To Fight for a Dream by Tanya Allan     An autobiography is an account of one’s life up to a certain point.   This isn’t my autobiography. It is, however, a fictitious biography of someone very like me, or me if one or two things had happened differently.   This is a WHAT IF scenario plus a lot of wishful thinking.

 
 
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Author's Note:
 
This is a work of fiction, but some of the events, some of the people and most of the feelings and emotions are real. Some of the events were events that I experienced, while others were researched, and others are simply made up.

ALL names have been changed to protect the innocent. In 2005, I first posted an early version of this as a blog on my Yahoo 360 site, but removed it when Yahoo became silly about what they considered indecent. I used a photograph that they believed was for adults only and restricted viewing. I have since rewritten and revised it into its current form.

I know what is real and what isn’t.

I leave it to you to guess and wonder what is real and what isn’t.

Actually, it doesn’t matter, as it should stand alone as a good yarn. Please note, I have maintained my record for happy endings, even though the real ending has yet to be written.

It is tough to fly in the face of convention and social mores. It is tough to break away and to declare that you want to be you, in spite of what the world decrees you should be.

In 2008, the world read of Captain Ian Hamilton of the Parachute Regiment. He turned my fiction into reality by undergoing transition and surgery to become Jan.

I dedicate it to all those who have the courage to go with their convictions; and to those who stand by them, no matter how hard it might be. May God bless you all.

Tanya
Originally written in 2005, revised in 2008.
 
 
The Legal Stuff:To Fight for a Dream  ©2005, 2008 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Chapter 1. Coming Home
 
 
I was fine until the train reached the Forth Rail Bridge. It was a wonder of the Industrial Age, which I failed to fully appreciate as I was on the last leg of the first part of a very long and difficult journey.

As the train headed through Fife, passing familiar landmarks, the enormity of my journey hit me. I’d been dreading this particular episode for a very long time, even since I was old enough to realise that this day would eventually come. The last time I’d seen these familiar sights on this route, I’d been a young man of twenty-five, an officer in the Parachute Regiment, heading south with my leave being cut short. On the 2^nd April 1982, Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands, so I’d rejoined my regiment, shipped out to the Falklands and saw active service in a short but bloody conflict.

Since joining the army in 1976, I’d killed in armed conflict, been to several nasty places in the world and seen things I would have much rather not seen. The whole experience emphasised my own mortality and stirred my determination to attempt to finish my life as the person I should have been born as.

Now it was the March of 1986, I was twenty-nine and everything had changed. I was no longer a soldier and not even a man any more.

My story is a strange one, but sadly, not that unusual these days. I have to confess to having difficulties working out where to start. Do I start at the beginning, or just after coming round after surgery allowed me a rebirth as a girl?

If I start in the middle, you’ll perhaps allow me the luxury of thinking back and dipping into the past. Despite the fact that the ending has yet to happen, perhaps if you join me, the end will write itself as we follow my journey together. Some stories are best told with a flavour of what went before, so please excuse me if I jump back from time to time.

The train was three minutes late into Dundee, which, for British Rail was as close to being on time to make no difference. I was pleased the trip was over, as I’d been sitting in the same seat since Kings Cross in London. Okay, I’d been along to the loo a couple of times, but I don’t count them.

I stood, straightened my skirt and slipped on my jacket and coat. Catching my reflection in the glass, I felt a surge of contentment, as my outward form was now in line with what I believed I should always have been. My case was on the rack above my head, I wasn’t bothered about lifting it down, for, as a soldier, I’d been used to slogging across extreme and inhospitable terrains with seventy-pound packs, so one small case wasn’t an issue. The suited businessman ignored my plight, while, I noted, he enjoyed staring at my breasts. However, the retired gentleman in the tweed suit attempted to assist me, causing the former to come to his aid and lift my case down in his stead.

I smiled my thanks to both men, only to be rewarded by brief, embarrassed smiles in return. The British really are unique, as I’d been to so many places, including the USA, where total strangers have no reservations about striking up conversations. I’d been sitting close to both men since York, yet had hardly exchanged a word with them.

Admittedly, I had been as reserved as they, for as a male to female transsexual who had only completed my final surgery some twelve weeks ago, I was perhaps more self-conscious than most. However, I had been living as a female since the summer of 1984, and one thing I learned, single lone females of good character just do not start conversations with strange men.

For men are strange creatures. As much as they adore talking about themselves, they also like to find out all about the women they meet. I just didn’t want to start divulging too much about myself, and I couldn’t be bothered to make up some lies.

Slinging my shoulder bag over my left shoulder, I carried my case in my right hand down to the ticket collection point at the barrier. I passed my ticket to the Inspector and walked out into the late afternoon.

I knew Dundee well. As a young man I’d often come here to the cinema or to shop. I’d taken girls to the movies and even to restaurants on dates. My father still ran a commercial printing business here, as had his father, yet his hope for me to follow suit had never come to fruition. It never would now, as my father had refused to speak to me since the last occasion I’d been home. I’d called several times, but he had yet to address one word to me.

The most memorable was when I had just returned to my flat in London, having had my surgery at a clinic just outside Brighton. I was alone, but that wasn’t anything new, but was feeling lonely and quite emotional. I was at last the physical representation of my mental image of myself. At least, I was nearer than ever before. I had been a little overweight, as the mixture of hormones, lack of exercise and comfort eating had meant I was several pounds over my ideal weight.

As an average sized male, I had been just over ten stone, six pounds. As I was five foot eight, this was an average weight. However, as a slightly taller than average female, I was hoping to hit eight and a half to nine stone. Having just been discharged from the hospital, I was now eleven stone, so had a lot of work to get it down.

My small flat was above the antique shop in which I worked. It had two bedrooms and space for a car out the back. I decided to sell my car some months previously to help pay for my procedures. I also didn’t want to be stopped driving while dressed as a girl, as the police could require me to produce my licence, which was still in my male name. Living in London was such that a car was an unnecessary luxury. Public transport was quite sufficient for my needs.

I had entered the procedure knowing the costs involved, but by the time I appreciated the additional costs, in terms of finances and emotions, it was too late to back out. I was perhaps a little more fortunate than many, as I had inherited a tidy sum from my maternal grandfather, which was how I managed to purchase my own flat in London. However, as the job I’d managed to find came with accommodation above it, I had sold my flat and invested the money. In addition, I’d saved some money through five years in the army, and had been working all through my transition RLT (Real Life Test) period, which meant I had never dipped into the red at any time. Financial concerns would have simply added to the stresses that I had let myself in for. My mother’s contribution to my treatment was by secretly giving me a small allowance from her own inheritance, so I was at least solvent. God knows how so many others cope, when all they have goes to the doctors and drugs companies; there is still life to lead.

So, feeling tender but slightly euphoric after just becoming female, I had called my mother as an attempt to avoid eating the pack of chocolate biscuits that were calling out to me from the kitchen.

My father answered the phone.

“Hi Dad,” I said, cringing inside as he’d been far from helpful when I announced my intentions many months ago.

“It’s it!” he said to my mother, immediately handing the phone to her without saying anything to me. That hurt, as he couldn’t even use a gender specific pronoun for me.

“You can be bloody insensitive, you know?” she said to him as she took the phone. “Hello dear, how did it go?” she asked.

I still don’t know why, but I started to cry. My moods were somewhat unpredictable, which was down to these alien female hormones that replaced the testosterone I no longer produced naturally.

“F.. f.. fine,” I lied.

There followed a long and very emotional conversation that left me feeling slightly better. My mother would have come down to be with me had my father been more supportive. Unfortunately, his attitude to life and woman’s place was somewhat bigoted and outdated, yet she still abided by his rule of law.

Why am I going home? I hear you ask.

I have to.

I have to face my demons and seek closure. If my father fails to accept me, then he must do so to my face. I will have to accept it and move on. I owe it to my mother to at least try to seek acceptance, despite her belief that he will never do so.

He is a stubborn man, who dislikes being defied in any aspect of life that he believes he controls. The last time we’d had a bust up was when I had just left the army and flown home as the conquering hero. I had hardly been home ten minutes when he had broached the subject of my joining the family firm. I had intended to keep from announcing my real intentions for a few months, but his attitude forced my hand.

“No, Dad, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Why not? You won’t get a salary like this anywhere else, particularly working in some poofy antique shop.”

“The money doesn’t mean anything to me, I’ve other plans.”

“Other plans? Like what?”

“Just plans. I need to sort out my life.”

“Sort out your life? What sort of namby-pamby, pinko shit is that?”

“Look, you’ve your life and I have mine. Just let me live it without interfering, okay?”

“Interfering? I’ve never interfered in your life.”

“No? What do you call sending me to the same school as you went to so it would build character, then pushing me to the Parachute Regiment? I went along with it for an easy life. Well, Dad, it stops now. I’m not being pushed any more.”

“You never had to join the army if you didn’t want to.”

“Easy to say, I was eighteen with no real idea what I wanted to do. You pulled in favours with old friends and sent me on courses, insisting I went through RCB and so when I passed, you were so pleased, I could never turn down my place at Sandhurst. Besides, if I’d told you what I really wanted to do, you’d probably disown me.”

“Oh yes, and just what exactly would that be, a bloody pansy artist?” he asked, his voice already with that whine of disgust.

“It was the only thing I was good at and enjoyed.”

“You were good at rugger,” he said.

“Maybe, but I only played it because I had to. I persevered with it because you wanted me to.”

“Well, what is this mysterious thing you want to do?”

I stared at him for some time without speaking.

“Well, answer me, boy!”

I felt the anger rise inside me like a spreading cancer. The control I once had left me, and I uttered those words far sooner than I intended.

“See? You treat me like shit. I’m not a servant or employee that you can shout at.”

“I’m your father, so I’ll speak to you how I damn well like. You didn’t answer my question.”

I was really angry now, so I spoke before I thought. “I’m your son, your only son and, if you must know, it’s been my lifelong intention to become your daughter.”

He stared at me, blinking in a mixture of disbelief and horror.

“What?” he said, eventually.

My anger abated, replaced by a sense of relief and surprise that I’d finally said the unmentionable.

“You heard.”

“I heard, boy, but I don’t bloody well understand.”

“It may have escaped your notice, Dad, but I’m an adult now.”

He was silent and on reflection, his use of the word ‘boy’ was rather appropriate.

“Actually, I’m not a boy. I’ve known since I was about four that I should have been a girl. The Falklands showed me that I have to at least try to be true to myself and become the person I should always have been.”

“You’re a queer? But you were an army officer and went out with girls!” His voice rose to a shrill level in his anxiety.

“I’m not a queer, as you so eloquently put it. I’m a transsexual, who needs to make my body the same as my brain. I went out with girls because everyone expected it of me, not because I had any great desire to. Okay, so they were nice people and we got on very well, but to be honest their gender was largely irrelevant. If anything I got on well with them as I identified with them, not because I had any ambitions of a sexual nature.”

“So, it’s the same bloody thing. There are only two types of person, normal and queer! You like men, admit it!”

I felt my anger rising again.

“Dad, this pointless, as you are so bloody bigoted! It isn’t a matter of sexual preference; this is gender. This is who I should be, not who I am. Whether I like men or women doesn’t come into it.”

“It bloody well does! Who did this to you? Were you buggered at school?”

“No, Dad, no one did this to me. And, if you must know, I’ve only had sex five times, but I shan’t tell you whether with a men or women! I was born like it, but there was no way I could tell you before this because I knew how you’d react.”

“There are people, doctors who can cure this sort of thing!”

“Dad, you still don’t understand. I don’t want to be cured, not like that. There is only one answer; I simply want to be a girl!”

“You can’t, it’s not natural. Besides, what the hell would people say? I’ve a reputation to maintain in the community.”

“Oh, now we get to it. You don’t give a shit about me; you’re just worried what they’ll say at the Masonic Lodge, or at the golf club, the Chamber of Commerce or in Rotary. Oh, look, there’s poor Robert Allan, isn’t it awful how his selfish little perverted bastard of a son went and changed sex just to spite him.”

“Don’t be such a bloody little prig; you can’t speak to me like that!”

“Can’t I, why not? Where’s the caring father who wants what’s best for his child, instead of what’s best for him?”

“I always have done want what’s best for you, I can’t help it if you can’t see it.”

“And you can, I suppose?” I asked, sarcastically.

“Of course I can. When you have as much experience of life as I have, you’ll understand. I can see what’s best for you now.”

“As long as it helps you, but not if it doesn’t!”

“You’re not well. You must have got shell-shock in the Falklands!”

“That would be convenient, wouldn’t it? It won’t wash, Dad, as the army medics have already given me a clean bill of health. I just have to find the right doctor to start me on hormones soon. I believe that I have gender dysphoria, it’s a real condition that a psychiatrist will supervise me through every step of the way.”

“Which is?”

“In a few months, once the hormones start taking effect, I suppose I’ll start my real life test.”

“What’s that?”

“When I throw away everything that is James and start living as a girl all the time.”

He looked disgusted with me. His whole face was twisting into a mask of hate and revulsion. It was as if I had suddenly become something utterly revolting.

“You’re throwing away everything I’ve done for you, you know that?”

“No, I’m only throwing those things away that I no longer want.”

“But why?” he asked, his voice quite shrill.

“Because I have to. I’ve lived as something I’m not for so long that I can’t do it any longer.”

“That is your last word?”

“Maybe, if that’s what you want.”

“Then I have nothing more to say to you. Ever!”
 

*          *          *
 
He’d kept his word, for since then he hadn’t spoken to me.
 
*          *          *
 
With nothing for me in Scotland, I’d immediately left home and flew south to start my long and painful path. Now I was returning to challenge him to publicly accept me as his daughter, or deny my existence. I wasn’t putting money on the former.

I waited outside the station for a taxi, but not for long. A maroon Volvo 240 pulled onto the rank, the driver peered at me from his window.

“Where to, darlin’?” He had a broad local accent.

“West Gilmore House, near Invergowrie, please.” I was very conscious of my educated, Queen’s English accent, with a hint of Scots in there somewhere.

“Aye, I know it, hop in, then.”

I opened the rear door, slung in my case and then got in the front, next to him. I sat in silence as we negotiated the rush-hour traffic. My driver swore proficiently and fluently all the way. He kept apologising, but then swore again within a few hundred yards.

I glanced at my hands. My nails were perfect; the right length, shape and, for a change, the varnish was even and smooth. I was very pleased with my appearance. It had taken me all the time from that moment I’d come home from the clinic to now to get in shape again. It helped having a good reason to get into shape, and I smiled as I thought of him. Not long now!

I’d joined a gym, spending two hours every other day on the machines to help me become leaner and fitter. I now weighed nine stones, which was a little heavier than I originally wanted, but it would do. Actually, it was probably my ideal weight, as my muscle tone was firm, but lacking the bulk I’d attained as a man. I could still run as far, but not quite as fast. I flipped down the sunshade so I could look into the vanity mirror.

The face that looked back at me was very pleasing to me. It was that of a woman, as there was little sign of the gender of the previous occupant. I’d had some facial surgery to reduce my nose, jaw-line, forehead and Adam’s apple, while they’d tightened the skin around the eyes, losing my weathered look from squinting into the sun. I had always had a soft voice, so, with some coaching and tightening of my vocal chords, I had little difficulty in speaking in the higher and softer female range. They’d made my lips fuller, while just sharpening my cheekbones. With the weight loss, my figure was as feminine as had I been born female, assisted by two breast implants that gave me the 38C — 25 — 36 shape.

Mark Riley, my employer, stated that I looked better than most genetic women he knew, and that I had done even when still at the early stages of transition. Mark was a real treasure. He was an ex-naval officer and as gay as they come. He and his partner, Rod, owned and ran three antique shops in the West End of London. He’d given me a job just after I’d left the Parachute Regiment. We’d met at a dinner party of some mutual friends.

He was openly gay and was telling some hilarious stories of his problems in the Royal Navy. The Navy still officially outlawed homosexuality, but it was more common than the Admiralty would ever know. He’d been very discreet, but not quite discreet enough. If he hadn’t been involved with the son of a Portuguese diplomat, he’d have been dishonourably discharged, as it was they let him resign his commission with his honour intact.

I mentioned that I was looking for work and as he had just bought his third shop, he was anxious to find someone to manage it. I had an impeccable background, so he gave me the job on the spot. It was perfect, as a flat above the shop came with the package. I shared my intentions with him and Rod one evening in the pub. They were so supportive and assisted me to start living as Jane. Without them, I doubt I’d have managed to get through the most gruelling two years of my life. Military training has nothing on transition and sex change.

“Is this your first time in Scotland, love?” the cab driver asked, bringing me back to the present.

“No, I was born here. I left over ten years ago, though.”

“I thought you’re English.”

“Sorry, but I’m Scots, born and bred.”

“Did you go to school up here?”

“Yes, a private school near Perth.”

“Ah!” he said, as understanding hit home. I was from the moneyed classes, which explained the accent, or lack of it.

The house had a long drive, so I asked the driver to drop me at the gate. I paid him and walked up the drive, each step taking me closer to something I was dreading.

My father had built West Gilmore House in the early 1970s. Well, he hadn’t physically built it, a builder managed that, but he helped design it and paid for it. The Gilmore Estate had comprised of a large farmhouse and several cottages for the workers. As farming had become more mechanised, the farm workers were no longer required in such numbers.

The farmer had died and his three sons split the estate, maintaining the bulk of the farm, but selling off the small sections to the east and west. Dad had bought the western portion, comprising of a plot of land of around five acres and a cottage. He’d demolished the cottage and built this house, put in a tennis court, a paddock for my mother’s horses and joined the local gentry.

It was a big, modern house, built in a traditional style. However, with seven bedrooms it was far bigger than the three of us required, but it was just big enough for his egotistical ideas of how important he was. With my father, image was everything. His father had formed a successful printing business in Dundee between the wars, so after the second war, Dad had gone in with new ideas and brought it into the modern age. My grandfather died, but the business went from strength to strength, while my father became more and more self-important as he became wealthier. Strangely, he became meaner and more penny-pinching as more money came rolling in. But that’s another story.

I stood at the door that had been my home for my first eighteen years. I no longer considered it home, so I pushed the bell, feeling a stranger. It was awful, not feeling I could just walk into the house that had been my home for so long. I dearly wished to have a certain person with me, but this I had to do alone.

The sound of the dogs barking brought back painful memories.

“Oh shit, do I really want to do this?” I asked myself.

The door opened and my mother stood there. We stared at each other for a moment. Two black Labradors snuffled at the hem of my skirt. Old Max, Dad’s favourite, immediately shoved his muzzle into my crotch.

I smiled, pushing him away. The other, Aggie, just wagged her tail enthusiastically with an old slipper in her mouth. I had to make a fuss of her for a moment.

“Hi Ma, long time no see?”

“Oh, my goodness, you’re so pretty!” she said in surprise, starting to cry and embracing me at the same time. I was crying too, so we just hugged each other. Max attempted to return his nose to my crotch by raising the hem of my skirt with his damp nose.

Eventually, we moved into the house and into the kitchen.

“How was your trip?” she asked, switching on the kettle.

“Okay. Is Dad here?”

She smiled sadly. “No, he’s at the club.”

“Is he coming back?”

“Probably, but I’m not sure when.”

“Has it been bad?”

“Frankly, yes, bloody awful. He’s tried my patience so much. I’ve been married to the man for thirty five years, and yet I find that I hardly know him.”

“I’m so sorry to bring this on you. If there could have been another way, I’d have…..”

“No, dear, you did what you had to do. It doesn’t matter what you did, it would never have been good enough. But this, he just couldn’t take it. Pride is a terrible thing!”

She made two mugs of tea and sat next to me, taking one of my hands.

“I can’t believe you! Look at you; you look wonderful; I’d never guess you were once…”

“Ma, forget what I was, I’m Jane now, so forget James, please?”

Smiling, she ran my long hair through her fingers.

“Your hair is a lot thicker, is that the hormones?”

“I suppose so. It helps my complexion, thickens my hair and makes me a moody cow.”

She smiled, gently stroking my cheek. “I find it so odd to see you in make up and wearing earrings. I always wanted a girl, did you know that?”

“Yes, you said so many times, so?”

“Is it my fault?

I laughed, but with no humour. “No, Ma, this is not anything anyone did, I was just born in the wrong body.”

“Look, your father won’t come round. He’s just so proud. When you came back from the Falklands with those medals, suddenly you reached his level of expectations. He was forever telling anyone who’d listen what plans he had for you. To throw that back in his face was the worst insult in his book.”

“What about my plans? Don’t I have the right to live my own life?”

She was almost in tears by now, the pent up frustration of many years coming to the surface. I felt guilty for adding to her distress.

“Of course you do, but your father will never see it that way. He never even allowed me to live my life. I’ve always been under his shadow, as life with him is his way or not at all.”

“Why have you stayed with him?”

“Where else would I go? Besides, I took a vow.”

“Maybe, but he’s abused you since you first got married.”

“He’s never hit me,” she protested.

“There’s more to abuse than hitting someone.”

She looked very sad. “Actually, depending on how your visit goes, I’m seriously thinking of leaving.”

“Oh God, I should never have come. This was a mistake.”

She shook her head.

“No, this is the moment I’ve been waiting for, but enough of that just now. Will you come with me to a lunch party tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, why?”

“Eileen Roberts is having a charity lunch, so everyone who’s anyone will be there.”

“Eileen Roberts, as in Lady Roberts of Drumfettle?”

My mother smiled. “You remember her?”

“Of course, I went out with her daughter, Charlotte, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right, and she’ll be there, probably.”

“Shit, this is a bit soon. Why?”

“Because it will give your father the biggest shock possible. If they accept you, then he’ll be so embarrassed, he may have to follow suit.”

“And if they don’t, he’ll feel vindicated, won’t he?”

“Jane, my goodness, it sounds so strange calling you that, I’ve told everyone I know what you’ve done, despite your father’s disgust. They all want to meet you.”

“So, to look at the freak, eh?”

“No, these people have known you since you were a small child.”

“Yeah, a boy child. I’m a woman now, remember?”

She looked at me, her stare resting on my cleavage and then down to my pelvic region.

“Stand up, dear, let me look at you.”

I stood, taking off my jacket. I had a cream short-sleeved blouse on, so my new shape was emphasised. She looked me up and down, her eyes noting my almost perfect shape.

“Have they, you know, taken everything away?” she asked.

“Yes, and I am fully functioning as a woman now. Or at least, I would be if I had someone to play with.”

“Jane! That’s disgusting!”

“Sorry.”

Smiling, she nodded towards my chest.

“Is that all you, or have you had help?”

“Most of it is me, but I’ve two small implants. If the hormones make me grow any more, I may have them removed.”

“You have very prominent nipples, are they real?”

“Of course.”

“They seem to have done a very thorough job. Can you have periods?”

“Not that good a job, Ma, I’ll never have babies.”

“Perhaps that’s just as well.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. This is all so strange. I never imagined you’d look so, so, so like a woman.”

“I am a woman, Ma.”

“Yes dear, but you weren’t a few months ago, were you?”

“I’ve always been a woman, only my body told lies from the moment I was born.”

“Was it very hard for you, at school and in the army?”

“Surprisingly no, it wasn’t that difficult, or not all the time, certainly. Oh, there were moments, but I got very good at pretending. Life went on, so I just got on with it. It wasn’t as if I had a choice.”

“When did you first think you were different?”

“Do you remember that first Christmas play at Grange House?”(Grange House was my first school. I boarded there from seven to thirteen.)

“Yes, the one where you played the girl.”

“Well, that confirmed what I first discovered when I was about five. I just felt different, but the moment I dressed and looked like a girl for the first time, well, I just felt that I had arrived, so to speak.”

“You used to dress in my clothes, didn’t you?”

I was surprised. “Yes, how did you know?”

“Little things, like underwear not quite in the right place and smudges of makeup on bra straps. When did you start?”

“I was eleven. You were both out for the day, so I tried your underwear. By the time I was sixteen, I had progressed to complete outfits, being very good at make up and everything.”

“Did you ever go out?”

“No, too chicken. Oh, I tell a lie, for I walked down the road once. It was at night, you two were out at some Rotary function, so I went for a walk in your raincoat and boots over that funny mini-dress you bought but never wore.”

“I remember that dress; it was a terrible purple floral thing. Heaven knows why I ever bought it. I suppose I thought it was trendy at the time.”

“Well, I was wearing that when I went for my little walk. I remember the amazing feeling of freedom I experienced, as well as the exhilaration. I was terrified of being seen by someone I knew, but there was also the strange hope that I would be discovered, which would mean I didn’t have to hide it any more.”

“That was a terrible risk. Did anything happen?”

“No. I got tooted at by a lorry driver, but apart from that, nothing.”

“You always had very short hair, how did you manage to hide it?”

“I bought a long blonde wig at a charity shop. I bought all my clothes there, even bras and underwear. Once I was sixteen, I rarely wore your clothes, as I was bigger than you by then.”

“Did you do it at school?”

“What, dress up?”

“Yes.”

“No, not really. It wasn’t the dressing or the clothes. It was the ‘being’ a girl that excited me.”

“How often did you dress as a girl?”

“Any opportunity I could. Certainly, every time you and Dad went out. I remember once, you went to a wedding in Devon. You were gone for the entire weekend, from the Friday to Sunday evening. I spent the entire time as a girl, it was wonderful!”

“I remember, that’s the time I came back to find you’d cleaned the house.”

“Well, I got a real kick out of doing girl stuff. I was in heaven for two days and nights. I slept in a slinky nightdress and was so content. I almost went out shopping dressed, but was afraid that I’d meet someone who knew me. My one frustration was that I couldn’t be a real girl.”

“I often wondered why you always volunteered for the girl’s parts in the plays. Now I know.”

“Sorry. I should have told you earlier. I was so terrified of Dad, I just couldn’t tell anyone.”

“I can understand that, as I don’t think it would have done any good. In a way, suspecting but never knowing was better than having to come to terms with the reality. What would it have changed?”

“I’d have shared my burden with you. Perhaps we could have helped Dad come to an understanding.”

“Dear, a herd of wild elephants wouldn’t help your father understand what he doesn’t want to understand. If he refuses to accept something, then hell will freeze over before he’ll back down. He can’t really accept that anyone could possibly vote labour, let alone something as drastic as this.”

“Then perhaps I should have done this earlier, before going to the army and before he got his hopes up for me.”

“I don’t think you were strong enough then. The army made you strong, regardless of what you say, as it mentally prepared you for the trials you’ve been through. I’m just so sorry I was so little help.”

“You were at the end of the phone and gave me material help when I needed it. I understand why you couldn’t get away.”

“Do you hate him for it?”

“Dad? I’m not sure it’s hate, but I suppose I do. We were never close, particularly latterly, Ma, you know that?”

“I know. It caused me terrible heartache, but I never really understood why.”

“I didn’t always. He was great until I was old enough to have opinions and ideas of my own. I suppose I must have been about thirteen when we fell out that first time.”

“You were. You were a prefect at Grange House and looked very grown-up. He wanted you to go to that rugger camp before going on to public school, but you wanted to go to that art thing.”

“I won,” I reminded her.

“At great cost. He never was the same after that. He never liked being defied.”

“He still calls me ‘it’ then?”

“Yes, I’m afraid he does.”

“I didn’t think he’d change.”

“So, why did you come?”

“I’m not sure. I think I need to face him and have him reject or accept me to my face. I’ll have done everything I could, and will be able to move on. If he changes his mind, then he will know where to reach me.”

“Then be brave for a little while longer. Come to the lunch, you’re so pretty and natural, no one will be nasty to you.”

“If I was ugly, what then?”

“These are my friends, so they aren’t the same as your father. Strange as it may seem, most people don’t actually believe that the sun shines out of Robert Allan’s arse.”

“They’ll still see me as a freak.”

“No dear, they’ll see you for who you are.”

My emotions were in turmoil. I’d been so alone throughout everything so far, that I no longer knew how to actually face people, particularly people who had known me as James. I felt an urge to cry again, which took all my control to prevent. My changed hormones had made me more susceptible to mood swings and sudden bursts of weeping. Often, through transition, I could hardly get out of bed, which didn’t help my weight problem.

“What will I wear?” I asked, which made her laugh.

“Now I know you’re a girl,” she said, hugging me.

I took my case up to my room. It hadn’t changed, as my old red beret from the Paras was on the wall, together with some ‘souvenirs’ from the Falklands and Northern Ireland. I looked at the photograph that had been taken of me with the others on the same parachuting course. I’d just gained my wings and was looking mean, moody and tough on the front row, with my single pip denoting my rank as a second lieutenant in the Parachute Regiment. I remember the moment as if it were yesterday, as the girl within was crying for release even then.

There was another photograph of my company in the Falklands. It had been taken a few days after Colonel Jones had been killed. I glanced at my reflection and compared my features with the young Captain looking grimly determined and macho. The surgeons really had done a wonderful job eliminating those subtle clues to masculinity. I was no longer James Allan, instead, I resembled a close relative to that young soldier - perhaps his sister or a cousin. Having only been properly Jane for a few months, I was still slightly nervous of venturing out in public, particularly anywhere where I might just meet someone who knew me ‘before’. I’d been living as a girl for many months, well over a year, but somehow things were different now I was through the procedure. It was also easier in London, where I wasn’t known, and where the variety of human conditions rendered it much easier to blend into the background. It was very different up here.

I’d got brave during my transition period, but only in those few areas I was courageous enough to venture. I’d made good friends who had encouraged me, but I had also had down moments, like when an Immigration officer accused me of travelling on a forged or stolen passport. Being legally a male while looking female was not for the faint hearted, but I never lost my determination to see it through.

I noticed my parents’ wedding photograph. I stared at my mother, for there was more than a passing resemblance between us. Now with my smaller nose and rounder chin, I looked very like her. I always thought she had been beautiful, which gave me goose bumps as I realised that I was so similar to her.

My room was as I had left it, with all the drawers and wardrobe still containing my male attire. I spent twenty minutes placing all that belonged to ‘James’ into a box and some black plastic bags, which I placed in the attic.

I didn’t unpack, just in case.

On returning downstairs, I found my mother making supper, so, putting on an apron, I helped her for a while. We chatted about London and my job, so I told her about my friends.

“Have you anyone special?” she asked, gently probing, perhaps afraid of what she would discover.

I smiled, hesitating slightly. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I met someone. In fact, I’ve met two people who seem to find me attractive.”

I watched as she struggled with the next question. I helped her out.

“Both men.”

“Oh,” she said, looking awkward.

“Ma, I’ve been confused over much of my life, but as I have slowly become the person I’ve always wanted to be, I’ve realised that I’m not a lesbian. I’ve had the privilege of being both sides of the fence, and have been to bed with girls. I just don’t see them that way anymore. I’m not sure I ever did, but had to try to see if I could cure myself and to meet other’s expectations of me, okay?”

“Did you ever fantasise?”

“You mean sexually?”

“I suppose I do, this is rather embarrassing, isn’t it?”

“In a way, but that’s because we never talked about it before. Yes, I had fantasies, everyone does. Only in mine, I was always a normal girl and the objects of my desires were always male.”

She smiled at this, but then laughed nervously as she thought about her next question. “You can never marry a man, can you?”

“Not in Britain, at least not yet anyway. I expect that eventually one will be able to. If I want to, I could always go to a country that allows it. To be honest, I’m not that bothered about it. If he wants me, I’d be happy just living with him. Marriage is for children, and as I can’t have any, there’s no point.”

“You know you said you have everything, does that mean you can, um, you know?”

“Fuck? Yes, of course. But I have yet to have that pleasure.”

She reddened at my coarse language.

“Sorry, you might be able to take the girl out of the army, but never the Para out of the girl.”

She laughed again. “That’s revolting, Jane!”

“No, it’s your dirty mind, Ma.”

Her face took on that expression that meant she was struggling with an awkward question.

“If it helps, I never had sex with a man before I had the surgery.”

She looked relieved and slightly embarrassed.

“I was never a homosexual male, just a girl trapped in a boy’s body. Now that girl is free, I don’t have to pretend any more.”

“Will I ever meet him?”

I smiled. “Which one?”

“Oh.”

“I hope so. I think you’ll like them, ma.”

“Oh.”

“Strangely, I met one when I was at school.”

“Where?”

“At school. I was about fifteen. He’s a couple of years older. He was on exchange from Germany.”

“German! Oh God, your father will have a fit!”

“It’s what first attracted me to him,” I said, sarcastically. It made her smile.

“Is it my imagination, or have we become closer?” she asked, looking at me quizzically.

“Perhaps. I think I’m more relaxed now that I’m what I want to be. It’s taken me a long time to get to this place. You might have hit the nail on the head. I’m not afraid of him any more. You and I have more in common now, so it’s very probable.”

“I can’t get over how feminine you are. I remember when you had finished Sandhurst and were off to Ireland on that first tour, you looked a very tough young man.”

“Ma, I was a tough young man, on the outside at any rate. So they’ve done a lot of work to make me look this good. I was fortunate being slim and small, but they still did a lot to my face.”

“You seem more slender, have you lost a lot of weight?”

“Thanks for noticing, yes, nearly two stone in a few months. I’m broad for a woman, so that’s why I had the implants. My surgeon told me I ought to look proportionate, so that’s why I have a fair sized bust.”

“But your hips are much bigger, how did they do that?”

“They’re not that much bigger, a little, yes, but that’s the hormones, they cause fatty deposits to adhere to that region. They also look bigger because my waist is narrower. It’s all relative.”

“You still look like you, just a woman.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Ma.”

The phone rang, so my mother went to the hall and answered it. The conversation wasn’t a long one, but I could hear my mother’s voice as she became upset. She was slightly flushed when she returned.

“That was your father; he’s staying at the club for dinner. He doesn’t know what time he’ll be back.” The club was the Red Hackle Club, the Black Watch club in Dundee. Dad had been in the Black Watch during the Second World War.

“Did he ask if I had arrived?”

“No.”

“He’s afraid of me, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Jane dear, I actually think he is. He just can’t cope, so he’s in a state of complete denial.”

I stared out of the window at the familiar sight of the Firth of Tay and the Hills of Fife on the other side. It was a lovely spot, but changing. I could see Dundee would encroach this far in ten or twenty years. I was glad this wasn’t my home any more.

“You’re right, Ma, I am much stronger now. I used to be afraid of him, but now it’s the other way around. If he won’t accept me, then that’s his loss.”

The dogs started to bark, indicating that someone had arrived. Shortly afterwards, we heard a voice shouting, “Cooeee?” from the hall.

“Oh shit, that’s Aunt Mary!” I said.

My mother looked at me, raising an eyebrow, but loudly saying, “In here, Mary. In the kitchen.”

Mary was my father’s sister, and a thoroughly different sort of person. I had adored her when I was a child, and even now had a real soft spot for her. As to how she’d react to my change in circumstance, I was about to find out.

Mary entered the kitchen already talking. She could talk for the United Kingdom, but probably not listen, as she rarely listened to what anyone said.

“I saw the most delightful suit in the sale in Draffens, but couldn’t decide whether to get the cream one or navy blue. The cream one was much the nicer but would show every spot and speck of dirt.” She paused, looking at me and then glancing at Ma. Then, with her eyes widening, she looked back at me, reaching out for the back of a chair to help support her.

“Oh dear lord!” she said.

“Tea or coffee, Mary?” Ma asked.

“What? Oh, a gin, I think! My God, is it really you?” she asked.

“Hello Aunt Mary,” I said, feeling awkward.

“Oh, dear God, you’re absolutely stunning, child! What the hell do I call you?”

“Jane,” my mother and I said at the same time.

She beamed the most enormous smile at me and, before I knew what was happening, enveloped me in a hug.

“Jane, hmm, sits you. You look so like your mother when she first met Robert. She was very pretty back then, too,” she said, causing my mother to chuckle.

“Has Robert seen her yet, Catherine?” she asked my mother.

“No, and he’s not coming home for a while.”

“He’s such a silly sod. Well, get me a drink, child, and then tell me all about it, you look wonderful!”

I gave her a strong gin and tonic, so then we sat around as I went through my ordeal. She was only too happy to be invited to stay for supper, as since her husband died, she’d been alone and was notorious at ‘dropping in’ on the off chance of obtaining a meal with some hapless friend or relative.

She was well aware of how difficult my father could be, but as the elder sibling, she seemed better equipped to deal with him. I think she had developed a thick skin and ignored his tantrums and moods.

“So, have you a boyfriend, yet?” she asked.

Smiling, I nodded.

“Well, I can see why it didn’t take you long, looking like that!”

“You don’t seem surprised, Mary,” Ma said.

“I’m not. I always felt Jane should have been a girl, but what could one say? Robert had such plans, it wouldn’t matter what happened; he’d always sulk if he didn’t get his way.”

I suddenly felt welcomed, for Mary was so laid back and accepting. For the first time, I felt almost happy I’d come.

She turned to me with a knowing smile. “So, young lady, tell me about what really happened in that school of yours, with all those gorgeous boys!”

I smiled, real life is often more fun than fantasy, but for me it was a mixture of short peaks of excitement with long periods of depression.
 
 
Chapter 2. Early Years
 
 
“Allan?”

“Sir.”

“Andrews?”

“Sir.”

The advantage of having a name starting with A was that I was near the top of every list. There were drawbacks, but in the main, it was an advantage.

I was thirteen, it was September 1970 and I was a new boy at a prominent Scottish Public School in Perthshire, which I shall simply call, ‘the College’. I was amongst about thirty-five other new boys, or ‘plebs’ as we were called. Six of us were placed in each of the six houses, of which I was placed in the furthest from the main college buildings.

Scott House was about a mile from the centre, so we were permitted bicycles, normally a privilege only for those in the fifth and sixth forms. I was shown my dormitory, which I shared with two others, the other three in the one next door. Having boarded since I was seven years old, I was used to the system, although I had never been in such a small dorm before.

Andrew Russell and William Montgomery were my fellow dorm members, so we set about getting to know each other. Actually, Andy and I had been at Grange House together, so we were already acquaintances. We’d both been in the first XV in our last year at Grange, and didn’t hate each other.

Andy was a big lad, who would go on to reach more than six foot, whereas I was almost at my full height. We had little in common, but that we did have made us closer in the face of such new surroundings.

William was English, from Guildford in Surrey. His father knew someone who’d been here, so he wanted the same opportunity for his son. Unfortunately for William, his southern English accent was such that it often invoked large amounts of teasing. Boys are very simple, for if something is different, then one just has to take the piss!

My inner turmoil was with me every waking moment of every day. I could momentarily put it to the back of my mind in certain subjects and activities, but it never went away completely. When I was in James mode, then I was a normal heterosexual male. However, when alone in my thoughts, Jane took over, so boys became an object of speculation and even desire.

To say I was confused was an understatement, but I managed to control things beautifully. With no access to female attire, or even the opportunity to become Jane for even a moment, James ruled supreme.

I was an adequate student, my inner battles taking the impact from any possible high achievement as a student in all subjects except art.

In art, I was able to express my inner self. I was free to explore the boundaries beyond my physical form, so released a gift that I had never known existed.

So too, as I developed my knowledge of English, I found literature another realm of excitement and exploration. The main drawback was my inner problem, as I had to maintain what was expected as opposed to what wanted to be released. This was a constant cause of frustration for me.

I made friends, none too close, but made no enemies. I developed the skill of sliding through life without really being noticed. I spent most lessons in another, dream-like world where I simply took a pill and become a beautiful girl who was subject of the desires of many handsome boys.

I was a swift scrum-half in rugby, so acquired a reputation of being the best in my year. This was a passport to the Junior XV, the Junior Colts, the Colts and finally, in 1974, the First XV. I never fully enjoyed the game, I just happened to be good at it. I did enjoy the comradeship and community spirit that belonging to a team brought. Strangely, I never found loads of naked sweaty male bodies as attractive as Aunt Mary would have liked. In fact, as James, I never was tempted to stray for my heterosexual persona, as Jane would only come to the fore in my fantasies and if ever I was dressed as a girl.

I was fifteen when the boundaries between James and Jane became briefly blurred. It was September 1972, so it was the beginning of the school year. I was in my seat in chapel, as usual, for the morning fifteen minute God-slot. I watched as the older sixth-formers entered. With them was someone new, a tall boy, very fair and dressed in different clothes.

Although no real uniform existed, we all wore tweed jackets, grey or white shirts with school or house ties and grey flannel trousers. This boy was in blue denim and had longer hair than was permitted at the College. He looked foreign, which was reasonable, as I later discovered that he was an exchange student from Germany.

There were three of them, but only one of them caught Jane’s eye. I shook my head; amazed that Jane had managed to exert so much inner strength for a change.

I was two years younger than the Germans, so had no contact with them in either class or leisure time. This one, however, I discovered was called Martin. I didn’t know his surname at this stage, which I would probably never be able to pronounce in any case.

He had exchanged with a boy from my house called Richard McNicholls, so they put him in Richard’s study for the term. I’d see him around the house, but we never exchanged any words or had contact. I was intrigued, for I had by now exerted sufficient control to suppress Jane’s unusual interest, and was back firmly as James.

As the rugby season had started, I was the Colts XV scrum half. On the third Saturday of the term, we were playing Fettes College at home. Fettes was always a close match. I know now that Tony Blair, the Prime Minister, attended Fettes at the same time as I was at the College, however, I never came into contact with him. Had I known and played ruby against him, I might have tried to kick his unmentionables, just so I could say that I had!

It was half way through the first half when Martin wandered across to the pitch and watched for a while. I managed to play quite well, so while I was concentrating on the game, Jane attempted to flirt with him.

How she thought she could, I have no idea, but I found myself looking at him too often, so became embarrassed and worried that I was losing control.

We won the match and, as I made my way back to the house after the final whistle, Martin walked up to me and accompanied me.

“You play good, yes?”

“Thanks, but that should be, ‘you played well.’ If you don’t mind me helping.”

“Thank you, mine English is not good now. I here to make better, yes?”

“Okay.”

“I hav seen you, you are James, yes?”

“Yes, and you’re Martin.”

He held out his hand in a rather silly formal gesture, so I flushed and shook it.

“I yam plized to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Was is ‘likewise?”

“Likewise means; I feel the same way.”

He laughed as if I’d told a joke. I felt faintly awkward, so I looked around to see if we were being observed. We weren’t.

We chatted about silly words and the English language as we walked.

“You learn German, no?”

“No, I’m doing Spanish and French for O level.”

“Why not German?”

I shrugged. “No reason, I just didn’t choose to. Next year, in the sixth form, I’m looking at dropping all languages anyway.”

“Languages is good.”

“That’s languages are good.”

He laughed again; he was being too nice to me. After all, I was two years younger than he was. He made me feel uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure why.

Once back at the house, I went for a shower and he disappeared upstairs to the sixth form studies. I didn’t see him again for several days, but when I did, he smiled and nodded at me, but made no attempt to deepen any relationship.

Life went on. Our year group were producing an Agatha Christie play to put on at Christmas. In 1939 it was originally entitled Ten Little Nigger Boys, but had been changed to Ten Little Indians in a daft attempt to please the politically correct.

It was a rather silly play about ten people on an island who all get bumped off in line with a rhyme. I saw an opportunity, so went for it.

I volunteered for the part of Vera Claythorne, a young teacher at a girl's school. There were only two female characters, Vera and Miss Emily Brent, who was an old spinster. My part was of an attractive young woman.

There was no real love interest, but it was a fun play. All our English lessons were to prepare us for O level, but we spent several evenings each week rehearsing. My costumes had selected from the theatre wardrobe. Mrs Groves was our English master’s wife, so she was responsible for fitting us. For ease of fashions, the play was brought forward to the 1970, so the clothes reflected contemporary fashion and taste.

I was given three different outfits, none of which fitted very well. There were no girl’s shoes in my size.

“Mrs Groves, would it be a good idea to see what they’ve got in the charity shops in Perth?”

“Why?”

“Well, there seems to be a shortage of decent stuff, and I could get something that fits.”

“I haven’t got time to do the alterations on all these costumes and go shopping for you!” she replied.

“You don’t have to, I could do it.”

The school bus went into Perth on two days a week, so those members of staff without cars could go shopping or attend the dentist and such things. Boys could go if given written permission and we didn’t abuse the privilege.

“We don’t have very much in the budget. I can’t give you any more than ten pounds.”

I grinned, for that would be more than enough.

“Very well, I’ll sign a chit.”

I was on the bus the following Thursday. I was excited and nervous. I knew the strange glances that I normally received when buying girl’s clothes. I knew that they knew what I was up to, but I had little choice.

There were three charity shops that I had used in the past. I found three decent outfits, one a skirt and jacket with a blouse, another dress that was quite short, and finally an evening dress in black. I bought some underwear, a slip, petticoat, bras and panties as well. There were two pairs of size seven shoes, both in black, one of which had very high heels. The whole lot came to nine pounds eighty pence.

Despite explaining to the shop volunteers that I was looking for costumes for a play, I was convinced that I fooled none of them for a moment. I used the small changing booths to try them on, experiencing a strange level of excitement as I regarded myself changing into Jane. I suddenly felt a desperate urge to complete the change, with makeup and everything, but sense prevailed and I became James again.

Using a little of my own money, I bought some makeup and a pretty pair of cheap clip-on earrings.

I returned to the college clutching my wares, desperate to try them on, but knowing that I would have to be patient.

Fate was on my side, as Mrs Groves wasn’t in so I returned to my house with the clothes. I was unable to concentrate on my work that evening, knowing that three carrier bags of girl’s clothes were sitting under my bed.

We had cubicles for sleeping — each containing a bed, a chair, a small bedside table and a wardrobe with a couple of drawers. There were twelve cubicles in blocks, with a washroom at the end of each. Non-sixth formers had common rooms for daytime, so I was in the senior common room. The sixth formers had day studies and they had their own cubicle dorms on the floor below us.

I lay awake for ages, knowing those clothes were so close, yet terrified of weakening. I experienced this so often in my short life, and nothing could describe the relief I felt as Jane in full glory, coupled with the frustration in knowing it was cosmetic and very temporary!

In the end, she won. Judging everyone to be asleep, I slipped out of bed and took off my pyjamas. As soon as I slipped the bra and panties on I immediately became erect. Once I had filled the bra cups with socks and slithered into the slip, I had to reach for the tissues. The relief from the sexual explosion was tangible. Once free of the erection and sexual urge, I was able to relax and tuck the unmentionables away.

Pulling on the short dress and sliding my feet into the shoes with high heels, I felt wonderful. I was tempted to put on the makeup, but knew that I had no light to even attempt it.

Jane made me do something very stupid.

Believing that no one would go to the games changing room at one o’clock in the morning, I took off the shoes, put on my dressing gown and crept downstairs.

It was deathly silent and eerie, but I was alone. Using the mirror, I applied the makeup and clipped on the earrings. I replaced my feet in the shoes and walked around, exhilarating in the wonderful sense of freedom. Moments like these kept me going, but they were far too short. How I so wanted these moments to be every moment of every day. I wanted to be a girl so much, it hurt!

However, just as I was feeling so good, I sensed, with a growing sense of dread, that I was being watched.

I spun round and saw the German boy, Martin, regarding me from the open doorway, with an expression of amused confusion on his face.

“Shit!” I said, diving into one of the lavatory cubicles.

I heard his footsteps approach and then he knocked on the door.

“James, it’s alright, I not say anything.”

I opened the door, with tears of embarrassment in my eyes and my heart thumping.

We regarded each other, while I was still on the verge of tears.

“You make a pretty girl, yes?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, a strange excitement mingling with my fear and embarrassment.

“I not sleep, so I was outside watching the sky. I like stars, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Then I saw you, and I was wondering what you doing. Now I know.”

“I’ve never done this before. I’m a girl in a play, so I had to get some clothes to fit.”

He looked at me, simply smiling and saying nothing.

“You like being a girl, yes?”

I looked at him sharply, trying to see if he was mocking me. I couldn’t tell from his words, but his expression was too gentle and non-threatening. My reserve broke and the tears started.

I couldn’t say anything, so I nodded.

“I not say anything. You too pretty to be a boy. You let me kiss you, then I say nothing?”

I stared at him, completely shocked. Numbly, I must have nodded, for he leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. I didn’t respond, I was too shocked to move.

“Go get changed, I go back to bed,” he said, turning and walking out without a backward glance, leaving me feeling about as low as I could get, but with the strongest erection I’d ever experienced. I think I fell in love for the first time, that night. But I changed back into James as quickly as I could.

Over the next few days, I kept expecting someone to come up to me and tell me that he knew all about me, but no one did. Martin smiled at me whenever he saw me, but never came over to me or said anything. My heart went flippity-flop every time he looked at me, but I managed to bury my feelings very deep.

Life went on. I gradually relaxed and believed that the event was dead. As Christmas approached, the performance of the play became imminent. The rehearsals were now three times a week and the first dress rehearsal was planned.

Jane was delighted, for at last she was given a short spell of freedom. She took me over completely, as I lost myself in the euphoria of makeup and dressing how I wanted to dress all the time. The long blonde wig supplied by the school was not brilliant, but I managed to make it look reasonable.

My mistake was to do my own makeup for the dress rehearsal, for when Mrs Groves came over to me she was staggered to find me ready.

“My goodness, who did this for you?”

“No one. I watched you.”

One of her eyebrows shot up and she smiled a knowing smile.

“Oh yes, pull the other one. I think you’re enjoying this rather too much. Still, to each their own. You look very convincing, but then you know that, don’t you?”

I couldn’t speak, but I felt my face flush a rosy red colour.

“Hmm, thought so. Still, you be very careful, there are too many people here who wouldn’t understand,” she said, opening the makeup case.

“You’ve done fine for everyday wear, but you’re going on stage. You need to overdo the makeup, to make every change in expression obvious to the audience. So the eyebrows are accentuated and your lips are fuller and redder. There is an art to it, so watch in the mirror if you want to learn.”

She gave me my first lesson in stage makeup and, while she did that, she taught me about normal makeup. She told me about skin tone, foundation, different shades and colours for hair and complexions. It was a whole new and wonderful world.

She sensed my excitement, pausing as she worked.

“Your pulse is racing, are you okay?”

Not trusting myself to speak, I simply nodded.

“Do you need the loo?”

“No,” I said, frowning.

“To relieve yourself, you know,” she said, looking towards my crotch.

“I’m fine. It’s not like that.”

“No?”

“It’s not the clothes, it’s the being!”

“Oh dear. You poor soul. Does anyone know?”

I immediately thought of Martin, but shook my head, feeling the tears well up behind my eyes.

“Don’t you dare cry, young lady, not after all my hard work!” she said, making me laugh. I adored being called ‘young lady’ - it was like a dream.

She continued to apply my makeup.

“You know you can’t do anything about it, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“This must be so hard for you. If ever you need to talk about it, come and see me, okay?”

I nodded again.

“Otherwise, life must go on. Okay, you’re done. You look very beautiful, so be careful, those hunky sixth formers will try to seduce you,” she said, joking.

The thought instantly affected me, so I raced to the loo to ‘relieve’ myself.

Jane was superb, relishing every moment in skirts. It was one of those high peaks, which drew some attention from those around me. I attempted to convince them I was only acting, but in truth, the acting was reserved for every day as James. Like it or not, and in spite of my male body, Jane was the natural me, not James.

The dress rehearsal half over, Mr Groves announced we were running late so we should dash off to supper in costume to return to finish the rehearsal.

I felt excitement and terror course through my being. To be allowed out to show everyone what I was, it was an amazing, yet terrifying thought.

We went en-block to the dining hall and I couldn’t help but be aware of the many glances I attracted. I wondered how many believed I was a real girl. But no one approached us, so we collected our food and sat at an end table, out of the way.

I was unfamiliar with this dining room, as we normally ate in our house. The woman dishing up food called me ‘dear’, and I thought she believed I was a girl.

The rest of the cast behaved as if nothing was different, yet I was aware of my racing heart and permanent state of excitement. It was only partially sexual, as it was more a sense of freedom and completeness.

I was just finishing when a shadow fell across the table. I looked up, it was Martin.

“I thought I saw you. Are you good?”

My already stressed heart underwent a double flip-flop as I blushed from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.

Needless to say, the teasing started, and so I was bombarded with - “Jamie’s got a boyfriend” for the rest of the evening.

We finished the rehearsal and I reluctantly returned to being James. Mrs Groves heard the taunts, but said nothing until she got me alone as I was leaving.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Sure?”

I nodded again. We both knew I was lying, but there was nothing either of us could do about it. It helped knowing she was a friend.

I started the long walk back up to my house when I became aware someone was walking up behind me. I turned; it was Martin again.

I stopped and waited for him.

“James, I am sorry, that was bad of me.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“You make a good woman, yes?”

I laughed very sadly, yet I felt he understood why.

“Have you ever kissed a boy before?” he asked, making me remember that first, stolen kiss.

I was surprised, but not shocked. I suppose part of me was hoping for something like this. However, I wasn’t prepared to do anything as James.

“No, and I don’t intend to again, either.”

He said nothing as we walked up the long drive.

“I’m not gay,” I said, at last.

“No, but you are not a real boy, no?

“Probably not,” I admitted.

“You are a girl, in your mind, yes?”

I stopped walking.

“Are you teasing me?” I asked, feeling threatened.

“No, I not teasing. I speak what I see. I see a girl inside a boy.”

I cried then, starting to walk off very quickly. I was annoyed at my weakness and my emotions. Why couldn’t I be like everyone else and normal?

His firm hand grabbed my arm, stopping me and turning me around so I was facing him.

“What?” I asked, angrily.

“Don’t be angry wis me, I not your enemy.”

“What the hell are you then?” I asked, almost hysterically.

“I vant to be your friend.”

“Friend or lover?” I asked sarcastically.

He shrugged. “Which you like?”

“Like, or prefer?”

He grinned in the darkness. “See, you still make me better. Prefer, which you prefer?”

“I don’t know. I want a friend, but she might want a lover!” I said, without thinking properly.

“She?”

I looked at him.

“Inside of me is a girl. Sometimes she gets out. You saw her today and the other night in the washroom. She’s not here now, so a friend would be fine.”

“Dat’s cool.”

We continued walking. I didn’t feel like talking, as I was confused.

“So, ven does she get out again?”

“Martin, it’s not that easy. She’ll get out for the next rehearsal and for the two performances, okay?”

“She has a name, no?”

“Jane.”

“Jane is very pretty.”

“Thanks, I think.”

He chuckled as we walked.

“Are you gay?” I asked.

“Perhaps. I don’t know. I think I like Jane. Is she a girl or a boy?”

“A girl,” I said emphatically.

“Then I not gay, ja?” he asked, grinning at me.

We reached the house, so I paused by the door.

“Goodnight Martin.”

“Gut-nacht, mein liebling!”

“Bollocks to you, mate!” I said angrily as I went to my common room, leaving him laughing at my back. I hated the world at that moment.

Thankfully, Martin left me alone until the day of the second performance. I’d half expected him to try something silly at the second dress rehearsal, but he never showed.

However, in the final week of term, we put the play on for the school on the Friday and then for parents on the Saturday. I have to admit, the actual play was fine, we all did what we were meant to, but Jane was so delighted at her freedom, she excelled all Mr Groves’s expectations, hogging the limelight and overacting dreadfully.

We were all backstage, changing for the second performance. The first had gone down really well with the school, with Jane basking in her newfound glory. As the only female character of any degree of sexiness, she was the only recipient of the many catcalls and whistles.

Mrs Groves came over to where I was changing.

“How are you, kiddo?” she asked.

“Fine,” I replied, meaning it. I was on a peak, the excitement and anticipation was like a drug coursing through my veins.

“You did so well last time, don’t let it go to your head. No adlibbing and no sexual overtones, young lady!”

I simply grinned at her before she could correct her slip. The fact that I came over as a girl was the most superlative compliment anyone could ever pay me.

She saw her mistake, smiled and shook her head.

“Go break a leg!”

I was just finishing my makeup, when one of the guys on props passed me a small cardboard box. Frowning I turned it round and opened it. There was a single red rose inside, with a small note attached.
 
 

Good luck Jane. X Martin

 
 
I smiled, but felt suddenly rather sad. For more than anything else, I wanted to live as Jane and not James. For all that was Jane within me, I knew that nothing would ever happen while I was James.

So, feeling slightly more sober, I went out to perform better than Mr Groves could ever have hoped. The play was a roaring success, and from that moment I had established myself as a leading girl for every play over the next three years.

Afterwards, the atmosphere backstage was euphoric. Mr Groves was delighted, already planning another play in the following year. My parents hadn’t attended, as my father was disgusted that I should be given a female role. I neglected to say I’d actually been quite pleased, as I didn’t feel he would appreciate the truth.

Gavin Small, one of the other actors, and a couple of the stagehands came over to where I was sitting, drinking cold lemonade. I was still in costume, as I was reluctant to have to return to being a boy.

“You did brilliantly, you look like a real girl!” said Gavin.

I was torn, part of me wanted to hug him for what he said, and yet another part of me wanted to deny it and become embarrassed in case anyone could see how much I loved being a girl. I compromised.

“Huh, thanks,” I grunted, smiling inside.

“Yeah, I’ve just spoken to my Mum, and she thought you were a girl.”

She who dwelled inside me was singing with delight, yet I couldn’t show it.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, she even asked me how we managed to get a girl into an all boy school.”

I’m ashamed to say, the smile broke through. “Really?”

“You’d better watch your arse, as the gay boys will be out to get you now!” said Andy Russell, who’d played the part of the murderer. He had listened to the conversation.

“They know it’s only a play!” I protested.

“Sure, just don’t look as if you enjoyed it so much.”

“It was fun. I don’t give a toss about dressing up, as I’m not hung up about it!” I said. Not half, you’re not!

Everyone else had changed. I couldn’t put it off any longer, so I started to remove my glory. Mrs Groves came over to me.

“Well done, you were even better tonight. Why do you think that was?”

“I don’t know. I think I just tried to make believe it was true.”

She smiled at me, but there was a degree of pity in the smile, so I felt a little sad.

“Would you like to keep some of the costumes?” she asked.

I thought about it, but shook my head, despite being sorely tempted.

“I’d better not. I’d do something I might regret.”

“You really ought to talk to someone, like a doctor.”

“What could they do? My parents wouldn’t dream of allowing me to do anything.”

“It’s your life, not theirs.”

“Tell that to my Dad.”

“You’re going to get hurt, if you’re not careful.”

“Then I’ll have to be careful, won’t I?”

“James, I’ve been involved in boys’ boarding schools for the last twenty years, so believe me when I say, you shouldn’t be here!”

I laughed. “Really? What can I do about it?”

“If you see the doctor, then perhaps there’s a way out.”

“And bring shame and disgrace on the school, the family and my bloody father?” I said heatedly.

She looked away, but I caught the light refracting through her tears. I was astounded, for she was crying for me. I reached out and touched her arm.

“Look, Mrs Groves, I really appreciate your concern, but I have become very good at acting the part. I’ve managed for years, I’m sure I can see my time out.”

She looked back at me; I was unnerved to see so much care in her expression.

“Then promise me that if things get bad, you’ll come and see me?”

I nodded.

“You really are a very pretty girl,” she said, turning and walking away.

Martin was waiting for me when I left, having changed, as I was the last to leave the theatre.

“You did very good.”

“That’s very well,” I said, automatically correcting him. “Thanks.”

“I go home soon. I write to you, ja?”

“Martin, why? This is pointless, isn’t it?”

“I like you and want to be a friend.”

I stopped and looked at him. “Really? Just a friend, or something more?”

He looked away, shrugging but saying nothing.

“I’m not gay, Martin, and despite what I feel inside, I’m not a girl, so what you want isn’t available. Okay?”

He smiled but nodded. “Okay, just a friend then?”

We walked on up the hill. I was calm on the outside but having a real conflict inside. Jane wanted to keep the contact, but I knew there was no point.

“Well?” he asked as we reached the top of the hill.

“If you write, I might write back, but no promises.”

“Gut! That is all I ask for.”

I said goodnight to him and went into the common room. I was greeted with good-humoured banter and low level teasing about my acting a girl. It was in good spirit so I took no offence and slumped in the corner with a book for a while.

The term ended and we all went home for Christmas. Martin managed to say goodbye to me before getting the taxi to the airport. He was quite adamant that he would write, so I gave him neither encouragement nor discouragement. I did find out his surname, it was Stressler, and he came from a small village close to Aachen, near the Dutch/Belgian border.

During the car journey home, my father was exceptionally jovial, and was full of good advice on everything from career to women. I switched him off and lost my mind to a perfect fantasy word where Jane met Martin and fell in love.
 
 
Chapter 3. War
 
 
The rest of my school life was pretty dull and uneventful. Apart from when I took the female parts in two more plays, I became the model student and lost myself in the activities of the day. As a reasonable shot, the College CCF (Army Cadets) selected me to represent the school at the annual Bisley competition. I assisted them to second place overall and scored high enough to get into the top five individual places.

I was promoted to Cadet Sergeant, so my father began to manipulate me towards selecting the army as a career. I was so lost that I desperately wanted to attain his approval. Looking back on it now, I realise that he was trying to re-live his life again through me. He had seen wartime service, but regretted several weaknesses and bad decisions he had made, so in a strange way, he was seeking to make up for them through me.

I didn’t matter, as it was what I achieved and what I became that he felt was important. What I wanted or needed was irrelevant and unimportant to him.

Martin kept his promise and wrote to me. He was another confused teen; only he had no problem with his own gender. His letters became more and more affectionate, so I stopped writing back. He wrote to tell me he had left school, only to be drafted into West Germany’s National Service system and was going into the army.

I just got on with life, putting as must effort into my A levels to try to bury Jane. She came into my mind every night and would slip me into my fantasy world before I went to sleep. Every time I masturbated, I could only become aroused if I imagined myself female and being on the receiving end of a man making love to me. More often than not, my story somehow got me to Germany and, increasingly, it was Martin who made love to me.

I left school, with reasonable but not wonderful grades and, rightly or wrongly, I applied for a commission in the army, specifically the Parachute Regiment.

Why? You may ask.

Good question.

I believed that it was the toughest and most respected regiment in the British Army, so some dumb part of my brain must have determined that by becoming a soldier, those parts of the inner me that made my life so difficult would be destroyed.

To my shock and surprise, and my father’s delight, I passed the Regular Commissions Board, entering Sandhurst in 1976, aged just nineteen. I have to admit, the army made a man of me. That may sound trite, but to be honest, for the first time in my life, I was so busy that I actually managed to exist without the inner voice being heard at all.

Sandhurst wasn’t that far removed from my boarding school. Instead of academic subjects, one learned how to be a soldier. In a silly sort of way, it was like being a cadet all the time. Indeed, that’s what they called us - Officer Cadets. Sports were still a major part of life, so, once again, I found myself as an active scrum half, representing Sandhurst against many opponents. My father’s pride grew, making my task to deliver the truth even more difficult.

The course from civilian to Second Lieutenant took six months in those days. If one was signed on as a Regular, then there was another six months that followed on directly after attaining one’s commission. However, I had signed on for a short service commission, so after six months I joined my regiment and trained to become a paratrooper. I extended my time later, but that was once again due to my failure to face up to the realities of what I should be. It was easier to exist in a world where I didn’t have to make that decision.

I made a good soldier. I’d like to think I made a good officer, as I was genuinely concerned about those I supervised. I had common sense and was able to use my initiative. I adored the parachuting and abseiling from helicopters; I learned to drive most land vehicles, light water craft and fire most weapons that were in common use. I even signed up for an arctic survival course, which saw a small group of us dropped into Lapland with the minimum of equipment and only the basics of how to survive the extreme conditions.

Everything was a challenge, allowing me to stretch myself, while, at the same time, to forget that inner voice that had been such a pain through puberty and my teen years. I found out the men called me ‘Jim Lad’, from the R. L. Stevenson book, Treasure Island. My fellow officers took to calling me Jamie, to distinguish me from another officer called James. I managed to exist as James or Jamie, but somehow knew that Jane wouldn’t stay quiet forever. However, I was content to allow her to remain dormant. It was actually a relief not to have her invading most of my waking thoughts.

I’d been on three tours of Northern Ireland before she finally released herself from whatever bound her. I was involved in several nasty skirmishes with terrorists and my fear must have awakened her.

On the last, it was late 1981 and I was a lieutenant in charge of a checkpoint on the border. A Ford Transit approached the checkpoint and obviously wasn’t going to stop. Our major fear was vehicle bombs, but from behind the Transit came a Vauxhall saloon with two passengers pointing automatic weapons out of their windows.

The Transit rammed our Land Rover, as the driver leaped free and jumped into the back of the Vauxhall. The transit exploded and automatic fire from the car caused us to seek cover and return fire. The soldier standing next to me was wounded, while I was directing fire at the escaping car.

Our fire was accurate and deadly. The car slewed across the road and ended in the ditch, where the petrol tank exploded in a ball of fire. All four men were killed, while only three soldiers were wounded, none seriously. The four fatalities were burned beyond recognition, but were later identified by dental records as active Provisional IRA members. Incidentally, the pathologist stated that all four had been killed by rifle-fire and not the explosion.

A couple of days later, whilst on a rest period, I drank rather more than I should have done. Everyone deals with post-traumatic stress in different ways - some men become aggressive, others sexually predatory, while others puke, fart and fall over. When drunk, I think too deeply, but not necessarily that accurately.

I thought about all those things that I hadn’t thought about for a very long time. The result was an overwhelming urge to become Jane. I had to resist, but the result was Jane was back with a vengeance. Once more, I spent much of my waking day thinking those familiar thoughts.

I made my mind up to leave the army and explore my possibilities. However, fate had other plans. Firstly, my conduct in the Province hastened my promotion to Captain and, in 1982, President General Leopoldo Galtieri decided to elevate his poor political standing in Argentina by attempting a popular invasion of a group of rocks that they believed they should own, but we (the British) actually held.

They called them the Malvinas, but they were the Falkland Islands to us, and so I was despatched to see another theatre of war before I could seek my eventual destiny.

With my leave cut short, my intentions frustrated and my plans were set back by a few years. Instead of becoming the person I wanted to be, I set sail for the other side of the world as a Captain in 2 Para. My everlasting memory of that embarkation was the band of the Parachute Regiment paying, ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina!’ from the musical Evita, as we boarded the ship at the docks.

It was a surreal experience, as life on the ship gave an air of a holiday mood. The excitement and anticipation of the young soldiers was very evident. Expressions like, ‘we’re going to kick Argie arse!’ were prevalent. Those of us more experienced knew that although we were probably far more professional as an army, the Argentines were not going to roll over at the first sight of the Union Flag.

However, we finally arrived in the region and, during the night of the 21^st May, we made what the official report stated as an unopposed amphibious landing on beaches near San Carlos Water, on the northern coast of East Falkland. In reality, it was very dark, cold and uncertain. We didn’t know what sort of reception awaited us. Gone was the brave talk, the macho bragging and cheerful banter. Instead, the faces were pale and the voices were silent, as each man contemplated his own mortality. I went ashore as one of the four thousand men of the 3rd Commando Brigade, which included the 2nd (my battalion) and 3rd battalions of the Parachute Regiment (2 and 3 Para), from the amphibious ships and the liner Canberra: 2 Para and 40 Commando landing at San Carlos beach; 45 Commando at Ajax bay; 3 Para at Port San Carlos.

By dawn the next day, we had established a secure bridgehead from which to conduct offensive operations. From there Brigadier Thompson's plan was to capture Darwin and Goose Green before turning towards the capital, Stanley.

Now, May in the UK is a mild month, promising summer just around the corner. In the Falklands, May is the month that promises winter - the November of the south. The weather wasn’t the attractive feature of these distant isles, even in summer. In fact, if I have to be honest, I couldn’t actually find one attractive feature, so often wondered what the hell we were doing there!

We were very glad to be on dry land, for the Argentine air force, once alerted to our presence, threw everything they had at us, particularly towards the ships still in the bay. At sea, the paucity of the Royal Naval ships’ anti-aircraft defences was demonstrated in the sinking of HMS Ardent on the 21^st, HMS Antelope on the 23^rd, and MV Atlantic, with a vital cargo of helicopters, runway building equipment and tents on the 25^th. The loss of all but one of the Chinook Helicopters being carried by the Atlantic Conveyor was a severe blow from a logistics perspective; the sole surviving Chinook was called Bravo November. Also lost on this day was HMS Coventry, a sister to HMS Sheffield, whilst in company with HMS Broadsword. HMS Argonaut and HMS Brilliant were badly damaged.

However, many of our ships escaped terminal damage due to the Argentine pilots' bombing tactics. The topography of San Carlos Water dictated that the pilots were forced to swoop in and launch their bombs from a low altitude at the very last moment. While undoubtedly brave, the late releasing of bombs meant that many never exploded, as there was insufficient time in the air for them to arm themselves. The Argentines lost over thirty aircraft in these attacks, including several Pucará¡s.

The only neighboring country that aided Argentina during the war was Peru, which provided a number of French built Mirage 5P fighter planes from the Peruvian Air Force, ships, and medical teams. This was after Peruvian president Belaunde announced that his country was "ready to support Argentina with all the resources it needed."

Neighboring Chile, under Pinochet’s regime, became the only South American country to aid Britain by providing important logistical support during the war.

Starting early on 27^th May and through the 28t^h, we in 2 Para approached and attacked Darwin and Goose Green, which was held by the Argentine 12th Infantry Regiment.

Much of the fighting was at night. The sky was decorated by lines and lines of tracer, flares and a myriad of multi-coloured explosions. It was like a very lethal but beautiful firework display. The Argentines used so many flares that night vision was rendered completely useless. However, their use of flares and tracer enabled us to pinpoint their positions with the greatest of ease. It still wasn’t the pushover than many anticipated.

After a tough struggle, which lasted all night and into the next day, seventeen British and fifty five Argentine soldiers had been killed, and one thousand and fifty Argentine troops taken prisoner. Due to a gaffe by the BBC, the taking of Goose Green was announced on the BBC World Service before it had actually happened. It was during this attack that Lt.Col. H. Jones, the commanding officer of 2 Para was killed. I was within two hundred yards of him when he died. He was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross. I don’t doubt he was a very gallant man, but his sergeant summed him up when he called him a “Daft bugger!” Mind you, that could be levied at all of us who make it a practice of jumping out of perfectly serviceable aircraft attached to a few pieces of cord and a piece of cloth.

At one point during that night, I found myself sharing a slight depression in the ground with one of the soldiers in my company. Tracer was zipping overhead and small arms fire was happening to make us keep our heads down. The enemy knew we were out here somewhere, but were unsure exactly where and how many of us. Displaying bad discipline and typical nerves, they fired at everything and nothing, allowing us to work out their numbers and locations. Young Mathers was just nineteen and the Falklands was his first taste of action. Some taste!

“Are we gonna die, sir?” the young Scots paratrooper asked.

“Only if you stick your head up and get it blown off.”

“What the fuck are we doin’ here, anyway, sir?”

I thought about his question, and for the life of me couldn’t come up with a witty or sensible reply.

“Politics, Mathers, politics.”

“Politics?”

“You see, some English politician makes a decision a century ago, then along comes another politician in a different country, he makes a decision and then one of our politicians makes another and we get told to come here and die.”

“That’s daft, sir. I mean, who the fuck gives a toss aboot this fucking piece of rock?”

I looked about me, seeing the advance on enemy positions taking place.

“We do, it seems, come on!” With that philosophical debate over, I led my company on to a small victory.

With the sizeable Argentine force at Goose Green out of the way, British forces were now able to break out of the San Carlos bridgehead. From the 27^th May, men of 45 Commando and 3 Para started walking across East Falkland towards the coastal settlement of Teal Inlet.

Meanwhile 42 Commando and the SAS moved by helicopter to within sight of Stanley where they seized Mt Kent and Mt Challenger. The SAS had several clashes with Argentine Commandos in the Mount Kent area, and although four SAS were wounded, the Argentines, who were members of the 602nd Commando Company, had the worst of the clashes. They had two men killed and one captured in an SAS ambush at Bluff Cove Peak in an action on the 30^th May. First Lieutenant Ruben Eduardo Marquez and Sergeant Oscar Humberto Blas were posthumously decorated for their part in this action.

On the 31^st May, nineteen Royal Marine Commandos successfully engaged Argentinian Commandos who had moved into Top Malo House. All thirteen Argentinian Commandos were killed or captured during the forty minute attack.

By June the 1^st, with the arrival of a further five thousand British troops of 5 Infantry Brigade landed at San Carlos from Canberra, Norland and Stromness having transferred from the liner RMS QE II at South Georgia, new British divisional commander, Major General J.J. Moore RM, had sufficient force to start planning an offensive against Stanley.

During this build-up the Argentine air assaults on the British naval forces continued, killing forty eight, including thirty two Welsh Guardsmen on the RFA Sir Galahad and the RFA Sir Tristram on June 8^th. Many others suffered serious burns (including, famously, Simon Weston). These troops were still on the ships because of the loss of the helicopters on the Atlantic Conveyor. This meant that they had had to be transferred around the islands by ship. Unfortunately, the commanders of the landing force ignored the advice of naval commanders to disembark at the earliest opportunity.

On the night of the 11^th June, after several days of painstaking reconnaissance and logistic build-up, our forces launched a brigade-sized night attack against the heavily defended ring of high ground surrounding Stanley. Units of 3 Commando Brigade, supported by naval gunfire from several Royal Navy ships, simultaneously assaulted Mount Harriet, Two Sisters, and Mount Longdon. During this battle thirteen were killed when HMS Glamorgan, which was providing naval gunfire support, was struck by an Exocet fired from the back of a truck, further displaying the vulnerability of ships to anti-ship missiles. On this day Sgt Ian McKay of 4 Platoon, B Company, 3 Para died in a grenade attack on an Argentine bunker which was to earn him a posthumous Victoria Cross. After a night of fierce fighting all objectives were secured.

The night of June the 13^th, saw the start of the second phase of attacks, in which the momentum of the initial assault was maintained. I was back in action again. It was imperative that we controlled the high ground overlooking Stanley. Tacticians down the ages have always recognised this important strategy, and so our commanders did also.

We (2 Para) captured Wireless Ridge, while the 2nd battalion, Scots Guards captured Mount Tumbledown. As the fighting was coming to a close, the Falklands Islanders on the eastern edge of Stanley were in imminent danger of being shot at by a platoon of the Argentine 3rd Infantry Regiment as the conscripts and regulars steeled themselves for the final house-to-house battle near Government House. This is revealed in the book The Battle For The Falklands by Max Hastings and Simon Jenkins. Brigadier-General Oscar Jofre, Commander of the elite 10th Argentine Mechanized Infantry Brigade, has admitted that the abrupt end of the ground fighting was hastened by fear of war crimes against the civilians.

On the 14^th June the commander of the Argentine garrison in Stanley, Mario Menendez, surrendered to Major General J.J. Moore Royal Marines. Nine thousand eight hundred Argentine troops were made POWs and were repatriated to Argentina on the liner Canberra. On June 20^th, the British retook the South Sandwich Islands, (which involved accepting the surrender of the Southern Thule Garrison at the Corbeta Uruguay base) and declared the hostilities were at an end.

The war lasted seventy-four days, with two hundred and fifty-five British and six hundred and fifty-five Argentine soldiers, sailors, and airmen, killed, with many more wounded. I had been through an experience that I never hoped to repeat. Perversely, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!
 
 
Chapter 4. Starting Over
 
 
As soon as I was able, I returned to the UK, immediately resigned my commission and flew up to Scotland a different person. I had decided what to do, so sought the right medical people and made my decisions after receiving the green light from my psychiatrist. I was able to stand up to my father, so denying him any further direct influence over my life.

After our stand-off and his denying my existence, which I have already recounted, I made my way back to London to start on my exciting and tough course of action. For those who believe that those who change sex are weak and sissy, I defy anyone to face the shame, ridicule, pain, discomfort, emotional turmoil and general rejection and psychological stress that we take on as part of the necessary side effects of our decisions.

“So, bit of a come down for one of Her Majesty’s gallant officers?” said Mark, as he showed me round the small shop that I was to run on his behalf.

“It’s fine. I really appreciate everything you’re doing.”

“That’s no problem, old chum. We couldn’t have you languishing away and selling your story to the News of the World, could we?” He was referring to a recent sex-change story that caused a sensation. An ex-policeman had sold his story to the aforesaid mentioned periodical for enough money to pay for his operation.

I smiled, but said nothing. I had no intention of making any sort of waves at all. The media were an ever present threat, and one I intended to keep well clear of.

“Look, Jamie love, we’re just chuffed that you came along when you did. It was becoming a real drag having to cover three shops at once. The last manager stole from us something rotten, so believe me, you are a God-send.”

Mark, at thirty, was a sliver short of six foot, but was very slim and languid of movement. He wasn’t camp, just very fluid. Always impeccably dressed in either a suit or navy double breasted blazer, he looked the stereotypical civil servant. His days in the navy had given him a sound grounding in people management skills and, to his credit, he held no ill feelings towards a service who effectively threw him out for being gay.

“You have to remember, old son, I was hardly the right calibre. Being in such close proximity to so many gorgeous men was just too much!” he told me with a smile.

“Why did you join?” I asked.

“I always wanted to join, ever since I was a little boy. By the time I was fourteen and worked out that I was gay, it just reinforced my determination. Actually, if they just accepted us, gays I mean, the navy would be a wonderful organisation, with really committed chaps all determined to prove they could do a better job than the straights; with the advantage of no unwanted pregnancies!”

He made me laugh. He was openly gay, so didn’t care who knew. Yet he wasn’t into the gay scene and there was nothing effeminate about him either. Rod, his partner, in both the sexual and business sense, was very different. He was my height, plump and rather camp. He’d been an art teacher, but couldn’t take the constant teasing by pupils and other members of staff. He was slightly older than Mark, so at thirty-eight, was very conscious that he was losing his hair and youthful figure. His love of art had drawn him to the art world, so he was the painting and art expert of the partnership. Mark adored old furniture and china, leaving the paintings and sculptures to his friend.

They lived in a very plush flat above their original shop just off the Kind Road, which contained the furniture, china, silver and jewellery. Their second shop was in Sloane Street, only a ten-minute walk away. The latter shop was their paintings and general antique art shop. The third shop, the one I was to manage, was in Knightsbridge and was more your soft furnishings and interior design outlet. Mark and Rod had a mutual friend who restored old furniture as a hobby. However, they’d found a niche in the market and exploited it. Steven Hayes, the friend, had been made redundant by BP, so he and his wife started doing friends’ interiors.

They had turned their garage into a workshop, but now had outgrown that as the hobby had turned into a lucrative business. The new shop had a large workshop to the rear. Steven renovated the furniture, while Sarah would undertake the home visits, give quotes and buy the material. Mark would often buy dilapidated antique furniture for Steven to renovate, so once complete, they’d sell it in the shop at a reasonable profit. My job was to manage the shop.

The flat above the shop wasn’t huge. With two bedrooms, a bathroom and a large open plan living room, with kitchen and dining area, it was ideal for me. There was even room for my MG out the back.

I’d immediately undertaken some research into the local doctors and found on that was sympathetic to transsexuals. Rachel Hemmings was a GP at a surgery some five minutes walk from my flat. I’d been given her name by a TS/TV/TG self-help group based in Hammersmith.

I’d gone to the surgery, signed on and made my first appointment.

Rachel was a plump fifty, with a lovely smile and terrible dress sense. She was married to another doctor who was a gynaecologist at St Marys Hospital in Paddington. Their eldest son was at St Marys studying to be a doctor, so it must be in the blood.

“Hello, James Allan, is it?”

“That’s right.”

She leafed through my notes that had come from the Army Medical Corps. After reading through them, she looked up and smiled.

“Well, you seem a lot fitter than most, what’s the problem, or is it just a check up?”

“Neither, really. I was given your name because I need a sympathetic GP.”

“Really, why?”

I steeled myself to tell her. For once it was out, I was committed to follow this as far as they’d let me.

“Well, I’ve known since I was about four that I should have been a girl. Now’s the time to try to become one.”

Ste stared at me with her smile fixed in place. I’d half expected her to laugh or make some sarcastic comment. As it was, her expression never changed, still maintaining a friendly smile.

“Golly, well, I have to admit, I never expected that!”

I smiled. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be silly. You poor man, has it been awful?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say it has been. Sometime it’s been worse than that.”

“Does your family know?”

I nodded. “Yes I told them last time I was up north. They live in Scotland.”

“Are they supportive?”

“My mother is, within the constraints placed upon her by my father. My father is in a state of complete denial. I no longer exist in his eyes.”

I then explained about my circumstances, which turned into a potted history. She was interested and caring, so I found myself sharing everything with her. I had never shared this much with anyone, ever!

“Gracious, you were in the Flaklands?”

“Yup, for my sins.”

“And Northern Ireland?”

“Three tours.”

“May I ask a personal question?”

“Of course.”

“Are you gay?”

“I’m not sure. That isn’t a cop-out, it’s just that my gender identity has been such a problem, so my sexuality hasn’t really impacted much. I’ve been tempted with a boy, once, and had sex with a couple of girls. I think I did the latter because it was expected of me rather than I desperately wanted to. I also felt that perhaps that was all that was needed to cure me of being a transsexual. It didn’t!”

“Of course it wouldn’t, but then you weren’t to know that. Are you in a relationship at the moment?”

“No.”

“Well, I think I can help you. I have to say, it’s a long and difficult path you’ve chosen, are you aware of the seriousness of the situation?”

“Oh yes, I’ve read and researched so much, I could write a thesis on the subject. I just need to make a start. I’m committed to this, so I’m in your hands.”

Once I had taken that step, there followed meetings and examinations with an independent psychiatrist called Lydia. She wouldn’t be responsible for seeing me through the procedure, as a gender specialist would be the one who’d do that. Lydia had to provide a full independent assessment before any action would be taken. A month later, after I was officially diagnosed as suffering from acute gender dysphoria, I was given my first dose of androgens and oestrogen.

“Don’t expect overnight transformation. This process will take a long time, and I mean in years, not months.” Rachel told me.

“I’m not that bothered, the fact I’ve reached this point is almost unbelievable.”

“Well, you have a few factors to your advantage, your size and your fitness level to start with. The regimen of hormones is physically exacting, so you need to attempt to maintain a reasonable level of fitness. You will probably find it tough, as the hormones may affect you mental attitude and general moods, even inducing depression and lethargy. There is also a good chance that you may experience a weight gain. This is quite a common side effect, but one you need to watch.”

She was quite right, as I noticed very little change for the first few weeks. My life was very dull. I kept myself to myself, working in the shop and spending my time reading or going to the theatre. I had a small circle of friends, all made recently and all aware of my intended transition. I decided to wait until such time as my body told me that it was female enough to make the real life test worthwhile. I’d seen so many transsexuals who just weren’t ready for that stage, but I suppose it’s such a difficult call to make, as it is such a subjective decision.

I found a hairdressing salon that also offered electrolysis for unwanted hair removal. I bit the bullet and entered, asking if they’d do my facial hair for me.

The woman, whom I later learned was called Stella, was non-judgemental and proved completely unshockable.

“Listen love, I don’t care why you want it, I can guess, and I’m sure you’ll tell me if and when you feel I should know. Your money is why I’m in business, so as long as you want to give me some, I’ll do whatever you want, within reason, that is.”

Managing the shop was a quiet existence where I could read and even started to write a novel. I had been aware that tourism is the major industry in London, but working in the West End brought it home to me. I’d never been involved with guarding the palaces, thank goodness, but as I walked around the capital, it dawned on me how much we depended upon our overseas visitors. Many London businesses depended upon tourism to a greater or lesser extent.

After I’d been on the hormones for eight weeks, my doctor decided to set a date for starting my real life test. I’d concluded my electrolysis treatment, which I found painful and unpleasant at best. I noticed several small but subtle changes in my physiology. The areas around my nipples were puffy and tender, while the nipples had started to swell and were more sensitive than I remembered.

I found my complexion was clearer than ever and my hair had started to thicken.

“You’ve lost some muscle tone on your upper body,” Rachel remarked one afternoon, after I’d closed early to make my appointment with her.

“My muscles are withering away,” I said.

“Hardly, but the hormones will affect them. You’ve maintained your fitness training?”

“I run three miles every day; then I use my weights and rowing machine.”

“Impressive, have you noticed many changes?”

“Well, I’m deliberately not trying to power lift. I need to maintain my tone, but I’m not building or maintaining my old levels of strength. I was curious, so did try to lift my optimum, but came nowhere close.”

“You’re looking more slender.”

“Yeah, but not as feminine as I’d like.”

Rachel chuckled. “No, not overtly, but slowly and steadily, we are seeing some subtle changes. I think you should start your RLT soon.”

“How soon?” I asked. This was so odd, as I’d been desperate to start this, but now this moment loomed, I was having a real concern.

“Within the next few weeks. Why, having a touch of the seconds?”

“Not really, I think I’m terrified of making a fool of myself. I don’t want to be seen as a freak.”

“That’s a common fear, all transsexuals go through that. You must set a date for the RLT, and build up to it. So, as from tomorrow, you must start spending at least one hour a day as a woman. Start attending sessions in makeup, deportment, voice training and general relevant subjects. That way, by the time your date arrives, you’ll be all set.”

“I suppose so. What date?”

“Well, starting with an hour a day, doubling it every day, I suggest about two weeks from today. By that time, you’ll be ready to live full time in your female persona. I’ll refer you to Doctor Green; he’s the psychiatrist who’ll be dealing with you from now on.”

I grinned nervously. “It’s all a bit daunting, isn’t it?”

“You don’t have to do it. It’s not too late to stop and take stock.”

“No, I’ve come this far. I just need to make sure I get things right.”

I went straight back to my flat and called Mark.

“So, we get to see Jane, tomorrow?”

“Perhaps.”

“Look, Jamie, I have this friend, she’s an actress, but currently between jobs. Do you remember me talking about Leonard who became Lynne?”

“Yes, someone you were in the navy with, she did what I’m doing about a year ago.”

“Right. Well, Suzannah helped Lynne with makeup and lots of other little tips. Would you like me to ask if she could give you a few pointers?”

“If you could. I’ve been given details of special classes for people like me being held at a TG/TS drop-in clinic. To be honest, I’d rather get things right before going out in public. I’m so terrified at being seen as a freak.”

“Well, Lynne was a shade smaller than six foot, and she made it, eventually. You are so much more the right size and shape, you’ll have no trouble, my sweet.”

“Thanks, Mark, you’re wonderful.”

“Don’t tell Rod, he’ll expect something he’s not getting. Bye for now.”

I sat back and stared at the telephone. I glanced around my small flat, suddenly feeling alone.
 
 
Chapter 5. Freed From the Constraints
 
 
I had never really been alone before this. Despite being an only child, my extended family was quite numerous, so never really went for long without company of some description. With schooling and the army, I had had very little time by myself. The only occasions I had been alone, I took the opportunity to become Jane.

Now I was alone and free to actually do it for real, I hesitated. I shook my head, as it was so silly. This was the moment for which I’d been longing for my entire life. Okay, perhaps the first four years don’t count. In any case, it had been a dream, but now it was a reality, I was having doubts.

“Don’t be an arse!” I said aloud.

I went into my bedroom and opened my wardrobe. Jane’s clothes took over half of the space, but apart from occasionally dressing in the privacy of my home, I’d restrained from becoming her too often, as I still had a body I despised. In fact, I simply dressed in a shirt and jeans most days. I was so terrified of being seen by someone I knew, I never dared go out dressed.

I stripped off all my clothes, noting that my body was virtually hairless. I’d been applying various noxious pastes to remove leg and arm hair. My chest had always been free of hair, and my face was now free of the hated stubble, at some cost, both in pain and money!

I selected a pair of tights, panties and a bra and started becoming Jane. In order to give my waist a more feminine look, I struggled into an elastic corset, which I covered with a slip. The corset helped push up my flesh to give an impression of a cleavage and nipped my waist by a couple of inches. I spent a long time on my makeup, even plucking some stray hairs from my eyebrows. Finally, I pulled on a knee-length skirt and a cream short sleeve blouse. My hair was still quite short, but when back-combed and fluffed up, it managed to look suitably feminine.

My hips were still rather too slender, but with a narrower waist and breast forms inserted in my bra, my shape was looking more feminine than before. I inserted some pearl earrings into my newly pierced ears.

I sat back, pleased with my efforts. It wasn’t as if I’d no practice, but I had yet to venture out. The telephone interrupted my train of thought.

“Hello.”

“Hello, could I speak to James Allan, please?” it was a female voice.

“Speaking,” I said, automatically modulating my voice to be Jane.

She laughed, “I’m sorry, I thought you were a woman. My name is Suzannah Lennox, Mark Riley called and asked if I would like to contact you with regards a little job.”

“Oh, hello, yes, he mentioned it. It’s very kind of you.”

“Well, when would be convenient?”

“It’s up to you. I’m free now, and most weekday afternoons after five.”

She had a nice voice, which chuckled again.

“I’m free all the time as work is somewhat slow at the moment, so I take whatever I can get. I could meet you now, if you’d like?”

“Okay, where?”

“I can come to you, if you tell me where?” she said.

I gave her my address. It turns out she only lived in Putney, so she wasn’t that far away. I put the phone down, feeling quite nervous at meeting someone as Jane. I spent the next twenty minutes tidying the already pristine flat. When the doorbell rang at about four-thirty, I was already at fifty thousand feet.

I answered the door to find an attractive auburn haired girl standing there. She was in jeans and a pale green pullover with a dark jacket. She gaped at me, so I immediately felt self-conscious.

“Hi, I’m here to see James.”

“Come in,” I said, opening the door.

“Is he still here, or has he done a bunk?” she said with a chuckle, coming in and looking round. “Nice flat.”

“Thanks, and I’m James, although I think I’d rather be called Jane, if that’s okay.”

She looked at me in some surprise. “You? Shit! What do you want me for? You’re gorgeous!”

I blushed to the depths of my roots.

“Seriously, I thought you were a real girl, never for a moment did it cross my mind that you were James.”

“Thanks, but I don’t feel that confident.”

“Why not? Bloody hell, girl, you look sexier than I do!”

I smiled but said nothing.

She walked round me, taking her time to look me up and down.

“Okay, you have good dress sense, great legs and a proportionate figure, slightly to slim in the bum, but your hormones will take care of that in no time. Your face is a little masculine, but you’ve taken care of the nose and chin through sensible makeup. You hair, darling, what the hell can we do with that?”

I shrugged, so she pulled me into the bathroom. A few minutes later she’d wet it and was blow-drying it with a styling brush.

“You need a professional job, but we’ll have to wait until it grows out a tad before we can get anything sensible done. It’s a lovely colour, strawberry blonde if I’m not mistaken.”

“Is it?”

“Show me your wardrobe, darling.”

I did so. She took all my clothes out, throwing them on the bed.

“Positively dowdy! You, my love, are only in your twenties, correct?”

“Twenty-seven, yes.”

“Right, you and I are going out, this is definitely a time to let Jane meet her public, and get the poor repressed cow a new look!”

I stared at her with some trepidation.

“What, now?”

“Why not? You look wonderful.”

She told me to grab my bag, being somewhat surprised when I told her I hadn’t got one.

“Right, then we are going to have to get you some essentials. Come on!” she grabbed my arm and physically dragged me out of the flat, just leaving me enough time to grab my wallet and lock the door.

We walked along arm in arm, as if we were close friends. I liked her immediately, as she was just so bubbly and outgoing. She was wearing some high-heeled boots, so we were about the same height.

“Don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve ventured out?”

I nodded, staring at the ground.

“Okay, lesson one, look up and walk with a little swing. If you place one foot in front of the other, pointing the toes out slightly, you’ll swing naturally. Men walk differently, as their feet fall in front of the hip and not each foot. Also, try to keep your shoulders still, let the hips swing, so don’t swagger with the shoulders.”

We walked to the bus stop and stood waiting for the next bus. It was May, the sun was out and there was a feel that summer was just around the corner. So, unlike that May just two short years ago, when I’d been part of the Falklands war. I was now well and truly on my way to being what I wanted to be. There was a long way to go still.

“So, why did you feel you wanted help?” she asked, as we waited.

“I just need someone to watch what I do and tell me where I’m going wrong. Just like this,” I replied with a smile. “I just didn’t imagine getting out so soon.”

“What are you worried about? You look the part, sound the part and nothing about you says you’re a man dressed up!”

“I’m not sure; I just don’t feel the part.”

“Okay, then let’s do this gradually. Believe me, I meet all sorts in the theatrical circles, and you are utterly convincing!”

“What about my voice?”

“A little on the deep side, but you speak so softly and huskily, it’s dead sexy. As I told you, I thought you were a girl on the phone. Have you had voice coaching?”

“No.”

“Then you’re a natural. How long have you known what you were, deep down?”

“All my life. I suppose, it became clear when I was about seven or eight and a certainty by the time I was ten or eleven.”

“Then you’ve had years of practice at watching at waiting?”

“I suppose so.”

“Did you dress in your sister’s clothes?”

“I haven’t got one, or a brother. I’m an only child.”

“Oh, and don’t tell me, Dad thought the sun shines out of your arse?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, you make a lovely girl.”

“Oh, thanks.”

The bus arrived and she let me get on first. It was a red double decker Routemaster, with the open platform at the rear and the stairs up to the top deck.

“Room upstairs only, darling!” said the Afro-Caribbean conductor, in a Jamaican accent.

I clambered up the steps, closely followed by Suzannah. I found a pair of seats and sat by the window. The bus was crowded, several Japanese tourists were taking photographs of everything in sight, us included. Suzannah slipped in beside me.

“Nervous?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Just stay with me kiddo, you’ll do fine.”

We stepped off the bus at Oxford Circus, suddenly I felt vulnerable and very much on display. Yet, as we walked down the busy street, I noticed that I received the occasional second glance, but nobody screamed out that I was a freak.

It took me about twenty minutes to relax, as Suzannah took me into shop after shop. First, she forced me buy a shoulder bag, then she made me buy loads of artefacts with which to fill it. Much to my terror, she dragged me to the cosmetic counter in a department store, where she stood over me as the sales girl gave me a complete makeover.

“You’ve got a really clear complexion, so with your colouring, we’ll get away with the minimum of foundation,” the girl told me. It took her twenty minutes, after which I had a new face, well, new makeup anyway.

Certainly, if Suzannah was going to be a semi-permanent feature of my life, I was going to be seriously impoverished in a very short time. By the rate she had me spending on everything from cosmetics to complete outfits; I was going to be seriously in debt in no time.

In one clothes shop, she had me stripped down to my underwear, trying on tight jeans and several dresses that revealed more than they covered.

At one point, she leaned close and whispered in my ear.

“What the hell have you done with you know what?”

“Tucked away,” I whispered back.

“Hmm, those a very realistic boobs, you look good, girl!”

I just smiled, relaxing completely for the first time.

By seven pm, I was shopped out. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, by back hurt and my new purse was empty. My fingers were experiencing near tourniquet syndrome through too many carrier bags attempting to cut off my circulation.

Believing we could now go home, I was dismayed when my tormentor took me into a small Italian Bistro, where she was greeted with avuncular enthusiasm by the large moustachioed proprietor.

“Tony is an absolute dream, I had to play an Italian girl in a movie once, so I came here and worked for him for a month just before we started shooting,” she explained.

“Tony, this is my good friend, Jane. She’s new to London, so be nice to her, there’s a love!”

“Signorina, a pleasure,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it in Latin fashion.

“E un piacere, signorina Jane.”

“Prego, signore, ma per favore ritorna la mia mano quando ha finito con lui.”

He stared at me, with a broad smile breaking across his face.

“You speak, Italian, signorina!”

“Sá¬, giusto abbastanza.”

“Just enough? No, you speak it very well. Come, I give you two lovely ladies the best table in the house.”

He led us to a delightful table in the bay window, through which we could watch the world go by. Tony brought a bottle of Chianti and two glasses, with a small basket of Ciabatta.

He opened the bottle with a practised hand, pouring a taster into Suzannah’s glass.

“So, lovely ladies, you hungry tonight?” he said, as he poured me a glassful of wine.

“What do you suggest?” Suzannah asked.

“The veal is excellent, tonight.”

I shook my head. “No, sorry, but I’m not a veal person, it’s the idea of those poor calves kept in confinement all their lives.”

“The carbonara is very good.”

“Two dishes of your carbonara, then Tony, thanks.”

Suzannah waited until he had left, before speaking.

“Well, well, aren’t you a fine one?”

Why?” I asked, frowning.

“A social conscience for our poor four legged friends.”

“I come from a rural area of the country, I don’t mind eating meat, but as long as I know they’ve at least run about a bit.”

“Tell me a little about yourself, I find you so fascinating.”

“Why?”

“I have never met a man who was so much a woman. Believe me, I’ve met quite a few who have tried very hard. You don’t even seem to try.”

I looked around the restaurant. It was quite busy and, as I looked, I noticed at least two men who were critically appraising me. They looked away when I met and held their gazes. Suzannah noticed and laughed.

“See?”

“I think I don’t need to try because I’ve had to try hard at being a man. The effort to maintain masculinity all the time when I was screaming to be a girl was so tiring. To be free, at last, it’s almost too much!”

“In what way?”

“Well, it’s like the male bit was so familiar, it was the devil I knew. This is all so strange, wonderful, but strange. I still expect people to point at me and laugh.”

“So, tell me, what sort of boy were you like?”

“Guess.”

“Hmm, I haven’t seen you as a male, so it’s tough. You walk and move like a woman, okay, you’re a little clumsy, but still feminine. But something tells me you were never a sissy.”

“I was a Captain in the Parachute Regiment, is that sissy enough for you?”

“No?” she said, shock and surprise on her face.

I then told her my life history. In return, she shared her broken marriage, her brief but passionate lesbian affair and her aspirations in show business.

“Have you ever had sex with a man?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Too chicken, that and never got the opportunity.”

“Which way will you swing?”

“I haven’t a clue, but I seem to be leaning towards men. I look at girls, but just to check out their clothes, makeup, hairstyles and such. I look at men and dream. Come to think of it, I’ve done that for most of my life.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“No, but I can’t say I’d ever get into the Guinness Book of Records. They were brief and statutory encounters so I could get the badge, so to speak. I was a soldier and it was expected. I don’t want to dwell on it, okay?”

“Okay. But I have to admit, I’m wondering what you’ll be like in bed.”

“Disinterested, I’m afraid. Partially due to the hormones I’m taking, and partially because I just don’t want to get into any complicated relationship with man or woman before I’m really me. No offence.”

“None taken, sweetie. But I still think it would be very interesting.”

“So, what made you swing the other way?”

“My ex; he was a real sod. We were both in a play, nothing special, down at Bath. I suppose we’d been married for almost four years, and to be honest, the first three were fine. I didn’t realise it, but he had a drink problem, that and a woman problem. He liked them young.”

“Come on, you’re not that old!” I said.

“No, I’m twenty-six now. He was four years older than me, anyway, I was only nineteen when we got married, everything my mother warned me about came true, bugger it! So, when I was a grey haired twenty-two, he went off with a slim seventeen year-old. There was a voluptuous woman in the cast who helped me through his desertion straight into her bed. I was flattered and so pissed off with men I actually enjoyed it. But I like men too much to actually stay that side of the fence.”

I smiled. Suzannah had a sort of naíve bravado, as if she’d try absolutely anything, just to see what it’s like. I envied her attitude and apparent freedom. She told me of her upbringing.

She’d been the younger daughter of a Norfolk vicar. Amanda, her elder sister, was one of those girls who sail through life being so wonderful at everything that anyone who has to follow is constantly reminded of how much better she was. Amanda married the elder son of a local wealthy farmer, so by last Christmas had managed to produce four children.

“Mandy is one of those annoying people who had no pains during her periods and her longest labour was just five and a half hours,” Suzannah told me.

“Do you see much of her?”

“Not so much, these days. When I started living with Georgie, my lesbian friend, the whole family treated me like a leper. I’ve been out of that relationship for nine months now, but I rarely hear from them these days.”

A dark and very attractive waiter arrived with a sexy smile and our food. I found I was ravenous, so set to with some enthusiasm. Suzannah watched me with an amused expression on her face.

“Okay, Janey darling, rule one, a girl never wolfs her food down like that. Try to forget you went to public school and were in the army, and just slow down a little. With me, it’s not a problem, but if you want to impress, splattering cheese sauce all over your clothes and face is not a good move!”

Grinning, I slowed down. It was a lovely meal, with a fine wine and good conversation, I found myself completely relaxed. We chatted a lot, covering just about every subject imaginable. She was highly intrigued to hear of my military exploits, and I was interested in her acting career.

“No so much a career as a couple of lucky parts and long spells of doing bugger all. I have to tell you, there is absolutely nothing like the applause of an appreciative audience.”

“I remember. I was the leading girl in several plays at school, and to be honest, they were the best moments of my life.”

The gorgeous waiter reappeared having delivered our desserts a few moments earlier.

“Excusi signorinas, but the two gentlemen at that table were wondering if you’d like to join them for a liqueur.”

We both looked. It was the pair I’d noticed earlier. Both were in suits, both appeared to be clean cut and in their early thirties. The slightly plumper one had a wedding ring on his left hand.

I looked at Suzannah, who shrugged.

“Your call, sweetie, they look harmless enough.”

“I don’t know, what if they find out?”

“Unless you take one to bed or go to the gents with them, believe me - they won’t.”

Feeling incredibly brave, I turned to the waiter, saying, “If the gentlemen would like to buy us a liqueur, then that’s very kind of them, but as for joining them, this is a far nicer table, they may join us, if they so desire.”

The waiter grinned and hurried off. A few moments later the two men were at our table, introducing themselves.

“Hi ladies, I’m Matt Ferris and this is Graham Lambert, this is mighty brave of you, considering we’re strangers and all,” the slim one said, as they sat in the vacant seats. We shook their hands.

They were American, with that conspicuous drawl from the south.

“Hi, I’m Suzannah and my friend is Jane. Please, join us.”

The waiter appeared with the wine and liqueur list. I chose a Drambuie, while Suzannah selected a Cointreau.

“In town on business or pleasure?” I asked

Matt smiled, replying, “Kinda both. See, we’re dentists here for a dental convention conference, but we’re taking a couple of weeks or so afterwards when our wives are joining us to see the sights and take a trip over to Europe.”

I smiled, as I had known that Americans thought that they could ‘do Europe’ in a week.

“You’re both married, then?” asked Suzannah, pointedly.

The two men glanced at each other, exchanging small smiles.

“Yup, ‘fraid so.”

“At least you’re honest,” said Suzannah, smiling.

They were from Atlanta, Georgia, and turned out to be good company. They’d only flown in yesterday, booked in to their hotel, the Grosvenor, and spent all day today in seminars.

Matt began to show too close an interest in me, so I became a little reserved. However, he was a complete gentleman, never giving me a bad moment. It was so odd interacting with people as Jane. Once I got over my terror at being discovered and relaxed, I found it perfectly natural. In fact, I liked the way Matt looked at me and made me feel. They were both nice guys, obviously far from home and feeling slightly lost.

“So, do you both work?” Graham asked.

“I’m an actress and Jane manages an antique shop.”

“Movies or theatre?”

“I’ll take whatever anyone offers,” Sue said with a chuckle.

She and Graham talked show business for a while, so Matt turned to me.

“Where’s the shop?”

“Knightsbridge, not far from Harrods,” I replied, believing everyone knew of Harrods.

“Harrods?”

“It’s the plushest and most exclusive department store in London.”

“Oh yeah, I guess I’ve heard of it. So, she said you manage it, I take it you don’t own it as well?”

Smiling, I shook my head. “No such luck.”

“What sort of things do you sell?”

“Some furniture, soft furnishings, curtains and carpets, mostly. The owner and his partner run three shops, one for expensive furniture, like tables, cabinets, sideboards and the like, plus jewellery and some silverware. The other shop is for objects d’art, paintings, ceramics, porcelain and similar. We’ve an interior designer who works with us, whose husband restores old furniture.”

“Seems quite an operation. So, are you from London?”

“No, I’m originally from Scotland, but have been down here for some time.”

“You don’t sound Scottish.”

“Is that an advantage or not?” I asked.

“Hell, the last Scottish guy I met was from Glasgow, he could have been speaking Chinese for all I understood.”

I laughed and finished my drink.

“So, if it’s not to forward of me, is there a man in your life?”

I glanced at Sue, but she was in mid-story.

“Not at the moment. I’ve sort of just finished with a soldier.”

“Just finished?”

“He’s been part of my life for a long time. He isn’t any more.”

Suzannah turned as I said it and smiled at me.

“Jane is starting a new life, so treat her gently,” she said, making me blush.

“My wife gets in on Tuesday, perhaps we could meet up. I’d like to show her London, but would rather someone who knows their way round could do it.”

“Perhaps,” I said, noncommittally.

We finished our meal and I looked at my watch. I was surprised to find it was eleven o’clock.

“Gracious, I hadn’t realised the time, we’d better get back,” I said

“Do you mind if we call a cab, buses are notoriously haphazard at this time of night, and the tube is for people far braver than I?” Sue asked me.

“No.”

Tony called a cab for us and kissed both our hands as we left. It had been a wonderful meal, so I told him.

“You must come again, my friend Jane. And next time bring your boyfriend,” he said with a smile.

When the cab arrived, the men decided to leave also. They said goodnight to us inside the restaurant, and I found myself giving Matt my shop telephone number.

“Thanks for being so friendly, Jane. We’d heard that English girls were ice cold. You’ve both been great.”

“I’m Scottish, but thanks anyway,” I said.

He kissed my cheek.

I blushed and left, feeling wonderful.

The cab took only a few minutes to reach my flat. I got out, giving Suzannah a twenty-pound note.

“That’s for my half, unless you want to come in?”

She smiled, “Don’t tempt me, darling. But no, not this time, perhaps another day. Look, are you free this weekend?”

“I’m free every weekend,” I replied.

“Then we’ll do something. I’ll pick you up at ten. You don’t really need my help, but it’ll be fun. Night, night, sweetheart,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.

I watched the cab drive away, then turned and went into my dark little flat with my shopping bags. I made a decision and, taking all my masculine attire, placed them all in a couple of black bags and dumped them under the spare bed.

I undressed, taking a shower. I was now so anxious to rid myself of a few certain pieces of anatomy; the surgery couldn’t come soon enough. Making sure I took my makeup off properly, I applied moisturiser and hung my new clothes in the near-empty wardrobe.

Dressing in a slinky nightdress and slipping under my duvet, I contemplated my immediate future. I had been told to get into this gradually. Start with an hour a day and work up.

An hour a day as Jane?

Stuff that!

Jane was now here to stay, as James had gone!

---

 
To Be Continued...

To Fight for a Dream by Tanya Allan     An autobiography is an account of one’s life up to a certain point.   This isn’t my autobiography. It is, however, a fictitious biography of someone very like me, or me if one or two things had happened differently.   This is a WHAT IF scenario plus a lot of wishful thinking.

 
 
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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Author's Note:
 
This is a work of fiction, but some of the events, some of the people and most of the feelings and emotions are real. Some of the events were events that I experienced, while others were researched, and others are simply made up.

ALL names have been changed to protect the innocent. In 2005, I first posted an early version of this as a blog on my Yahoo 360 site, but removed it when Yahoo became silly about what they considered indecent. I used a photograph that they believed was for adults only and restricted viewing. I have since rewritten and revised it into its current form.

I know what is real and what isn’t.

I leave it to you to guess and wonder what is real and what isn’t.

Actually, it doesn’t matter, as it should stand alone as a good yarn. Please note, I have maintained my record for happy endings, even though the real ending has yet to be written.

It is tough to fly in the face of convention and social mores. It is tough to break away and to declare that you want to be you, in spite of what the world decrees you should be.

In 2008, the world read of Captain Ian Hamilton of the Parachute Regiment. He turned my fiction into reality by undergoing transition and surgery to become Jan.

I dedicate it to all those who have the courage to go with their convictions; and to those who stand by them, no matter how hard it might be. May God bless you all.

Tanya
Originally written in 2005, revised in 2008.
 
 
The Legal Stuff:To Fight for a Dream  ©2005, 2008 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Chapter 6. A New Beginning
 
 
In the event, the American dentist Matt never got back to me. I can’t say I was sad, as it was a complication I could do without. I’d gone into work the next morning as Jane, opening the shop as usual. I was wearing a smart dark skirt, pale blue blouse and jacket, which I removed inside the shop. I’d taken quite a long time over my makeup, trying to recall what the girl in the store had done to me on the previous day.

My hair was too short, but with help from my hairdresser friend Stella, we managed to tease it into a feminine style. I longed for it to grow so I could get it styled properly. I’d seriously thought about a wig, but couldn’t be bothered with the fuss. Stella hardly even changed expression when I dropped in dressed as Jane. She simply smiled and tut-tutted as she trimmed my hair into something that would grow out in a more appropriate way.

I was actually quite surprised that dressing and venturing forth as Jane didn’t affect me sexually. I felt wonderful, but wasn’t in any way aroused. I put it down to the hormones and the fact I didn’t have to prove anything. All my previous attempts at dressing had usually ended in a climax at some point, so it was quite a relief not to even think about it.

It was a damp morning, so I caught the bus. It was only a five-minute ride, but it saved me getting wet. I made myself a cup of tea and busied myself making sure the place was tidy. Every now and again, I dusted and cleaned, so in my persona as Jane, this mundane act seemed to come naturally. Why are men such slobs?

Steven Hayes came into the shop from his workshop.

“Morning Steven,” I said, with a sudden feeling of dread, as I’d completely forgotten about him, so he didn’t know about Jane.

He was closely examining a brochure and never looked up.

“Morning, did I hear the kettle?”

He looked up, blinked a couple of times and looked around the shop.

“Sorry, manners a bit gone, could have sworn you were James. I’m Steven Hayes.”

I passed him his mug of tea.

“I know. I’m Jane.”

“Hello Jane, where’s Jamie?”

“Jamie is no more. I should have told you, sorry.”

“Where’s he gone? Not that I’m complaining, but he never said goodbye. I didn’t know he was leaving, even.”

“Steven, he’s not gone, well he has, in a way. I should have told you. I was James, I’m Jane now.”

He blinked at me, saying nothing. I felt acutely embarrassed, feeling that I had to say something by way of explanation.

“I thought Mark might have said something. I’m starting to live as Jane today. Well, actually, I started last evening, but today is for real.”

“Um, Mark did mention something. I just hadn’t really appreciated what he meant. But…but.. you’re a woman, how?” His voice went all high pitched and squeaky, making me laugh.

I sat him down and explained everything to him. He was fine with it. Well, even if he wasn’t, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“Does Sal know?” he asked. Sal was his name for his wife, Sarah.

“I haven’t told her yet.”

“Be a love, don’t. I’ll tell her that James has gone and you’ve replaced him. I want to see how long it takes her to put two and two together.”

“That’s wicked, she might not appreciate it.”

“She’ll be fine, besides, it’s my idea, so if she gets cross, then it’ll be my fault.”

He sat drinking his tea and chuckling, as I went to see the first customer of the day. It was an elderly lady wanting some green velvet cushions. We had some in stock, but they were too small for what she wanted. I showed her some samples of material, colours and a price chart.

“We can have them made up for you, and then they should be ready in seven to ten days.”

“Do you deliver?”

“We can deliver, but there is a charge.”

She spent ages looking through the samples, eventually deciding on a colour, and then took forever looking at the sizes and trim we offered. As I was in mid discussion, Sarah came in the back and made herself a tea. Steven was grinning like an idiot, but I couldn’t hear what he said to her.

Finally, the customer made a decision and I took her order, taking her details and deposit. She left the shop, so I returned to the back of the shop from where Sarah was watching me.

“Hello, I hear you’ve stepped into Jamie’s shoes. I’m Sarah, Steven’s better half,” she said, holding out her hand.

I took it, smiling. “Hello Sarah, I feel I almost know you,” I said, causing Steven to chuckle.

She turned on him. “What have you been saying?” she asked, a little crossly.

“Nothing much,” he said, stifling a laugh.

She turned back to me. “I’m sorry, men can be such arses at times. What happened to Jamie? I never knew he was leaving. I only spoke to him yesterday, and he seemed fine. He never mentioned he was leaving. Oh, he left early to see the doctor, is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. It’s just that he won’t be coming back, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Are you his sister? There’s definitely a family resemblance.”

“We’re very close, yes.”

At this point, Steven was sniggering like a baboon in heat. She turned on him again. “Just what the hell is wrong with you? You’re behaving like a real idiot.”

The shop’s bell rang again, so I had to leave them to see to the customers. It was a mother and daughter who’d been in previously. I’d been dealing with their total inability to make a decision. The daughter had initially come in with her husband. They failed to make a decision, so she returned with her mother. The latter obviously had more grandiose ideas as to what her daughter required. I approached them

“Good morning, may I help?”

“Where’s the young man who was here last time we were here?” the mother asked, somewhat imperiously.

“He’s no longer working here. He has, however informed me of everything he was dealing with. Are you Mrs Hotchkiss?” I asked, directing my question to the younger woman.

“Yes, that’s right, and this is…”

“Your mother, yes, James told me about your request. If you step over here, I’ve put together a selection of fabrics that may be nearer your budget,” I said, still directing my remarks towards the daughter.

I led them to the small area set aside for customers to peruse the fabric samples. Once seated in armchairs, I provided them with a small book of more reasonably priced samples.

“Would you like a tea or coffee, while you make your choices?” I asked.

They both accepted my offer and chose coffee. I left them alone and put the kettle on. Sarah was staring at me with her mouth open.

“You told her, then, Steven?”

“Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself. She would never have guessed.”

“I’m making some coffee, would you like one?” I asked.

“No way! There is absolutely no way that you are James!” she stammered.

“Quite right, I’m Jane. Coffee or tea?”

“What? Oh, coffee, please. Now, wait a minute, don’t change the subject. You are not a man!”

I leaned close to her. “Please, keep your voice down, Sarah, it wouldn’t do to let the customers know I’m a transsexual, would it?”

She gaped at me. “My God, you look so, so, so convincing. Steven is perfectly right, for once, I’d never have guessed. How long have you been planning this?”

I looked a little sadly at her. “All my life, but things kept getting in the way.”

“What do I call you?”

“Jane.”

She came over and gave me a hug.

“I think you look great. You must be so brave.”

“No, just committed.”

“Is your family supportive?”

Shaking my head, I told her how things were.

“Oh, you poor soul. Well, you can always come and stay with us if you need some time out. Anyway, you must come to dinner one evening, soon.”

“I’d like that, thanks.”

I made the coffees and returned to my customers. Steve and Sarah left me feeling far happier than I had been earlier. Slowly, good friends helped me build up my confidence. None of the customers suspected, or if they did, they hid it remarkably well. I so loved being Jane that I was getting up earlier and arriving at work up to half an hour before I had to.

I met Suzannah several times over the next few days. She was so off-the-wall, she helped me relax. I had to see my psychiatrist at the end of the first two weeks, as my RLT was supposed to start.

“Bollocks, you’ve already started,” Sue said, as we slowly walked round Harrods one Saturday morning. Mark had a lady who only worked Saturdays, giving me two days off, so I was grateful.

I adored walking round the store, just watching the customers. There were two types; those with money who thought nothing of buying tea bags for five times what you could get them in a supermarket. Then, there were those who had never been to Harrods before and wanted to buy something, but were having difficulty finding something cheap enough.

We walked past the lingerie department, so my eye caught some of the displays of bras and camisoles.

“Do you think I ought to have a boob job done?” I asked.

“Why, won’t yours grow big enough?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I’d just like to have my own. Perhaps if I had small ones, then when I grow a bit, I can either keep them or have them removed. What do you think?”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

“That’s a cop-out, Sue, what would you do?”

“I’ve never had big ones, but I think they’d get in the way. Mind you, they say girls are never happy with their boobs. Those with big ones want small ones, and vice-versa. I always wanted bigger ones, but in my line, there are ways of looking bigger, but never ways of looking smaller without excruciating pain.”

I cupped my bust area on the outside of my top. The breast forms were a C cup, so I would be happy if my real ones ended up the same size.

“Rachel says that even with the hormones, I probably won’t get more than a B cup at best.”

“Then go for a B insert, so when you grow to a B, you’ll be a generous C. Men seem to like big handfuls, as long as they don’t flop about and sag.”

I grinned.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“This conversation; it is so inconceivable that I’m actually seriously discussing such things. I mean, not that long ago, I was discussing about the best way of killing people!”

“Are you going to stand there, holding your boobs all day, or what?”

We laughed together and retired to the coffee shop.

As we made our way back to her flat later, she stopped me.

“Jane, I know you think you know what you want, but once you go for implants, it is a serious move.”

“I know.”

“Well?”

“I’ve an appointment with Rachel on Tuesday, the day after my supposed RLT start. I’ll speak to her about it.”

Tuesday arrived and I was early for my appointment with Rachel. I read an old copy of Cosmopolitan while I waited. Mark had arranged for Sarah to cover for my two appointments, so I wasn’t worrying about the shop.

She was faintly surprised to see me dressed, but very surprised to see me looking as convincing as I was.

“Gosh, look at you! How have the last couple of weeks been?”

“Fine. I never bothered with the gradual change, so I just went for it from day one.”

“How did you get on with Doctor Green?”

Timothy Green was the psychiatrist who’d been assigned my case. He worked closely with Mr Dennis Granger, the surgeon and specialist in SRS. I had yet to see the latter, as I had to be further down the road before he’d see me. In fact, he was unlikely to see me before Tim Green gave me the green light for the surgery (Sorry, bad pun!). I had, however, seen Catherine Reynolds, Mr Granger’s assistant. She was responsible for liaison with Rachel over my hormone regime and general condition. She was also the person to speak to about implants and minor cosmetic or correctional surgery.

“Tim was fine,” I told Rachel.

Actually, fine was an understatement. It was the main reason I was in such a good mood, so I shared the experience with Rachel.
 

*          *          *
 
I arrived early at Doctor Green’s consulting rooms in an annex behind Bart’s Hospital. Such is my military background that I had reconnoitred the area beforehand, so knew where to go. I was a stickler for being on time, so usually I was a few minutes early to anything, except dinner parties, as it is wholly inappropriate to arrive at the time specified.

I had approached the receptionist, whom, I found out, only had J. Allan in the book.

“Hello, I’m Jane Allan, to see Doctor Green.”

She looked up at me from behind her desk. She was roughly the same age as my mother, so she must be in her late fifties, with almost white hair.

She frowned, looked at the appointment book, shrugged and ticked me off.

“Please take a seat until called, Miss Allan” she said.

I waited for only a couple of minutes, for the doctor came out to personally call me in.

Timothy Green looked like a British Robin Williams in a beard and tweed suit. He appeared to be in his late forties, but he could easily been ten years either side of that estimation. He had a slight Yorkshire accent and, I found out later, a weakness for smoking a pipe, which was forbidden on hospital premises.

He looked round the waiting area, frowned and glanced at me. There were four psychiatrists working in this unit, so I guessed that he assumed I was waiting for one of his colleagues. He said something to the receptionist.

“But Miss Allan is here, Doctor,” the receptionist said, pointing in my direction.

It was a wonderful moment. He gaped at me, seemingly more astounded even than Steven and Sarah had been.

“Right, excellent, do come this way, um, Miss Allan,” he said.

I stood, smoothed my skirt and followed him into his consulting room.

“Please, sit, ah, Miss Allan. You’ve rather wrong-footed me; I’m ashamed to say. Um, may I just confirm that you were referred by doctor Rachel Hemmings?” he asked, as he sat opposite me in a matching armchair.

“Yes, and my real name is James Allan. I didn’t mean to confuse you, but I’m just happier as Jane.”

“I see. Now is this a permanent thing, or just for my benefit?” he asked, the abrupt question offset by a gentle smile.

“How permanent would you like it? I’ve known I was female inside since I was very young, but what with real life, I’ve only been living like this for a couple of weeks.”

He nodded, picking up my notes. I watched with detached amusement as he read them. I waited for him to reach the part about the army and, sure enough, he glanced up with a surprised expression.

“Let me know when you want to analyse the shit out of me.”

He chuckled, but moved on to read Lydia’s assessment, but then he closed the notes.

“Okay, let’s start again. I’m Tim Green, I was supposed to be preparing you to undertake a Real Life Test, but it seems we’re beyond that. Lydia seems quite convinced that you’re doing the right thing. Why don’t we just have a little chat and work out where we stand?”

Chat we did, or rather, I talked while he listened, making a few notes as I spoke. I went through my life in frank detail, occasionally having to answer his questions to clarify specific points of interest.

He then spent some time probing my inner thoughts and feelings. I decided that now was not the time to broach the subject of implants or cosmetic surgery. He was sympathetic, whilst remaining non-judgemental.

“You have to understand, I get many people who are convinced of their position, but often, when it comes down to reality, many just do not fully appreciate the ramifications of full gender transition. That’s why the real life test is the most important feature. If you can make a success of living as a female whilst still physically male, then you have a better than fair chance of making it as a woman.

“I have to say, I’ve met many who have believed they were prepared, but I find your attitude very unusual and refreshing. Sometimes the RLT can last up to two, or even three years. I’m confident we shan’t be as long as that.”
 

*          *          *
 
I finished recounting my experience to Rachel. She smiled, seemingly unsurprised at what I’d told her.

“Well, that’s the important bit done. You’re now away from the starting line and doing well. There’s a lot of ground to cover, and much of it won’t be easy. Are you prepared?”

“I think so. When do you think I’ll be ready for surgery?”

She chuckled again. It was a warm, rich sound.

“Not for at least a year. I want you to be completely stable on your hormones and your body as well developed as possible. I wouldn’t advise surgery until the end of next year at the earliest.”

“That long? I’d hoped for twelve months. I’d read that some only take twelve months.” I was disappointed.

“I’m not in the business of comparing patient with patient. Each person is different. You are a well-developed male in your mid twenties. Many teenagers aren’t so far down the road, so regardless of how well you appear to have adjusted on the outside, your body has a long way to go. There’s a lot more to being a woman that wearing the clothes of walking the walk.”

“I appreciate that, Rachel. I’m just so desperate to reach my life’s goal.”

“Jane, as I told you, you have a lot of ground to cover. The mental side is only one aspect, and it’s great that you seem to be psychologically adapted to this, but you have to be physiologically and socially adapted as well. The last one includes your family and your ability to exist in the world. Staying in a flat above a shop is not the whole world. You have to convince Tim that you can survive everything life can throw at you without suffering a mental breakdown.”

“I’ll be fine,” I protested.

“Jane, I think you probably will be, but I’ve sat here with patients who have thought the same as you, but in the end, they’ve not been ready and had a rethink. Please, let’s do it my way. Eighteen months is a short time to prepare yourself for the rest of your life.”

“I suppose so. I have to admit, my family is a real problem. My father will not accept what I’m doing.”

“That, sadly, is hardly unusual. The previous generation are less accepting over such things. I’m not asking you to do the impossible, but I simply need you to come to terms with their attitudes and just get on with life despite their feelings. Parental acceptance is sometimes the biggest hurdle that transsexuals face. Most want to be accepted, so when they face rejection, the potential for complications such as depressive illnesses are very high.”

I nodded, dismayed at the time factor. It seemed an age.

“Dear Jane, don’t be too downhearted, we will try to fill your year.”

That reminded me, so I steeled myself for the next rejection.

“Um, Rachel, I was asked a question by a girl friend, whom I have been spending some time with recently.”

“Yes?”

“We were buying some clothes, and she noticed my breast forms, well, will I need breast implants?”

“I don’t know. It depends on your development. I think I mentioned to you that some patients actually grow quite respectable breasts, but most tend to be on the small size. Why?”

“I think I’d like my own, before I get the rest done, that is.”

She looked at me from behind her desk.

“And?”

“I don’t want to be recognised by men I served in the army with. I’d like, if possible, to have some facial surgery to make me look less like James.”

She nodded, pursing her lips.

“It’s not cheap.”

“I’m aware of that, but peace of mind is without value. Wouldn’t it be to my advantage to feel more confident to go out and about?”

“You are a sneaky devil, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

“Okay, now let’s talk about this in more detail. What exactly would you want to have done, and why do you think they are important?”

“Nose, because mine is too big and since I broke it when I was sixteen, it’s always looked awful. My chin is rather too square, and my Adam’s apple, although not huge, is still evident with certain low necklines. I’ve heard that they can tighten the vocal chords to make the voice more female, if that’s right, I’d like to seriously think about it.”

“I’ll refer you to a cosmetic surgeon. However, it’s important that we’ll need Tim to approve any such step. I don’t want you to run before you can walk. Each step like this makes it harder to go back, should you wish to.”

“I don’t ever think I’ll want to go back.”

“You say that now, but you’ll never know what’s just around the corner.”

“Believe me, whatever is around the corner, I go forward.”

I left feeling that I’d taken a significant step forward, but learning that it would take so long was quite demoralising. As soon as I returned to my flat, I gave Suzannah a call. She was out, as her flatmate Lucy told me, she was actually working.

“Where?”

“She went to an audition last week, for some musical that’s been running in the West End for a few years. Anyway, she heard this morning, she’s got a part in the chorus.”

“That’s brilliant, which one?”

“Cats.”

“The Lloyd-Webber one?”

“Yup, good, eh?”

“Wonderful, so when’s she on?”

“Not for a week or so, they’re rehearsing the new members so they’ll be ready for the changeover.”

“Shit, that’s great. Can you ask her to call me when she gets a moment?”

“Sure, Jane, yeah?”

“Yup. She has my number.”

I hung up, suddenly feeling alone and wanting to talk to someone. It was the first of such moments, I was certain it wouldn’t be the last. I made myself some cheese on toast and curled up on the sofa to re-read my favourite book — The Masqueraders by Georgette Heyer. I had found the book when I had been about twelve. I had lost count how often I’d read it.

After a while, I put the book down and opened my journal, writing a few more pages, just bringing my story up to date. I went back to the beginning and started reading what I had already written. Some made me smile, but much brought tears to my eyes. My feelings were very different to events, and so often stories are simply a series of events, where feelings put in brief appearances to augment the storyline. My journal was a series of feelings, interspersed with events to cement them together and give them meaning.

I went to bed that night determined to try something different every day.
 

*          *          *
 
The next morning I awoke feeling depressed. I was unused to the constant mood swings, as they were very different to what I had experienced as James. The feeling continued over the weekend, and I found I had no energy or drive to do anything. I sat and watched the television, just eating sandwiches and feeling miserable, but determined to see it through. The phone rang at eight o’clock on Sunday evening, and to my delight, I found myself talking to Suzannah. My mood swing suddenly turned the corner.
 
 
Chapter 7. Learning to Walk, Before I Run
 
 
Suzannah waved at me as I skied to a stop by the small restaurant at the foot of the slopes. I grinned, kicked off my skis and left them in the rack and I clumped up the few steps to the deck on which she sat. The sun was out and the beautiful people were at play. I was wearing a lime green ski suit and felt sexy and much healthier.

It was April 1985, and Suzannah and I were in Risoul, France on a skiing holiday. It was my first holiday abroad since my RLT started. It was very hard, for I had taken the decision to have breast implants and facial surgery towards the end of 1984. However, the laws in the UK were such that I couldn’t get a passport as a woman, nor could I change my birth certificate. I was legally a male, regardless of what I looked like.

Despite my initial reservations of the length of time before I could have surgery, the first year seemed to have passed very quickly. I settled down as Jane, recording all the physiological and psychological changes I observed in myself as time passed. Work was brilliant, as Steven and Sarah became good friends, inviting me to their flat two or three times a month for dinner. I managed to ask them back to my flat occasionally, trying my hand at cooking properly for the first time. They were polite about my efforts, but Sarah decided to give me a few helpful hints and bought me some useful cookery books for idiots.

Although the shop was never desperately busy, it was busy enough to keep me occupied. Besides, I managed to write articles for several magazines in my down time, from which I earned a little income, but more importantly became known as the writer and journalist, Jane Allan, in certain circles. One of these was a magazine targeting tourists to London. I started by writing an article on eating out in the West End on a limited budget.

The editor liked it and published it, asking me for anything else I could produce. My next series was on shopping, firstly for clothes, then for gifts and finally for luxury goods. Suzannah and I spent much of our spare time walking down little streets and seeking outlets that offered good quality items at a reasonable cost.

The bonus came when a couple of airlines asked me to write for their in-flight magazines, to assist those visitors to Britain to find those parts of Britain that the tourist tours didn’t show. I found myself entering restaurants and pubs all over London and the South East, introducing myself and as a Food and Travel Guide, which resulted in me being treated like royalty by landlords and restaurant owners eager to attract foreign visitors.

Having dithered about having cosmetic surgery and breast enhancement for so long, it was actually a bit of a shock when the medics agreed that I was ready. There was less medical resistance to it as I chose to go private, so lessening the burden on the NHS. I was referred to a surgeon and just went for it. At the end of November 1984 Suzannah accompanied me to the small clinic in West London, and was the first person I saw when I woke up. I desperately wanted the SRS by this stage, as I really detested that vestige of manhood that forever lurked beneath my tight undergarments like a nocturnal mini-monster.

Whilst recovering from the surgery, I had an angry session with Tim, only calming down when I saw his worried face peering through his facial hair. I’d not lost my temper like that for a very long time, but the frustration really got to me, and I think he was able to judge my strength of feelings.

“Why do you think you are so emotional about this?” he asked.

“Emotional? It’s pure frustration at the length of time you medical experts are taking! If I buggered off to Bangkok and had the operation there, you’d be none the wiser.”

“You feel that strongly?”

“Yes I do. Look, I’m sorry I shouted at you, but I really want this.”

“You may think you do, but we have to be convinced it’s the best course for you.”

I sat back, as the tears started. I was almost speechless with frustration.

“What more do I have to do to convince you?”

To my surprise, he smiled.

“Nothing. I think I’m satisfied that the course we’ve set is the right one. I’ve already completed the final assessment and now we just need to refer you to the surgeon.”

“You knew this before I lost it?”

“Yes, but it was interesting.”

“Fuck you, doctor!”

He smiled again. “Oh dear, ever the soldier, eh Jane?”

Once my facial and breast enhancement surgery had been completed, I felt enormously more confident and as a result planned to venture out a lot more. The surgery had been quite unpleasant, but through the discomfort, I held onto the hope that the result would be worth it. It was, and I celebrated by changing my name by deed poll to Jane Allan. I didn’t want to apply for any legal documents, but after telling my bank, which now put Ms. J. Allan on my chequebook, I applied for a new passport, submitted with a letter from the doctor, and had it returned in the name of Jane, but still as a male. It was the same with my driver’s licence. I was Jane Allan, but a male. The British bureaucratic mind is a bugger!

Suzy and I became as close as sisters, and I couldn’t have gone through it without her. She was working again, having injured herself in CATS and had to leave, but picked up another couple of parts in short running TV shows.

We spent Christmas together, as neither of our families was eager to have us. My face was still puffy after my surgery, but my boobs didn’t ache any more. I simply adored them, the feel of their weight, their movement and the sight of them at my lower periphery of vision for most of the time. False breasts had been quite realistic, but, once the soreness had dissipated and the feeling returned to my nipples, I was ecstatic.

I spoke to my mother on the phone for some length on Christmas day, but my heart ached at the hardness of my father towards both of us. She desperately wanted to be there for me, but he had made it crystal-clear that she wasn’t to see me until I changed my mind and saw the light.

I cried on Suzy’s shoulder as we watched some old weepy film on the TV.

“You know what you need?” she asked.

“What?”

“A holiday.”

“At this time of year?”

“Well, there are places to go with sun, like the Canaries.”

“I’m not into lying on a beach. Not yet, anyway.”

“Okay, how about a winter sport holiday?”

“Like skiing?”

“Yeah, why not?”

I hadn’t skied for a while, not since the army. I’d completed an arctic survival course in Scandinavia, and then spent three weeks on a skiing course. I’d skied regularly over a six-year period. I was one sport I thoroughly enjoyed, and saw no reason why being a woman would change that.

I smiled, as suddenly that sounded like a good idea, and I could hide my imperfect body beneath layers of ski clothes.

“That sounds a lovely idea, but when?”

“I’ll pop into the travel agent tomorrow.”

“But my face is still swollen,” I protested.

“We can get some brochures, besides, you’re getting better daily.”

In the event, Suzy managed to get into a show in the West End that ran for twelve weeks, so the earliest date she could get away was just before Easter. By which time I hoped my features would be clear of swelling and puffiness.

By the time it came upon us, I was fine, but was terrified that I would be barred entry to France because I was travelling on a forged passport, but in the event, the bored official barely glanced at it.

We’d flown from Luton to Grenoble on a rainy Monday. It was a very early flight, and I was dressed in baggy sweaters and jeans. Suzy had told me to try to look like a male, but it didn’t work. My shape, my mannerisms, and with my long hair, I just appeared too feminine. In the end, I just went as me, hoping not to be marked as too much of a freak. I’d found a ski-suit in an Oxfam shop and hoped it didn’t smell too much of mothballs.

The plane was full, and I sat wedged between Suzy in the window and a spotty young man from Liverpool who had awful body odour. Having got up very early to catch the flight, I eased my seat back and slept for most of the way.

Queuing up for the Immigration was my worst moment. Suzy and I went forward together, and she handed over both passports to the French officer.

He took them, opened them, glanced at the photographs and then at us, moved them in front of the infrared scanner and gave them back without comment. He was already looking at the next person before I realised we were in.

Our apartment was a tiny single room affair, with a double bed that pulled out of the sofa in the living room. The kitchen was in a cupboard in the same room and the bath was so small one had to sit with one’s knees up by one’s ears. The loo was fun, as the hot water tank was above the cistern, but stuck out so when seated, one had to bend forward so one’s breasts lay across one’s knees.

But it was bright, comfortable and cheerful, with strawberry curtains, cushions and tablemats. We were on a tight budget, so the size didn’t dampen out excitement.

Suzy giggled as we struggled to get the bed sorted out.

“So, after all that we are going to go to bed together!”

“You stick to your own side, my girl,” I said.

She laughed and stuck her tongue out at me.

We gathered in the Pizzeria where the reps gave us a little chat and sorted out our ski passes and equipment hire. There were three reps, Michael, Jenny and Cathy. Michael came over as a very camp young man, whose northern accent caused me to smile whenever he spoke dreadful French. The two girls were fun, but I found out that both had developed relationships with ski instructors, and were far more interested in sneaking off in the evening to be with their boyfriends than to sort out our problems.

They tried to sell me the ski school, so were a bit miffed when I declined. I’d never taken any civilian tests, but I guessed that my standard of skiing was an advanced standard.

Suzy was a beginner. She’d been skiing once before, several years ago, so signed up for a class each morning.

“I’ll teach you, if you want to save your cash?” I offered.

“Don’t be silly, how else will I snare a gorgeous ski instructor?”

“Oh, so now you’ve me in your bed, you don’t want me?” I teased.

She just grinned and signed up.

“For those of intermediate or advanced standard, a ski ranger will take you on a ski trek that takes most of the day. That happens on Wednesday, but I need to know numbers by the end of today,” Michael said.

Shrugging, I signed up for that. I had the next day to familiar myself with the slopes and then it might be fun to go off with a ski party.

We managed to get out onto the slopes for the latter part of Monday afternoon. The main lifts were just a short distance from out little studio apartment. I was pleased my suit didn’t make me look conspicuous, as I saw several that matched it.

I was quite unfit and unused to the specific muscle use that skiing tends to utilise, but it didn’t take me long to get back into the swing of the sport. Initially, I remained with Suzy at the foot on the nursery slope, helping her get to come to terms with the awkwardness of having long planks attached to her feet for the first time. I showed her how to move and go up small slopes, both side edging and forwards. Then I showed her how to snowplough, and had her repeat a simple little routine of going up a small slope and then snowploughing down, until she was able to do it without falling over or collapsing in giggles every minute.

I may not have been as fit as I had been, but, although as a dancer she was fit, poor Suzy found herself using muscles she never knew she had, and went off to sit down at a nearby cafe and have a cold drink. I took the opportunity to go up the tow and have a reasonable ski down blue run.

The exhilaration of skiing came back to me, and I felt the pure enjoyment bubble up inside me as I swished down the slope. The blue run was too tame, so I went up a black run and really went for it.

It all came flooding back, only the last time I’d been a soldier with a heavy pack on my back, together with my personal weapon and all equipment. This time I had a small bum-bag with some lip-salve, sun cream and a pack of tissues. I forgot my problems, and became carried away by the pure pleasure of speed and enjoyment.

I took off over a crest and shot down the last slope towards where Sue was sitting. I adopted a racing crouch as the world whizzed past in a blur, swishing to a graceful stop in a spray of snow at the bottom.

Raising my sunglasses, I waved at Sue who was gaping at me in amazement.

“Wow!” she said.

“Not bad for a beginner,” I teased, taking off my skis and joining her at the small table. A waiter appeared, so I ordered a beer without thinking. I took off my hat and shook out my hair.

“You’ve done this before,” Sue said.

“Once or twice. I was regimental champion for two years running.”

She shook her head. “If only they could see you now.”

“Why?”

“Have you any idea how glamorous you look?”

I glanced at the windows of the café, seeing the reflection of a girl flushed with excitement and the wonder of fresh alpine air. The soldier was well and truly gone. I could hardly see any elements of my old hated self, but the inner fire of determination seemed to hide these from the outside world. I wouldn’t be happy until I was as close to being what I wanted as possible.

I smiled sadly as I sat next to her, loosening my heavy boots.

“You won’t be satisfied until they cut them off, will you?” she asked.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

She took one of my hands. “No one could ever tell!”

“I know, Suzy. That’s enough!”

The waiter appeared with my beer and we sat watching the afternoon sun go down.

“Are you going up again?” she asked.

“One more, then we’ll head back. Do you want to eat in or out?”

“Oh out, we didn’t come all this way to eat our own crappy food.”

Smiling I went back onto the snow, clicked my boots back into the skis and headed for the chairlift. I slid into the allotted place as a tall man skied alongside me to share the chair.

The chair swung round the turning wheel and we sat as it collected us and hoisted us off up the mountain with our skis dangling.

I watched the breathtaking panorama below as we trundled slowly up.

“You are English, yes?”

I looked at my companion. He was deeply tanned and had fair hair sticking out at the back of his white hat. I could see my reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. His accent wasn’t French, and instantly I remembered Martin, the German exchange student.

“Yes, German?”

“Ja. You speak German?”

Smiling, I shook my head. “No, but your English is good.” Having served in Germany with the British army, I knew a little German, but decided to keep quiet about it for now.

“Danke, I studied for a while in Scotland.”

My heart lurched, but he wasn’t Martin. He told me his name was Oscar, he was a dentist and he had studied at the Dundee Orthodontist College, only a few miles from my parents’ home. What a small world we live in!

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“We arrived today,” I said.

“You are alone?”

“No, I came with a friend, but she’s a beginner.”

“Ah, she?”

“Yes, she,” I said, smiling in spite of my embarrassment.

“Ah, you ski before?”

“Some. You?”

“I’ve been skiing all my life. Particularly in my gap year.”

“Weren’t you called up for military service?”

“Ja, the army needed dentists too,” he said with a grin.

The lift was nearing the top, so I prepared myself to leave the chair and ski off to the right. As the chair came up to the prepared ramp, our skis touched the snow and we pushed off and skied round to the top of the slope. There were some other tows heading up the mountain in three different directions.

“You go up more?” Oscar asked.

“I wasn’t going to, my friend is alone.”

“She is in the café, ja?”

“Yes.”

“Then she will be safe, I think. Come with me up to the top. You can ski red and black runs, ja?”

“Yes.”

“Then why not?”

I shrugged and simply followed him to the t-bar tow. Once again, we were together, but with the arms of the t-bar behind our bums and pulling us up the slope.

At the top, he skied off to the left and I followed, looping the straps of my ski-poles over my wrists.

“I go slow so you keep up, ja?”

Swishing past him, I grinned. “Try to keep up and I’ll go slow,” I said as I passed him.

I shot off down the first vertical slope. It hadn’t snowed up here for a while, to the slope was quite icy, and my skis slithered over the hard surface as I struggled to edge and control them. I executed a series of short parallel jump turns and found some softer snow to the left of the slope, I felt more secure and put on some speed, glancing back to see Oscar hurtling towards me.

I grinned, as overtaking him had dented his male pride, so I crouched and shot straight down the slope, easing a couple of turns to the less icy piste.

I held him off for half the slope, but as I was executing a turn, he shot past me and I just caught his grin. Now determined to catch him, I took a short cut, off-piste through the trees. I could see him making good headway on a slow dog-leg to the right, so swept back onto the piste just in front of him as we both rose over the second to last crest before the final slope.

He caught me up and we were level as we both took off over the last crest and from there down it was a desperate race. I was skiing much faster than my previous descent, so when we both came to a stop, the snow was sprayed onto the decking of the café. Suzy was covered in snow as I raised my sunglasses.

“Jane! That was fucking unnecessary!” she said, brushing the snow from her hair.

I glanced at Oscar. He was staring at me with something akin to awe on his face.

“What kept you?” I said, grinning.

“You ski very good!” he said, and I got the impression that was one heck of a compliment.

“Nah, just a beginner,” I said.

“Have you ever competed?”

“Not really, not on an international scale at any rate, why?”

“You are very good, you could win medals.”

“I won in-house competitions about five years ago,” I admitted, to which he nodded.

“I thought you were good.”

I looked at Suzy, to see her staring at me with a strange expression.

“You don’t hang about, do you, Jane?” she said.

While I laughed, Oscar skied over to me.

“You go up again, Jane?”

“Not today. I just need a shower and then we’re going out for a meal.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. We only arrived this morning, so don’t know the best places yet.”

“My girlfriend and me, we take you to a pizza, ja?”

“Your girlfriend?” asked Suzy.

“Ja, she is a dentist also, but she has not skied before, so she has been in ski-school all week.”

I relaxed enormously, but in a strange way was a little disappointed.

“There are six of us in the party, Rosa will be pleased to have female company, as she is the only girl in the group.”

“Six! Not all dentists, surely?” I asked.

“We have three dentists , a lawyer, an accountant and Martin is a teacher. We have all been friends for years, except Rosa, that is. I met Rosa at dental clinic.”

“In Dundee?”

He smiled. “No, I did post graduate work there, I did my training in Germany.”

“Ah. So why come here, to France? I’d have thought that Austria or Switzerland would have been closer.”

“There is not much difference in distance for us, but it is cheaper here.”

“Makes sense.”

“All those men with no girlfriends, sounds interesting,” said Suzy, grinning.

“I knew a Martin from Germany, once,” I said, casting my mind back to that smiling face of the first boy who ever kissed me. He was probably gay now, so I tried to dispel the memories and the poignant feelings that were attached to them.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, bringing me back to the present.

Suzy pointed at the small block of apartments.

“Gut! We are in this building here, so why not come here at seven o’clock - Apartment four; it’s the big one.”

With a final smile, Oscar skied off towards his apartment block. Suzy put her skis back on and we made slow progress over to our little studio. After leaving the skis and boots in the special store in the basement, we finally made it to out apartment. After a shower and a cup of tea, we started to change.

“Jane, I can’t believe you, managing to pull within five minutes of arriving here. You’ve put me to shame!”

I stared at my small selection of clothes. I hadn’t packed that much, as I’d not really imagined I’d be that active socially. Eventually, I chose a pair of jeans and a pretty top, under a big pink pullover with a leather jacket on top. Being April, the evenings weren’t as cold as during the winter months, but it was still dipping down to freezing.

“No short skirt?” Suzy asked, as I applied my makeup with nervous hands.

“No. People have a habit of falling into snow after drinking, so I want to be as warm as I can be.”

She chuckled, by I noticed she followed my example and wore jeans.

I was more nervous than I would admit, for I knew that underneath my clothes I was still male and, no matter what happened, I could never form any relationship based on the misconception I was a normal girl, and yet I wasn’t prepared to lie. I just hoped these people would be fun and not looking for anything I couldn’t deliver.

The other reason I was nervous was that someone called Martin was in the party. I told myself, repeatedly, that Martin was a common name and it would never happen that the Martin I met all those years ago would be this one. The last I’d heard was that Martin had gone off to the military before going to university. I hadn’t told him I had joined the army and so contact had been lost.

“Ready?” Suzy asked.

I suppose so.”

“Don’t look like that. It’s all your fault, you know?”

“I know, but it was different out on the slopes.”

“You’ll be fine, there’s absolutely no way that anyone can tell you’re, you know?”

“There’s one way.”

“Okay, but you’re hardly likely to whip down your knickers and shout about it, are you?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I suppose not.”

“Come on, it’ll be fine.”

I followed her out, locking the apartment door as I went.

The Germans were in an enormous apartment, three bedrooms, with a huge lounge/diner with kitchen area, and a wonderful balcony and view of the slopes. Our view of the car park was slightly boring by comparison. In fact, the whole place made our little place seem even smaller and pathetic.

Oscar answered the door, and introduced us to his girlfriend. Rosa was the exact opposite of what I expected. She was an attractive, but petite, dark-haired girl, and not the tall, buxom blonde Aryan I’d imagined.

Her English was not as good as Oscar’s was, but she seemed genuinely pleased to see us.

“A week wiz these men, pah, it is gut dat some more girls come,” she said, making me smile wryly.

“You like a drink, ja?” Oscar asked.

“If we’re going out, will we have time?” Suzy replied.

“Ja, why not? I have a beer, you like Schnapps, perhaps?”

“A beer’s fine, thanks,” I said, and Suzy followed suit.

One by one the other men appeared, each reacting to our presence in different ways.

Martin wasn’t my Martin, no real surprise there. However, he was tall, blond and very hunky. He was full of smiles and relaxed. He helped himself to a beer from the fridge and plonked himself on the sofa next to me. The other three were Rudi and Wilhelm, both dentists, and the accountant Franz. Rudi was short and plump, but his English was excellent. He’d spent two years in America, so had picked up a distinct American accent. He honed in on Suzy and immediately asked for her life history. As soon as he heard she was in show business, he was away.

Wilhelm was tall and thin, with very thick lenses in his glasses. He seemed to regard us with a curious aloofness and more or less ignored us after limply shaking our hands. Franz, however, was of medium build, reasonably good looking with short hair and a very dull sweater on. He looked like an accountant, but gave the impression that he was the shyest member of the group. He blushed furiously as soon as he introduced himself to us, and sat quietly in the corner, smiling vacantly. It was rather an uncomfortable and stilted situation, as I got the impression that things may have been a little strained amongst the group before we arrived. Conversation was a little forced, except for Rudi who was monopolising Suzy in a corner.

“So, Oscar says you are a very good skier,” Martin said to me.

“He’s kind. I’m a little rusty, as I haven’t skied for several years.”

“Nonsense, she is excellent. She raced me down the mountain this afternoon and beat me,” Oscar interrupted.

I blushed, despite myself.

“Where have you been skiing, before this?”

“Scandinavia.”

“Ah, langlauf, ja?”

“Yes, but I’m proficient in both downhill and langlauf. How about you?”

“I start only last year, so am not good yet.”

“Where did you learn English?”

“I go to London for a year in 1980.”

“It’s very good, do you teach English?”

He chuckled. “No, it is not that good.”

“What do you teach?”

“The mathematics and science. What do you do?”

“I manage a shop in London.”

“What kind of shop?”

“Old furniture and furnishings.”

After we all finished the beers, we set off to the restaurant. I found myself walking next to Martin, as he seemed interested in me.

“So, you are not married?”

I laughed. “No, you?”

“I’m, how do you say, betrothed?”

“Engaged.”

“Ja, engaged. I’m engaged. Elise is a teacher too.”

“She didn’t want to come?”

“Ja, she did, but her father is very ill, so she goes to help her mother. He is dying, I think.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I call her every day and promised to be good,” he said, grinning.

The Pizzeria was quite full, but there was a table for eight free. The beers started flowing, so everyone started to relax. I was sitting between Martin and Franz. The service was quite slow, but no one was in a hurry. Slowly a collection of empty beer bottles built up and eventually the pizzas arrived.

The food was great and the company, now they had chilled out, was good fun. Rosa got giggly when drunk and at the end a large round of liqueurs started a drinking game going. I didn’t even attempt to keep up as, in my experience, drinking games inevitably produced no winners, only losers. We left before we got thrown out and moved off to a small bar/night club. By eleven o’clock, most of the Germans were completely pie-eyed, so Suzy and I went back to our little apartment and went to bed.

I lay awake for some time, pleased that as far as the world was concerned, I was a normal woman. I reached between my legs, clasping that which I hated above everything else, and wept.
 
 
Chapter 8. Baptism of Fire
 
 
 
The holiday was a great success. The Germans were fun and, fortunately, not interested in forming any casual, or indeed, lasting relationships. All, that is, except Rudi, whom, I fear, thought he’d fallen in love with Suzy. I skied with Oscar most days, and occasionally with one or other of the ski guides.

We had a light breakfast each morning, then Suzy went off to ski-school while I went off up the mountain with a few of the more advanced skiers. We met for a light lunch and then I’d ski with Suzy and help her with what she’d picked up during the morning session.

We met many English skiers as well, which was just as well, for the Germans left after we’d been there four days. Rudi had expressed undying love for Suzy, who was grateful the passionate little German had finally gone home. I was able to concentrate on my skiing for the last few days, and despite meeting a dishy ski-instructor called Charles on the last evening, I was more than happy to still be unattached at the end.

When we arrived back in Luton, I was tanned, much fitter and feeling a whole lot more confident. However, a snotty young immigration officer brought me back down to earth with a thump, as he threatened to detain me for having a false passport. He actually read my passport and, although I looked like my photograph, there was no way I looked male.

I discovered he was just being bloody-minded for, after I had been taken to a small holding room and produced all the medical evidence and letters, his supervisor told me I was free to go. However, in a few minutes, he had undone all the gains I had made over the last few months. His supercilious sneer would remain in my memory for some time. It highlighted the no-mans land in which I existed until the final surgery put things as right as they could.

Poor Tim had to deal with a tearful Jane when I next attended his room for a consultation. However, rather than put me off my decided course of action, I found myself more determined to complete what I had started.

After I had calmed down and dried up, he shocked and surprised me.

“I’ve spoken to your doctor and the surgeon. We all agree that it would be appropriate that you undertake the SRS this year.”

I gaped at him. “This year?”

“Yes, this year.”

“About bloody time. When?” I asked, making him chuckle.

“Well, it won’t be until the autumn at the earliest, as Mr Simpson has a full schedule until then.”

“The autumn? Why not now?”

“Jane, the surgeon can’t fit you in until later in the year.”

“Then try another bloody surgeon!”

“It doesn’t work that way, and you well know it!”

“Oh Tim, why does it all take so long? Haven’t I passed the Real Life Test?”

“You’ve done very well and convinced me that you are perfectly adapted to your gender choice. I do, however, have one request.”

“Just one?”

“Just one. I believe you should seek closure with your family. It is the one piece of unfinished business that needs your attention.”

“I’ve been in almost daily contact with my mother. It’s only my father, but he just won’t budge. I have tried, honestly, I’ve tried very hard.”

“What exactly is the problem with your father?”

“I’ve gone through this so many times, I thought you wrote everything down, or are you just doodling?”

He smiled. “Humour me.”

I went through all my history with my father again. After I’d finished he looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I think, in the circumstances, that it may be better for you to wait until you’ve had your surgery. Otherwise, he may see that you have a way back, so could feel he could try to emotionally blackmail you into stopping in your tracks and doing what he wants you to do. So, if you present yourself as a woman, with nothing to go back to, he may have to accept you for who you are.”

“Yeah, like that’s likely!”

“Jane, your family is important. They brought you into the world, so they should be given the option to remain close to you for the next part as well, so the effort may be worth it. I’ve seen so many families ripped apart by what you are going through, if there’s a chance to rectify things, it’s worth taking.”

He changed the subject and I was relieved, as my family was a real source of distress.

With my name in the surgeon’s diary, I went to see him for my first appointment three weeks later, in May.

Robert Simpson was the epitome of the eminent surgeon, with pinstripe suit and supercilious arrogance.

I think my appearance surprised him, as he raised his bushy eyebrows as I walked in wearing a figure-hugging summer dress.

“My word, there are no doubts what you need, are there?”

Despite his air of superiority, he was an utter gentleman, conducting a complete examination. It always made me smile when doctors ask you to go behind a screen to strip off and then see you naked anyway.

“You seem very fit,” he said, as he ran his eyes over my body.

“I try to keep fit, but sometimes I find it hard. I just get lethargic.”

“That’ll be the hormones.”

“So I understand. I try to maintain a regime at the gym.”

“You had these enhancements done recently?” he asked, feeling my breasts.

“Just before Christmas.”

“Hmm, why?”

“My life has been a pretence up to now, so I wanted something to reflect the real me.”

“You haven’t stopped growing, so you may need them removed if they get too big.”

“I’m aware of that.”

He simply nodded. “Who did them?”

“Doctor Gorman, at the Pines Clinic.”

“I know of him; he’s done a good job. You’ve a super shape, how long have you been living full time?”

“About a year.”

“Problems?”

“Only with an immigration officer and my father.”

He chuckled, examining my hated genitalia.

“Any pain?”

“Just that they’re still there.”

He smiled again. “When did you last get an erection?”

“Months ago, about ten months.”

“Are you involved with anyone?”

“No. Not for a couple of years.”

“Not that it’s relevant, but was that with a male or a female?”

“You’re right, it’s not relevant, and neither is it any of your business.”

He smiled again. “Let me put it this way, if I’m to give you functioning female genitalia, I need to know whether you need it deep enough to accommodate a male, or that depth isn’t that important. If you get my drift?”

I flushed in embarrassment. “I’d like it as deep as possible, but if you must know, I’ve never had a male homosexual relationship, or even an experience. All my previous relationships were with girls, but since starting this route, I’ve not had a relationship with anyone. However, I fully intend being a heterosexual female. If I’m allowed to, that is.”

“Interesting. I take it your previous relationships were based on other’s expectations rather than inner conviction?”

“Possibly. I have to admit to being somewhat confused over diverse things as sex and gender.”

“I read your file. You served in the army.”

“I did.”

“Parachute Regiment?”

“Correct.”

“So did I, in the Royal Army Medical Corps.”

“When?”

“Before you by a good fifteen years.”

He asked me to roll over onto my side and then did something unpleasant with two fingers up my arse.

“Never had anal sex?” He sounded surprised.

“No. I told you.”

“If a man came into your life today, would you consider it?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Hard to say. Probably not, as I have to admit to not thinking about sex at all. If a man were that foolish, I’d prefer him to wait until I was complete. I may be confused, but I’m not stupid. I’ve read about the disadvantages of abusing your body. I’m proposing to have you surgically abuse it, so I don’t think I want to risk STDs or ruining my sphincter just for a squishy moment.”

“Okay, I’m done,” he announced. “You have a refreshing attitude, but then you aren’t exactly my usual type of patient.”

“No?”

“Go get dressed. You, dear Jane, are one determined young woman, despite those meagre offerings between your legs. Your history shows that you’ve put your heart and soul into trying to do what others expected, with what you were born with. Yet, you still failed to find satisfaction. Are you satisfied now?”

“I will be, when you’ve done the last little bit.”

He nodded. “You know, I think you will be.”

“So, how soon?”

“Well, I’m committed up to October, so I’ll check my diary and get in touch with your GP with a date.”

“That’s five months away!”

“I’ll try to schedule you in as soon as possible.”

I had to be satisfied with that, but I wasn’t happy. I returned to the shop feeling frustrated and impatient. There was light at the end of the tunnel, but it was still too far away for my liking. I called Suzannah, but found she was tied up with her TV series, but Steve and Sarah were wonderful, inviting me back to their flat for dinner that evening.

Life settled back into a routine. Living as Jane was natural now, so everyone who knew met me believed I was a woman. Those few who knew the truth, ignored it and treated me as if I’d always been female.

Mark and Rod were great, allowing me a measure of freedom to run the shop. I’d even travelled to the continent on four occasions, in search of small businesses that were looking to expand into the British Market. Each time I had travelled by plane and taxi, unwilling to risk having an accident as a female on a male’s passport. It was just too much like hard work, and I was desperate to have my final surgery, so I could have that word ‘female’ entered in my official documents.

As a result, I’d introduced a new line of European items, bought in from Germany, France and Italy. I’d found an Italian sofa company that was credible competitor to Parker Knoll, but much more reasonable. The Germans produced a range of high-quality, dark-wood reproduction furniture that seemed to be quite fashionable. While genuine antiques were prohibitively expensive, these were within most people’s price range, and looked smart in modern or traditional settings. While the French ceramics were bright and cheerful, they were also cheaper than some of the more up-market British varieties.

In my time in the shop, my new ranges had brought in a healthy profit, so Mark and Rod concentrated on their specialities by going to auctions and travelling up and down the country in the search of bargains that they could turn into a high return in their other shops. I was finding it hard work having to be in the shop all day and dealing with my foreign suppliers, transport companies and customers on the telephone. My writing sideline seemed to suffer, even though I had an occasional article to write, it was a real effort to find the time. However, being busy is the best way of making time seem to pass faster.
 

*          *          *
 
It was August before I knew it and, despite badgering the surgeon, I still didn’t have a date for my SRS. One Monday morning, I was dealing with a client in the shop when Mark came in. He often popped in on his way somewhere, just to keep in touch and to catch up with what was happening.

Steve and Sarah were in Norfolk, having taken a huge van up to collect some old furniture from a manor house near Kings Lynn. Apparently, an American buyer had bought the old place, including contents, and wanted everything restored. Most of the furnishings were from the 1890-1925 period, and some was even older. He’d advertised his requirements in an Antique furniture magazine, welcoming tenders for the job. Steve had driven up there, taken a look at the items and then he and Sarah had worked out what they thought they could charge.

They submitted their estimate, never believing they had a chance to win the job, but five weeks later, they received a letter accepting their bid and an invitation to go and collect the items that needed restoration.

It was a big job, so a lot of the local trade would have to be shelved, unless we found someone to help them. Mark had done just that, for with him was an older man with a beard and slight paunch and an attractive, plump woman with a lovely smile. I guessed they were both in their late forties or early fifties. I finished with the client and went over to them.

“Ah, Jane, my love. Are you well?” Mark asked, as he kissed my cheek.

“I am, thanks boss. What brings you down to the dungeons, to see your lowly serfs?”

Laughing, he introduced me to the couple.

“This is Jane Allan, my strong right arm and manager of the shop. She’s been with me for over a year now, and I trust her implicitly. Jane, these good people are Robert Musgrove and his wife Julie. Robert has just accepted a post of assistant restorer to Steve, and Julie is willing to work part time in either the rear or front of the shop, wherever there’s a need. They’ve two teenagers at school, so Julie will be working from ten to three every day. They’ll be starting tomorrow.”

We shook hands solemnly and chatted with Mark for a few minutes before he made his excuses and left. The couple looked at me expectedly, so I showed then round the shop and the workshop at the back.

Julie was chatty, I suspected she was nervous, but I gathered that Robert had been in teaching and had left after an unpleasant incident. When she shut up long enough, I managed to get him to speak.

“So, what brings you into this line of work?” I asked him.

“I was teaching at a secondary school in Walthamstow when I was assaulted in the playground. I just had had enough, so I gave in my notice. I’ve always been interested in restoring furniture and taught carpentry for twenty years. I went on a restoration course in Epping, close to where we live, and saw Mr Riley’s advert in a magazine while I was doing the course.”

I smiled at him calling Mark, ‘Mr Riley’. I’d never heard him described as that before. “Do you still live in Essex?”

“Yes, but the tube link is very quick. We may move closer, but the kids are in school out that way, so we shall have to see.”

“How about you, do you commute?” Julie asked me.

“No, I live in the flat above the shop.”

“Aren’t you married?”

I smiled. “No, I’m not married, yet.”

“Can I ask how old you are?”

“You can ask; I’m twenty-eight.”

“I was married before my twentieth birthday, wasn’t I, Rob?”

“Yes dear, you certainly were.”

“Well, I’m still waiting for Mr Right,” I said, feeling awkward.

“Oh you won’t have to wait long, not an attractive girl like you.”

I smiled and led them back to the shop. I found out that Julie was a seamstress and had worked for herself making curtains and cushions from home. She also had worked in a shop when they were first married, so when Rob found out that her skills would be useful in this job, he asked if Mark could use her as well. Mark was delighted, as we desperately needed the help in both quarters - helping Sarah and helping me.

“Will I be able to work in the shop?” she asked me.

“Of course, if you want to. Actually, Sarah will probably have more for you to do than I, but there are some times it becomes quite manic in here. I may have to do a bit of travelling, to look after my suppliers and keep on top of orders, so it will be so helpful to have someone to deal with the shop. We don’t get that many cold callers, so you’ll be able to make curtains and stuff as well as look after the shop.”

“It’s been a while since I last went out to work, but now the girls are older, it’s quite exciting.”

“How old are your girls?”

“Amy is sixteen and Sandra is fourteen. So we’ve our hands full with boyfriends at the moment,” Rob said.

Julie found the kettle and made us a cup of tea, as I answered the phone. It was my contact from the German furniture company.

I’d met Carl Braun in Bonn in June, and he’d taken me to Aachen and shown me around his brother’s factory. Carl actually ran the retail outlet that sold both his brother’s furniture and some stock from other companies. He was in his forties and spoke excellent English. I’d stayed with him and his wife for two nights as we’d worked out a deal.

After the usual pleasantries on the phone, he came straight to the point.

“Jane, I have found another company that wants to expand into London. Would you be interested?”

“What kind of company?”

“They make high quality cabinets for music centres and televisions. Most of the electrical equipment is quite hideous, so they make a variety of cabinets, with or without the electrical components, either as a standard size or to order.”

I was interested, as customers often asked me about such cabinets. The music centres were a thing of the seventies, so the tower systems were beginning to become fashionable, but looked awful in more traditionally furnished homes.

“You say to order, what time-frame are we talking about?”

“It depends, but no longer than six weeks for the more obscure sizes. You’d better speak to the owner.”

“Is he there?” I asked.

“No, but if you come over, you could see for yourself.”

“I’m not planning a trip for a while, can’t he call me?”

“He could, but I thought you’d get a better idea by seeing his factory. He is very interested in getting into the London market, and I know your outlet is ideally placed.”

“We’re not the biggest shop, I’m sure there are more appropriate outlets.”

“His is a small company, just six or seven men, so your turnover would be ideal for him. I know from what you sell from us.”

“Do you sell his cabinets?”

“Some, as I act as an agent for him.”

I didn’t want the hassle of travel, as I just wanted to get my surgery out of the way first. My reluctance seemed to have been evident, for Carl commented.

“There is a Home and Garden Exhibition in Aachen next week, so you could see all the competition,” he suggested.

“I don’t know, I’m very busy,” I said, stalling. Julie handed me my tea and I realised that I was stalling for personal reasons and not professional ones. The smoked glass cabinets currently available in the UK were, quite frankly, crap, so I owed it to Mark and Rod to at least look into viable alternatives.

“Oh, all right. Can you pick me up from the airport again?”

“Ja, of course. I will bring Martin with me so he can tell you of his product.”

My heart lurched at the name, so I told myself to stop being stupid.

“Martin?”

“Ja, Martin Stressler, it is his company.”

I went numb. It couldn’t be the same as my Martin from School, it just couldn’t be. Then I recalled that Martin had lived in the same area.

“W-wh-when?” I stammered.

“The exhibition starts on Saturday and ends the following Saturday. We have some preparation to do, so I suggest tomorrow or Wednesday. I’ll have to call Martin and see when it is best for him.”

I put the phone down, observing that my hand was shaking.

“Are you all right, dear?” Julie asked.

“Yes, fine. It looks like you’ll get your baptism of fire, as I may have to fly to Germany tomorrow or Wednesday. I’d better show you the ropes.”

We spent the rest of the morning showing both of them how the shop ran, how the diary worked and how orders were completed. I had a simple card system with all the suppliers’ details, so orders could be rung through while the client was still in the shop and details confirmed by fax later.

Both Julie and Rob seemed to understand the system, so I let Julie deal with the next customer, a man who wanted an elderly sofa restored and recovered. Rob arranged to met the man at his home and examine the item. They were cheerful and polite, so I felt confident they could cope. I rather hoped that I could have at least one day with them before going to Germany.

Carl rang back to tell me that Wednesday would be best, so I heard myself agree to fly out to meet him and the mysterious Martin. I then rang Mark and told him of my opportunity to go to Germany. He was delighted, for any opportunity to improve sales and increase our share of a very competitive market was a bonus. He even offered to buy my ticket. As it was first class, I didn’t fight him to hard to let him do so.

“Well done, just make sure the new bods get the hang of the shop tomorrow, and have a lovely week.”

The next day saw Julie and Rob get their feet under the table, so to speak. Rob went off to meet his man with the sofa, while Julie handled the shop customers. Steve and Sarah returned at lunchtime, just as Rob returned, so together we all unloaded the huge van of about fifteen bulky items of furniture and several other small pieces, all requiring some love and attention.

Rob discussed his sofa job with Steve, so the pair of them worked out a quote. Steve was delighted with the newcomers, while Sarah was equally relieved to have some help. The American client was demanding a complete replacement of all curtains in the traditional style, so Sarah had taken sample material to get his decision, and now had the marathon task of completing at least thirty-eight sets of curtains initially, with many more at a later date.

At the end of Tuesday, I was satisfied that the shop was in four good sets of hands, and so I booked my flight to Bonn on a Lufthansa flight and was almost giddy with nerves.

I had a simple supper while watching TV in my flat, wondering whether he would be the same Martin and whether he would recognise me. If he didn’t, then I wondered if I should tell him the truth. I packed my suitcase and went to bed.

I didn’t sleep for a very long time. Partly it was excitement, partly fear and partly dread. What if it all went horribly wrong and I lost all the accounts as a result?

Eventually I drifted off to an uneasy sleep.
 
 
Chapter 9. A Surprise
 
 
I was at Heathrow by seven thirty, a good two hours before my flight was due, having been up since before six. I’d showered and dressed, taking more than usual trouble over my makeup and choice of clothes. I went for a smart but sexy look with a tight black skirt, with single slit at the rear, a tight, pale rose sleeveless top and a jacket matching the skirt. I wore seamed stockings and shoes with quite high heels.

I stared at the finished product in my full length mirror, trying desperately to see whether anyone could tell if I was a male, or if I was that James Allan whom I thought was now gone. I hoped and prayed that those who looked at my passport wouldn’t be too critical. It would be such a wonderful day when I could simply have ‘F’ in the correct place.

As it happened, I needn’t have worried, for if the girl on the Lufthansa desk noticed she didn’t bat an eyelid or let on she’d done so. My ticket was waiting for me, in the name of Ms Jane Allan, so who was she to worry about a misprinted r or s. I only had a small suitcase which disappeared swiftly down the maw that was the underbelly of Terminal Two at Heathrow. The Immigration Officer on the desk for departures didn’t even glance at the passport as I whizzed past. He was more interested to see that I had a boarding card.

Once through I went to the first class lounge and pretended to relax before they announced my flight. I drank copious amounts of orange juice, as I felt it was too early to imbibe on the free champagne. I had to go to the loo, where I tried to work out why I was so wound up.

I hadn’t corresponded with Martin for over ten years, and hadn’t seen him for even longer. He would probably not remember me, and he certainly wouldn’t recognise me as that pimply youth with a penchant for dressing up as a girl.

Still, I was very nervous. I finished what I had come to do, and fiddled with my make up, using the washroom mirror. While I was there, a very elegant lady came in. She was a good fifty, but looked wonderful. I was still preening when she came out of her stall. She glanced at me and smiled.

“Haven’t seen him for a long time, eh?”

I gaped at her, nodding vacantly.

“He’ll still love you, men are like that!” she said, as she checked her own makeup.

“How did you know?” I asked, on finding my voice.

“You have the look.”

“The look?”

“The look that tells everyone that you want him to still love you.”

“Oh,” I said, rendered speechless.

She left me alone with my reeling confusion. I stared at my reflection, trying to see this look. I couldn’t see anything.

Eventually, they called the first class passengers to the flight after the rabble had already boarded and were fighting over every square inch of space. The German crew were very efficient, and we were airborne after quite a short time.

I read the in-flight magazine and tried to calm myself down. The food and drinks were very pleasant, but all the drink managed to do was make me need the loo again. The man next to me was a German businessman who tried to make conversation with me, but he and I had neither the language nor the common interests to make a go of it.

The flight wasn’t a long one, so before long we were landing at Bonn. I followed the rabble to the feared Immigration desk. The Immigration officer glanced at my British passport vaguely and waved me through. From there I went to the baggage claim, collected my small case and walked through the EC customs channel. An automatic door opened and I walked out to a sea of faces, all staring at me. My heart lurched as I suddenly feared that everyone knew I was a man dressed as a woman.

No one screamed or pointed at me, so I just kept moving on wooden legs. I saw a large man waving in my direction. It was Carl. I smiled and waved back, making my way through the milling throng to where he was standing. He gave me a hug and kissed my cheek as if we were old friends.

“Ah, Jane, is good to see you. You look very good, ja?”

“I’m fine thanks, Carl. How are you?”

“I’m very well. Now is that all you have?” he said, eying my small case.

“I travel light.”

“Gut, now, where is Martin?” he said, looking around.

My heart lurched again.

“He is here?” I asked, a little more shrill that I meant to. Luckily, Carl didn’t notice.

“Ja, he went to get a coffee. Ah, there he is!” he said, pointing down the concourse.

I followed his pointing finger with my eyes and saw him.

He had changed, but not that much. He was a little bigger, broader but staggeringly handsome. He was better than my dreams. I felt weak at the knees.

“That’s him?” I asked, weakly.

“Ja, you will like him, I think.”

Martin approached, meeting my eyes. I was transfixed, and I found I couldn’t break off my gaze even if I wanted to.

“Ah, Martin, this is my good friend Jane from England. Jane, my colleague, Martin Stressler.”

He held out his hand, so I took it. His hand was huge, warm and dry. His grip was firm but gentle, if that makes sense. Some men try to show you how strong they are by crushing the life out of your fingers. Martin just held my hand, giving it a soft squeeze. Our eyes remained locked.

“Jane, I m very pleased to meet you. I have heard a lot about you from Carl.”

“Likewise,” I mumbled. “Your English is very good.”

“Thank you. I was fortunate to be involved in a school exchange when I was younger. I spent several months at a school in Scotland. You know Scotland, perhaps?”

“A little,” I said, breaking the gaze reluctantly, for Carl was trying to get us to go with him.

Still Martin retained hold of my hand, and I didn’t want him to let go.

“Come! We must go now. Martin, you can talk to her in the car, ja?”

I looked up and he was frowning as he looked at me. I smiled and he released my hand, smiling in return.

We walked out into the hot summer sunshine. The car park was roasting, but fortunately, Carl’s Mercedes was only a short walk from the building, so within minutes we were heading out of the airport towards Aachen. Both men insisted that I sit up front with Carl, and Martin leaned forward so we could speak easier. I caught the scent of his aftershave and felt quite heady.

I told myself to stop living in a dream world. The man was probably married with several children.

“So, Jane, you like Germany?” Martin asked.

“Ja, ich mag Deutschland.”

Carl looked at me sharply. “I didn’t know you could speak German?”

“Es gibt ein Los á¼ber mich, da០Sie noch nicht wissen,” I said. (There's a lot about me that you don't yet know.)

Both men laughed, but I was aware that Martin was frowning again.

“You are very like someone that I once knew, I think?” he said in English.

“Oh?” I said, as calmly as I could, while my heart rate increased a hundredfold.

“I can’t place it, but I will remember who.”

Carl then changed the subject to furniture, so I started to relax a little. However, just being in the same car as Martin was enough to get me going. I had wondered how I’d react, and whether I’d actually manage to feel like a heterosexual woman. Now I knew! The daft thing was, I hadn’t actually thought about sex in a very long time. Being held and cherished, occasionally, but actual sex, rarely. The hormones had reduced not only my sex drive, but also the mental stimulation linked to it.

I wanted him to hold me and kiss me more than anything at this moment, yet I had to maintain polite and interested conversation about furniture.

It took us about an hour to reach the small town where both men worked. They’d arranged for us to have lunch with Carl’s wife, Helga, before heading off to Martin’s small business. I planned to stay at a hotel, but that could come later.

Helga was pleased to see me, remarking on my clothes and looks.

“You look better than last time, have you lost weight?” she asked.

Actually, I had put a little on, but simply smiled and nodded. I wasn’t going to discuss the trials and tribulations of oestrogen, and of the redistribution of body fat.

Lunch was a quiet affair, dominated by Carl’s comments about the furniture business and the possibility of re-unification.

“There is a move to re-unify, if it does, it’ll be the end of our success. The East is so poor that it’ll drag the rest of us into a recession.”

“Do you think they will?” I asked Martin, whom I noticed kept glancing at me.

“Not for a few years. Their government is in trouble, and as long as Gorbachov keeps pulling Russia towards democracy, then East Germany won’t be far behind. I think before 1990, we will see one Germany again.”

“Exciting times, then?”

“Frightening time, more like,” said Carl. “We don’t want or need the East. Best they stay on their own.”

“Ja, but they need us,” said Martin.

“Pah, only because they’ve ruined a perfectly good country.”

I helped Helga with the washing up.

“Martin, he likes you, I think,” she said to me once we were alone.

“You think? Isn’t he married?”

She laughed. “Nein, I don’t think he has ever had a girlfriend, even. There was talk he was gay.”

“Really?”

“But I see how he looks at you, I’m sure that man is not gay. If he is, he is going a good job pretending not to be.”

I flushed and concentrated on drying up the glasses.

“You like him a little too, perhaps?” she asked, glancing at me shrewdly.

I smiled. “Perhaps, a little.”

Who the hell am I trying to kid? I was still in love with the man; or was it simply infatuation, built up by years of daydreams?

After lunch, we went to Martin’s factory. It wasn’t so much a factory, as a large room in an old building. He had half a dozen men working making good reproduction cabinets. The wood was heavy and dark. The weight denoting the quality, as there was walnut, mahogany, oak and some rosewood. Some clients requested leaded-light glass fronts, while others had solid wood doors. There was a smell of wood everywhere, added to the various varnishes and other treatments, it was quite heady. The sheer variety of choice impressed me the most. Eat your heart out MFI, I thought.

Carl had to leave us for a while, promising to be back later. I found myself alone with Martin for the first time. He was enthusiastic about his production team and the products, showing me some finished articles awaiting despatch to the clients. We then retired to his office on the next floor where we talked over prices and transportation costs.

I was impressed with the products, as they were exactly what we needed at a cost we couldn’t match in England. I made a decision to buy his product.

We negotiated for a while, and I agreed to guarantee minimum orders of ten units a months for the first five months. He gave me a base quote, not including special requests. We worked out a deal that included transportation and delivery and I promised to let him have a contract with an initial order on my return to England.

We shook hands and he opened a bottle of sparkling German wine.

“Cheers!” he said as we chinked glasses.

I laughed, pleased to have made such progress on the first day. I was also simply pleased to be with him.

“Ah! I remember. You remind me of a boy I meet at the school in Scotland. Ha, it was so long ago, yet I still remember!”

“That’s met. You met him at the school.” I said, automatically correcting his English.

He went very pale, putting his glass down on the desk. I noticed his hand trembled. I felt detached, calm and somehow above emotion for a change.

“Nein, no! You are not…..”

I said nothing. I needed him to work this out himself.

“It can’t be. You are a woman, but he…. But you look like him, only more beautiful and, and, and a woman. You’re not….”

“Not what?” I asked, innocently, as he was clearly having problems.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head and laughing nervously. “I am stupid. I think for a moment that you were the same person. You see, he used to help me with my English, just like you done.”

“Did, Martin. Just as you did.”

He stared at me again, frowning so deeply that I thought his eyebrows would meet.

“This is not possible!”

“What isn’t?”

“You are a woman, ja?”

“What do you think?”

I watched as he looked down my body, taking time to take in the swell of my very real breasts and obvious cleavage, my slim waist, feminine hips and bottom. His gaze travelled down my legs to my high heels and then back up to my face. I felt exposed and almost naked under his gaze. I hardly dared breathe.

“Jane?”

“Ja?”

“You are Jane?”

“Oh yes, that’s my name.”

“You are Jane Allan?”

I nodded.

“My Jane?”

“Your Jane?”

“I met a girl once. She was the creature of my dreams, for she was hidden away by a cruel twist of fate. For ten years, I have carried her memory, waiting and hoping in vain for her to be set free. Are you my Jane?”

This was unreal. I couldn’t believe he was saying this to me. My Martin had carried me in his dreams, just as I carried him in mine. I wasn’t aware, but I started to cry.

“Ich bin Ihr Jane!” I stammered. “I’ve always been yours!”

He crossed the few feet between us, taking both my hands in his. I was tall in my heels, but I still looked up into his blue eyes.

“How?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“It is miracle, ja?”

“That’s, it is a miracle,” I said, making him smile.

He let go of my hand and raised one finger to my cheek, catching one of my tears. He licked his finger and caressed my hair.

“Tell me, how did this happen?”

I couldn’t get the words out quick enough. I’d rehearsed this speech hundreds of times, yet it all came out in a rush. He pulled me gently to a sofa at one end of the office, where we sat holding hands as I told him my life story.

When I finished, he simply stared into my eyes.

“So, in a few months, you will be a complete woman?”

I nodded.

“I think you complete now, ja?”

I smiled, looking at our clasped hands. “I am now I’ve found you again.”

“Sweet Jane, I have never forgotten our first kiss. Have you?”

I shook my head.

His lips found mine, and this time I was ready, willing and able to respond. I reached up behind his head and held him tightly as we kissed. It was my first real kiss, for, although as James I had kissed, this kiss was the first time I had ever kissed someone with whom I was in love.

I forgot time and the rest of the world, as we simply floated together above everything for several moments of true bliss.

Eventually, we had to breathe, so we broke off. I was still crying, but they were pure tears of relief and happiness.

“We marry now, ja?”

“Oh Martin, we can’t!”

“Then you come and live with me, ja?”

“Not yet, I have things I have to do, like finish what I’ve started.”

“Ah, the operation, ja?”

“Ja.”

“I wait, I am good at waiting.”

Smiling, I kissed him again. It just felt so wonderful to be held by him. Words could never express my feelings at that moment. I knew that any chance of a lasting relationship was not good, but at this moment I was more content than at any time in my life.

“You didn’t really wait for me?” I asked.

“Perhaps not, but I dream of you every night. I didn’t know if I was gay or straight, but in my dreams always you are the girl. I go out with girls, but they are not like you. I try go out with a beautiful boy once, but I find that I was not gay.”

“Oh, Martin, you poor fool.”

“Maybe, but the fool has found his dream, ja?”

“Oh ja, bloody ja!”

A very bemused Carl walked in to find us on the sofa, deep in conversation. That wasn’t the problem, but as we were holding hands, his eyebrows almost took off.

“Mein Gott! That was fast!”

“Jane and I are old friends. We met once in Scotland, many years ago. It took us some time to realise.”

“He was the first boy ever to kiss me,” I said.

“I don’t believe it, how did this happen?”

I looked into Martin’s eyes. “Fate.”

“Luck,” he said, grinning.

The remainder of the day was like a dream. Martin took me to meet his parents, telling them I was the sister of a boy he met at school. His parents were very kind and welcoming. I almost cried, for his father bore me no ill will, despite losing his own parents in the bombing of Germany by the RAF in the war.

My own father would be so bitter if I ever introduced Martin to him. I dropped the thought, as it brought home some dark feelings. I had dinner with them and, as his parents didn’t speak English, I practised my rusty German.

Towards the end of the meal, his mother turned to me and said, “I am so pleased that you are here, we’d almost given up hoping that Martin would ever have a girlfriend.”

“Mother, please!” said Martin, going red.

“Well, it’s true. Jane is the first girl you have ever brought home!”

“I’ve been out with lots of girls.”

“Maybe, but this is the first time you’ve been proud enough to bring one home, that’s all I meant.”

Martin looked at me, smiling through his embarrassment.

“Jane is special.”

I couldn’t contain myself and burst into tears and ran to the bathroom. I know I surprised and shocked them, but the emotion just built up. My emotions, somewhat resembling a rollercoaster, when linked with my hormones, were up and down with out warning. The warmth of this family, their acceptance of m and the stark comparison with my own family were too much for me.

Martin knocked on the bathroom door. Sniffling, I let him in. He simply held me, saying nothing. Strangely, I believe he understood what had set me off.

After a few minutes, I returned with him to the dining room, having first repaired my makeup. I apologised to his parents, explaining that my own family was so different, it caused me problems to be suddenly welcomed into their family without reservation. They were very kind and that almost made me cry again.

Frau Stressler asked where I intended to stay. When I explained I was planning to book into a hotel, she would hear nothing of it, insisting I say with them, in their spare room.

That day had been so perfect, ending with a goodnight kiss from Martin, I thought things would only get worse. I was wrong, as the rest of the week possessed a dream-like quality, whereby I kept expecting to wake up at home.

I spent most of my time with Martin, much to the amusement of his colleagues and workers. At the weekend, together with Carl and a couple of other craftsmen, we went to the home exhibition, where each had small displays of their products,

It was like a miniature version of the Ideal Home Show held in London’s Earl’s Court. While Martin and Carl tried to drum up trade, I wandered the aisles, finding several exhibitors that had products we could use back in London.

For the first time in my life, I actually felt like the person I knew I should always have been. Apart from one minor detail, I was about as happy as I could ever remember. I was more conscious of being British than anything else, but everyone was very understanding and although my German wasn’t brilliant, it got me by.

I joined Martin and Carl for lunch in a local restaurant each day, and was able to relax with them. Carl was still chuckling over the fact Martin and I had met as youngsters, and kept telling everyone we met. Martin was amazingly possessive of me, being tactile and affectionate whenever I was close to him. It was so wonderful to be needed and wanted. This was another first for me, but I had a niggling little doubt about him. I wondered whether it was my hated maleness that attracted him, or my intrinsic female nature. I hoped it was the latter.

On the last evening, he and I had gone out to a small restaurant near his home. I had dressed up for him in a little black dress I’d brought but hadn’t anticipated wearing. There was a sad atmosphere, for I was leaving on a flight the next morning.

“I do not want you to go. I do not want to lose you for so long, this time,” he said.

“I think it may be a good thing, as I need to think and to finish things.”

He frowned. “Good, why?”

“Martin, it has been wonderful meeting you again, but I need space. I’m crazy and mixed up, and I think you are too. You say you dreamed of me, but which me was that? Was it the boy, who dressed as a girl, or the girl inside the boy? Am I a girl to you, or still that boy in girl’s clothes? I need space and time to sort things out in my mind, and I think maybe you do as well.”

“It is true I was confused, for a long time perhaps, but no longer. Jane, you are my girl of my dreams, not a boy. I see you only as what you are, a beautiful girl, no, a beautiful woman!”

I felt the tears building up, so I looked away, desperate not to cry. He had just said the most wonderful thing to me, and so I now didn’t want to leave, but I knew I had to.

“I must leave. I have my work and everything else. But I promise that I will be back and will call you often, okay?”

We enjoyed our last meal together and walked slowly back to his home.

“The next time you come, I will have my own home, and you will come and stay with me.”

I simply smiled as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

“You will come back?” he asked, his voice displaying his uncertainty.

“I will, I promise.”

We stopped by a small jewellery shop. I gazed at the rings in the window.

“You would marry me, if you could?” he asked.

I looked up at him, but he was staring straight ahead, at the displays.

“You would want me to?”

He nodded. “Ja, perhaps I would.”

“Just perhaps?” I teased.

He looked at me then, his eyes sad.

“You have always been a girl, so it is unfair that the laws say you cannot be what you are.”

“You would want me?” I repeated.

“Ja, I have always wanted you.”

“Then perhaps I would.”

He laughed then. “See, we Germans do have a sense of humour.”

He kissed me then, in the dark outside a closed shop, miles from London. By that tender kiss, I knew that this man might be the one for me, but would we ever be allowed to be together?
 
 
Chapter 10. Sorting Things Out
 
 
It was raining in London. I was feeling down and in a foul mood, so I actually hoped the same Immigration Officer would try to give me a hard time, so I could vent my wrath on him. He wasn’t so I couldn’t.

I was on the tube for central London within forty minutes of touching down. As I gazed at the window of the train, without seeing either the outside or the reflections, I thought of Martin. He’d driven me to the Airport and held me until I had to go out of the departure gate.

“I love you, Jane.”

“Do you?” I’d asked.

“Ja. I think I always have. Since the first time I saw you.”

“Don’t remind me. I was so ashamed.”

“I saw the girl then, and hoped I would see her again. Now I have, I know that I have always loved her.”

“She loves you too, Martin.”

He smiled then, kissing me on the cheek.

“Best you go, then you can hurry to come back to me.”

I did, reluctantly and not without some tears. But I was now more determined than ever to get things over with.

As soon as I got back to my flat, I rang the surgeon’s secretary. Mr Simpson wasn’t available as he was in America, and he wasn’t expected back until mid September.

Exasperated, I swore and hung up. I went down to the shop to find chaos. Steve and Rob had filled the workshop with restoration jobs, while Julie had brought her sewing machine in and taken a portion of the rear of the shop to make up curtains. Orders had increased as they’d attracted customers by virtue of the fact they could see the work actually completed on the premises. The unfortunate by-product was a cluttered shop and a growing order book.

I rang Mark to tell him about my success in Germany and he agreed to come right over.

“You’re different, today,” Sarah remarked.

“Oh?”

“You seem more relaxed or something.”

“Am I?” I asked, blushing slightly.

She frowned, looking at me quizzically. “Oh my God, you met someone!”

At this point Julie turned round and looked at me.

“About time, it doesn’t do to have an attractive young woman without a gentleman friend.”

Sarah giggled while I went even redder.

“She doesn’t know?” she asked.

“No, and I don’t want her to know.”

“Okay. Mind you, no one would ever tell to look at you!”

“Thanks a bunch.”

“So, what’s he like? Oh, it is a he, is it?”

“Yes, it’s a he, and he’s lovely.”

“Well?”

“His name is Martin and I’ve known him since I was about fifteen.”

“What?” Sarah was somewhat surprised.

“Long story for another time,” I said, as Julie approached.

“Come to dinner tonight!” said Sarah with a grin. “I can’t wait to hear this. Is he English or German?”

“German.”

“The mind boggles. Oh, here comes trouble,” she said, as Mark entered the shop.

Mark was in a good mood, as business was up across the board, as his own and Rod’s shops were doing very well. They were considering buying a cottage in Brittany. I gave him details of Martin’s products, showing him the leaflets I’d brought back from the factory. I also showed him the brochures that I’d collected from the fair.

He sat down and quizzed me in some depth over Martin’s designs and specifications. Fortunately, I had anticipated this and had all the necessary information.

“You’ve been very thorough, it seems just the job.”

“Thanks. I must say, I was impressed, for the quality does appear so much better than the MDF rubbish one gets at the DIY places, yet his prices are very competitive.”

“We should be able to put at least a fifteen percent mark up, after we’ve made allowances for the transportation and such like. What was the chap like?”

“Who, Martin?”

“The chap who owns the business, whatever his name is.”

I was alone in the front of the shop with Mark at this stage, so felt free to tell him the truth. “Martin Stressler. He’s very nice. It was really strange, for I’d met him years ago when I was at school.”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “Really, do tell,” he said, grinning.

I did so, while his grin got bigger.

“Well, well, a little romance for our little Jane. How do you feel?”

“If I’m honest, I’m pleased, but a little confused. I mean, what is it about me that attracts him? Is it the male bit I don’t want, or the feminine side?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, a lot. Mark, I know you’re quite settled and content being a gay man. I’m not a gay man and I have never felt that I was. I am what I am, and I won’t be truly me until I can look at myself naked in the mirror and know that I am as much a woman as I can possibly be. I don’t want to feel that he’s attracted to that boy I used to be.”

“He recognised you?”

“Not at first, only after a few gentle hints.”

“How did he treat you?”

“Wonderfully, he even asked me if I would marry him if I was able to.”

“After a week?” he asked, surprised.

“He didn’t propose, but he was interested if I would. I think.”

Mark laughed at my confusion, as it sounded so strange now I was back.

“Tell me one thing, and be honest?”

“What?”

“In your fantasies, who carries you off and becomes your lover, a faceless man or anyone specific?”

“Someone specific.”

“Has it always been the same person?”

“Not always, but mostly.”

“And?”

“Okay, so it’s been Martin. It was after that first kiss, I suppose.”

“So if he walked through that door and asked you to go and be with him forever, would you go?”

I thought about it.

“No.”

He was surprised again. “No?”

“No, I’m not ready mentally, physically or emotionally. Ask me the same question in a few months, when I’ve had the surgery and perhaps got to know him a little better.”

Mark chuckled and shook his head. “You, dear Jane, are too bloody practical for your own good. Where’s your romantic soul?”

“When you live through a life like mine, romance is for dreams and dreams alone.”

“Everyone dreams, Jane.”

“Yes, but how many have to fight for a dream?”

“Most people.”

“As hard as this?”

“Perhaps not, not everyone, certainly.”

Sarah popped her head round the door from the office. “Jane, phone. Your German.”

I smiled, blushing. The excitement I felt was unwarranted by a simple phone call, or was it?

“Go on, I want to speak to Julie, in any case, “said Mark.

I almost ran to the office and took the phone from Sarah.

“Hi.”

“Jane, I wanted to make sure you got back safely,” Martin said.

“I did, thanks. I’ve spoken to my boss and he likes the pieces. When will you send the first batch across?”

“In ten days, is that all right?”

“Brilliant. Thanks so much,” I said, feeling strangely content simply hearing his voice.

“What for?”

“Not hating me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because of what I am.”

“Do not be stupid. You are the person you should always have been. I must thank you for clearing up my own confusion.”

“Don’t be silly. I still can’t quite believe what happened. It’s like a dream.”

“Nein, dreams are things that you wake up from, we are both awake.”

“Will you thank your parents for me, again. They were so kind.”

He laughed. “They like you. My mother asked me if we are going to get engaged.”

I felt frustration and some anger sweep through me. I fought back the tears.

“Jane?”

“I heard. So you haven’t told her the truth?”

“No, I don’t think she’s ready for the truth, yet.”

“Will you?”

“That depends.”

“On What?”

“On you.”

“Me?” It was my turn to be surprised.

“Ja, of course. If you agree to marry me, then perhaps I’ll have to tell her.”

“Martin, you know we can’t marry!”

“There are ways,” he said enigmatically.

“There may be, but even if we could, I wouldn’t.”

He was silent, so I cursed my big mouth.

“Martin?”

“I am here. Why not?”

“I’m not the right person for you.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that,” he said, his voice sounded slightly hurt and possibly angry.

“I mean, I’m not, not ready.”

“Is it me?”

“No, it’s me. I need to be physically right, mentally clear and emotionally stable. I’m none of them right now.”

“You know I love you?”

“Oh Martin, I know you think you do, but I need to know which me you love!”

“I thought I told you.”

“I need to keep hearing it.”

“I love you, the beautiful woman. Is that better?”

I was almost crying. “Yes, much better. But it doesn’t change things. I need time to get myself sorted.”

“I need to know what you feel about me.”

“You have to ask?”

“Ja, you are not the only one to be confused.”

“Okay, I love you.”

Okay, then I am happy to wait. Just don’t be long.”

“I don’t intend to be.”

“Carl asked me if we were engaged, also.”

“He’s a lovely fool.”

“Jane, I know this is hard for you. It is hard for me too, but for the first time in my life, I am sure of something, so please don’t feel you have to be anything other than you. Ach, I am not making myself understood, I think.”

“No, you are, perfectly clear. As long as the me you want is the same one as I intend to be.”

“I think it is.”

“Thanks for being lovely.”

“I must go, as there is work for us to do. I will call when the first batch is ready for transportation. I’ll get it on a truck overnight to Dover and then to London, okay?”

“Great. I hope I can see you soon.”

“I’m sure something will happen. I have waited a long time for you Jane, so I need to see you again.”

I rang off reluctantly, as some customers entered the shop and life got back to normal.

Dinner with Sarah and Steve that evening allowed me to share the series of events again, for which I was grateful. For each time I recounted the experience, I was able to appreciate it wasn’t a dream and had actually happened.

They, for their part were wonderfully supportive, treating my stresses as if they were minor issues and bringing a lightness to the conversation that I desperately needed. I’d been stewing with my own mental battles for so long that I had a warped view of me and the rest of the world. Was I alone in thinking I was a complete freak?

I wondered how others undergoing transition felt. I was thankful for my job and for people who were able to deal with me and not with the issues I brought along for the ride.

On arriving back at the flat, the phone rang. It was Suzannah.

“Hi stranger.”

“Suzy, hi, God, it’s been ages. How are things?”

“Bloody hectic! You know this business, months spent doing bugger-all, and then so busy you forget to eat and sleep.”

“How’s the filming?”

“Nearly finished the first series. It should be good.”

“What’s it about?”

“A country doctor and his practice, up in the Lake District.”

“What’s your part?”

“I started out as a patient, ended up getting engaged to one of the younger doctors, and finish the series getting run over.”

“Do you live?”

“No one knows. They want to see how the series goes and whether I’m worth keeping on for the next one. It’s all to do with ratings and money.”

“Sounds fun. How’s the money?”

“Okay, not as good as Hollywood, but it pays the bills. Look, I’ve been meaning to ask you, is there any chance I could doss with you for a bit? As Lucy, the girl I’ve been sharing with, wants to move in her boyfriend, so I need to find somewhere else.”

“With me? Of course, from when?”

“I’ve another month up here. If I came down next weekend and moved my stuff into your second bedroom, that’ll take care of the flat.”

“Fine, do you need a hand?”

“No, Lucy is feeling so guilty about asking me to move out, she and Mike will help. Mike has a van.”

“That’s great. It’ll be nice having some company.”

“I won’t be there for a month, sweetie, and if I get that next play in town, I will be away more than I’m there. Anyway, enough of me, how are you?”

“Fine.”

“That’s a cop-out, Jane, and you know it. Really, how are you?”

“I’m really fine. The surgeon has me down for the op in the Autumn, and I’ve a boyfriend.”

“Autumn, huh? That’s good, what? A boyfriend! How? Come on Janey darling, tell Aunty Suzy, what happened?”

I spent nearly an hour on the phone, pouring out my soul to the girl who was like a sister to me.

“Do you love him?” she asked, when I’d finished.

“I think so. God, I’m so bloody confused. I no longer know what I feel. What with the hormones, the mental and emotional stress, I just want to be me. I can do without all this at the moment!”

“Take it one day at a time, darling. If he’s waited for all this time, he can bloody wait a few more weeks.”

“I suppose so. I think I’d be happier if I knew him better. I hardly know him.”

“That’ll come.”

“How about you, found anyone?”

Her rich chuckle echoed down the line. “Sort of.”

“What sort of answer is that?”

“He’s married.”

“Oh. An actor?”

“No, he’s a doctor. He was invited on set as an advisor in how medical things worked. We got talking and one thing led to another.”

“Oh, Suzy, you know better than that!”

“I know, but he claims to be separated.”

“Is he?”

“I think so, but he’s got two kids.”

“How messy. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I come south again in a month, so things may have got sorted one way or the other by then.”

I was conscious that it was after midnight, so ended the call.

“I’ll see you next week when you move in. You take care.”

“Bye”

“Bye”

Putting the phone down, I undressed and got ready for bed. As I sat in bed, reading, I reflected how well adjusted I was to being alone now. I actually looked forward to the little piece of peace and quiet I had here, particularly after a busy day dealing with people and problems all day. With Suzy staying with me for a while, that peace would be shattered. I smiled, for it would help me come to terms with living with someone else. As I snuggled down to sleep, I repeated the words, ‘Frau Jane Stressler’ over and over again.
 
 
Chapter 11. Dangerous Ground
 
 
Summer passed to autumn in a whirlwind of action. Suzannah moved nineteen black bags into my small spare bedroom, had a quick lunch and disappeared back up north to finish shooting her TV series. The shop settled down as the summer rush subsided, but still a lot busier than it had been a year ago. The first truckload of German cabinets arrived and we sold the lot in three weeks, with orders coming in for almost twice the amount.

Both Mark and Martin were delighted. Mark’s relationship with Rod was going through a rocky patch, so his usual calm good-humour was conspicuously absent. I spoke to Martin nearly every day on the telephone, and my feelings for him were growing with each day that passed.

I was in the shop one blustery morning in late September when a very morose Mark came in. Gone was the dapper civil servant, replaced instead by an unshaven and scruffy man who seemed utterly depressed.

“Rod’s left me!” he announced, collapsing in my chair in the small back office. Julie took one look, raised her eyebrows and suddenly found something to do in the shop window.

“Oh, you poor soul, what happened?”

“As you know things weren’t going so well recently. I’d been busy in my shop, and he was the same in his. He was travelling a lot, gathering paintings and stuff, so our lives seemed to drift apart. I suppose I wasn’t as attentive as I should have been, and he found someone else.”

“What’s happening to his shop?”

“He’s keeping it, and all his stock. It’s his share of the business, after all.”

“What about this one, is it half his?”

“No dear, this is all mine.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, for the last thing I needed was to find another home.

I made him a coffee and let him pour out all his woes. It made a real change for me to be listening to other’s problems, so I patiently let him ramble on. Julie looked after the few customers who ventured out on this wet and windy day, so we had time to talk over his problems.

He, too, faced enormously tough feelings from his family, mainly his mother, unlike me. His mother, completely devastated by his lifestyle and sexual leanings, was reluctant to resign herself to never having a grandchild from her one and only son. Her daughter, Mark’s sister, had produced two girls already, but it wasn’t the same.

“Rod won’t even talk to me at the moment, so could you speak to him so we can sort things out?”

I agreed to and, leaving him staring morosely into his coffee cup, I walked round to Rod’s shop.

Rod was looking equally morose and miserable, so I spent an hour listening to all his moans about Mark and their broken relationship.

“Mark says you found someone else?” I said.

“No, I told him that so he’d get jealous and do something other than work.”

I smiled, as they were the nearest thing to a married couple that I knew. It was approaching lunchtime, so I offered to take Rod for some lunch at a local wine bar. While Rod went to the loo, I called Mark and told him to meet us there.

It all worked like a charm. In fact, it was embarrassing, for they both burst into tears and swore eternal love for each other, causing somewhat disquiet amongst the respectable lunch crowd. In the end, I left after having a swift nibble and let them get on with it. Just as I left the wine bar, the heavens opened, drenching me in the short run back to the shop.

Once I returned to the shop, I popped up to my flat, dried my hair and changed clothes. As I sat at my dressing table, I took time to reflect upon the person I was slowly becoming. Physically, I was as close to being the woman I wanted to be as I could. The hormones had changed me more than I could have imagined, particularly in the emotional area. Emotionally and mentally I was at ease with who I now was. I earnestly wanted that final cut, that would sever me from my past, freeing me to face the future. As I thought about it, I realised that I was fooling myself. The cut would remove the last symbol of my past, but one’s past is something that one can never completely remove, even by going to extreme lengths of moving to another country and changing one’s appearance drastically. The cut would bring my physical self in line with the mental and emotional self, but the past would always be with me.

Ghosts of my past would be always present, and I appreciated now why the doctors wanted me to deal with my parents.

I stared into the mirror and tried to see any sign of the old James — the soldier and man.

I suppose the eyes were the same. However, with mascara and eye shadow, I was able to camouflage them, losing those cynical and worldly-wise eyes that had seen too much.

I often wondered if I showed out as a man dressed as a woman. I felt like a woman, and hoped that my past was forgotten. I read of many transsexuals who found it difficult to pass successfully, and each time my heart went out to them. So desperate to be one thing while the old thing hung on and caused so much pain.

Looking down at my modest cleavage, I smiled. It was so silly really, as I would never use these breasts to suckle children, yet they made me feel so much more a woman. I felt a terrible sense of loss, as I’d adore to be able to become pregnant and carry a child, giving birth and becoming a mother. My thoughts turned to Martin, as always, and I felt sorry for him, as we cold never have children together. Once again, I had a deep down conviction that Martin was too young to throw himself away with me, he deserved a real family. Then, I told myself off for being too sensible.

My reverie was broken short by the telephone. It was Julie.

“Mark is back, and he wants you. Are you available?”

“I suppose so, is he alright?”

“He seems to be, he’s carrying a big bunch of flowers.”

“I’ll be right down.”

It took me five minutes, but as soon as I entered the shop, Mark grabbed me and hugged me like a long-lost relative.

“Jane, you are an absolute poppet! Rod and I are back together, and it’s all due to you!” he said, thrusting an enormous bunch of flowers at me.

I attempted to claim no great responsibility, but it was useless, as he was on such a high as to be deaf to what really happened. He ended up dragging me from the shop, to join him and Rod for dinner at a horribly expensive restaurant run by an equally gay friend of his called Carlo.

It was a rather too jolly an evening, but clearly, both my friends were relieved to be over their most serious domestic so far. Half way through the evening, I received an awful shock.

For, at a table on the far side of a restaurant, was a man I knew very well. A powerful man of stocky build and short fair hair, his name was Raymond Carlyle and he’d been a Major in my regiment when I’d been a first Lieutenant. He’d left on an attachment shortly before I was promoted to Captain, so he’d not been with us in the Falklands and I’d never seen him again. He had been a helpful, if somewhat remote man, around fifteen years older than I, so we had not had a great deal to do with each other.

He glared at my companions, observed me and frowned, as if he thought he recognised me. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me, believing he had instantly ‘made’ me.

Mark and Rod were more than a little drunk and being particularly tactile with each other. Ray’s expression became increasingly distasteful as he observed the obvious homosexual overtones of my friends. I, on the other hand became embarrassed on two counts — one, by my attitude and, two, by the judgemental nature of our society. I didn’t so much blame my erstwhile colleague, for he was as much a victim of the system as all of us, but I pitied his short sightedness. However, what did upset me was my own attitude. As I appeared to be (on the outside at any rate) a ‘normal’ female, I wanted to steer clear of any situation whereby undue attention could be drawn to me or my friends.

The spectacle of two gay and inebriated men in my company was almost too much for me and, as more and more people turned to look, my discomfort grew. I attempted to reason with them, but they’d drunk past the point where reason worked. I was now fearful that one or other would draw attention to me and what I really was.

My embarrassment threatened to burst when Ray Carlyle appeared at our table, sat down on a vacant chair and spoke directly to Mark. Rod was at the giggling helplessly at anything and nothing stage, so it was futile to even attempt to speak to him. Ray spoke quietly and firmly, strangely without any tone of judgement or contempt.

“Please excuse the intrusion, but I have to say that you, sir, are in danger of disgracing yourself. You are also clearly embarrassing this young woman, you’re embarrassing yourself and you’re ruining everyone’s evening. If you had an ounce of decency, you would know when to draw a line and leave this establishment while you can still walk. I must assume you are a friend of the proprietor, for otherwise I would have expected him to have ejected you six or seven drinks ago!”

Mark staggered to his feet and I could see there was going to be a fight if I didn’t intervene. I stood up and pushed him on the chest, causing him to sit back down sharply. Rod giggled uproariously, which caused Mark to join in.

“This man is right, you Mark, have had enough! Shut up Rod, as you’ve more than enough. I think it’s time we got you both home,” I said, losing my temper and at the end of a very short tether.

“Good idea, may I help you?” Ray said.

Carlo appeared, wringing his hands and torn between loyalty to his friends and a desire to keep a respectable and profitable establishment. With the amount of good competition in the area, it wouldn’t take much to lose some very good customers. A scandal involving drunken gay men would cause the local worthies to seek a new venue to patronise.

I made a decision.

“Carlo, call a cab, for I can’t get these two home on foot.”

He smiled with obvious relief, disappearing rapidly out the front door. This part of London is wonderful for cabs, as the theatres and West End is a matter of minutes away.

“Can you get the giggler, while I get this one?” I asked, to which Ray chuckled and hauled Rod to his feet.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Rod announced.

“Not on me, you’re not!” said Ray, propelling him towards the front door.

Taking both Mark’s hands, I got him to his feet. He belched, and grabbed me round the shoulders.

“You’re jus’ wunnerful, Janey darling. You’ll make some man a wunnerful wifeypoos.”

“Behave, Mark, there’s a love.”

He tittered and grabbed my bum.

“Are you sure you don’t fancy a spot of how’s yer father, before you lose those vital bits?” he whispered loudly in my ear.

“Mark, shut up!” I said, heaving him to the front door, much to the relief of the other diners. Raymond’s table companion was an attractive woman, who looked down her nose at me and my friends. I was just glad to get into the fresh air.

Rod had kept his promise and was being sick into the drain in the gutter. Carlo had secured a cab, but the cabbie was justifiably looking quite concerned. Carlo was happy that Mark would settle the restaurant bill later, so I was relieved not to have to pay for that as well.

I gave Mark’s address and had to produce a ten-pound note before he would take us.

“Do you need a hand?” Ray asked.

“No, but thanks anyway. It’s just around the corner.”

“Look, this may sound daft, but have we met?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand, I can help you at the other end.”

“Quite sure, you’ve a charming companion to get back to.”

He laughed. “Oh, her? No, that’s my sister and we’re in the middle of a family argument. Besides, we’ve finished our meal.”

The cabbie wanted us to get there and get out before any more vomit appeared.

“Look, I’m Ray Carlyle. Can I least know your name?”

“Jane Allan.”

The door closed and the cab took off, leaving Ray standing staring after us.

Putting two drunken men, gay or otherwise, to bed was not something I had often had to do, but I simply stripped their trousers off and rolled them into the enormous double bed and left them there. Both were snoring before I closed the door.

I set off to walk back to my flat, conscious that a lone female walking along the evening streets was a potential target to muggers and possibly worse. In a way, I almost wanted someone to try something for I was so tense and angry I wanted to let rip against someone.

So, as I walked, I became aware of another set of footsteps walking in the same direction and behind me. I sped up slightly, as did the other. When I rounded a corner, I literally ran across the road and slowed to a fast walk down the opposite pavement. High heels are not designed for running!

“Jane. Wait up!”

Startled, I turned and saw Ray running after me. With my heart thumping, I waited for him.

“I thought it was you. How come you’re walking alone?” he asked.

“I’ve put Goldilocks and the bear to bed, so I have to go home. I’m not paying for a cab ride of less than a mile. Why are you hanging about waiting?”

“I heard the address, so I hoped to catch you.

“Why?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “My God, you’re direct! May I escort you?”

“What about your sister?”

“Who? Oh, Sarah, she’s gone back to her flat in a huff, so I’m all yours.”

I turned and started to walk, he fell instep beside me. I smiled in spite of myself. Always a soldier.

“You don’t have to, I can take care of myself, you know?”

“I don’t doubt it. I am curious, though?”

“Yes?”

“How did you get into the clutches of those two queers?”

“Those queers, as you delicately put it, are the men who pay my salary. At least one is; the other is his partner.”

“So what do you do?”

“I manage a shop. You?”

“I’m a soldier, I’m afraid.”

“Why say it like that, there’s nothing wrong with being a soldier. Which regiment?”

“Originally I was with Parachute regiment, but I’m on attachment to the staff college at Camberley for a couple of years. Hopefully that will get me through staff rank and my red tabs.”

“So, you’re a Lieutenant Colonel, then?”

He glanced at me. “You’re an army brat?”

I laughed. “No, I had a relative in the army, and he went on about the ranks.”

“Allan, hmm, not Jamie Allan?”

It was one of those moments when everything almost stopped.

“Sorry?” I said, hoping I didn’t look to surprised.

“There was a chap in the Paras with me before the Falklands, James Allan, Jamie to his friends, is he any relation?”

My heart was thumping so loud I thought he must have been able to hear it.

“Come to think of it, there is a remarkable resemblance. He’s not your brother, is he?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Cousin?”

I nodded, not really able to think of a suitable alternative.

“Ah, that explains it. I haven’t seen him for ages, I left the regiment in eighty-one, just before the war, so missed some of it. Mind you, I was otherwise engaged in an equally dangerous area, but less in the public eye.”

“With the SAS?”

He glanced at me, raising an eyebrow.

“Perhaps,” he said, in such a way so as not to encourage further discussion.

“I haven’t seen Jamie for ages. In fact, no one has. I understand he’s left the army,” I said.

“Yes, he left a couple of years ago, according to the regimental newsletter. Any idea what he’s up to?”

“None,” I lied.

“He was a good sort - quiet and competent; the sort of officer the blokes respect. You get as lot of jumped up twerps sometimes, and he was never one of them. He should have stayed in, as he’d be at least a Major by now.”

“I understand he had other plans.”

“Well, horses for courses. Now, what about you? Not married?”

I smiled as we turned into the street where my flat was.

“No, not married.”

“I’m surprised, a good-looker like you.”

I stopped and looked at him. “Flattery is fine, but don’t over-do it.”

“Boyfriend?” he asked, and I thought I detected a hint of hope in his voice.

“I have someone, if that’s what you mean?”

“It is, and I must admit to being disappointed.”

“Why, aren’t you married?” I asked, recalling that he had been when I’d known him.

He looked at me sharply and then relaxed, frowning.

“I was, but we divorced four years ago.”

“Ah, the army incompatible with married life?”

“No, she buggered off with a stock broker with a bigger willy.”

I couldn’t help myself; I burst out laughing.

He smiled, looking pleased with himself. “Actually, Julia buggered off, and he was a stockbroker, but I have no idea about the size of his tackle.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t I have any idea of the size of his bits?”

“No, you silly man, why did she bugger off?”

He shrugged, staring to his front. His eyes took on a far-away look.

“I just think she got tired of me never being there.”

“Children?”

“Two, a girl and boy, both nearly finished school now. Jonathon is eighteen and Sally is sixteen.”

“She has them, I take it?”

He nodded. “I see them a lot, but it’s not the same.”

We reached the door to my flat.

“This is it. Thanks for the military escort, and I’m sorry to dig up so much hurt.”

Ray smiled, but the sadness lurked in his eyes.

“That’s okay. I must admit, I don’t get to share such stuff very often.”

“So you haven’t anyone, then?”

He shook his head.

I rooted around in my bag and found my keys, then put the door key into the lock.

“Jane?”

“Yes?”

“May I see you again?”

I was torn, for I found him charming and funny, but it was dangerous ground.

“My life is rather complicated at the moment. I’m not sure it would be sensible.”

“Oh, since when have I ever been sensible?”

“I don’t know you.”

“I’d like you to, as much as I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll let me, that is.”

I shrugged, feeling suddenly foolish.

“You know where I live. I live above the shop.”

He grinned. “No chance of a night cap?”

“None whatsoever. I just want to go to bed.”

Then, surprising me totally, he leaned forward, kissing me on the lips.

“Goodnight, fair Jane. I shall see you again, and soon!”

---

 
To Be Continued...

To Fight for a Dream by Tanya Allan     An autobiography is an account of one’s life up to a certain point.   This isn’t my autobiography. It is, however, a fictitious biography of someone very like me, or me if one or two things had happened differently.   This is a WHAT IF scenario plus a lot of wishful thinking.

 
 
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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Author's Note:
 
This is a work of fiction, but some of the events, some of the people and most of the feelings and emotions are real. Some of the events were events that I experienced, while others were researched, and others are simply made up.

ALL names have been changed to protect the innocent. In 2005, I first posted an early version of this as a blog on my Yahoo 360 site, but removed it when Yahoo became silly about what they considered indecent. I used a photograph that they believed was for adults only and restricted viewing. I have since rewritten and revised it into its current form.

I know what is real and what isn’t.

I leave it to you to guess and wonder what is real and what isn’t.

Actually, it doesn’t matter, as it should stand alone as a good yarn. Please note, I have maintained my record for happy endings, even though the real ending has yet to be written.

It is tough to fly in the face of convention and social mores. It is tough to break away and to declare that you want to be you, in spite of what the world decrees you should be.

In 2008, the world read of Captain Ian Hamilton of the Parachute Regiment. He turned my fiction into reality by undergoing transition and surgery to become Jan.

I dedicate it to all those who have the courage to go with their convictions; and to those who stand by them, no matter how hard it might be. May God bless you all.

Tanya
Originally written in 2005, revised in 2008.
 
 
The Legal Stuff:To Fight for a Dream  ©2005, 2008 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Chapter 12. Bittersweet Remembrances
 
 
Anaesthetic does some serious shit to one’s brain. As I came round, I was convinced that I was back in the army and in the Falklands. Believing myself to have been shot in the head, I dimly recall muttering something about my mother and regretting never been brave enough to fight my father much earlier.

It can’t have much sense to the nurses, but then they probably heard all manner of strange ramblings in post-op. As I struggled through the fog mingled with nausea, pain and funny smells, I focussed on a face that swam uncertainly in front of my eyes. I was flat on my back staring straight up.

“Can you hear me?” said the face.

“Fuck off, my dream, not yours!”

The face smiled, for some reason I found it funny and started to laugh. I liked others finding me funny, so often my jokes fell flat, so I liked being appreciated.

“What’s your name?” the face asked.

“Name, rank and serial number, that’s all I’ll give you,” I said, giggling again.

“Stop being an arse, and tell me your name,” the face said, and even in my dopey state, I could tell he was getting pissed off with me.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to think. It was hard, as I was felling increasingly dizzy with my eyes closed, so I opened them again.

“Allan, Jam…, no, Jane Allan,” I replied, feeling foolish.

“What day is it?”

That one stumped me, so I frowned trying to concentrate. However, something unpleasant came up from down below, and my interrogation was suspended while I retched and produced a yellow bile into a small kidney dish that was held under my face.

With the vomit came some clarity.

“Friday 15^th November 1985.”

“Well done. How do you feel?” asked Mr Simpson, my surgeon.

“That depends,” I replied.

“Oh, on what?”

“Whether you did it properly!”

He smiled again. “Oh, believe me; I did a good job on you. So, how do you feel?”

“Brilliant!” I replied, relaxing into a pain-relief sleep.
 

*          *          *
 
I woke up in the semi-darkness. For a moment, I was confused and disorientated, but as my memory returned, I relaxed and allowed myself to subside back onto my pillows. I recalled arriving at this private room, before my operation, only a few hours ago, but it seemed like a lifetime.

November 1985. It had just taken so bloody long to reach this point. I reached under the sheet to touch that part of me that was beginning to ache. All I discovered was a large bandage with a urinary catheter tube escaping to a delightful bag hanging by the bedside.

I was hardly comfortable, but relaxed, as all my efforts to date had been to reach this point. It was rather an anti-climax, as I expected trumpets and a feeling of wonderful euphoria. Instead, I felt queasy and pain.

Realising that one of the drips must be pain-relief, I allowed myself the luxury of drifting in and out of reality. In those moments, Martin came to visit, as did many people from my past, including, disturbingly, my father.

He was speechless with anger and hurt.

“How could you betray me like this?” he bellowed.

“Go away, you’re not really here!”

“No, and I’ll never be near you again, you perverse thing!”

He swirled away like an angry mist, out of which came Ray Carlyle riding a horse.

He was dressed in gleaming armour, with a helmet under one arm, its plume crimson and blue.

“Come away with me, Jane, and have my babies!”

“Go away, I can’t!” I shouted, at which point a nurse entered the room and asked me if I was awake.

I mean, how stupid is that question? If I was asleep, I wouldn’t hear her, and so I just had to say, “No, go away, I want to see Ray again.”

She wasn’t fooled for a minute.

“Oh, you are awake. How do you feel?”

“Asleep.”

She smiled grudgingly, so I shut my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. I couldn’t.

She fiddled about with me, making me more uncomfortable and feeling less content about life generally.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly six.”

I glared at her.

“In the evening,” she said. “Mr Simpson will be round in a while, just to see how you’re getting on.”

I was surprised, for my operation had been at eight in the morning. I lay back on the pillows and thought back on the weeks that led up to this moment.
 

*          *          *
 
The postman delivered the letter from the surgeon’s secretary on the day after I’d put Mark and Rod to bed. Could I be at the clinic on Thursday evening, the fourteenth of November?

November????

I rang her from the shop as soon as it was a reasonable hour.

No, the surgeon couldn’t manage to squeeze me in any earlier, as he was in Thailand, speaking at a transgender specialists’ conference until the tenth.

I was in the wrong job, this man seemed to travel all over the world, and I bet he never went economy!

After a while, I calmed down and reasoned that it wasn’t that long to wait, just over six weeks. I tried to call Suzannah, but couldn’t get through. She was probably in the middle of a shoot and wouldn’t be available until much later.

Life had to go on, so I settled back into the usual routine. Martin was busy and when I phoned, I could tell he was not in any mood to chat. Mark appeared at lunchtime, looking happier but hung-over. He sat down and accepted the black coffee that Julie made him.

“God, my head hurts!”

“Serves you right.”

“Tell me, how the hell did we get home?”

“I took you both in a cab. You owe me a tenner.”

Without a word, he took out his wallet, removed ten pounds and handed it to me.

“Thanks. I don’t remember much. Did you stop me getting into a fight?”

“Possibly.”

“Thanks.”

He drank his coffee in silence.

“How’s Rod?”

“Being sick.”

“How lovely.”

He almost smiled. “Thanks Jane, you’re a brick.”

“Wonderful, my ambition is achieved.”

The sarcasm wasn’t lost and he managed a full smile this time.

“Seriously, Jane, you were marvellous. But wasn’t there someone else, a man?”

“I had some help from another diner. He’d actually served with me in the army, but fortunately didn’t click.”

“No?” he asked, shocked and surprised.

“Yes, he remembered Jamie and quite fondly, I think. He also doesn’t like queers.”

Mark chuckled. “Neither do I, dear, horrible creatures for the most part.”

“You were both rather awful, you know?”

“I guessed that when I felt like shit this morning. How awful?”

“You will have to go and cross Carlo’s hand with quite a bit of silver. He put up with a lot. I was grateful you didn’t get us chucked out.”

He finished his coffee and stood up, looking at his watch.

“Right, I’ll go and sort Carlo out. How’s your German?”

“Working hard, we’ve rather put the pressure on.”

“Good, it means he’ll deliver on time. Punctual types, the Germans.”
 

*          *          *
 
Despite being impatient for my surgical appointment, life rolled on with inexorable tediousness in my view. I began to loathe the confines of my flat and the shop. I became increasingly testy with my friends and must have been awful company. Suzannah was conspicuous by her absence, while her black bags remain unopened in my spare room. We spoke occasionally, but her new man seemed to be taking most of her attention when not actually working.

Ray popped into the shop one afternoon, a couple of weeks after that first meeting. He looked very dapper in a pinstripe suit. He’d just been at a meeting at the Ministry of Defence and was now at a loose end for the rest of the day.

“How do you fancy going to the Savoy, they do tea and dancing?”

I stared at him, actually believing he was teasing me. He wasn’t.

“Tea and dancing?” I repeated.

“Yes, they have a small orchestra playing waltzes and such like, so you can enjoy tea and scones in between a nice dance.”

The shop was quiet and Julie was willing me to go with her eyes. She saw it as her quest in life to see me paired off to most men who came into the shop, despite me stating that I was involved with Martin.

“I can’t, I’ve to work,” I said.

“I’ll look after the shop, Jane, so why don’t you take the afternoon off?” Julie said.

I looked at Ray, his face not showing any sign that he knew my secret. I just knew this was a bad idea, as he was too close to my past.

“I don’t really dance,” I said.

“Then I’ll teach you.”

Running out of excuses and feeling somewhat nervous, I accepted.

“Can I stay like this, or do I need to change?” I asked.

He gazed at me, running his eyes up and down me. I was wearing a navy skirt, white blouse with a blue and gold embroidered waistcoat.

“You look wonderful to me, so stay are you are.”

I grabbed my coat and bag and almost was physically pushed out the front door by Julie, who winked at me conspiratorially.

He hailed a cab, so within a few minutes we were at the Savoy.

The atmosphere in the finer London hotels is slightly daunting for those who rarely venture into such hallowed portals. The simple elegance and opulence that welcomes one, from the uniformed doorman to all the staff and their plastic smiles, seems designed to weed out all but the very brave or the very rich. I attempted to look rich and sophisticated as we made our way to the ballroom where tea and dancing took place most days of the week.

It was a large room, with an elevated rostrum at one end, on which the small orchestra sat, playing a delightful selection of archaic music. The dance floor was encircled by small tables, where guests were enjoying tea from silver pots and in the finest bone china cups and saucers. Racks of cakes and scones were supplied, so it looked and sounded like something from the 1920s. One could imagine that the Empire was still in existence and that the sun never set on British interests.

We were shown to a table, where I placed my coat over the back of my chair. A waiter appeared and asked if I’d like it removed to the cloakroom. I declined.

Ray ordered tea and scones. Then he looked at me.

“Shall we?”

“Huh?”

He smiled. “Would you care to dance?”

“Not really, but if I have to.”

I wasn’t the only novice. I was also surprised at the variety of ages and types using the dance floor. There were several teenagers in jeans, so I felt a little better as I allowed Ray to lead me onto the floor for a waltz.

I had lied a little, as I had danced before, but always as a male, so was used to leading. I waited for him to adopt his position before I adjusted my stance accordingly. I felt awkward and embarrassed, convinced everyone was looking at me and laughing.

The first few moments were terrible. I got my feet all mixed up, started leading and generally made a complete cock-up. However, Ray was un-phased by my ineptitude and just kept going, causing me simply to follow the rhythm as he had a firm hold of me. After a couple of minutes, I started to relax and began enjoying myself.

We stopped when the tea arrived; sitting down for a few minutes while we drank it and ate a scone. I watched the other dancers, observing that I was by no means the worst.

“You dance very nicely, once you relaxed,” Ray said.

I grinned. “Thanks.”

“Tell me, why did you tell me you never dance? Doesn’t your gentleman friend ever take you dancing?”

“We’ve not had the opportunity. We only met recently and are sort of forced to be apart.”

“Oh?”

“He lives and works in Germany and I’m over here.”

“Is he a soldier?”

“No, he’s a German and makes furniture.”

“Oh.”

His face was a picture. I wondered what he’d have looked like if I’d said, ‘he’s a Martian.’ Not much different, I thought.

“How serious is it?”

I shrugged, unable to really answer him. I’d thought about it and was still so confused over life in general to make sense over Martin and his feelings, let alone my feelings for him.

“We’re very fond of each other. It’s only the start of a relationship, and there are complications.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not prepared to talk about them at the moment.”

“I understand. We make such a muck-up of relationships, as a rule, don’t we?”

I smiled, drinking my tea and not able to reply. I had never really formed any of those types of relationships in my life. I’d had to make it look as if I had girlfriends, but they hadn’t lasted as I never displayed to right level of commitment of affection.

“So, do you see your children often?” I asked.

“Yes, I suppose so. There’s very little acrimony now, so I get them for long stretches in the holidays when she wants to bugger off with her new man. I take them skiing in the Easter Hols and then try to go somewhere hot and sandy in summer. They get some excellent trips from the two of us.”

“Lucky children,” I said sarcastically.

He smiled, shaking his head.

“When not abroad, I usually take them to my parents’ home in Gloucestershire and stay there with them. I just have a flat in London and whatever digs the army give me wherever I happen to be. The old folks have a farm and loads of woodlands for them to lose themselves.”

“They’re teenagers, so I expect they hate it!”

“They do, but the alternative is too awful to imagine.”

“You mean having them in your flat in London, getting in the way of your social life, and spending your money in the shops and shows?”

He chuckled.

“You got it in one. Come on, I feel another dance is called for,” he said, standing up and holding his hand out for me.

It was a very pleasant way of spending the afternoon. My initial fears and reservations dissipated and I felt quite relaxed in his company. In fact, I quite forgot the time, and suddenly looked at my watch in horror. It was after six!

“I have to go, as the shop will need locking up!”

“Can’t the other woman do it?”

Of course she could, and often did, but that wasn’t the point.

“I ought to check.”

“Why? Has she no keys?”

“She has, but…”

“Then relax. I’m sure she’ll manage just fine. Besides, I’ve booked a table for dinner here at the grill.”

“What?”

“Well, it makes sense. We’re already here and I felt it was convenient. Have you somewhere else you must be?”

“No, but…”

“But?”

“You could have asked, as I may have had something arranged.”

“Do you?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Jane, will you have dinner with me?”

I thought about the rather dull quiche that was sitting limply in my fridge. As competition, it didn’t rate that high.

“Okay.”

“Phew, you don’t half make a man work his arse off!”

“Am I okay in these clothes?”

“I’d prefer it if you and I were naked, but under the circumstances I think that a trifle unwise. You look lovely.”

“You’re being too bloody diplomatic. I’ve been at work since eight o’clock, and you’ve had me dancing all afternoon, so I’m sweaty and hot. I need a shower and a change of clothes.”

“Do I detect a slight feeling of negativity towards my suit?”

“Your suit?” I asked. But then it dawned on me what he meant. I reddened.

“No, it’s not negativity towards you. It’s,.. it’s just I’m getting over, no, getting through a bad phase in my life so my first instinct is to be cautious.”

He looked at me. He looked so damn caring, it made me feel awful having to deceive him.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“No, well actually, in a funny sort of way, you are - just by getting me to do normal things.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” I said, as little too enthusiastically. “I mean, not yet, anyway. Thanks all the same.”

He reached across the table and took my hand. I was struck how much larger his hand was compared to mine. Maybe I should have been born female.

“Jane. Let me be clear about one thing. I have no ulterior motives. I just enjoy your company. I find you an intelligent and attractive woman, with whom, I sense, I have a good deal in common. Yes, I admit I am attracted to you, I’d have to be queer or mad not to be, but I’m not in the market for a wife at this moment. The last one took me to the cleaners, so I’m simply after a friend. You don’t need a shower, neither do you need to change. I’m proud to be seen with you, as dirty and smelly as you might think you are.”

Dinner was wonderful. We kept the conversation on lighter matters, but I found myself sharing some of my childhood and background with him, edited and censored as it was. He finally took me home at about eleven.

“Do you want to come up?” I asked.

“Do you want me to?”

I smiled. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. But I’m not about to sleep with you.”

“I want thinking about sleep, but I’ll come up for a coffee, if I may?”

I opened the door and he followed me up the stairs. I made some coffee and we sat on my small sofa drinking it. He rested one arm across the back, behind my neck. I was very aware of the pressure of his hand on my shoulder. I found I quite liked it, but all my fears and insecurities returned.

“Good coffee,” he said.

“No, it isn’t, it’s just instant.”

“You’re being defensive again.”

“Sorry.”

“What is an intelligent and attractive girl like you doing in a dump like this?”

“That’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it? Besides, this isn’t really a dump.”

“No, but somehow I see you in a much nicer environment. What went wrong?”

I laughed with little humour. “Everything. Look, Ray, I don’t want to dig up the past just now. Please, just let me scrabble through life my way and if you’re still talking to me in a year of two, maybe I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Now I’m intrigued.”

“Don’t be. If you knew everything, you probably wouldn’t be seen for dust!”

“No, I doubt that.”

He touched my cheek with a finger, gently pulling my face round towards him. There were tears in my eyes; such was the depth of my frustration.

“Now, why do you cry?”

I shook my head, but then he kissed me.

He was very gentle and soft, but my first reaction was to leap up and run away. I was a coward, so instead I sat and let him kiss me. The fact that someone from James’ past thought me enough of a woman to kiss me made my heart sing. Also, I enjoyed his kiss.

I broke off.

“Jane, I…”

I put my finger to his lips.

“Thanks for a lovely day,” I said.

“Ah, I detect my cue to depart stage left.”

I smiled. “I had a wonderful time, and I’m so sorry that I’m so screwed up.”

“Compared to many of the women I’ve been out with, you are by far the most normal and sensible of the bunch.”

“That says very little about your taste in women.”

He laughed, but then kissed me again when I was off guard. This time he was far less restrained and I felt the passion building on both sides. I experienced feelings, both mental and physical that were alien and yet strangely familiar. I was almost becoming aroused for the first time since I’d started hormones, and yet not in the way I had done as James.

I broke off again, slightly breathless.

“It really is bedtime,” I said.

“Is that an invitation or my marching orders?”

I simply looked at him and he chuckled, standing up.

“Okay, I get the message. Goodnight, fair Jane, I hope we can do this again, soon?”

I simply nodded, as my emotions were all over the place. He kissed my cheek.

“I’ll see myself out. I’ll call you. Can I have your number?”

I gave it to him and he left without further comment. I felt instantly sorry he had gone, but knew that there was nothing else I could have done without risking everything.

He called me the next morning, and most mornings after that. We met occasionally at the Savoy for tea and a dance, and once a week we had dinner. It was so odd, for he treated me with the utmost respect, as if we were old friends, rather than new acquaintances. He always kissed me goodnight, yet never again with the same passion that I felt the first evening in my flat.

He must have been good for me, for everyone at work said I was no longer as grumpy as I had been, and Julie kept asking whether he’d popped the question yet.

By mid October, I was gearing myself up to tell him the truth, but he wrong footed me, yet again.

I was at work when he came into the shop. It was a horrible day, the winds and driving rain kept all but the most desperate shoppers away. We’d had nobody in the shop all morning.

“Hi, Ray, what brings you out on a day like this?”

“I’ve come to say goodbye.”

I was numb.

“Goodbye?”

He smiled, but it lacked any humour.

“I’m being sent to Northern Ireland for a special tour.”

“But you’re a Lieutenant Colonel, can they do that, I mean, just like that?”

“I’m being promoted to Brigadier and I’ve been given a command over there in the border country.”

“Wow, I mean, congratulations, or something.”

“Thanks.”

“When do you go?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That soon? Shit, talk about short notice.”

“They said it’s due to the security situation. Nothing will be announced until I get there.”

“So I’m the first to know?” I asked, joking.

“Yes, you are.”

“Gosh, what an honour.”

He came up to me and took both my hands.

“Jane, over the last few months, you’ve restored my faith in human kind, and for that you have my undying gratitude. You’ve also made me feel more content than I’ve been for a very long time, so I need to ask you something important.”

Oh shit! I thought, here it comes.

“Yes?” I said.

“I have to admit to have become more than a little fond of you, so I was initially going to ask you to marry me, but saw that that was ridiculous at present, so I’d like to ask whether there is any chance for us, I mean, when I get back?”

“Ridiculous?” I asked, picking up on that one word.

“I would never expect a girl to marry me just before I go to Ireland on active service.”

“Oh.” I was speechless.

“I need to know how you feel about me.”

“Feel about you?” I repeated, sounding faintly foolish.

“Yes, Jane. I’ve fallen for you, and need to know it’s not one-sided.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

“Shit, Ray, this sort of puts me on a spot, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, but I need to know.”

“Well, um, it’s not as easy as it seems. I’m fond of you too, and in other circumstances, I’m sure a relationship is more than possible, but there are things about me you don’t know, and I could never go any deeper unless everything is clear. I’m not saying I don’t like you, I do, I may even be a little in love with you, but the problem is with me. I can’t tell you now, but just let’s just say that I need some work done before I can ever think about a lasting relationship.”

“Work?”

“Work in the plumbing department, need I say more?”

“Oh, work. Oh, right, okay, um, I see, I think.”

“No, Ray, you don’t see. Look, I will always be your friend, but for the moment, can you be happy with that? In a year, things might be a little different, but until then, that’s all I can promise. The last thing I want is to cause you hurt, and believe me, a relationship with me might not be very wise. So, you go off to Ireland, and I’ll be here, as a friend for you to return to. If things change, then you’ll be the first to know, so please be content with that.”

“I don’t understand, I thought you might feel the same about me as I do you.”

“I never said I didn’t, Ray. I just said that I can’t act upon feelings right now.”

“Why not?”

Call me stupid, call me reckless, call me whatever you like, but so help me I told him the truth. I told him the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

I finished with, “Now do you see why I can’t screw up your life as much as I’ve managed to screw up mine? Don’t worry, I do understand that you’ll never want to see me again, I’d just ask that you keep this to yourself, no matter how vile a person you think I am.”

With that, I couldn’t wait for his reaction, so I fled in tears up to my flat before he could respond.

I heard the shop bell jingle as he left. That was it.
 
 
Chapter 13. A Reflection of Who I am Now
 
 
Mr Simpson, the surgeon, came to see me as predicted by the nurse. He was in his suit again, displaying no sign that he’d been operating all day.

“Hallo, Jane, how d’ya feel?”

“Sore and sick, how am I supposed to feel?”

“Sore and sick. Let’s have a peek and see how you’re doing.”

He poked around my nether regions, sucking air through his teeth.

“Okay, there’s no sign of infection at this early stage, it all looks fine. A little raw but soon not even your gynaecologist will know I’ve been there. The stitches will dissolve over the next week nor so, and then it’s just a matter of using your dilators and healing up nicely. I’ll pop back tomorrow and take out the packing. Hopefully, we can take out the plumbing and let you pee by yourself. Then you can see what miracles we’ve achieved.”

“Were there any problems?”

“None at all, it all went very well. You should be able to accommodate your boyfriend with no difficulty and hopefully, in time, you should attain a full range of sensation. It is not unknown for orgasms to be experienced, but don’t expect it over night.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” I said, a little crossly.

“I know that, but I’m just making the point that you are now as normal a woman as we can possibly make you. By the way, your boobs look super now, a bit bigger than you expected?”

“Marginally, but I’m not complaining.”

“Excellent. Well, try to sleep, I know it’s not that easy the first night, but once we remove the packing, you should feel the difference immediately.”

He breezed out as swiftly as he had entered, leaving me with a host of unasked questions that my doped brain was only beginning to formulate. The nurse came in.

“Is there anything you’d like?”

“A cold beer?” I asked hopefully.

Smiling, she brought me a plastic cup of tepid water.

“Has anyone called?” I asked.

“Three calls, a Mark, a Suzannah and one from another man, whose name I can’t recall. I told them you were through the operation and weren’t fit to take calls tonight.”

She made me as comfortable as she could, which, under the circumstances wasn’t that pleasant. However, with the cocktail of painkillers and the anaesthetic that was still in my system, I was able to doze. During those moments that I was awake, I thought of the last few weeks before my operation.
 

*          *          *
 
Ray went to Northern Ireland, and I heard nothing from him. I hoped and prayed he’d respect my wishes and tell no one about me. He was an honourable man, so he might well despise me, but I trusted him not to reveal my secrets to anyone else. I told myself he’d do it because the truth could hurt him as much as me, but I still hurt badly over what happened.

One morning in late October, at around six a.m., I was awoken by the sounds of air-brakes and loud voices. On opening my window and staring down into the street, I saw an enormous German truck blocking most of the road. It was our latest delivery of furniture.

I dressed quickly in a pair of jeans, tee shirt and a jumper, then pulled on some boots and brushed my hair into some semblance of order. Minutes later, I opened the shop door and found myself facing a grinning Martin.

“Hi Jane, it’s me!” he said, rather unnecessarily in my opinion.

Before I could kick-start my sleep addled brain into action, he was hugging and kissing me.

“I miss you!” he said.

“That’s missed, - you missed me, you daft German,” I said, automatically correcting him.

Forty minutes later, I had three sweaty and unshaven Germans in my small kitchen drinking coffee, while I cooked them some breakfast.

The cabinets were now stacked in the back area of the shop, which would severely hamper anyone’s attempt to work in there for a while.

“Is so good to see you again,” said Martin, much to his colleagues’ amusement. I just hoped I didn’t look too awful.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over?” I asked.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you managed that. How long are you here for?”

“The truck goes home now, but I want to stay with you for a few days. Is that all right?”

What could I say?

“Of course, if you don’t mind the sofa, or sleeping withy loads of black bags.”

His face displayed his incomprehension, so I explained about Suzannah.

His two friends finished their breakfast and departed in the now empty truck to a warehouse in Bromley. They were due to collect another load destined for Germany, and then to catch the ferry home. I showered and got ready for work as Martin lay on the sofa and went to sleep.

It was strange having him staying with me. He came down to the shop at noon, giving Julie the giggles. The fact I had two men in my life was the cause of great mirth for her.

Martin was fortunate to see two of his cabinets sold while he was with me, and he seemed pleased to be able to see the result of his labour being successfully sold so far from home. The first evening, Steven and Sarah asked us to dinner. But after that I cooked for him in my little flat. He didn’t seem eager to go out in any case.

He seemed smaller and younger than I recalled. I guessed that being involved with Ray for those few weeks had given me a difference perception.

“I have my operation date,” I told him.

He didn’t seem as pleased as I thought he would have been, but he still said he was. He wanted to sleep with me, but I wasn’t willing to let that happen, even with him, yet. I tried to explain it, but he went in a bit of a mood with me.

As I lay in bed, alone, on the third night, I wondered what had made him change so much in the few weeks since we’d last seen each other.

I then realised that I’d changed, not him.

He was still trying to recapture that girl/boy he’d met all those years ago, while I was doing my best to bury what I had been then. He was living with a dream of the past, while my eyes were fixed on the future.

Our conversations were limited to the trivial and mundane, never going deep into anything. It was then that it dawned on me that our relationship wasn’t destined to be anything more than friends. However, the operation might change all that. For I still felt very fond of him, and I enjoyed being with him. Why did I keep thinking of Ray?

Martin returned to Germany three days after arriving. He told me he still loved me, but we both realised that something had changed. I wasn’t willing to admit it was me, just in case it was a passing phase.

November seemed to arrive at a crawl, just because I had the fourteenth ringed in big, thick, red felt-tip pen. Julie still didn’t know, so when Steven let slip I was going in for an operation it required quick thinking to avert an embarrassing moment. Sarah alluded to the possibility of me having a hysterectomy, or similar, without actually being specific. That was enough for Julie to regurgitate, at great length and in gruesome detail, the series of gynaecological explorations she’d undergone.

On the 13,sup>th, Mark and Rod were great, taking me out for a lovely meal at Carlo’s (who was back on speaking terms with the drunken idiots). I got back to my flat late and rather pickled.

I slept late on the morning of the 14^th, as I didn’t know how well I’d sleep after the operation. I packed my little case, spoke to my mother on the phone and wrote a few letters. I spent some time in the shop, enjoying the company of my friends for a few hours, and then I called for a taxi.

While I was waiting for the cab, my flat phone rang.

“Hello Jane, it’s Ray.”

“Hi,” I said, slightly reserved. There was a pause on the other end.

“Sorry about…, you know, just sorry,” he said. The awkwardness of the conversation was tangible.

“That’s okay. It was my fault, I suppose.”

“Forget it. You, you surprised me; that’s all. It’s so hard to imagine you as Jamie.”

“Yeah, I surprised me as well. I hadn’t planned to reveal all so soon.”

I heard him laugh, and tears came to my eyes.

“Look, it gave me a lot to think about, just when everything went haywire. Did you see the news?” he asked.

I had, but then we’d been bombarded by news of IRA terrorism for so long we just switched of to it all. There’d been several incidents in the borders where several terrorists were killed and some soldiers wounded. It had happened within days of Ray being posted into the area.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been rather busy.”

“I guessed that. I have been thinking of you, actually.”

“Oh yes?”

“Every night as I go to bed, as it happens.”

He coughed, stressing the tension.

“Look, I’m not sure quite how to put this, but would you be offended if we stayed friends?”

“Friends? No, why should I? I’d understand better if you never wanted to see me again.”

“That occurred to me, initially, but I’m afraid you sort of got to me.”

“Got to you?”

“This isn’t easy for me, as the whole situation is so surreal, but you’re a very special person. To do what you’re doing, and the way you’ve gone about it says a lot.”

“Yeah, I’m completely daft, right?”

He laughed again. “I’ve been thinking over everything that you said, and I am so sorry that I just walked out. I can’t have helped.”

“That’s okay, I sort of expected it.”

“You shouldn’t have, it’s a poor reflection on the way society looks at life and problems like yours. I was selfish, thinking only of me. Now I’ve had time to reflect, I realise how much harder it must be for you. I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t respond, as by this time the tears were coursing down my cheeks.

“Jane? Are you okay?”

“No,” I managed, quite truthfully.

There was silence for a moment, as I heard him talking to someone else. I took the time to try to control myself. It almost worked.

“Jane?”

“I’m okay now. Sorry.”

“No, you have nothing to be sorry about. Look, I have to go, but I’m aware that you’ve an important day tomorrow, so I called to tell you that I’m thinking about you and am wishing you well. I’ll pray for you and when I get back, I’ll take you out for dinner, if you’ll come with me?”

The tears started again, but I managed to stammer an affirmative reply.

“Good, then we’ll make a day of it, how do you fancy a dance at the Savoy first?”

“I’d love to, but only if you really want to. Not if you’re just feeling sorry for me and feel you have to.”

“Oh Jane, you daft brush, of course I feel guilty and sorry about all kinds of things, but I only have the deepest admiration for your determination and courage to go through what you are doing. I can’t begin to imagine how hard things are for you, particularly with your father being as awful as he appears to be. Look, I really have to go. All the best for tomorrow, and I’ll be in touch again, I promise.”

We said goodbye and then my taxi arrived. With my spirits slightly elevated, I left my flat and wondered how different I would see things on my return.
 

*          *          *
 
A different nurse of oriental origins woke me at some ungodly hour the morning after my operation. It was still dark outside, and as I woke up, the aches hit me. It wasn’t sharp pain, more a feeling of being kicked in the crotch by a mule.

“Morning Jane, how are we today?”

“I don’t know about you, but I feel like shit!”

She chuckled, unmoved by my obvious suffering.

“Doctor coming in at nine, so we have to get you ready.”

“Great, what’s for breakfast?” I said, as sarcastically as possible.

“What do you want?” she asked, calling my bluff.

“Just some fruit juice, I don’t feel up to solids just yet.”

The morning passed in a series of busy moments interspersed with lengthy periods of lying about being uncomfortable. My dressings were changed, the doctor hummed and hawed and had the packing removed, instructing me on the use of the dilators. I still felt abused by some equine sadist, so hardly felt like undertaking great feats of exercise or even little ones.

I was permitted to view the surgeon’s handiwork. I’m not sure what I expected, but the absence of what had given me so much heartache was glorious to behold.

I looked odd, not male, but still odd.

My crotch was battered and bruised, red raw in places, puffy and swollen in others, and all of it covered in a yellow stuff that I was later told was in an attempt to prevent infection. In short, I looked a mess.

“The stitches will dissolve, but I told you that, didn’t I?” the surgeon said.

“Yes, you did. Will hair come back?”

“Yes, and the swelling will subside in a few days. Once the hair grows, all the scars will be hidden. As you get older and grow into your new equipment, the scarring will blend into the natural creases of flesh. Apart from the lack of a cervix, there will be little to show anyone that you haven’t always been female.”

It was at that precise moment that I felt all the waiting, all the pain and all the misery was worthwhile. I lay back on the pillows and grinned at the world.

In the afternoon, Mark and Rod appeared with an enormous bunch of flowers. Their visit cheered me up enormously, making me feel almost human. I took a stilted phone call from Martin in Germany, who wished me well and said he would be over to see me when he first got a chance. I wasn’t so bothered any more, but daren’t express it. I was still uncertain about us, but felt guilty about my uncertainty.

On the third day, Ray called, so I spent half an hour talking to him. We talked about so many things. He spoke of mutual friends and colleagues from the army, about whom he now felt it was okay to speak to me. I was amazed that I didn’t feel awkward about it, indeed, was pleased to be able to have something else in common with him. I only stopped because Suzannah popped her head round my door and came whirling into my room like a demented tornado. I felt pleased to see her, but sorry that my call to Ray had to end.

After six days, the surgeon was pleased with my progress, (please don’t remind me about those damn dilators) so I was discharged to return to my little flat. I still saw the world in the same way, it was just I felt I was finally as I was meant to be.
 
 
Chapter 14. Coming To Terms With My Past
 
 
That almost brings me up to my visit home, with which I started this tome. The three months between having the operation to the point where I felt strong enough to face my father, were the least exciting in my life, but I felt as if the hardest part was over. I wasn’t wrong, but then I wasn’t altogether right either.

Initially, I felt an enormous feeling of euphoria, which turned into a feeling of anti-climax. They said my hormones would give me a roller-coaster ride, and they were right. I lost the energy I had before, partially due to not having anything to aim for. I had no specific goal to which I could struggle, so I lost a degree of oomph. As a result, I slacked going to the gym, ate too much, so put on weight and was probably a bit of a lazy cow.

Some positive things happened, as my new passport, bank papers and drivers licence arrived, saying I was now Miss Jane Allan and female. Legally, however, I was still male and not entitled to change my birth certificate. English law still forbade me to marry a male, but perversely, I could marry a female to male transsexual. Things were different in some other countries, but Britain wasn’t due to change for a number of years.

It was the 21^st of February that turned me around. I was in the shop, as usual, on a cold and miserable Tuesday, and no customers were venturing forth. It was trying to rain and snow at the same time, so I was grateful that I lived over the shop.

I was talking with Julie about some curtains she was making for a client when the front doorbell jingled.

I went out to see who was stupid enough to be out on a day like this.

I stopped and stared. It was Ray. Julie coughed and suddenly found an excuse to go see her husband out the back.

“Hello Jane, still as attractive as ever, I see.”

“Ray.”

“Yes. That’s my name.”

“You came.”

He looked around the shop and then back at me.

“Looks like I must have done. How are you?”

“Fat.”

“A little plump, perhaps, but once you get back to the gym and come dancing, you’ll soon lose it and be trim again.”

We’d spoken on the phone every couple of weeks, so I’d confessed to having become a bit of a slob.

“Does it all work properly?” he asked, his gaze travelling towards my lower regions.

I grinned, feeling embarrassed and going red at the same time.

“I don’t know. It pees all right, but I haven’t had the opportunity to test anything else. The doctor told me that I couldn’t use it for at least twelve weeks, in any case. But then there’s the problem of not actually having anyone to use it with.”

It was his turn to become embarrassed, which he covered by taking his coat off, showing that he was in number two uniform underneath. The red tabs on his collar, his gleaming Sam Browne and knife-edge creases made him look very dashing.

“Gosh, do I have to salute?”

“We have a date, remember?”

“A date?”

“Dancing and then dinner. I’m a bit early so I thought we’d have lunch as well.”

“How long are you back for?”

“I’m not sure. I’m back for a meeting at the MOD.”

“Why?”

“There’s been a reshuffle and my post has been reorganised. A Lieutenant Colonel is taking over my role. I’m not sure what they’ll offer me. Possibly the Falklands, as Maggie is initiating loads of cuts.”

“Bummer,” I said with a grin.

“I’m seriously considering jacking it in.”

“Why?” I asked, surprised, as he was only forty-six, so had many years ahead of him.

“It looks like I may be offered the posting to the Falklands for two years, but I’m not that keen to go. My father has asked me if I want to take over the farm. He’s seventy-two this year, so he thinks he’s not able to do it anymore. He wants to retire. If I don’t he’ll have to sell up, and that’ll be a tragedy.”

“Farm?” I asked, my nose wrinkling. “I can’t see you in green wellies mucking out the pigs at six in the morning.”

“I’ll leave that to my wife,” he joked.

I didn’t find it funny, and for the first time realised just what I actually felt about him.

“Wife?”

He laughed and walked over to me. He gently kissed my cheek.

“You really don’t look like a young man I used to work with at all. Don’t worry, I haven’t asked her yet.”

“Her, what her?” I asked, knowing that I sounded like a jealous mistress.

“There is no her, I was speaking hypothetically.”

I held him then, resting my cheek against his shoulder. His uniform smelled of mothballs.

“Have you never been to the Falklands?” I asked.

“Oh yes. I was there, but not with the Paras.”

“I thought you might have been; the SAS?”

“Can’t tell you, my dear, still classified.”

“Bollocks!”

“Yes, with the SAS, although I was at a cosy little base in Chile while the chaps went and did their stuff.”

“I was there.”

“I know, I did a bit of research, you did well.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to be reminded of that part of my life, if that’s okay with you.”

“I understand. So, back to me; I’m in two minds, as I’m no farmer, but with all the cuts feel it’s the right time to jump before the damn government pushes me. I’m not destined for senior command and I’m not sure I want it, to be honest.”

“You’re young for your rank, surely you could go higher?”

“One gets a feel for these things. There are those around who have caught the eye of those responsible for making high appointments. Even in the army, one has to be a politician, and I may be many things, but I’m not one of them.”

“I’m sure you’d make a success of whatever you do.”

“Thanks, so, enough about that, where do you fancy for lunch?”

So, Ray and I started out from scratch, as if nothing happened. He then accepted a short posting to SHAPE in Belgium. In the meantime, Martin’s calls became less frequent, but he still claimed to love me to bits. He had a funny way of showing it. During which time I started working out again, and headed north to face down my father.
 

*          *          *
 
“I’m going to hate this!” I told my mother, in the car to the lunch.

“You’ll be fine, dear.”

“They’ll see me as a freak!”

“No they won’t, I promise.”

“Dad does, so why shouldn’t they?”

“Your father is a bigoted idiot, and these are my friends.”

“He’s your husband,” I said, regretting it as soon as I’d said it.

“That was cruel and unnecessary, Jane.”

“I’m sorry, but he didn’t even come home to face me.”

“He’s afraid.”

“Of me, whatever for?”

“Everything. You’re so much stronger than he.”

“How?”

“He never fought for anything in his life. He saw the end of the war and then went into the family firm. The money was already there, the house was his way of putting his ego onto the map, and yet you’ve done things by yourself. In a perverse way he’s jealous of you.”

“Jealous? Of me? Come off it, no one would ever envy what I’ve had to endure. Do you think I wanted this, or even asked for it?”

“Well, you’ve managed very well, in the face of awful adversity. And have a foreign boyfriend,” she said with a little smile.

“He’s not really a boyfriend.”

“You said he was.”

“He’s a man I met and we like each other. Actually, I’ve met someone after him.”

“Oh?”

“You’d approve, but I can’t see it coming to anything, as he’s too respectable to hitch up with someone like me.”

We stopped and picked up Aunt Mary. Our conversation took a downward turn as she wanted to know whether I was fully functioning, and if not, why not.

Lord and Lady Roberts of Drumfettle lived in a huge old Scottish manor house, complete with towers and turrets. The drive up to the house was a good mile long, and the shrill calls of the peacocks could be heard long before one could see the house.

There were several cars already on the gravel outside the front of the house, and I couldn’t recall being so terrified, ever. Even in the Falklands, I had not experienced fear such as this!

I wore a simple navy skirt with matching jacket over a pale blue blouse, tights and court shoes with heels. My mother had told me that I looked delightful, but I feared I’d make every mistake in the book.

I walked in behind my mother and aunt, hoping to be as invisible as possible. Other cars were arriving as we entered, and I saw that fifteen or so women were already in the drawing room having drinks. My attempt of being invisible didn’t work for long, for our hostess saw us and came over.

“Ah, Catherine, lovely of you to come, and Mary, and this must be Jane, how super to see you again,” she said.

I shook her hand, observing her critical eye as she looked me up and down.

“Gracious, who would ever have thought it? You look simply wonderful, my dear. Charlotte is simply dying to see you, she’s outside with the dogs, do go and see her, there’s a love,” she said.

I smiled, managing to escape to the kitchen and from there out to the back area outside. The cool March air was so refreshing, so I stopped and took some deep breaths for a while. On hearing the dogs barking, I made my way across the yard to the side of the stable block and kennels. It was so odd being here as Jane, for the last time I’d been here was as an eighteen year-old young man. I caught my reflection in the windows. I certainly didn’t look anything like that man now.

Charlotte was an attractive girl with auburn hair and a full figure. We’d dated a couple of times, more out of duty to parents than anything else. In fact, we’d got on very well as friends and never thought of becoming further involved.

She was dressed in a yellow tee shirt, a blue denim pinafore dress and wellies. The sight made me smile, as she always flew in the face of fashion trends. A large and very muddy Flat-coat wanted to play while Charlotte was trying to put her in a kennel. The dogs normally had the run of the house, but when guests came, it was far easier to put them in the kennel for the duration, as six retrievers running amok in amongst all those people was not to be encouraged.

I took a deep breath.

“Hello Charlie,” I said.

“Hi, won’t be a sec, just let me finish with Silky.”

She didn’t turn round, but grabbed the dog and physically hauled her into the kennel, closing the door.

Only then did she turn round, wiping her brow with her forearm.

“Shit, that dog is so bloody awkward. Hello,” she said, frowning. “Have we met?”

“Oh yes, but you won’t remember me like this.”

She gazed at me for a moment, then her expression changed and her mouth opened.

“Bloody hell, Jamie, no, Jane, isn’t it? Shit, you look fantastic. Mum told me all about you, but I’d never have guessed. How lovely to see you,” she literally ran over to me and hugged me. I felt the tears of relief well up in my eyes.

Returning with her to the house, I felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders. She was so curious as to what had happened to me since we last saw each other, but she also hardly shut up for a moment so I just waited for her to run out of steam.

Also, I had to wait for her to change out of her wellies and then we went in together to the daunting den of women. She grabbed a gin and tonic from the large table of drinks as we passed.

“Here, take this, you’ll need it,” she said, handing it to me and taking another for herself.

My mother had been right, but in a way, so had I. No one in the room missed my entrance, as they all ‘casually’ glanced my way, and critically appraised my appearance. I felt under the microscope like at no other time in my life. However, the level of conversation didn’t alter, and no one screamed and pointed at me, so I felt slightly better.

One by one, I circulated round the room with Charlotte by my side. These were all women I knew well, being the mothers and grandmothers of my friends, for the most part. They had all known me as James, so all were equally curious to meet me as Jane.

My mother and aunt didn’t interfere, they simply watched, but I could sense my mother was as nervous as was I. I was open and honest about my experiences and feelings, and at one point found a circle of eight women all listening with rapt attention to my descriptions of various periods of my life, including my operations and initial steps out as Jane.

I could sense that one or two of them didn’t really approve, but their curiosity got the better of them. I found myself repeating the same statement over and over again, “I never chose what I felt; I just wasn’t meant to be a boy. The pull to be female destroys everything else, so I had only two real alternatives — to change or die. Had I been given a choice to be male without the desire to be female, or to be female, I’d have taken the first choice, but I wasn’t that lucky.”

Lunch was a buffet style, so, after collecting my main course, I found myself sitting with Charlotte and one of the few women I didn’t know.

“Jane, this is Ginny Houseman, from London. Ginny is an old school-chum of mums, so they go way back.”

Ginny was of my mother’s age, but there the similarity ended. She looked to be in her forties, until one got close enough to see the age marks on her skin around her neck. Even so, she was wonderfully preserved, as Mark would say. Dressed completely in black, she looked faintly gothic, as if she had a part in a horror movie, but it matched her long black hair and wonderful jade jewellery.

“Ginny is a writer,” Charlotte told me.

“Ah, what type?” I asked.

“I write novels and short stories. I also edit a woman’s magazine. How about you?”

“Jane was a soldier who fought in the Falklands, but she now runs a shop in the West End,” said Charlotte, as I was working out how to explain.

“Ah, Margaret did mention something about a sex change, now it is all clear. Catherine Allan’s your mother, isn’t she?”

“Yes, why?”

“You only had the operation recently, yes?”

“Last November, so?”

“What a fascinating story, have you considered writing your autobiography?”

“Not really, I don’t think I’m old enough to write that yet.”

“It would make a super serial for a magazine, would you consider it?”

“I’d not thought about it. Do I understand you’re based in London?”

“My offices are just off Sloane Street, do you know that part of the world?”

I was suddenly able to talk about my new life, my life in London, such as it was. The prospect of serialising my story was suddenly quite attractive. But the end wasn’t written yet.

The lunch was nowhere near as gruesome as I had expected, particularly as Charlotte was so friendly and sympathetic. In fact, I found it profoundly emotional, as these women, with all their prejudices and failings, accepted me for who I was now, rather than what I had been.

As we drove home, it was about four in the afternoon. I knew that the next event was my showdown with my father. I was under no illusions, fully expecting no change and to be finally rejected by him.

I adored my mother, who had been as supportive as possible, under the circumstances. Short of leaving him, there was no real way of her being allowed to get closer to me, both geographically and practically. The psychologist told me that if he decided that I wasn’t his offspring, and he was unwilling to acknowledge my existence, that that was his loss. I would have done everything and could feel no regret over my actions.

That was balderdash, as I felt enormously guilty and regretted so many decisions. The over-riding decision to become Jane was one I did not regret, but it didn’t stop me feeling guilty.

His car was in the drive when we returned. It was a brand new Jaguar, in keeping with his perception of his importance in life.

“Your father’s home,” My mother said.

“I can see.”

“Would you like me to ease the way?” asked Mary from the back.

“No, this has to be a frontal assault, and I need to show no fear.”

She gripped my shoulder, signifying her support. “We’ll be right beside you, all the way.”

My mother parked the car and we got out. I reflected on the amount of terrifying situations into which I placed myself recently.

He was in his study. A room lined with dark wooden bookcases and a red leather chair behind a mahogany desk. The door was open and he stared at me as I filled the doorway. I felt amazingly calm, as I’d been preparing for this meeting for a very long time.

“Hello, dad,” I said.

He stared at me for a while, saying nothing, but I could see the muscles in his neck twitching.

“What do you want here?” he finally asked. The first words he’d actually spoken to me in two years.

“I’ve come home to settle things between us, once and for all.”

“You look like a clown,” he said.

“Possibly, but then that’s only your opinion. Others have been more accepting and supportive.”

“Humph, they know nothing.”

“Again, that’s your opinion.”

“Is that going to be your answer to everything?” he asked, his voice faintly mocking, yet also uncertain.

“That depends on what you have to say. I’ve been through a tough couple of years, without you even acknowledging my existence, so I thought it fair to allow you the opportunity to tell me to fuck off to my face.”

“That language is wholly inappropriate.”

“Possibly, but that’s what I’m expecting.”

“How little you know me.”

“Really? Based on my experience, I’d say I’ve more than enough grounds to expect you to be un-accepting and opposed to me and who I now am. Most fathers, even if they disapprove of the life choices of their children, will at least accept that those children have the right to make those choices and mistakes without interference and in love. You’ve so far done neither, so what makes you think I can expect you to change?”

He turned his back on me, and I felt that was the end. I was about to turn round and walk away, when he replied.

“You hurt me dreadfully, you know?”

“Oh, and you didn’t hurt me?”

“That’s not relevant.”

I laughed, making him turn round. Anger was distorting his face now, as he became red in the face and his voice gained in volume.

“How dare you come to my house, dressed as a tart, wiggling your false titties and lack of manhood, and say I’m at fault!”

Keeping my voice even and low, I answered.

“Firstly, there’s no need to shout. Secondly, I disagree that I’m dressed inappropriately, and thirdly, I haven’t wiggled anything. Neither did I say you were at fault, as I accept the responsibilities of my decisions, do you?”

He struggled to maintain control, but wasn’t winning the battle.

“You had everything going for you, a good career, a gallant history and real potential. Why did you throw it all away to become, to become, to become, this - a travesty of a human, neither one thing nor another?”

“I am only twenty-nine, so my life is ahead of me. My history is still my history should I decide to use it, and my options are as many as varied as they’ve always been. The only difference is that I am now happy to be the person I should have been at birth. I’m a woman, dad, I always was, deep down inside. Only now, I can be that woman in everything but actually conceiving and carrying a child. It’s what I want, why aren’t you pleased for me?”

“How can you be happy, as this? You could have had so much more!”

“I don’t know, dad, I just am. It’s like a dream come true, which would be so much better if my own father could see beyond his ego for a second and rejoice in his daughter’s happiness.”

I didn’t mean to be so cruel, but the barbs went home. He crumpled into his chair, turning away to face the wall. The audience was over.
 
 
Chapter 15. For A Lady's Honour
 
 
I walked straight into the kitchen and burst into tears on my mother’s shoulder. It occurred to me that I cried an awful lot these days.

“That went well, then,” said Aunt Mary, with a deep chuckle. “Shall I go and see him? I could talk sense into the silly old sod.”

“No, leave him,” said my mother. “He’ll probably have to think about things for a while. It isn’t often he hears the truth.”

“You heard?” I asked, composing myself.

Mary handed me a cup of tea.

“Every blessed word; and you did marvellously, dear.”

It became a waiting game, with the three of us in the kitchen, listening to the clock ticking on the wall, and my father in his study, wrestling with who know what.

My dearest wish was for him to accept me as his child. It didn’t matter how grudgingly or disapprovingly. If he couldn’t do that, then my business here was over.

“I can’t take this any longer!” said Aunt Mary. “I’m going to see what the silly bugger thinks he’s playing at.”

I opened my mouth to ask her not to, but felt as stressed as was she, so let her go. After a moment, we could hear her speak to my father, but not loud enough to pick up what was being said.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I said to my mother, who simply hugged me.

“You did the right thing. This had to be dealt with one way or another!”

“Yes, I know but, if I hadn’t come, then…”

“No dear, there’s more here than just you and who you have now become. He has to see that life is bigger than just him and what he wants out of it. Our marriage has been pretty awful at times, but I’ve never wanted for much. You made my life complete, as before you came along, I thought the marriage was over. Your arrival brought a new lease of life to us both, and you gave me a reason to keep going. That reason is still there, but whether I stay with him, well, that depends on him.”

I felt real anguish and guilt, so started to cry. She simply enveloped me in her arms.

“I always wanted a girl, but you were still my wonderful baby, regardless of gender. I love you as much now as I did when you were born, so never ever blame yourself for things you had no control over. I don’t blame anyone, as we all make decisions and have to live with the consequences. Actually, I think you are so brave to have done what you have done, so just remain my child and let me love you until I die.”

What can one say to that?

I cried, sobbing into her shoulder.

Aunt Mary came back into the kitchen, looking angry.

“Well?” my mother asked.

“He’s a pig-headed arse at times.”

“So, no change there,” I said, at a weak attempt at humour.

“He can’t see further than the end of his bloody nose, it’s so infuriating.”

“I can understand. He had such hopes for me, it must be so hard when your dreams are shattered,” I said.

“Oh, Jane, you’re too gracious,” she said.

“Not really, you see, he’d put me on this pedestal, so now I’ve jumped off, by my own choice, he’s left with nothing. His life has nowhere left to go, so he was going to live his dreams out in my life. So, now I’ve buggered his dream it’s little wonder he’s in a sulk.”

“Perhaps, but if he could be made to see that we aren’t all on Earth for his benefit, then progress could be made.”

“You can’t change an old dog,” said my mother with a sad smile.

“I think I’ll head south again tomorrow. My presence here will bring nothing but pain.”

“Oh, Jane, not so soon, surely?”

“I think so, you see, I needed to know whether he’d accept me. Now I know that I’m not welcome in his house, I don’t feel I can stay.”

Mum just nodded, tears rolling gently down her face. I felt that guilt and shame again. Regret over my selfishness was tugging away at my conscience. If I’d just stayed as I was, then this pain wouldn’t exist.
 

*          *          *
 
“Don’t ever think like that. The pain you carried was too great, so you did the only thing you could, so never ever think that!” Aunt Mary appeared to read my thoughts. I gaped at her in some surprise.

“How…?”

“It was logical, you actually care about others more than yourself, unlike your father, so I knew exactly what was going through your mind.”

The phone rang, effectively curtailing our discussion. Mother answered it, but then looked at me strangely.

“Jane, it’s for you.”

Frowning, I took the phone from her. I’d told Mark where I was going, but no one else.

“Who is it?” I mouthed at my mother.

She shrugged.

“Hello?”

“Jane, it’s Ray.”

Now I remembered the only other person I’d told where I was going. But he didn’t count, as he was in Brussels.

“Ray, is anything the matter?” I asked, worried, because something serious must have happened for him to call from Europe.

“I just wanted you to know that I was thinking about you. How’s it going?”

I’d been so strong so far, but simply hearing his voice made me cry. I felt such a fool, but Mother and Aunt Mary left me alone.

“Oh God, it’s been awful. He just refuses to acknowledge me at all.”

“So it was a complete waste of time?”

“Not entirely, as Mum’s been brilliant, as has my aunt. I went out to lunch with a load of her old friends. It was rather daunting, as they all knew me before, you know what. I was amazed as how accepting most of them seemed to be of me, and what I’ve done. I even bumped into an old girlfriend.”

“Really, how did she take to the new you?”

“Charlotte was superb, better than I could have ever hoped, we’ve sort of become friends.”

“So why was the trip so awful?”

“My father, he’s being a pig-headed bastard. I so wanted to be able to explain everything so he’d understand and then come simply to acknowledge who I am now. I didn’t expect him to suddenly welcome me with open arms, but he just shut me out. He blames me for ruining his life. His life! I ask you, Ray, why the fuck can’t I just live my life for me rather than him?”

“What he needs is someone to talk some sense into him,” Ray suggested with a chuckle.

“It’s not funny, he hates me!”

“Does he? Do you really think he actually cares that much?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, I don’t know him, but I know you. I don’t actually believe that he’s the kind of man who actually cares for anything or anyone other than himself. If you were my daughter, under the same circumstances, then I might not exactly be thrilled with your life decisions, but they’re your decisions, and I would respect them. My love for you as a parent would still be as strong, so I’d do my best to put aside any social shame or personal disquiet to give you whatever support you needed. The worth of a man is in his capacity to love, not in what he owns or how important he thinks he is. Is he unable to take what he perceives as the social fallout?”

“Probably,” I stammered, as it dawned on me that he used the ‘L’ word twice.

“Would you like me to talk to him? You never know, he might accept the truth from a senior army officer.”

I smiled, in spite of the tears. He always managed to say something that made me smile. That’s why I was so fond of him. I paused a moment. I was fond of him, or was it something more. His voice on the telephone had an affect on me; it made me relax, and it made me believe that the worst was over and there was light at the end of the tunnel. Ray always made me feel good about myself when I really needed to.

“Jane?”

“I’m here; I was just smiling, as you say the silliest things sometimes. But thanks, I needed to smile.”

“I was serious.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’ll just commandeer a helicopter and flit over to Scotland and then be back before breakfast?”

“I’m in Perth.”

I was silent.

“Jane?”

“What did you say?”

“I said that I was in Perth.”

“What the hell are you doing in Perth?”

“I flew into Edinburgh this morning. I’ve been at a meeting all afternoon, and now I’m staying with an old army buddy just outside Perth. He’s a farmer up near Dunkeld.”

“When did you know about this?”

He laughed down the phone at me. “You sound like a jealous wife.”

I immediately felt guilty, so apologised.

“Don’t be silly. I only found out this morning at seven-thirty. There’s a bit of a flap on as the provos targeted some British bases in Europe, so I had a high-level meeting with some chaps in Edinburgh. One of the Regiments attacked was the RSDGs.” (Royal Scots Dragoon Guards)

I suddenly realised that of all the people in the world, he was the only one I really needed to see right now, but I hesitated to say so. I was only too aware of my own past, and how absurd it was to consider he could ever be anything more than a friend.

“Jane, are you okay, my love?”

I thought I’d misheard. “What did you call me?”

“Look this is neither the time, nor the way to speak of such things. I need to see you, and I suspect you need me. Am I right?”

“What things?” I said, ignoring his question. For some reason, my heart was beating faster.

“Things like what I feel for you, and what you might feel for me. May I come and see you?”

“Ray, don’t be an arse, you can’t expect…”

“Jane, shut up!”

I shut up.

“Now, I’m coming over. Either he will speak to me or he won’t. If he won’t, then you’re leaving with me, got it?”

He was suddenly my commanding officer, but I was only too happy to acquiesce to him.

“Yes, dear,” I said, semi-mockingly.

“It will probably take me about forty minutes, okay?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Who’s being an arse now?” he asked, chuckling. I loved that sound; it was rich and melodious, like dark, warm chocolate. I wanted to wrap myself in his laugh.

“I am, dear.”

“I know a lovely restaurant in Perth, do you fancy dinner?”

“What about your friend?”

“We can bring him and his wife too, if you fancy a foursome?”

“I don’t think I’d be brilliant company right now.”

“I’ll see what the situation is when I get there, all right?”

“Yes sir!” I said, smiling.

“You’re an arse, Jane. I think that’s why I love you. Bye for now, I’ll see you in a bit.”

He was gone before my stunned brain was able to recover. I was still standing holding the dead receiver when my mum and aunt returned.

“Jane, are you all right? You look shocked. Has something happened?” my mother asked.

I stared at her, still unable to comprehend everything he’d just said, as the last sentence sort of wiped my hard drive.

“Jane, well, who was it?”

“A,… a friend. He’s worried about me. He’s coming over to talk to dad.”

“Who is he?”

“Someone I’ve known for years, but sort of met again recently,” I sensed I was making a right muck-up of this.

“Jane, that tells me nothing.”

“Ray is someone I first knew when I was in the army. We’d not seen each other for years, but we met up a little while ago, and we’ve become good friends.”

“You mean he recognised you as Jamie?”

“No, he just thought I was a real woman. He was due to ship out to Ireland, so I sort of told him the truth before things got serious.”

“And he’s still here?” Aunt Mary asked. “I think things have got a tad more than serious, don’t you, my girl?”

I must have blushed, for both laughed at me.

“You still haven’t answered my question, dear.”

“His name is Ray Carlyle.”

“Ray Carlyle, I know that name, now why have I heard of him? I think there was an article in the Telegraph recently, something about cuts to the army, or something. Oh, my God, he’s not Brigadier Raymond Carlyle, is he?”

I simply grinned sheepishly.

“Oh, dear Lord, he is! Good for you, girl,” said Mary, as she burst out laughing.

“You said he was coming here to speak to your father, why?”

“I think Ray believes that dad might listen to someone outside the family.”

“I also think he’s worried about you and wants to protect you,” said my aunt with a knowing smile.

“Does he want to stay for dinner?” asked my mother, always with a thought for the catering arrangements.

“I don’t know. I think it wise just to wait and see what happens. He did ask if I wanted to go out for dinner, but I told him I would wait and see what happened.”

“Then let’s just leave it at that. How long will he take to get here?”

“I’m not sure, he’s coming from Dunkeld.”

“This time of evening, about an hour,” said my aunt.

“Oh, let’s hope your father is still here when he gets here.”
 
 
Chapter 16. Something Lost, Something Gained
 
 
As it happened, my father was still in his study when a battered and very muddy Land Rover pulled up in front of the house. I’d been pacing nervously up and down the hall, so was on the drive before Ray even opened his door.

The first thing I saw was his smile, and under its warmth, I simply melted.

“Hello you,” he said, coming over to me. He was dressed in a pair of brown cords, a check shirt and had brown brogues on his feet. He looked younger out of uniform, but also more human.

“Hi. Thanks for coming, but you didn’t have to, you know?”

He said nothing, but held out his hand, which I took. He pulled me gently towards him, wrapping his other arm around my waist.

We stood there, with me looking up into his eyes.

“What?” I said, unable to gauge his expression.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but why are you looking at me like that?”

He smiled and then kissed me, releasing me as soon as it was over. Still holding my hand, we walked towards the front door.

“Is he still here?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I thought for a moment he might retreat. Does he know I’m coming?”

“No.”

“Even better.”

We went into the hall to find my mother and aunt eagerly waiting to be introduced. After I had done so, Mary’s eyebrows nearly took off. Ray simply excused himself and went to my father’s study.

“He’s gorgeous, Jane, don’t you dare let this one go!”

“I don’t think it’s up to me, but I’ll try not to.”

We did try to get as close to the door as possible, so we could overhear the conversation. Unfortunately, although we could hear the deep bass of their voices, no words were discernable. Aunt Mary pushed me back into the kitchen.

“Put the kettle on, there’s nothing good to be overheard by eves dropping,” mother said.

“Bugger that, I need a proper drink!” said my aunt with a chuckle.

I put the kettle on while Aunt Mary helped herself to a stiff gin and tonic. We then sat in the kitchen in virtual silence, waiting for the expected eruption.

Half an hour passed, and all was still quiet. I couldn’t take it any more, so stood up.

“I’m going to take the dogs for a walk, I can’t stand this.”

I put on my wellies and a coat, called the dogs and went up the lane for about half an hour, then I went round the wood and returned across the field to the house. My mind was in a whirl, unable to focus on anything much. When I got back to the house, I half expected to see that Ray had left, but the Land Rover was still where he’d left it. I had tried to imagine all possible permutations that could be happening, so was quite worked up by the time I went into the kitchen.

Ray was sitting at the kitchen table, laughing and joking with my mother and aunt. I noticed he had a whisky in his hand.

“Oh there you are, Ray’s staying for dinner, by the way,” my mother said as I entered.

He put his glass down and stood up as I walked into the room.

“Well, how did it go?” I asked, slightly timidly, as if I didn’t want to know the answer.

“He’s thinking things over,” he said.

“Like?”

“Like lots of things. I think I’ve allowed him to see that there is more than one way to look at this situation. I just hope I’ve convinced him of certain truths.”

“Truths, what truths?”

“Things like unconditional parental love and responsibility, what it means to be a man, and what it means to have real courage. I also told him that I expected a hell of a lot more from the father of the woman I love.”

I had to hold onto the chair back to prevent myself from falling. I sat down.

“What?”

He sat next to me, taking my hand.

“Jane, I sort of said as much on the phone, but the truth is you’ve managed to get right under my skin. There I was in Belgium, working hard but unable to concentrate because I kept thinking of you. You remember the musical, My Fair Lady?”

I nodded.

“Well, Rex Harrison wasn’t much of a singer, but his song, Why Can’t a Woman be more like a Man is so apt. You are the first woman I have ever met who understands me and with whom I can be truly myself. I find that, despite your past, it’s the girl I met at that restaurant and have got to know over the last months or so that I want to be with.”

I stared at him, then at my mother and aunt.

“But, you know I can’t…”

“Jane, I’m not sure what can’t you were going to say. Let me quite clear, I’ve had all the children I want, so I’m not rushing to race up an aisle and I couldn’t really give a damn what other people think. It may not the situation I’d envisaged, but I suppose in a way, it’s more appropriate, for at least you’ll know I’m serious. You see, I now realise I love you, and have for some time, so I’m asking you to join me on life’s path, for as long as you care to stay with me.”

It was the nearest thing to a marriage proposal for which someone like me could ever hope. I suppose that despite all my day dreams involving Martin, all my visions of a perfect future where I would be swept off by a man who’d accept me for who I was, I’d never really believed that it was either likely, realistic or probable. All my counselling, all the therapy groups and all the experts had told me to expect a very quiet social life. Romance was a secondary issue, and was something to consider once one was well established in one’s new life, unless, of course, one was fortunate enough to have a partner who stuck by throughout.

So to be suddenly faced with someone who met my dream-criterion was, quite simply, a shock.

I then thought of Martin.

I’d rarely thought about him at all recently; whereas Ray had hardly been out of my mind. I felt a little guilt over that sweet German, but it was a small drop of emotion in a veritable ocean. We’d gradually drifted apart, as I desperately wanted to put my past behind me, as he was clinging to something that had happened so long ago that it was unhealthy.

“Well?”

“What?”

“Yes or no, damn it?”

“Shit, you’ve really surprised me, Ray, I had no idea.”

“I guessed that, but if you don’t feel about me the way I feel about you, then I can give you more time.”

“It’s not that, it’s just that I’m not….”

He silenced me by kissing me. It lasted a long time, but I was only too well aware of my mother and aunt watching. He broke off.

“Well?”

“I suppose I’d be an idiot to turn you down?”

“Yes, you bloody well would!” said my aunt.

“That’ll be a yes then, but you have to accept that I….”

I wasn’t allowed to finish, for he pulled me to my feet and kissed me again.

This time I was oblivious to anyone but Ray. When we broke off, all my protestations and reservations seemed to have vanished. I found myself being hugged by both my mother and aunt, with the latter disappearing to find some champagne to open.

“Ray, have you really thought this through?” I asked, once we were alone, as my mother went in to see if my father was still alive.

“Of course. You know, it’s been a bit of a challenge, but in the end, I think we’ll do alright.”

“Have you any idea what it will be like attached to a transsexual?”

“Jane, for a start, you aren’t a transsexual any more. You’re a woman, and a damn attractive one, with bags of character, guts and a wonderful sense of humour. Secondly, I’m not seeking public office, so there’s no reason for anyone to get kicks out of spilling the beans to the damn papers. And, what’s more, if anyone wants to make an issue over it, they can answer to me. I happen to love you, you silly woman, so I am prepared to take on all the baggage that goes with you.”

“There’s quite some baggage, you know?”

“I believe I do. Look, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and to be honest, would have said something ages ago, but was too much of a coward. I wanted to see whether I’d feel the same after a little time and distance was put in the equation, and I did, so here I am.”

“You must be daft, but I do love you,” I said. “It’s strange, but I never thought I’d ever find anyone, not like this. I’m not sure I ever expected anyone to take on that baggage.”

He frowned, looking around the kitchen.

“Where’s my jacket?” he asked.

“You weren’t wearing one when you arrived, why?”

“Bugger, must have left it in the car. Won’t be a jiffy,” he said, going out to the drive.

“Where’s he gone?” asked Mum, as she returned to the kitchen.

“Gone for his jacket, why?”

“I thought you’d frightened him off.”

“How’s dad?”

“Confused and upset. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. I think he’s feeling sorry for himself because he feels guilty and ashamed. I also think he’s cross at being shown up as a bit of an arse, to be honest.”

“Would it help if I went and spoke to him?”

“You could try, I really don’t know, he’s just muttering, ‘I’m sorry,’ over and over again.”

I went back to the study and found the door open. I walked in. Dad was still sitting in his chair, but he was leaning on the desk with his head in both hands, with his elbows on the desk.

“Dad, for what it worth, I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

He didn’t reply or make any motion to signify that he’d heard me. I shook my head and was turning away when he finally spoke.

“You could have been someone!” he said.

“I am someone. I’m the person I want to be.”

He turned and looked at me. He sat there for several moments, just looking at me.

“Yes, but you could have been better!”

“Dad, I don’t want to be better. This is what I wanted, and now I can start to live my life without feeling that I’m living a lie,” I said, as if talking to a child.

He said something that I couldn’t hear.

“I’m sorry, what?” I said, moving closer.

“I’m sorry for all the horrible things that I said. I was being selfish. I didn’t realise just how selfish until,… your,…. your friend told me.”

“Ray’s a good man, dad, he only wanted to help me.”

My father nodded. “He told me how much you hurt. I wanted you to hurt, and I’m so sorry.”

“Why did you want me to hurt?” I asked.

“Because, I…, I honestly don’t know. I just know I did.”

I stared at this man. If he wasn’t my father, I’d just walk out, but something invisible made me stay.”

“Your friend was right, as I had an unreal expectation of you, but I never really considered you’d want to go your own way. Now I see it, but ….you hurt me quite a lot.”

“You hurt me too, dad, but I forgive you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t deserve it, for you didn’t mean to hurt me, but I did. I wanted you to be so hurt that you’d come back to me.”

“I never went away, dad, I’m still your child. I’m just not the son you thought I was.”

“This is so hard.”

“Yes, it is, and has been for me for the last twenty years.”

“That long?” he asked, surprised.

“That long. I’m now happy to be who I am, all I want is for you to be happy for me.”

“I don’t like it, Jame…., hell, I don’t even know if I can say your name.”

“Try, dad, please try.”

“You have to understand, I don’t like what you’ve done, but I’m sorry for being a selfish old sod. I’m not sure if I can ever really accept this, but I will try. I still think you’ve made a dreadful mistake, but I accept that you believe that what you’ve done is right for you.”

“I’m happy for the first time in my life, so doesn’t that mean something?”

He looked away, and I thought I saw the glistening of tears in his eyes.

“All I wanted for you was to be happy.”

“Then be pleased for me, because I am. It may not be the way you expected, and it’s certainly not the way I expected.”

He almost smiled. I sat on the floor at his feet and took his hand. He tried to pull it away, but I held on tight.

“Dad, look, I know you wanted the best for me, but your best and my best are different. My life must be my own, to make mistakes or to be a success, but they are my mistakes or successes, not yours. You were great when I was young, both as a father and as a mentor, but as soon I was old enough to have my own ideas, opinions and beliefs, then you didn’t like it, because I started to pull away and to be free. Well, I am free now, but I would still have you in my life, on my terms, as my father, not as someone who would dictate how I should conduct my life. A father and daughter shouldn’t be enemies.”

His eyes widened at the use of the word — daughter, but he said nothing.

I never heard Ray come in, but when he put his hand on my shoulder, I knew he was there.

“I’m sorry, ………Jane, I will try,” dad whispered my name, as if unable to speak it properly. It was more than I had expected.

“Thank you, that’s all I ask of you.”

Dad looked up at Ray.

“Forgive me, but do I understand that you really intend to,…. to well,…. to form a relationship with, with,…her?”

I had to smile, as it was the first time he’d acknowledge me as being worthy of the word her.

“Sir, I understand your reluctance to use the words daughter and marry, but in essence, I love Jane, and would have her for my wife, once the legalities of the situation are settled. There is no doubt that Jane is a woman, and as your daughter, you should be proud of her tenacity and courage to undergo what she had recently experienced. I’m not asking for your blessing, for we would not be thoughtless, but I believe that any man should be told when her daughter has found someone with whom she wishes to spend the rest of her life.”

“Ray, that was ever so pompous!” I said, but he was watching my father.

Dad shook his head. “I still don’t like what has happened, but in the light of what you say, I must accept it. I do admit to having behaved irresponsibly and selfishly, but I maintain that I hoped that good sense would prevail. I apologise to you, J…, J.., Jane, for how I treated you. I may not understand why, but must accept that it has happened, regardless of my wishes. Perhaps, in time I will be more accepting, so you will forgive me if it takes me a while. I am happy for you, if you really believe you are more content now. This is all very strange, but for what it’s worth, you have my blessing, even though you didn’t ask for it.”

“Thank God for that!” said my aunt, as she handed out the champagne glasses. “A toast, to Jane and the rest of her life!”

---

 
To Be Continued...

To Fight for a Dream by Tanya Allan     An autobiography is an account of one’s life up to a certain point.   This isn’t my autobiography. It is, however, a fictitious biography of someone very like me, or me if one or two things had happened differently.   This is a WHAT IF scenario plus a lot of wishful thinking.

 
 
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

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Author's Note:
 
This is a work of fiction, but some of the events, some of the people and most of the feelings and emotions are real. Some of the events were events that I experienced, while others were researched, and others are simply made up.

ALL names have been changed to protect the innocent. In 2005, I first posted an early version of this as a blog on my Yahoo 360 site, but removed it when Yahoo became silly about what they considered indecent. I used a photograph that they believed was for adults only and restricted viewing. I have since rewritten and revised it into its current form.

I know what is real and what isn’t.

I leave it to you to guess and wonder what is real and what isn’t.

Actually, it doesn’t matter, as it should stand alone as a good yarn. Please note, I have maintained my record for happy endings, even though the real ending has yet to be written.

It is tough to fly in the face of convention and social mores. It is tough to break away and to declare that you want to be you, in spite of what the world decrees you should be.

In 2008, the world read of Captain Ian Hamilton of the Parachute Regiment. He turned my fiction into reality by undergoing transition and surgery to become Jan.

I dedicate it to all those who have the courage to go with their convictions; and to those who stand by them, no matter how hard it might be. May God bless you all.

Tanya
Originally written in 2005, revised in 2008.
 
 
The Legal Stuff:To Fight for a Dream  ©2005, 2008 Tanya Allan

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Chapter 17. Growing Up
 
 
It would have been lovely if that had been the end of all the strife, but it wasn’t. It may have been the end of the beginning, as Churchill once spoke about the Second World War, for my father remained as prickly and as difficult as he could be. I think he was more in a sulk at being exposed as a miserable bugger, particularly as so many people whom he knew well had accepted me. The difference was I no longer cared so much, particularly as I had someone who took away the hurt.

Ray stayed for dinner, but then drove out of my life for a month. Dinner was rather strained, which wasn’t helped by Aunt Mary getting sloshed. Dad sat at his usual place, at the head of the table, but said very little. The high point was when he leaned towards me and said, “Jane, pass the bloody cabbage!”

I walked out with Ray to the car.

“Sorry my dear, but I’ve so much to do,” he said.

“I understand, but you have no idea how grateful I am. You managed the impossible.”

“Not really, it just took someone outside the family to show him the light. He’s not yet convinced, you know?”

“I know, but at least he called me Jane.”

He rummaged in his jacket pocket, producing a small box. He opened it and took out a ring.

“This was my grandmothers, I’d like you to have it,” he said, slipping it onto my left ring finger. It was rather tight.
“She didn’t have soldier’s fingers, though.”

It twinkled in the poor light. I could make out a circular cluster of diamonds with a larger stone in the middle

“It’s lovely, are you sure?”

He kissed my forehead. “Yes, are you?”

“Oh yes, but there’s a lot of problems to face.”

“Then we face them together. Okay?”

I nodded. “Ray?”

“Hmm?”

“We’ve not really talked this through. I’m hardly what you’d call a typical army wife. Are you really, really sure?”

He sighed, smiling gently as he clasped both my hands.

“Look, I’m forty two, I’ve given the best years of my life to the army, and now I want to enjoy what I have left. Ever since I met you, despite not knowing the truth, I thought I’d found the one person I could see out my time on this planet. Then you bared all, so to speak, and I had to have a serious rethink. Having done that, I found it made no difference, or in fact, it simply strengthened my determination to see more of you. Now, I’m not sure what a psychologist would make of this, but somehow, and in a perverse sort of way, your past makes you more attractive to me. As I said before, I feel you understand me so much better than any other woman I’ve ever met.”

“What about sex?” I asked.

“Sex?”

“Ray, sex is supposed to be important to all men, yet we’ve never even talked about it, let alone tried anything. Yet you’ve sort of proposed without even knowing whether we’re compatible.”

“If I recall, you sort of accepted under the same conditions.”

“I know, but we women are supposed to be more concerned with the emotional than the physical aspects of relationships.”

“Jane, sex with you is something I’ve thought about, but to be honest, if we never manage more than a kiss and a cuddle, then I’d be happy just to be doing that much with you. Whatever happens, happens, okay?”

At this moment, I wanted this man more than I’d wanted anything than at any other time in my life.

“Ray?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“And I love you too.”

He held me then, for only a few minutes, but if I died at that moment, I’d have almost been happy, for it couldn’t get better than this.

Then he left me; back to the army and Belgium, for at least a month. I’d done everything I wanted to in Scotland, but stayed for another few days, just to allow my mother to get to know her daughter, and to give the opportunity for my father to open further communication with me. He declined, but at least he didn’t go out of his way to be nasty to me, he made it quite plain that with Ray out of the picture, he wasn’t going to back down too much.

He did, however, speak to me when he couldn’t avoid it, and called me Jane. He also used the female pronouns in respect of me, so I felt I’d won a significant victory.

The strange thing was that I didn’t actually care that much, which seemed to wind him up even more. I simply smiled at him and was as sweet as I could be. Aunt Mary sniggered and told me I was being a delightful little bitch, which pleased me.

The day after Ray left, Charlotte and I got together for a day out in Perth. We met at a coffee shop and spent the day shopping, chatting and having a real hoot. We had lunch at a small restaurant, in which, Charlotte reminded me, we’d once eaten on a date back in the old days.

“You were a very sweet boy, but not really my type. I never really knew why I didn’t fancy you, now I know,” she said, giggling. “Did you fancy me?”

“I think so, sort of. I mean, you were, and still are very pretty, but I think it was more that I was expected to fancy you than any sexual chemistry. I was so confused about my gender that I just went with what others expected of me just to keep the peace.”

“When did you first realise you should have been a girl?”

I told her my story, when I got to the part about Ray and the ring, she gasped like a goldfish out of water.

“Oh my God! He didn’t?”

So, I shared my feelings and dreams with her, finding a new friend along the way. In return, she told me of her life, her relationships and problems. We laughed over some silly things and cried over some sad ones.

“Don’t lose touch, Jane, it’d be really cool if we could get together as often as we can,” she said as we parted

I promised to try, giving her my address and phone number in London. Back home, I found my demons had diminished, so once the week was up, I caught the train south once more.

As the train crossed the Forth Bridge once more, I smiled, as I was a very different person on this trip.

“Going to London?” asked the young man in the seat opposite.

“Yes, are you?”

“Yup.”

He was about twenty-two or so, dressed casually in jeans and a tee shirt, with blond hair curling over his collar. He told me his name was Alistair and he was on his way south to start a job in London.

“I got my degree in media management, so I’m working with a company that deals with selling publicity, like for exhibitions and such like. What do you do?”

“I manage a business in the West End, but probably not for much longer.”

“Why not?”

“My fiancé is an army officer.”

We chatted all the way south and, as we pulled into Kings Cross, I realised that this Jane was a very different one to the one that left a week ago.

I dropped into the shop, as it was still open when I arrived. Needless to say, my ring was gushed over and I had Sarah and Julie fascinated in my tale of what happened in Scotland. I didn’t elaborate into the reasons for my father’s attitude, because Julie was still unaware of my true history. She just thought we’d had a bust up many years ago, which was not uncommon with many families.

They’d already seen Ray, and Julie was feeling smug.

“See, I told you, a good looking girl like you was bound to find a good one before too long.”

Mark was equally enthusiastic, when I told him on the phone.

“We’ll have to go out for dinner to celebrate. A full Brigadier General, my God, how wonderful; I can’t wait to see you at the Sovereign’s Parade at Sandhurst, with a hat and all the trimmings, rubbing shoulders with all those snotty army wives, and none of them knowing that you fought on the ground in the Falklands!”

I returned to my flat, where I found the remains of a hastily prepared and half-demolished meal. Suzy was back! As I unpacked and had a long soak in my small bath, I wondered what she was up to. I was a little disappointed she wasn’t here, as I had so much to share with her.

After my bath, I examined my body in the full-length mirror. All evidence of the surgeon’s handiwork had disappeared, and I was blissfully content with my new curves. When I went to bed, I was more content than at any other time in my life.

On the following day, Suzannah appeared at lunchtime looking totally dishevelled and with a huge grin on her face. The shop was quite empty, so Julie and I were doing some stocktaking, which we cast aside as soon as Suzy appeared.

She was full of life, bubbling over with enthusiasm, as she had just been offered a good part in a film, which was due to start filming in Italy in April.

“It’s something about the Romans, and I play a captured slave girl who ends up the wife of a Roman general,” she said, with her usual vagueness.

“So what happened to the doctor?” I asked.

“Gone back to his wife, I expect,” she said, with a sheepish grin.

I restrained for saying, ‘I told you so,’ as her expression told me that it was completely unnecessary.

“So what happened last night? I saw the remains of a meal, were you interrupted?”

“Oh that, I had an old friend call out of the blue, and ask me to go to out to dinner. The director of this movie was there and he offered me a screen test. That’s where I was this morning.”

She spent the next hour telling me about her life, and only then did she ask about mine.

I simply said things were fine, but Julie grabbed my left hand and said, “Fine? Look at this, she’s only engaged to a general in the army!”

“Shit? What happened to the German?”

I then had to explain in detail about my trip north and Ray’s weird appearance. It was quite hard to do, as Julie was still unaware of my past. Finally, Suzy looked at her watch, swore and disappeared, muttering about meeting her agent.

Life got back to normal, or as normal as it could for me. With all my emotional ups and downs, I was quite looking forward to a period of stability. I even managed to write a couple of articles for magazines, and tried writing my autobiography, but my mind wasn’t able to work efficiently without dwelling on the negative too much. I found it quite emotional as I went back in time and dredged up my past life. I was unable to think of events without recalling the emotions I experienced at the time.

Ray called me most evenings, and we spent far too long talking about everything and nothing. I found I was living for these calls, and would sit by the phone, waiting, every evening. We seemed to spend most of the time laughing. I’d tell him about my day, then he’d do the same, but he made everyone sound so interesting and funny.

The week he was due to return, the arrival of a German truck woke me at some ungodly hour. I looked out to see Martin jump down from the cab. He had one other man with him.

“Bugger!”

Now I had some explaining to do. I dressed, deciding not to put on the ring that Ray have given me, and went down to meet him.

He seemed as pleased to see me as before, so I gave him a hug and a kiss. The kiss was nice, but it didn’t feel the same. I wondered whether that was me or him.

“Hi Jane, good to see you. You didn’t call me,” he said.

I gave them all breakfast after they unloaded the truck. The cabinets were proving popular, so the next order was already nearly double this one. Max, the driver, wanted to have a nap before the return trip, so he lay on the sofa and was snoring in no time.

As it was a fresh spring morning, Martin joined me for a walk in the park.

“So, you have settled things with your father, ja?”

“Sort of. He at least calls me Jane now, but he’s still hardly embracing me with open arms.”

We walked for a few moments in silence.

“You have changed,” he said, glancing at me.

“Oh, in what way?”

He shrugged, “I’m not sure, but I sense you are different.”

I tried to make light of it, so laughing, said, “I’m about as different as you can get.”

“No, when I first meet you, in Germany, you were like the girl I met at school. Now you are a different person.”

“Perhaps I needed to grow up and move on.”

“You are not the person I remember,” he said, almost petulantly.

“That’s because I’m not the same person. I’m now the woman I always wanted to be. I don’t want to be that other, not quite either person.”

The dawn mist made the park into a surreal place, with swirling grey banks of mist partially hiding and strangely distorting familiar features such as trees and bushes. We stopped and sat on a bench.

“I also sense you do not feel the same for me any more,” he said, holding my hand.

“Martin, I’m not sure what I feel. You were the subject of my dreams for so long, you will always be part of who I am, but those dreams are in the past, as is the person I used to be. I’m looking forward to the person I am now and will remain for the rest of my life. I sense that you’re attached to that person I no longer want to be.”

Nodding, he looked out into the park.

“My mother asks me whether we are getting married. I tell her that you may not want to marry me.”

I felt guilty and angry. These were pressures I didn’t need.

“What do you want, Martin?”

He shrugged again. “I’m not sure.”

“I thought you wanted to marry me?”

“I did.”

“But not any more?”

Again a shrug. “Perhaps.”

“Why? Is it me?”

“A little. It is also me, a little, too.”

“Oh?”

“You know I’ve always been confused?”

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

“Well, I was curious, so I met a girl in Bonn about three weeks ago.”

“And?”

“And nothing. She was interested, but I told her about you.”

“Not everything?” I asked, suddenly worried.

“No, of course not, I just said there was a girl in England who was special.”

“So?”

“She told me that if ever things change, she would be interested in seeing me again.”

“And what do you feel about that?”

“I am pleased, but I do not want to upset you.”

“Well, I met someone too, and it’s more or less the same,” I said, feeling relieved.

“You are still special to me, but I do not understand how you have changed.”

“Do you not like the changes?”

“I’m not sure. You are different.”

“How so?”

“You are less,…. how do you say? Zaghafte - timid, ja, less timid. You are confident and kultivierte, in English, sophisticated, ja?”

“I’m not sure, but possibly. Go on.”

“I’m not sure that we have the things in common any more,” he said.

“I agree. I think I am less timid and certainly, as I become more confident in being who I am, I’d like to think I am sophisticated and cultured, but underneath, I am still me.”

“Ja, but that you is not the same either.”

“None of us stay the same, Martin, and I wouldn’t want to.”

“I think that is my problem. I remember you all those years ago, and that was the girl I fell I love with. You are now a woman, and you frighten me a little.”

“Frighten you, how?” I asked, surprised.

“I’m not sure, it is like you have grown up too much, and leave me behind.”

I sat quietly for a moment, mulling over what he’d said. He was right on the button, as I felt exactly the same way.

“Martin, you are still very special to me, but I agree, I think I have moved on to a place that is far from the person you fell in love with. I don’t want to hurt you, not after my memory of you was what got me through to this point, but I’m not sure that we are right for each other at the moment.”

“I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Jane, so be not angry with me?”

“I’m not. Of course, I’ll always be your friend, and you are still so special to me. You are one of the few people who know all my secrets.

We walked back. Symbolically, the mist was clearing and the sun was coming out, so I felt that a fog had lifted from my life, making things clearer for me as a result.

“What’s her name?”

“Who?”

“The girl you met in Bonn?”

“Oh, Renate.”

“Give her a call, I’d hate for you to miss out.”

“The person you met, what is his name?”

“Ray.”

“He’s a good man?”

“Yes, a very good man.”

“He is older than you, ja?”

“How did you know?”

“You have grown up, Jane, I am too young. He has children, ja?”

“Two, both teenagers. He’s been divorced for a few years.”

“Gut, you can be a mother after all.”

His words stopped me. I hadn’t considered this as a factor, but I suppose I would be a sort-of step-mother after all. I smiled, as I would partly realise my dream.

We parted good friends, but I experienced a sense of loss and sadness. The girl had gone completely now.

Jane was now the woman she wanted to be.
 
 
Chapter 18. Complete
 
 
Normally, that point would have been a good place to stop, but events have moved on since that wonderful moment. Once more, I recalled reading of the young couple in Paris who became engaged and then committed suicide together as they could not imagine ever being as happy. They wanted to end it on a high before anything came along to ruin that perfection.

I was neither so brave nor so foolish. My years of struggle made me more stubborn and determined than they, so I was eager to see what else life had in store for me. “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get,” so said Forrest Gump in the movie starring Tom Hanks.

My box had been full of marzipan up to now, with the occasional surprising strawberry cream. I’ve always hated marzipan!

My bust was now slightly larger than I had anticipated, so after talking things through with Ray, I elected to have the implants removed. This left me with a C cup, and a feeling that I would avoid the potential for sagging bosoms in later life. Once this was completed and I had recovered, I was now technically finished with surgeons and psychologists, and permitted to just get on as best I could on my daily dose of oestrogen. My body had virtually finished changing, leaving me with a constant battle to keep the weight down, as the hormones seemed to want me to run to the plump side.

Constant visits to the gym and the occasional jog around the local park kept my weight stable, but I knew that the days of stuffing myself on loads of gorgeous food had long-gone, and my dietary habits became disgustingly healthy.

The shop was another constant in my life, but I sensed that the days were numbered. By the end of the summer of 1986, Mark shared the feeling and would joke about my moving on and up in the world. I felt incredibly grateful to this gentle man, as he had given me a real rock to cling to throughout my ordeal.

I was in the shop one morning, talking to Ray on the telephone when Mark popped in to see how things were going. I made my excuses to Ray and put the phone down.

“Morning, Janey darling, how is the Field Marshal?”

“Ray’s just fine, thanks, and he’ll not be a soldier for much longer,” I replied.

“Oh?” he said, raising one expressive eyebrow.

“He’s been offered retirement.”

“He’s a bit young, isn’t he?”

“The government is desperate to make cuts, so fifteen percent of senior officers are being let go. He was thinking about jacking it in ages ago, so this is just at the right time.”

“Is this the end for us?” he asked, with a pseudo-melodramatic air.

“Not quite, he’s working out the next six weeks in Belgium and then his post is being withdrawn.”

“And?”

“I honestly don’t know. His father wants him to take on the farm, but he’s rather reluctant to do that, as he loathes farming. That’s why he joined the army in the first place, to get away from the damn thing.”

“I meant, and you, dear.”

“Me? I still don’t know. We’ve not had the opportunity to make firm plans.”

“Don’t give me that, Jane, you spend more time speaking to him than is normal, you must have some idea.”

“Not really, as we can’t make firm plans until he gets home and has decided exactly what he’s going to do.”

“Will you stay on with us?”

“I’m not sure, I’d like to, if that’s all right?” I said, feeling a bit of a fraud.

“Jane dear, you’re not fooling anyone, you know? I can sense you’ll be off with your man as soon as you can,” he said with a smile.

I simply grinned, shrugging my shoulders. “Can I let you know when I know?”

“Of course, but give us plenty of notice, okay?”

“Like?”

“At least five days,” he replied, grinning.

Ray didn’t stay in Belgium for the six weeks. He saw no point, as he was achieving nothing and felt a fraud accepting a healthy salary for doing nothing in a job that was being withdrawn in a few weeks time. He flew home without telling me and walked into the shop as I was about to close on a Friday evening.

It had been a tough week, as all the schools had gone back, the tourists had dropped away and sales had plummeted as people saved for the Christmas holidays. The restoration side was blooming as fewer people could afford quality new furniture and sought to make the best of what they already had, while sales of soft furnishings stayed quite slow.

“Ray! You bastard, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, as he took me into his arms. Suddenly I felt so much happier.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he said after kissing me.

“You have, but how long are you back for?”

“As long as you want, as I’m on terminal leave.”

“That sounds serious, you mean you’ve quit?”

“Yup, all done and dusted. I’m paid up to the end of October and then I’m completely free.”

“Fantastic, what are you going to do?” I asked.

“Me, nothing, we, however, are going on a long holiday.”

“How long?”

“Several months. I’ve booked two British Airways World Tickets.”

“What’s that?”

“It means, dear Jane, that we can go wherever we want in the six months that they’re valid.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere, as long as BA fly there.”

“So, where do you plan to go?”

“I have no idea, but I thought we’d have fun making some plans.”

“Anywhere?”

“Just about, yes.”

“Gosh!”

“Gosh?”

“Okay, bloody hell! Better?”

He smiled and kissed me again.

“So, when do we go?” he asked.

“How about at the end of next week?”

“Why so soon?” he asked.

“Because I said I’d give Mark five days notice.”

“That long?”

I simply grinned.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re moving out of here and into my flat.”

I stood to attention and saluted him. “Yes sir!”

“Don’t be an arse, Jane; you know that my place is so much bigger.”

Thus, my time in that little flat above the shop came to an abrupt end. I was surprised how little stuff I’d accumulated over the last couple of years, as it took us one day and a few car-loads to move me into his more spacious flat a few miles away.

His flat was in a large up-market townhouse on a prestigious square in the right part of town. From the imposing frontage to the private gated park in the middle of the square, it was a different league to my little place. It even had a doorman and concierge who worked twenty-four hour shifts to keep out the riff-raff.

George, the main man in charge, already knew me by sight, but when Ray told him that I was his fiancée and was moving in, he suddenly treated me like one of the family.

We rode up in the wood-panelled lift and down the carpeted hallway to his front door. After inserting his key, he lifted me off my feet and carried me over the threshold.

“Someday I hope to do this properly, but until then, please accept me as your common-law husband.

I felt really quite emotional as tears of joy stung my eyes. I said nothing, simply nodding and kissing him.

He’d obviously already been home, for the table was laid and he’d arranged a lovely meal for two to be delivered from a little Italian restaurant from around the corner.

After the meal, which was special, he held out his hand and led me to the bedroom. Shaking like a leaf, I allowed him to undress me. He was so gentle; kissing me all over as he removed each article of clothing.

By the time I was naked and on the bed, so was he, but I was aquiver in anticipation, so reached out to pull him close to me. For quite a long time, we simply held each other, caressing and kissing, stroking and exploring, learning little secrets of each body, and enjoying the experience.

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you, Jane, my love,” he whispered as he stroked my breast. I responded to him, aching for him and wanting him to make me complete.

His body told me exactly what he wanted, so I held the only other penis I’d ever touched apart from my own.

It seemed completely different and crudely beautiful, as it throbbed its demands in no uncertain terms. I held it tightly, feeling his power emanating from deep within him.

I shifted, opening my legs and pulling him onto me, guiding him into me.

He was so slow and gentle, I almost became impatient, but as I felt him slide deep within me, I experienced the strangest phenomenon.

I can’t fully describe it, but at that moment, although my new vagina wasn’t that sensitive, I felt a euphoric elation that transcended physical sensation. The physical act in which we indulged, including the visual, sensual, emotional and mental aspects of our love-making was sufficient to transport me to a new plain of existence.

As I held my man tightly, wrapping my legs around him, so as to keep him captured inside me, I could feel him thrusting deep within with short powerful strokes, so I found myself grinning and almost crying at the perfection of my predicament. The force of his strokes, as his pelvis and mine came into contact, was sufficient to jolt me firmly and rhythmically, so that it almost became a lateral dance.

As my hands ran over his powerful shoulders, feeling his strength and warmth, I marvelled at what I had become. This was more fulfilling than any single act of any sexual nature in which I had ever indulged. This man wanted me; he loved me emotionally, mentally and now, at long last — physically and carnally. I felt the animal within, so rocked my pelvis in rhythm with him, feeling a growing sense of elation and joy with each stroke. This moment was worth all the waiting, all the pain, all the angst, and all the physical and emotional suffering.

To say I experienced an orgasm may not be true, but what I experienced went beyond any experience I had enjoyed as a male. As Ray’s strokes became faster and deeper, until he finally shuddered and came inside me, I found myself shouting in sheer elation as all that I now was, shared in a common joy.

I refused to let him move, trapping him on top of me and locking him in place with my legs around his torso. Our sweat mingled as we kissed, our breath coming in short, explosive gasps as I held him tightly. I felt his penis shrink and slide wetly out from me.

Finally, I allowed him to roll from me, and he lay on his side facing me, supporting his head on his hand.

I stroked his face, looking into his eyes with a mixture of incredulity and worship.

“What can I possible say?” I whispered, kissing him.

“You don’t have to say anything, my love. All I can say is you can never doubt who or what you are. You are undoubtedly a beautiful and sensual woman, and I love you with everything that is in me.”

I smiled, stroking his face again, enjoying feeling the roughness of his stubble. The heady smell of our sweat and juices made me feel slightly heady. He rested a hand on my breast, idly twiddling a nipple between his finger and thumb. I felt weird sensations inside me, and I ached for him again.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling shyly.

He grinned, looking much younger for a moment.

“No, thank you, my love, thanks for being you. You know I’m hardly a virgin, but that, without exaggeration, was the most wonderful experience I’ve ever had.”

I yearned for him, filled with a deep gratitude and longing. I pulled him closer and kissed him, revelling in the weight of his body pressed against mine.

“Ditto,” I said, making him chuckle.

Filled with a sense of peace that I had never before felt, I laid back to sleep next to my man, aware that his semen seeped from me, making the sheet damp but making me feel complete. I touched myself with my fingers, bringing that dampness to my nose and breathing in his musk. I moved my hand to his crotch, grasping the flaccid penis and cradling it gently in the palm of my hand.

Holding him, I drifted off to sleep.

I hadn’t shared a bed with anyone for a long time, and I didn’t count Suzy on holiday. Yet I slept soundly and deeply. I awoke around six wanting a pee, but also aware that I was not alone. I opened an eye to see Ray still facing me, but fast asleep, his breathing slow and regular.

I smiled, as he looked so peaceful and calm. I just lay there, watching him sleep, feeling an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

I was a woman.

It wasn’t that I was no longer a man, as I’d not been a true male for ages, if ever.

No, this was different.

I knew that my mind and my body were in tune with my emotions and my soul for the first time in my life. Regardless of what my chromosomes might say, regardless of what I was in the eyes of the medical profession or the law, I knew that I was now a woman.

Whatever happened after this moment, no one could take away this feeling.

It was the most real thing to have ever happened to me, and I smiled at the completeness I felt.

Quietly, and as gently as I could, so as not to wake him, I crept to the bathroom and sat on the loo. His semen had dried in my short pubic hair, acting as a reminder as to the realities of the dream-like experience that I’d gone through a few short hours previously.

After relieving myself, I stared at my naked body and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

I was a bit of a mess, but something gleamed from my eyes as if to say, “I’ve arrived!” As I returned to the bed, he opened a lazy eye.

“Mmm, morning,” he mumbled, stretching and scratching himself. I reached out and held that small part of his anatomy that I had hated on myself.

It immediately responded, by growing in my hand like an alien creature.

“Bugger!” Ray said, rolling from the bed and heading for the bathroom.

When he came back, his erection was still present. Filled with a sense of curiosity and bravado, I knelt on the bed, pulling him down so he lay on his back beside me. Before he could say anything, I took him in my mouth, relishing the taste and smell of sex.

In moments, he was writhing, pushing himself into my mouth, almost choking me, so I had to hold the base to prevent him from doing so.

“No, Jane, no. I want you properly!” he said, trying to push me off.

In the end, I simply shifted and sat on him, allowing him to impale me. He wasn’t long, but I still managed to have some fun. I found this position, with me astride him, very much more sensual, as I felt more from my nether regions. I also had a super feeling of control and could slow down to make him last longer or speedup accordingly.

Afterwards, we showered together, which in itself was a sensual and very sexy activity, which only succeeded in arousing us both yet again, but we resisted the temptation, or rather I did, as Ray was feeling somewhat knackered and claimed he needed more time before his ‘third innings’.

So started our first day as a ‘couple’.

They were not all to start as this one, but I have to admit, we enjoyed an active and very exciting physical relationship. Apart from the sex, which was wonderful, we were very well matched, as we had more than a little in common.

As Mark had foreseen, I handed in my notice to him for both the job and the flat. I also gave him a case of champagne and a big hug for being a faithful friend who’d helped me through the rough part without a quibble.

He’d been philosophical about my leaving, managing some witty remarks likening me to the ugly duckling.

“We knew that when you turned into a swan, you’d leave the duck pond and all we ducks,” he said.

In actual fact, I think I was doing them a favour, as Julie and her husband were getting fed up with their travelling in from Essex and wanted the flat so at least one of them could stay during the week. There were problems relating to their children’s schooling, but it would alleviate things considerably.

My next task was to accompany Ray on a weekend trip to rural Gloucestershire to visit the family farm. His parents still lived in the eighteenth century home that had seen four generations of Carlyles, all of whom had farmed this particular little bit of England.

To make the trip even more fraught, we were to meet up with Ray’s ex-wife, collect the children and travel as a nice little happy family. I suppose I shouldn’t call them children, as Jon was nineteen now, and Sally had just turned seventeen. It was their grandmother’s seventy-fourth birthday in three days, so Ray thought it would be nice to have the children help her celebrate the occasion. My presence was a complication, but one he wanted to have along from the ride.

“Have you told Julia or the kids about me?” I asked, as we left the flat.

“No, I haven’t.”

“How about your parents, have you told them?”

“I’ve mentioned I’ve met a lovely girl who has now moved in with me. Actually, I told them I met a lovely girl a little prematurely, it seems,” he said with a grin.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I told them that I’d met the girl of my dreams before you were really a girl.”

“You silly sod, when was this?”

“The day after I’d first met you, you remember, when those two queers got pissed?”

“Ray, don’t be an arse, they’re my good friends, so please don’t put them down so.”

“I’m sorry, but they succeeded in letting the side down and getting right up my nose on that occasion,” said, suitably chastised.

However, it made me think, if he’d felt that way about me after one meeting, it explained why he had been so daft as to want me even after he’d found out the truth.

“So, what do you plan to say about me?” I asked.

We were walking to his car, a large Rover, and put the cases in the boot.

“That depends on you, really. I wasn’t planning to say much, just, ‘hello, oh, this is Jane, we’re living together,’ or something like that. I certainly wasn’t going to give your life history. I’ll leave what you tell them to you. I daren’t try to tell you what to say, as I know how sensitive you are about your past. I don’t actually think it’ll help if you tell the whole truth, but you needn’t lie, just omit the more sensitive bits.”

I smiled as I got into the car.

“That means most of my sodding life! Don’t lie, that’s going to be hard. I went to an all-boys prep-school, an all-boys public school, Sandhurst, the Paras, and damn near got killed in Northern Ireland and the Falklands, it doesn’t leave me much to talk about if I can’t fib a little.”

“Okay, fib a little but to be honest, I’d rather the old folks didn’t know the real story just now.”

“You didn’t have to hitch up with me, you know?” I said.

He took my hand.

“Yes, Jane, I did. You see, I happen to have put a lot of thought into this, and, well, I happen to love you and want to be with you. I accept things will be bloody difficult at times, but I think it would be safer if we just kept things as discreet as we can. I won’t deny things if I’m ever put on the spot, because I’m damn proud of you and what you’ve been through, but I refuse to let either of us to be hurt or to be embarrassed unnecessarily.”

That got to me, so I simply nodded, squeezing his hand and releasing it so he could start the car.

The journey to Guildford was mostly in silence, as I had much to think about. I tried to work out what I’d say to people, and attempted to imagine the sorts of questions they’d ask.

In the event, I didn’t have to face the ex-wife, as Ray parked at the bottom of a drive to a large and rather uninteresting modern home and honked the horn. A few minutes later his children clambered into the back of the car, after placing their cases in the boot with ours.

“Hi Dad!” they said in unison and both looked enquiringly at me.

“You must be Jane, I’m Jon and this is Sal,” said the young man who looked rather like his father, but younger.

“Not told them?” I said to Ray as I greeted them with a subdued, “Hello.”

Ray and his children spent most of the journey chatting about life that has passed since their last meeting. I was happy to sit and listen as I learned quite a lot about all three of them.

Jon was just nineteen and beginning his gap-year before going to university the following autumn. He had plans to go to Australia with two friends, while Sally was just starting her last year of A levels. They were relaxed and the banter was cheerful. Very little mention was made of Julia, their mother, and I got the impression that once school was finished Sally was more inclined to come and live with her father, given a choice. Jon was obviously that much older and had no inclination to remain with either parent once he returned from his globe-trotting.

I became aware that I was under scrutiny, and gradually was eased into the conversation, usually by Ray who kept asking my opinion on this or that, and soon both his children started asking me questions.

“So, how did you meet Dad?” Sally asked.

“We actually met ages ago, when your father was a Major. I had a relative in the same regiment, so we knew each other by sight,” I said, glancing at Ray for confirmation. He nodded imperceptibly.

“I actually bumped into Jane again last year in London. She was in a restaurant with a gay couple who were the worse for wear for booze, so I helped her get them into a taxi.”

“That’s romantic,” his daughter said.

We chuckled at her sarcasm, grateful for her sense of humour. They continued with the questions, so I found myself filling them in on my immediate past, omitting any mention of the unmentionable. By the time we reached the Cotswolds, I was just beginning to relax, so became stressed again at the prospect at meeting Ray’s parents.
 
 
Chapter 19. A Confession From The Heart
 
 
I needn’t have worried, as Matthew and June were the most charming couple I’d met in a long time. I’d started calling them, Mr and Mrs Carlyle and both told me not to be silly. So, Matthew and June they became, and they went out of their way to make me feel at home.

The house was quite beautiful, built out of distinctive Cotswold stone, set in rolling countryside that would be the epitome of England. It was a large house, set on the south facing side of a hill with mature trees sheltering it from the potential cold north winds of winter. The large garden and wall enclosed vegetable garden covered at least two acres, with the acre of paddock with out-buildings, and then the farm buildings further down the hill.

There was a rustic charm to the whole setting, but there was also a deadness to the way of life, so that I could understand why Ray was reluctant to carry on the family tradition. Things had hardly changed here for many years, apart from the improvements in mechanical aids to farming, the life had largely remained the same. Clearly, Matthew held his son in high regard, yet he also had hopes that Ray would be eager to take over the responsibility for managing the farm, allowing the older man to retire gracefully.

They’d even restored a small cottage some half a mile from the main house into which they intended to retire, leaving Ray the house, in the hope that the children would want to come and live there, along with whatever woman Ray eventually selected to be his life-partner, in other words — me!

There was no embarrassment about my presence, so Ray and I were placed in the same room without a hair being turned. In fact, while Ray was talking to his father, June told me that they were pleased to see me, as Ray had been too long without female companionship.

“We hadn’t realised just how hard he took that bitch’s treachery,” she said, her face hardening as she couldn’t even bring herself to say Julia’s name. “It affected him deeply, so we were quite worried about him. You’re the first girl he’s spoken about since the divorce, and that was ages ago now.”

I regarded her for a moment, as she clearly was still quite angry over the incident. She was a very elegant lady in her seventies, with white hair impeccably set and had obviously been a stunning woman when younger as she was still attractive and very poised.

“Did he have no warning that anything was amiss with the marriage?” I asked, aware that I was as much under scrutiny as she had been.

“I don’t think so, not that he told us, anyway. He was so wrapped up in his job that I don’t think he saw what was going on at home. The army isn’t a good life for a married couple.”

“So I understand,” I said.

“How about you, no skeletons?” she asked.

I laughed, if only she knew.

“Only the standard few; I’m not married, and never have been. My previous boyfriend was a sweet German who was in love with someone I was years ago. I’m an only child from a vaguely dysfunctional family and was coming to terms with being a life-long spinster when your son came into my life.”

“You’re much younger than he, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I’m thirty and so I’m not that much younger than Ray. Also, I’m unable to have children due to a problem I had quite recently, so I’m happy enough to grow old gracefully without the pitter-patter of little feet.”

June smiled and rested her hand on my arm.

“You don’t fool me for one second, my dear, your eyes don’t lie. You’d love to be a mother and it hurts like hell that you can’t have them, doesn’t it?”

Tears sprang to my eyes and I looked down, unaware that I was that transparent. What else could she see?

“Don’t worry, they can do marvels with modern medicine,” she said, as if to give me some hope.

I shook my head, “No, June, not this time, I’ve nothing in there to repair. Unless we adopt, I’m doomed to be just a step-mother.”

“Would you adopt?”

“I doubt it. For a start, Ray’s rather too old to be considered by the standard agencies, and I’m not sure I’m interested in traipsing abroad to find some abandoned native baby.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I believe that a woman is only complete when she becomes a mother, don’t you agree?”

“I do, in a way, but I think I’m enough of a woman for Ray.”

She chuckled and nodded. “I’m sure of it, and you’re a lot nicer and prettier than the last one.”

Jon and his sister appeared at mealtimes, disappearing in between to God knows where. Ray spent a good deal of the time in deep discussion with his father over plans for the farm, so I knew things were probably getting quite heated. June showed me around the house and grounds, obviously proud of their home.

She gently probed me with open questions, which I answered as honestly and briefly as I could. In return, I asked about her and the family, particularly of Ray as a child and young man. I was interested in his relationships, especially his marriage.

I gave nothing away that would cause embarrassment, yet I never actually lied, even if I was rather economical with the truth. I hated deceiving her, but knew that the complete truth would be hard for her at this time. Our relationship was sufficiently new and fragile for me to justify my action by telling myself that if the relationship didn’t last, then Ray and his family would be spared unnecessary pain.

I shared my feelings with Ray when we finally went to bed together that first night.

“I think you’re doing the right thing, but the situation might change,” he told me.

“How about you? Your father looked quite sombre at dinner.”

“He was, as I told him I wasn’t going to take on the farm.”

“How did he take it?”

“Not as badly as he could have. He already knew I was hardly enthusiastic, as I’ve told him that for years.”

“So, what did you agree on?”

“I said that I’d look into an alternative activity from which we could generate sufficient income without spoiling the environment and keep things as much as they are as possible.”

“Oh, like what?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.

He shrugged, rolling his eyes in frustration. “Hell, how the heck would I know? I just said I’d look into it. I’m a soldier, for God’s sake, how would I know how to make money from a bloody farm without farming it?”

I grinned at his testiness, making him relax and smile.

“Sorry, my love, but I’m a bit frustrated. I never intended to agree to even consider coming here to live.”

“It’s quite nice, but rather remote. I mean, there’s Cheltenham and Oxford both about fifty miles away, but sod-all in between,” I said.

“Would you consider living here?”

“Will you be here?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, that all depends on you.”

“I’ll be wherever you are, so unless you want me to go away, it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

He kissed me then, ending the conversation and leading to a gentle love-making session, in which we tried not to move too much due to the bed making the most awful squeak.

We got the giggles, but managed the most wonderfully long and sensual session in which we ended up incredibly turned-on and carnal. In the end, he muttered, “Bugger the bed,” and set to with gusto, finally climaxing inside me and ending the moment.

On the following day, Matthew and June expected the family to attend the small parish church in the nearly village. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to church; I think it was to attend a friend’s wedding some three years previously.

The service was pretty dreary, but I was proud to be next to Ray and his family. It was a strange feeling to be part of a proper family and I felt guilty that my own family split because of me.

Ray sensed my feelings and gave me a squeeze, telling me, “It’s not your fault!”

At the end of the service, the vicar shook everyone by the hand as we left. When it was my turn, Ray introduced me as his new bride-to-be.

“Oh, congratulations, when’s the great day?”

That caused a pregnant pause, so I filled it as best as I could.

“As soon as we can. There are one or two minor problems that need to be resolved first.”

“Oh, I take it you’re in the throws of a divorce?” the vicar asked.

“No, I’ve never been married, so the problems aren’t quite that sort,” I said.

The man frowned, but I simply smiled, moving off without satisfying his curiosity.

Luckily, June and Matthew were out of earshot, but I guessed that that statement would get back to them eventuality, which would make it harder to keep the secret for that much longer.

The rest of the weekend went quietly and we left just after supper on that Sunday evening. Jon and Sally had been round with some in the local pub for most of the weekend and were quite keen to get back so they could get on with their lives, despite appearing to be pleased and happy to be withy their grandparents.

Just before we left, Matthew took me to one side.

“I know June has spoken to you, my dear, but I just wanted to thank you. Raymond’s been really down for quite a while, so it is such a relief to see him back on form again. We knew something happened just before he made Brigadier, so for a while we thought it was his promotion, but then he told us he’d met you. You have no idea how much he’s changed. The divorce really crippled the poor sod for some time, so much so we never thought he’d get over it. Treat him gently, please, I know he looks all macho, but he’s just a hurting little boy at heart.”

“Aren’t all men?” I asked with a smile.

“You could be right,” he replied, chuckling. His laugh was very like his son’s.

“I promise, I’ll look after him as best I can.”

“I couldn’t ask for more,” he said, kissing my cheek.

Ray was quiet on the return journey, at least until he dropped off the children.

As we set off for home, he turned to me.

“Well?” he said.

“Well what?” I asked back.

“What did you think?”

“They’re all lovely.”

“And?”

“And nothing, they’re charming people and I feel awful deceiving them.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve a confession to make,” he said.

“What?”

“I told my mother about you ages ago.”

I was stunned into silence. After all, we’d had that conversation about children and things. She knew I’d lied to her. I felt dreadful, as if I was dirty and unclean.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I started to cry, as I felt all my hard efforts at being ‘normal’ had just flushed down the pan. All I wanted was to be accepted as me, a woman.

“Shit, look, I’m sorry, but I needed to talk about it with someone. It was she who told me to get back in touch with you and see what happened,” he said.

“She did?” I asked, surprised.

“While Dad was talking to you, you know, just before we left, she came up to me and told me you were quite lovely and she’d never have known, not in a month of Sundays. She loves you, sweetie, and she wants you to know your secret’s safe with her. Dad doesn’t know and she won’t tell him, unless you want to. She doesn’t actually think that’s a very good idea, as he has some old fashioned ideas.”

I felt the emotions tumble inside me. The self-pity and shame gave way to rising anger.

“I can’t believe you kept this from me, as now I feel such a fucking fraud. I mean, she knew and still let me talk a complete load of crap! Honestly, Ray, I’m really pissed off about this, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, but she didn’t want you to know and feel self conscious.”

“Self-conscious? Ray, what the fuck am I meant to feel the next time I meet her? Shit, always supposing there is a next bloody time!”

The rest of the journey was spent with me being somewhat un-ladylike, as the Para in me gave vent to my feelings in no uncertain terms. I may be a woman, but my anger was genuine and the hurt bloody hurt!

I was still fuming when I stomped off to bed, and I lay facing away from him when he came to bed about half an hour after me. I refused to speak to him, even to say goodnight. I was so cross, I couldn’t sleep, conscious of his breathing next to me.

Hours ticked by, and I was crying silently into my pillow. I was extremely unhappy.

“Jane?”

I froze, not moving and hardly breathing. I thought he’d gone to sleep.

“Look, Jane, I know you’re awake, I was wrong. I should have told you.”

I felt myself start to weaken, as the bastard sounded sorry. Was it a sham?

I remained still and silent.

“This is bloody silly,” he muttered, rolling onto his side and placing and arm on my shoulder. “At least hit me or something, I can’t stand this!”

I had to laugh. I didn’t want to, but the silliness hit me. I’d never had a domestic before, so it was a new experience.

A chuckle broke out, and I tried to turn it into a cough, but I don’t think I fooled anyone.

He gently pulled me round to face him. It was almost pith dark, so all I could make out was his vague shape in the darkness.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I know I have, but you have to understand my position. I thought I was having a breakdown back then, as the only woman who ever made me feel human turned out to be a soldier I knew from the old days. I needed to talk to someone, and I’ve always been able to talk to my mother.”

“What did you tell her about me?”

“Everything I knew at the time.”

“Shit, Ray, you should have told me,” I said.

“She asked me not to,” he said, shrugging in the darkness. “So that left me between a rock and a hard place.”

“Yeah, well, you’re living with this rock, or am I the hard place?”

He kissed me, surprising me in the dark.

“You’re my rock; you’re my angel and my salvation.”

“You’ve a funny way of showing it.”

“She asked me to just let you be as natural as you could. I knew you’d have no problem and I wasn’t going to even tell you that I’d said anything, but I found I couldn’t.”

“You managed it so far, what made you suddenly get a conscience?” I asked.

“She told me I should. She told me to tell you that you’ll do just fine. Jane, she likes you very much, also she knows what you mean to me, so she’ll be willing to forgive anything for my happiness.”

“Hmmph! So what have I done to her for her to forgive?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, Ray, I’m not sure I do. A relationship is built on trust and you deliberately deceived me with all that bullshit about not telling them and stuff. What am I meant to believe?”

I could tell that his patience was wearing thin, yet he still maintained his calm and spoke to me in soothing terms.

“Believe me that I meant you no harm, but there are two people in this relationship, so, like it or not, I have had to deal with issues and I just happened to speak to my mother about them.”

“You could have told me,” I said.

“Yes, in fact, I should have, not could have. I didn’t and that’s happened, so I can’t undo it, and I have expressed my sorrow and regret. The question is simple, what more do you want of me?”

I was silent, actually wondering how I could answer him. Eventually, I thought of how.

“I just want to trust you.”

“You can, I promise.”

“No more surprises?”

“Not that I can think of at the moment,” he said with an attempt at humour. I wasn’t rising.

“Ray, this is important! Have you told anyone else about me?”

“No, but would it make any difference?”

“Sod it, I don’t know. I don’t want to be seen as a freak. I’m not that bothered about me but I don’t want you caught up in any shit that flies. You know that it’s likely that the press with get hold of my story and embarrass the hell out of us?”

“Why should they?”

“Money. Someone who knows my story will spill the beans for a few quid.”

“Like whom?” he asked.

“Like a nurse or medical technician, the girl who eradicated my facial hair, or someone who saw me in one of those therapy groups I had to undergo. The list is endless, and there’s no such thing as a secret these days. It’s bound to come out sooner or later, but I want to protect you and your family and try to reduce the impact of any publicity generally.”

“Then, as in all the military text-books, strike first, under your conditions, without giving the enemy the opportunity to control the situation,” he suggested gently.

“How do you mean?”

“Simple, go public after you’ve warned everyone who needs to know. Give only the information you want to and be upfront and honest. That way you may avoid any scandal, particularly as you’ve not been caught out trying to hide anything.”

The suggestion stunned me, so I lay there, with my mind in a whirl. This was something I had never even considered, yet it made sense in a perverse sort of way.

“Jane?” he asked, after an age.

“Hmm?”

“I thought you’d dropped off.”

“Fat chance.”

“Are you still angry with me?”

“Stupid question, but I forgive you.”

He rolled over to my side of the bed, cradling me in his arms, so I snuggled in closer.

“Promise me something?” he said.

“What?”

“Can we promise to try never to go to sleep angry?”

I smiled. “I’ll try, only if you will,” I said.

It was fun sealing our promise, but afterwards I lay awake for a long time, listening to his breathing and with my mind too active to sleep. Many questions burned themselves on my addled brain, as I tried to deal with them all at once.

Could I, in all honesty, submit myself, and those I loved, to the exposure and scrutiny of the press, with all the potential for ridicule and ostracism?

Even by pre-empting my story leaked to the press, what could I gain from such exposure?

Could I actually succeed in keeping my story quiet, and if so, would anyone really be interested in it?

If I tried to keep my secret, would any future exposure be worse?

What would be the result of exposure?

Too many questions and no answers.

I must have dropped off eventually, for Ray woke me with a cup of coffee just after seven. Even in the light of day, my mind was still burdened with my thoughts, and I could not actually see a clear path through all the options.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sitting on the bed next to me.

“Not really.”

“Still angry at me?”

“Not really, slightly pissed off, but not angry.”

“Thank God for that! So, why the long face?”

“Why do you think?” I asked, with a note of testiness in my voice.

“Ah, our discussion.”

I shook my head, as for an intelligent man, he was amazingly thick at times.

“I don’t see a problem, as it happens,” he said.

“Lucky you. I do.”

“What problem?”

“Okay, for starters, I don’t actually want to hang out all my dirty washing in public, and I certainly don’t relish you and everyone else being dragged through the brown and pungent.”

“I don’t think we will.”

“I do, as I know the press. They love sex-change scandals, and whether you like it or not, my history is just the sort of thing the tabloids love to spread over the centre pages. I’ve just managed to get my father to acknowledge that I exist, so this sort of shit will put be back at square one.”

He nodded, frowning. “Hmm, I suppose you’ve got a point, but I still think you’re blowing the whole thing out of proportion. Do you know what you should do?”

“Oh, great wise one, please enlighten me,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” he said, grinning at me.

I boxed his ears.

“Oh, just get on with it, then. What should I do?”

“Write and publish your autobiography. Put all the photos you want in, and get in first.”

“Oh, Ray, you are so tied into your first strike, it just so happens that I’m not that interested in telling the whole bloody world all about my life. I’ve tried to write it, but ran out of steam.”

“Maybe, but have you thought how it might help others in a similar predicament to you? Only they’re unsure how to take those first steps down the same torturous road you’ve just travelled,” he asked.

I hadn’t.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“Well, you’ve got time, as we’re off on our hols in a couple of days, so take some note books and some biros and you can at least write an outline and see where you go from there.
 
 
Chapter 20. Preparing For The Worst
 
 
I was surprised, as an agent cast a look at my book almost as soon as I finished it. Mark, with all his contacts in the arty-farty world had a few friendly agents, and one of them, Hugo Granger proved to be amazingly eager to take on my work.

We first met a few weeks after Ray and I returned from our grand tour. The trip had been simply marvellous, particularly as we’d been ‘married’ in some obscure island ceremony in the Indian Ocean. We’d stood on the beach, wearing swimming costumes and floral necklaces, while the local Chief blew into a conch shell and muttered some chant while some half-naked local girls chanted delightfully in the background. The resulting piece of paper wasn’t worth the paper it was written on, but it was sufficient for me to assume the name of Jane Carlyle by deed poll and had all my documents changed to read ‘MRS Jane Carlyle’.

Legally, as far as the UK was concerned, I was still the gender with which I was born, but to the world, I was Ray’s wife. Our relationship had deepened, helped immensely by his parents’ supportive attitude.

We’d gone to see them before flying off on our jaunt, which was a visit that I was dreading.

In fact, June and I spent most of the time with each other, as she wanted to encourage me as much as she could. She was so supportive, I have to admit I spent most of the time either crying or laughing. It was her idea that I assume the name and title of Mrs, but she had no idea that the islanders of Katanga-Banga (or some such unpronounceable place) offered wedding ceremonies in their ancient traditions.

Matthew was aware that I had a strange past, but actually wasn’t that interested, as now Ray was back to his old self, I could have been a fire-breathing dragon and he’d still think I was wonderful.

Once the visit was over, we arrived at Heathrow on a rainy Autumn morning, and took off, flying East, stopping for a week in Dubai, then on to India, Thailand, Singapore, Australia, New Zealand, the Islands, back to New Zealand, USA, Canada, Mexico, then to Madeira, Portugal and then to most of Europe, including a week in the Alps skiing along with my step-daughter. Wow, that is so weird, step-children! Was I really a step-mother? It was April when we finally returned, looking tanned, fit and disgustingly healthy.

I also had seven notebooks crammed with handwritten notes that were my autobiography. It took me three weeks on a small portable typewriter to get them is some semblance of order, by which time I’d arranged to show the rough draft to Hugo.

“Wow! I love the contrast between the Falklands and your new life,” he said, as he patted the bundle of type written sheets.

“Will it sell?” I asked.

“Sell? Of course, it’s actually a fantastic story, packed with humour, romance, tragedy and excitement. A work of fiction couldn’t contain half as much as your life has, so there’ll be no problem selling it. You’re problem is keeping out of the limelight.”

“How do you mean?”

“Once this hits the shelves, every TV talk show, radio show and literary critic are going to want to meet you. Your private life will be suddenly in the open and you’ll get no peace. Is this what you want?” he asked.

“No, but at least I can control what is released and pre-empt any sneaky journalist publishing material that I have no control over.”

“They’ll still try. Once you publish this lot, they’ll try to find out other stuff by talking to ex-army buddies and raking through all the shit they can find.”

I put my head in my hands.

“This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen!” I said, feeling depressed.

“You can always hope that something big happens when you publish,” he said chuckling.

In the end, Ray persuaded me to wait, so Hugo held onto it, awaiting my decision to go ahead. I was so reluctant to make a splash, that I’d only release the book if there was a chance of being ‘outed’ by some nasty journalist. I thought Hugo would be constantly pestering me to publish, so when he was silent I asked him why.

“Well, the way I see it, dear, your life has been so packed to date, any more will simply increase the book size, which will increase the price on the shelves and thereby my fees,” he told me, grinning.

On the 11th June, the country had a general election, in which the electorate elected Maggie Thatcher for her third term.

Meanwhile, I was settling down into the first proper relationship of my life. Ray officially left the army, but was still too young to retire, so he decided to look into money-making schemes with a view to transposing them, or similar onto the farm in Gloucestershire. However, on the back of his experience, an ex-army buddy talked him into becoming a consultant advising large corporations and various government departments on security issues.

As he was based in London, at a small office off Sloane Square, we made London our base, rather than moving to the country just yet. Much to his father’s dismay, he put back taking over the farm and any linked plans for twelve months. He was aware that Matthew was torn between doing what had been his life and putting his feet up, despite June telling us that Matthew would and could never retire!

I loved the flat and the urban lifestyle, becoming more involved in my writing. I wrote several more travel pieces for airline magazines and tour guides, which necessitated me really travelling around the capital to seek out good restaurants, pubs, hotels and places of interest that were slightly off the tourist track. Ray loved coming with me on many of these jaunts, as it usually meant a free meal or at least a complimentary bottle of wine. He was only working three or four hours a day, for which he was being paid a silly amount of money. I never realised how valuable consultants were!

I was even persuaded to write a feature on a transgender club for one particular magazine, and discovered a whole sub-culture of which I had been completely ignorant. The editor wanted to run a lengthy feature on alternative life-styles, entitled ‘Different Strokes - Different Folks’. She had six writers going to different venues that ranged from naturists, SMBD, those who enjoyed dressing as babies and soiling themselves, a gay club, a lesbian club and a transgender club. I wasn’t that sad to have drawn the straw I had. My editor hadn’t a clue about my past and spent some time on the phone preparing me for what she believed I’d find. I stayed quiet and smiled throughout. Ray politely declined to join me on this particular trip, claiming he had to work. However, it was in this club that I was identified by a fellow m-to-f transwoman.

We’d met in the club in Fulham, just off the Broadway, down a small side street. With very little evidence to mark its existence, the club was quite a large premises incorporating the basement and ground floors of what had been a clothing factory. With a large bar with dance floor, two smaller private function rooms and a dining room, it was a haven for those who felt ostracised and marginalised by society and yearned for space in which they could be themselves without judgment and ridicule.

It was normally open from four pm every day. I met the owner, who now called herself Tiffany, at three, before the doors opened, so I could get an idea about her and her club before the clientele arrived.

Tiff was a shade under six foot, having gone through the ‘works’ (as she put it) some five years before me. She was, I was to discover, a good fifteen years my senior. I arrived just before three and rang the bell. A small brass plaque by the door told me that this was the Liberty Belle, and that it was a private club for members only.

I liked the name, for here was a brief liberty for those in bondage to various constraints, as well as the play on words using the French Belle for beauty.

The door opened and I had to look up when Tiffany answered.

“Mrs Carlyle, I assume?” she said, opening the door.

“Please call me Jane. You must be Tiffany?”

I’d written to her, having read of the club in a magazine. We’d reached the telephoning stage when I asked if I could visit with a view to doing a piece on the club that might be of interest to foreign visitors the London.

She had been naturally cautious but agreed to my visit.

It was quite comical really, as in those first few moments we took stock of each other. She was, as I said, tall and broad, unable to lose that inherent maleness of width and bulk.

I guessed she’d undergone extensive facial reconstruction surgery, for she was fine-featured and quite attractive. She obviously suffered from the same problem that I did, in that she had put on quite a bit of weight, giving her a plump appearance that actually reduced the hardness of her size. With a large bosom and bum, she looked like so many big women with a slight weight problem. If it hadn’t been for the rather too thick makeup, I’d have not noticed her in a crowd.

Dressed in a Chinese wrap and fluffy pink pumps, she waved a delicately manicured hand with enormous crimson nails vaguely at the interior.

“Welcome to the Belle, my dear,” she said. Her voice was quite and husky, thus giving me the impression she had a problem keeping her voice feminine.

“Thanks, it really is good of you,” I replied, moving into the lobby.

I was initially surprised at the bright colours and crisp decoration. I was half expecting heavy red and velvety interiors, in line with my perception of a slightly seedy establishment. Instead, there were clean pale woods, stainless steel and smoked glass furniture and contemporary art on crisp white walls.

“Wow, this is nice,” I said.

“What did you expect?” she asked, smiling at my surprise.

“I’m not sure, just not this.”

“Most of our members are professionals and are used to patronising the better restaurants and clubs, so we have to be on a par with them to survive. Membership isn’t cheap, so there’s no excuse not to provide the best of everything.”

I followed her through the various rooms as she gave me a guided tour before ending in her office. I was impressed, as it was certainly as good as any of the better mainstream establishments I had recently visited. She lived in the apartment above the club, so had her office at the top of the stairs, out of the way and away from the noise and bustle of the club.

We sat together on a sofa at one end of her spacious office. I was wearing a charcoal grey trouser suit with a pale blouse and neck scarf. I put my bag down and took out my note book.

“Would you mind if I made some notes?” I asked.

She shook her head and smiled. “I’d expect you to, but I not certain that this will actually come to anything.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “The kind of people who frequent the club are not the sort of people to drop in having seen an article in an in-flight magazine. Most members learn of us through counselling groups and word of mouth. I suspect if published any article would only draw readers because it deals with what they perceive as a perversion and weirdoes.”

“Is that how you think the world sees you?” I asked.

“How do you think they see us?” she asked.

“I’m not sure about everyone, but I think most people don’t understand any form of gender confusion. I agree that ignorance breeds a fear and natural reaction which can either be aggressive or certainly negative, inducing ridicule and name calling at best; resorting to acts of violence at worst.”

“Ah, so at least you see things properly, how unusual. That’s why was might have been somewhat less than enthusiastic when you asked to come. Most people see us as freaks and want to poke fun at us, drawing attention to our obvious differences,” she said.

“I’m not like most people,” I replied, sharing the bitterness that she felt.

“So, Mrs Carlyle, I take it you’re married?”

“Yes,” I said, holding up my left hand to display the rings.

“That means nothing. Does he know?”

I was stunned for a moment.

“I’m sorry?”

“Does he know what you were?” she asked, smiling slightly and without malice.

I struggled to keep a calm appearance. How do I play this? I asked myself. Do I bluff her and feign ignorance or do I own up and form a bond of unity with her over our commonality?

I decided.

“Yes, he does, actually.”

“Then you are one lucky girl,” she said. “Most of us dream of what you’ve achieved.”

“How did you know?” I asked, feeling as if I’d been caught smoking at school.

“Oh, it isn’t what you look or sound like, but what you said and some of your mannerisms. For I’m in the business, darling, I’ve been watching people for years and can always tell. With you, I wasn’t sure, but took a chance. You were just too calm and understanding about me, so there had to be a reason. Once the thought was there I looked for the tell-tale signs, but couldn’t see them. However, you’re just a little too firm and strong, which isn’t in keeping with your appearance. Had you bluffed me out, I’d have backed down and made some lame excuse, and you’d be none the wiser. If it’s any consolation, you’re one of the best I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks, I think. Although, I’d rather you hadn’t guessed.”

“I can relate to that. With me, I’m just too bloody big, so I stand out in any crowd. It used to bother me, but then I thought, what the fuck, and I just gave up caring about what they thought. If there’s a problem, it theirs and not mine.”

“I don’t believe you gave up caring,” I said.

“Okay, so I do care, but I try hard not to let it get to me. In fact, I found when I took that attitude, I had less difficulties. I make all the effort to fit into what society expects, so why the fuck can’t they just accept me?”

I smiled sadly at her frustration, as I knew exactly what she meant.

“So, what’s your story?” she asked.

As briefly as possible, I shared the story of my transition from James to Jane, sparing her some of the personal details of my current life.

“How about you?” I asked.

“Not that dissimilar, only I had complications in the form of a wife and two kids. You were lucky on three counts, your size and build, your age and the fact you were alone. Like you, I knew I was in the wrong body when I was little, but there was no way I could do anything about it for ages. When you’re over six foot that is one hell of a barrier. Also, I’m forty-three next month, so it took me longer than you to bite the bullet.”

Tiffany told me her story. As Thomas, she was the younger son of working class parents where to admit to being gay or transgendered would have been a licence to be on the receiving end of such a load of abuse and prejudice to make poor Thomas’s life hardly worth living.

He’s been a bright and sensitive boy, scraping into a Grammar school in Milton Keynes. His father was a fire-fighter, but to this day still refused to acknowledge his daughter. His mother died of lung cancer when he was fifteen, after which his father became withdrawn and unapproachable, appearing to blame the boy for his mother’s death. Somehow, Thomas stayed on at school to complete his GCSEs and then A levels, despite his father virtually shutting himself off from his family.

Mike, the elder brother was three years older, so had already left home and joined the Air Force before his mother died, leaving Tom to carry all the flack. Tiff occasionally had contact with Mike, who openly admitted he only joined the forces to escape the atmosphere at home. With their mother ill and their father in complete denial, it wasn’t exactly a happy household. Tom grew up with deep emotional scars on top of his gender confusion, which resulted in him clinging to the first person who showed him any sympathy and love. That person was a girl called Helen in the office he worked in when he got his first job.

They married and had two children almost before he knew what was happening.

“The real reason I married Helen was to get away for my Dad and to live somewhere nice. I did love her, still do, actually, but I’m certain we should never have got married. Once we settled down, I relaxed and my bloody gender confusion came to the surface. I tried to bury those damn feelings but they never stayed buried for long.”

“Tell me about it,” said, to which she smiled.

“You know what I went through, and to give Helen her due, she stuck by me when I went to see those psychiatrists, but the transition was the final straw. She gave me an ultimatum I couldn’t accept, and here I am, the person I want to be, but alone.”

“Do you ever see the children?”

A look of real pain flitted briefly across her face, before being controlled and transformed into a sad smile.

“No, that’s the real killer. I haven’t seen them for over five years. Helen didn’t want them to suffer any psychological damage, so told them I’d moved away and didn’t want to see them.

“How awful. Is there nothing you can do?” I asked.

“Like what? How do you explain to a four year old that Daddy doesn’t want to be a daddy any more, and wants to be like mummy instead? I agreed, as it seemed the right thing to do at the time. Maybe when they’re older, I can….” Her voice trailed off into another what if scenario.

She changed the subject and offered me a coffee. Having made us some coffee, we chatted for another half an hour. I heard some noise from the club and glanced at my note book. I’d written nothing down.

“I envy you, Jane, more than you’ll ever know,” she said, regarding me with an intent stare.

“I’m sorry, truly, if there’s anything I can do,” I said, feeling genuine sympathy for this larger than life character.

“Oh, come off it, there’s bugger all you can do, as you’re in a similar boat to me. I can only hope you manage to keep in the dark. This bloody world can be a real bitch when word gets out.”

“Mmm, I can’t disagree with you. It’s my daily nightmare. My husband suggested I pre-empt any disclosure by producing an autobiography, where I have a degree of control over what is disclosed,” I said.

“Yeah, right. Look, sweetie, as soon as you give them an inch, the buggers will sneak about and find out a couple of miles you’d rather stayed hidden. They’ll pester your parents, school friends, old army buddies and anyone else who can give them a story. If they can’t find real stuff, they’ll make it up and dare you to sue them when they get miles of free publicity.”

“Not if they lose, it isn’t.”

“I don’t know about you, honey, but people like Rupert Murdoch have a lot more cash to spend on lawyers than me. Your husband is probably an honourable man, you have to realise there’s no honour amongst reporters, just plain cash. Truth and honesty mean bugger all to men and women who only care about beating the opposition and making a name for themselves and more money for their paper than anyone else.”

She simply confirmed my fears.

“Come on, let’s go and see them opening the club,” she said. “Just let me change first, we can’t let the punters see me like this.

I waited in her office looking at a photograph album she had of her transition. Studying at her ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures, I could see the profound change that had taken place. Thomas really had been a big, beefy bloke. It was hard to reconcile the pair were the same person.

She appeared wearing a sparkly, black, knee-length dress with a very low cut front, displaying her ample bosom for all to see. With very high heels, she had to bend slightly passing through doorways to allow her coiffured hair to miss the top.

“The show must go on,” she said, smiling and leading the way down stairs.

“Have you no one?” I asked.

“I had, but a couple of months ago things came to a head. He was older than me, around fifty and divorced with three kids from his first wife. We had a good thing going for a while, but I don’t think I was respectable enough for him. He was on the rebound from his divorce and it was good while it lasted, but people like us have a shadow in the past that most men can’t deal with.”

Once again, I was impressed how fortunate I was — so far.

I left the club a good deal wiser and richer for having met Tiffany. As I was still there when a few of the members were drifting in, I could see they regarded me, an apparently normal female, with a degree of suspicion. It was with some relief that I left, but I was very glad I had gone. Tiffany allowed me to take some photographs of the interior, as long as neither staff nor clients were in the shots.

I like to think the finished article was sympathetically written. The editor seemed pleased but was disappointed I hadn’t loads of pictures of men dressed as women. In the event it went to press with little or no editing, and I returned to normality.

Normality?
 
 
Chapter 21. Dreams Realised
 
 
What the hell was normal?

This is a question that all of us who suffer gender confusion struggle with, as we don’t feel abnormal, just ordinary people with an extra burden that is not easily solved.

To me, normality was living my life as the person I wanted to be, and had always wanted to be. The fact I ‘passed’ without drawing attention to my past was a bonus, and a credit to the skills of the medical people who had helped. Normal was being a woman.

I also thanked who or whatever designed me that I wasn’t as big and butch as I could have been, for without doubt, that was another bonus.

On the whole, I lived the life I’d always wanted to, feeling ‘normal’ for the first time. By the late summer of 1987, Jon returned from abroad and Sally left school. They came to stay with us, as their mother’s new husband was making them both feel uncomfortable. That made me smile. Considering my past, the fact they felt more comfortable with me spoke volumes. I spent quite a bit of time with Sally, while Jon disappeared with his friends as they prepared to depart to Durham University. I was there when Sally’s A level results arrived, so shared with her joy at getting three A grades.

Ray was discussing some project with his bank manager in Gloucestershire, so it was left to me to celebrate with Sally. We spent the day shopping in Oxford Street and then I took her to see a show.

As we took a cab home, she linked her arm through mine and confessed that she was so pleased that I’d come into her father’s life.

“Why?” I asked.

“Oh, he was such a miserable sod. I know Mum left him, but I’d have done the same, as he was so wrapped up in his job, he never saw what it was doing to us. I tried to tell him, but he didn’t really understand. Besides, I was only twelve at the time.”

“Has he changed?”

“Oh God, yes, out of all recognition. I mean, after mum divorced him, he was twice as miserable as before she left, if that’s possible. Then he just went downhill, shutting everything out except the bloody army. I’d cry at night because he’d completely changed.”

“He never speaks about Julia, was their marriage a happy one?” I asked.

“I always thought so, but then we didn’t see half of what went on. With hindsight and listening to Jon and others, I’d say it was at the beginning, but the magic died after just a few years. Mum was a very social person and Dad wasn’t, so they probably shouldn’t have got married. But then you came along and he changed again.”

“How?”

“The old dad I remembered from when I was little came back. He’d smile a lot, crack jokes and just be a nice person to be around. I can almost pin-point the moment he changed, and having spoken to Gran, it was the week you met him.”

Both Ray’s children came to accept me, so in late September, I shared my secret with them. Again, to my surprise, they were good about it. Sally thought it a hoot and didn’t actually believe me, while Jon seemed to take it in his stride, shocking me by asking, “Does Dad know?”

When I explained that we’d met when I’d been a soldier, he smiled and asked if any hanky panky had gone on then.

To his relief, I told him, “No.”

However, they both seemed to be more independent now, having both left home, more of less, and both sought their fortunes in different areas. Jon went to Durham University to read business management while Sally went to stay with some relatives on a farm in Canada, planning to work for six months and then to travel around Canada and America before starting university.

We moved to the farm in the early spring of 1988, just after the SAS shot three unarmed IRA suspects on the Island of Gibraltar, and just before Colonel Oliver North was indicted in the US over the Iran-Contra affair. I remembered it was spring because the snowdrops and crocuses were all out, with a few daffodils beginning to show their heads.

In fact, 1988 was quite a year, but for me most of it passed as if it was on another planet. The USSR withdrew from Afghanistan, the North Sea drilling platform Piper Alpha blew up, and most surprisingly, Wimbledon won the FA Cup by beating Liverpool. Ray spent quite a bit of time in London, consulting. We’d kept the flat on, so he’d stay there and commute at the weekends.

Much to my embarrassment, Matthew and June moved into the much smaller cottage, leaving Ray and I to lose ourselves in the big house. The cottage was lovely, and if I’m honest, I’d have been happier to have moved in there instead of the other house, but Matthew and June beat me down by claiming their arthritis was such that they really wanted a small cottage with no stairs!

I was uneasy becoming the mistress of such a home, as Ray was happy leaving it exactly as it had always been. June told me to redecorate and refurnish to my taste, but I knew that any changes would be highly scrutinised and I didn’t want to offend anyone. It was the main reason I was uneasy, but having my ‘mother-in-law’ living half a mile down the road was another cause. With Ray away during most weeks, I was conscious of being alone, and was initially hesitant of making any real changes.

For the first few months, June was wonderful, never once referring to my secret and for the most part, not interfering with our life in any way. Matthew was still keen that Ray take on the farm as a going concern, but understood that some things just were not to be.

Ray was getting fed up with what he called ‘the circus of Whitehall’ and became less involved in his consulting work. If people wanted to talk to him, he made them take the trip to come to Gloucestershire, so after a while, the work lessened considerably.

I was much happier that he was back and we found we enjoyed spending time together. We both had our interests, so even when we were together, we were focussing on different things, occasionally bouncing ideas off the other. We also played practical jokes on each other, becoming almost juvenile for the first time in a long time for him, and what seemed my entire life.

Ray was more than my husband and lover, he was also the big brother I never had and my best friend. If ever I lost him, I think I’d shrivel up and die!

He now had the time, so began to look seriously at various schemes to generate income without the need to till the soil, but came to believe that we were too far from most cities and centres of population to offer effective alternatives. However, one morning, he and I were out in the Land Rover, checking some of the dry stone walls on the eastern fringe of the property. I was driving, and, harking back to when I drove a Land Rover in the army, drove very fast and rather wildly across a field, fording a stream and climbing a long and particularly steep bank.

I stopped at the top, for it was as if a light bulb had suddenly illuminated in my brain.

“What’s the matter?” Ray asked.

Turning to look at him, I started to smile.

“How much is a tatty old Land Rover?” I asked.

“How Tatty?”

“Good mechanical condition, just not showroom material.”

“I suppose anything from four hundred quid to a couple of grand, why?”

“Okay, say you bought six ex-MOD Land Rovers, all in good working order, but not necessarily in pristine road condition, how much?”

“Ten, maybe twelve grand, perhaps a little more, depending on mileage and condition. What are you thinking?”

“Ray, how many people would just love to come out into the country, spend a morning driving one of these around a four by four track and then enjoying a slap-up lunch in true rustic tradition, and then spend the afternoon shooting clay pigeons?”

Ray stared at me for a moment, and then turned and looked back the way we’d just come. Our vehicle’s tracks showed out starkly across the field and up the bank. I pressed home my idea.

“Think. I reckon you could charge three hundred quid for a day out, all inclusive. Take three people per vehicle, plus one professional, possibly ex-army driver, that’s almost five and a half grand a day, take off say twenty quid a vehicle per day for fuel, then say a hundred for cartridges and clays, you’re still over five grand a day.”

“What about wages for the help, and then there’s vehicle maintenance, as the daft sods are bound the break the cars?” he asked, getting the idea.

“Wages would be about fifty quid a day per driver, and set aside another fifty a week per vehicle, you’re still making over twenty grand a week.”

“”That’s if we get every day booked up. Even if we only get the weekends booked up, ten grand a week isn’t bad. And you mentioned food?”

“Perhaps we could get the pub interested in providing the lunches, say food only and any beer the punters have to pay for?”

It was the start of an idea that was to prove the farm’s saving.

It didn’t happen overnight, but over the next few weeks we formed a company called “Shift and Shoot”, negotiated to purchase ten second-hand lightweight Land Rovers that the military had no further use for, and applied for a change in land use from farming to leisure through the local council. The vehicles cost just under a thousand each, as Ray worked out that by using only a small fraction of the farmland for this, he could lease out the remainder to other local farmers for a reasonable rent.

The council turned us down at the first application, for a variety of reasons. We were initially despondent, but when we reapplied, ensuring we showed that we were neither building any hideous edifices nor were we operating near any other dwellings, or after the hours of darkness. We showed that we offer employment to local people and bring much needed revenue to the local amenities such as restaurants and pubs.

There were more hurdles to jump, covering the use of shotguns with the local police and health and safety implications for the whole issue. Ray had a printer run up brochures, so we both spent ages trolling through magazines and interested groups to undertake mail shots and adverts.

“This is proving to be bloody expensive,” Ray remarked one evening as we sat on the sofa going through our expenses to date. We now had the guns, several thousand clay pigeons and the traps to fire them, the vehicles, the towers to house the traps and the designated track for the land Rovers. Ray had found a dozen ex-army driver/mechanics who were more than happy to come and work for us, but they needed somewhere to stay. House prices in the Cotswolds were not quite London standard, but not cheap. By converting a barn into ten single rooms with a large common room and a wash area, we solved the problem temporarily.

Although the local publican was initially interested in the possible custom, he decided to wait and see what our take-up rate was before committing himself. That meant we had to find an alternative refreshment source, at least in the short term. Relief came in the form of one of the drivers. Having been trained as a chef in the army, he designed and with the other ex-soldiers, built a barbeque area, complete with shelters with benches and tables.

Creating a limited menu of buns, burgers, sausages, bacon, chips and chicken pieces, we were able to satisfy the hunger of most men who were exerting themselves and generally having a good time. We tried to make the days attractive for women as well, but I knew the take-up rate would be less than the men.

My original idea of charging three hundred pounds was rather optimistic. Our few competitors charged considerably less, so we brought the price down to a hundred and fifty pounds a head — all inclusive. However, having ten vehicles meant that we could have a maximum of two sets of twenty-four people a day, given that we always had two vehicles in reserve or being fixed. Those who drove in the morning session would shoot in the afternoon, and vice versa. If we managed to get all forty-eight in a day, that gave us just over eleven thousand a day, gross, which meant around ten thousand after all deductions. Even so, with all the money we’d paid out to buy the equipment and get things ready, we needed a full set of bookings for every weekend until the and of the autumn. Any weekday bookings would be a bonus.

We had planned to be ready for the summer and open during the last week of May, but the paperwork proved too much. Eventually we opened for business on the fifteenth of June, having started taking bookings in May.

We started slowly, as it was taking a while to get the word round. With around ten or twelve people on each day, it would take us a while to reach a profit. But it did allow the blokes to improve the various facilities. When not driving, the ex-soldiers built a good set of latrines, so even us girlies wouldn’t feel to fearful of entering. They also extended the shooting area, to allow two more variations for those taking part. We now could offer mid and high birds to the front, from each side, low from the side and three heights from behind.

They also built a SWAT style walk-through range, with twenty five automated targets appearing from behind trees and walls. The client would be armed with a pump action shotgun with special cartridges designed to shoot cardboard targets. Some targets were human size while others were of animals and objects. Points were awarded for the animals, as long as they were in season or not protected, like the swan. Humans were either armed or unarmed. Points were deducted for any unarmed targets shot. Again, some objects, like the bomb, would cause points to be deducted, while other objects carried a few points, to the TV that carried the most at twenty-five.

It was a bit silly, but it became very popular and so we even managed to take individual bookings to the range alone at fifty pounds a session.

It was inevitable, I suppose, given the degree of commonality with both our pasts, that eventually someone would appear who had known me in those army days. It arrived, one September Saturday, in the form of Major Will Kennedy of the Parachute Regiment. The event was his stag do, prior to his impending marriage to a girl called Lucy.

Will and I had been at Sandhurst together, after which we’d gone to different battalions, but we’d been friends through the training and early stages of our careers. His rank was what I’d have expected had I stayed the course. I had no regrets.

It was a fully booked Saturday, with twenty-four booked in to drive in the morning and another twenty-four for the afternoon. Twelve of whom were Will’s stag do. The men turned up for the day’s activities, eight of which were army officers and the other four were either brothers or friends. One of Ray’s leaflets had ended up in the officer’s mess, so advertising was beginning to pay off.

With all the cars in action, a full day meant that I had to run the kitchen for lunch time, as Charlie Hutchins, the army chef, was needed to supervise one of the Land Rovers.

It was a warm day, so I was wearing the barest minimum if I had to work behind the barbeque. I had a scarf around my hair, which was the longest it had ever been, and a skimpy top and shorts. The apron over the top kept most of me clean, but my cleavage was on display.

The format of the day was almost a formality. The clients would arrive, park in the car park by the small woodlands and make their way to what Ray called HQ. This was a C shaped area with the eating area to the left, the armoury to the right and the offices at the far end. Ray would gather them all around him and stand on the bonnet of one of the Land Rovers. He would welcome everyone give an overview of the day. The he’d split the group into shooters and drivers and introduce the drivers to those who were driving and the shooting coaches to those who were off to the butts. At some point he’s mention refreshments and wave in the direction of the kitchen and bar. We had a large fridge with cans of soft drinks and beer, for which the clients had to pay. Everything else was inclusive. At this point he’d introduce whoever was the cook for the day, and on this occasion, that was me.

“Today you are truly blessed,” said my husband. “For behind the smoke is a vision in pale pink, and that vision is my dear wife Jane. Please don’t give her a hard time, for believe me, she trained as a paratrooper and could take most of you with her hands tied behind her back.”

I gave a wave to the testosterone laden clients and continued preparing the bits and pieces for the daily fare. The men laughed and very soon disappeared to undertake whatever they’d paid for.

At twelve thirty they all arrived, sweaty and boisterous, ready for cold beer and food. They were all behaving like schoolboys, and as there were no women clients on this particular day, their behaviour was worse than usual. As the only female present, I was the recipient of a good deal of good natured ribaldry, and simply smiled and let it all wash over me. Indeed, the only person not being as noisy as the rest was my old friend Will.

After they had all been fed and watered, they settled down slightly while Ray allocated the afternoon sessions. Will came over to where I was washing up in the kitchen area.

“Thanks for lunch, it was just what the doctor ordered,” he said, depositing his dirty plates on the drainer.

“It’s a pleasure. I just hope no one has drunk too much, otherwise someone might get shot,” I said.

“This is going to sound rather lame, I’m afraid, but have we met?”

I sighed inwardly, as I suppose it was inevitable. Outwardly I simply smiled and shook my head.

“I don’t think so.”

“You remind me of an old chum of mine. We joined the mob (UK slang for the Army) together, and I wondered if you were related. What was your maiden name?”

As my brain attempted to recover from a seizure, a friendly hand fell on Will’s shoulder. Ray, bless him, had arrived to rescue me.

“Hullo old man, everything okay?”

Will jumped as if startled, and turned to face Ray.

“Oh, Ray, yup, fine. No, better than fine, it’s great; a fantastic day, so far, that is. I was just greeting your lovely wife. You know, she reminds me a bit of Jamie Allan, do you remember him? He used to be with the regiment before you went off to Hereford.”

“Jamie Allan, wasn’t he a Scot?”

“I think so, but he never had an accent. We went through Sandhurst together, but then went to different battalions.”

“Talking of Sandhurst, have you seen old Bill Bradley recently?” Ray asked, gently easing Will away from the kitchen, so I could slip quietly away.

Fortunately, we never got to complete the conversation, but it did make Ray change his mind about the autobiography.

“I was thinking, sweetie,” he said that evening, as we put our feet up and enjoyed a nice bottle of Chardonnay.

“Mmm?”

“Your book, perhaps it’s not such a good idea, just yet anyway.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think we’re ready for the fallout. What with young Will today, it made me realise that it might come a little too close for comfort. I still think you keep it up to date and ready, so if the secret escapes we can run a damage limitation exercise. But for now, let’s just enjoy quiet anonymity,” he said.

I smiled and kissed him, having already decided just that.
 
 
Epilogue
 
 
That was twenty years ago now. A hell of a lot of water has gone under the bridge since then. For a start the law changed, so after legally changing my birth certificate in 2006, Ray and I were married at a small registrar’s office with just his children in attendance. It legitimised our South-Seas wedding, but as far as the both of us and the world was concerned we’d been married for ages. I was just forty-nine when I was finally and legally Mrs Jane Carlyle.

I’m getting ahead of myself. In 1991, after graduating, Jon came to live with us while he sent his CV all over the place applying for work. In the meantime, he rolled up his sleeves and mucked in with us on the farm with the corporate entertainment. Ray decided that he wasn’t getting any younger, so after a year of Jon’s help, he made him a partner, with a view to handing the whole shebang over to him to manage.

My relationship with my father hadn’t really improved that much. He tolerated me, and would at least speak to me, but he had never been able to forgive my betrayal of what plans he had made for me.

According to my mother, he had started drinking too much and was becoming more reclusive and less pleasant to her and anyone else. She and I would speak on the telephone at least three times a week, and she would come and stay with us for a couple of weeks every year.

On the 3^rd July, 1994, my father had a heart attack and was rushed to Ninewells Hospital in Dundee. I drove north and stayed with my mother to support her, while my father was fighting for his life in intensive care. She spent several hours a day for the first week by his unconscious form while I waited outside. I tried to go in the first day he’d come round, briefly, but as the nurse told me he only wanted to see his son, I didn’t even go in. He died three days later. I never spoke to him, but I did go in and look at his dead body. He looked frail and weak, so I wondered why he’d created such a block at acknowledging me as an individual.

Ray and the children came to support me at the funeral, which was a quiet and rather dismal affair. I don’t know why I called them children, for Jon was a hefty six foot one and Sally was a stunning twenty something.

My father thought himself a popular and charming character, and so made arrangements for hordes of mourners to attend his funeral. Sixteen people attended, and three of them were my husband and his children. It was very sad, as with a small change of heart he could have been that character he thought himself.

His heart!

In a moment of guilt-ridden self pity, I told Ray that my father had died of a broken heart and that I’d broken it.

“Don’t be so bloody daft, woman, he made his own bed and so he had to lie in it. You did everything you could. Hell! We all tried, and he would have none of it. He’s no one to blame but himself,” he told me.

I still carried some guilt even though everything he said made sense.

“Mary has asked me if I fancy moving in with her, as it would make sense,” my mother told me, as we returned home after the funeral.

“You’re welcome to come and live with us. We’ve room.”

“No dear, you need your freedom. Besides, you’ve Ray’s parents just down the road,” she said.

“We rarely see them. Ever since they joined Holiday property Bond, they’ve been jet setting all over the world. They stay for six weeks every winter in the south of Spain,” Ray said.

“There’s another little cottage we could do up and let you have,” I suggested.

“No dear, but thanks all the same. You see, all my friends are here, and with your father gone, I think I may travel a bit and see all my relatives I’ve not seen in years. Would it be all right if I came to stay with you now and then?”

“Don’t be silly, of course we’d love to have you,” I said, hugging her.

The house seemed different with him gone.

Him.

I couldn’t use his name and I didn’t like to call him anything other than my father. I might have called him Daddy when I was little, but hadn’t really called him much after I was ten or eleven.

It was sad, really, as we could have been very close, had he let me have a little freedom. Who knows, perhaps I’d have chosen a different path if he’d been less intransigent and stifling. I glanced at Ray who was exchanging a joke with Mary. Jon and Sally were there, standing looking sophisticated and slightly out of place. My love for them couldn’t have been greater if I’d have been their natural mother.

I had a family, and it was wonderful. They didn’t call me Mum, but they spent more time with Ray and me than with their mother. Sally had blossomed into a lovely girl and had qualified as a lawyer. She had just joined a firm in Gloucester and specialised in civil law, having moved into her first flat just a few weeks ago. I felt very proud of my man and his children.

As Mary organised everyone to help make the tea, I took the dogs out for a walk. As I covered familiar ground I let my mind wander of the what ifs and might have beens. I was crossing a stile when I met an older man with two Labradors coming the other way.

“Afternoon,” he said.

“Hello,” I replied, smiling.

“You’ll be Bob Allan’s daughter?” he asked.

How was I to take this?

“Yes,” I replied, cautiously.

“I heard what happened, it was quite a shock. Please pass on my condolences to your mother.”

“Oh, thanks, I will. Can I pass on your name?” I said.

“John Cheyne. I met you years ago. You were a little different then,” he said with a gentle smile.

“I was, wasn’t I?” I said.

“How’re things? I heard you got married.”

“Yes, things are fine. Ray was a Brigadier in the army and, well, things are great, thanks.”

“I heard your dad was a bit, um, a bit difficult. I’m sorry, as that must have made things hard.”

“Things were hard enough without his attitude, but hey, life’s too short,” I said, rather lamely.

He looked a trifle embarrassed.

“Look, I know it’s no business of mine, Robert told me that on several occasions, but I think you must have had some balls to do what you did,” he said. Then he realised what he’d actually said, went red and tried to unsay it.

I laughed.

“Thanks, I know what you mean. It was a tough time, but life has sort of made up for it since. I just wish he could have come round. It’s horrible knowing that he’s dead and we parted on bad terms.”

“You tried, your mum told me how hard you both tried, so don’t you go feeling sorry for yourself. I know it’s hardly the time or the place, what with the funeral just over, but that Bob Allan was a fool. He had a good thing and never saw it.”

With that he mounted the stile and walked off. I stood for a moment feeling confused as I don’t recall ever having seen him before. Yet, here almost a complete stranger knew all about me and was bold enough to say what he felt about what I’d done. It lifted my spirits.

I stayed there for a few moments, taking in the familiar views of the river Tay and the hills beyond. I’d seen this view so many times, and yet the view had never seen me as I wanted to be seen. I had an urge to strip off my clothes and dance naked in the cowpats. I was a woman and I was on top of the world.

All I wanted to do was marry my lover — legally.

There was one other person I knew I had to go and see, for when I was in need, she was there for me. Although I never took her up on her offer, I knew that if ever I needed a friend in those early days, she would be the one.

I got the opportunity a few years after my father’s death. It was winter, so the business was slow and Jon could cope happily without us. Ray was invited to an army reunion, and although wives were invited, we decided that that might be pushing our luck. There would be several people that would have known the old me, and neither of us was that keen of running the risk of our secret escaping. We’d been very fortunate, for the press seemed very keen to winkle out sex-change stories, but we’d managed to keep things close for several years without having any press sniffing around. My autobiography was on hold, permanently, it seemed.

I was staying with my mother and Aunt Mary in their cottage. The November weather was grey and very wet, and sitting with two elderly women as they dozed through the afternoon was hardly scintillating. I took myself off in the car to visit the only other person who knew my secret, but with whom I had completely lost touch after leaving school.

Hillary Groves looked very much the same as when I had been at school, just slightly more grey in her hair and rather tired. Her husband was a housemaster now, and ironically of my old house. He was due to retire in a couple of years, so I was pleased I had made the decision.

I had called the school first, to find out where the Groves lived, or indeed, whether they were still on the staff. I arrived in mid-afternoon, during the games period, so knew Mr Groves would be out taking one of the rugby games.

Hillary answered the door and looked at me quizzically.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“Hello, Mrs Green. You probably won’t remember me, and I’m sure you wouldn’t recognise me like this, but I just had to come and say thanks for your kindness to me all those years ago.”

She frowned and looked me up and down, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, what?” she said.

“Back in the early seventies, when you helped your husband with the plays, we met when I took a role of one of the girls in a play,” I gently reminded her.

The frown increased.

“I’m called Jane now, Jane Carlyle, but back then you’d have known me as Jamie or James Allan.”

Her confusion slowly turned to recall and then recognition. Her face was a picture of shock, realisation and then, surprisingly, joy. She laughed out loud and literally grabbed me and gave me a huge hug.

“My God, you look amazing! I knew it, I just knew it, you poor girl; has it been awful? Oh, where are my manners, come in, come in. You have got time for a coffee, haven’t you?”

I followed her into her private area of the house and she never stopped talking.

“We heard you became a soldier and were decorated after the Falklands, was that right?” she asked, as she filled the kettle.

“Unfortunately, yes. And I completed several tours of Northern Ireland.”

“Then, how, why, when?” she asked, looking at my very female form.

“It’s a long story,” I said.

She handed me a coffee mug and showed me into the sitting room.

“I’ve got all afternoon,” she said, grinning.

So we sat and I shared with her my life story.

“It’s like a fairy tale,” she said, when I’d finished.

“I hope it’s not over yet,” I added.

“Indeed, but you’ve been fortunate for meet such a lovely man.”

“Tell me about it. He’s my rock,” I said.

She reached out and took my hand.

“I used to lie awake at night and worry about you, you know?” she told me.

“I didn’t know.”

“I found it hard to believe that the girl I saw in those plays could have been that gallant soldier, but I felt happy for you. I thought you’d moved on and left the girl behind. I was wrong.”

“I tried, really I did, but Jane was too strong. I’ve few regrets now.”

“I bet you wish you started transitioning earlier?”

I smiled. “I’d have changed when I was eight or nine had I the opportunity. The one regret I have is that I never got to be a little girl. But my life has made up for it.”

“I’m so pleased for you, but it is so sad that your dad never came around.”

“It is, but he came round a bit. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“I must say, you look fabulous. I’d have never recognised you, and certainly never have known you’d ever been anything other than a very attractive woman.”

I smiled as tears came to my eyes. “Thanks, that’s what I keep needing to hear.”

I left her knowing I had another friend. I trusted her to keep my secret, as I had to laugh when she said goodbye.

“I won’t tell my husband, as he would neither understand nor cope with it. Please keep in touch as I’d love to buy your book when it comes out.”
 

*          *          *
 
It’s now March 2009 and I’m sitting in the study, gazing across the hills to the wonderfully blue Mediterranean in the distance, wondering if this isn’t a fantastic dream and I will wake up to find myself in the Barracks in Northern Ireland. But, it’s no dream, or rather there is a dream-like quality to my life now, but it’s as real as I dare believe.

After getting married, Ray and I passed the farm over to Jon and his fiancée, Georgie. Georgina McCavot had been a chum of his at university that developed into something deeper. They were due to get married next year, but both were fully committed to the farm and the projects. The financial crisis was making things a little tough, but there were still those who wanted to spend money and have a fantastic day out. Under Jon’s guiding hand, there was now a quad bike course, a paintball combat section and a fully equipped restaurant, which was developing nicely under Georgie’s care.

Ray’s pension meant that we didn’t need to work, and we still retained a thirty percent share of the business. My father, in line with his attitude, left everything to my mother and nothing to me. My name wasn’t even mentioned in his will. My mother, however, through a deed of transfer on the will, simply transferred the house deeds to my name and half of the capital he’d left her.

Our days of financial concern were over.

One particularly wet November day, we’d just finished rinsing off the Land Rovers after a very muddy session when Ray turned to me and asked, “My Darling, would you be utterly devastated if I suggested we buggered off and lived somewhere warm and dry?”

We’d been only married a few months, so I thought he meant a late honeymoon.

I was wrong, this was permanent.

The Villa cost seven hundred thousand Euros. But it was worth it. Set in the hills on the Island of Mallorca, not far from Pollensa in the north, we could just see the sea and the tops of the roofs of Puerto Pollensa a few kilometres away.

It had been a farm, some years ago now. The modernised and extended main house had four en-suite bedrooms and a massive living area downstairs. There were three outhouses, each fitted out with two bedrooms and a bathroom, a living/dining area and a small kitchen. Set apart from the village by a five hundred metre drive, it was perfect. One could walk to the shops in a few minutes, and yet were guaranteed privacy and silence with the wonderful trees and shrubs that surrounded us.

With one large pool by the main house and a smaller one for the cottages, it really was the nearest thing to heaven on earth. My mother and Aunt Mary, as well as Ray’s elderly, but amazingly fit parents were frequent visitors, as were Jon and Gerogie, and of course Sally and her current girl friend Grace.

When Sally came out and announced she thought she was a lesbian, the reaction was everything that I hadn’t experienced. Her father was supportive and non judgemental, although he confided to me that he’d would have rather she hadn’t been. Indeed, her mother was the one who couldn’t accept it, and obscurely blamed Ray.

I supported Sally as much as I could, and was humbled when I found out that I was the first to know. She’d told me, in confidence, a few weeks before telling her father, and asked for advice and support. She was still wavering between the bisexual and lesbian labels.

“Sal, just be you. You don’t have to pretend, you don’t have to live a lie, just be the you on the outside that the inside tells you that you are,” I’d said.

“My problem, Jane, is that I don’t actually know what the inner me is. When did you know?”

“That I was a girl?”

“Yes.”

“I was about four, I think. By the time I hit eleven I was as certain as one can be. Between four and eleven there were great moments of nothing, but the only over-riding feeling was that I should have been a girl. Once the dreaded hormones started working, I started heading the wrong way, and that was when I knew without any doubt.”

She looked pensive for a moment. “I’m not sure, because I like both boys and girls. Boys can be rather hard work, while girls are more gentle.”

“Boys are fun, and some girls can be harder than the boys, so keep an open mind and wait and see. You’ve no rush, just see what happens,” I said.

On my advice she told her father and brother on the same day, and later explained it to her grandparents and mother.

The only person who was in complete denial was her mother. I was strangely pleased to be able to advise Sally how to deal with it from my experience from my father.

When she first brought Grace to meet her family, the poor girl was terrified. Grace was a petite dark girl, very attractive and I think of mixed parentage. Her family had disowned her, so I suspected she was expecting a similar reaction from Ray and me.

When Ray was warm and friendly, she relaxed a little, but then Sally introduced her to me.

“This is Jane, my evil step mother,” said Sally with a naughty look in her eye.

I smiled and kissed the girl on the cheek.

“Don’t you believe a word that girl says,” I said.

“Oh, and Jane used to be a man, so she’s fine,” added sally.

Grace, on hearing me tell her not to believe anything Sally said, clearly didn’t believe it, but laughed politely. The moment passed, but a few days later I showed her my photographs. Then she believed, burst into tears and hugged me for all she was worth.
 
 
That’s almost it. Oh, no, I almost forgot.
 
 
My autobiography?

…………………………………….it’s not quite finished….

……so…………..not quite……the End.
 

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