being lucky enough to be talking to such a lovely young lady — I’m Alex, by the way.”

“No doubt you say that to all the girls, but thanks anyway Alex! And I’m Ashley.”

So we had a little chat about the show, then others we’d seen, including some we’d both seen, until it was time to return to our seats – where a tap on my shoulder revealed that Alex was in the seat behind mine. So all through the second half I could hear his laugh above everyone else’s.

We were thrown together again in the crowded side aisle as we headed for the exit after the curtain calls, so we quickly exchanged equally positive views on the second half. Then, before we went our separate ways, Alex said “Look Ashley, I’ve really enjoyed meeting and talking with you. If you have the time, would you like to continue our conversation at the pub round the corner?”

“I’m really sorry Alex, but, although I’ve enjoyed chatting to you too, I’ve arranged to meet someone else after I leave here. Without that I may well have accepted your invitation, but perhaps we’ll meet up at another show.”

And then I impetuously kissed his cheek and quickly rushed off in the direction of the stage door before he had a chance to ask for my phone number.

I went through the stage door and asked to be directed to Paul’s dressing room. A phone call was made and someone soon arrived, but rather than ask me to follow him, he said, "Unfortunately, having already done a matinée performance earlier, Paul felt unwell during this evening’s interval and only just managed to complete the show. He is most disappointed to not feel up to doing anything now but sleep."

The messenger then asked me to accept Paul’s sincere apologies and told me that Paul would contact me when he was feeling better.

“Well, what a total waste of all that effort!” I thought, “And it may be a plausible excuse though I’m not sure I believe it. But at least I got a free ticket to see an excellent show, and to have an enjoyable chat with a nice ... rather attractive man.”

So, being disappointed and annoyed at the same time, I went out of the stage door and I, distractedly, almost bumped into a passing pedestrian. I looked up at his face to apologise, and said “I’m so sorry ... Alex??”

Paul Woodridge never did contact me again.

Not that I cared!

[John Cotton became the spiritual leader of his new community in Massachusetts. It was he who named it Boston, and it grew to be a place now fifteen times larger than its English namesake.]

A Little Extra ©2024 Suzie Dalkin

December 28

It was three days after Christmas. I’d sent all the thank-you letters and finished all the left-overs. So now I could relax for a few days before the New Year’s Eve binge with my drinking mates.

And that thought set me thinking about the New Year and, for some odd reason, New Year resolutions, things I’ve never really given any consideration to, but perhaps I should. So for the first time, I did, doing a rapid assessment of how my life was going. Were there any facets of it that could do with improvement?

I don’t smoke, don’t eat or drink to excess – well, except for the New Year’s Eve binge, obviously! I also don’t do drugs and might generally be thought of as a good catch by any potential mother-in-law, whether or not I was comfortably-off – which I now am.

I don’t gamble either, unless you count my one lottery ticket each week in hopes to be able to retire early, even though I’m only thirty and enjoy my job. My ex-girlfriend, before she acquired the prefix, used to say that doing the lottery was a pointless waste of money because if I won millions I wouldn’t spend it, although that’s not what split us up!

To be fair, we effectively drifted into a sort of platonic relationship, perhaps due to our long working hours and frequent business travel, but probably more so due to my lack of commitment. So I think we both seem to be fairly relaxed about just being friends while waiting for Mr or Miss Right (as appropriate) to turn up.

On occasions we have been ‘friends with benefits’ since the split, but Tina and I are mostly each other’s plus one at weddings, work social events and the like, as well as having the odd day out together when either of us is a bit bored.

So that sets the scene, and there I was wondering what I could do as a New Year resolution, with things mostly going very smoothly on most fronts bar the one, yet not even being too awful on that one.

So then I realised that Tina, my ex, might have some other insights into this, since she knows me so well, having stayed with me in either my flat or hers most nights for eight years, so she should have some ideas on suitable topics for a New Year resolution ...or resolutions, knowing her!

Accordingly I gave her a call and invited her round for a meal that evening, and she luckily was free. I can cook and I keep my flat tidy, so that’s another two resolution topics I wouldn’t need.

She arrived, looking impeccable as ever, being her usual witty self, and reminding me of what I had first seen in her. We started eating almost straight away with a nice starter (he said modestly), and chatted about our Christmases. We then moved on to the main course which was a new one for me but also was pretty good (though I say so myself), by which time the topic was her love life, or lack of it. So naturally the topic over the cheesecake (from a supermarket this time) was my equally unsuccessful amorous exploits.

Once I’d cleared the table and we were having coffees, I then brought up the resolution issue and that set her thinking.

“Hmmm”

I waited. ...And waited.

“Hmmm”

...Still waited.

“Well, I can think of one thing, but you may not like it.”

“What?”

“It’s how you walk.”

“What do you mean? Do I limp or drag my feet along the ground?”

“No, it‘s nothing like that.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“We-e-ll, there’s no easy way to say this but ...you’ve got an effeminate walk!”

“What? I’m not gay!”

“I know that but your walk is sometimes a bit on the effeminate side of average for a man.”

“Really?”

“Yes. If you don’t believe me, look at the video I took of you walking over the Millennium Bridge that weekend when we stayed in London. I think it may still be on my phone.”

“Show me. And while you’re finding it, I’ll nip to the loo.”

While I was in there, things were going through my head. Surely she couldn’t be right, and if she was (and she usually was), I wondered if I’d always done it.

And if she’d noticed, had other people noticed too, even if they hadn’t mentioned it?

I returned from the bathroom to see her with phone in hand, obviously waiting to press ‘play’ as soon as I was back in my place. And sure enough, there I was in the video, looking less than macho as I walked along.

“Oh! I can see what you mean! But you never said.”

“...Because it’s not the sort of thing you say to a heterosexual man if you don’t want to risk losing him, which I didn’t at the time.”

“So you’re saying that my New Year resolution should be to walk in a more manly way?”

“Possibly. But another way of looking at it is that it’s you and it’s what you do. I think you’ve gone through the last few years like that without a problem, so why change? But now that you know, you really need to decide if you want to do anything about it before considering how you actually do it!”

“Hmmmm” I said.

She then said “Why don’t we both think about it overnight and if you’re free,” (and I was) “you could come to my place tomorrow at eight. I’ll feed you this time and we’ll continue our discussion a bit further.”

She took up my invitation to stay the night – in the spare bedroom – as we still had half a bottle of wine to finish, but I never got to sleep for several hours as my mind was in a bit of turmoil. And when I finally awoke, she was gone, leaving a note saying:

“Thanks for an interesting evening and looking forward to another one tonight.
Love, T.
xxx”

December 29

I arrived at Tina’s on time that evening with a bottle of wine and we had a lovely meal (she’s a good cook too – I learned most of it from her!) before we retired to the sofa to continue our chat.

“So, what are your thoughts on your New Year resolution, now that you’ve slept on it?” she said.

I said “There wasn’t much sleeping going on as I spent hours just thinking and I’m no further forward.”

“To be honest, I was much the same, though I did come up with an idea, but it would mean I’d have to ask you an awkward question. However before I did that, you and I would both have to promise to be completely honest with each other. So if any little secrets we may have kept from each other during our time together do come up, we’ll both need to be truthful, otherwise we’ll be wasting our time.”

“Well, after last night’s bombshell, I think I could cope, so I promise to be completely honest.”

“Good, I promise to be truthful too, and I’ll try not to upset you but this is the sort of conversation that could get a bit painful for either or both of us.”

“I’m ready, but before we continue, I’d better open another bottle.”

Ten minutes later we were ready to go on and Tina said “Firstly I was wondering if you ever tried wearing female clothes when you were young?”

“Intriguing question to start with! But no, I never did. The thought never crossed my mind.”

“And once you discovered you liked girls, did you either try on female clothes, or feel an inclination to do so?”

“Still no, although I did feel an inclination to get into girls’ underwear, but not in the way you meant!”

“So before you met me, had you ever crossdressed?”

“No.”

“And, once I let you get into my underwear, did anything change in that regard?

“Well, you being my first girlfriend meant that I came into close contact with girls’ clothes for the first time, and they fascinated me. They were so much softer than mine and I began to see that girls have much more choice in what they can wear.”

“But did that go so far as to make you wonder what it would feel like to actually wear them?

“Er, er, I, er, well ...yes, actually, it did.”

“So did you act on that?”

“Well, one day while I was using your bathroom, I saw a bra and panties on top of the pile in your laundry basket and I, er, tried them on.”

“Thanks for admitting that, it must have been quite difficult for you. So, did they feel as nice to wear as you’d hoped?”

“Yes!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. I was just trying to establish whether your walk could be something to do with a crossdressing tendency, and from what you’ve just said, that could possibly, but not necessarily, be the case.”

“Oh”

“So, did you take things any further by trying on any more of my clothes?”

“No, I thought I’d soon be found out if I did.”

“So did you continue exploring your female side?”

“Yes. On my business trips I’d buy the odd item to build up a basic wardrobe and I learned about crossdressing from the internet. Online shopping was useful too.”

“Interesting! I presume you kept your stuff in your flat as I never saw any of it in mine.”

“Yes, I thought that would be far less risky.”

“Well, I think we’ve got somewhere tonight and we ought to continue this tomorrow back at yours. I’ll bring the wine and this time I want to see you as your female incarnation, whose name is…? I presume she has a name.”

“Yes, er, Rhona.”

“That’s a lovely name, Rob.”

“Thanks, I think so too, almost as nice as yours!

Tina then reversed the previous night’s arrangements by saying “You’re welcome to stay in my spare room tonight, and I look forward to meeting Rhona tomorrow.”

And now that my secret was out, I had a blissful night’s sleep. And it was me that left a note the next morning, which I signed as Rob (aka Rhona.)

December 30

The unexpected late commitment to being Rhona meant the day was hectic for me with extra effort going into the tidying up, then buying ingredients for the dinner plus some items for Rhona, preparing the meal and getting ready for Rhona’s first interaction with another person.

Tina arrived with two bottles of wine and some flowers for Rhona who was complimented on her appearance, and the two had another lovely meal followed by both moving to the sofas, both sitting on their legs with their heels scattered across the floor and chatting away like it was a first date for two people who were hitting it off straight away. And in a way it was a first date but, in another way, it was the refreshing of a wilted relationship.

Of course, being effectively a girls’ night in, it gravitated towards being a wardrobe inspection with advice on various aspects of femininity being gratefully received.

At the end of the evening, Rob’s spare room was again offered before they shared a goodnight kiss and Rhona went into Rob’s room – followed by Tina!

New Year’s Eve

Tina and Rhona woke together and shared a long good morning kiss before Tina said “Right, young lady, you still haven’t sorted out a New Year’s resolution and you’ve only got a few hours to do it, so are you any nearer to a decision?”

“Right now I’m a bit confused over what’s happened during the last few days. You’ve made me own up to things I’ve never admitted before, yet you’ve still had your way with me as if we’d never broken up.”

“I think it may be time for another little chat then, don’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Here’s how I see it. We got together at university before you discovered crossdressing. I thought you were wonderful and I think you thought that about me too and we were great together. After about five years, things were still great and I thought we’d soon be married. Then I started to notice that some of my things had been moving around in the laundry basket and if I hadn’t moved them it must have been you, but I said nothing.”

“Oh!”

“I still loved you and if you’d asked me to marry you at that time, we’d have had to have this conversation a bit sooner but, depending on the answers, I could well have said ’yes.’ “

“Oh!”

“So why didn’t you ask me to marry you? I think you still loved me.”

“I did still love you, and I still do. But I found that my crossdressing had now turned into an occasional need. And after so much time together, I knew that I couldn’t ask you to marry me without you knowing all about my secret hobby. I also knew that if I didn’t tell you, sharing a house was bound to expose me eventually and I was sure that that would devastate you and break us up. So I just took a coward’s way out by doing nothing ...which had the same effect anyway.”

“I suspect that our lack of success with new partners is because we’re both in love with someone else – each other. Am I right?”

“Yes”

“So to summarise again, we both still love each other, and would have been married years ago if it hadn’t been for a secret you couldn’t tell me, one which I had a suspicion about anyway.

“Yes, and I’m so sorry that I lost the love of my life because of it.”

Tina changed sofas to put her arm around me and said “I lost the love of my life too, but at this moment he, or she, doesn’t quite seem lost forever.”

She moved in close and we both kissed passionately, like we had years previously. Then she said “I’d be happy for us to be together again permanently if that’s what you wanted…”

“Oh, you’ve no idea how much I would like that.”

She raised her hand.

“I’d be happy for us to be together again permanently if that’s what you wanted, BUT I’d need some more answers before that could happen.”

“Ah, fair enough. You’ve made me so happy but I know that I’ve got to make you happy too so fire away.”

“So, how often do you crossdress?”

“Once or twice a month.”

“Would you ever want to have gender surgery, breast implants, or pierced ears and take female hormones or anything like that? And would you like to meet or go out with men and possibly have sex with them?”

“No, I’m a man and want to remain a man, your man, and I’d only practise my hobby at home, and only if you were comfortable with it.”

“Good. I could live with that. …And perhaps even with the pierced ears!”

Rhona then threw herself at Tina and the lovers had a few minutes of lip-interaction before they came up for air. Then Tina said “Now back to where all this started. What are you going to do about your effeminate walk?”

“Well, since it hasn’t been a problem to me so far and assuming you’d be happy to see Rhona occasionally, I think that there’s no real need to do anything more about it.”

“And I think the same, my love, so we appear to have come to a resolution, but different to the one either of us expected. And now I have one final question for you:

“If I wanted you to get down on one knee and ask me to marry you, would you?”

“I would, my gorgeous lover, but only if I was dressed as a man.”

“And I would say ‘Yes, my lovely man ...and occasional lovely woman!’ ”

As you can imagine, I didn’t go on my New Year’s Eve binge with my mates, but stayed at home with my lovely fiancée to spend New Year’s Eve together in front of the TV.

Not that we bothered switching it on ...or even staying up until midnight!

A Step Too Far?

by Suzie Dalkin

This was written without any idea where it was going. As a result, readers may find it funny or offensive – or neither – or both.

Edward Arley was a very organised young man. His parents were staid pillars of the community who for many years had run a successful estate agency business in Sutton Deering, an old market town about 50 miles north of London.

Edward had known the business since before he’d started at primary school, and he probably knew the staff in the shop better than his own parents did. So much so that by the age of thirteen he could do any task required in the business, even if he wasn’t allowed to – clients may not like their upmarket properties being valued by a schoolboy!

Edward had been sent to Sutton Deering Grammar School at the age of eleven, where he excelled, especially at maths and science and everyone thought that Oxford or Cambridge University would beckon.

Edward’s life changed completely when he lost both of his parents in a horrific accident on the Sutton Deering by-pass. He moved to his grandparents' house nearby but despite the trauma continued to excel at school. However, being immersed in it, he decided he could run what was now his business.

He was so organised that before he was sixteen he had bought up two other estate agencies to make Arley Estates a business that was going places. His grandfather, who had founded the firm, was able to do all the legal stuff that Edward wasn’t allowed to by law, but wouldn’t interfere unless he saw something that could be catastrophic – which he never did.

Edward continued growing the business while studying for his GCSEs, in which, as you’d expect, he did very well, but decided to leave school without staying to study for A-levels, despite many attempts from various quarters to change his mind.

In recent years the area had become a haven for politicians and media people, who all socialised together and were known as the Sutton Deering Set, That meant rich pickings for the local estate agencies and Edward continued expanding his money-making machine.

Then, a few years later, Edward, the successful businessman, decided that he needed a wife to give him a child to whom he could eventually pass on the business, and he treated it like one of his business takeovers. Accordingly he looked out for opportunities, did the due diligence, made an acceptable offer, and acquired a wife. And of course the lure of his fortune meant that she was beautiful.

So he carried on in much the same way, making more money, but making time in his busy schedule to produce an heir.

Now that heir, young Teddy, wasn’t a lot like his father. He was studious and diligent without being very dynamic, was always polite, neat and tidy, and had inherited his mother’s looks but not his father’s ruthless business brain. Edward was greatly disappointed with his investment.

So, being a businessman, Edward soon disposed of his underperforming assets, ensuring that a generous settlement went with them (he wasn’t utterly ruthless), before re-entering the acquisitions market again.

Teddy then found himself, at the age of four, in a village near Sutton Deering, living in a small cottage with his mother, who cried a lot for some reason. And, being a sensitive soul, he would often feel the need to comfort her.

But then in the autumn he began attending the village school, which he didn’t like at first, but soon found that it wasn’t so bad. Every day his mother would take him to school and chat to the other parents at the school gate. Soon she wasn’t crying so much, and he noticed that she would often be talking to Siân Carson’s dad. Siân was a bossy girl in his class.

By the time December arrived, Teddy’s mum wasn’t crying at all, and was calling Siân’s dad “Uncle Bill.” And she invited Uncle Bill and Siân to stay at their cottage for a couple of days over Christmas. The cottage only had two bedrooms so Teddy wasn’t sure how that would work but he was told that Siân would have to use the other single bed in his room, presumably meaning that Uncle Bill would have to sleep on the sofa as the other bedroom only had one bed.

Siân and Teddy were sent to bed on Christmas Eve and naturally were so excited about Santa’s visit that they couldn’t sleep for ages. And then of course they woke up really early to find – nothing. So they sneaked quietly downstairs to find a big pile of Christmas presents under the tree, but Uncle Bill was nowhere to be seen.

They’d been warned not to open any presents until all four of them were there so Teddy and Siân rushed upstairs to look for their parents – and Uncle Bill was in Mum’s bed with her! Teddy assumed that Uncle Bill must have been too cold on the sofa.

Soon after Christmas, Uncle Bill and Siân moved back in again, temporarily, while Teddy’s mum and Uncle Bill sold their cottages in order to all move into one large house with four bedrooms – one for each of them. But as spring, and then summer arrived before the removers did, their parents would still be sleeping in Mum's bed. So Teddy realised that maybe the theory about Uncle Bill finding the sofa too cold was wrong and that he must really just be frightened of sleeping on his own!

But when he mentioned this to Siân, who was a couple of months older than Teddy, she laughed and said “Well, you’ve got a lot to learn – they’ve been having sexial integers for months.”

He wished now that he’d been concentrating when his father had told him all about integers.

“And you must have heard their bed creaking!”

Teddy just said “I thought it was the water pipes knocking. Surely doing sums doesn’t make the bed creak, does it?”

“I see that I’m going to have to give you some lessons,” said Siân.

So she proceeded to educate him from her much greater experience of the world, and he soon knew about babies and how men push them into women’s letterboxes with their pens, which is why people say that babies are ‘delivered’ when the baby comes out again.

And she told him that a man’s pen was stuck to him and, unlike a ballpoint, you couldn’t just throw it away and get a new one when it ran out. She’d also heard that some boys can use their pens to write in the snow. There hadn’t been any snow yet, but she would make one of them show her when there was some!

And she told him that ladies have to wear things called bars, which squash up their chests into two lumps, but she didn’t know why they didn’t just leave their bars off.

And she told him about high-heeled shoes, which men can’t wear because they’d fall over.

And ear-rings, which are needed to fill the holes that girls have but boys don’t.

And sentry towels, but she hadn’t yet found out what sentries would be doing with towels. Cleaning their guns perhaps?

So pretty soon he knew everything there was to know about sexial matters. But not quite as much about female clothes.

One night Teddy said to Siân, "Don’t you find your nightdress a bit cold?"

She said “No, it’s the duvet that keeps you warm, not what you’re wearing. Why don’t you try one of mine and see?” So he did, and realised she was right.

The next night he asked her if her thin knickers were cold, and she let him try hers.

After a week he’d tried out her thinner socks, her leggings and her tights and found all of them comfortable and not cold as he had expected.

And then over the next week or so, in their own room, they each tried out all of the other’s clothes that would fit. Sometimes they’d swap less obvious things like socks, under their jeans, to see if their parents would notice, which they never did.

When they eventually moved to the new house, after Teddy and Siân had excitedly chosen their new rooms, they soon found that they missed sharing the one room together, and their parents would find them each morning in Siân’s room and, more often than not, in her double bed. Uncle Bill and Mum didn’t worry about it too much for now, though.

A few months later their parents made an announcement. They were getting married, so Siân and Teddy would become step-brother and step-sister. And everyone was happy and kissed everyone else.

And then they announced that Siân would be a pretty bridesmaid and Teddy would be a very smart page boy – and there was silence!

“We thought you’d be pleased,” said their parents, “Most children would be.”

“But I don’t want to be a page boy,” said Teddy.

“Ok, we could swap it round so you could be a bridesmaid, Teddy, and you’d be the page boy Siân. We won’t mind as long as you’re both there!”

“But I wanted to be a bridesmaid too”, said Siân.

“Then we have a bit of a problem. Why don’t you two think about it and tell us tomorrow what you’d like to do,” said Mum.

Now this wasn’t as big a surprise to the adults as the children thought, bcause parents are not as easily fooled as five-year-olds think, and they’d known exactly what had been going on and they would have a quiet laugh about it when the kids weren’t around.

So when the question came up the following day, the parents thought they knew what would be proposed. They would be having two bridesmaids, but one would look after the bride's dress and carry a posy while the other would carry the cushion with the wedding rings. And they were not wrong, as that's what was decided.

That precipitated some officially-tolerated cross-dressing, so Teddy could get used to walking and sitting in a dress, in shoes with slightly higher heels than he was used to, but he'd have to remember to be ladylike at all times.

The wedding went off without a hitch, and Siân and Teddy loved it.

But a few years later it was felt that the children were now of an age at which they shouldn't both be sleeping in the same room, let alone the same bed. So they both, begrudgingly, had to sleeep in their own rooms but, whenever new clothes appeared, they both would try them on.

Then mother nature took a hand and modified Siân’s body, and her knowledge. And Teddy began to notice Siân’s boobs and widening hips and was amazed when she told him what happened each month, and Siân also began to notice what Teddy had that she didn't.

And then a further complication arose. Siân discovered that she liked boys that weren't necessarily her step-brother. And as they had always done things together, Teddy announced that he liked boys too.

But Siân said "You can't. Older boys should like older girls or they'll become home sexials."

"I've been a home sexial for ages," he said, "Ever since I found I could get a nice feeling by rubbing my underpants. Siân said she knew what he meant but left it at that. And she told him that they had better stop talking about such things as brothers and sisters mustn't do naughty things together as it was against the law.

And soon they reached the age of sixteen when boys and girls can have sexial relations, as long as they aren't actual relations! And as she was his sister, she told him he ought to watch it as she didn't want to become pregnant, thank you very much.

But Teddy knew more than Siân on some things and he pointed out that if step-brothers and step-sisters don't share any grandparents, then they aren't relations so can have sexial relations, but it was all a bit complicated.

But then their parents decided the family would all go to Canada for the whole of August, to visit Siân's uncle and aunt, but the kids said they'd prefer to stay at home as Canada is a bit cold. They got their wish as they could now look after themselves, and they were given a bank card with £1000 on it.

So they decided to do things their way for a few weeks. Siân had been given some little pills to take every day by Mum before she had left and was told they'd stop her getting pregnant so she took that as an excuse to do some investigating.

So she let Teddy move back into her bed and allowed him to wear a nightie like hers, which permitted easy access for both of them to have nice feelings at the same time and to explore how to make the feelings even nicer. And within a week they'd explored quite a lot of ways, even if some were a bit messy or tasted funny. They would also dress in each other's clothes all the time except when they left the house, Teddy wearing makeup and everything, and they had such fun.

So pretty soon they'd learned all about sexial relations between girls and boys, and started thinking about girls with girls, and boys with boys.

But that required some other people.

Now they knew two others in their year-group at school who were just like them, step-brother and step-sister who didn't share a grandparent. Siân told Paula and Philip what she and Teddy had been doing and Teddy explained it was nothing illegal now they were all sixteen. Siân got them to come over on their bikes one day, having first ensured that Paula was also taking the little pills.

Teddy and Siân demonstrated the various ways that they could get a nice feeling and then let their friends try. And they were amazed and soon were taking to it like ducks to water, while Teddy and Siân looked on jealously.

But soon they got bored and so the two girls had a go together and then the two boys and pretty soon they had a good orgy going with sticky stuff everywhere.

But sadly, that was the point at which their parents came home unexpectedly early from Canada, found the orgy going on in Siân's bed and put an end to it straight away.

Their friends were sent home and Siân and Teddy were expecting a stiff talking to from their parents.

"Just what did you think you were doing?" said Mum.

"We weren't doing anything illegal" said Siân, "we're all over sixteen, and we were just doing research about sexial relations."

"Really? And what have you learned?"

"Well, we've learned that there are 92 ways for girls to get an organism and 84 for boys, and every one of them is nice," said Siân. Mum spat out the mouthful of coffee she'd just taken in.

"That many?" she said, as she wiped herself with a tissue that was lying on the bedside table, a tissue that seemed rather stiff for some reason.

"... But that's just for boys and girls, said Siân. When you sent Philip and Paula home, we had barely started our research on home sexials." Luckily Mum hadn't taken another mouthful of coffee.

So that put an end to the research project and Paula and Philip weren't allowed to visit any more. However the two pairs of step-siblings would still see each other at school and would socialise together with other sixth-formers at weekends. All of which helped to make their sixth-form years very harmonious. Even if that particular sixth-form group seemed to experience a boom in teenage pregnancies.

Eventually Siân, Teddy, Paula and Philip passed their A-level exams and all four went off to university – the same one – and shared a flat for three years. That allowed them to not only collect degrees but also to complete their sixth-form project which had been so unfairly interrupted.

And they all live together still and are now very rich thanks to the phenomenally successful manual about weird sex co-written by the four of them, which allowed them to further continue their adventures in the world of sex. And that in turn paid for some very expensive surgery which led to them all changing their names slightly to Paul, Philippa, Sean and Edie.

Now, whenever they go home to visit their proud parents, Sean and Edie always sneak a look at the bedside table in their parents' bedroom to find out how much more well-used the signed copy of their book seems to be this time! But with the two of them having a new step-sister, they expect that, once she starts to read, the book will probably be slightly less conspicuously located, but will be no less used.

And since volume two will soon be published, Edie and Sean wonder if it will be too risky to even give their parents a copy of this one!

A Step Too Far? ©2025 Suzie Dalkin

A story of Agony Aunts ...and an Agony Uncle (part 1 of 2)

Thirty years ago I was finishing my first year of studying literature at a university in a northern English city. I’d gone there primarily because they’d have me, but also because it was only about seventy miles away from my home town, meaning it was a bit too far to commute – so I’d be living away from home. However it was still close enough to return for weekends if ever I felt homesick or there was a family function (or football match) I needed to attend.

I was all set to spend the summer back with my parents and expected to be working, as I had in the previous summer, as a labourer at the metal factory where my dad worked. It was a skive really, with plenty of overtime available, and volunteering for the dirty jobs got you extra pay too, so what was not to like!

Unfortunately, during the last week of term, a parked car with a dodgy handbrake decided to roll down a hill – and into my parents’ house, luckily while nobody was at home. My parents had to temporarily move in with my grandparents in their small flat, meaning my free lodgings for the summer would not be available unless I was prepared for a couple of months of nights spent in a sleeping bag.

Dave, one of my flat-mates, was a year ahead of me at uni and he pointed out that this could be an opportunity as well as an annoyance. The rent for our flat was already paid up until September, and that meant I could have it to myself for the rest of the summer since all of the others would be away. One of Dave’s former flat-mates had done the same the previous summer and got himself a job at the city’s local newspaper, The Evening Dispatch, and he’d really enjoyed it. So Dave offered to phone his old mate for me if I wanted, and to ask him if he could put in a word for me at the paper.

That didn’t seem a bad idea to me, so phone calls were made, an interview with the deputy editor was arranged and attended, and a job offer was made and accepted, albeit with noticeably smaller remuneration than the labouring would have provided. “But needs must” I thought.

I arrived bright and early the following Monday and the receptionist sent me to the personnel department for the usual form-filling, followed by the induction lecture that every new employee would receive. I was then handed over to a girl who gave me a tour of the building. Serena was, I’d guess, around nineteen, like me. She was pretty and lively, and on the way round I learned that she also was a student, back home for the summer from one of the Bristol universities and living in the city with her parents. She had worked for The Dispatch the previous summer too, which was how she already knew the ropes. I also learned that… she didn’t have a boyfriend!

Serena then took me to see George, the deputy editor who had interviewed me, and who would now be my direct boss. He reminded me that it was only a holiday relief position so I could find myself doing lots of things in the editorial department – mostly mundane stuff like filing, checking expenses forms, sharpening pencils and who knows what else.

He then asked Serena to show me to my desk and introduce me to my main task, which had been hers the previous year – being in charge of the Spot-the-Ball competition. Those competitions now seem to have disappeared (along with most local papers) but back then they were good little earners for newspapers.

A form, printed in the Saturday edition, would show an action photo from a recent local football match, from which the ball had been airbrushed out. Readers would put crosses on it to show where they guessed the ball had been. They’d then send the form to us with a cheque or postal order for the entry fee.

My job was to open the envelopes, process the fees and stack the forms (one stack per mailbag – of which there were quite a lot.) Then on the Friday I’d grab a handful of forms from each pile, mix them up and find one winner plus five runners-up from among them, using a transparent overlay sheet marked up with the actual position of the ball. Finally I’d pass on the prizewinners’ names to a journalist who ensured they’d appear beneath the following week’s entry form.

Having got up to speed on that job, George gave me something very different the following Monday. As I hadn’t yet passed my driving test, he told me to go by bus to pick up the copy (i.e. text) for that week’s Dear Molly agony aunt column from Molly’s husband. She worked from home and had completed that week’s column but had been taken ill before she could post it to us – email was yet to take off. Now she was in hospital and unlikely to be back out again and writing her column for a few weeks at least.

When I collected the copy I sympathised with Molly’s husband and hoped she would be well again soon, before setting off to return to the office. On the bus, I read her article but wasn’t very impressed. When I brought it to George, he asked me if I’d read it, and after I said “Yes!”, he asked me what I’d thought of it.

I said “To be honest, I was a little disappointed with it!”

George thought for a moment, then said “Well, we now need to find a temporary Molly over the next few weeks so why don’t you see if you can produce a better answer to the same question?

So I spent an hour pretending I was Molly, writing my own reply.

Most agony aunts were, and probably still are, women, because they generally tend to be the more caring gender. But not being a woman, I worried that I perhaps could do with some feminine input to make sure I didn’t make that week’s problem worse rather than better. So I had a word with Serena. Well, it was a good excuse to do so, anyway!

The outcome was that she agreed to go with me to a pub, straight after work, where we found that several of the journos had beaten us to it, loudly demonstrating what they’re infamous for. We then quickly moved into a quiet corner of the pub’s other bar and I showed her both mine and Molly’s versions, and asked her for her comments. She said mine was better but pointed out several things which I hadn’t noticed that women might have a problem with, so I was glad that I’d asked her. I also asked if she’d mind if I added her suggestions to my version so I could present it to George as a joint effort, and she said that was fine.

With that out of the way we then had an enjoyable chat for an hour and then for a while longer as I walked her home, which wasn’t much out my way. I asked if she’d like to go with me for a Chinese meal at the weekend. She said she’d love to, and I arrived home very happy.

Having been spotted together by the journos, by the end of the next day the grapevine now regarded us as an item and I think that both of our profiles at The Dispatch had been raised as a result. In the meantime, I’d modified my Molly article to incorporate Serena’s suggestions and showed it to George, who showed it to the editor. Serena and I were then called up to his office and, to cut a long story short, she and I got to share the job as Molly’s temporary replacement, both of us getting a pay rise as well.

It had been agreed that we’d continue to use Molly’s byline, but we were over the moon just to have our own regular column for a few weeks. Molly had always worked at home, away from the hectic office so, with me having a flat, I thought it might make sense (and Serena didn’t disagree) for she and I to work there together – and away from office distractions.

That meant we needed to start work on a new column before the weekend so we agreed that we’d walk from the office to the flat on the Thursday, have a ready meal, work on the column, and I’d walk her home to her parents’ house by 11pm. And that’s exactly what we did, having chosen some less-than-taxing problems for our first column, and the co-operative writing went well. We had left a few days spare before the deadline so we could do some tweaks if necessary, but were both reasonably pleased with our efforts, as subsequently was George. When we arrived at her parents’ house, if Serena’s mother had looked outside after hearing our footsteps by her front door, she’d have seen our first brief kiss.

Saturday soon came around and I went to Serena’s to be introduced to her parents before we walked to the restaurant for our Chinese meal. It was good, with plenty of laughter and without any flying chopsticks, although we left a somewhat messy tablecloth. My offer of coffee at my place was accepted and, being a perfect gentleman, I again escorted Serena home at an acceptable hour, but any onlooking parent may have needed a longer look this time.

We arranged to make Wednesday our regular ‘Molly’ day so on the next one we arrived at my place with a takeaway meal and the following week’s crop of Dear Molly letters. They included one from a lady whose husband liked to dress in women’s clothes. She’d accepted it before they married but now it was putting a strain on their relationship and she didn’t know whether to leave him or not. I’d not had any experience of such things but Serena said her Uncle Jim was also her Aunt Jemima, a drag artist, was quite open about it and was a good laugh.

She then looked at me for a few moments.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking that you’d make a good-looking woman.”

“You can’t be serious!” I said.

“I am. You’re not too tall, quite slim and I think that with a bit of makeup your face could look quite cute. Even pretty.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! In fact, why don’t we find out at the weekend? If you make me dinner on Saturday, I’ll bring some stuff over and we’ll give it a try. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to sleep with a woman…”

...And she had me there. Hook, line and sinker! I was lost for words!

Eventually I said “Er, er… I think we need to get back to work!”

We agreed that we’d put that particular letter back in the pending folder and go for one about a gambling addict instead, and Molly’s reply to that was finished well before we needed to begin our walk to Serena’s. By now I’d have been surprised if either of her parents had wanted to see what they knew would be going on outside their door.

So more mailbags came and went and, in what seemed like no time at all, Saturday arrived. I had a busy day, cleaning and tidying, especially in my bedroom, then shopping for and preparing a meal that I hoped would impress Serena, as I’d be cooking it from scratch. She’d have to take pot luck with regard to flavour and under- or over-cooking though, as I wasn’t a great cook.

She arrived looking wonderful, and carrying a suitcase which seemed a bit large for an overnight stay, but who was I to find fault with a lovely girl having an overnight stay with me?

The meal worked out well, went down well and the evening was going well.

So after I’d said we’d leave the dishes until the following morning, Serena said “Right, it’s suitcase time!”

I hoped that might mean a bit of bedroom activity with a nightie which she may not get to use for very long, but I hadn’t recalled all of Wednesday’s blockbuster statement.

She dragged me into my bedroom and said “Strip!”

I excitedly took off my shirt and then she said “Stop! That’s enough!”

She felt my face and chin, looked all round my naked torso and said “That’ll do for now but you’ll need to shave your face a bit closer next time and lose some hair from your body and arms – and probably your legs too!”

“Will all that really be necessary? And is there even going to be a next time?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out!” she said as she produced a large makeup case to begin turning a pig’s ear into a slightly prettier pig’s ear. At last my memory returned and I now knew what she was up to."

At this point, any full-blooded man might have objected – unless, like me, they were on a promise! Thus I meekly went along with it, asking only that she wouldn’t do anything to me that would look obviously female once I became Paul again.

“Aha, so that means you’re used to not being Paul ALL the time then! You’ve done this before, haven’t you! I bet you even have a female name!”

“No! I didn’t say anything of the sort, or even imply it!”

“OK, I was only teasing! – But if you were to have a female name, what would it be?”

“I’ve never thought about it, but I doubt I’d want it to be as obvious as your uncle’s. Jim and Jemima might be a bit too close for someone who didn’t want to be identified as a transvestite, and I most certainly wouldn’t, and that’s assuming you’d ever get me to do this again.”

All the while she was doing stuff to my face that I couldn’t see, using stuff that I could see and smell, which was being applied with all sorts of brushes and pads.

“So, you haven’t told me your middle name. Do you have one?”

“It’s Emerson. My mother was into Ralph Waldo Emerson, the American writer.”

“Ah, that would be perfect. If you had a female name it could be Emma! Which is nothing like Paul.”

We carried on chatting about anything and nothing while she worked on me, until she said my face was done. She wouldn’t let me see the mirror yet, though, and produced a wig, which she fitted, followed by a bra and some wobbly pink things. She fitted them to me, then put a loose-fitting blouse over them, before finally putting a necklace around my neck and attaching some clip-on earrings which pinched a bit. Then she pronounced me finished, “At least for this first attempt.”

I did notice the last part of that but said nothing – being on a promise and all that! She then took me over to the mirror and I was gobsmacked. She was right, I did make a good-looking woman.

She said she hadn’t bothered with my nails and lower body as what she’d done wasn’t too size-critical or difficult to remove, but if I’d like to see the full effect she’d need to take my measurements and find clothes and shoes that fit. Some of hers might be ok but we’d have to check that out.

With that, we retired to the sofa to drink wine, chat and have a bit of close contact before I (or was it Emma?) was led to Paul’s bed – after ensuring we had both removed our makeup of course! And, contrary to my earlier guess, the suitcase had in fact contained two nighties, both of which of which were worn, but not for very long. And the front door of Serena’s parents wasn’t darkened at all that night!

So the next day, after the delayed washing-up, we had a leisurely breakfast and then Serena measured me everywhere, which took a while as we were both getting frequently diverted. Then we had a shower (ditto) and got ready to tour the shops. I (as Paul) was ostensibly accompanying my girlfriend while she looked for new clothes for herself. We didn’t get much, other than a bra and pantie set that she bought in my size, but the experience was mainly an introductory course about women’s clothing.

Serena was determined to get me to go the whole hog with the crossdressing, and I must say that her enthusiasm, plus the memory of how I’d looked in that mirror, was getting me more intrigued too. So we made a plan for the following week, to find out out exactly what we could make do with and what we’d need to buy on the following Saturday morning.

Serena was aiming for us to go clubbing on the Saturday night, but I thought that was a terrible idea because I’d be found out. However, she said that Saturday night, being more crowded, would be better, as more people to look at meant less time spent scrutinising any of them. I didn’t really believe a word of it but gave her the benefit of my lust.

I was able to go round to Serena’s on the Tuesday while her folks were out and, with us being not too dissimilar in size, I tried on some clubbing dresses that she’d laid out. She had some slingbacks that would do at a pinch (pinch being the word), so I was more or less sorted with minimal outlay and, seeing myself in her mirror dressed in her gladrags, I was starting to look forward to dancing in them.

However, she also provided me with some jeans and a top for the shopping trip, a coat for the evening, plus some other stuff I’d never have thought of. And I was able to take all my new wardrobe additions back home with me but needed several large bags.

So, on Wednesday, once Molly was out of the way, our evening morphed into a dressing-up practice, a girlie talking and walking practice as well as a sleepover practice. The next morning, our bleary-eyed appearance provoked a fair few knowing glances, and their assumptions weren’t incorrect!

Soon it was Saturday morning again and Serena arrived in time to relieve me of some hair – in fact most of it below my nose, and even some of it above – before she turned me into shopping-mode Emma, for which I used my own new tennis shoes. We booked a taxi to take us to a neighbouring town and thus minimise the chances of me being found out, despite Serena’s confident assertion that even my own mother wouldn’t recognise me!

We bought most of what we’d need for the evening and had lunch in a shopping centre pub. I noticed a few lads looking at us but none of them spoke – which was just as well as, although I was becoming more comfortable as Emma, I wasn’t there yet. But gradually I got more used to it by just thinking of myself as one of two girlfriends out shopping, albeit I was the plain one while Serena was the gorgeous one. Which perhaps took the pressure off me.

By late afternoon we were shopped-out and making our way towards the taxi rank when two lads recognised Serena and started talking to her. She introduced me to James and Andy as Emma, a student friend of hers. I suspected that one of them might have been an old flame of Serena’s, but they both obviously knew her quite well, were very entertaining to talk to, and involved me in the conversation. Anyway, after a quarter of an hour I was genuinely worried about the time so apologised to them before saying that we really ought to be leaving.

Serena then picked up on that, saying “Oh, gosh, Emma’s right! We’re going out tonight so we really do need to rush. It was nice seeing you both. We must meet up again some time soon.”

However, James then said “We were about to leave shortly anyway, and can give you a lift back to the city if you want.” And we did, and they did, and we all continued our jolly conversation all the way back to the flat.

As they drove away after dropping us off, I said to Serena “At first, I thought James might be an old flame of yours, but then I changed my mind and I think he and Andy are gay, Am I right?”

“What? Gay? Of course they are! James is my Uncle, Uncle Jim.”

“Oh, of Aunt Jemima fame?”

“Yes, he’s only four years older than me, more like a cousin really. Andy is his partner.”

“Let me guess, Aunt Andrea?”

“Correct. You’re getting good, Emma!”

“So, was it really a coincidence that we met them?”

“Erm…”

“I thought so! You set me up!”

“It was only as a bit of practice for you and you handled it ever so well. I’m so proud of you!”

So then it was a mad rush to have showers, grab something to eat, get dressed and glammed up and leave enough time to take some pictures of ourselves with my cartridge film camera before our taxi arrived. We had the same driver as that morning and he said “I thought you both looked lovely this morning but now you take my breath away.”

Of course that’s probably a line every taxi driver learns if he wants to get bigger tips, but it certainly worked on me!

We arrived early at the club and I was quite nervous so needed to use the loo. Serena accompanied me, mainly to make sure I didn’t use the wrong door. I was touching up my lipstick before leaving when a girl said “I’ve not seen you in here before.”

I said “No, I’m just visiting for the weekend, and I’m staying with my boyfriend.”

“Pity!” she said. “I’m jealous of your boyfriend!”

Just then, Serena came out of a cubicle, stopped and stared at me for a couple of seconds before continuing towards the hand basins, then said to the girl “I’m jealous of him too!” I didn’t know which way to look until the girl left, and we both started to laugh as soon as the door closed behind her.

So those experiences, plus chatting with James and Andy, had set me up for the evening, and, as the place filled up, my nervousness disappeared. Serena and I danced with each other, then with pairs of lads, and even each of us one-on-one with a lad at times. It was all great fun and we turned down lots of suggestions and invitations before our taxi driver returned to try out his other tip-worthy lines on us, and we ended the evening back at the flat, falling asleep as soon as our heads hit our pillows!

So, having proved I could get away with pretending to be a girl, I felt it had been instructive to see life from the other side, but having been there and done that, I also quite liked not needing to pretend that I was anything other than a man, and Serena didn’t disagree. So we didn’t bother doing it again, but the memories of it, and the photos, were good to have.

I did conclude that having a drag queen for an uncle had probably influenced Serena’s enthusiasm for feminising me to some extent, but how and why didn’t really bother me, because it had brought us closer together – and it had been fun!

All too soon, September arrived and both Serena and I left The Dispatch to return to our universities, two hundred miles apart. Sadly, Molly never did recover enough to return to her column, and I dropped out of our arrangement, leaving the column in the very capable hands of Serena, now with her own byline. I knew that our relationship, both personal and professional, had been great while it lasted, but it wouldn’t have survived in those days before everyone had a personal phone. I did miss her, though, and we still kept in touch.

The next summer, rather than returning to The Dispatch, Serena took a leaf out of my book by staying on in Bristol, working for a local paper there while I returned to my parents’ newly-repaired house and the metal works. We would notify each other of any changes in our circumstances, so I knew that, after graduating, she had taken up a full-time job as a journalist with a sister-paper of The Dispatch, but still continued to write her Dear Serena column, while I had returned to my roots and the metal works while looking for a career.

Not long afterwards, in her weekly batch of Dear Serena letters, she found one from an unfortunate woman named Emma, who said she hadn’t got over splitting up with her partner two years earlier. Emma wanted some advice about moving on with her life.

Serena’s reply appeared in her column the following week, and she suggested that the best solution would be a clean break and a move to a different town. That would force Emma to sink or swim and not dwell on old memories, while creating a new life and generating new opportunities.

She even suggested a suitable town… which just happened to be the same town where Serena now lived.

And she was so proud of that particular column that she posted a copy of it to me.

It’s now a bit faded after thirty years, but she and I still keep it, mounted in its frame, in our attic.

Dear Molly ©2024 Suzie Dalkin

[Image derived from one supplied by Freepic – www.freepic.com]

I was a bright lad who had had a sheltered life.

I diligently cruised through school and university.

But then it all went pear-shaped.
– Or should that be almond-shaped?

MESMER-EYES by Suzie Dalkin

Part 1 (of 3) – Eyes Right

I’d always been well aware of girls in my early school years, and sometimes thought that I had more in common with them than with the rough lads in my class.

However, evolution has ensured that boys and girls avoid each other until the time is right so, along with my peers, I just tended to ignore them even if I sometimes envied them for their clothes.

Then, years later, I was at a boys’ secondary school when teenage hormones kicked in and lack of opportunity conspired to make me a late starter in normal boy-girl interactions. So it wasn’t until the informality of college life that I was released into the real world. However, I found girlfriend acquisition hard and wished they would ask me out. I did eventually manage to get a date, but only thanks to great efforts from my friends to prime the pump, so to speak. But after that one brief fling I never had much luck with the girls and sort of gave up looking, missing out on the fun my fellow students seemed to be having during the rest of my college years.

After finishing my chemistry degree, my first permanent job was as a chemist with a small paint manufacturer in a Midlands city. I’d landed the job in the June, as soon as I had graduated, though it had been conditionally arranged for months. Unfortunately, the company was bought out within weeks and my services were no longer required.

So, having rented a bedsit on the strength of my chemist’s salary, I needed another job quickly and took a temporary one with a large department store. This was in the days when department stores were still prospering.

The store’s seven retail floors gave employment to more than a thousand staff but, for the busy Christmas period and the subsequent January sale, their numbers could swell dramatically.

And that’s where I came in, because my job would be packing their range of upmarket Christmas food hampers, which were full of stuff that ordinary people had never even heard of, let alone tasted.

Now, as this was the biggest and poshest store in the city, everything about it was... big and posh, and the larger of its two public restaurants, the Upper Crust, was a sight to behold. It occupied more than a third of the top floor and could have accommodated three or more tennis courts if only the ceiling had been a bit higher (ok – a lot higher!)

But a more remarkable thing about the Upper Crust was that its kitchen was shared with the staff canteen – and the canteen was even larger than its neighbour. However, their respective menus and personnel were very different. Refined young ladies in smart waitress uniforms would say “Is there anything I could bring you, Madam?”, on one side while, a few yards away, canteen ladies of more mature years would be saying to the next person in the queue “What would you like, luv?”, in the strong local accent.

I’d experienced the dining facilities at schools, colleges and factories (the latter when doing summer jobs while still a student) where the diners would mostly be similarly dressed and nobody would stand out, whereas here there was a huge mixture of people in varied clothing.

There were many smartly-dressed shop assistants who all wore the store name badge, warehouse people in brown coats, drivers in blue suits with embroidered logos, as well as the security men in their grey uniforms and matching peaked caps. Then there were the people in the franchise booths which were set up as separate shops and whose mostly female staff would be wearing their company’s usually distinctive uniform.

But standing out amongst all of those would be the painted goddesses of the cosmetics department, which took up half of the ground floor. And. being the most prestigious store in the city, it managed to attract the best-looking ‘beauty consultants’ in the city, who would garner a lot of sneaky glances whenever a group of them appeared in the canteen queue.

So there I was, walking into the canteen at mid-morning on my first day, and not knowing what I’d see in there. I found myself following a group of very attractive girls to the end of the servery queue. Their immaculate makeup and tailored dresses gave me a clue that they must be cosmetics girls.

I have to say that I was enjoying the view straight ahead of me somewhat, rather than looking at the food display as I neared it. Then I was woken from my lewd thoughts by a jovial lady who said “What would you like, dear?” Luckily I managed to stop myself saying “One of them, please!”

I then turned my eyes right to see the vast display of food options. I was dithering over what to choose when a voice from behind me said “Hurry up, love, some of us are wasting away back here. Why don’t you just order a sausage sandwich then we can order ours!”

I looked round and said “Sorry,” to her – she was another stunning cosmetics girl with yet another next to her. I was now flustered, or rather even more flustered, so I went with her recommendation. While the hot sausages were being expertly sliced, she said to the canteen lady “Can you make that three, please?”, and then to me she said “You must be new, then.”

And that’s how I ended up, a couple of hours into my first day, sitting with some of the best-looking girls in the store – and no doubt some of the men around me were wondering “How did he manage that?”

I was the centre of attention on the cosmetics girls’ table but I suspected some of the younger girls were checking out the new talent while the older ones were mothering me. Not that any appeared to be very old but, since it was their job to make women look younger and prettier, it made sense that they’d do it to themselves.

I was both amazed at my good fortune and somewhat overawed at the same time.

They were soon into interrogation mode. “What brings you here? Which department are you in? How old are you? Do you have a girlfriend?” etcetera. And not one of them asked which football team I supported!

Chris, the girl I’d spoken to first, and Sue, who had been with her in the queue, were one side of me and were mostly doing the asking while the others soon got bored with the newcomer and began to chat amongst themselves about Nina’s new boyfriend and how far she’d let him go the night before.

As we were all on the same staggered break times, we’d all see the same people each time and so the next morning I found Chris and Sue alone on their table and they waved me over to them. I joined them in tucking into our sausage sandwiches, which were wonderful, even if the idea of goddesses tucking into sausage sarnies didn’t seem right.

Sue and Chris were both very attentive as well as attractive, and I soon learned that they were sisters and shared a flat not far from mine. In fact we all travelled to and from work on the same bus route. So that led to us all coming to work together every day and becoming friends.

One day, we were in the canteen with me on one side of the table and Sue and Chris on the other when, after a slight lull in the conversation, Sue said “You know, Joe, your eyes are amazing. They’re wasted on a lad. If you were a girl I would just love giving you a makeover. They’d be killer eyes. I just wish mine were that lovely."

But before I could say “But yours ARE lovely Sue,” Chris had chipped in with “I’ve been thinking that myself. You’ve no right to have eyes like that.”

I didn’t know what to say.

On the way back to my corner of the warehouse I popped to the loo on the menswear floor and, while washing my hands, looked at my eyes in the mirror. I’d never noticed before, but I could see that they were rather distinctive. I’d only ever had the one girlfriend but she had never mentioned them. Mind, she was blind as a bat and dumped me because I refused to go out with her if she was driving!

One of the menswear guys then came to use the handbasin next to mine, looked at me via the mirror and said “If I had amazing eyes like those, I’d be admiring them too!”

I said “Thanks, I think!”, and left fairly quickly.

At the lunch break and on the way home, nothing more was said about my eyes so I hoped the topic would go away but at the bus stop the next morning, the girls said they’d been discussing me the previous evening, and I had a good idea what it had been about. They then invited me to their flat that evening for a chat, which sounded both interesting and ominous, but, for good or ill, I agreed anyway.

So I apprehensively turned up, having brought a bottle of wine, just in case it might be needed!

As it happened, they had one open and it was already half empty so there was a good chance mine might follow it too.

The girls, in jeans and with minimal makeup rather than the official paint job, still looked wonderful, and I had to tell them so. They both came over and kissed me on the cheek before Sue said “You’re bound to have been wondering what all this is about, so we won’t beat around the bush.

“We’ve both got to know you and like you over the last few weeks and we have a proposition for you.

“Correct us if we’re wrong but we think you must be struggling to afford your flat on what they pay you in that dead-end job.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but things are starting to get a bit tight.”

“Well, we have a spare bedroom that’s doing nothing. So we’d be happy for you to move in with us for a week or two to see how we get on, with a view to you moving in longer-term and letting your bedsit go. We’d only ask you to pay us what rent you can afford until you get a better job.”

Chris then added “...As long as you do your fair share of the housework and don’t do too many obnoxious male things! Which I wouldn’t expect as I don’t think you’re like that.”

Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting, but it was a no-brainer. And what bloke wouldn’t want to share a flat with two good-looking girls?

So I responded enthusiastically and this time it was me kissing them and we all refilled our glasses to toast our new life together.

The following Saturday I moved some of my stuff (well most of it as I didn’t have much) round the corner to the girls’ place, and I woke the next morning in a smallish but very pink bedroom which confused me for a few moments, especially as staring down at me were several cuddly toys. But no doubt, assuming my stay were to become permanent, the girls would let me modify the décor.

I heard movement, so got up, put my dressing gown on over my pyjamas and headed for the loo, after which I went into the living room where Sue was sitting in her pyjamas and Chris in a nightdress. Both were looking rather plain without makeup and with hair all over the place.

“Afternoon Joe!” said Chris, shifting her position on the sofa to let me sit down, which let me notice her lack of a bra, and a quick glance revealed that she wasn’t the only one.

“Make yourself a tea or coffee and help yourself to whatever for breakfast,” said Sue, “We don’t do formal breakfasts here.”

“Thanks!” I said. “Did you both sleep well? And are you ready to make the most of this lovely day?”

“I’ve got a slight bad head” said Sue.

“Hardly surprising, the way you were swigging it down!” her sister said.

“You can talk!”

“I’m not the one with a bad head!”

“Anyway, how’s your head Joe?” said Sue.

“Mine’s fine, but don’t forget that you both started drinking before me.”

“And you’re a man,” said Sue, “and you men can drink more than us delicate ladies.”

“Since when have you been delicate?” said Chris, laughing. “Or a lady, for that matter?”

“F*** off!”

“I love you too!”

Chris then turned to me and said “I’m sorry Joe but this is what you’re going to have to put up with. It may not be what you expected but you’ll soon get used to it. Just be prepared to give as good as you get!”

I then said “I’m shocked! Shocked! ...But I suppose I’ll cope.”

Chris added “I’m sure you will!”

So we pottered around until lunchtime, firstly by having showers, then dressing while the first one ready (me) went round to the local shop for some milk and a newspaper.

We decided we’d have a salad for lunch so we all did our bit on the preparation and had a good chat while we were eating. Then Chris and I had a little discussion – or difference of opinion – on the best ingredients for a salad. And while we were doing this I saw out of the corner of my eye that Sue had stopped eating and was just staring at me.

This was reminiscent of a previous time she’d done that and I said “Wh-a-t?”

She said “I would still love to give you a makeover and see if I’m right.”

“And I still see what you mean, Sue.”

“So, Joe,” Sue continued, “Would you like to do a favour for your beautiful flatmates and indulge us on this?”

“I’m not sure. And I’m slightly worried about what it could lead to!”

“We wouldn’t blackmail you or tell anyone else if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Sue.

“And I’d make sure she wouldn’t do anything that would embarrass you afterwards!”

“I presume it’ll all wash off in a few minutes after you’ve had your fun, won’t it?”

“Absolutely,” said Sue.

“Well, if it’ll make you happy, and since you’ve been so kind to me, I’ll let you do your worst, then!”

“I’ll have you know that I’ll be doing my very best, Joe, and thank you so much. You’re going to look so awesome! Now, would this evening be ok for you?”

“Why not, let’s get it over with.”

So, after finishing lunch and clearing it away, we decided to go for a walk to the local park and watch the kids feeding the ducks. One toddler saw me and ran towards me shouting “Daddy!”

His mother was running after him while pushing his baby buggy, saying “Come back Michael, that isn’t Daddy.”

He didn’t stop but continued running towards me so I scooped him up and said “Hello, Michael, shall we go and see your mummy?”

Mummy arrived, apologising profusely to me, then thanked me for catching him but I said, “It’s something that anyone would have done.”

I then held Michael out in front of me and said to him “I have to go now, Michael, so bye-bye.” before handing him to his mother, and Michael said “Bye-bye, Daddy.”

The girls had stopped some yards away and watched in awe as I handled the situation and as soon as mother and child were out of earshot, Chris said “You didn’t tell us you were a daddy!”

“I’m not!”

“Well, Michael seemed to think so!”

Then Sue added “I think you'd make a wonderful mother, Joe!”

We returned home and had a light meal while the appointed hour drew closer.

To be continued in part 2.

Mesmer-eyes ©2024 Suzie Dalkin

Image adapted from one supplied by pixabay.com

Kudos

NOTE: This story was intended to be set in the present day but a couple of the references are now a bit archaic. Back-dating it by half a century resolved that problem while also opening up interesting plot oppportunities.

 

THE GORGEOUS LINDA

 

 

Tim and I were best mates in the early 'seventies and he had a gorgeous sister. And through Tim I knew her slightly, but not as well as I would have liked, as I’d fancied her for a while.

When Linda was 17, Tim and I (I'm Steve, by the way) were a year older, were into playing soccer and were heavily exercising our newly-acquired right to drink in pubs.

Our Sunday League football team were better at the drinking than the kicking however, but we still had fun. A new lad, Will, had contacted us after moving to the area for work, and had told us he was a mechanical engineer. Obviously someone had to say “You’re very realistic-looking for a robot,” but he took it in good part and soon became a member of our football (and drinking) squad.

But being an engineer, Will was into building stuff, so when he found out about the annual raft race that was held on the River Trent each summer, he got us interested and then persuaded us to knock up a raft to enter and crew in that year's race. And, having the design skills, he was able to come up with one based on two cylindrical hulls using 5 gallon drums with sleek plywood front ends, which would make it fast compared to most rafts we’d ever seen before.

Anyway, Will soon got us organised and we built the raft at the back of his factory and tested it on the river one evening. That revealed some problems but with a bit of tweaking and some practice, our crew did well and won the race on what proved to be the fastest raft.

That had been my last summer before heading off to study for a degree in electronics so I was able to get a summer job at an electronics store for a couple of months before I left for Oxford ...the city, that is, not Oxford University. I'm not clever enough for that. I'd be doing my degree at the Oxford Polytechnic instead.

During the Christmas and Easter breaks, I returned from my studies (which obviously included the local beers) to go pubbing with Tim again (and to say hello to Linda, while chickening out, yet again, of asking her for a date.) And it was the same again on both counts for the summer holiday break while I was once more at the electronics store.

That summer, with us now having a reputation as expert raft builders, there was a lot of brain-picking going on as raft race competitors began to build their masterpieces, some of which would be likely to separate into a flotilla of unconnected barrels before they’d travelled half a mile.

One of the brain-pickers was Tim’s sister, who was now eighteen, even-gorgeouser and about to go off to uni so it would be her final summer before leaving home. She, for some reason, asked me, rather than Will or Tim, how to build a raft for that year's race, which would be her final fling with her hockey* team.

Unfortunately, I not only volunteered all of our secrets to the hockey girls, but also volunteered to help them build it, because I'd do anything Linda asked. Sad, really! Me, that is!

So following Will's basic concept, I designed a twin-hulled 6-seater and they would say I helped them build it but some might also say the girls watched me build it. Tim's dad ran a builder's merchant depot and we were able to use his yard, his scrap timber and, eventually, his car and trailer. However, the girls all mucked in with the painting.

Now, since we lads were all quite competitive and only ever went for speed, the concept of being in fancy-dress on a decorated raft didn't particularly appeal, but the girls didn't think that way. They wanted their raft to look good and for them to all be in fancy dress, but they needed to come up with a theme.

So I explained the limitations to them. The raft itself had to remain safe and sturdy and any decoration shouldn't compromise the paddling or steering, or be vulnerable to overhanging trees, and any clothing mustn't be a hindrance to anyone who should fall in the river.

They then came up with an idea that was, at the time, still just about acceptable, if not to ardent feminists: a beauty contest*. The girls could all then wear one-piece swimsuits, plastic tiaras and sashes with comic titles like Miss Demeanour and Miss Alignment. The decoration could comprise a banner down the middle of the raft with the title "Miss Trent 1973" on each side and there would be lots of pink and white ribbons draping down from it.

They also decided to wear fishnet tights and it took some persuading to get them all to wear trainers rather than heels, (which would be useless, if not downright dangerous, on a raft or a muddy river bank anyway!)

They had a 7-girl squad (including a reserve), and I trained them all in paddling, and especially steering, and was able to point out several hazards they'd meet along the way. So we were all organised and ready, complete with emergency supplies for every contingency, while most other teams were still burning the midnight oil.

On the day of the race we turned up at the starting site in good time to allow for all eventualities. Tim and Linda's dad had me and three of the girls in his car which was also towing the raft trailer while the other four girls were with his wife in her car.

I'd dropped out of Tim and Will's team to be there for the girls as the team manager and raft maintenance man to make sure nothing would go wrong, and if it did, to find a solution, much as Will had done on the boys' raft the previous year. That had got me a lot of stick at the pub for being a dirty young man, although I knew that it was one particular girl who had been the major consideration in my decision.

We had to park in a meadow next to the river and, while one of the girls was getting out of the car, her foot went down into a rabbit hole and she sprained her ankle. And in so doing, she fell against another of our girls, causing her to fall against a tree onto her shoulder. Both of them were taken to the first-aid point where a nurse said there were no broken bones but they'd be sore for a week or two. She strapped them both up but suggested that it wouldn't be easy or safe for either to take part in the race.

That meant we'd have to make do with a 5-girl crew, or so I thought. Linda thought otherwise, and half an hour later, after 5 sexy beauty queens had finished a rather one-sided discussion with me, my team manager clothes had been swapped for the spare swimsuit and fishnets in our emergency kit.

There wasn't much that the girls could do with my longish hair, but a styling brush and some hairspray made me look a bit less masculine. The fishnets disguised any hair on my legs, but being blond meant my body hair wasn't too obvious anyway.

The girls were all wearing waterproof makeup and they made sure that I was too as our turn to start got closer. By the time we set off in the race, we were all wearing life preservers but our sashes helped to disguise them.

The rafts started the race at one minute intervals and when we set off the previous raft was still in view so that became a target. But as soon as it rounded the first bend and was out of sight of the stewards, despite it being against the rules, the all-male crew removed their lifejackets and shirts, as would several other teams we'd see later on. They had lots of cans of beer on board with them too, meaning they would be on the river for hours longer than the 90 minutes we were aiming for and in all probability would be bright red by the time they finished.

Tim's parents, having seen us off, then drove to the finish, via a couple of places where they could see us pass, taking the trailer and both injured girls with them.

Now, with the girls and I all being in sports teams, we found that our sports ethic meant that we were taking it a bit more seriously than most, and were continuously using the raft in front as a target for overtaking. We went past lots of all-male teams who, of course, would all make comments.

You'll have noticed that I haven't mentioned Linda much. Well, that's because I, as the experienced rafter, was made to sit at the front as the lookout and navigator besides setting the pace so the others could all follow me, stroke for stroke. That meant that Linda was sat behind me and I couldn't see her at all. It all made sense but I would have liked to have swapped seats with her, if only for the view!

So our first couple of miles were uneventful until we came to a weir. For this we had to stand on top of the weir and (wo)man-handle the raft over it then carry it down the slope on the other side. Once the raft was partially afloat we'd jump back on it in pairs. Anyone who couldn't jump back on in time or fell off had to wade or swim back to the raft and climb on board. And all this in front of a crowd of spectators.

I was so intent on ensuring all the girls were safely back in their seats that I didn't see the raft which side-swiped us, causing me to end up in the drink amongst a clump of reeds near the bank. My foot was caught up in an underwater jumble of weeds and I couldn't free myself so Linda jumped in, grabbed my leg to pull me out of it and then helped me back on board. I thanked her, but knew that I had just blown any chance I might have had with her.

We went over two more weirs without incident and soon saw the crowds waiting by the finishing line, who gave us a great cheer as we sprinted the last hundred yards to the flag.

The stewards and Tim's parents helped us all onto the bank where the six of us hugged each other with big grins on our faces. My hug from Linda was special though, as she kissed me and then whispered "I hope you didn't mind, but while I helped you out of the weeds, I couldn't avoid feeling the bulge in your swimsuit."

"I did notice, but of course I didn't mind, since I knew you were helping me out!"

"Well, now that we've already been intimate, I suppose it wouldn't be too much of a surprise if you asked me out, would it?"

And that's how Tim's gorgeous sister became my girlfriend!

However, that was something for the future as we had to move our raft to the display area where the crowds could see all the work, or lack of it in some cases, that had been put in, before we dried off and changed into dry clothes.

We had to wait around for some of the stragglers to arrive before the prizegiving, in which Tim and Will's raft won again. However, my having given up my place on that raft had in fact resulted in ours gaining two prizes, as best-dressed raft and fastest mixed-crew raft (we had agreed that we would have been disqualified if one of the previous year's male winners was now spotted in an all-female crew), so it was a very successful day all round.

When we came to leave with our raft, there were more hugs and I got another kiss from Linda, causing Tim to later say, "It's about bloody time! You've both been pains for months!"

Tim had been aware of my interest in his sister without my actually having said so, because he'd noticed my glances and embarrassed conversations with her but, unlike him, I hadn't known that she would always make sure she looked her best whenever I was expected at their house.

Still, with her going off to university and me already a year into my degree course, I only had a couple of months to enjoy her company.

I formally asked her out and we went on our first date to a quiet (i.e. geriatric) pub, which I usually wouldn't dream of going to, but it was perfect. I related what Tim had told me about she and I both having been interested in each other but doing nothing about it.

“What do you mean? I was encouraging you for ages! I could have asked Will or my brother to help us with the raft, but asked you instead. And even after I groped you, I had to bring it to your attention! No wonder the subtle stuff never worked!”

“Well, given the circumstances, the 'grope' could well have been quite accidental, with me having my mind on a more pressing matter at the time.”

“OK, then, I must admit it WAS purely accidental, although it did divert me from the other matter in hand for a second or two!”

“So we’re here together purely because you lied to me!”

“I’ll go if you don’t want me here!”

“No, I’m sorry, I very much do want you to be here, and I was only joking, as you well know. And I’m still amazed that you’d want to go out with a wimp like me.”

So, we crossed our first hurdle and enjoyed a couple of hours in which there weren’t any awkward silences. However, she may have got me to reveal more than I should have done about her brother, although she did the same.

So I walked her home but before we got there she took me down the access road to a slightly secluded block of garages, and said “I think we can probably say our goodbyes here, away from any prying eyes near my front door, don’t you?”

My immediate thought was that I was being dumped on our first date. However, that was proved wrong when I was ferociously attacked by a gorgeous girl attempting to suck my teeth out. I meekly went along with it, safe in the knowledge that all my teeth were my own.

Ten minutes later we arrived at her front door and she said “Thanks for a lovely evening,” quickly kissed me on the cheek and went inside ...which of course was all for show as we’d already made arrangements for our next date and I was mentally calculating how long it was since my last dental checkup.

I'd known that Linda would be studying history at university and, being rather clever (assuming she would achieve the right A-level grades), it would be Oxford University, THE Oxford University! However, I'd now learned that she would be at a women's college, living in the college itself, meaning that there were rules about male visitors which would have to be obeyed.

 

Linda and I still hadn't fallen out by the time I went back to Oxford by train, loaded down with two suitcases, one of which, as ever, came in useful as a seat otherwise I'd have needed to stand for a few hours.

The university's terms were shorter than those of us mere mortal students, even having different names (Michaelmas, Hilary and Trinity for our Autumn, Spring and Summer terms), and Linda would follow in a couple of weeks.

So I was settled in and hard at work before she even arrived. I met her at the station and we took a taxi to her college, which looked old but wasn't, since women's colleges had been, for the University, a controversial late Victorian innovation.

At Linda's college, she showed me round the bits we evil men were allowed to see, using the map she'd been sent, and then I showed her round the city.

Having lived in Oxford for a year, I knew my way around, not only the Polytechnic, but also to some extent The University since, rather than having a campus, it's mostly a collection of old, self-contained colleges dotted around the city centre and its small cathedral is really the large chapel of Christchurch College. Anyone who hasn't been there but has seen Inspector Morse or its spinoffs on TV may well be faniliar with some of the buildings but won't know how they relate to each other. So I was able to give Linda an insider's tour, and she saw much more than she had when she had come for her course interview.

We looked in its famous old bookshop, went up the Carfax tower, saw the ancient colleges, Magdalen (pronounced Maudlin), Balliol, New College (actually one of the oldest) and Merton, passing many others on the way, to finish up watching the boats under Magdalen Bridge before I introduced her to that favourite of all students (and Morse, to be fair!) ...the pub!

So for her first couple of weeks I left Linda to concentrate on her new academic life and to find her own social things to do without being tagged along by an oik from that pseudo-university out in the suburbs.

At the end of the fortnight, with her having become familiar with college life, lectures, seminars and posh dinners, and having even signed up for a drama club and a hockey club, we reconnected and Linda came over at the weekend to visit my grotty student flat in a Victorian working-class area near the car factory. I shared it with two fellow-student mates and each had a girlfriend from the Poly who would often stay the night. They were all impressed that I had not only got myself a girlfriend, but one that was a 'looker' and was also at the University (therefore must be posh, as well as brainy!)

Anyway, both of us being away from home and with our relationship being at an appropriate stage in an environment where, unlike at her college, staying over was not an issue, we soon followed suit. Linda then would sometimes stay over and the nocturnal noise of amorous activities in other rooms may have lost us sleep but we were usually either drunk enough to not notice ... or doing the same ourselves!

Linda was soon staying regularly, since there was no option for me to 'stay over' in her college, although I never found out if the same applied to all the other women's colleges. She thus became friends with my flatmates and their guests, and quite often we'd all go to the pub together on Friday nights.

Then, in the February, the Poly Students' Union organised a drag ball. By this time Linda was into the drama club and brought up the fact that I'd done drag before and it might be a hoot if we all did it. She persuaded the other four of us to go too, and the girlfriends had great fun organising us lads and finding suitable costumes. They came up with a "wedding guests" theme - suits and dresses, big hats and buttonhole flowers.

I had thought that Linda and I, being of similar sizes, would be able to mostly just swap clothes to some extent, but apparently things don't work like that. Although to us men, a man's suit of the right size would look fine on a girl, to the girls it wasn't good enough and Liz, who was a fashion student, volunteered to alter some men's suits to fit their curves, and to avoid ruining our perfectly good men's suits, which may not have had enough material in some places anyway! That meant that we'd have to buy three second-hand suits, which wouldn't cost much in charity shops.

The girls especially enjoyed kitting out their men in pretty dresses, heels and wedding hats although a lot of charity shops needed to be toured before everything was found in appropriate sizes.

So, three short men with unconvincing moustaches and very obvious female curves arrived at the ball (a disco, really!) and on their arms were one quite presentable 'girl' and two who really weren't (according to all three real girls!) despite having been given wonderfully-done makeovers!

We all had a great time, showing off our handiwork and admiring that of others. Some had gone to great lengths like shaving off their beards or having a female crew-cut, while one or two just went through the motions, being in their normal clothes with only a pink hat or a mascara moustache as their costume.

And when we got home, our flat was very noisy for a few hours as three temporary girls were seduced by three short 'men' with wonky or missing moustaches.

As spring turned into summer, we learned that there was a raft race nearby and, led by Linda and me, we organised the 'wedding guests' into a team and were able to borrow the raft from last summer, which was still in Linda's dad's yard. Her parents offered to stay for the weekend of the race and bring the raft and trailer.

Linda's powers of persuasion then came into play, and her suggestion that we all use the beauty contest theme again was accepted. It would only need more fishnets, swimsuits and a different year and river name on the banner and, having all done the drag thing before, we lads were easily persuaded to do it again.

This time, we decided we should all have names and name-badges to suit, so I became Stephanie and Linda became Lyndon.

We made the changes to the raft on the Saturday afternoon then Linda's folks took the two of us for a meal at their hotel in the evening before both of us went back to our respective lodgings in order to obey the proprieties in front of her parents.

The race itself went without incident; we didn't win any prizes and Linda had no opportunity for intimacy, but we still had fun. Linda's parents left with the raft straight after the race and the crew again had an enjoyable evening at the flat.

At this time moves were being made to make all the colleges co-educational at last and Linda was feeling that it was very unfair that she had to come over to my flat most weekends, since no man (i.e. me) could stay in hers. So, as the end of her summer term was nigh, she reckoned that she'd like me to correct that anomaly. Now it's part of folklore that some young men used to risk injury, and being caught, to climb up to a lady's chamber. However, I'm the young man who had to be helped to climb onto a raft by a girl so I was confident that that wasn't going to work for me. But Linda then had another suggestion. She would invite her friend Stephanie to visit for the weekend.

So, having had a few weeks of girl-training from Linda and assistance from our flat's Poly girls with makeup and especially with clothes that Linda had never been seen in, I was despatched by bus with my weekend case into the city centre. I was chatted up on the bus by a lad I vaguely recognised from the Poly, but I wasn't found out ... I think!

I'd arranged that we'd meet at the station, pretending I'd just arrived by train from our home town, and she and I both went to the loo there so she could check that my disguise would work. Of course she had to make some small changes before I was allowed to be seen in public with her.

We took a taxi to the college and she quickly introduced me to the security lady at the gate before making a fuss about an important letter she was expecting, a ruse which enabled me to slip round the corner to ostensibly look at the architecture while waiting for her and thus keeping me out of the way of any suspicious eyes.

Linda led me up to her room and on the way we met one of her neighbours, to whom I was introduced. Dilys made small talk with a big smile on her face.

"Do you think she guessed who I was?" I said.

"She didn't have to. I told her you were coming."

"No, but I meant 'Did she guess my gender?' "

"Like I said, I told her 'YOU' would be coming. All of the girls on this landing hate the gender rules, so I warned them, and they don't mind."

"Oh, so that's why she was smiling so much."

"I think she was impressed. I'll have to ask her later."

Then after a relaxed fifteen-minute welcome in Linda's room, followed by a half-hour chatting and drinking tea, we went out so she could give me a city tour like the one I'd given her not many months earlier. And I was amazed at how many places she showed me that I didn't know existed. It was like seeing the city through someone else's eyes, which I suppose it was!

We had a pub lunch and bumped into Dilys again, who was with her boyfriend Martin, and he, likewise, had a big smile on his face.

So we returned to Linda's college, this time just saying "Hi," to the lady on the gate without stopping. When we were back in Linda's room, one thing led to another and, apart from a warning to keep the noise down, we had as enjoyable a Saturday afternoon as ever.

After a change of clothes we could have dined in the college but we'd agreed that that was probably a step too far for me, so we went out again for an early evening stroll and a light meal in a quiet pub followed by (another noise warning and) an early night.

Late the next morning, we went out for a walk in University Parks and saw Martin and Dilys yet again. They said they were going to hire a punt on the river that afternoon and wondered if we'd like to join them.

And that's what we did, but it's very different to paddling on a raft, as I found when it was my turn with the pole. We did see one toff in striped jacket and boater perched on his pole while his punt drifted slowly away from him. His pole then slowly leaned over and gracefully placed him in the river ...to a round of applause! So I ensured that I was not going to emulate him, but at the expense of hitting the bank a few times.

So we then had a coffee together and I learned that Martin had also stayed over the previous night. This shocked me and I said to Linda "But you said..."

"I know. I told you only females could stay overnight, but I only learned last week that, with the college going co-ed next term, they'll be turning a blind eye for the rest of this one. And since you and the Poly girls were having so much fun getting you organised, we thought it would be a pity to not finish the job! Sorry!"

We then returned to the college where I said goodbye to Dilys and Martin, then got my stuff together and was ready to leave. And, having no male clothing with me, I would have no option but to return to the flat en femme. As we headed through the gate, with me carrying my weekend bag, the same security lady saw me and said, "I hope you've had a nice weekend with us, miss. And if you don't mind me saying so, you fooled me for longer than most!"

At that, I don't know what was redder, my face or the postal collection box across the road!

On the bus back to the flat I was thinking about the weekend having been my fourth outing in female clothing and I noticed the coincidence that the last three had come at Linda's suggestion. And, furthermore, it then came back to me that although it had been all five of the beauty queens who 'persuaded' me, the first one was also Linda's idea!

Linda's college became co-ed the next year and I would often stay over, but for some reason she still expected me to observe the now-obsolete female-only rules, inside her room at least!

And, for some reason, I suspected that my crossdressing days might not be over any time soon.

I could never say no to the gorgeous Linda!

 

THE END

[* In the UK, 'hockey' is played on grass, 'ice hockey' on ice, and a 'beauty pageant' is called a 'beauty contest'.]

 

The Gorgeous Linda ©2024 Suzie Dalkin

My name is Yves Thomas. That’s Yves, as in Yves Saint Laurent and Yves Montand, who were famous Frenchmen of the 1950s and 60s, or so my parents tell me.

Apparently neither of those two, unlike my parents, was actually born in France so that makes three of us. My surname might seem typically British but it’s possibly even more common in France.

My parents came here as newly-married doctors in the days when it still welcomed Europeans. Having settled in the UK and provided it with me, they’re both still happy living here, and are both almost as English as anyone born here. My dad even plays cricket, would you believe, despite still having a distinct French accent, whereas you would never guess my mum wasn’t a rather posh Englishwoman.

We all go back to our roots in Bordeaux each summer and I always look forward to my three weeks staying with my aunt, uncle and three cousins, and especially the week when we all go for a ‘holiday within a holiday’ to their seaside apartment.

Anyway, being dedicated family doctors, and, given the state that the National Health Service is currently in, my parents decided that they’d change the routine this year and take less holiday so we’d only have one week in Bordeaux. I’m usually very meek so they were taken aback when I acted up about this. Perhaps it was because I always have fun with my cousins, so for me it’s the highlight of the year. My strop could also have been because I’m getting closer to becoming a teenager, and perhaps teenage grumpiness is kicking in a bit early! Anyway it made them think.

So they then came up with an alternative proposal. They had found a summer camp for me in this country, where I’d stay for two weeks, to be followed by our one week in France. I think there was a hidden agenda though, because I’m very shy and don’t have many friends in the UK, either locally or at school. I get on really well with my French cousins though, but I suppose shyness isn’t a problem with people you’ve known all your life.

My folks obviously wanted me to come out of my shell, and hoped that two weeks of varied activities with strangers of my age would be good for me.

Apparently this camp was 50 miles away and took both girls and boys using separate accommodation blocks, but the activity programme was mostly mixed wherever practical. I also suspected that this was another reason for my parents’ choice of camp – I went to an all-boys school and they thought the camp might get me used to mixing with girls I don’t know.

I still wasn’t keen but, having made a stand which had at least resulted in a change to the plan, I thought it was only fair to go along with it despite my reluctance.

So school finished for the summer. I was now trusted to look after myself and not burn the house down, and was perfectly happy entertaining myself with reading and computer games until my parents came home from handing out prescriptions.

A week later it was time to set off for the summer camp and I was dressed in tee shirt and shorts. My bags were packed with more tee shirts, more shorts and whatever else you’d expect a boy to take, including jeans and a waterproof coat – the UK is not the south of France, after all!

My packing had been checked by mum before we set off, leaving us plenty of time to be there as soon as the camp gates were open.

We were the first arrivals, and someone at the gate ticked me off on her list and directed us to the reception hut. My dad helped me carry my thoroughly-checked kit from the car and I only just managed to prevent my mother embarrassing me by checking through my backpack and holdall yet again before I went in. I was, however, unable to avoid the hugs and the tears – hers I’m glad to say!

So at the reception desk I was asked my name by a quite bossy lady and I said “Yves Thomas”, pronouncing my surname the French way, like ‘Toe-mar’. She typed my first name into the computer then asked me to say my surname again, then asked me to spell it, which I did.

“Aah, ‘Thomas, like Dylan Thomas’ ” she said as she typed that in. She pressed a button and a printer produced a card which she then fitted in a clear pocket on the end of a dazzling fluorescent pink lanyard. They obviously don’t want us to get lost! Which, I suppose, is quite important in places like this.

She said. “Here’s your badge and lanyard. Wear it round your neck at all times that you’re not in your dormitory.”

Another camper came in behind me.

The lady pointed through the window then said “That’s your dormitory, Yves, the big building on the right. Now take your stuff over there, go through the big door and someone will meet you inside.”

“NEXT!”

So with lanyard round my neck, small backpack on my shoulders and carrying the heavy holdall, I struggled to where she’d said, and went through the door.

I was met by a nice, youngish lady, who smiled then looked at my badge and said “Hi Yves! I’m Trish, and I’m sure you’re going to have a fun time with us.”

She showed me where everything was, toilets, fire exits and the like, then gave me a guide book which should cover everything I needed to know. She finished by pointing out which was my bed and told me to stow my stuff in the adjacent wardrobe. Then she greeted the next arrival, who wasn’t dressed much differently to me, except that he seemed to be wearing faded tennis shoes that must once have been red.

“Poor lad”, I thought. “Obviously hand-me-downs.” I was lucky, being an only child, so I never had to wear hand-me-downs.

After Trish had finished the welcoming speech for the new lad, she allocated him the bed adjacent to mine and then said “And this is Yves, your neighbour. Yves, meet Jamie.”
With that she dashed for the door to immediately repeat the whole thing again for another two recruits.

Jamie smiled and said “Pleased to meet you, Yves!” I quickly said “Hi, Jamie, pleased to meet you too!” And would you believe, he actually hugged me!

I thought I’d better be more friendly than I usually am and asked him how far he’d come and if he’d been here before. He’d come about the same distance as me but from the opposite direction and we were both new to the camp. We got chatting and it seemed that we had something in common as we both had foreign parents. He said that Thomas wasn’t a French-sounding name but I explained that it’s spelled the same way in both the UK and France but is pronounced differently. So I gave him the French version.

Then the two new lads came over to greet us. One was called Mia and he was wearing a kilt so was obviously Scottish but didn’t seem to have an accent. I assumed that Mia must be a nickname but couldn’t work out what it could be short for. Damian perhaps? The name of his friend Nick was a bit easier to fathom, although I noticed that he had a picture of a kitten on his tee shirt. I thought he must be a bit of a softy as I wouldn’t let my mum dress me in a tee shirt like that.

More new campers arrived and introduced themselves. They all seemed like nice lads and were very friendly. I was beginning to think that this might turn out to be much better than I’d feared, even if some were dressed a little more adventurously than me – quite a few had long hair and several even had an earring or even two. But we were supposed to be at an adventure camp so I thought it was probably quite appropriate to dress adventurously.

A couple of hours later there were twenty of us, with more ‘adventurous’ clothing on view. A few of the lads even had what I’d only ever thought of as girls’ names, but they were all so nice that I didn’t give it much more thought.

Once we’d all unpacked and had got to know each other, if only slightly, Trish called us all together.

“Right guys, now we’re all settled in, we’re going to go for a little walk around the camp so you’ll know where everything is. The site includes some woodland so you’ll need your jeans. You wouldn’t want to get nettle rash or insect bites on your legs on your very first day, would you!

“The guys from the other dorm will be doing a similar tour but we won’t be meeting up with them until later!”

“Spoilsport” came a reply!

As Jamie had been the first camper I’d met, and the one I’d spoken with most, we naturally teamed up and walked together. In the woodland, a large spider crossed our path and Jamie became frightened and grabbed me. He then linked arms with me until we were out of the wood again. I thought “He may be nice, but what a wimp!” That made me feel a bit smug until I realised that it could just be that a lot of kids who go to summer camps are sent there precisely because they’re wimps, and need toughening up!

After our walk we were all told to take a shower and be ready to have dinner in the dining cabin, where the boys would be meeting the girls for the first time so we should dress smartly and be on our best behaviour.

As we were getting prepared to shower, some of the guys were less worried than others about stripping off in public. I did notice that some of these lads were a bit chubby around their chests, which puzzled me a bit. That caused me to have a sneaky look at them – and none of those that I could see had a willy.

And that’s when the penny dropped – I grabbed my badge and read my name – Eve Thomas, spelled E-V-E! – that’s a girl’s name! Eek!

I must have been put in the girls’ dormitory by mistake. And that kilt I’d seen on Mia might have actually been a skirt. And Mia is a girl’s name anyway. So everyone else in this dorm must be... a girl! And they must all think I’m one as well!

What should I do? I could have fessed up but I was too shy to even think of doing that, and they’d probably send me home anyway rather than transfer me to the boys’ dormitory, where I’d be mocked mercilessly. I’d spent the last week psyching myself up to make the most of my time here and didn’t fancy another two weeks of reading on my own.

So after a bit of thought I came up with an idea. I would just brazen it out and pretend I was a girl! I thought the chances of my deception being exposed could be easily managed if I was careful. But first I needed to sort out my clothing situation. I only had boy’s clothes with me so that might not work for long, but I then came up with a possible way around that.

I had a quiet word with Jamie and told her I had a problem. I said that my parents had brought me here along with Charlie, a lad from down our road. After dropping me off, they had taken him to a different camp a fair few miles away, but somehow his similar holdall had got mixed up with mine so he’d now got most of my clothes and I’d got his.

She said “With twenty of us here I’m sure we can do something about that! And I’d love to have seen that lad’s face when he opened your bag!”

Jamie then explained the situation to the other girls who all volunteered spare items so in no time at all I had a full set of girl’s clothes as well as a spare set. Soon I was able to join the other girls as we all went along to the dining cabin to meet the other guys, who I now knew to be – guys!

As you might expect, the boys were a bit rowdy and Jamie and I found many of them tedious and childish.

We were able to sign up for various activities the next day and Jamie and I both decided to choose the least strenuous option, painting. Most of the other takers were girls but there were a handful of boys, none of whom was inclined towards being rowdy, for which we were grateful. We had an enjoyable day and got friendly with Rob and his mate Tim, and it became obvious that Jamie and Rob had taken a shine to each other. I quite liked Tim too, but not in that way.

Back in our dorm, Jamie said she wanted to get together with Rob and had quietly asked him if he and Tim would like to go for a walk with the two of us after dinner. I wasn’t best pleased to have not been asked beforehand, and even more so when she wanted me to distract his friend for her so she could get Rob on his own. While not being too enthusiastic, I thought that, given how she had helped me out by organising my girl clothes, I really ought to return the favour.

So, after dinner that evening, the four of us went for a walk and Tim and I slowed down a bit to create a discreet distance between us and the other two. I could see that they were enjoying themselves up front, but we were unsure of what we ought to do. So we just carried on talking about painting and then whatever else came to mind while ambling around aimlessly and trying to not catch up with the lovers.

But then I tripped over a tree root and Tim had to grab me to stop me falling. I don’t know why, but after having been in girl mode for a whole day, I felt the urge to lean in towards him and thank him with a kiss on the cheek.

He then thanked me for that with a kiss on the lips.

To cut a long story short, we became inseparable (as did Rob and Jamie!) until the end of our stay. We actually did most of the activities offered, but really they just became time fillers before our evening walks.

So when my parents arrived to pick me up, Charlie wasn’t with them as he’d be staying at his camp for another week. At least that was the cover story I told the girls, and I made sure we drove away quickly in case anything awkward was mentioned.

My parents obviously asked if I’d enjoyed my stay. I told them I’d loved it and got to know one lad and one girl well but probably chatted with more of the girls than the boys. That was all true, and it definitely pleased them no end to hear me say so.

When we got back home I covered my tracks by making sure that at least some of the contents of my holdall were suitably creased and grubby before they went into the laundry basket.

We flew to Bordeaux the following week where I met up again with my cousin Jeanne and her twin sisters, Marie and Eloise. The girls asked me about my time at summer camp and soon extracted the real story, which was certainly more interesting than the version my parents had been given.

Jeanne was close to my age but the twins were now eighteen and, thanks to parental guilt at the loss of my annual seaside trip, the twins didn’t have to try too hard to get permission to borrow their mother’s car and drive us cousins to their seaside apartment for a few days, leaving the oldies to stay in Bordeaux to catch up.

So, unknown to our families back in Bordeaux, it was four girls rather than three girls and a boy who arrived on the beach, ready to fight off the boys with sticks.

©2024 Suzie Dalkin

This story was written before I came up with my entry in the New Year competition. I couldn't get this one to fit the theme so I used it as an exercise for writing pieces with word counts in thousands rather than my more usual hundreds. It's obviously fairly implausible but I had fun writing it.

As with my previous creative writing efforts over many years, I thought of the basic premise and then just started typing, having no idea how it would evolve or finish. That may not be an efficent way to write as it can take you up a lot of dead ends, but it suits me!

Suzie